Unfortunately Porthos knew nothing of the life of his silent companion but what revealed itself. It was said Athos had met with great crosses in love, and that a frightful treachery had forever poisoned the life of this gallant man. What could this treachery be? All the world was ignorant of it.
As to Porthos, except his real name (as was the case with those of his two comrades), his life was very easily known. Vain and indiscreet, it was as easy to see through him as through a crystal. The only thing to mislead the investigator would have been belief in all the good things he said of himself.
With respect to Aramis, though having the air of having nothing secret about him, he was a young fellow made up of mysteries, answering little to questions put to him about others, and eluding those that concerned himself. One day, D’Artagnan, having for a long time interrogated him about Porthos, and having learned from him the report which prevailed concerning the success of the musketeer with a princess, wished to gain a little insight into the amorous adventures of his interlocutor. “And you, my dear companion,” said he, “you speak of the baronesses, countesses, and princesses of others?”
“ Pardieu! I spoke of them because Porthos talked of them himself, because he had paraded all these fine things before me. But be assured, my dear M. d’Artagnan, that if I had obtained them from any other source, or if they had been confided to me, there exists no confessor more discreet than myself.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” replied d’Artagnan; “but it seems to me that you are tolerably familiar with coats of arms—a certain embroidered handkerchief, for instance, to which I owe the honor of your acquaintance?”
This time Aramis was not angry, but assumed the most modest air and replied in a friendly tone, “My dear friend, do not forget that I wish