“I should, my dear D’Artagnan, have been so, but nature said ‘No.’ When I am in the pulpit, if by chance a pretty woman looks at me, I look at her again: if she smiles, I smile too. Then I speak at random; instead of preaching about the torments of hell I talk of the joys of Paradise. An event took place in the Church of St. Louis au Marais. A gentleman laughed in my face. I stopped short to tell him that he was a fool; the congregation went out to get stones to stone me with, but whilst they were away I found means to conciliate the priests who were present, so that my foe was pelted instead of me. ’Tis true that he came the next morning to my house, thinking that he had to do with an abbé—like all other abbés.” “And what was the end of the affair?” “We met in the Place Royale—Egad! you know about it.” “Was I not your second?” cried D’Artagnan. “You were; you know how I settled the matter.” “Did he die?” “I don’t know. But, at all events, I gave him absolution _in articulo mortis_. ’Tis enough to kill the body, without killing the soul.” Bazin made a despairing sign which meant that while perhaps he approved the moral he altogether disapproved the tone in which it was uttered. “Bazin, my friend,” said Aramis, “you don’t seem to be aware that I can see you in that mirror, and you forget that once for all I have forbidden all signs of approbation or disapprobation. You will do me the favor to bring us some Spanish wine and then to withdraw. Besides, my friend D’Artagnan has something to say to me privately, have you not, D’Artagnan?” D’Artagnan nodded his head and Bazin retired, after placing on the table the Spanish wine. The two friends, left alone, remained silent, face to face. Aramis seemed to await a comfortable digestion; D’Artagnan, to be preparing his exordium. Each of them, when the other was not looking, hazarded a sly glance. It was Aramis who broke the silence. “What are you thinking of, D’Artagnan?” he began. “I was thinking, my dear old friend, that when you were a musketeer you turned your thoughts incessantly to the church, and now that you are an abbé you are perpetually longing to be once more a musketeer.” “’Tis true; man, as you know,” said Aramis, “is a strange animal, made up of contradictions. Since I became an abbé I dream of nothing but battles.” “That is apparent in your surroundings; you have rapiers here of every form and to suit the most exacting taste. Do you still fence well?” “I—I fence as well as you did in the old time—better still, perhaps; I do nothing else all day.” “And with whom?” “With an excellent master-at-arms that we have here.” “What! here?” “Yes, here, in this convent, my dear fellow. There is everything in a Jesuit convent.” “Then you would have killed Monsieur de Marsillac if he had come alone to attack you, instead of at the head of twenty men?” “Undoubtedly,” said Aramis, “and even at the head of his twenty men, if I could have drawn without being recognized.”