, Aramis?"

"An idea to which we shall owe our liberty within twelve hours."

"Ah! indeed!" said Porthos, much astonished. "Let us hear it."

"Did you remark, in the scene our friend had with the officer, that
certain orders constrained him with regard to us?"

"Yes, I did notice that."

"Well! D'Artagnan is going to give in his resignation to the king, and
during the confusion that will result from his absence, we will get
away, or rather you will get away, Porthos, if there is possibility of
flight for only one."

Here Porthos shook his head and replied: "We will escape together,
Aramis, or we will stay together."

"Thine is a right, a generous heart," said Aramis, "only your melancholy
uneasiness affects me."

"I am not uneasy," said Porthos.

"Then you are angry with me."

"I am not angry with you."

"Then why, my friend, do you put on such a dismal countenance?"

"I will tell you; I am making my will." And while saying these words,
the good Porthos looked sadly in the face of Aramis.

"Your will!" cried the bishop. "What, then! do you think yourself lost?"

"I feel fatigued. It is the first time, and there is a custom in our
family."

"What is it, my friend?"

"My grandfather was a man twice as strong as I am."

"Indeed!" said Aramis; "then your grandfather must have been Samson
himself."

"No; his name was Antoine. Well! he was about my age, when, setting
out one day for the chase, he felt his legs weak, the man who had never
known what weakness was before."

"What was the meaning of that fatigue, my friend?"

"Nothing good, as you will see; for having set out, complaining still of
weakness of the legs, he met a wild boar, which made head against him;
he missed him with his arquebuse, and was ripped up by the beast and
died immediately."

"There is no reason in that why you should alarm yourself, dear
Porthos."

"Oh! you will see. My father was as strong again as I am. He was a rough
soldier, under Henry III. and Henry IV.; his name was not Antoine, but
Gaspard, the same as M. de Coligny. Always on horseback, he had never
known what lassitude was. One evening, as he rose from table, his legs
failed him."

"He had supped heartily, perhaps," said Aramis, "and that was why he
staggered."

"Bah! A friend of M. de Bassompierre, nonsense! No, no, he was
astonished at this lassitude, and said to my mother, who laughed at him,
'Would not one believe I was going to meet with a wild boar, as