Athos and Bragelonne were again face to face. Eleven o’clock was striking.
The father and son preserved a profound silence towards each other, where an intelligent observer would have expected cries and tears. But these two men were of such a nature that all emotion following their final resolutions plunged
itself so deep into their hearts that it was lost forever. They passed, then, silently
and almost breathlessly, the hour that preceded midnight. The clock, by striking, alone pointed out to them how many minutes had lasted the painful journey made by their souls in the immensity of their remembrances of the past and fear
of the future. Athos rose first, saying, “it is late, then.... Till to-morrow.”
Raoul rose, and in his turn embraced his father. The latter held him clasped
to hi
