While this dialogue was going on, the two young men and the poor lackey descended.
“Hold my stirrup, Bazin,” cried Aramis; and Aramis sprang into the saddle with his usual grace and agility, but after a few vaults and curvets of the noble animal his rider felt his pains come on so insupportably that he turned pale and became unsteady in his seat. D’Artagnan, who, foreseeing such an event, had kept his eye on him, sprang toward him, caught him in his arms, and assisted him to his chamber.
“That’s all right, my dear Aramis, take care of yourself,” said he; “I will go alone in search of Athos.”
“You are a man of brass,” replied Aramis.
“No, I have good luck, that is all. But how do you mean to pass your time till I come back? No more theses, no more glosses upon the fingers or upon benedictions, hey?”
Aramis smiled. “I will make verses,” said he.
“Yes, I dare say; verses perfumed with the odor of the billet from the attendant of Madame de Chevreuse. Teach Bazin prosody; that will console him. As to the horse, ride him a little every day, and that will accustom you to his maneuvers.”
“Oh, make yourself easy on that head,” replied Aramis. “You will find me ready to follow you.”
They took leave of each other, and in ten minutes, after having commended his friend to the cares of the hostess and Bazin, d’Artagnan was trotting along in the direction of Amiens.
How was he going to find Athos? Should he find him at all? The position in which he had left him was critical. He probably had