"Every one according to his nature, my dear D'Artagnan. Porthos, in
spite of a touch of vanity, has many excellent qualities. Have you seen
him?"

"I left him five days ago," said D'Artagnan, and he portrayed with
Gascon wit and sprightliness the magnificence of Porthos in his Chateau
of Pierrefonds; nor did he neglect to launch a few arrows of wit at the
excellent Monsieur Mouston.

"I sometimes wonder," replied Athos, smiling at that gayety which
recalled the good old days, "that we could form an association of men
who would be, after twenty years of separation, still so closely bound
together. Friendship throws out deep roots in honest hearts, D'Artagnan.
Believe me, it is only the evil-minded who deny friendship; they cannot
understand it. And Aramis?"

"I have seen him also," said D'Artagnan; "but he seemed to me cold."

"Ah, you have seen Aramis?" said Athos, turning on D'Artagnan a
searching look. "Why, it is a veritable pilgrimage, my dear friend, that
you are making to the Temple of Friendship, as the poets would say."

"Why, yes," replied D'Artagnan, with embarrassment.

"Aramis, you know," continued Athos, "is naturally cold, and then he is
always involved in intrigues with women."

"I believe he is at this moment in a very complicated one," said
D'Artagnan.

Athos made no reply.

"He is not curious," thought D'Artagnan.

Athos not only failed to reply, he even changed the subject of
conversation.

"You see," said he, calling D'Artagnan's attention to the fact that they
had come back to the chateau after an hour's walk, "we have made a tour
of my domains."

"All is charming and everything savors of nobility," replied D'Artagnan.

At this instant they heard the sound of horses' feet.

"'Tis Raoul who has come back," said Athos; "and we can now hear how the
poor child is."

In fact, the young man appeared at the gate, covered with dust, entered
the courtyard, leaped from his horse, which he consigned to the charge
of a groom, and then went to greet the count and D'Artagnan.

"Monsieur," said Athos, placing his hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder,
"monsieur is the Chevalier D'Artagnan of whom you have often heard me
speak, Raoul."

"Monsieur," said the young man, saluting again and more profoundly,
"monsieur le comte has pronounced your name before me as an example
whenever he wished to speak of an intrepid and generous gentleman."

That little compliment could not fail to move D'Artagnan. He