ose which are to be met with in this
cemetery."

"Well," said Porthos, "this is beginning to get a little dull for me,
and I prefer going downstairs."

Planchet with one bound was beside his guest, to whom he offered his
hand to lead him into the garden.

"What!" said Porthos to D'Artagnan, as he turned round, "are you going
to remain here?"

"Yes, I shall join you presently."

"Well, M. d'Artagnan is right, after all," said Planchet; "are they
beginning to bury yet?"

"Not yet."

"Ah! yes, the grave-digger is waiting until the cords are fastened round
the bier. But see, a woman has just entered the cemetery at the other
end."

"Yes, yes, my dear Planchet," said D'Artagnan, quickly, "leave me, leave
me; I feel I am beginning already to be much comforted by my
meditations, so do not interrupt me."

Planchet left, and D'Artagnan remained, devouring with his eager gaze
from behind the half-closed blinds what was taking place just before
him. The two bearers of the corpse had unfastened the straps by which
they had carried the litter, and were letting their burden glide gently
into the open grave. At a few paces distant, the man with the cloak
wrapped round him, the only spectator of this melancholy scene, was
leaning with his back against a large cypress-tree, and kept his face
and person entirely concealed from the grave-digger and the priest; the
corpse was buried in five minutes. The grave having been filled up, the
priest turned away, and the grave-digger having addressed a few words to
them, followed them as they moved away. The man in the mantle bowed as
they passed him, and put a piece of money into the grave-digger's hand.

"Mordioux!" murmured D'Artagnan; "why that man is Aramis himself."

Aramis, in fact, remained alone, on that side at least; for hardly did
he turn his head than a woman's footsteps, and the rustling of her
dress, were heard in the path close to him. He immediately turned round,
and took off his hat with the most ceremonious respect; he led the lady
under the shelter of some walnut and lime-trees, which overshadowed a
magnificent tomb.

"Ah! who would have thought it," said D'Artagnan; "the bishop of Vannes
at a rendezvous! He is still the same Abbe Aramis as he was at
Noisy-le-Sec. Yes," he added, after a pause; "but as it is in a
cemetery, the rendezvous is sacred." And he began to laugh.

The conversation lasted for fully half an hour. D'Artagnan could not see
the lady's face