“It follows that we are rebels, my poor friend.”
“The devil! the devil!” cried Porthos, much disappointed.
“Oh! but, dear Porthos, be calm, we shall still find means of getting out of the affair, trust me.”
“It is not that which makes me uneasy,” replied Porthos; “that which alone touches me is that ugly word rebels.”
“Ah! but—”
“And so, according to this, the duchy that was promised me—”
“It was the usurper that was to give it to you.”
“And that is not the same thing, Aramis,” said Porthos, majestically.
“My friend, if it had only depended upon me, you should have become a prince.”
Porthos began to bite his nails in a melancholy way.