It was early in the morning two days later. Aramis had been burning up with fever the entire time. His brothers alternated changing the cool cloths on his forehead and chest
Their hostess had cleaned the wound twice a day to keep it clear from the pus that kept forming in it. She also continued to monitor his heartrate and breathing. She was pleased to see that the other areas she had been concerned about, his lacerated wrists, were healing nicely now. 'If only we can get him over this current infection now,' she thought to herself, 'he stands a chance. Poor young man. Watch over him, Lord,' the prayer having kept up a litany in her mind since the infection had surfaced.
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Late that second night, the fever broke. His brothers' faces broke into wide grins when they were told that the infection was beginning to clear up.
Feeling better of the outcome finally, their hostess agreed to sit down with them and join them in a small cup of wine.
They were enjoying finally having something to celebrate, and were relaxed.
She said, "I just realized you don't even know my name. My husband's, yes. But somehow mine slipped through the cracks. Please call me Jehanne, monsieurs. I am named after my papa, Jehan."
She told them about growing up on her papa"s farm, of learning the healing arts from an elderly nurse who was crippled with arthritis and could no longer take care of anyone other than herself.
She told them about her arranged marriage to Henri, how she grew to love the man she knew nothing of until their wedding night. She went to share with them her pride in her two full-grown sons and their work, the young women they were affianced to, her happiness at the prospect of maybe becoming a grandmother someday.
They talked for some time, voices subdued so as not to disturb Aramis. At the end of the evening as she made her way over to the stairs, she told them, "He could awaken at any time. I don't need to tell you gentlemen to stay beside him through the night. Have a good night," beginning to climb the steps as she spoke.
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Very early in the morning, Porthos was sitting alert at his brother's bedside when he saw small muscle twitches in Aramis' upper body. Sitting up straighter, he eagerly waited for more signs that Aramis was finally waking up.
Sure enough, his eyelids began to twitch next. Softly, the big man called Athos and d'Artagnan over.
By this time, the marksman was struggling to open his eyes. When they finally did, his weary eyes saw his brothers once again looking down at him, all three of them smiling to see him awake once more.
"It is good to see you awake again, brother," Athos said.
Wrinkling his forehead, Aramis started to speak, but his throat was too dry to do so. D'Artagnan hurriedly poured a cup of water and slowly helped him to drink, as Porthos held his brother up far enough to be able to do so.
When he was finished, Aramis again tried to speak. "How l..long?" his voice scratchy yet with disuse, even after drinking the water.
Porthos glanced over at Athos, who nodded. None of them felt comfortable keeping things from each other.
"Two days, Aramis. But the infection is receding now. You are yet weak and probably in some pain, but as of now, we have been told you have a good chance to recover completely. Needless to say, we are all very glad," Athos said.
But Aramis wasn't finished with questions, and now asked, "The men…," Athos answered what he knew the question was going to be.
"They were here several days ago, Aramis. You probably do not remember. We could hear them searching the house, but we are in a second cellar underneath the main one. They found nothing and left. They have not been back thus far."
Aramis gave a slight nod of understanding.
Porthos asked him, "Do you think you could try a little broth? You have eaten next to nothing for a very long time now, and your body needs nourishment to continue to heal. You know that better than anyone. You tell us that when you're takig care of us."
Aramis didn't know if his stomach was going to rebel or not, but he gave a little nod, saying softly, "I will try, Porthos."
Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "You're going to be all right, Aramis. And you take it slow. I know you hate being on enforced bed rest, but we came too close this time to losing you."
"You want anything, just ask, Aramis," d'Artagnan chimed in. "We will be more than happy to be your maids for a while," sharing a grin with his brothers.
"Aramis, all we desire is for your return to full health again," Athos added. Seeing how exhausted Aramis already was, he added, "Just try to have some broth and some water, and then you can sleep for as long as you like, brother."
Jehanne came down the stairs a moment later, hoping to find her patient awake, and carrying a pot of freshly-made chicken broth. It was as though she and Aramis' brothers were thinking alike. The timing was striking.
Athos spoon-fed his brother, much to Aramis' embarrassment. He knew he couldn't handle the normal movements of eating yet, but it still didn't stop him from feeling that way. He didn't want to hurt his brothers' feelings, though, so he submitted quietly.
He wasn't able to eat very much yet, but even the little he did manage was more than he had consumed in a long time.
They got him to drink a little more water, but stopped trying any more when he began nodding his head in exhaustion.
Laying him gently back down and covering him with a couple of blankets against the coolness of the cellar, they just sat in silent joy at having his life spared. They could so easily have lost him, and they were incredibly grateful that he was alive.
.