“Just so,” replied Aramis.
“The Gascon is the devil!” cried Athos; “nothing escapes him.”
“The fact is,” said Porthos, “Aramis is of the same height, and something of the shape of the duke; but it nevertheless appears to me that the dress of a Musketeer—”
“I wore an enormous cloak,” said Aramis.
“In the month of July? The devil!” said Porthos. “Is the doctor afraid that you may be recognized?”
“I can comprehend that the spy may have been deceived by the person; but the face—”
“I had a large hat,” said Aramis.
“Oh, good lord,” cried Porthos, “what precautions for the study of theology!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “do not let us lose our time in jesting. Let us separate, and let us seek the mercer’s wife—that is the key of the intrigue.”
“A woman of such inferior condition! Can you believe so?” said Porthos, protruding his lips with contempt.