“I think, monsieur le comte, that you had something to communicate to me at your château of Bragelonne, and that gentleman”—he pointed to Aramis—“had also something to tell me when I was in his convent. At that time I was not concerned in the adventure, in the course of which you have so successfully estopped me! However, because I was prudent you must not take me for a fool. If I had wished to widen the breach between those whom Monsieur d’Herblay chooses to receive with a rope ladder and those whom he receives with a wooden ladder, I could have spoken out.” “What are you meddling with?” cried Aramis, pale with anger, suspecting that D’Artagnan had acted as a spy on him and had seen him with Madame de Longueville. “I never meddle save with what concerns me, and I know how to make believe that I haven’t seen what does not concern me; but I hate hypocrites, and among that number I place musketeers who are abbés and abbés who are musketeers; and,” he added, turning to Porthos “here’s a gentleman who’s of the same opinion as myself.” Porthos, who had not spoken one word, answered merely by a word and a gesture. He said “yes” and he put his hand on his sword. Aramis started back and drew his. D’Artagnan bent forward, ready either to attack or to stand on his defense. Athos at that moment extended his hand with the air of supreme command which characterized him alone, drew out his sword and the scabbard at the same time, broke the blade in the sheath on his knee and threw the pieces to his right. Then turning to Aramis: “Aramis,” he said, “break your sword.” Aramis hesitated. “It must be done,” said Athos; then in a lower and more gentle voice, he added. “I wish it.” Then Aramis, paler than before, but subdued by these words, snapped the serpent blade between his hands, and then folding his arms, stood trembling with rage. These proceedings made D’Artagnan and Porthos draw back. D’Artagnan did not draw his sword; Porthos put his back into the sheath.