“That may be,” said Porthos; “but in the place of M. Fouquet——”
Aramis was afraid Porthos was about to say something awkward, so interrupted him. “Come, D’Artagnan,” said he; “this is quite enough about other people, let us talk a little about you.”
“Of me you know all that I can tell you. On the contrary let me hear a little about you, Aramis.”
“I have told you, my friend. There is nothing of Aramis left in me.”
“Nor of the Abbe d’Herblay even?”
“No, not even of him. You see a man whom Providence has taken by the hand, whom he has conducted to a position that he could never have dared even to hope for.”
“Providence?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Yes.”
“Well, that is strange! I was told it was M. Fouquet.”
“Who told you that?” cried Aramis, without being able, with all the power of his will, to prevent the color rising to his cheeks.