The way he speaks makes it hard to doubt anything that Aramis ever has to say...but watching him now, looking at his face, feeling the earnestness in every word that falls from his lips.

And as she watches...she can actually see it. The sharpness of Gerard's gaze, Gerard's conviction, her father's quiet dignity and strength...even his face, the eyes and the nose, just a bit, are familiar in the reflection she sees every morning.

The blood of the Musketeers runs through my veins. she mused. It filled her with a strange sort of pride.

"I believe you." she replied quietly...then scooted closer, impulsively wrapping her arms around him for a sideways hug. "And for what it's worth, the name Musketeer means nothing: Aramis, René d'Herblay, I am proud to call you family. You and Porthos both."

Because nothing could convince her that, while there might have been a legitimate blood relation from some affair or another, at least some of the Herblays weren't orphans the two of them adopted once they finally realized how much they loved each other.

And that made Porthos as much her ancestor as Aramis.