[What he gets is perhaps not unexpected, given the conversations they've had from time to time about this, whenever Porthos has opened up about it--
It's just a swell of hope, of longing and uncertainty, but expectation, a hope that maybe, just maybe, the answers to your questions have been found, that you've found someone who will love you unconditionally, who will remember you, will remember her and be able to tell you about her.
Hope. Uncertain, tentative, but there -- flagged down by question after question, of a feeling of unease and that niggling feeling that something isn't quite right.
And then, just like that, the hope snuffs out. And there's only the sad realization, the resignation, the understanding that -- no, you're wrong. You were wrong. There is nothing here.
Instead of falling into despair, though, there's another feeling -- pride. Proud of a woman long gone but not forgotten, who was strong and wonderful, caring and kind, who he can never forget and never will forget. There is no shame when his feelings for her roll in wave after wave -- just pride, just love. Never fading.