“I wouldn’t dream of it,” D’Artagnan said. The dream was now close enough that he could extend his hands and touch it. To his surprise, it was very corporeal and warm and human-female flesh, pliant to his touch. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said again.
He pulled; she tumbled onto the bed.
And then there was warmth and softness and the diffuse smell of roses.
Fathers
PORTHOS’S pounding on the door of the manor house at Du Vallon brought an almost immediate response. There could be no other way, since they’d been traveling slowly, with the sealed coffin in a cart among them, and there would have been talk and comment about it.
The door was opened by Monsieur du Vallon, himself, in a towering rage.
“Good morning, Father,” Porthos said.
The old man half-flung the door. “I have no son,” he said.
“How strange,” Porthos said. “For you had one.”
“He’s dead.”
“No,” Porthos said. With his massive hand, he forced the door open wide, so his father could see the cart, with its black-draped bundle. “No, Father. My son is dead. And my son is going to be buried in the cemetery of Du Vallon, next to our ancestors. And the name on the tombstone, which I brought with me is Guillaume du Vallon. Do you understand me, Father?”
For a moment it looked like his father was going to flare up and scream back at Porthos. But he looked at Porthos, and at the cart, and at the other three silent men, and the dark-dressed little girl with them, then back at Porthos. “Do what you want and be damned,” he said. “Why should I care where a pile of bones rests?”
Which was how, a few hours later, they came to be standing around a small grave, newly filled, while Porthos carefully set the tombstone over it. The stone read Guillaume du Vallon, son of Pierre du Vallon.
In death, at least, Porthos thought, Guillaume had come home. Even if all the paternal care that Porthos could give him now was a father’s tears.
Sarah A Hoyt
***
[1] Death of a Musketeer; The Musketeer’s Seamstress.
[2] Death of a Musketeer.
[3] Death of a Musketeer.
[4] Here we see one of the many instances in which Monsieur Dumas tampered with the timeline of acquaintances and events. And, of course, there have been hints dropped over the years that Madame Bonacieux’s actions were not quite those portrayed in the book. Here we see her much longer acquaintance with D’Artagnan and the reason for his great attachment to her and their relationship.
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The Musketeer's Apprentice Page 29