The duchess smiled, half tenderly, half ironically.
“Count,” she said, “you are, I fear, gained over to the court. I suppose you have a blue ribbon in your pocket?”
“Yes, madame; I have that of the Garter, which King Charles I. gave me some days before he died.”
“Come, I am growing an old woman!” said the duchess, pensively.
Athos took her hand and kissed it. She sighed, as she looked at him.
“Count,” she said, “Bragelonne must be a charming place. You are a man of taste. You have water—woods—flowers there?”
She sighed again and leaned her charming head, gracefully reclined, on her hand, still beautiful in form and color.
“Madame!” exclaimed Athos, “what were you saying just now about growing old? Never have I seen you look so young, so beautiful!”
The duchess shook her head.
“Does Monsieur de Bragelonne remain in Paris?” she inquired.