“What is it?” said Aramis, quietly. “You have apparently something to say to me, my friend.”
“It is,” replied D’Artagnan, fixing his eyes upon Aramis, “it is that Porthos is not in his apartment.”
“Indeed,” said Aramis calmly; “are you sure?”
“Pardieu! I came from his chamber.”
“Where can he be, then?”
“That is what I am asking you.”
“And have you not inquired?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And what answer did you get?”
“That Porthos, often walking out in a morning, without saying anything, had probably gone out.”