"But," said Aramis smiling, "you did not come here only for the purpose
of paying me compliments. Speak; what brings you hither? May it be that,
in some fashion or other, you want me?"

"Thank God, no, my friend," said D'Artagnan, "it is nothing of that
kind.--I am rich and free."

"Rich!" exclaimed Aramis.

"Yes, rich for me; not for you or Porthos, understand. I have an income
of about fifteen thousand livres."

Aramis looked at him suspiciously. He could not believe--particularly
on seeing his friend in such humble guise--that he had made so fine a
fortune. Then D'Artagnan, seeing that the hour of explanations was come,
related the history of his English adventures. During the recital he
saw, ten times, the eyes of the prelate sparkle, and his slender fingers
work convulsively. As to Porthos, it was not admiration he manifested
for D'Artagnan; it was enthusiasm, it was delirium. When D'Artagnan had
finished, "Well!" said Aramis.

"Well!" said D'Artagnan, "you see, then, I have in England friends and
property, in France a treasure. If your heart tells you so, I offer them
to you. That is what I came here for."

However firm was his look, he could not this time support the look of
Aramis. He allowed, therefore, his eye to stray upon Porthos--like the
sword which yields to too powerful a pressure, and seeks another road.

"At all events," said the bishop, "you have assumed a singular traveling
costume, old friend."

"Frightful! I know it is. You may understand why I would not travel as a
cavalier or a noble; since I became rich, I am miserly."

"And you say, then, you came to Belle-Isle?" said Aramis, without
transition.

"Yes," replied D'Artagnan; "I knew I should find you and Porthos there."

"Find me!" cried Aramis. "Me! for the last year past I have not once
crossed the sea."

"Oh," said D'Artagnan, "I should never have supposed you such a
housekeeper."

"Ah, dear friend, I must tell you that I am no longer the Aramis of
former times. Riding on horseback is unpleasant to me; the sea fatigues
me. I am a poor, ailing priest, always complaining, always grumbling,
and inclined to the austerities which appear to accord with old
age,--preliminary parleyings with death. I linger, my dear D'Artagnan, I
linger."

"Well, that is all the better, my friend, for we shall probably be
neighbors soon."

"Bah!" said Aramis with a degree of surprise he did not even seek to
dissemble. "You my neighbor!"

"_Mordi