Raoul looked surprised and his eyes met those of the young lady, who smiled.
The company went on speaking of the poet Voiture.
“Monsieur,” said Mademoiselle d’Aubigne to Scarron, as if she wished to join in the conversation he was engaged in with Raoul, “do you not admire Monsieur Voiture’s friends? Listen how they pull him to pieces even whilst they praise him; one takes away from him all claim to good sense, another robs him of his poetry, a third of his originality, another of his humor, another of his independence of character, a sixth—but, good heavens! what will they leave him? as Mademoiselle de Scudery remarks.”
Scarron and Raoul laughed. The fair Indian, astonished at the sensation her observation produced, looked down and resumed her air of naivete.
Athos, still within the inclosure of the window, watched this scene with a smile of disdain on his lips.
“Tell the Comte de la Fere to come to me,” said Madame de Chevreuse, “I want to speak to him.”
“And I,” said the coadjutor, “want it to be thought that I do not speak to him. I admire, I love him—for I know his former adventures—but I shall not speak to him until the day after to-morrow.”
“And why day after to-morrow?” asked Madame de Chevreuse.
“You will know that to-morrow evening,” said the coadjutor, smiling.
“Really, my dear Gondy,” said the duchess, “you remind one of the Apocalypse. Monsieur d’Herblay,” she added, turning toward Aramis, “will you be my servant once more this evening?”