“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 abbe 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 abbe 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.”

“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 Croesus.”  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?”