“Which,” interrupted the duchess, “is now brought up against her as a great crime.”

“And therefore,” continued Athos, “the cardinal —­ the true cardinal, the other one —­ determined one fine morning to arrest poor Marie Michon and send her to the Chateau de Loches.  Fortunately the affair was not managed so secretly but that it became known to the queen.  The case had been provided for:  if Marie Michon should be threatened with any danger the queen was to send her a prayer-book bound in green velvet.”

“That is true, monsieur, you are well informed.”

“One morning the green book was brought to her by the Prince de Marsillac.  There was no time to lose.  Happily Marie and a follower of hers named Kitty could disguise themselves admirably in men’s clothes.  The prince procured for Marie Michon the dress of a cavalier and for Kitty that of a lackey; he sent them two excellent horses, and the fugitives went out hastily from Tours, shaping their course toward Spain, trembling at the least noise, following unfrequented roads, and asking for hospitality when they found themselves where there was no inn.”

“Why, really, it was all exactly as you say!” cried Madame de Chevreuse, clapping her hands.  “It would indeed be strange if ——­ " she checked herself.

“If I should follow the two fugitives to the end of their journey?” said Athos.  “No, madame, I will not thus waste your time.  We will accompany them only to a little village in Limousin, lying between Tulle and Angouleme —­ a little village called Roche-l’Abeille.”

Madame de Chevreuse uttered a cry of surprise, and looked at Athos with an expression of astonishment that made the old musketeer smile.

“Wait, madame,” continued Athos, “what remains for me to tell you is even more strange than what I have narrated.”

“Monsieur,” said Madame de Chevreuse, “I believe you are a sorcerer; I am prepared for anything.  But really —­ No matter, go on.”

“The journey of that day had been long and wearing; it was a cold day, the eleventh of October, there was no inn or chateau in the village and the homes of the peasants were poor and unattractive.  Marie Michon was a very aristocratic person; like her sister the queen, she had been accustomed to pleasing perfumes and fine linen; she resolved, therefore, to seek hospitality of the priest.”

Athos paused.

“Oh, continue!” said the duchess.  “I have told you that I am prepared for anything.”

“The two travelers knocked at the door.  It was late; the priest, who had gone to bed, cried out to them to come in.  They entered, for the door was not locked —­ there is much confidence among villagers.  A lamp burned in the chamber occupied by the priest.  Marie Michon, who made the most charming cavalier in the world, pushed open the door, put her head in and asked for hospitality. `Willingly, my young cavalier,’ said the priest, `if you will be content with the remains of my supper and with half my chamber.’