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The Three Musketeers
Twenty Years Later
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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Twenty Years Later 42 at Prostate Health
to Planchet, he thought of little or nothing, but was
happy as a hunting-hound in his old masters company.
At the extremity of the wood DArtagnan perceived the road
that had been described to him, and at the end of the road
he saw the towers of an immense feudal castle.
"Oh! oh!" he said, "I fancied this castle belonged to the
ancient branch of Orleans. Can Porthos have negotiated for
it with the Duc de Longueville?"
"Faith!" exclaimed Planchet, "heres land in good condition;
if it belongs to Monsieur Porthos I wish him joy."
"Zounds!" cried DArtagnan, "dont call him Porthos, nor
even Vallon; call him De Bracieux or De Pierrefonds; thou
wilt knell out damnation to my mission otherwise."
As he approached the castle which had first attracted his
eye, DArtagnan was convinced that it could not be there
that his friend dwelt; the towers, though solid and as if
built yesterday, were open and broken. One might have
fancied that some giant had cleaved them with blows from a
hatchet.
On arriving at the extremity of the castle DArtagnan found
himself overlooking a beautiful valley, in which, at the
foot of a charming little lake, stood several scattered
houses, which, humble in their aspect, and covered, some
with tiles, others with thatch, seemed to acknowledge as
their sovereign lord a pretty chateau, built about the
beginning of the reign of Henry IV., and surmounted by four
stately, gilded weather-cocks. DArtagnan no longer doubted
that this was Porthoss pleasant dwelling place.
The road led straight up to the chateau which, compared to
its ancestor on the hill, was exactly what a fop of the
coterie of the Duc dEnghein would have been beside a knight
in steel armor in the time of Charles VII. DArtagnan
spurred his horse on and pursued his road, followed by
Planchet at the same pace.
In ten minutes DArtagnan reached the end of an alley
regularly planted with fine poplars and terminating in an
iron gate, the points and crossed bars of which were gilt.
In the midst of this avenue was a nobleman, dressed in green
and with as much gilding about him as the iron gate, riding
on a tall horse. On his right hand and his left were two
footmen, with the seams of their dresses laced. A
considerable number of clowns were assembled and rendered
homage to their lord.
"Ah!" said DArtagnan to himself, "can this be the Seigneur
du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds? Well-a-day! how he has
shrunk since he gave up the name of Porthos!"
"This cannot be Monsieur Porthos," observed Planchet
replying, as it were, to his masters thoughts. "Monsieur
Porthos was six feet high; this man is scarcely five."
"Nevertheless," said DArtagnan, "the people are bowing very
low to this person."
As he spoke, he rode toward the tall horse -- to the man of
importance and his valets. As he approached he seemed to
recognize the features of this individual.
"Jesu!" cried Planchet, "can it be?"
At this exclamation the man on horseback turned slowly and
with a lofty air, and the two travelers could see, displayed
in all their brilliancy, the large eyes, the vermilion
visage, and the eloquent smile of -- Mousqueton.
It was indeed Mousqueton -- Mousqueton, as fat as a pig,
rolling about with rude health, puffed out with good living,
who, recognizing DArtagnan and acting very differently from
the hypocrite Bazin, slipped off his horse and approached
the officer with his hat off, so that the homage of the
assembled crowd was turned toward this new sun, which
eclipsed the former luminary.
"Monsieur dArtagnan! Monsieur dArtagnan!" cried Mousqueton,
his fat cheeks swelling out and his whole frame perspiring
with joy; "Monsieur dArtagnan! oh! what joy for my lord and
master, Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds!"
"Thou good Mousqueton! where is thy master?"
"You stand upon his property!"
"But how handsome thou art -- how fat! thou hast prospered
and grown stout!" and DArtagnan could not restrain his
astonishment at the change good fortune had produced on the
once famished one.
"Hey, yes, thank God, I am pretty well," said Mousqueton.
"But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?"
"How, my friend Planchet? Planchet -- art thou there?" cried
Mousqueton, with open arms and eyes full of tears.
"My very self," replied Planchet; "but I wanted first to see
if thou wert grown proud."
"Proud toward an old friend? never, Planchet! thou wouldst
not have thought so hadst thou known Mousqueton well."
"So far so well," answered Planchet, alighting, and
extending his arms to Mousqueton, the two servants embraced
with an emotion which touched those who were present and
made them suppose that
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