“You are a wonderful man, my dear count,” said Aramis; “you think of everything.” “Well, have you made up your mind to this journey?” “Quite; and now that I reflect about it, I am glad to leave Paris at this moment.” “And so am I,” replied Athos; “my only regret is not having seen D’Artagnan; but the rascal is so cunning, he might have guessed our project.” When supper was over Blaisois entered. “Sir,” said he, “here is Monsieur d’Artagnan’s answer.” “But I did not tell you there would be an answer, stupid!” said Athos. “And I set off without waiting for one, but he called me back and gave me this;” and he presented a little leather bag, plump and giving out a golden jingle. Athos opened it and began by drawing forth a little note, written in these terms: “My dear Count,—When one travels, and especially for three months, one never has a superfluity of money. Now, recalling former times of mutual distress, I send you half my purse; it is money to obtain which I made Mazarin sweat. Don’t make a bad use of it, I entreat you. “As to what you say about not seeing you again, I believe not a word of it; with such a heart as yours—and such a sword—one passes through the valley of the shadow of death a dozen times, unscathed and unalarmed. Au revoir, not farewell. “It is unnecessary to say that from the day I saw Raoul I loved him; nevertheless, believe that I heartily pray that I may not become to him a father, however much I might be proud of such a son. “Your “D’Artagnan. “P.S.—Be it well understood that the fifty louis which I send are equally for Aramis as for you—for you as Aramis.” Athos smiled, and his fine eye was dimmed by a tear. D’Artagnan, who had loved him so tenderly, loved him still, although a Mazarinist. “There are the fifty louis, i’faith,” said Aramis, emptying the purse on the table, all bearing the effigy of Louis XIII. “Well, what shall you do with this money, count? Shall you keep it or send it back?” “I shall keep it, Aramis, and even though I had no need of it I still should keep it. What is offered from a generous heart should be accepted generously. Take twenty-five of them, Aramis, and give me the remaining twenty-five.” “All right; I am glad to see you are of my opinion. There now, shall we start?” “When you like; but have you no groom?” “No; that idiot Bazin had the folly to make himself verger, as you know, and therefore cannot leave Notre Dame. “Very well, take Blaisois, with whom I know not what to do, since I already have Grimaud.” “Willingly,” said Aramis. At this moment Grimaud appeared at the door. “Ready,” said he, with his usual curtness. “Let us go, then,” said Athos. The two friends mounted, as did their servants. At the corner of the Quai they encountered Bazin, who was running breathlessly.