Success! Athos was a free man. Porthos convinced the powers that be to delay two hours until Aramis could arrive with the promised pardon. At the palace, Captain Treville happened to be present on the King's business, so Aramis filled him in on the events leading to Gaudet's death, including how the young Gascon boy had perished in the altercation. The pardon of Athos was quickly secured.

As the newly released prisoner passed Aramis and Porthos, he smiled wistfully. "I thought I had finally shaken you two off."

"Believe me, there are easier ways," Porthos replied cheerfully.

Aramis interjected: "Athos, you should know something. That boy who ran into the Garrison the other day, accusing you of murdering his father. He was instrumental in helping us prove your innocence."

"Then it appears I owe him my thanks. And perhaps a drink."

Athos' brother's faces were stern enough to know there was something they weren't saying.

"Gaudet- that's the name of the man who was masquerading as you- he- he killed the boy," Porthos offered.

"Porthos avenged him by killing Gaudet," Aramis quickly added.

Athos hesitated before adding, "It is a fine thing that you killed him, then; as that man murdered two generations of- what was his name?"

"D'artagnan. Charles D'artagnan."

"Two generations of D'artagnans. Unless the boy had siblings."

"During our travels, we learned that his mother is long gone, and he was an only child."

Aramis realized that Athos was still reeling from his own little adventure, which just had him staring at his own mortality.

"Let's get you out of here."

When they told Athos about D'Artagnan's demise, and that they felt it was the least they could do for the boy to recover his body and provide a decent burial, it surprised neither Porthos nor Aramis at all that Athos was determined to accompany them.

Upon arriving at the scene of the battle, they quickly found D'Artagnan's prone form, as they had left him, more or less.

The boy was ashen, not as cold as Aramis had expected, but he did not feel a pulse.

"The devil," Athos muttered. He looked over at Gaudet's corpse, cursing it.

Hoping against hope, Aramis had foregone the checking of D'Artagnan's pulse, realizing that if the boy still lived, it would be weak indeed. So he simply placed his index finger underneath the boy's nose. Just a formality, of course; but he felt he owed the boy that much, to be certain.

Wait a minute. Was that just the breeze, or-

"I- I think he lives."

"What?" Porthos yelled.

"I- yes, he's still alive, by God's good grace. Quickly- I truly don't know if he has five more minutes left, or five seconds." Aramis scanned the horizon. "We must find the closest home. The Garrison is too far away."

Luckily, Aramis never comes unprepared. Even though they were clearly expecting this to be a recovery of a body, Aramis bought enough rudimentary medical supplies that might help save the boy.

But not here.

"There are some homes just along this way," Athos offered.

"Let us hurry then!" Porthos yelled.

Earlier that day, back at the Garrison, around the same time that Athos was being rescued by Aramis and Porthos, Treville was returning from the Palace.

Constance Bonacieux, still reeling from the day's events, was in a fog. Having returned home from the scene of the battle, where she (at D'Artagnan's urging) dressed as a prostitute (so soon after that same damned boy had intimated that she dressed like one!), then killed a man to save that same boy's life, found herself home alone. She suddenly remembered her husband Jacques had left that morning on a short business trip.

It made her decision to rush back to the Garrison easier. Nothing to have to explain to her enquiring husband.

She just had to know: had everything turned out alright?

(Translation: was he alright?)

What was wrong with her? How, or why, did she let this brash, young, infuriating young man get her to do as he bid, making her feel both angry, put out, and at the same time, thrilled? Why had virtually every waking moment since she met him been filled with thoughts and visions of him- his piercing eyes, his scent, his audacity?

He really was handsome. God, she wished she has someone with whom she could talk to about him; certainly her current bevy of friends and family wouldn't understand.

Perhaps only Celeste, her childhood best friend and confidante. Unfortunately, she had moved away with her own husband several years ago.

Ever since that stranger kissed her in the street, and then fell unconscious, at which point she had her neighbor help carry him upstairs to her and her husband's home, strip him of his shirt to check for injury and place him in her extra bedroom, he was on her mind.

When she saw Treville, she knew enough to know that he was the Captain in charge. Certainly he would know what had transpired?

"Captain?"

"Madame?"

"I was there earlier when the Musketeers and the young man D'artagnan were going after the men who were framing Athos. I was urged to leave but- I was wondering if you knew of their fate. Did they get them? Are they all safe?"

Treville was taken aback slightly, not knowing of this young woman's involvement.

"The two Musketeers are fine, madame; they are seeing to Athos' release as we speak. So all is well."

Constance sighed in relief.

Treville then recalled what Aramis shared at the Palace regarding the young man's fate.

"I'm afraid, however, that the young man you must be referring to, madame, did not make it."

Wait. What?

"Didn't make it- where?" she asked, now confused and nervous.

"Apologies, madame- the Musketeer Aramis informed me that the young boy was killed in the altercation."

Constance felt as though she had been punched. She couldn't breathe.