He then re-entered his
palace; the doors closed slowly, and the crowd melted away, whilst
chants and prayers were still resounding abroad. It was a magnificent
day. Earthly perfumes were mingled with the perfumes of the air and the
sea. The city breathed happiness, joy, and strength. D'Artagnan
felt something like the presence of an invisible hand which had,
all-powerfully, created this strength, this joy, this happiness, and
spread everywhere these perfumes.

"Oh! oh!" said he, "Porthos has got fat; but Aramis is grown taller."

Chapter LXXII. The Grandeur of the Bishop of Vannes.

Porthos and D'Artagnan had entered the bishop's residence by a private
door, as his personal friends. Of course, Porthos served D'Artagnan as
guide. The worthy baron comported himself everywhere rather as if he
were at home. Nevertheless, whether it was a tacit acknowledgement of
the sanctity of the personage of Aramis and his character, or the habit
of respecting him who imposed upon him morally, a worthy habit which had
always made Porthos a model soldier and an excellent companion; for all
these reasons, say we, Porthos preserved in the palace of His Greatness
the Bishop of Vannes a sort of reserve which D'Artagnan remarked at
once, in the attitude he took with respect to the valets and officers.
And yet this reserve did not go so far as to prevent his asking
questions. Porthos questioned. They learned that His Greatness had
just returned to his apartment and was preparing to appear in familiar
intimacy, less majestic than he had appeared with his flock. After
a quarter of an hour, which D'Artagnan and Porthos passed in looking
mutually at each other with the white of their eyes, and turning their
thumbs in all the different evolutions which go from north to south, a
door of the chamber opened and His Greatness appeared, dressed in the
undress, complete, of a prelate. Aramis carried his head high, like a
man accustomed to command: his violet robe was tucked up on one side,
and his white hand was on his hip. He had retained the fine mustache,
and the lengthened _royale_ of the time of Louis XIII. He exhaled, on
entering, that delicate perfume which, among elegant men and women
of high fashion, never changes, and appears to be incorporated in the
person, of whom it has become the natural emanation. In this case
only, the perfume had retained something of the religious sublimity of
incense. It no longer intoxicated, it penetrated; it