“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?”

“How can you doubt it?” replied Aramis; “this evening, to-morrow, always; command me.”

“I will, then.  Go and look for the Comte de la Fere; I wish to speak with him.”

Aramis found Athos and brought him.

“Monsieur le comte,” said the duchess, giving him a letter, “here is what I promised you; our young friend will be extremely well received.”

“Madame, he is very happy in owing any obligation to you.”

“You have no reason to envy him on that score, for I owe to you the pleasure of knowing him,” replied the witty woman, with a smile which recalled Marie Michon to Aramis and to Athos.

As she uttered that bon mot, she arose and asked for her carriage.  Mademoiselle Paulet had already gone; Mademoiselle de Scudery was going.

“Vicomte,” said Athos to Raoul, “follow the duchess; beg her to do you the favor to take your arm in going downstairs, and thank her as you descend.”

The fair Indian approached Scarron.

“You are going already?” he said.

“One of the last, as you see; if you hear anything of Monsieur Voiture, be so kind as to send me word to-morrow.”

“Oh!” said Scarron, “he may die now.”

“Why?” asked the young girl with the velvet eyes.

“Certainly; his panegyric has been uttered.”

They parted, laughing, she turning back to gaze at the poor paralytic man with interest, he looking after her with eyes of love.

One by one the several groups broke up.  Scarron seemed not to observe that certain of his guests had talked mysteriously, that letters had passed from hand to hand and that the assembly had seemed to have a secret purpose quite apart from the literary discussion carried on with so much ostentation.  What was all that to Scarron?  At his house rebellion could be planned with impunity, for, as we have said, since that morning he had ceased to be “the queen’s invalid.”

As to Raoul, he had attended the duchess to her carriage, where, as she took her seat, she gave him her hand to kiss; then, by one of those wild caprices which made her so adorable and at the same time so dangerous, she had suddenly put her arm around his neck and kissed his forehead, saying: 

“Vicomte, may my good wishes and this kiss bring you good fortune!”

Then she had pushed him away and directed the coachman to stop at the Hotel de Luynes.  The carriage had started, Madame de Chevreuse had made a parting gesture to the young man, and Raoul had returned in a state of stupefaction.

Athos surmised what had taken place and smiled.  “Come, vicomte,” he said, “it is time for you to go to bed; you will start in the morning for the army of monsieur le prince.  Sleep well your last night as citizen.”