“Well, mordieu!” cried the duke, “the young vicomte is right! What can he do here? He will go moldy with grief.”
Raoul blushed, and the excitable prince continued: “War is a distraction: we gain everything by it; we can only lose one thing by it—life—then so much the worse!”
“That is to say, memory,” said Raoul, eagerly; “and that is to say, so much the better!”
He repented of having spoken so warmly when he saw Athos rise and open the window; which was, doubtless, to conceal his emotion. Raoul sprang towards the comte, but the latter had already overcome his emotion, and turned to the lights with a serene and impassible countenance. “Well, come,” said the duke, “let us see! Shall he go, or shall he not? If he goes, comte, he shall be my aide-de-camp, my son.”
“Monseigneur!” cried Raoul, bending his knee.
“Monseigneur!” cried Athos, taking the hand of the duke; “Raoul shall do just as he likes.”
“Oh! no, monsieur, just as you like,” interrupted the young man.
“Par la corbleu!” said the prince in his turn, “it is neither the comte nor the vicomte that shall have his way, it is I. I will take him away. The marine offers a superb fortune, my friend.”
Raoul smiled again so sadly, that this time Athos felt his heart penetrated by it, and replied to him by a severe look. Raoul comprehended it all; he recovered his calmness, and was so guarded, that not another word escaped him. The duke at length rose, on observing the advanced hour, and said, with animation, “I am in great haste, but if I am told I have lost time in talking with a friend, I will reply I have gained—on the balance—a most excellent recruit.”
“Pardon me, monsieur le duc,” interrupted Raoul, “do not tell the king so, for it is not the king I wish to serve.”