“Well, monsieur, I would kill him,” said Raoul, simply, “and all the men whom Mademoiselle de la Vallière should choose, until one of them had killed me, or Mademoiselle de la Vallière had restored me her heart.” Athos started. “I thought,” resumed he, in an agitated voice, “that you called me just now your god, your law in this world.” “Oh!” said Raoul, trembling, “you would forbid me the duel?” “Suppose I did forbid it, Raoul?” “You would forbid me to hope, monsieur; consequently you would not forbid me to die.” Athos raised his eyes toward the vicomte. He had pronounced these words with the most melancholy inflection, accompanied by the most melancholy look. “Enough,” said Athos, after a long silence, “enough of this subject, upon which we both go too far. Live as well as you are able, Raoul, perform your duties, love Mademoiselle de; la Vallière; in a word, act like a man, since you have attained the age of a man; only do not forget that I love you tenderly, and that you profess to love me.” “Ah! monsieur le comte!” cried Raoul, pressing the hand of Athos to his heart. “Enough, dear boy, leave me; I want rest. A propos, M. d’Artagnan has returned from England with me; you owe him a visit.” “I will pay it, monsieur, with great pleasure. I love Monsieur d’Artagnan exceedingly.” “You are right in doing so; he is a worthy man and a brave cavalier.” “Who loves you dearly.” “I am sure of that. Do you know his address?” “At the Louvre, I suppose, or wherever the king is. Does he not command the musketeers?” “No; at present M. d’Artagnan is absent on leave; he is resting for awhile. Do not, therefore, seek him at the posts of his service. You will hear of him at the house of a certain Planchet.” “His former lackey?” “Exactly, turned grocer.” “I know; Rue des Lombards?” “Somewhere thereabouts, or Rue des Arcis.” “I will find it, monsieur,—I will find it.” “You will say a thousand kind things to him, on my part, and ask him to come and dine with me before I set out for La Fere.” “Yes, monsieur.” “Good-night, Raoul!” “Monsieur, I see you wear an order I never saw you wear before; accept my compliments!” “The Fleece! that is true. A bauble, my boy, which no longer amuses an old child like myself. Goodnight, Raoul!” CHAPTER 52. D’Artagnan’s Lesson