They were coming back from a mission about three day's ride from Paris. It had been a lovely autumn day, just the kind of weather and scenery that Aramis would usually wax poetic about. Towards evening, Porthos was just beginning to wonder what was the matter with his normally talkative brother, when Athos asked Aramis, "Is everything all right?"
Aramis answered, "I'm just tired." They all looked at him, as it was unusual for him to share what he considered a shortcoming.
Athos began looking for a place to camp for the night, when d'Artagnan said, "Look!"
They could all see an old, weathered barn in the distance down in the valley. It was surrounded by fields. If the could find the owner, they could spend the night under a roof, as it was getting chilly now as evening descended.
When they had drawn closer, they looked around, but didn't see any house or anyone in sight as far as the eye could see. Taking a chance, Athos said, "Let's bed down here. If the owner, by some chance appears, we can negotiate with him then."
Dismounting and drawing the wide doors open , they led their horses inside, not wanting to leave them out in the cold, either. They figured the horses could stay on one side of the wide structure, while they slept on the other.
But they were no sooner through the door, then d'Artagnan said, "Who is that?", pointing to a figure lying on the barn floor unmoving.
They cautiously approached, but as they grew closer, they could see that it was a young girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and she appeared to be sound asleep. Aramis crouched down by her side, and reached out to touch her shoulder to awaken her. But, even through his glove, he could feel heat radiating off of her body. Concerned, he pulled his glove off, and felt her forehead.
"She is burning up-fever! Lifting her head and shoulders upon his lap, Aramis grabbed his waterskin and tried to wake her to drink some water. The girl groggily came to, looking up at them with a dazed look in her eyes. Aramis again tried to give her the water, and she drank a few sips before laying her head back down again.
Aramis said to his brothers, "You bed down for the night. I think I will stay with her. She is not doing well."
Athos said, "What about how tired you are," only to receive a silent glare from his brother. They all knew that when Aramis was in "medic mode", his own health went by the wayside.
They spread their blankets and lay down, watching Aramis with the young girl. He was stroking her arm, trying to put her at ease. Having four complete strangers in a remote barn with you would make any female cautious, he realized, as she continued to look up at him.
Then, he got an idea. He would tell her a story!
"There once was a young man who fell in love with a beautiful girl. He loved her long, red hair, the color of many of the leaves that adorned the trees in autumn. He loved to thread his fingers through the luxuriant curls falling past her waist."
He could see that he had got her attention, her eyes open and wide as she listened to his story.
"They would sometimes take a basket full of baked chicken, freshly-baked bread, apples and wine down to the lake for a picnic, just the two of them sitting beside the water the whole afternoon. He marveled that the color of his love's eyes was more lovely than even nature itself. He could drown in the blue he gazed upon, which rivaled even the blue of the summer sky. They felt like they were the only people in the whole world, and only had eyes for each other.
Her father finally gave him permission to marry her. They were married in a tiny stone chapel by a beaming, elderly priest. His bride was radiant, wearing a beautiful pink dress almost the same shade as the cherry trees that broke into bloom in the springtime, her face alight with love. Her parents, the only others present at the ceremony, smiled to see how happy he had made their daughter."
Aramis could see that, even though she was obviously very ill, his story could make her happy, as she continued to look up at him with rapt attention,a little smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
He continued. "Their married lives were spent each trying to outdo the other in giving of themselves to each other.
They had four children, who grew up in the security of a peaceful home with parents who doted on them.
They grew old together, gently and still as in love with eac h other as they had been at their lakeside picnics.
He sat by her her side as she lay dying in their old age. He was already grieving for his loss as he gazed at the face of the only woman he had ever loved. She still had her long, luxuriant hair, but now it framed her face in soft white curls, the color of snow lying on the ground at Christmas-time.
He saw her close her eyes for the last time, and leaned over to kiss her softly on her forehead, and make the sign of the cross on her forehead. Then, he lifted the blanket to cover her, tears falling silently as he did so. But he remembered all the love she had given him for so many years, and was at peace that she was now with God.
The girl, Marie, she had told him, finally closed her eyes again peacefully at the end of his story. Her breathing had evened out into sleep, and she looked at peace. Her fever had gone down, so he believed she might get better.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Athos said, "Well done, brother." He noticed then, that none of his brothers had slept. They were there with him as he stayed with Marie through the night. He was so blessed to have friends like this!
In the morning, they bundled Marie up and headed down the road to the nearest village. They figured she couldn't have come far in the condition she was in, and the were right. She was recognized the moment they entered the village. Her parents were sent for, and they burst into tears when they saw their lost daughter lifted down from where she had been riding with Aramis, thanking them profusely for helping her.
Before they left, Marie asked to see them one more time.
Standing at her bedside, she shly said, "Thank you for saving my life." Then, looking at Aramis, she whispered, "And thank you for the story. It was so beautiful, monsieur," and lifting herself up, she kissed him on the cheek.
Leaving, they hadn't gone very far when Porthos spoke up. "I don't believe it! Is there any situation he gets into where he doesn't have women falling for him-even Marie's age!" Laughing, they urged their horses faster down the road, home to Paris.
Just a little note for anyone who might not have any knowledge of classical music. The Four Seasons is the most famous piece of music by Antonio Vivaldiwritten about the four seasons of the year. I did take one liberty with history, as he was born in 1678, a little after our Musketeers time period. He was a priest and the greatest of the Baroque composers. He also taught music to a school of girls in the city in which he was born and lived, Venice, Italy.