tell you that the bishopric of Vannes is worth about twenty
thousand livres a year, neither more nor less. It is a
diocese which contains a hundred and sixty parishes.”
“That is very pretty,” said D’Artagnan.
“It is superb!” said Porthos.
“And yet,” resumed D’Artagnan, throwing his eyes over
Aramis, “you don’t mean to bury yourself here forever?”
“Pardon me. Only I do not admit the word bury.”
“But it seems to me, that at this distance from Paris a man
is buried, or nearly so.”
“My friend, I am getting old,” said Aramis; “the noise and
bustle of a city no longer suit me. At fifty-seven we ought
to seek calm and meditation. I have found them here. What is
there more beautiful, and stern at the same time, than this
old Armorica. I find here, dear D’Artagnan, all that is
opposite to what I formerly loved, and that is what must
happen at the end of life, which is opposite to the
beginning. A little of my odd pleasure of former times still
comes to salute me here, now and then, without diverting me
from the road of salvation. I am still of this world, and
yet every step that I take brings me nearer to God.”
“Eloquent, wise and discreet; you are an accomplished
prelate, Aramis, and I offer you my congratulations.”
“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?”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
“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 parlayings 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!”
“Mordioux! yes.”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
“How so?”
“I am about to purchase some very profitable salt-mines,
which are situated between Pirial and Croisic. Imagine, my
friend, a clear profit of twelve per cent. Never any
deficiency, never any idle expenses; the ocean, faithful and