'No, to his dear friend——'
'Diable! who is he?'
'Ah, your hand wanders to where your sword should be. There is great wisdom in consigning these tools to the tapster, when we visit a tavern.'
'But who is this friend?'
'The new camp-master of the regiment de Normandie.'
'The Marquis de Toneins, son of the Duke de la Force?'
'Yes.'
'Good,' said the fair abbé, angrily; 'I shall remember that when we meet again. Ah, poor little Charost—she is indeed an innocent!'
'Yes, a pretty innocent, who sings comic operas, and reads romances in Lent,' whispered the older abbé, in his bantering tone.
Deeming this conversation about the gay and divorced Duchess of Charost rather odd in its tenor to be maintained by two churchmen, I now gave all my attention to them.