“My dear Cousin, His Eminence, the cardinal, whom God preserve for the happiness of France and the confusion of the enemies of the kingdom, is on the point of putting an end to the hectic rebellion of La Rochelle.  It is probable that the succor of the English fleet will never even arrive in sight of the place.  I will even venture to say that I am certain M. de Buckingham will be prevented from setting out by some great event.  His Eminence is the most illustrious politician of times past, of times present, and probably of times to come.  He would extinguish the sun if the sun incommoded him.  Give these happy tidings to your sister, my dear cousin.  I have dreamed that the unlucky Englishman was dead.  I cannot recollect whether it was by steel or by poison; only of this I am sure, I have dreamed he was dead, and you know my dreams never deceive me.  Be assured, then, of seeing me soon return.”

“Capital!” cried Athos; “you are the king of poets, my dear Aramis.  You speak like the Apocalypse, and you are as true as the Gospel.  There is nothing now to do but to put the address to this letter.”

“That is easily done,” said Aramis.

He folded the letter fancifully, and took up his pen and wrote: 

“To Mlle. Michon, seamstress, Tours.”

The three friends looked at one another and laughed; they were caught.

“Now,” said Aramis, “you will please to understand, gentlemen, that Bazin alone can carry this letter to Tours.  My cousin knows nobody but Bazin, and places confidence in nobody but him; any other person would fail.  Besides, Bazin is ambitious and learned; Bazin has read history, gentlemen, he knows that Sixtus the Fifth became Pope after having kept pigs.  Well, as he means to enter the Church at the same time as myself, he does not despair of becoming Pope in his turn, or at least a cardinal.  You can understand that a man who has such views will never allow himself to be taken, or if taken, will undergo martyrdom rather than speak.”

“Very well,” said d’Artagnan, “I consent to Bazin with all my heart, but grant me Planchet.  Milady had him one day turned out of doors, with sundry blows of a good stick to accelerate his motions.  Now, Planchet has an excellent memory; and I will be bound that sooner than relinquish any possible means of vengeance, he will allow himself to be beaten to death.  If your arrangements at Tours are your arrangements, Aramis, those of London are mine.  I request, then, that Planchet may be chosen, more particularly as he has already been to London with me, and knows how to speak correctly:  London, sir, if you please, and my master, Lord d’Artagnan.  With that you may be satisfied he can make his way, both going and returning.”

“In that case,” said Athos, “Planchet must receive seven hundred livres for going, and seven hundred livres for coming back; and Bazin, three hundred livres for going, and three hundred livres for returning—­that will reduce the sum to five thousand livres.  We will each take a thousand livres to be employed as seems good, and we will leave a fund of a thousand livres under the guardianship of Monsieur Abbe here, for extraordinary occasions or common wants.  Will that do?”