“I,” said Porthos, “I will do whatever you please; and besides, I think what the Comte de la Fere said just now is very good.”
“But your future career, D’Artagnan—your ambition, Porthos?”
“Our future, our ambition!” replied D’Artagnan, with feverish volubility. “Need we think of that since we are to save the king? The king saved—we shall assemble our friends together—we will head the Puritans—reconquer England; we shall re-enter London—place him securely on his throne——”
“And he will make us dukes and peers,” said Porthos, whose eyes sparkled with joy at this imaginary prospect.
“Or he will forget us,” added D’Artagnan.
“Oh!” said Porthos.
“Well, that has happened, friend Porthos. It seems to me that we once rendered Anne of Austria a service not much less than that which to-day we are trying to perform for Charles I.; but, none the less, Anne of Austria has forgotten us for twenty years.”
“Well, in spite of that, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, “you are not sorry that you were useful to her?”
“No, indeed,” said D’Artagnan; “I admit even that in my darkest moments I find consolation in that remembrance.”
“You see, then, D’Artagnan, though princes often are ungrateful, God never is.”