ast 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 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