"Just as you please. Get angry if you like, or call me names, if you
prefer it; but, the deuce is in it. _I know what I know_."

D'Artagnan had, during this second outburst of Planchet's, so placed
himself as not to lose a single look of his face; that is, he sat with
both his hands resting on both his knees, and his head stretched out
towards the grocer. "Come, explain yourself," he said, "and tell me how
you could possibly utter such a blasphemy. M. d'Herblay, your old
master, my friend, an ecclesiastic, a musketeer turned bishop - do you
mean to say you would raise your sword against him, Planchet?"

"I could raise my sword against my own father, when I see you in such a
state as you are now."

"M. d'Herblay, a gentleman!"

"It's all the same to me whether he's a gentleman or not. He gives you
the blue devils, that is all I know. And the blue devils make people get
thin. _Malaga!_ I have no notion of M. d'Artagnan leaving my house
thinner than when he entered it."

"How does he give me the blue devils, as you call it? Come, explain,
explain."

"You have had the nightmare during the last three nights."

"I?"

"Yes, you; and in your nightmare you called out, several times, 'Aramis,
deceitful Aramis!'"