Aramis did not move.
The King shuddered and turned pale. “Am I not King of France?”
“Assuredly, sire, but we are also, severally, Porthos, Aramis, D’Artagnan, and Athos.”
“Ah!” said the King.
“Yes, sire.”
“What does this mean?”
“It means, your Majesty,” said Aramis, stepping forward, “that your conduct as a married man is highly improper. I am an abbe, and I object to these improprieties. My friends here, D’Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, pure-minded young men, are also terribly shocked. Observe, sire, how they blush!”
Athos, Porthos, and D’Artagnan blushed.
“Ah,” said the King thoughtfully. “You teach me a lesson. You are devoted and noble young gentlemen, but your only weakness is your excessive modesty. From this moment I make you all marshals and dukes, with the exception of Aramis.”
“And me, sire?” said Aramis.