Athos exhales with a long-suffering sigh, though he looks more fond than annoyed. Don’t involve me in this he insists in the face of absurdities great and small, always immediately before they drag him in – and he allows himself to be dragged.

For a moment, his heart betrays him, thoughts drifting to a different sort of ‘involvement,’ but he dismisses such imaginings before they can take root.

When Porthos departs, he regards Aramis with a different sort of question in mind. “What’s got him so keen on the weather?”