At these words a visible emotion was expressed on the beautiful countenance and calm features of Athos. He rushed toward D’Artagnan with eyes fixed upon him and clasped him in his arms. D’Artagnan, equally moved, pressed him also closely to him, whilst tears stood in his eyes. Athos then took him by the hand and led him into the drawing-room, where there were several people. Every one arose. “I present to you,” he said, “Monsieur le Chevalier D’Artagnan, lieutenant of his majesty’s musketeers, a devoted friend and one of the most excellent, brave gentlemen that I have ever known.” D’Artagnan received the compliments of those who were present in his own way, and whilst the conversation became general he looked earnestly at Athos. Strange! Athos was scarcely aged at all! His fine eyes, no longer surrounded by that dark line which nights of dissipation pencil too infallibly, seemed larger, more liquid than ever. His face, a little elongated, had gained in calm dignity what it had lost in feverish excitement. His hand, always wonderfully beautiful and strong, was set off by a ruffle of lace, like certain hands by Titian and Vandyck. He was less stiff than formerly. His long, dark hair, softly powdered here and there with silver tendrils, fell elegantly over his shoulders in wavy curls; his voice was still youthful, as if belonging to a Hercules of twenty-five, and his magnificent teeth, which he had preserved white and sound, gave an indescribable charm to his smile. Meanwhile the guests, seeing that the two friends were longing to be alone, prepared to depart, when a noise of dogs barking resounded through the courtyard and many persons said at the same moment: “Ah! ’tis Raoul, who is come home.” Athos, as the name of Raoul was pronounced, looked inquisitively at D’Artagnan, in order to see if any curiosity was painted on his face. But D’Artagnan was still in confusion and turned around almost mechanically when a fine young man of fifteen years of age, dressed simply, but in perfect taste, entered the room, raising, as he came, his hat, adorned with a long plume of scarlet feathers. Nevertheless, D’Artagnan was struck by the appearance of this new personage. It seemed to explain to him the change in Athos; a resemblance between the boy and the man explained the mystery of this regenerated existence. He remained listening and gazing. “Here you are, home again, Raoul,” said the comte. “Yes, sir,” replied the youth, with deep respect, “and I have performed the commission that you gave me.” “But what’s the matter, Raoul?” said Athos, very anxiously. “You are pale and agitated.” “Sir,” replied the young man, “it is on account of an accident which has happened to our little neighbor.” “To Mademoiselle de la Vallière?” asked Athos, quickly. “What is it?” cried many persons present.