would no more cast reproaches upon that noble gentleman than I would
upon my grandmother; but he--was--a--trifle--serous, wasn't he? He was
brave, prompt, resourceful, splendid, and, at need, gingerish as the
best colt in the paddock. It is the deuce's own pity for a man to be
born to too much seriousness. Do you know--and as I love my country, I
mean it in honest respect--that I sometimes think that the gentleness
and melancholy of Athos somehow suggests a bit of distrust. One is
almost terrified at times lest he may begin the Hamlet controversies.
You feel that if he committed a murder by mistake you are not absolutely
sure he wouldn't take a turn with Remorse. Not so Bussy; he would throw
the mistake in with good will and not create worry about it. Hang it
all, if the necessary business of murder is to halt upon the shuffling
accident of mistake, we may as well sell out the hero business and rent
the shop. It would be down to the level of Hamlet in no time. Unless, of
course, the hero took the view of it that Nero adopted. It is improbable
that Nero inherited the gift of natural remorse; but he cultivated one
and seemed to do well with it. He used to reflect upon his mother and
his wife, both of whom he had affectionately murdered, and justified
himself by declaring that a great artist, who was also the Roman
Emperor, would be lacking in breadth of emotional experience and
retrospective wisdom, unless he knew the melancholy of a two-pronged
family remorse. And from Nero's standpoint it was one of the best
thoughts that he ever formulated into language.

To return to Bussy and D'Artagnan. In courage they were Hector and
Achilles. You remember the champagne picnic before the bastion St.
Gervais at the siege of St. Rochelle? What light-hearted gayety amid the
flying missiles of the arquebusiers! Yet, do not forget that--ignoring
the lacquey--there were four of them, and that his Eminence, the
Cardinal Duke, had said the four of them were equal to a thousand men!