A short, fat man, with a flat face, a cranium ornamented with a crown of gray hairs, cut short, in imitation of a tonsure, and covered with an old black velvet cap, arose as soon as he heard D’Artagnan — we ought not to say arose, but bounded up.  In fact, Bazin bounded up, carrying with him his little low chair, which the children tried to take away, with battles more fierce than those of the Greeks endeavoring to recover the body of Patroclus from the hands of the Trojans.  Bazin did more than bound; he let fall both his alphabet and his ferule.  “You!” said he; “you, Monsieur D’Artagnan?”

“Yes, myself!  Where is Aramis — no, M. le Chevalier d’Herblay — no, I am still mistaken — Monsieur le Vicaire-General?”

“Ah, monsieur,” said Bazin, with dignity, “monseigneur is at his diocese.”

“What did you say?” said D’Artagnan.  Bazin repeated the sentence.

“Ah, ah! but has Aramis a diocese?”

“Yes, monsieur.  Why not?”

“Is he a bishop, then?”

“Why, where can you come from,” said Bazin, rather irreverently, “that you don’t know that?”

“My dear Bazin, we pagans, we men of the sword, know very well when a man is made a colonel, or maitre-de-camp, or marshal of France; but if he be made a bishop, arch-bishop, or pope — devil take me if the news reaches us before the three quarters of the earth have had the advantage of it!”

“Hush! hush!” said Bazin, opening his eyes:  “do not spoil these poor children, in whom I am endeavoring to inculcate such good principles.”  In fact, the children had surrounded D’Artagnan, whose horse, long sword, spurs, and martial air they very much admired.  But above all, they admired his strong voice; so that, when he uttered his oath, the whole school cried out, “The devil take me!” with fearful bursts of laughter, shouts, and bounds, which delighted the musketeer, and bewildered the old pedagogue.

“There!” said he, “hold your tongues, you brats!  You have come, M. d’Artagnan, and all my good principles fly away.  With you, as usual, comes disorder.  Babel is revived.  Ah!  Good Lord!  Ah! the wild little wretches!” And the worthy Bazin distributed right and left blows which increased the cries of his scholars by changing the nature of them.

“At least,” said he, “you will no longer decoy any one here.”

“Do you think so?” said D’Artagnan, with a smile which made a shudder creep over the shoulders of Bazin.

“He is capable of it,” murmured he.

“Where is your master’s diocese?”

“Monseigneur Rene is bishop of Vannes.”

“Who had him nominated?”

“Why, monsieur le surintendant, our neighbor.”

“What!  Monsieur Fouquet?”

“To be sure he did.”

“Is Aramis on good terms with him, then?”

“Monseigneur preached every Sunday at the house of monsieur le surintendant at Vaux; then they hunted together.”