“Why, then, only see!” cried the novice; “we shall soon be well acquainted, almost friends. If you know Monsieur de Tréville, you must have visited him?”
“Often!” said Milady, who, having entered this track, and perceiving that falsehood succeeded, was determined to follow it to the end.
“With him, then, you must have seen some of his Musketeers?”
“All those he is in the habit of receiving!” replied Milady, for whom this conversation began to have a real interest.
“Name a few of those whom you know, and you will see if they are my friends.”
“Well!” said Milady, embarrassed, “I know Monsieur de Louvigny, Monsieur de Courtivron, Monsieur de Ferussac.”
The novice let her speak, then seeing that she paused, she said, “Don’t you know a gentleman named Athos?”
Milady became as pale as the sheets in which she was lying, and mistress as she was of herself, could not help uttering a cry, seizing the hand of the novice, and devouring her with looks.
“What is the matter? Good God!” asked the poor woman, “have I said anything that has wounded you?”
“No; but the name struck me, because I also have known that gentleman, and it appeared strange to me to meet with a person who appears to know him well.”