“Oh, these plans of retreat have been formed for a long time. You have often heard me speak of them, have you not, my friend?”
“Yes; but I confess I always thought you jested.”
“With such things! Oh, d’Artagnan!”
“The devil! Why, people jest with death.”
“And people are wrong, d’Artagnan; for death is the door which leads to perdition or to salvation.”
“Granted; but if you please, let us not theologize, Aramis. You must have had enough for today. As for me, I have almost forgotten the little Latin I have ever known. Then I confess to you that I have eaten nothing since ten o’clock this morning, and I am devilishly hungry.”
“We will dine directly, my friend; only you must please to remember that this is Friday. Now, on such a day I can neither eat flesh nor see it eaten. If you can be satisfied with my dinner—it consists of cooked tetragones and fruits.”
“What do you mean by tetragones?” asked d’Artagnan, uneasily.
“I mean spinach,” replied Aramis; “but on your account I will add some eggs, and that is a serious infraction of the rule—for eggs are meat, since they engender chickens.”
“This feast is not very succulent; but never mind, I will put up with it for the sake of remaining with you.”
“I am grateful to you for the sacrifice,” said Aramis; “but if your body be not greatly benefited by it, be assured your soul will.”
“And so, Aramis, you are decidedly going into the Church? What will our two friends say? What will M. de Tréville say? They will treat you as a