“God pardon me!” said D’Artagnan to himself, “I believe he has become more Gascon than I am!” Then aloud: “Well, my dear Aramis, do you ask me why I came to seek you?” “No, I have not asked you that,” said Aramis, with his subtle manner; “but I have expected you to tell me.” “Well, I sought you for the single purpose of offering you a chance to kill Monsieur de Marsillac whenever you please, prince though he is.” “Hold on! wait!” said Aramis; “that is an idea!” “Of which I invite you to take advantage, my friend. Let us see; with your thousand crowns from the abbey and the twelve thousand francs you make by selling sermons, are you rich? Answer frankly.” “I? I am as poor as Job, and were you to search my pockets and my boxes I don’t believe you would find a hundred pistoles.” “_Peste!_ a hundred pistoles!” said D’Artagnan to himself; “he calls that being as poor as Job! If I had them I should think myself as rich as Crœsus.” Then aloud: “Are you ambitious?” “As Enceladus.” “Well, my friend, I bring you the means of becoming rich, powerful, and free to do whatever you wish.” The shadow of a cloud passed over Aramis’s face as quickly as that which in August passes over the field of grain; but quick as it was, it did not escape D’Artagnan’s observation. “Speak on,” said Aramis. “One question first. Do you take any interest in politics?” A gleam of light shone in Aramis’s eyes, as brief as the shadow that had passed over his face, but not so brief but that it was seen by D’Artagnan. “No,” Aramis replied. “Then proposals from any quarter will be agreeable to you, since for the moment you have no master but God?” “It is possible.” “Have you, my dear Aramis, thought sometimes of those happy, happy, happy days of youth we passed laughing, drinking, and fighting each other for play?” “Certainly, and more than once regretted them; it was indeed a glorious time.” “Well, those splendidly wild days may chance to come again; I am commissioned to find out my companions and I began by you, who were the very soul of our society.” Aramis bowed, rather with respect than pleasure at the compliment. “To meddle in politics,” he exclaimed, in a languid voice, leaning back in his easy-chair. “Ah! dear D’Artagnan! see how regularly I live and how easy I am here. We have experienced the ingratitude of ‘the great,’ as you well know.” “’Tis true,” replied D’Artagnan. “Yet the great sometimes repent of their ingratitude.” “In that case it would be quite another thing. Come! let’s be merciful to every sinner! Besides, you are right in another respect, which is in thinking that if we were to meddle in politics there could not be a better time than the present.” “How can you know that? You who never interest yourself in politics?”