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"That's it," said D'Artagnan; "you, Monsieur le Comte de la Fere, to the right of Monsieur Groslow. You, Chevalier d'Herblay, to his left. Du Vallon next me. You'll bet for me and those gentlemen for Monsieur Groslow." By this arrangement D'Artagnan could nudge Porthos with his knee and make signs with his eyes to Athos and Aramis.
"Therefore, I will not tell you my entire thought." "Tell it, nevertheless." "It is a crime." "A capital crime; I know it is. Lese majeste." "Porthos! poor Porthos!" "What would you advise me to do? Success, as I have told you, was certain." "M. Fouquet is an honest man." "And I a fool for having so ill-judged him," said Aramis. "Oh, the wisdom of man!
"Now, sire," resumed Aramis, "listen to me. Do not forget for a single instant that we are watching over your safety; observe the smallest gesture, the least bit of song, the least sign from any one near you; watch everything, hear everything, interpret everything." "Oh, chevalier!" cried the king, "what can I say to you?
"One of my brothers is about to die and I come to prepare him." "Bear with him," whispered Aramis; "it is doubtless some spy." "After my reverend lord bishop," said the king to the man, "I shall hear you with pleasure, sir." The man retired, but not before examining the supposed Juxon with an attention which did not escape the king.
He hoped, in short thanks to that heat of expression which is to secrets what the charge with the bayonet is to redoubts to bring the mysterious Aramis to some manifestation or other. But he found, in the vestibule of the palace, the valet de chambre, who closed his passage, while smiling upon him with a stupid air. "Monseigneur?" cried D'Artagnan, endeavoring to put him aside with his hand.
"The Scotch?" inquired Winter. "What Scotch?" "Ours, egad!" exclaimed Athos. "Those in whom the king has confided Lord Leven's Highlanders." "No," said Winter, then he paused; "but tell me, can you not perceive the russet tint which marks the heavens?" "Not the least in the world," said Aramis and Athos at once.
Aramis, still pale, still icy-cold, his heart upon his lips, looked, even till, with the last ray of daylight, the shore faded on the horizon. Not a word escaped him, not a sigh rose from his deep breast. The superstitious Bretons looked upon him, trembling. Such silence was not that of a man, it was the silence of a statue.
"I know not who can have uttered the cry," said the king, "but the noise is easily understood. Do you know that I am to be beheaded outside this window? Well, these boards you hear unloaded are the posts and planks to build my scaffold. Some workmen must have fallen underneath them and been hurt." Aramis shuddered in spite of himself.
At this moment Baisemeaux heard the jailer approaching. "Shall we leave?" he said, hastily, to Aramis. Aramis, who probably had learnt all that he cared to know, replied, "When you like." The young man saw them prepare to leave, and saluted them politely.
"Athos is near you," said D'Artagnan; "warn him as I have warned you." Aramis easily aroused Athos, whose sleep was light, like that of all persons of a finely organized constitution. But there was more difficulty in arousing Porthos.
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