his little low chair, which the children tried to take away,
with battles more fierce than those of the Greeks
endeavoring to recover the 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?"

"Why, where can you come from," said Bazin, rather
irreverently, "that you don't know that?"

"My dear Bazin, we pagans, we men of the sword, know very
well when a man is made a colonel, or maitre-de-camp, or
marshal of France; but if he be made a bishop, archbishop,
or pope -- devil take me if the news reaches us before the