“Certainly it was not the cardinal; but don’t trouble yourself whence they come, think only that one of the three is your property.”
“I choose that which the redheaded boy is leading.”
“It is yours!”
“Good heaven! That is enough to drive away all my pains; I could mount him with thirty balls in my body. On my soul, handsome stirrups! Holà , Bazin, come here this minute.”
Bazin appeared on the threshold, dull and spiritless.
“Furbish my sword, put my hat to rights, brush my cloak, and load my pistols!” said Aramis.
“That last order is useless,” interrupted d’Artagnan; “there are loaded pistols in your holsters.”
Bazin sighed.
“Come, M. Bazin, make yourself easy,” said d’Artagnan; “people of all conditions gain the kingdom of heaven.”
“Monsieur was already such a good theologian,” said Bazin, almost weeping; “he might have become a bishop, and perhaps a cardinal.”
“Well, but my poor Bazin, reflect a little. Of what use is it to be a churchman, pray? You do not avoid going to war by that means; you see, the cardinal is about to make the next campaign, helm on head and partisan in hand. And M. de Nogaret de la Valette, what do you say of him? He is a cardinal likewise. Ask his lackey how often he has had to prepare lint of him.”
“Alas!” sighed Bazin. “I know it, Monsieur; everything is turned topsy-turvy in the world nowadays.”