“I have heard they drink it in the East,” Athos says, curious and faintly amused by Aramis’ enthusiasm. As he watches them, though, he is again struck by the realization that he is missing something, and worse, that he has wandered into a scene in which he no longer belongs. Friends have never come easy to him, for Athos has always been solitary by nature, but were it not for these two, he might have turned further inward still, these last five years. He does not mind the solitude, he tells himself, but he cannot quite bring himself to believe that.

He pours himself more wine and sips it in silence.