th all his eyes. Perhaps he fancied from
D'Artagnan's liveliness that he would leave with Porthos, so as not to
lose the conclusion of a scene so well begun. But, clear-sighted as he
was, Aramis deceived himself. Porthos and Moliere left together alone.
D'Artagnan remained with Percerin. Why? From curiosity, doubtless;
probably to enjoy a little longer the society of his good friend Aramis.
As Moliere and Porthos disappeared, D'Artagnan drew near the bishop of
Vannes, a proceeding which appeared particularly to disconcert him. "A
dress for you also, is it not, my friend?"

Aramis smiled. "No," said he.

"You will go to Vaux, however?"

"I shall go, but without a new dress. You forget, dear D'Artagnan, that
a poor bishop of Vannes is not rich enough to have new dresses for every
fete."

"Bah!" said the musketeer, laughing, "and do we write no more poems now,
either?"

"Oh! D'Artagnan," exclaimed Aramis, "I have long given over all these
follies."

"True," repeated D'Artagnan, only half convinced. As for Percerin, he
had relapsed into his contemplation of the brocades.

"Don't you perceive," said Aramis, smiling, "that we are greatly boring
this good gentleman, my dear D'Artagnan?"

"Ah! ah!" murmured the musketeer, aside; "that is I am boring you, my
friend." Then aloud, "Well, then, let us leave; I have no further
business here, and if you are as disengaged as I, Aramis--"

"No; not I--I wished--"

"Ah! you had something particular to say to M. Percerin? Why did you not
tell me so at once?"

"Something particular, certainly," repeated Aramis, "but not for you,
D'Artagnan. But, at the same time, I hope you will believe that I can
never have anything so particular to say that a friend like you may not
hear it."

"Oh, no, no! I am going," said D'Artagnan, imparting to his voice an
evident tone of curiosity; for Aramis' annoyance, well dissembled as it
was, had not a whit escaped him; and he knew that, in that impenetrable
mind, everything, even the most apparently trivial, was designed to some
end; an unknown one; but one which, from the knowledge he had of his
friend's character, the musketeer felt must be important.

On his part, Aramis saw that D'Artagnan was not without suspicion, and
pressed him. "Stay, by all means," he said, "this is what it is." Then
turning, toward the tailor, "My dear Percerin," said he, "I am even very
happy that you are here, D'Artagnan."

"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed the Gascon,