“Ah! I had been told that Belle-Isle was fortified; besides, I know how great the military knowledge is you possess.”
“I have forgotten everything of the kind since I entered the Church,” said Aramis, annoyed.
“Suffice it to know that I learned you had returned from Vannes, and I sent off to one of our friends, M. le Comte de la Fere, who is discretion itself, in order to ascertain it, but he answered that he was not aware of your address.”
“So like Athos,” thought the bishop; “the really good man never changes.”
“Well, then, you know that I cannot venture to show myself here, and that the queen-mother has always some grievance or other against me.”
“Yes, indeed, and I am surprised at it.”
“Oh! there are various reasons for it. But, to continue, being obliged to conceal myself, I was fortunate enough to meet with M. d’Artagnan, who was formerly one of your old friends, I believe?”
“A friend of mine still, duchesse.”
“He gave me certain information, and sent me to M. Baisemeaux, the governor of the Bastile.”
Aramis was somewhat agitated at this remark, and a light flashed from his eyes in the darkness of the room, which he could not conceal from his keen-sighted friend. “M. de Baisemeaux!” he said, “why did D’Artagnan send you to M. de Baisemeaux?”