“Poor D’Artagnan’“ said Athos, with the charming melancholy that was one of the traits of his character, “so brave, so good, so terrible to the enemies of those he loves.
You have two unruly prisoners there, sir.”
“Unruly,” Comminges smiled; “you wish to terrify me, I suppose. When he came here, Monsieur D’Artagnan provoked and braved the soldiers and inferior officers, in order, I suppose, to have his sword back. That mood lasted some time; but now he’s as gentle as a lamb and sings Gascon songs, which make one die of laughing.”
“And Du Vallon?” asked Athos.
“Ah, he’s quite another sort of person — a