ink out
of it, like two brothers in arms. Begin, comte."

"Do me the honor," said Athos, gently putting back the glass.

"You are a charming friend," replied the Duc de Beaufort, who drank, and
passed the goblet to his companion. "But that is not all," continued he,
"I am still thirsty, and I wish to do honor to this handsome young man,
who stands here. I carry good luck with me, vicomte," said he to Raoul;
"wish for something while drinking out of my glass, and the plague
stifle me if what you wish does not come to pass!" He held the goblet to
Raoul, who hastily moistened his lips, and replied with the same
promptitude.

"I have wished for something, monseigneur." His eyes sparkled with a
gloomy fire, and the blood mounted to his cheeks; he terrified Athos, if
only with his smile.

"And what have you wished for?" replied the duke, sinking back into his
fauteuil, while with one hand he returned the bottle to Grimaud, and
with the other gave him a purse.

"Will you promise me, monseigneur, to grant me what I wish for?"

"Pardieu! That is agreed upon?"

"I wished, Monsieur le Duc, to go with you to Gigelli."

Athos became pale, and was unable to conceal his agitation. The duc
looked at his friend, as if desirous to assist him to parry this
unexpected blow.

"That is difficult, my dear vicomte, very difficult," added he, in a
lower tone of voice.

"Pardon me, monseigneur, I have been indiscreet," replied Raoul, in a
firm voice; "but as you yourself invited me to wish--"

"To wish to leave me?" said Athos.

"Oh! monsieur--can you imagine--"

"Well! mordieu!" cried the duc, "the young vicomte is right! What can he
do here? He will rot 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
toward 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 duc, "let us see! Shall he go, or shall he not? If he
goes, comte, he shall be my aid-de-camp, my son."

"Monseigneur!" cried Raoul, bending his knee.

"Monseigneur!" cried Athos, taking the hand of the duc; "Raou