As to the rest, the life of the four young friends was joyous
enough. Athos played, and that as a rule unfortunately.
Nevertheless, he never borrowed a sou of his companions, although
his purse was ever at their service; and when he had played upon
honor, he always awakened his creditor by six o'clock the next
morning to pay the debt of the preceding evening.
Porthos had his fits. On the days when he won he was insolent
and ostentatious; if he lost, he disappeared completely for
several days, after which he reappeared with a pale face and
thinner person, but with money in his purse.
As to Aramis, he never played. He was the worst Musketeer and
the most unconvivial companion imaginable. He had always
something or other to do. Sometimes in the midst of dinner, when
everyone, under the attraction of wine and in the warmth of
conversation, believed they had two or three hours longer to
enjoy themselves at table, Aramis looked at his watch, arose with
a bland smile, and took leave of the company, to go, as he said,
to consult a casuist with whom he had an appointment. At other
times he would return home to write a treatise, and requested his
friends not to disturb him.
At this Athos would smile, with his charming, melancholy smile,
which so became his noble countenance, and Porthos would drink,
swearing that Aramis would never be anything but a village CURE.
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Au reste, la vie des quatre jeunes gens était joyeuse : Athos jouait et
toujours malheureusement. Cependant il n’empruntait jamais un sou à ses
amis, quoique sa bourse fût sans cesse à leur service ; et lorsqu’il
avait joué sur parole, il faisait toujours réveiller son créancier à six
heures du matin pour lui payer sa dette de la veille. — Porthos avait des
fougues : ces jours-là, on le voyait insolent et splendide ; s’il
perdait, il disparaissait complètement pendant quelques jours, après lesquels
il reparaissait le visage blême et la mine allongée, mais avec de l’argent
dans ses poches. Quant à Aramis, il ne jouait jamais. C’était bien le plus
mauvais mousquetaire et le plus méchant convive qui se pût voir. Il avait
toujours besoin de travailler. Quelquefois, au milieu d’un dîner, quand
chacun, dans l’entraînement du vin et dans la chaleur de la conversation,
croyait que l’on en avait encore pour deux ou trois heures à rester à
table, Aramis regardait à sa montre, se levait avec un gracieux sourire et
prenait congé de la société pour aller, disait-il, consulter un casuiste
avec lequel il avait rendez-vous ; d’autres fois, il retournait à son
logis pour écrire une thèse, et priait ses amis de ne pas le distraire.
Cependant Athos souriait de ce charmant sourire mélancolique, si bien séant
à sa noble figure, et Porthos buvait en jurant qu’Aramis ne serait jamais
qu’un curé de village.
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