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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 355/849
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If
a
repast
were
on
foot
,
Athos
presided
over
it
better
than
any
other
,
placing
every
guest
exactly
in
the
rank
which
his
ancestors
had
earned
for
him
or
that
he
had
made
for
himself
.
If
a
question
in
heraldry
were
started
,
Athos
knew
all
the
noble
families
of
the
kingdom
,
their
genealogy
,
their
alliances
,
their
coats
of
arms
,
and
the
origin
of
them
.
Etiquette
had
no
minutiae
unknown
to
him
.
He
knew
what
were
the
rights
of
the
great
land
owners
.
He
was
profoundly
versed
in
hunting
and
falconry
,
and
had
one
day
when
conversing
on
this
great
art
astonished
even
Louis
XIII
himself
,
who
took
a
pride
in
being
considered
a
past
master
therein
.
Like
all
the
great
nobles
of
that
period
,
Athos
rode
and
fenced
to
perfection
.
But
still
further
,
his
education
had
been
so
little
neglected
,
even
with
respect
to
scholastic
studies
,
so
rare
at
this
time
among
gentlemen
,
that
he
smiled
at
the
scraps
of
Latin
which
Aramis
sported
and
which
Porthos
pretended
to
understand
.
Two
or
three
times
,
even
,
to
the
great
astonishment
of
his
friends
,
he
had
,
when
Aramis
allowed
some
rudimental
error
to
escape
him
,
replaced
a
verb
in
its
right
tense
and
a
noun
in
its
case
.
Besides
,
his
probity
was
irreproachable
,
in
an
age
in
which
soldiers
compromised
so
easily
with
their
religion
and
their
consciences
,
lovers
with
the
rigorous
delicacy
of
our
era
,
and
the
poor
with
God
's
Seventh
Commandment
.
This
Athos
,
then
,
was
a
very
extraordinary
man
.
And
yet
this
nature
so
distinguished
,
this
creature
so
beautiful
,
this
essence
so
fine
,
was
seen
to
turn
insensibly
toward
material
life
,
as
old
men
turn
toward
physical
and
moral
imbecility
.
Athos
,
in
his
hours
of
gloom
--
and
these
hours
were
frequent
--
was
extinguished
as
to
the
whole
of
the
luminous
portion
of
him
,
and
his
brilliant
side
disappeared
as
into
profound
darkness
.
Then
the
demigod
vanished
;
he
remained
scarcely
a
man
.
His
head
hanging
down
,
his
eye
dull
,
his
speech
slow
and
painful
,
Athos
would
look
for
hours
together
at
his
bottle
,
his
glass
,
or
at
Grimaud
,
who
,
accustomed
to
obey
him
by
signs
,
read
in
the
faint
glance
of
his
master
his
least
desire
,
and
satisfied
it
immediately
.
If
the
four
friends
were
assembled
at
one
of
these
moments
,
a
word
,
thrown
forth
occasionally
with
a
violent
effort
,
was
the
share
Athos
furnished
to
the
conversation
.
In
exchange
for
his
silence
Athos
drank
enough
for
four
,
and
without
appearing
to
be
otherwise
affected
by
wine
than
by
a
more
marked
constriction
of
the
brow
and
by
a
deeper
sadness
.
D'Artagnan
,
whose
inquiring
disposition
we
are
acquainted
with
,
had
not
--
whatever
interest
he
had
in
satisfying
his
curiosity
on
this
subject
--
been
able
to
assign
any
cause
for
these
fits
of
for
the
periods
of
their
recurrence
.
Athos
never
received
any
letters
;
Athos
never
had
concerns
which
all
his
friends
did
not
know
.
It
could
not
be
said
that
it
was
wine
which
produced
this
sadness
;
for
in
truth
he
only
drank
to
combat
this
sadness
,
which
wine
however
,
as
we
have
said
,
rendered
still
darker
.
This
excess
of
bilious
humor
could
not
be
attributed
to
play
;
for
unlike
Porthos
,
who
accompanied
the
variations
of
chance
with
songs
or
oaths
,
Athos
when
he
won
remained
as
unmoved
as
when
he
lost
.
He
had
been
known
,
in
the
circle
of
the
Musketeers
,
to
win
in
one
night
three
thousand
pistoles
;
to
lose
them
even
to
the
gold-embroidered
belt
for
gala
days
,
win
all
this
again
with
the
addition
of
a
hundred
louis
,
without
his
beautiful
eyebrow
being
heightened
or
lowered
half
a
line
,
without
his
hands
losing
their
pearly
hue
,
without
his
conversation
,
which
was
cheerful
that
evening
,
ceasing
to
be
calm
and
agreeable
.
Neither
was
it
,
as
with
our
neighbors
,
the
English
,
an
atmospheric
influence
which
darkened
his
countenance
;
for
the
sadness
generally
became
more
intense
toward
the
fine
season
of
the
year
.
June
and
July
were
the
terrible
months
with
Athos
.
For
the
present
he
had
no
anxiety
.
He
shrugged
his
shoulders
when
people
spoke
of
the
future
.
His
secret
,
then
,
was
in
the
past
,
as
had
often
been
vaguely
said
to
d'Artagnan
.
This
mysterious
shade
,
spread
over
his
whole
person
,
rendered
still
more
interesting
the
man
whose
eyes
or
mouth
,
even
in
the
most
complete
intoxication
,
had
never
revealed
anything
,
however
skillfully
questions
had
been
put
to
him
.
