[Act four: Enter Milady and Louis...]

Chapter 4

Bygone Times

Aramis and Porthos returned to the office late afternoon.

"What did he say?" asked Athos, materializing in the reception area even before Porthos had closed the door.

"He's such a brilliant medic, his knowledge of immunochemistry and genetics is unbelievable. Did you know he's been on the shortlist for the Nobel Prize in Medicine twice? His research in the field of-"

"Aramis, what did he say! I mean about your blood values!"

"Oh. That."

Porthos grinned. "You must excuse him, he's still soaring in higher regions. I didn't understand one single word of what the good doctor or the nurses were talking about, but what I got in between the technical jargon was that it seems the outlier results in Aramis' blood tests come from a substance the muscle relaxant contained and which Aramis is allergic to. It's somehow still in his system but wearing off. Slowly, if I got it right. His blood is or was producing antibodies, which in turn started destroying other blood cells, good blood cells, which leads to an imbalance of..." Porthos stopped. "What the heck, I don't know. I'm no medic. Anyway, we have to wait for the final results and Aramis has another appointment there next week but the end result is that Aramis is not dying. No poison is slowly killing him or destroying his internal organs or making him a bit batty. Rochefort was evidently not as evil as we feared. He simply used and overdosed a muscle relaxant Aramis' charming leucocytes didn't take kindly to."

The relief of what he had just disclosed was visible in every fibre of Porthos' body. From the straight posture to the beaming smile to the sparkle in his eyes; Porthos was happy that at least one of the most burdensome problems they were currently facing had been solved.

It was a weight off Athos' mind, too. He stepped up to the two men lingering in the reception area and briefly hugged Aramis. "Thank God, I was really worried," he mumbled into the marksman's neck.

"Me too," Aramis replied, patting Athos' back. He stepped back, letting go of Athos. "Now that this is solved, let's go kicking some asses, namely Autriche's and Grimaud's." Aramis' eyes twinkled with energy.

"Did he prescribe any medication? How long will it take until this has worn off completely?" Athos asked.

Aramis shrugged. "Dr. Bellamy says it will be out of my system entirely within the next four to six weeks, and he gave me some pills to support the process. There'll be no more fainting or being worn out, if that's what you mean."

Athos sighed. "I was merely concerned for your health, though if I don't have to pick you up off the floor any more, I'm fine with it." He couldn't suppress the smirk from spreading further on his face.

Aramis huffed, rolling his eyes and made his way to his office.

Athos turned to Porthos, lightly putting a hand on the bigger man's upper arm. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

Porthos nodded and accepted the apology, and just like that the quarrel between them was settled.

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Athos returned to his office to finish the report he had been working on before Aramis and Porthos had come back. Then he made two phone calls, postponing client meetings, and one call to Tréville, asking his former captain if the police had any new information about the whereabouts of his ex-wife. Tréville said no and Athos spent another quarter hour structuring a timetable of Milady's activities over the course of the last ten weeks. He didn't have much he could fill in into the respective columns. He was still waiting for John's list of current clients his ex-wife had worked with over the last half year. He didn't know if John just hadn't found the time yet to put it together or if his friend had second thoughts about giving away confidential information. He rolled back his chair and rose to collect his comrades-in-arms for a short briefing.

"I just sent my report to Tréville and I'll now help d'Artagnan with going through the patient lists he has been able to access," Porthos said after Athos had given a short update on the actual state of affairs of his information procurement regarding Milady.

Athos nodded.

"While Porthos is going through these lists, I'll look through the footage I have from Courville-sur-Eure. I started going back from the day they found Autriche, but it's a lot of stuff to look through. Friaize itself has one camera, working only sporadically, and that's a lot given there's only about 200 people living there, most of them elderly so you wouldn't expect much vandalism in the village. The CCTV there is connected with the system in Courville-sur-Eure, so it was easy to access, too. But Courville itself covers a wide area, including not only the city and some smaller hamlets around, but also farmland nearby." D'Artagnan looked up from his papers. "Who would want to cover miles and miles of farm roads through CCTV? Do you think there's a higher-than-average stealing rate for pumpkins and sugar beets in this area?"

"We wouldn't know, Gascon," Aramis replied dryly with a chuckle in his voice. "You're the expert in the field of farming. Is there a higher rate?"

D'Artagnan threw his pen at Aramis, the latter catching it mid-air.

"Anyway, I'm continuing with that," d'Artagnan added, glowering at Aramis.

"Did you find anything so far?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Not really. I've one sequence of a man in a car. It could be Rochefort, but it could as well be any other man. You can't read the plates, so there's no chance in tracking the car. The quality of the surveillance cameras in this area is really bad."

"And Grimaud?" Aramis asked.

"I have some footage with him, leaving the farmhouse, driving out of Courville-sur-Eure. But since both the men and woman the police arrested as well as Autriche named Grimaud as one of the persons involved, we already knew he was there, so the footage doesn't help with Rochefort. Tréville's already checked the plates; they were stolen."

"Could Rochefort have been in the car with Grimaud? On the back seat, hidden from view?"

"Maybe, but the quality of the footage is too bad to check this properly."

"All right." Athos turned to Aramis. "Do you have new information about Grimaud's background? His connections?"

"Not much, and nothing that ties him to Rochefort so far. I'll concentrate on the Spanish papers now, it seems he's spent a lot of his time in Spain, and not only in prisons there."

Everyone rose and gathered their papers.

"Anyone for dinner later?" Athos asked.

"Not me, I'm off in about an hour, I've a dinner engagement," Porthos replied.

D'Artagnan shook his head "I have a date with Constance."

Aramis shrugged one shoulder, looking at Athos apologetically. "You're welcome to join me and Anne for the evening, we can order Thai or Japanese."

"No, thanks. I think I'll take some of the paperwork home with me and make myself comfortable with something from the fridge."

"Shall we have lunch together tomorrow? At Pierre's?" d'Artagnan suggested.

Nodding and grunting their confirmation, all men filed out of the conference room.

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Athos unlocked his door and halted, his fingers lightly resting on the key, frozen in the movement. He always turned the key twice when he locked the door. Always. Now he had turned the key just once and then the mechanism had gripped, the bolt starting to slip back. He would only have to do a quarter-turn instead of a full and a quarter to open the door. He stood motionless for a moment, countless thoughts twirling in his mind. Then his nose picked up a scent, faint and fleeting, but it was there. He knew the scent.

He stepped into the dark apartment, pulling the door shut behind him. "Why are you here?" he asked, walking into his living room where he could make out the dark silhouette in his armchair against the dim light pouring in through the windows.

"What sort of greeting is that? I thought you'd be happy to see me." Her voice flowed through the room, beguiling and seductive.

"What do you want?" Athos flicked on the light switch and made his way over to the sideboard. There was no way he was going to have this conversation without alcohol. He poured himself half a glass of red wine, purposely not asking her if she wanted something to drink, too. He sipped the red liquid and finally turned to face her. She was as beautiful as ever, and the sight made something tug inside him, brief and scarcely perceptible.

"I simply want to say hello to my ex-husband. Is that so odd?"

"Visitors usually use the doorbell and wait until they're invited in."

"Oh, come on, you know me better than that."

They stared at each other, like beasts lying in wait for the right time to attack, and kill.

"I'm curious. Did you marry Lord Edmund de Winter again?"

"Please, Athos." She pouted, her eyes narrowing a fraction, not once leaving his face. "I never make a mistake twice in life. Of course not, I chose this name entirely out of sentiment."

"You married me again, so much for that."

"I spoke of mistakes, Athos."

The reply caused Athos to mull over it for a second or two. He eyed her intently. She hadn't changed much, she was still a beautiful, attractive woman. A dangerous woman. Her green eyes burned with a fever he still had problems withstanding. "What do you want, Anne?"

"Say hello," Anne replied lightly, shifting in her chair so she had a better look at Athos who leaned against the sideboard. "See how you're doing, report back, that sort of thing."

"Why are you here, why are you back in Paris under a false name? Why did you give up your job?" He pushed away from the sideboard and seated himself opposite her on the second armchair. He balanced the wine glass on the armrest, crossing his legs. "Don't play me for a fool. What do you want?"

She curled one strand of her hazelnut hair around her finger, well aware of the seductive effect that gesture usually held. "Revenge, chéri. What do you think?" she answered, her voice feather-light, dropping the words like fleeting pettiness cast to the wind.

Athos slouched in his seat, suddenly feeling completely exhausted. He was so done with all these machinations and had so many problems on his mind that he felt too worn out to start a game of cat-and-mouse with his ex-wife. "Are you working for the Cardinal again?"

"Richelieu?" There was the merest hint of surprise in her voice, gone before Athos could be sure if he had heard it. "He was always a pleasant employer. Who knows? He might have one or two things I'll have to see to for him. Why do you ask?"

Athos stared at her. "So he's really back?" Then, after a heartbeat, "You know he killed Adele. Aramis might still intend to avenge her death should Richelieu cross his path again, and I'm not speaking of wiping the smug smile he so loves to display from his face. And Aramis being distracted by that is the last thing we need at the moment," he murmured. Why, why, in the world had he told her this? The words had left his mouth on their own accord, gone before he was able to stop them. It was her presence that made it hard for him to think straight, and he was convinced she knew it.

"That's his own fault. He shouldn't have slept with Richelieu's mistress," she answered coldly, raising her hand to stop Athos from saying something. "I'm not here to discuss Aramis' love affairs and the resulting consequences. I did my bit to save his neck from the noose once or twice, remember?"

"What are you really here for? To kill me? D'Artagnan? Take revenge on us? What's your agenda?"

She shifted in her seat, sitting up, her facial expression changing. "You never change, Athos, do you?" A moment later she rose, and her skirt rustled quietly, much like it had done when she had worn more silk, more satin than now, back in the 17th century. "I'll see you, I guess," she breathed and disappeared through the living room door, the soft thud of the outer door indicating she had left the apartment.

Athos didn't have strength to rise and stop her. Or make sure she really had left. He dropped his head to the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. If she'd made approaches to him, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to withstand them, and that was a most disturbing thought. He was glad she had left, but he wondered if he would have to fear the shadows from now on, in case he was stabbed in the back, unprepared. And he wasn't one step nearer to find out if she had worked with Rochefort.

He sat motionless for an indefinite time, his thoughts roaming here and there, never settling anywhere long enough to come to a conclusion. Would she come back? When? Why was she in Paris? Who was in danger, beside the men she had bedded and the women close to those men? Ninon? Anne? Would his ex-wife really kill someone now, like she had done in the old days? Was she working for Grimaud?

An hour had ticked away within the blink of an eye until Athos finally heaved himself up from the chair and shuffled to the kitchen. His hunger was gone, but he was thirsty and before he had more red wine, he needed some water in his system to dilute the alcohol. He switched on the light and his gaze fell on the newspaper on the counter.

Merde!

He had forgotten to tell Aramis about Louis. He checked his watch to see whether he could call him now, but decided to leave it be for the evening. He would call both Aramis and Tréville first thing in the morning and inform them about the probable resurrection of King Louis XIII. And of Milady's entrance to the game.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Athos wasn't sure how or why, but he woke with a horrible headache and much too late. One glance at his mobile showed him that he needed to charge the battery, and the blank, black screen certainly explained why the alarm hadn't gone off and woken him. He stumbled from the bedroom to the bathroom to pee and splash cold water on his face. The tiny digital clock above the mirror told him it was half past eight. If he hurried with his shower and forwent breakfast, he could still be in the office around nine. He watched his reflection in the mirror for a moment, his eyes tracing the water dripping from his face. Then he grabbed the towel and dried his face on his way back to the bedroom. He plugged the mobile into the charger, grabbed two aspirin on his way back to the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. Gulping down the pills with a few mouthfuls from the tab he stepped into the shower.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Aramis," said the man who had in times past been known as Louis XIII of the House of Bourbon, King of France and Navarre, son of Henry IV.

Aramis swivelled around, suddenly finding himself face to face with a man who looked exactly like his former sovereign, only without a wig.

"I should have had you executed while I still had the power and right to do so," the man said lightly, as if it was the most common thing on earth. "Letting you live was a mistake, not a royal pardon."

"What? You still bear a grudge after all this time?" asked the man who had vowed vengeance on Richelieu should the man ever cross his path again.

"Would you not, if you'd been deeply humiliated?"

Aramis didn't bother to reply, he simply kept staring.

"Are you together with her? Did you finally achieve what you weren't able to have back then?" Louis' tone had picked up a whiff of scorn. "I guess you stole her from somebody else this time, too."

Before Aramis could counter with a witty reply, Anne stepped out of the shop behind Aramis, freezing on the threshold and blocking the sliding doors. She had Henri sitting on her left hip and a shopping bag in her right hand.

"Anne, how lovely to see you again."

"Louis," Anne gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Louis rounded Aramis and stepped closer to Anne as the former queen finally moved away from the sliding doors to stand beside Aramis.

"Ah, what a lovely child," Louis said, though his tone suggested he was far from delighted to see the infant. "Is it Aramis' offspring or is he the cuckholded father this time?" Louis asked acridly, taking a closer look at young Henri. When no one replied, he turned his eyes away from the child and stared at Aramis.

"What do you want?" Anne asked quietly. "Why are you here?"

"If my memory doesn't fail me, I don't have to answer to anyone about what I do or where I go. Including you."

"Then leave us alone," Aramis snapped, grabbing Anne's arm. "Neither of us has any obligation towards you any more, so we don't have to stand here and listen to your ramblings. Good day." Aramis walked away without once looking back, pulling Anne with him. He felt his heart beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. The encounter had rattled him, though he knew there was absolutely no reason for it. Louis, even if he remembered his old life, had not the slightest right to lay claim to anyone or anything. No claim to Anne or Henri, no claim to the loyalty the Musketeers had once sworn their sovereign. And yet, the appearance of Louis was one resurfacing too much for Aramis' liking. Having to deal with Anne's estranged husband back in their lives was problematical and threatening enough, he didn't need another ex-husband of hers putting obstacles in their way.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Athos' phone buzzed the moment he walked into his bedroom, still dripping from the shower. He let go of the towel around his waist to unplug the phone and take the call. "Hello?"

"Louis is here. In Paris. He's back. I mean, Louis apparently remembers; Anne and I just met him outside the deli in rue de Vaugirard."

"Shit!" Athos almost dropped the phone. "Look, I'm sorry, I wanted to-"

"It's not your fault. I don't know what he's doing here, but I really, really, really don't feel like dealing with him right now!"

Athos could hear the anxiety in Aramis' voice. Louis showing up right now was the least any of them needed, but for Aramis it was just adding the final touch to this whole Autriche affair. And Athos had messed up giving at least a warning to Aramis. "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way to the office."

"Okay, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. We should inform Tréville."

"I'll call him."

Athos rang off, throwing the mobile on the bed. He felt like kicking himself. It had been his job to inform both Aramis and Tréville about Louis and he had failed spectacularly. "Well done, Athos," he muttered, fishing clean pants from the drawer.

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"I didn't know Louis was in Paris now nor did I know that he's regained his memory," Tréville said. "However, I've inquired and found out that his sister moved. She's living somewhere in the Quartier des Invalides now, and Louis is staying at her place, that's why the 7ème arrondissement's police department is responsible for him. They knew of his visit and are entrusted with his safety." Tréville coughed to cover the gratitude he felt for not being the responsible police department any more and having to deal with Louis and his antics. "I spoke to the officer in charge this morning after Aramis called me."

"Look, I'm really sorry it slipped my mind to tell you about the article. I wanted to tell you straight away, but then Aramis, erm, felt unwell and-."

"Athos, it's okay," Aramis interrupted. "It wouldn't have made any difference if I had known. Fact is he's here and he remembers and he's still pissed off enough with me that he would still rather see me dead than walking side by side with Anne. That's what really worries me, his remarks about Anne and Henri. How can he still be jealous after all this time?" Aramis threw his hands into the air to stress his point. "He's married, and a German princeling, what does he want with Anne?"

"Probably nothing," Porthos interjected. "But he's still Louis and has to show off. At least I think he doesn't pose a threat. How long will he stay?" Porthos turned to Tréville.

"As of today, ten days, two weeks at the most. He wants to be back in Germany for Christmas, though he might change his mind anytime. You all know him."

"So, let's hope we don't see any more of him in the next two weeks. If he contacts us, or Anne, we'll deal with it then." Athos looked around to see if the others agreed. He took a deep breath before he carried on. "Milady de Winter paid me a visit yesterday evening."

"Well, since you're still alive and breathing, it went well, I presume?" d'Artagnan said teasingly.

"I have no idea what she wants here, but she spoke of revenge, and she spoke of Richelieu. From what she said I suppose Richelieu has regained his memories and she is either working for him again or is at least in contact with him."

"Did she work for Rochefort or for Grimaud? Is she in contact with Grimaud?" asked Tréville.

"I-, erm, I don't know. I didn't ask her."

Stunned silence met Athos' statement.

"You didn't ask her?" Porthos furrowed his brow, staring at his friend. "What did you two talk about then? Did you reminisce about your marriage?"

"She doesn't exactly tell you everything that's on her mind," Athos bit back. "We talked about the Cardinal and why she's back in Paris and, well, I asked her but she didn't give me an answer, okay?"

"And you let her go without answers? Did she assault you or something?" Porthos was not yet done with Athos.

Athos glowered at his friend.

Tréville interrupted. "Will she contact you again? Do you have any idea where we can find her? Did she give you contact details?"

"No, but I'm sure it won't be the last time I see her. I'm just not quite sure if next time I can expect a knife in my back or a ring at the door."

"All right." Tréville pinched the bridge of his nose. "At least I have good news. I've been assigned to the Autriche case this morning and have already got three men working on it. I'll get copies of every report by the afternoon and have full access to the files. So far, they don't have anything about Grimaud, other than the name and diverging personal descriptions, and nothing on Rochefort. But we're working on it. I have copies of all written statements from Autriche plus his lawyer's contact details. I'm planning to look at the farmhouse in Friaize tomorrow and pay a visit to the gendarmerie in Courville-sur-Eure. I'll report tomorrow evening to you."

The determination with which Tréville spoke was infectious. They had the feeling now that Tréville and his team were fully involved in the police investigation, it would only be a matter of time before they had every proof they needed.

"Let's go back to work then," Porthos exclaimed, rubbing his hands impatiently.

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"Athos, do you have a moment?" D'Artagnan stood in the door, waiting for a reaction.

Athos looked up. "Sure, come in. What is it?" For some time now he had noticed a shift in the young man's behaviour, something seemed to weigh him down. Minor, but it was there if one looked closely. With everything that was going on now, Athos had pushed the plan to speak to d'Artagnan aside until later, though he knew their current problems most likely had nothing to do with the haunted look of worry on the boy's face.

D'Artagnan closed the door and took a seat in front of Athos' desk. "I'm scared for Constance. As long as she doesn't know about our old lives, she has no idea about the real danger Grimaud and others pose. What if Grimaud approaches her on the street? Or Milady? She would have no idea of the possible danger she is in. "

"You're certainly right, but I don't know how we can change this, apart from asking her to be extra cautious."

D'Artagnan ducked his head. "It's not only that. I need to know what happened to her back then. How she died, how she got on after-, you know. After I didn't return to her. It kills me not knowing what became of her..."

Athos was taken by surprise. "Haven't you spoken to Tréville?" They had discussed this topic shortly after Constance had joined the firm, that Tréville might be the one to shed light onto the events and the life back in Paris after 1643. Athos had presumed d'Artagnan had followed his advice and asked their former captain about it. Tréville had never mentioned anything about that to Athos, but then there wouldn't have been a reason to. After all, it still was not easy for all of them to be reminded of the life they had had – and had lost – back in the 17th century. He wasn't even sure if Aramis and Anne had ever talked about the Dauphin, or rather Louis XIV, and their son's further life after Aramis had fallen in the war. The Dauphin had been crowned only five days before Aramis was killed on the battlefield of Rocroi. For five precious days, Louis XIV had been their sovereign and Aramis had served and died for his son, his King. Even now, almost 400 years later, this had to be a sad and bitter memory for the former regiment's marksman, and Athos could understand the feeling if his friend preferred not to talk about those things. The same apparently applied to d'Artagnan. Old wounds were better left untouched; talking about the past time could rip open barely healed wounds, and maybe d'Artagnan had recoiled from the idea of speaking to the former Minister of War about things the Gascon didn't want to learn.

The young man shook his head, looking miserable. "No."

Athos waited for more, but d'Artagnan made no move to continue. "Why not?" Athos asked gently, and he could already read the answer in the younger man's expression when he looked up.

"I didn't dare. I didn't want to hear about how Constance suffered and mourned. I..." d'Artagnan trailed off. His former mentor understood what he meant, there was no need to say more.

Athos nodded and they sat in silence for a moment. "Do you want me to speak to Tréville?" He could listen to Tréville's report and pass on an edited version to d'Artagnan, should there be things the young man better not heard about. "Knowing about her past life might gain us useful information. Maybe we would even be able to stir her memory."

D'Artagnan shook his head vehemently. "No!"

Athos was a taken aback by d'Artagnan's reaction. He'd thought this would have been the reason why he'd come to Athos. "Sorry, I thought you still wanted to know."

"Yes! No, I mean I still want to know, but asking you to speak to Tréville would seem rather... cowardly. Though I have to admit I dreaded speaking to him, or rather listening to what he has to say, that's why I haven't done so yet." The Gascon's eyes settled hopefully on his opposite. "Would you? I mean, accompany me?"

"Of course." Athos looked fondly at d'Artagnan, glad the young man had turned to him rather than one of the others. D'Artagnan looked so relieved and thankful Athos hoped the conversation with Tréville would not wipe that look completely off the young man's face.

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"I'll have a coffee, that's all." Tréville had agreed to meet with Athos and d'Artagnan between a staff meeting and the press conference he was due to lead in about half an hour. They had settled on meeting at a small bistrôt a stone's throw away from the police department. Tréville looked harried and less enthusiastic than he had this morning when he had spread the news that he was finally, officially working on the Autriche case. "Right, you wanted to know about the past." Tréville addressed Athos who in turn looked at d'Artagnan.

"Yes, um, I wanted to ask you about Constance. I, erm, what became of her? Do you know how she died? When she died? Did she stay in Paris after the war?" D'Artagnan shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "Maybe we could somehow stir her memory, so she would be aware if she encounters someone from the past. And once she does," d'Artagnan added quietly, "I'd be prepared for the things she remembers."

Tréville sighed, and in that moment Athos realised with a pang of regret that none of them had ever asked Tréville how his life had gone on after the war. The older man had made a few sparse and general remarks about that time after they had reconnected, but had never told them anything specific; especially not how and when the Minister of War had died. And none of them had ever asked.

"When I returned to Paris she had already received the news. She was devastated, but I guess she had always known that marrying a Musketeer might bring grief and pain." The coffee arrived, and Tréville sipped from the hot brew before he continued. "Constance had always been a strong woman and she carried on with determination and strength. As far as I could judge, she absorbed the loss better than others I knew of." He took another sip. "But I didn't often see her then. With the ongoing post-war negotiations and the official crowning of Louis XIV, I had my hands full. As for her further life, I can't provide information. I died a few months after the war ended. There was a murder attempt on the young King and we managed to thwart the plan, but I saw quite a number of Musketeers die that day. I sustained fatal wounds, but lived long enough to assure myself the King was safe and the assailants captured or killed. I died with that knowledge, which was comforting enough for me that I could meet my maker with a clear conscience." Tréville gazed from d'Artagnan to Athos. "I'm sorry, I can't help you with your question regarding Constance's further life and the day and manner of death. I didn't live long enough." Tréville's eyes grew distant and a lugubrious expression covered his face. "Neither did I see the child grow up nor the young King rule France."

Before d'Artagnan could react, Athos spoke. "I'm sorry, we neglected to ever ask what became of you after your return to Paris. I'm sorry to hear you died only so shortly after surviving the war." He put his hand on Tréville's arm, smiling lightly. "But once more you ensured the survival of France. A truly heroic way to die."

Tréville smiled back. "That I did, and it was my duty and honour." Addressing d'Artagnan, he continued, "You might want to speak to the Que-, to Anne. Constance moved back to the palace some time after, well, after the remaining Musketeers returned from the front. As you know, Constance and Anne had always been close, and I was under the impression they became even closer in their widowhood, Constance was one of the Queen's closest and most trusted advisers through her regency, at least the short time I was allowed to witness it. Anne might know what happened to Constance, maybe they stayed together until the Queen retired to the convent, and died."

None of them had thought about that possibility. "Of course, you're right," Athos answered.

D'Artagnan nodded. He had hoped to hear a little more beside the fact that he had caused Constance grief and pain, but he was also sad to hear their captain had only outlived them by a few months.

They shared a few more words until it was time for Tréville to head back to the office and embark on the press conference for a double murder.