Unfortunately Porthos knew nothing of the life of his silent companion but what revealed itself.  It was said Athos had met with great crosses in love, and that a frightful treachery had forever poisoned the life of this gallant man.  What could this treachery be?  All the world was ignorant of it.

As to Porthos, except his real name (as was the case with those of his two comrades), his life was very easily known.  Vain and indiscreet, it was as easy to see through him as through a crystal.  The only thing to mislead the investigator would have been belief in all the good things he said of himself.

With respect to Aramis, though having the air of having nothing secret about him, he was a young fellow made up of mysteries, answering little to questions put to him about others, and having learned from him the report which prevailed concerning the success of the Musketeer with a princess, wished to gain a little insight into the amorous adventures of his interlocutor.  “And you, my dear companion,” said he, “you speak of the baronesses, countesses, and princesses of others?”

“Pardieu!  I spoke of them because Porthos talked of them himself, because he had paraded all these fine things before me.  But be assured, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, that if I had obtained them from any other source, or if they had been confided to me, there exists no confessor more discreet than myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” replied d’Artagnan; “but it seems to me that you are tolerably familiar with coats of arms—­a certain embroidered handkerchief, for instance, to which I owe the honor of your acquaintance?”

This time Aramis was not angry, but assumed the most modest air and replied in a friendly tone, “My dear friend, do not forget that I wish to belong to the Church, and that I avoid all mundane opportunities.  The handkerchief you saw had not been given to me, but it had been forgotten and left at my house by one of my friends.  I was obliged to pick it up in order not to compromise him and the lady he loves.  As for myself, I neither have, nor desire to have, a mistress, following in that respect the very judicious example of Athos, who has none any more than I have.”

“But what the devil!  You are not a priest, you are a Musketeer!”

“A Musketeer for a time, my friend, as the cardinal says, a Musketeer against my will, but a churchman at heart, believe me.  Athos and Porthos dragged me into this to occupy me.  I had, at the moment of being ordained, a little difficulty with—­But that would not interest you, and I am taking up your valuable time.”

“Not at all; it interests me very much,” cried d’Artagnan; “and at this moment I have absolutely nothing to do.”

“Yes, but I have my breviary to repeat,” answered Aramis; “then some verses to compose, which Madame d’Aiguillon begged of me.  Then I must go to the Rue St. Honore in order to purchase some rouge for Madame de Chevreuse.  So you see, my dear friend, that if you are not in a hurry, I am very much in a hurry.”