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The Wife of Athos

           Andyetthisnaturesodistinguished,thiscreaturesobeautiful,thisessencesofine,wasseentoturninsensiblytowardmateriallife,asoldmenturntowardphysicalandmoralimbecility.Athos,inhishoursofgloomandthesehourswerefrequentwasextinguishedastothewholeoftheluminousportionofhim,andhisbrilliantsidedisappearedasintoprofounddarkness.

           Thenthedemigodvanished;heremainedscarcelyaman.Hisheadhangingdown,hiseyedull,hisspeechslowandpainful,Athoswouldlookforhourstogetherathisbottle,hisglass,oratGrimaud,who,accustomedtoobeyhimbysigns,readinthefaintglanceofhismasterhisleastdesire,andsatisfieditimmediately.Ifthefourfriendswereassembledatoneofthesemoments,aword,thrownforthoccasionallywithaviolenteffort,wastheshareAthosfurnishedtotheconversation.InexchangeforhissilenceAthosdrankenoughforfour,andwithoutappearingtobeotherwiseaffectedbywinethanbyamoremarkedconstrictionofthebrowandbyadeepersadness.

           D’Artagnan,whoseinquiringdispositionweareacquaintedwith,hadnotwhateverinteresthehadinsatisfyinghiscuriosityonthissubjectbeenabletoassignanycauseforthesefitsoffortheperiodsoftheirrecurrence.Athosneverreceivedanyletters;Athosneverhadconcernswhichallhisfriendsdidnotknow.

           Itcouldnotbesaidthatitwaswinewhichproducedthissadness;forintruthheonlydranktocombatthissadness,whichwinehowever,aswehavesaid,renderedstilldarker.

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