Athos smiled and opened the window.
“Aramis!” he cried.
A gentleman turned around. Athos fancied he had seen him among the crowd. It was Aramis. He bowed with great friendship to the count.
“Aramis,” cried Athos, “I am arrested.”
“Good,” replied Aramis, calmly.
“Sir,” said Athos, turning to Comminges and giving him politely his sword by the hilt, “here is my sword; have the kindness to keep it safely for me until I quit my prison.
I prize it — it was given to my ancestor by King Francis I. In his time they armed gentlemen, not disarmed them. Now, whither do you conduct me?”
“Into my room first,” replied Comminges; “the queen will ultimately decide your place of domicile.”
Athos followed Comminges without saying a single word.