you, my dear Porthos, you, a gentleman in manners, in tastes and in courage, you are as culpable as D’Artagnan.”
Porthos blushed, but with pleasure rather than with confusion; and yet, bowing his head, as if humiliated, he said:
“Yes, yes, my dear count, I feel that you are right.”
Athos arose.
“Come,” he said, stretching out his hand to D’Artagnan, “come, don’t be sullen, my dear son, for I have said all this to you, if not in the tone, at least with the feelings of a father.
It would have been easier to me merely to have thanked you for preserving my life and not to have uttered a word of all this.”