"I have had little need to write my name over the years," exhales Aramis. A Musketeer's word is his honor and his bond, and though he had often been at study in church, Aramis prefers to write his prayers upon his heart.

Spying a pen and paper errant on Allison's counter, Aramis takes hold of both, hesitating only a moment before he scrawls the name he'd long since left behind. Carrying it back to the computer, he holds the scrap up with trembling hands.

It's a match. A near perfect match, right down to the looping H. "Sang dieu," Aramis swears aloud.