At the two sides of the street, inclosing the _cortege_, marched the guards of the garrison, carrying bouquets in the barrels of their muskets and on the points of their lances.

This was the procession.
Whilst D'Artagnan and Porthos were looking on with critical glances, which disguised an extreme impatience to get forward, a magnificent dais approached preceded by a hundred Jesuits and a hundred Dominicans, and escorted by two archdeacons, a treasurer, a penitent and twelve canons.
A singer with a thundering voice--a man certainly picked out from all the voices of France, as was the drum-major of the imperial guard from all the giants of the empire--escorted by four other chanters, who appeared to be there only to serve him as an accompaniment, made the air resound, and the windows of the houses vibrate.

Under the dais appeared a pale and noble countenance with black eyes, black hair streaked with threads of white, a delicate, compressed mouth, a prominent and angular chin.

His head, full of graceful majesty, was covered with the episcopal mitre, a headdress which gave it, in addition to the character of sovereignty, that of asceticism and evangelic meditation.
"Aramis!" cried the musketeer, involuntarily, as this lofty countenance passed before him.

The prelate started at the sound of the voice.