"Ah! ah!" said Athos, smiling.
"Oh! the good old times," added M. de Beaufort. "Yes; La Valliere reminds me of that girl."
"Who had a son, had she not?"
"I believe she had," replied the duc, with careless naïveté, and a complaisant forgetfulness, of which no words could translate the tone and the vocal expression. "Now, here is poor Raoul, who is your son, I believe."
"Yes; he is my son, monseigneur."
"And the poor lad has been cut out by the king, and he frets."
"Better than that, monseigneur, he abstains."
"You are going to let the boy rust in idleness; you are wrong. Come, give him to me."
"My wish is to keep him at home, monseigneur. I have no longer anything in the world but him, and as long as he likes to remain—"
"Well, well," replied the duc. "I could, nevertheless, have soon put matters to rights again. I assure you, I think he has in him the stuff of which maréchals of France are made; I have seen more than one produced from such."