"Yes, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, bowing to the neck of his horse.
"I heard the king invite you to his table for this evening," continued the minister; "you will meet an old friend there."
"An old friend of mine?" asked D'Artagnan, plunging painfully into the dark waves of the past, which had swallowed up for him so many friendships and so many hatreds.
"M. le Duc d'Alméda, who is arrived this morning from Spain."
"The Duc d'Alméda?" said D'Artagnan, reflecting in vain.
"I!" said an old man, white as snow, sitting bent in his carriage, which he caused to be thrown open to make room for the musketeer.
"Aramis!" cried D'Artagnan, struck with perfect stupor. And he left, inert as it was, the thin arm of the old nobleman hanging round his neck.
Colbert, after having observed them in silence for a minute, put his horse forward, and left the two old friends together.
"And so," said the musketeer, taking the arm of Aramis, "you, the exile, the rebel, are again in France?"
"Ah! and I shall dine with you at the king's table," said Aramis, smiling. "Yes; will you not ask yourself what is the use of fidelity in this world? Stop! let us allow poor La Valliere's carriage to pass. Look how uneasy she is! How her eye, dimmed with tears, follows the king, who is riding on horseback yonder!"