of fearing anything from
one blessed with such a joyous physiognomy.

"My good dame," asked d'Artagnan, "can you tell me what has become of
one of my friends, whom we were obliged to leave here about a dozen days
ago?"

"A handsome young man, three- or four-and-twenty years old, mild,
amiable, and well made?"

"That is he--wounded in the shoulder."

"Just so. Well, monsieur, he is still here."

"Ah, PARDIEU! My dear dame," said d'Artagnan, springing from his horse,
and throwing the bridle to Planchet, "you restore me to life; where is
this dear Aramis? Let me embrace him, I am in a hurry to see him again."

"Pardon, monsieur, but I doubt whether he can see you at this moment."

"Why so? Has he a lady with him?"

"Jesus! What do you mean by that? Poor lad! No, monsieur, he has not a
lady with him."

"With whom is he, then?"

"With the curate of Montdidier and the superior of the Jesuits of
Amiens."

"Good heavens!" cried d'Artagnan, "is the poor fellow worse, then?"

"No, monsieur, quite the contrary; but after his illness grace touched
him, and he determined to take orders."

"That's it!" said d'Artagnan, "I had forgotten that he was only a
Musketeer for a time."

"Monsieur still insists upon seeing him?"

"More than ever."

"Well, monsieur has only to take the right-hand staircase in the
courtyard, and knock at Number Five on the second floor."

D'Artagnan walked quickly in the direction indicated, and found one of
those exterior staircases that are still to be seen in the yards of our
old-fashioned taverns. But there was no getting at the place of sojourn
of the future abbe; the defiles of the chamber of Aramis were as well
guarded as the gardens of Armida. Bazin was stationed in the corridor,
and barred his passage with the more intrepidity that, after many years
of trial, Bazin found himself near a result of which he had ever been
ambitious.

In fact, the dream of poor Bazin had always been to serve a churchman;
and he awaited with impatience the moment, always in the future,
when Aramis would throw aside the uniform and assume the cassock. The
daily-renewed promise of the young man that the moment would not long be
delayed, had alone kept him in the service of a Musketeer--a service in
which, he said, his soul was in constant jeopardy.

Bazin was then at the height of joy. In all probability, this time
his master would not retract. The union of physical pain with moral
uneasiness had produ