“Ah, I’m ready to do what you will,” cried Porthos; “even to swear by Mahomet. Devil take me if I’ve ever been so happy as at this moment.”
And he wiped his eyes, still moist.
“Has not one of you a cross?” asked Athos.
Aramis smiled and drew from his vest a cross of diamonds, which was hung around his neck by a chain of pearls. “Here is one,” he said.
“Well,” resumed Athos, “swear on this cross, which, in spite of its magnificent material, is still a cross; swear to be united in spite of everything, and forever, and may this oath bind us to each other, and even, also, our descendants! Does this oath satisfy you?”
“Yes,” said they all, with one accord.
“Ah, traitor!” muttered D’Artagnan, leaning toward Aramis and whispering in his ear, “you have made us swear on the crucifix of a Frondeuse.”
Chapter XXIX.
The Ferry across the Oise.
We hope that the reader has not quite forgotten the young traveler whom we left on the road to Flanders.
In losing sight of his guardian, whom he had quitted, gazing after him in front of the royal basilican, Raoul spurred on his horse, in order not only to escape from his own melancholy reflections, but also to hide from Olivain the emotion his face might betray.