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.”
“Doubtless, doubtless, Athos. But here it is: you have sentiments, the devil knows what, such as every one can’t entertain. Who could suppose that a sensible man could leave his house, France, his ward — a charming youth, for we saw him in the camp — to fly to the aid of a rotten, worm-eaten royalty, which is going to crumble one of these days like an old hovel. The sentiments you air are certainly fine, so fine that they are superhuman.”
“However that may be,