“Ah!”

“And monseigneur composed his homilies — no, I mean his sermons — with monsieur le surintendant.”

“Bah! he preached in verse, then, this worthy bishop?”

“Monsieur, for the love of heaven, do not jest with sacred things.”

“There, Bazin, there!  So, then, Aramis is at Vannes?”

“At Vannes, in Bretagne.”

“You are a deceitful old hunks, Bazin; that is not true.”

“See, monsieur, if you please; the apartments of the presbytery are empty.”

“He is right there,” said D’Artagnan, looking attentively at the house, the aspect of which announced solitude.

“But monseigneur must have written you an account of his promotion.”

“When did it take place?”

“A month back.”

“Oh! then there is no time lost.  Aramis cannot yet have wanted me.  But how is it, Bazin, you do not follow your master?”

“Monsieur, I cannot; I have occupations.”

“Your alphabet?”

“And my penitents.”

“What, do you confess, then?  Are you a priest?”

“The same as one.  I have such a call.”

“But the orders?”

“Oh,” said Bazin, without hesitation, “now that monseigneur is a bishop, I shall soon have my orders, or at least my dispensations.”  And he rubbed his hands.

“Decidedly,” said D’Artagnan to himself, “there will be no means of uprooting these people.  Get me some supper, Bazin.”

“With pleasure, monsieur.”

“A fowl, a bouillon, and a bottle of wine.”

“This is Saturday night, monsieur — it is a day of abstinence.”

“I have a dispensation,” said D’Artagnan.

Bazin looked at him suspiciously.

“Ah, ah, master hypocrite!” said the musketeer, “for whom do you take me?  If you, who are the valet, hope for dispensation to commit a crime, shall not I, the friend of your bishop, have dispensation for eating meat at the call of my stomach?  Make yourself agreeable with me, Bazin, or by heavens!  I will complain to the king, and you shall never confess.  Now you know that the nomination of bishops rests with the king, — I have the king, I am the stronger.”

Bazin smiled hypocritically.  “Ah, but we have monsieur le surintendant,” said he.

“And you laugh at the king, then?”

Bazin made no reply; his smile was sufficiently eloquent.

“My supper,” said D’Artagnan, “it is getting towards seven o’clock.”

Bazin turned round and ordered the eldest of the pupils to inform the cook.  In the meantime, D’Artagnan surveyed the presbytery.

“Phew!” said he, disdainfully, “monseigneur lodged his grandeur very meanly here.”

“We have the Chateau de Vaux,” said Bazin.

“Which is perhaps equal to the Louvre?” said D’Artagnan, jeeringly.

“Which is better,” replied Bazin, with the greatest coolness imaginable.