Ten Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

it to-morrow before mid-day.”

“He shall.”

“And do not forget one thing, my friend.”

“What is that?”

“That you are riding out on a hunt for your brevet of duc

and peer.”

“Oh! oh!” said Porthos, with his eyes sparkling; “I will do

it in twenty-four hours, in that case.”

“Try.”

“Then let go the bridle — and forward, Goliath!”

Aramis did let go, not the bridle, but the horse’s nose.

Porthos released his hand, clapped spurs to his horse, which

set off at a gallop. As long as he could distinguish Porthos

through the darkness, Aramis followed him with his eyes:

when he was completely out of sight, he re-entered the yard.

Nothing had stirred in D’Artagnan’s apartment. The valet

placed on watch at the door had neither seen any light, nor

heard any noise. Aramis closed his door carefully, sent the

lackey to bed, and quickly sought his own. D’Artagnan really

suspected nothing, therefore thought he had gained

everything, when he awoke in the morning, about halfpast

four. He ran to the window in his shirt. The window looked

out upon the court. Day was dawning. The court was deserted;

the fowls, even, had not left their roosts. Not a servant

appeared. Every door was closed.

“Good! all is still,” said D’Artagnan to himself. “Never

mind: I am up first in the house. Let us dress; that will be

so much done.” And D’Artagnan dressed himself. But, this

time, he endeavored not to give to the costume of M. Agnan

that bourgeoise and almost ecclesiastical rigidity he had

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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later

affected before; he managed, by drawing his belt tighter, by

buttoning his clothes in a different fashion, and by putting

on his hat a little on one side, to restore to his person a

little of that military character, the absence of which had

surprised Aramis. This being done, he made free, or affected

to make free with his host, and entered his chamber without

ceremony. Aramis was asleep or feigned to be so. A large

book lay open upon his night-desk, a wax-light was still

burning in its silver sconce. This was more than enough to

prove to D’Artagnan the quiescence of the prelate’s night,

and the good intentions of his waking. The musketeer did to

the bishop precisely as the bishop had done to Porthos — he

tapped him on the shoulder. Evidently Aramis pretended to

sleep; for, instead of waking suddenly, he who slept so

lightly required a repetition of the summons.

“Ah! ah! is that you?” said he, stretching his arms. “What

an agreeable surprise! Ma foi! Sleep had made me forget I

had the happiness to possess you. What o’clock is it?”

“I do not know,” said D’Artagnan, a little embarrassed.

“Early, I believe. But, you know, that devil of a habit of

waking with the day sticks to me still.”

“Do you wish that we should go out so soon?” asked Aramis.

“It appears to me to be very early.”

“Just as you like.”

“I thought we had agreed not to get on horseback before

eight.”

“Possibly; but I had so great a wish to see you, that I said

to myself, the sooner the better.”

“And my seven hours, sleep!” said Aramis: “Take care; I had

reckoned upon them, and what I lose of them I must make up.”

“But it seems to me that, formerly, you were less of a

sleeper than that, dear friend; your blood was alive, and

you were never to be found in bed.”

“And it is exactly on account of what you tell me that I am

so fond of being there now.”

“Then you confess that it is not for the sake of sleeping

that you have put me off till eight o’clock.”

“I have been afraid you would laugh at me, if I told you the

truth.”

“Tell me, notwithstanding.”

“Well, from six to eight, I am accustomed to perform my

devotions.”

“Your devotions?”

“Yes.”

“I did not believe a bishop’s exercises were so severe.”

“A bishop, my friend, must sacrifice more to appearance than

a simple cleric.”

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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later

“Mordioux! Aramis, that is a word which reconciles me with

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