Twenty Years After by Alexander Dumas

Author:Alexander Dumas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

XXIV

Saint-Denis

Day had barely broken when Athos arose and dressed; it was easy to see, from the pale traces insomnia had left on his face, that he’d gone most of the night without sleep. No matter how firm and decisive he usually was, this morning there was something slow and irresolute about him.

As a way of gaining time, he occupied himself with preparations for Raoul’s departure. First, he inspected a sword that he drew from its oiled leather sheath and checked the grip to make sure it was well wrapped and the blade’s tang was fixed firmly in the hilt.

Then he threw into the bottom of the young man’s luggage a small bag full of louis d’or, called Olivain, the lackey who’d come with him from Blois, placed the portmanteau before him, and made sure that it held everything a young man needs on campaign.

Finally, after expending nearly an hour on these preparations, he opened the door to the viscount’s room and quietly entered.

The sun, already high, shone in through the wide-framed windows, because Raoul, returning late the night before, had neglected to close the curtains. He was still asleep, head resting gracefully on his arm, his long black hair half-covering his charming face, bedewed in the warmth with pearls of moisture that rolled down the dreaming youth’s cheeks.

Athos approached and, bent in an attitude of tender melancholy, watched for a time the sleeping young man with his smiling mouth and half-closed eyes, whose dreams should be sweet and his slumbers light, given the silent guardian angel who watched over him with care and affection. Gradually, in the presence of youth so rich and so pure, Athos was drawn into a reverie of his own youth, of half-formed memories that were more phantasms than thoughts. Between that past and this present stretched an abyss. But imagination is an angel’s flight that darts back over the dark seas where our illusions were shipwrecked, past the rocks that shattered our happiness. He recalled how the first part of his own life had been destroyed by a woman; and thought with dread what an influence love can have over even the finest and strongest.

Recalling all that he’d suffered, he foresaw all that Raoul might yet suffer, and the deep and tender compassion in his heart distilled itself into a single tear that dropped upon the young man.

At that moment Raoul awoke from his cloudless dreams, showing none of the sadness or grief that afflicts some of those of sensitive spirit. His eyes rose to meet those of Athos, and he felt some of what was passing in the heart of this man who awaited his awakening, much as a lover awaits the awakening of his mistress, with a gaze expressing an infinite love.

“You’ve been here, Monsieur?” he said with respect.

“Yes, Raoul, right here,” said the count.

“And you didn’t wake me?”

“I wanted to let you enjoy your last moments of sound sleep, mon ami; you must be still weary from yesterday, which extended so far into the night.

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