“Oh, yes, very well; not only him, but some of his friends, Messieurs Porthos and Aramis!”
“Indeed! you know them likewise? I know them,” cried Milady, who began to feel a chill penetrate her heart.
“Well, if you know them, you know that they are good and free companions. Why do you not apply to them, if you stand in need of help?”
“That is to say,” stammered Milady, “I am not really very intimate with any of them. I know them from having heard one of their friends, Monsieur d’Artagnan, say a great deal about them.”
“You know Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried the novice, in her turn seizing the hands of Milady and devouring her with her eyes.
Then remarking the strange expression of Milady’s countenance, she said, “Pardon me, madame; you know him by what title?”
“Why,” replied Milady, embarrassed, “why, by the title of friend.”
“You deceive me, madame,” said the novice; “you have been his mistress!”
“It is you who have been his mistress, madame!” cried Milady, in her turn.
“I?” said the novice.