“Tell the Comte de la Fère to come to me,” said Madame de Chevreuse, “I want to speak to him.”
“And I,” said the coadjutor, “want it to be thought that I do not speak to him. I admire, I love him—for I know his former adventures—but I shall not speak to him until the day after tomorrow.”
“And why day after tomorrow?” asked Madame de Chevreuse.
“You will know that tomorrow evening,” said the coadjutor, smiling.
“Really, my dear Gondy,” said the duchess, “you remind one of the Apocalypse. Monsieur d’Herblay,” she added, turning toward Aramis, “will you be my servant once more this evening?”
“How can you doubt it?” replied Aramis; “this evening, tomorrow, always; command me.”
“I will, then. Go and look for the Comte de la Fère; I wish to speak with him.”
Aramis found Athos and brought him.
“Monsieur le Comte,” said the duchess, giving him a letter, “here is what I promised you; our young friend will be extremely well received.”
“Madame, he is very happy in owing any obligation to you.”
“You have no reason to envy him on that score, for I owe to you the pleasure of knowing him,” replied the witty woman, with a smile which recalled Marie Michon to Aramis and to Athos.
As she uttered that bon mot, she arose and asked for her carriage. Mademoiselle Paulet had already gone; Mademoiselle de Scudéry was going.
“Vicomte,” said Athos to Raoul, “follow the duchess; beg her to do you the favor to take your arm in going downstairs, and thank her as you descend.”
The fair Indian approached Scarron.
“You are going already?” he said.
“One of the last, as you see; if you hear anything of Monsieur Voiture, be so kind as to send me word tomorrow.”
“Oh!” said Scarron, “he may die now.”
“Why?” asked the young girl with the velvet eyes.
“Certainly; his panegyric has been uttered.”
They parted, laughing, she turning back to gaze at the poor paralytic man with interest, he looking after her with eyes of love.
One by one the several groups broke up. Scarron seemed not to observe that certain of his guests had talked mysteriously, that letters had passed from hand to hand and that the assembly had seemed to have a secret purpose quite apart from the literary discussion carried on with so much ostentation. What was all that to Scarron? At his house rebellion could be planned with impunity, for, as we have said, since that morning he had ceased to be “the queen’s invalid.”
As to Raoul, he had attended the duchess to her carriage, where, as she took her seat, she gave him her hand to kiss; then, by one of those wild caprices which made her so adorable and at the same time so dangerous, she had suddenly put her arm around his neck and kissed his forehead, saying:
“Vicomte, may my good wishes and this kiss bring you good fortune!”
Then she had pushed him away and directed the coachman to stop at the Hôtel de Luynes. The carriage had started, Madame de Chevreuse had made a parting gesture to the young man, and Raoul had returned in a state of stupefaction.
Athos surmised what had taken place and smiled. “Come, vicomte,” he said, “it is time for you to go to bed; you will start in the morning for the army of Monsieur le Prince. Sleep well your last night as citizen.”
“I am to be a soldier then?” said the young man. “Oh, Monsieur, I thank you with all my heart.”
“Adieu, count,” said the Abbé d’Herblay; “I return to my convent.”
“Adieu, abbé,” said the coadjutor, “I am to preach tomorrow and have twenty texts to examine this evening.”
“Adieu, gentlemen,” said the count; “I am going to sleep twenty-four hours; I am just falling down with fatigue.”
The three men saluted one another, whilst exchanging a last look.
Scarron followed their movements with a glance from the corner of his eye.
“Not one of them will do as he says,” he murmured, with his little monkey smile; “but they may do as they please, the brave gentlemen! Who knows if they will not manage to restore to me my pension? They can move their arms, they can, and that is much. Alas, I have only my tongue, but I will try to show that it is good for something. Ho, there, Champenois! here, it is eleven o’clock. Come and roll me to bed. Really, that Demoiselle d’Aubigné is very charming!”
So the invalid disappeared soon afterward and went into his sleeping-room; and one by one the lights in the salon of the Rue des Tournelles were extinguished.
XXII
Saint Denis
The day had begun to break when Athos arose and dressed himself. It was plain, by a paleness still greater than usual, and by those traces which loss of sleep leaves on the face, that he must have passed almost the whole of the night without sleeping. Contrary to the custom of a man so firm and decided, there was this morning in his personal appearance something tardy and irresolute.
He was occupied with the preparations for Raoul’s departure and was seeking to gain time. In the first place he himself furbished a sword, which he drew from its perfumed leather sheath; he examined it to see if its hilt was well guarded and if the blade was firmly attached to the hilt. Then he placed at the bottom of the valise belonging to the young man a small bag of louis, called Olivain—the lackey who had followed him from Blois, and made him pack the valise under his own eyes, watchful to see that everything should be put in which might be useful to a young man entering on his first campaign.
At length, after occupying about an hour in these preparations, he opened the door of the room in which the vicomte slept, and entered.
The sun, already high, penetrated into the room through the window, the curtains of which Raoul had neglected to close on the previous evening. He was still
