“P.S.—Be it well understood that the fifty louis which I send are equally for Aramis as for you—for you as Aramis.”
Athos smiled, and his fine eye was dimmed by a tear. D’Artagnan, who had loved him so tenderly, loved him still, although a Mazarinist.
“There are the fifty louis, i’faith,” said Aramis, emptying the purse on the table, all bearing the effigy of Louis XIII. “Well, what shall you do with this money, count? Shall you keep it or send it back?”
“I shall keep it, Aramis, and even though I had no need of it I still should keep it. What is offered from a generous heart should be accepted generously. Take twenty-five of them, Aramis, and give me the remaining twenty-five.”
“All right; I am glad to see you are of my opinion. There now, shall we start?”
“When you like; but have you no groom?”
“No; that idiot Bazin had the folly to make himself verger, as you know, and therefore cannot leave Notre Dame.
“Very well, take Blaisois, with whom I know not what to do, since I already have Grimaud.”
“Willingly,” said Aramis.
At this moment Grimaud appeared at the door. “Ready,” said he, with his usual curtness.