convinced, so plausible was this reasoning.

“Yes, my dear Aramis, you are right; it is a happy idea. I will wager it is one of your own, Aramis.”

“Well, I don’t know,” replied the bishop; “either mine or M. Fouquet’s.” Then scanning Percerin, after noticing D’Artagnan’s hesitation, “Well, Monsieur Percerin,” he asked, “what do you say to this?”

“I say, that — ”

“That you are, doubtless, free to refuse. I know well — and I by no means count upon compelling you, my dear monsieur. I will say more, I even understand all the delicacy you feel in taking up with M. Fouquet’s idea; you dread appearing to flatter the king. A noble spirit, M. Percerin, a noble spirit!”