Part 44

Then in a low voice:

—“The fact remains that the fox saw me, and that he will have time to prepare to receive me.”

But the procession had passed; the way was clear.

D’Artagnan and Porthos walked straight to the bishop’s palace, which a numerous crowd surrounded to see the prelate return.

D’Artagnan noticed that this crowd was composed chiefly of bourgeois and soldiers.

He recognized in the nature of these supporters the touch of his friend.

Indeed, Aramis was not a man to seek useless popularity: little did it matter to him to be loved by people who were of no use to him.

Women, children, old men—that is to say, the ordinary following of pastors—that was not his following. Ten minutes after the two friends had crossed the threshold of the bishop’s residence, Aramis returned like a conqueror; the soldiers presented arms to him as to a superior; the bourgeois saluted him as a friend, rather as a patron than as a religious chief. There was in Aramis something of those Roman senators who always had their doors thronged with clients. At the foot of the steps, he held a half-minute conference with a Jesuit who, to speak to him more discreetly, passed his head beneath the canopy.

Then he went back inside; the doors closed slowly, and the crowd flowed away, while the hymns and prayers still rang out.

It was a magnificent day. There were earthly perfumes mingled with perfumes of air and sea. The city breathed happiness, joy, strength.

D’Artagnan felt as it were the presence of an invisible hand which, all-powerful, had created this strength, this joy, this happiness, and scattered these perfumes everywhere.

“Oh! oh!” said he to himself, “Porthos has grown fat; but Aramis has grown great.”

End of Volume I

“Stories of the world, in your language.”