“Yes. She has forgotten everything.”
“You, I believe, attempted to get restored to favor?”
“Yes; but, most singularly, the young king inherits the antipathy his dear father had for me. You will, perhaps, tell me that I am indeed a woman to be hated, and that I am no longer one who can be loved.”
“Dear duchesse, pray come quickly to the cause that brought you here; for I think we can be of service to each other.”
“Such has been my own thought. I came to Fontainebleau with a double object in view. In the first place, I was summoned there by the Franciscan whom you knew. By the by, how did you know him?—for I have told you my story, and have not yet heard yours.”
“I knew him in a very natural way, duchesse. I studied theology with him at Parma. We became fast friends; and it happened, from time to time, that business, or travel, or war, separated us from each other.”
“You were, of course, aware that he was the general of the Jesuits?”
“I suspected it.”
“But by what extraordinary chance did it happen that you were at the hotel when the affiliated travelers met together?”
“Oh!” said Aramis, in a calm voice, “it was the merest chance in the world. I was going to Fontainebleau to see M. Fouquet, for the purpose of obtaining an audience of the king. I was passing by, unknown; I saw the poor dying monk in the road, and recognized him immediately. You know the rest—he died in my arms.”