body of Patroclus from the hands of the Trojans. Bazin did more than bound; he let fall both his alphabet and his ferule. “You!” said he; “you, Monsieur D’Artagnan?”

“Yes, myself! Where is Aramis — no, M. le Chevalier d’Herblay — no, I am still mistaken — Monsieur le Vicaire-General?”

“Ah, monsieur,” said Bazin, with dignity, “monseigneur is at his diocese.”

“What did you say?” said D’Artagnan. Bazin repeated the sentence.

“Ah, ah! but has Aramis a diocese?”

“Yes, monsieur. Why not?”

“Is he a bishop, then?”