“Marie Michon,” continued Athos. “Then I went out of the house; I proceeded to the stable and found my horse saddled and my lackey ready. We set forth on our journey.”
“And have you never revisited that village?” eagerly asked Madame de Chevreuse.
“A year after, madame.”
“Well?”
“I wanted to see the good curé again. I found him much preoccupied with an event that he could not at all comprehend. A week before he had received, in a cradle, a beautiful little boy three months old, with a purse filled with gold and a note containing these simple words: ‘11 October, 1633.’”
“It was the date of that strange adventure,” interrupted Madame de Chevreuse.
“Yes, but he couldn’t understand what it meant, for he had spent that night with a dying person and Marie Michon had left his house before his return.”
“You must know, monsieur, that Marie Michon, when she returned to France in 1643, immediately sought for information about that child; as a fugitive she could not take care of it, but on her return she wished to have it near her.”
“And what said the abbé?” asked Athos.
“That a nobleman whom he did not know had wished to take charge of it, had answered for its future, and had taken it away.”