“With whom?”

“With Mademoiselle de Mancini.”

D’Artagnan breathed freely again.  “Ah!  I don’t say no to that,” replied he.

“It appears that the king took you one morning, over the bridge of Blois to talk with his lady-love.”

“That’s true,” said D’Artagnan.  “And you know that, do you?  Well, then, you must know that the same day I gave in my resignation!”

“What, sincerely?”

“Nothing more so.”

“It was after that, then, that you went to the Comte de la Fere’s?”

“Yes.”

“Afterwards to me?”

“Yes.”

“And then Porthos?”

“Yes.”

“Was it in order to pay us a simple visit?”

“No, I did no know you were engaged, and I wished to take you with me into England.”

“Yes, I understand; and then you executed alone, wonderful man as you are, what you wanted to propose to us all four.  I suspected you had something to do with that famous restoration, when I learned that you had been seen at King Charles’s receptions, and that he appeared to treat you like a friend, or rather like a person to whom he was under an obligation.”

“But how the devil did you learn all that?” asked D’Artagnan, who began to fear that the investigation of Aramis had extended further than he wished.

“Dear D’Artagnan,” said the prelate, “my friendship resembles, in a degree, the solicitude of that night watch whom we have in the little tower of the mole, at the extremity of the quay.  That brave man, every night, lights a lantern to direct the barks that come from sea.  He is concealed in his sentry-box, and the fishermen do not see him; but he follows them with interest; he divines them; he calls them; he attracts them into the way to the port.  I resemble this watcher; from time to time some news reaches me, and recalls to my remembrance all those I loved.  Then I follow the friends of old days over the stormy ocean of the world, I, a poor watcher, to whom God has kindly given the shelter of a sentry-box.”

“Well, what did I do when I came from England?”

“Ah! there,” replied Aramis, “you get beyond my depth.  I know nothing of you since your return.  D’Artagnan, my eyes are dim.  I regretted you did not think of me.  I wept over your forgetfulness.  I was wrong.  I see you again, and it is a festival, a great festival, I assure you, solemnly!  How is Athos?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“And our young pupil, Raoul?”

“He seems to have inherited the skill of his father, Athos, and the strength of his tutor, Porthos.”

“And on what occasion have you been able to judge of that?”

“Eh! mon Dieu! on the eve of my departure from Paris.”

“Indeed! tell me all about it!”

“Yes; there was an execution at the Greve, and in consequence of that execution, a riot.  We happened, by accident, to be in the riot; and in this riot we were obliged to have recourse to our swords.  And he did wonders.”