And in spite of himself, the young man began to laugh aloud, looking round carefully, however, to see that his solitary laugh, without a cause in the eyes of passers-by, offended no one.

“As to Porthos, that is certainly droll; but I am not the less a giddy fool.  Are people to be run against without warning?  No!  And have I any right to go and peep under their cloaks to see what is not there?  He would have pardoned me, he would certainly have pardoned me, if I had not said anything to him about that cursed baldric—­in ambiguous words, it is true, but rather drolly ambiguous.  Ah, cursed Gascon that I am, I get from one hobble into another.  Friend d’Artagnan,” continued he, speaking to himself with all the amenity that he thought due himself, “if you escape, of which there is not much chance, I would advise you to practice perfect politeness for the future.  You must henceforth be admired and quoted as a model of it.  To be obliging and polite does not necessarily make a man a coward.  Look at Aramis, now; Aramis is mildness and grace personified.  Well, did anybody ever dream of calling Aramis a coward?  No, certainly not, and from this moment I will endeavor to model myself after him.  Ah!  That’s strange!  Here he is!”

D’Artagnan, walking and soliloquizing, had arrived within a few steps of the hotel d’Arguillon and in front of that hotel perceived Aramis, chatting gaily with three gentlemen; but as he had not forgotten that it was in presence of this young man that M. de Treville had been so angry in the morning, and as a witness of the rebuke the Musketeers had received was not likely to be at all agreeable, he pretended not to see him.  D’Artagnan, on the contrary, quite full of his plans of conciliation and courtesy, approached the young men with a profound bow, accompanied by a most gracious smile.  All four, besides, immediately broke off their conversation.

D’Artagnan was not so dull as not to perceive that he was one too many; but he was not sufficiently broken into the fashions of the gay world to know how to extricate himself gallantly from a false position, like that of a man who begins to mingle with people he is scarcely acquainted with and in a conversation that does not concern him.  He was seeking in his mind, then, for the least awkward means of retreat, when he remarked that Aramis had let his handkerchief fall, and by mistake, no doubt, had placed his foot upon it.  This appeared to be a favorable opportunity to repair his intrusion.  He stooped, and with the most gracious air he could assume, drew the handkerchief from under the foot of the Musketeer in spite of the efforts the latter made to detain it, and holding it out to him, said, “I believe, monsieur, that this is a handkerchief you would be sorry to lose?”

The handkerchief was indeed richly embroidered, and had a coronet and arms at one of its corners.  Aramis blushed excessively, and snatched rather than took the handkerchief from the hand of the Gascon.