This evening, especially, Aramis was melancholy and thoughtful. D’Artagnan asked some questions about this prolonged melancholy. Aramis pleaded as his excuse a commentary upon the eighteenth chapter of St. Augustine, which he was forced to write in Latin for the following week, and which preoccupied him a good deal. After the two friends had been chatting a few moments, a servant from M. de Tréville entered, bringing a sealed packet. “What is that?” asked Aramis. “The leave of absence Monsieur has asked for,” replied the lackey. “For me! I have asked for no leave of absence.” “Hold your tongue and take it!” said D’Artagnan. “And you, my friend, there is a demipistole for your trouble; you will tell Monsieur de Tréville that Monsieur Aramis is very much obliged to him. Go.” The lackey bowed to the ground and departed. “What does all this mean?” asked Aramis. “Pack up all you want for a journey of a fortnight, and follow me.” “But I cannot leave Paris just now without knowing—” Aramis stopped. “What is become of her? I suppose you mean—” continued D’Artagnan. “Become of whom?” replied Aramis. “The woman who was here—the woman with the embroidered handkerchief.” “Who told you there was a woman here?” replied Aramis, becoming as pale as death. “I saw her.” “And you know who she is?” “I believe I can guess, at least.” “Listen!” said Aramis. “Since you appear to know so many things, can you tell me what is become of that woman?” “I presume that she has returned to Tours.” “To Tours? Yes, that may be. You evidently know her. But why did she return to Tours without telling me anything?” “Because she was in fear of being arrested.” “Why has she not written to me, then?” “Because she was afraid of compromising you.” “D’Artagnan, you restore me to life!” cried Aramis. “I fancied myself despised, betrayed. I was so delighted to see her again! I could not have believed she would risk her liberty for me, and yet for what other cause could she have returned to Paris?” “For the cause which today takes us to England.” “And what is this cause?” demanded Aramis. “Oh, you’ll know it someday, Aramis; but at present I must imitate the discretion of ‘the doctor’s niece.’” Aramis smiled, as he remembered the tale he had told his friends on a certain evening. “Well, then, since she has left Paris, and you are sure of it, D’Artagnan, nothing prevents me, and I am ready to follow you. You say we are going—” “To see Athos now, and if you will come thither, I beg you to make haste, for we have lost much time already. _A propos_, inform Bazin.” “Will Bazin go with us?” asked Aramis. “Perhaps so. At all events, it is best that he should follow us to Athos’s.”