"Come, come, you are beginning to take a fancy to the place already," said Planchet, delightedly; "it is exactly my own case. I was so melancholy at first that I could do nothing but make the sign of the cross all day, and the chants were like nails being driven into my head; but now, the chants lull me to sleep, and no bird I have ever seen or heard can sing better than those which are to be met with in this cemetery." "Well," said Porthos, "this is beginning to get a little dull for me, and I prefer going downstairs." Planchet with one bound was beside his guest, to whom he offered his hand to lead him into the garden. "What!" said Porthos to D'Artagnan, as he turned round, "are you going to remain here?" "Yes, I shall join you presently." "Well, M. d'Artagnan is right, after all," said Planchet; "are they beginning to bury yet?" "Not yet." "Ah! yes, the grave-digger is waiting until the cords are fastened round the bier. But see, a woman has just entered the cemetery at the other end." "Yes, yes, my dear Planchet," said D'Artagnan, quickly, "leave me, leave me; I feel I am beginning already to be much comforted by my meditations, so do not interrupt me." Planchet left, and D'Artagnan remained, devouring with his eager gaze from behind the half-closed blinds what was taking place just before him. The two bearers of the corpse had unfastened the straps by which they had carried the litter, and were letting their burden glide gently into the open grave. At a few paces distant, the man with the cloak wrapped round him, the only spectator of this melancholy scene, was leaning with his back against a large cypress-tree, and kept his face and person entirely concealed from the grave-digger and the priest; the corpse was buried in five minutes. The grave having been filled up, the priest turned away, and the grave-digger having addressed a few words to them, followed them as they moved away. The man in the mantle bowed as they passed him, and put a piece of money into the grave-digger's hand. "Mordioux!" murmured D'Artagnan; "why that man is Aramis himself." Aramis, in fact, remained alone, on that side at least; for hardly did he turn his head than a woman's footsteps, and the rustling of her dress, were heard in the path close to him. He immediately turned round, and took off his hat with the most ceremonious respect; he led the lady under the shelter of some walnut and lime-trees, which overshadowed a magnificent tomb. "Ah! who would have thought it," said D'Artagnan; "the bishop of Vannes at a rendezvous! He is still the same Abbe Aramis as he was at Noisy-le-Sec. Yes," he added, after a pause; "but as it is in a cemetery, the rendezvous is sacred." And he began to laugh.