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“That is my condemnation,” thought d’Artagnan. “He’s sparing me the boredom of the Bastille and the delays of a trial. That’s really quite nice of him.”

“Here, Monsieur,” the cardinal said to the young man, “I gave you one blank permit, and I am giving you another. The name is missing on this brevet: you will fill it in yourself.”

D’Artagnan hesitantly took the paper and ran his eyes over it.

It was a lieutenancy in the musketeers.

D’Artagnan fell at the cardinal’s feet.

“Monseigneur,” he said, “my life is yours, dispose of it as you will; but this favor which you are granting me I do not deserve: I have three friends who are more deserving and more worthy…”

“You’re a brave lad, d’Artagnan,” the cardinal interrupted, patting him familiarly on the shoulder, delighted as he was to have conquered this rebellious nature. “Do as you please with this brevet. Only remember that, though the name is blank, it is to you that I am giving it.”

“I will never forget that,” replied d’Artagnan. “Your Eminence may be certain of it.”

The cardinal turned and said in a loud voice: “Rochefort!”

The chevalier, who had no doubt been just outside the door, came in at once.

“Rochefort,” said the cardinal, “here you see M. d’Artagnan. I am receiving him into the number of my friends. Kiss each other, then, and be sensible, if you care to keep your heads.”

Rochefort and d’Artagnan barely brushed each other with their lips, but the cardinal was there, observing them with his watchful eye.

They left the room at the same time.

“We shall meet again, shall we not, Monsieur?”

“Whenever you like,” said d’Artagnan.

“The chance will come,” replied Rochefort.

“Eh?” said Richelieu, opening the door.

The two men smiled, shook hands, and bowed to His Eminence.

“We were beginning to get impatient,” said Athos.

“Here I am, my friends,” replied d’Artagnan, “not only free, but in favor.”

“You’ll tell us about it?”

“This very evening.”

Indeed, that same evening d’Artagnan went to Athos’s lodgings, where he found him in the process of emptying his bottle of Spanish wine, a task he performed religiously every evening.

He told him what had gone on between the cardinal and himself, and, taking the brevet from his pocket, said:

“Here, my dear Athos, this belongs quite naturally to you.”

Athos smiled his gentle and charming smile.

“My friend,” he said, “for Athos it is too much; for the comte de La Fère it is too little. Keep the brevet; it’s yours. Alas, you’ve paid quite dearly for it!”

D’Artagnan left Athos’s room and went into Porthos’s.

He found him dressed in a magnificent outfit, covered with splendid embroidery, and looking at himself in the mirror.

“Aha!” said Porthos, “it’s you, dear friend! How do you think this costume suits me?”

“Perfectly,” said d’Artagnan, “but I’ve come to offer you an even more suitable outfit.”

“Which?” asked Porthos.

“That of a lieutenant in the musketeers.”

D’Artagnan told Porthos about his interview with the cardinal, and, taking the brevet from his pocket, said:

“Here, my dear, write your name on it, and be a good leader for me.”

Porthos ran his eyes over the brevet and handed it back to d’Artagnan, to the young man’s great astonishment.

“Yes,” he said, “that would be quite flattering for me, but I wouldn’t have long enough to enjoy the favor. During our expedition to Béthune, my duchess’s husband died, my dear, so that, with the deceased’s coffer holding its arms out to me, I’m marrying the widow. You see, I’m trying on my wedding outfit. Keep the lieutenancy, my dear, keep it.”

And he returned the brevet to d’Artagnan.

The young man went into Aramis’s room.

He found him kneeling before a prie-dieu, his forehead resting on his open book of hours.

He told him about his interview with the cardinal, and, taking the brevet from his pocket for the third time, said:

“You, our friend, our light, our invisible protector, accept this brevet. You have deserved it more than anyone, by your