“No, I have not asked you that,” said Aramis, with his subtle manner; “but I have expected you to tell me.”
“Well, I sought you for the single purpose of offering you a chance to kill Monsieur de Marsillac whenever you please, prince though he is.”
“Hold on! wait!” said Aramis; “that is an idea!”
“Of which I invite you to take advantage, my friend. Let us see; with your thousand crowns from the abbey and the twelve thousand francs you make by selling sermons, are you rich? Answer frankly.”
“I? I am as poor as Job, and were you to search my pockets and my boxes I don’t believe you would find a hundred pistoles.”
“Peste! a hundred pistoles!” said D’Artagnan to himself; “he calls that being as poor as Job! If I had them I should think myself as rich as Croesus.” Then aloud: “Are you ambitious?”
“As Enceladus.”
“Well, my friend, I bring you the means of becoming rich, powerful, and free to do whatever you wish.”
The shadow of a cloud passed over Aramis’s face as quickly as that which in August passes over the field of grain; but quick as it was, it did not escape D’Artagnan’s observation.
“Speak on,” said Aramis.