ch the worse for you, since I shall be obliged to kill you.' I was
near him, those were his exact words, when he stabbed his foe as he
said he would, and his adversary fell without saying, 'Oh!' 'Tis a noble
gentleman--Monsieur Athos."

"Yes, true as Gospel," said D'Artagnan; "but one single fault has
swallowed up all these fine qualities."

"I remember well," said Planchet, "he was fond of drinking--in truth, he
drank, but not as other men drink. One seemed, as he raised the wine to
his lips, to hear him say, 'Come, juice of the grape, and chase away my
sorrows.' And how he used to break the stem of a glass or the neck of a
bottle! There was no one like him for that."

"And now," replied D'Artagnan, "behold the sad spectacle that awaits us.
This noble gentleman with his lofty glance, this handsome cavalier, so
brilliant in feats of arms that every one was surprised that he held in
his hand a sword only instead of a baton of command! Alas! we shall find
him changed into a broken down old man, with garnet nose and eyes that
slobber; we shall find him extended on some lawn, whence he will look at
us with a languid eye and peradventure will not recognize us. God knows,
Planchet, that I should fly from a sight so sad if I did not wish to
show my respect for the illustrious shadow of what was once the Comte de
la Fere, whom we loved so much."

Planchet shook his head and said nothing. It was evident that he shared
his master's apprehensions.

"And then," resumed D'Artagnan, "to this decrepitude is probably added
poverty, for he must have neglected the little that he had, and the
dirty scoundrel, Grimaud, more taciturn than ever and still more drunken
than his master--stay, Planchet, it breaks my heart to merely think of
it."

"I fancy myself there and that I see him staggering and hear him
stammering," said Planchet, in a piteous tone, "but at all events we
shall soon know the real state of things, for I imagine that those lofty
walls, now turning ruby in the setting sun, are the walls of Blois."

"Probably; and those steeples, pointed and sculptured, that we catch a
glimpse of yonder, are similar to those that I have heard described at
Chambord."

At this moment one of those heavy wagons, drawn by bullocks, which carry
the wood cut in the fine forests of the country to the ports of the
Loire, came out of a byroad full of ruts and turned on that which the
two horsemen were following. A man carrying a long switch wit