“Yes,” replied Aramis, “I am extremely careful of my appearance.

Do you know that I am growing old? I am nearly thirty-seven.”

“Mind, Aramis” — D’Artagnan smiled as he spoke — ”since we are together again, let us agree on one point: what age shall we be in future?”

“How?”

“Formerly I was your junior by two or three years, and if I am not mistaken I am turned forty years old.”

“Indeed! Then ‘tis I who am mistaken, for you have always been a good chronologist. By your reckoning I must be forty-three at least. The devil I am! Don’t let it out at the Hotel Rambouillet; it would ruin me,”