Porthos already noticed a difference in Aramis in the short time it took to carry him inside the house. Gone was the haunted look in his eyes, something they had all remarked on since they had rescued him.
Porthos figured it had to do with the jab his brother had taken at his captor. It had to have felt very good both to assist in his own rescue, and to give a little back to the man who had brutalized him so badly.
Porthos heart had nearly stopped when he had seen the man holding a wicked-looking dagger at his brother's throat. He had never felt so helpless in his life to have had to remain motionless while the man roughly maneuvered Aramis out the door. He thought then that he might very well never see his best friend alive again.
If it was the last thing he ever did, he swore to himself that the man who had very nearly killed Aramis twice now would not be long for this world.
Looking down at the dear friend he held in his arms, he saw that the events he had just been through had exhausted his brother. Sleepy eyes were beginning to close. But Aramis this time was falling asleep with the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.
Crossing the room to the cellar door, he saw Jehanne emerging from below, a Jehanne he had never seen before.
Gone was the beautiful smile which usually lit up her face. Her whole body was listless, like it no longer had meaning. Sadness enveloped her. Her love had been taken from her, and it was tearing at her heart.
Even so, when she saw Porthos carrying a totally limp Aramis in her arms, she cried out. "Oh, please God, no! They didn't take his life, too?"
Porthos hastened to reassure her. "No, no. He's just asleep. Wore himself out, this one."
She shook herself, as if reminding herself of her responsibilities. " Bring him downstairs. He will need something nourishing when he awakens," and hurried down the hallway, headed for the kitchen.
Porthos marvelled at her ability to regain her composure so quickly. 'That is one strong lady. With a heart of gold.'
He laid Aramis down, and fussed over him like a giant mother hen, plumping his pillow and pulling the blanket up under his chin against the coolness of the underground room. Then, he sat down and took up his brother's hand.
'Rest easy now, mon ami. That man may have escaped this time, but I swear he will be a dead man if he comes near you again.'
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Athos, d'Artagnan and Treville's band started a search of the area. They started from the last place they had seen him, the top of the hill where he had been stabbed. They worked their way down the incline, looking for any signs of his progress. They had no clear idea of how badly Denis had been stabbed, but they figured he couldn't have got very far being injured.
They had almost run out of places to look, when d'Artagnan laid his hand on Athos' forearm, saying, "Look!"
There, a short distance away, lying under a bush was Denis. From the stillness of his body, both Musketeers were fearful that they had found him too late-that he was dead.
When they reached the body and knelt down on each side of him, however, they could see the rise and fall of his chest. He was alive!
They uncurled his body and stretched it out to get a look at how badly the stab wound was. His body was a mass of black and blue. He obviously had been beaten to find out where Aramis was. But how had these men known to question him in the first place?
The stab wound was low on his right side, still bleeding sluggishly. D'Artagnan tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt, and they placed a square of it over the wound, wrapping another piece around his torso to hold it in place.
Athos then took Denis' upper body while d'Artagnan took his legs. Carrying him between the two of them, they headed back to the house.
Treville's saw them and rode up asking, "Denis?"
When they both nodded, he continued, "Don't let me interrupt you. Take him on inside."
Turning to Athos, he said, "I need a full report from you once he has been taken care of."
Nodding, Athos and d'Artagnan continued on their way, carrying the man who may still not make it after being the one to send the messenger to Treville. Would he lose his life after helping to save theirs?
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Jehanne, emerging from the kitchen, glanced out the front window. The sight that met her eyes drew a gasp from her, as she dropped the bowl of soup on the floor in her haste to run outside.
Flying across the grass, she was quite out of breath when she reached Athos and d'Artagnan.
Reaching them she halted, fearful to ask the question now. "Is he…," and she couldn't finish, tears falling down her face.
"Madame, your husband lives," Athos answered
her.
All the breath went out of her in a rush at his words. Dropping to her knees, she took his head tenderly in her hands and bending over him, rained feathery kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, all the whole whispering his name as her tears fell. Joyful tears this time. She was so overcome with happiness, and smiled through the tears at the two Musketeers.
"He lives! He lives!" she said over and over. " My love is given back to me. Thanks be to God!"
After a few moments, she tried to compose herself as she said, "Please. Bring him inside. I need to take care of my Denis."
She walked alongside them as they carried him in, his limp hand clasped tightly in hers, as if fearful that if she didn't keep physical contact with him, she might somehow lose him again. Her eyes never left his face, the light of love shining anew in them.