The next clay l got up early and rode hard to r Pari s. I was
looking forward to meeting my old fri ends, bu t the th ought of
seeing Paris and its starving people again did not make me happy.
l'vlany people th e re knew me by sight. Othe rs recognised my
uniform or knew me by reputation. At one time, the people of
Paris thought of me as one of them. ow I saw nothing but hatred
in their eyes. 1 was the King's man, and those in my uniform used
their swords and muskets to keep the people hungr y and silent.
I entered Paris through one of th e areas whe re the re was less
hunge r. It made no difference. Even th ere, stones and rotten
cabbages were thrown at me. Usually th ey were accompa nied by
the words, "Shame on King Louis! Shame on the Musketeers!"
Our meeting place was in the cellar of a food store owned by
a cousin of Aramis'. It was possible to e nter thro ugh a kind of
door in the pavement. As I went clown the steps in to the darkness
unde rground, I could hear the voices of my old friends and my
heart warmed.
I had seen Aramis recentl y. As a bishop of some impor tance,
he was often at court, but I had not seen the others for some time.
Athos seldom came to Paris. Since his son was killed in the war ,
he had lost all his old love of life. All he lived for now was his clogs
and the sound of silence on his farm. Porthos, I heard , had tried
marriage, but had found it difficult. He was still not ready fo r the
quiet life in the co untry.
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