Aramis darted a look at Porthos, as if to ask if all this were true, if some snare were not concealed beneath this outward indifference. But soon, as if ashamed of having consulted this poor auxiliary, he collected all his forces for a fresh assault and new defense. “I heard that you had had some difference with the court, but that you had come out of it as you know how to get through everything, D’Artagnan, with the honors of war.”
“I!” said the musketeer, with a burst of laughter that did not conceal his embarrassment: for, from those words, Aramis was not unlikely to be acquainted with his last relations with the king. “I! Oh, tell me all about that, pray, Aramis?”
“Yes, it was related to me, a poor bishop, lost in the middle of the Landes, that the king had taken you as the confidant of his amours.”
“With whom?”
“With Mademoiselle de Mancini.”
D’Artagnan breathed freely again. “Ah! I don’t say no to that,” replied he.
“It appears that the king took you one morning, over the bridge of Blois to talk with his lady-love.”
“That’s true,” said D’Artagnan. “And you know that, do you? Well, then, you must know that the same day I gave in my resignation!”
“What, sincerely?”
“Nothing more so.”