that a poor bishop of Vannes is not rich enough to have new dresses for every fete.”
“Bah!” said the musketeer, laughing, “and do we write no more poems now, either?”
“Oh! D’Artagnan,” exclaimed Aramis, “I have long ago given up all such tomfoolery.”
“True,” repeated D’Artagnan, only half convinced. As for Percerin, he was once more absorbed in contemplation of the brocades.
“Don’t you perceive,” said Aramis, smiling, “that we are greatly boring this good gentleman, my dear D’Artagnan?”
“Ah! ah!” murmured the musketeer, aside; “that is, I am boring you, my friend.”