“Nothing good,” replied Porthos.
“Come,” continued D’Artagnan, who, irritated that instead of listening to him Athos seemed to be attending to his own thoughts, “you have never found yourself the worse for my advice. Well, then, believe me, Athos, your mission is ended, and ended nobly; return to France with us.”
“Friend,” said Athos, “our resolution is irrevocable.”
“Then you have some other motive unknown to us?”
Athos smiled and D’Artagnan struck his hands together in anger and muttered the most convincing reasons that he could discover; but to all these reasons Athos contented himself by replying with a calm, sweet smile and Aramis by nodding his head.
“Very well,” cried D’Artagnan, at last, furious, “very well, since you wish it, let us leave our bones in this beggarly land, where it is always cold, where fine weather is a fog, fog is rain, and rain a deluge; where the sun represents the moon and the moon a cream cheese; in truth, whether we die here or elsewhere matters little, since we must die.”
“Only reflect, my good fellow,” said Athos, “it is but dying rather sooner.”
“Pooh! a little sooner or a little later, it isn’t worth quarreling over.”
“If I am astonished at anything,” remarked Porthos, sententiously, “it is that it has not already happened.”
“Oh, it will happen, you may be sure,” said D’Artagnan. “So it is agreed, and if Porthos makes no objection——”