“’Tis true; man, as you know,” said Aramis, “is a strange animal, made up of contradictions. Since I became an abbé I dream of nothing but battles.”
“That is apparent in your surroundings; you have rapiers here of every form and to suit the most exacting taste. Do you still fence well?”
“I—I fence as well as you did in the old time—better still, perhaps; I do nothing else all day.”
“And with whom?”
“With an excellent master-at-arms that we have here.”
“What! here?”
“Yes, here, in this convent, my dear fellow. There is everything in a Jesuit convent.”
“Then you would have killed Monsieur de Marsillac if he had come alone to attack you, instead of at the head of twenty men?”
“Undoubtedly,” said Aramis, “and even at the head of his twenty men, if I could have drawn without being recognized.”
“God pardon me!” said D’Artagnan to himself, “I believe he has become more Gascon than I am!” Then aloud: “Well, my dear Aramis, do you ask me why I came to seek you?”