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e still?""Ah, madame," said Porthos,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], in the most melancholy tone he could assume, "when we are about to enter upon a campaign--a campaign, in which my presentiments tell me I shall be killed--""Oh, don't talk of such things!" cried the procurator's wife, bursting into tears."Something whispers me so," continued Porthos, becoming more and more melancholy."Rather say that you have a new love.""Not so; I speak frankly to you. No object affects me; and I even feel here, at the bottom of my heart, something which speaks for you. But in fifteen days, as you know,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], or as you do not know,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], this fatal campaign is to open. I shall be fearfully preoccupied with my outfit. Then I must make a journey to see my family, in the lower part of Brittany,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], to obtain the sum necessary for my departure."Porthos observed a last struggle between love and avarice."And as," continued he, "the duchess whom you saw at the church has estates near to those of my family, we mean to make the journey together. Journeys, you know, appear much shorter when we travel two in company.""Have you no friends in Paris, then, Monsieur Porthos?" said the procurator's wife."I thought I had," said Porthos, resuming his melancholy air; "but I have been taught my mistake.""You have some!" cried the procurator's wife, in a transport that surprised even herself. "Come to our house tomorrow. You are the son of my aunt, consequently my cousin; you come from Noyon, in Picardy; you have several lawsuits and no attorney. Can you rec
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