“An hour and a half of devotions!  Ah! my friend, be as reasonable with me as you can.  Let me have the best bargain possible.”

Aramis began to laugh.

“Still agreeable, still young, still gay,” said he.  “You have come into my diocese to set me quarreling with grace.”

“Bah!”

“And you know well that I was never able to resist your seductions; you will cost me my salvation, D’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan bit his lips.

“Well,” said he, “I will take the sin on my own head, favor me with one simple Christian sign of the cross, favor me with one prayer, and we will part.”

“Hush!” said Aramis, “we are already no longer alone, I hear strangers coming up.”

“Well, dismiss them.”

“Impossible; I made an appointment with them yesterday; it is the principal of the college of the Jesuits, and the superior of the Dominicans.”

“Your staff?  Well, so be it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I will go and wake Porthos, and remain in his company till you have finished the conference.”

Aramis did not stir, his brow remained unbent, he betrayed himself by no gesture or word; “Go,” said he, as D’Artagnan advanced to the door. “A propos, do you know where Porthos sleeps?”

“No, but I will inquire.”

“Take the corridor, and open the second door on the left.”

“Thank you! au revoir.”  And D’Artagnan departed in the direction pointed out by Aramis.

Ten minutes had not passed away when he came back.  He found Aramis seated between the superior of the Dominicans and the principal of the college of the Jesuits, exactly in the same situation as he had found him formerly in the auberge at Crevecœur.  This company did not at all terrify the musketeer.

“What is it?” said Aramis, quietly.  “You have apparently something to say to me, my friend.”

“It is,” replied D’Artagnan, fixing his eyes upon Aramis, “it is that Porthos is not in his apartment.”

“Indeed,” said Aramis calmly; “are you sure?”

“Pardieu! I came from his chamber.”

“Where can he be, then?”

“That is what I am asking you.”

“And have you not inquired?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And what answer did you get?”

“That Porthos, often walking out in a morning, without saying anything, had probably gone out.”

“What did you do, then?”

“I went to the stables,” replied D’Artagnan, carelessly.

“What to do?”

“To see if Porthos had departed on horseback.”

“And?” interrogated the bishop.

“Well, there is a horse missing, stall No. 3, Goliath.”

All this dialogue, it may be easily understood, was not exempt from a certain affectation on the part of the musketeer, and a perfect complaisance on the part of Aramis.

“Oh!  I guess how it is,” said Aramis, after having considered for a moment, “Porthos is gone out to give us a surprise.”