“Three hundred pistoles.”
“Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world. Begone, then!”
D’Artagnan saluted M. de Tréville, who held out his hand to him; D’Artagnan pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since his first arrival at Paris, he had had constant occasion to honor this excellent man, whom he had always found worthy, loyal, and great.
His first visit was to Aramis, at whose residence he had not been since the famous evening on which he had followed Mme. Bonacieux. Still further, he had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every time he had seen him, he had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on his countenance.
This evening, especially, Aramis was melancholy and thoughtful. D’Artagnan asked some questions about this prolonged melancholy. Aramis pleaded as his excuse a commentary upon the eighteenth chapter of St. Augustine, which he was forced to write in Latin for the following week, and which preoccupied him a good deal.
After the two friends had been chatting a few moments, a servant from M. de Tréville entered, bringing a sealed packet.
“What is that?” asked Aramis.
“The leave of absence Monsieur has asked for,” replied the lackey.
“For me! I have asked for no leave of absence.”
“Hold your tongue and take it!” said D’Artagnan. “And you, my friend, there is a demipistole for your trouble; you will tell Monsieur de Tréville that Monsieur Aramis is very much obliged to him. Go.”