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Updated: June 19, 2025
As he spoke, Fouquet turned round, and opened with his cane a mass of foliage which hid the path from his view. Aramis's glance as well as his own plunged at the same moment through the aperture he had made. "A woman," said Aramis. "And a man," said Fouquet. "It is La Valliere and the king," they both exclaimed together. "Oh, oh!" said Aramis, "is his majesty aware of your cavern as well?
The sentinel at the outer guardhouse stopped Aramis's further progress, asking him, in a rough tone of voice, what had brought him there. Aramis explained, with his usual politeness, that a wish to speak to M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun had occasioned his visit.
The shadow of a cloud passed over Aramis's face as quickly as that which in August passes over the field of grain; but quick as it was, it did not escape D'Artagnan's observation. "Speak on," said Aramis. "One question first. Do you take any interest in politics?"
"The other was a certain musketeer, very handsome, very brave, very adventurous, very fortunate, who, from being abbe, turned musketeer, and from musketeer turned abbe." Aramis condescended to smile. "From abbe," continued Baisemeaux, encouraged by Aramis's smile "from abbe, bishop and from bishop " "Ah! stay there, I beg," exclaimed Aramis.
Porthos said nothing, but he handled in his pocket the fifty pistoles he had gained from Groslow with a degree of satisfaction which betrayed itself in his whole bearing. Arrived at Ryston, D'Artagnan assembled his friends. His face had lost the expression of careless gayety it had worn like a mask the whole day. Athos pinched Aramis's hand. "The moment is at hand," he said.
"A truce to modesty!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "beneath the priest's robe, sire, is concealed the most brilliant officer, a gentleman of the most unparalleled intrepidity, and the wisest theologian in your kingdom." Louis raised his head. "And an engineer, also, it appears," he said, admiring Aramis's calm, imperturbable self-possession. "An engineer for a particular purpose, sire," said the latter.
D'Artagnan repressed his inclination to laugh, because the brevity of Aramis's letter gave rise to reflection. He followed Mousqueton, or rather Mousqueton's chariot, to the castle. He sat down to a sumptuous table, of which they did him the honors as to a king. But he could draw nothing from Mousqueton, the faithful servant seemed to shed tears at will, but that was all.
Aramis, while this is going on, has grown friendly with the governor of the Bastile, M. de Baisemeaux, a fact that Baisemeaux unwittingly reveals to D'Artagnan while inquiring of him as to Aramis's whereabouts. This further arouses the suspicions of the musketeer, who was made to look ridiculous by Aramis.
Porthos, you no longer surprise me, you confound me." "Here we are," said Porthos, turning the conversation with his usual modesty. "And high time we were," thought D'Artagnan, "for Aramis's horse is melting away like a steed of ice."
"And as I am dying," exclaimed the Franciscan, "I constitute you my successor... Thus." And drawing off the ring, he passed it on Aramis's finger.
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