“What can I do, friend? he is a bully and so am I; his cassock is a burden to him and I imagine I have had enough of mine; in fact, there is so much resemblance between us that I sometimes believe he is Aramis and I am the coadjutor. This kind of life fatigues and oppresses me; besides, he is a turbulent fellow, who will ruin our party. I am convinced that if I gave him a box on the ear, such as I gave this morning to the little citizen who splashed me, it would change the appearance of things.” “And I, my dear Aramis,” quietly replied Athos, “I think it would only change Monsieur de Retz’s appearance. Take my advice, leave things just as they are; besides, you are neither of you now your own masters; he belongs to the Fronde and you to the queen of England. So, if the second matter which you regret being unable to attend to is not more important than the first——” “Oh! that is of the first importance.” “Attend to it, then, at once.” “Unfortunately, it is a thing that I can’t perform at any time I choose. It was arranged for the evening and no other time will serve.” “I understand,” said Athos smiling, “midnight.” “About that time.” “But, my dear fellow, those are things that bear postponement and you must put it off, especially with so good an excuse to give on your return——” “Yes, if I return.” “If you do not return, how does it concern you? Be reasonable. Come, you are no longer twenty years old.” “To my great regret, _mordieu!_ Ah, if I were but twenty years old!” “Yes,” said Athos, “doubtless you would commit great follies! But now we must part. I have one or two visits to make and a letter yet to write. Call for me at eight o’clock or shall I wait supper for you at seven?” “That will do very well,” said Aramis. “I have twenty visits to make and as many letters to write.” They then separated. Athos went to pay a visit to Madame de Vendôme, left his name at Madame de Chevreuse’s and wrote the following letter to D’Artagnan: “Dear Friend,—I am about to set off with Aramis on important business. I wished to make my adieux to you, but time does not permit. Remember that I write to you now to repeat how much affection for you I still cherish. “Raoul is gone to Blois and is ignorant of my departure; watch over him in my absence as much as you possibly can; and if by chance you receive no news of me three months hence, tell him to open a packet which he will find addressed to him in my bronze casket at Blois, of which I send you now the key. “Embrace Porthos from Aramis and myself. Adieu, perhaps farewell.” At the hour agreed upon Aramis arrived; he was dressed as an officer and had the old sword at his side which he had drawn so often and which he was more than ever ready to draw. “By-the-bye,” he said, “I think that we are decidedly wrong to depart thus, without leaving a line for Porthos and D’Artagnan.” “The thing is done, dear friend,” said Athos; “I foresaw that and have embraced them both from you and myself.”