“I know myself, Father; my resolution is irrevocable.”
“Then you persist in continuing that thesis?”
“I feel myself called upon to treat that, and no other. I will see about the continuation of it, and tomorrow I hope you will be satisfied with the corrections I shall have made in consequence of your advice.”
“Work slowly,” said the curate; “we leave you in an excellent tone of mind.”
“Yes, the ground is all sown,” said the Jesuit, “and we have not to fear that one portion of the seed may have fallen upon stone, another upon the highway, or that the birds of heaven have eaten the rest, aves cœli comederunt illam.”
“Plague stifle you and your Latin!” said D’Artagnan, who began to feel all his patience exhausted.
“Farewell, my son,” said the curate, “till tomorrow.”
“Till tomorrow, rash youth,” said the Jesuit. “You promise to become one of the lights of the Church. Heaven grant that this light prove not a devouring fire!”
D’Artagnan, who for an hour past had been gnawing his nails with impatience, was beginning to attack the quick.
The two men in black rose, bowed to Aramis and D’Artagnan, and advanced toward the door. Bazin, who had been standing listening to all this controversy with a pious jubilation, sprang toward them, took the breviary of the curate and the missal of the Jesuit, and walked respectfully before them to clear their way.