Athos smiled.
“Mademoiselle Paulet has observed you, vicomte; go and bow to her; don’t try to appear anything but what you are, a true country youth; on no account speak to her of Henry IV.”
“When shall we two walk together?” Athos then said to Aramis.
“Presently—there are not a sufficient number of people here yet; we shall be remarked.”
At this moment the door opened and in walked the coadjutor.
At this name every one looked around, for his was already a very celebrated name. Athos did the same. He knew the Abbé de Gondy only by report.
He saw a little dark man, ill made and awkward with his hands in everything—except drawing a sword and firing a pistol—with something haughty and contemptuous in his face.
Scarron turned around toward him and came to meet him in his chair.
“Well,” said the coadjutor, on seeing him, “you are in disgrace, then, abbé?”
This was the orthodox phrase. It had been said that evening a hundred times—and Scarron was at his hundredth bon mot on the subject; he was very nearly at the end of his humoristic tether, but one despairing effort saved him.