Raoul had neglected to close on the previous evening.
He was still sleeping, his head gracefully reposing on his arm.

Athos approached and hung over the youth in an attitude full of tender
melancholy; he looked long on this young man, whose smiling mouth and
half closed eyes bespoke soft dreams and lightest slumber, as if his
guardian angel watched over him with solicitude and affection. By
degrees Athos gave himself up to the charms of his reverie in the
proximity of youth, so pure, so fresh. His own youth seemed to reappear,
bringing with it all those savoury remembrances, which are like perfumes
more than thoughts. Between the past and the present was an ineffable
abyss. But imagination has the wings of an angel of light and travels
safely through or over the seas where we have been almost shipwrecked,
the darkness in which our illusions are lost, the precipice whence our
happiness has been hurled and swallowed up. He remembered that all the
first part of his life had been embittered by a woman and he thought
with alarm of the influence love might assume over so fine, and at the
same time so vigorous an organization as that of Raoul.

In recalling all he had been through, he foresaw all that Raoul might
suffer; and the expression of the deep and tender compassion which
throbbed in his heart was pictured in the moist eye with which he gazed
on the young man.

At this moment Raoul awoke, without a cloud on his face without
weariness or lassitude; his eyes were fixed on those of Athos and
perhaps he comprehended all that passed in the heart of the man who was
awaiting his awakening as a lover awaits the awakening of his mistress,
for his glance, in return, had all the tenderness of love.

"You are there, sir?" he said, respectfully.

"Yes, Raoul," replied the count.

"And you did not awaken me?"

"I wished to leave you still to enjoy some moments of sleep, my child;
you must be fatigued from yesterday."

"Oh, sir, how good you are!"

Athos smiled.

"How do you feel this morning?" he inquired.

"Perfectly well; quite rested, sir."

"You are still growing," Athos continued, with that charming and
paternal interest felt by a grown man for a youth.

"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Raoul, ashamed of so much
attention; "in an instant I shall be dressed."

Athos then called Olivain.

"Everything," said Olivain to Athos, "has been done according to your
directions; the horses are waiting."

"And I