Александр Дюма
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
Chapter LXXII. The Grandeur of the Bishop of Vannes
Porthos and D'Artagnan had entered the bishop's residence by a private door, as his personal friends. Of course, Porthos served D'Artagnan as guide. The worthy baron comported himself everywhere rather as if he were at home. Nevertheless, whether it was a tacit acknowledgement of the sanctity of the personage of Aramis and his character, or the habit of respecting him who imposed upon him morally, a worthy habit which had always made Porthos a model soldier and an excellent companion; for all these reasons, say we, Porthos preserved in the palace of His Greatness the Bishop of Vannes a sort of reserve which D'Artagnan remarked at once, in the attitude he took with respect to the valets and officers. And yet this reserve did not go so far as to prevent his asking questions. Porthos questioned. They learned that His Greatness had just returned to his apartment and was preparing to appear in familiar intimacy, less majestic than he had appeared with his flock. After a quarter of an hour, which D'Artagnan and Porthos passed in looking mutually at each other with the white of their eyes, and turning their thumbs in all the different evolutions which go from north to south, a door of the chamber opened and His Greatness appeared, dressed in the undress, complete, of a prelate. Aramis carried his head high, like a man accustomed to command: his violet robe was tucked up on one side, and his white hand was on his hip. He had retained the fine mustache, and the lengthened royale of the time of Louis XIII. He exhaled, on entering, that delicate perfume which, among elegant men and women of high fashion, never changes, and appears to be incorporated in the person, of whom it has become the natural emanation. In this case only, the perfume had retained something of the religious sublimity of incense. It no longer intoxicated, it penetrated; it no longer inspired desire, it inspired respect. Aramis, on entering the chamber, did not hesitate an instant; and without pronouncing one word, which, whatever it might be, would have been cold on such an occasion, he went straight up to the musketeer, so well disguised under the costume of M. Agnan, and pressed him in his arms with a tenderness which the most distrustful could not have suspected of coldness or affectation.
D'Artagnan, on his part, embraced him with equal ardor. Porthos pressed the delicate hand of Aramis in his immense hands, and D'Artagnan remarked that His Greatness gave him his left hand, probably from habit, seeing that Porthos already ten times had been near injuring his fingers covered with rings, by pounding his flesh in the vise of his fist. Warned by the pain, Aramis was cautious, and only presented flesh to be bruised, and not fingers to be crushed, against the gold or the angles of diamonds.
Between two embraces, Aramis looked D'Artagnan in the face, offered him a chair, sitting down himself in the shade, observing that the light fell full upon the face of his interlocutor. This maneuver, familiar to diplomatists and women, resembles much the advantage of the guard which, according to their skill or habit, combatants endeavor to take on the ground at a duel. D'Artagnan was not the dupe of this maneuver; but he did not appear to perceive it. He felt himself caught; but, precisely because he was caught he felt himself on the road to discovery, and it little imported to him, old condottiere as he was, to be beaten in appearance, provided he drew from his pretended defeat the advantages of victory. Aramis began the conversation.
"Ah! dear friend! my good D'Artagnan," said he, "what an excellent chance!"
"It is a chance, my reverend companion," said D'Artagnan, "that I will call friendship. I seek you, as I always have sought you, when I had any grand enterprise to propose to you, or some hours of liberty to give you."
"Ah! indeed," said Aramis, without explosion, "you have been seeking me?"
"Eh! yes, he has been seeking you, Aramis," said Porthos, "and the proof is that he has unharbored me at Belle-Isle. That is amiable, is it not?"
"Ah! yes," said Aramis, "at Belle-Isle! certainly!"
"Good!" said D'Artagnan; "there is my booby Porthos, without thinking of it, has fired the first cannon of attack."
"At Belle-Isle!" said Aramis, "in that hole, in that desert! That is kind, indeed!"
"And it was I who told him you were at Vannes," continued Porthos, in the same tone.
D'Artagnan armed his mouth with a finesse almost ironical.
"Yes, I knew, but I was willing to see," replied he.
"To see what?"
"If our old friendship still held out; if, on seeing each other, our hearts, hardened as they are by age, would still let the old cry of joy escape, which salutes the coming of a friend."
"Well, and you must have been satisfied," said Aramis.
"So, so."
"How is that?"
"Yes, Porthos said hush! and you-"
"Well! and I?"
"And you gave me your benediction."
"What would you have, my friend?" said Aramis, smiling; "that is the most precious thing that a poor prelate, like me, has to give."
"Indeed, my dear friend!"
"Doubtless."
"And yet they say at Paris that the bishopric of Vannes is one of the best in France."
"Ah! you are now speaking of temporal wealth," said Aramis, with a careless air.
"To be sure, I wish to speak of that; I hold by it, on my part."
"In that case, let me speak of it," said Aramis, with a smile.
"You own yourself to be one of the richest prelates in France?"
"My friend, since you ask me to give you an account, I will tell you that the bishopric of Vannes is worth about twenty thousand livres a year, neither more nor less. It is a diocese which contains a hundred and sixty parishes."
"That is very pretty," said D'Artagnan.
"It is superb!" said Porthos.
"And yet," resumed D'Artagnan, throwing his eyes over Aramis, "you don't mean to bury yourself here forever?"
"Pardon me. Only I do not admit the word bury."
"But it seems to me, that at this distance from Paris a man is buried, or nearly so."
"My friend, I am getting old," said Aramis; "the noise and bustle of a city no longer suit me. At fifty-seven we ought to seek calm and meditation. I have found them here. What is there more beautiful, and stern at the same time, than this old Armorica. I find here, dear D'Artagnan, all that is opposite to what I formerly loved, and that is what must happen at the end of life, which is opposite to the beginning. A little of my old pleasure of former times still comes to salute me here, now and then, without diverting me from the road of salvation. I am still of this world, and yet every step that I take brings me nearer to God."
"Eloquent, wise and discreet; you are an accomplished prelate, Aramis, and I offer you my congratulations."
"But," said Aramis smiling, "you did not come here only for the purpose of paying me compliments. Speak; what brings you hither? May it be that, in some fashion or other, you want me?"
"Thank God, no, my friend," said D'Artagnan, "it is nothing of that kind. – I am rich and free."
"Rich!" exclaimed Aramis.
"Yes, rich for me; not for you or Porthos, understand. I have an income of about fifteen thousand livres."
Aramis looked at him suspiciously. He could not believe-particularly on seeing his friend in such humble guise-that he had made so fine a fortune. Then D'Artagnan, seeing that the hour of explanations was come, related the history of his English adventures. During the recital he saw, ten times, the eyes of the prelate sparkle, and his slender fingers work convulsively. As to Porthos, it was not admiration he manifested for D'Artagnan; it was enthusiasm, it was delirium. When D'Artagnan had finished, "Well!" said Aramis.
"Well!" said D'Artagnan, "you see, then, I have in England friends and property, in France a treasure. If your heart tells you so, I offer them to you. That is what I came here for."
However firm was his look, he could not this time support the look of Aramis. He allowed, therefore, his eye to stray upon Porthos-like the sword which yields to too powerful a pressure, and seeks another road.
"At all events," said the bishop, "you have assumed a singular traveling costume, old friend."
"Frightful! I know it is. You may understand why I would not travel as a cavalier or a noble; since I became rich, I am miserly."
"And you say, then, you came to Belle-Isle?" said Aramis, without transition.
"Yes," replied D'Artagnan; "I knew I should find you and Porthos there."
"Find me!" cried Aramis. "Me! for the last year past I have not once crossed the sea."
"Oh," said D'Artagnan, "I should never have supposed you such a housekeeper."
"Ah, dear friend, I must tell you that I am no longer the Aramis of former times. Riding on horseback is unpleasant to me; the sea fatigues me. I am a poor, ailing priest, always complaining, always grumbling, and inclined to the austerities which appear to accord with old age, – preliminary parleyings with death. I linger, my dear D'Artagnan, I linger."
"Well, that is all the better, my friend, for we shall probably be neighbors soon."
"Bah!" said Aramis with a degree of surprise he did not even seek to dissemble. "You my neighbor!"
"Mordioux! yes."
"How so?"
"I am about to purchase some very profitable salt-mines, which are situated between Piriac and Le Croisic. Imagine, my dear friend, a clear profit of twelve per cent. Never any deficiency, never any idle expenses; the ocean, faithful and regular, brings every twelve hours its contingency to my coffers. I am the first Parisian who has dreamt of such a speculation. Do not say anything about it, I beg of you, and in a short time we will communicate on the matter. I am to have three leagues of country for thirty thousand livres."
Aramis darted a look at Porthos, as if to ask if all this were true, if some snare were not concealed beneath this outward indifference. But soon, as if ashamed of having consulted this poor auxiliary, he collected all his forces for a fresh assault and new defense. "I heard that you had had some difference with the court, but that you had come out of it as you know how to get through everything, D'Artagnan, with the honors of war."
"I!" said the musketeer, with a burst of laughter that did not conceal his embarrassment: for, from those words, Aramis was not unlikely to be acquainted with his last relations with the king. "I! Oh, tell me all about that, pray, Aramis?"
"Yes, it was related to me, a poor bishop, lost in the middle of the Landes, that the king had taken you as the confidant of his amours."
"With whom?"
"With Mademoiselle de Mancini."
D'Artagnan breathed freely again. "Ah! I don't say no to that," replied he.
"It appears that the king took you one morning, over the bridge of Blois to talk with his lady-love."
"That's true," said D'Artagnan. "And you know that, do you? Well, then, you must know that the same day I gave in my resignation!"
"What, sincerely?"
"Nothing more so."
"It was after that, then, that you went to the Comte de la Fere's?"
"Yes."
"Afterwards to me?"
"Yes."
"And then Porthos?"
"Yes."
"Was it in order to pay us a simple visit?"
"No, I did no know you were engaged, and I wished to take you with me into England."
"Yes, I understand; and then you executed alone, wonderful man as you are, what you wanted to propose to us all four. I suspected you had something to do with that famous restoration, when I learned that you had been seen at King Charles's receptions, and that he appeared to treat you like a friend, or rather like a person to whom he was under an obligation."
"But how the devil did you learn all that?" asked D'Artagnan, who began to fear that the investigation of Aramis had extended further than he wished.
"Dear D'Artagnan," said the prelate, "my friendship resembles, in a degree, the solicitude of that night watch whom we have in the little tower of the mole, at the extremity of the quay. That brave man, every night, lights a lantern to direct the barks that come from sea. He is concealed in his sentry-box, and the fishermen do not see him; but he follows them with interest; he divines them; he calls them; he attracts them into the way to the port. I resemble this watcher; from time to time some news reaches me, and recalls to my remembrance all those I loved. Then I follow the friends of old days over the stormy ocean of the world, I, a poor watcher, to whom God has kindly given the shelter of a sentry-box."
"Well, what did I do when I came from England?"
"Ah! there," replied Aramis, "you get beyond my depth. I know nothing of you since your return. D'Artagnan, my eyes are dim. I regretted you did not think of me. I wept over your forgetfulness. I was wrong. I see you again, and it is a festival, a great festival, I assure you, solemnly! How is Athos?"
"Very well, thank you."
"And our young pupil, Raoul?"
"He seems to have inherited the skill of his father, Athos, and the strength of his tutor, Porthos."
"And on what occasion have you been able to judge of that?"
"Eh! mon Dieu! on the eve of my departure from Paris."
"Indeed! tell me all about it!"
"Yes; there was an execution at the Greve, and in consequence of that execution, a riot. We happened, by accident, to be in the riot; and in this riot we were obliged to have recourse to our swords. And he did wonders."
"Bah! what did he do?"
"Why, in the first place, he threw a man out of the window, as he would have flung a sack full of flock."
"Come, that's pretty well," said Porthos.
"Then he drew, and cut and thrust away, as we fellows used to do in the good old times."
"And what was the cause of this riot?" said Porthos.
D'Artagnan remarked upon the face of Aramis a complete indifference to this question of Porthos. "Why," said he, fixing his eyes upon Aramis, "on account of the two farmers of the revenue, friends of M. Fouquet, whom the king forced to disgorge their plunder, and then hanged them."
A scarcely perceptible contraction of the prelate's brow showed that he had heard D'Artagnan's reply. "Oh, oh!" said Porthos; "and what were the names of these friends of M. Fouquet?"
"MM. d'Eymeris and Lyodot," said D'Artagnan. "Do you know these names, Aramis?"
"No," said the prelate, disdainfully; "they sound like the names of financiers."
"Exactly; so they were."
"Oh! M. Fouquet allows his friends to be hanged, then," said Porthos.
"And why not?" said Aramis.
"Why, it seems to me-"
"If these culprits were hanged, it was by order of the king. Now M. Fouquet, although superintendent of the finances, has not, I believe, the right of life and death."
"That may be," said Porthos; "but in the place of M. Fouquet-"
Aramis was afraid Porthos was about to say something awkward, so interrupted him. "Come, D'Artagnan," said he; "this is quite enough about other people, let us talk a little about you."
"Of me you know all that I can tell you. On the contrary let me hear a little about you, Aramis."
"I have told you, my friend. There is nothing of Aramis left in me."
"Nor of the Abbe d'Herblay even?"
"No, not even of him. You see a man whom Providence has taken by the hand, whom he has conducted to a position that he could never have dared even to hope for."
"Providence?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Yes."
"Well, that is strange! I was told it was M. Fouquet."
"Who told you that?" cried Aramis, without being able, with all the power of his will, to prevent the color rising to his cheeks.
"Ma foi! why, Bazin!"
"The fool!"
"I do not say he is a man of genius, it is true; but he told me so; and after him, I repeat it to you."
"I have never even seen M. Fouquet," replied Aramis with a look as pure and calm as that of a virgin who has never told a lie.
"Well, but if you had seen him and known him, there is no harm in that," replied D'Artagnan. "M. Fouquet is a very good sort of a man."
"Humph!"
"A great politician." Aramis made a gesture of indifference.
"An all-powerful minister."
"I only hold to the king and the pope."
"Dame! listen then," said D'Artagnan, in the most natural tone imaginable. "I said that because everybody here swears by M. Fouquet. The plain is M. Fouquet's; the salt-mines I am about to buy are M. Fouquet's; the island in which Porthos studies topography is M. Fouquet's; the garrison is M. Fouquet's; the galleys are M. Fouquet's. I confess, then, that nothing would have surprised me in your enfeoffment, or rather in that of your diocese, to M. Fouquet. He is a different master from the king, that is all; but quite as powerful as Louis."
"Thank God! I am not vassal to anybody; I belong to nobody, and am entirely my own master," replied Aramis, who, during this conversation, followed with his eye every gesture of D'Artagnan, every glance of Porthos. But D'Artagnan was impassible and Porthos motionless; the thrusts aimed so skillfully were parried by an able adversary; not one hit the mark. Nevertheless, both began to feel the fatigue of such a contest, and the announcement of supper was well received by everybody. Supper changed the course of conversation. Besides, they felt that, upon their guard as each one had been, they could neither of them boast of having the advantage. Porthos had understood nothing of what had been meant. He had held himself motionless, because Aramis had made him a sign not to stir. Supper, for him, was nothing but supper; but that was quite enough for Porthos. The supper, then, went off very well. D'Artagnan was in high spirits. Aramis exceeded himself in kind affability. Porthos ate like old Pelops. Their talk was of war, finance, the arts, and love. Aramis played astonishment at every word of politics D'Artagnan risked. This long series of surprises increased the mistrust of D'Artagnan, as the eternal indifference of D'Artagnan provoked the suspicions of Aramis. At length D'Artagnan, designedly, uttered the name of Colbert: he had reserved that stroke for the last.
"Who is this Colbert?" asked the bishop.
"Oh! come," said D'Artagnan to himself, "that is too strong! We must be careful, mordioux! we must be careful."
And he then gave Aramis all the information respecting M. Colbert he could desire. The supper, or rather, the conversation, was prolonged till one o'clock in the morning between D'Artagnan and Aramis. At ten o'clock precisely, Porthos had fallen asleep in his chair and snored like an organ. At midnight he woke up and they sent him to bed. "Hum!" said he, "I was near falling asleep; but that was all very interesting you were talking about."
At one o'clock Aramis conducted D'Artagnan to the chamber destined for him, which was the best in the episcopal residence. Two servants were placed at his command. "To-morrow, at eight o'clock," said he, taking leave of D'Artagnan, "we will take, if agreeable to you, a ride on horseback with Porthos."
"At eight o'clock!" said D'Artagnan; "so late?"
"You know that I require seven hours' sleep," said Aramis.
"That is true."
"Good-night, dear friend!" And he embraced the musketeer cordially.
D'Artagnan allowed him to depart; then, as soon as the door closed, "Good!" cried he, "at five o'clock I will be on foot."
This determination being made, he went to bed and quietly, "put two and two together," as people say.
Chapter LXXIII. In which Porthos begins to be sorry for having come with D'Artagnan
Scarcely had D'Artagnan extinguished his taper, when Aramis, who had watched through his curtains the last glimmer of light in his friend's apartment, traversed the corridor on tiptoe, and went to Porthos's room. The giant who had been in bed nearly an hour and a half, lay grandly stretched out on the down bed. He was in that happy calm of the first sleep, which, with Porthos, resisted the noise of bells or the report of cannon: his head swam in that soft oscillation which reminds us of the soothing movement of a ship. In a moment Porthos would have begun to dream. The door of the chamber opened softly under the delicate pressure of the hand of Aramis. The bishop approached the sleeper. A thick carpet deadened his steps, besides which Porthos snored in a manner to drown all noise. He laid one hand on his shoulder-"Rouse," said he, "wake up, my dear Porthos." The voice of Aramis was soft and kind, but it conveyed more than a notice, – it conveyed an order. His hand was light, but it indicated danger. Porthos heard the voice and felt the hand of Aramis, even in the depth of sleep. He started up. "Who goes there?" cried he, in his giant's voice.
"Hush! hush! It is I," said Aramis.
"You, my friend? And what the devil do you wake me for?"
"To tell you that you must set off directly."
"Set off?"
"Yes."
"Where for?"
"For Paris."
Porthos bounded up in his bed, and then sank back down again, fixing his great eyes in agitation upon Aramis.
"For Paris?"
"Yes."
"A hundred leagues?" said he.
"A hundred and four," replied the bishop.
"Oh! mon Dieu!" sighed Porthos, lying down again, like children who contend with their bonne to gain an hour or two more sleep.
"Thirty hours' riding," said Aramis, firmly. "You know there are good relays."
Porthos pushed out one leg, allowing a groan to escape him.
"Come, come! my friend," insisted the prelate with a sort of impatience.
Porthos drew the other leg out of the bed. "And is it absolutely necessary that I should go, at once?"
"Urgently necessary."
Porthos got upon his feet, and began to shake both walls and floors with his steps of a marble statue.
"Hush! hush! for the love of Heaven, my dear Porthos!" said Aramis, "you will wake somebody."
"Ah! that's true," replied Porthos, in a voice of thunder, "I forgot that; but be satisfied, I am on guard." And so saying, he let fall a belt loaded with his sword and pistols, and a purse, from which the crowns escaped with a vibrating and prolonged noise. This noise made the blood of Aramis boil, whilst it drew from Porthos a formidable burst of laughter. "How droll that is!" said he, in the same voice.
"Not so loud, Porthos, not so loud."
"True, true!" and he lowered his voice a half-note.
"I was going to say," continued Porthos, "that it is droll that we are never so slow as when we are in a hurry, and never make so much noise as when we wish to be silent."
"Yes, that is true; but let us give the proverb the lie, Porthos; let us make haste, and hold our tongue."
"You see I am doing my best," said Porthos, putting on his haut de chausses.
"Very well."
"This is something in haste?"
"It is more than that, it is serious, Porthos."
"Oh, oh!"
"D'Artagnan has questioned you, has he not?"
"Questioned me?"
"Yes, at Belle-Isle?"
"Not the least in the world."
"Are you sure of that, Porthos?"
"Parbleu!"
"It is impossible. Recollect yourself." "He asked me what I was doing, and I told him-studying topography. I would have made use of another word which you employed one day."
"'Castrametation'?"
"Yes, that's it; but I never could recollect it."
"All the better. What more did he ask you?"
"Who M. Getard was."
"Next?"
"Who M. Jupenet was."
"He did not happen to see our plan of fortifications, did he?"
"Yes."
"The devil he did!"
"But don't be alarmed, I had rubbed out your writing with India-rubber. It was impossible for him to suppose you had given me any advice in those works."
"Ay; but our friend has phenomenally keen eyes."
"What are you afraid of?"
"I fear that everything is discovered, Porthos; the matter is, then, to prevent a great misfortune. I have given orders to my people to close all the gates and doors. D'Artagnan will not be able to get out before daybreak. Your horse is ready saddled; you will gain the first relay; by five o'clock in the morning you will have traversed fifteen leagues. Come!"
Aramis then assisted Porthos to dress, piece by piece, with as much celerity as the most skillful valet de chambre could have done. Porthos, half stupefied, let him do as he liked, and confounded himself in excuses. When he was ready, Aramis took him by the hand, and led him, making him place his foot with precaution on every step of the stairs, preventing him running against door-frames, turning him this way and that, as if Aramis had been the giant and Porthos the dwarf. Soul set fire to and animated matter. A horse was waiting, ready saddled, in the courtyard. Porthos mounted. Then Aramis himself took the horse by the bridle, and led him over some dung spread in the yard, with the evident intention of suppressing noise. He, at the same time, held tight the horse's nose, to prevent him neighing. When arrived at the outward gate, drawing Porthos towards him, who was going off without even asking him what for: "Now, friend Porthos, now; without drawing bridle, till you get to Paris," whispered he in his ears; "eat on horseback, drink on horseback, but lose not a minute."
"That's enough; I will not stop."
"This letter to M. Fouquet; cost what it may, he must have it to-morrow before mid-day."
"He shall."
"And do not forget one thing, my friend."
"What is that?"
"That you are riding out on a hunt for your brevet of duc and peer."
"Oh! oh!" said Porthos, with his eyes sparkling; "I will do it in twenty-four hours, in that case."
"Try."
"Then let go the bridle-and forward, Goliath!"
Aramis did let go, not the bridle, but the horse's nose. Porthos released his hand, clapped spurs to his horse, which set off at a gallop. As long as he could distinguish Porthos through the darkness, Aramis followed him with his eyes: when he was completely out of sight, he re-entered the yard. Nothing had stirred in D'Artagnan's apartment. The valet placed on watch at the door had neither seen any light, nor heard any noise. Aramis closed his door carefully, sent the lackey to bed, and quickly sought his own. D'Artagnan really suspected nothing, therefore thought he had gained everything, when he awoke in the morning, about half-past four. He ran to the window in his shirt. The window looked out upon the court. Day was dawning. The court was deserted; the fowls, even, had not left their roosts. Not a servant appeared. Every door was closed.
"Good! all is still," said D'Artagnan to himself. "Never mind: I am up first in the house. Let us dress; that will be so much done." And D'Artagnan dressed himself. But, this time, he endeavored not to give to the costume of M. Agnan that bourgeoise and almost ecclesiastical rigidity he had affected before; he managed, by drawing his belt tighter, by buttoning his clothes in a different fashion, and by putting on his hat a little on one side, to restore to his person a little of that military character, the absence of which had surprised Aramis. This being done, he made free, or affected to make free with his host, and entered his chamber without ceremony. Aramis was asleep or feigned to be so. A large book lay open upon his night-desk, a wax-light was still burning in its silver sconce. This was more than enough to prove to D'Artagnan the quiescence of the prelate's night, and the good intentions of his waking. The musketeer did to the bishop precisely as the bishop had done to Porthos-he tapped him on the shoulder. Evidently Aramis pretended to sleep; for, instead of waking suddenly, he who slept so lightly required a repetition of the summons.
"Ah! ah! is that you?" said he, stretching his arms. "What an agreeable surprise! Ma foi! Sleep had made me forget I had the happiness to possess you. What o'clock is it?"
"I do not know," said D'Artagnan, a little embarrassed. "Early, I believe. But, you know, that devil of a habit of waking with the day, sticks to me still."
"Do you wish that we should go out so soon?" asked Aramis. "It appears to me to be very early."
"Just as you like."
"I thought we had agreed not to get on horseback before eight."
"Possibly; but I had so great a wish to see you, that I said to myself, the sooner the better."
"And my seven hours' sleep!" said Aramis: "Take care; I had reckoned upon them, and what I lose of them I must make up."
"But it seems to me that, formerly, you were less of a sleeper than that, dear friend; your blood was alive, and you were never to be found in bed."
"And it is exactly on account of what you tell me, that I am so fond of being there now."
"Then you confess, that it is not for the sake of sleeping, that you have put me off till eight o'clock."
"I have been afraid you would laugh at me, if I told you the truth."
"Tell me, notwithstanding."
"Well, from six to eight, I am accustomed to perform my devotions."
"Your devotions?"
"Yes."
"I did not believe a bishop's exercises were so severe."
"A bishop, my friend, must sacrifice more to appearance than a simple cleric."
"Mordioux! Aramis, that is a word which reconciles me with your greatness. To appearances! That is a musketeer's word, in good truth! Vivent les apparences, Aramis!"
"Instead of felicitating me upon it, pardon me, D'Artagnan. It is a very mundane word which I had allowed to escape me."
"Must I leave you, then?"
"I want time to collect my thoughts, my friend, and for my usual prayers."
"Well, I leave you to them; but on account of that poor pagan, D'Artagnan, abridge them for once, I beg; I thirst for speech with you."
"Well, D'Artagnan, I promise you that within an hour and a half-"
"An hour and a half of devotions! Ah! my friend, be as reasonable with me as you can. Let me have the best bargain possible."
Aramis began to laugh.
"Still agreeable, still young, still gay," said he. "You have come into my diocese to set me quarreling with grace."
"Bah!"
"And you know well that I was never able to resist your seductions; you will cost me my salvation, D'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan bit his lips.
"Well," said he, "I will take the sin on my own head, favor me with one simple Christian sign of the cross, favor me with one prayer, and we will part."
"Hush!" said Aramis, "we are already no longer alone, I hear strangers coming up."
"Well, dismiss them."
"Impossible; I made an appointment with them yesterday; it is the principal of the college of the Jesuits, and the superior of the Dominicans."
"Your staff? Well, so be it."
"What are you going to do?"
"I will go and wake Porthos, and remain in his company till you have finished the conference."
