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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 346/849
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"
What
,
then
?
"
said
Aramis
,
blushing
.
"
You
have
one
at
heart
,
Aramis
,
one
deeper
and
more
painful
--
a
wound
made
by
a
woman
.
"
The
eye
of
Aramis
kindled
in
spite
of
himself
.
"
Ah
,
"
said
he
,
dissembling
his
emotion
under
a
feigned
carelessness
,
"
do
not
talk
of
such
things
,
and
suffer
love
pains
?
VANITAS
VANITATUM
!
According
to
your
idea
,
then
,
my
brain
is
turned
.
And
for
whom-for
some
GRISETTE
,
some
chambermaid
with
whom
I
have
trifled
in
some
garrison
?
Fie
!
"
"
Pardon
,
my
dear
Aramis
,
but
I
thought
you
carried
your
eyes
higher
.
"
"
Higher
?
And
who
am
I
,
to
nourish
such
ambition
?
A
poor
Musketeer
,
a
beggar
,
an
unknown-who
hates
slavery
,
and
finds
himself
ill-placed
in
the
world
.
"
"
Aramis
,
Aramis
!
"
cried
d'Artagnan
,
looking
at
his
friend
with
an
air
of
doubt
.
"
Dust
I
am
,
and
to
dust
I
return
.
Life
is
full
of
humiliations
and
sorrows
,
"
continued
he
,
becoming
still
more
melancholy
;
"
all
the
ties
which
attach
him
to
life
break
in
the
hand
of
man
,
particularly
the
golden
ties
.
Oh
,
my
dear
d'Artagnan
,
"
resumed
Aramis
,
giving
to
his
voice
a
slight
tone
of
bitterness
,
"
trust
me
!
Conceal
your
wounds
when
you
have
any
;
silence
is
the
last
joy
of
the
unhappy
.
Beware
of
giving
anyone
the
clue
to
your
griefs
;
the
curious
suck
our
tears
as
flies
suck
the
blood
of
a
wounded
hart
.
"
"
Alas
,
my
dear
Aramis
,
"
said
d'Artagnan
,
in
his
turn
heaving
a
profound
sigh
,
"
that
is
my
story
you
are
relating
!
"
"
How
?
"
