my own part, I shall ever, even
if you do hate me, retain esteem and friendship for you. I repeat my
words, Aramis, and then, if you desire it, and if they desire it, let us
separate forever from our old friends."

There was a solemn, though momentary silence, which was broken by
Aramis.

"I swear," he said, with a calm brow and kindly glance, but in a voice
still trembling with recent emotion, "I swear that I no longer bear
animosity to those who were once my friends. I regret that I ever
crossed swords with you, Porthos; I swear not only that it shall never
again be pointed at your breast, but that in the bottom of my heart
there will never in future be the slightest hostile sentiment; now,
Athos, come."

Athos was about to retire.

"Oh! no! no! do not go away!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, impelled by one of
those irresistible impulses which showed the nobility of his nature, the
native brightness of his character; "I swear that I would give the
last drop of my blood and the last fragment of my limbs to preserve
the friendship of such a friend as you, Athos--of such a man as you,
Aramis." And he threw himself into the arms of Athos.

"My son!" exclaimed Athos, pressing him in his arms.

"And as for me," said Porthos, "I swear nothing, but I'm choked.
Forsooth! If I were obliged to fight against you, I think I should allow
myself to be pierced through and through, for I never loved any one
but you in the wide world;" and honest Porthos burst into tears as he
embraced Athos.

"My friends," said Athos, "this is what I expected from such hearts
as yours. Yes, I have said it and I now repeat it: our destinies are
irrevocably united, although we now pursue divergent roads. I respect
your convictions, and whilst we fight for opposite sides, let us
remain friends. Ministers, princes, kings, will pass away like mountain
torrents; civil war, like a forest flame; but we--we shall remain; I
have a presentiment that we shall."

"Yes," replied D'Artagnan, "let us still be musketeers, and let us
retain as our battle-standard that famous napkin of the bastion
St. Gervais, on which the great cardinal had three fleurs-de-lis
embroidered."

"Be it so," cried Aramis. "Cardinalists or Frondeurs, what matters
it? Let us meet again as capital seconds in a duel, devoted friends in
business, merry companions in our ancient pleasures."

"And whenever," added Athos, "we meet in battle, at this word, 'Place
Royale!' let us put our sword