“Yes,” replied Aramis, with an absent air; “yes, that poor duchess!  I once loved her much, and to do her justice, she was very useful to us.  Eventually she was obliged to leave France.  He was a relentless enemy, that damned cardinal,” continued Aramis, glancing at the portrait of the old minister.  “He had even given orders to arrest her and would have cut off her head had she not escaped with her waiting-maid —­ poor Kitty!  I have heard that she met with a strange adventure in I don’t know what village, with I don’t know what cure, of whom she asked hospitality and who, having but one chamber, and taking her for a cavalier, offered to share it with her.  For she had a wonderful way of dressing as a man, that dear Marie; I know only one other woman who can do it as well.  So they made this song about her:  `Laboissiere, dis moi.’  You know it, don’t you?”

“No, sing it, please.”

Aramis immediately complied, and sang the song in a very lively manner.

“Bravo!” cried D’Artagnan, “you sing charmingly, dear Aramis.  I do not perceive that singing masses has spoiled your voice.”

“My dear D’Artagnan,” replied Aramis, “you understand, when I was a musketeer I mounted guard as seldom as I could; now when I am an abbe I say as few masses as I can.  But to return to our duchess.”

“Which —­ the Duchess de Chevreuse or the Duchess de Longueville?”

“Have I not already told you that there is nothing between me and the Duchess de Longueville?  Little flirtations, perhaps, and that’s all.  No, I spoke of the Duchess de Chevreuse; did you see her after her return from Brussels, after the king’s death?”

“Yes, she is still beautiful.”

“Yes,” said Aramis, “I saw her also at that time.  I gave her good advice, by which she did not profit.  I ventured to tell her that Mazarin was the lover of Anne of Austria.  She wouldn’t believe me, saying that she knew Anne of Austria, who was too proud to love such a worthless coxcomb.  After that she plunged into the cabal headed by the Duke of Beaufort; and the `coxcomb’ arrested De Beaufort and banished Madame de Chevreuse.”

“You know,” resumed D’Artagnan, “that she has had leave to return to France?”

“Yes she is come back and is going to commit some fresh folly or another.”

“Oh, but this time perhaps she will follow your advice.”

“Oh, this time,” returned Aramis, “I haven’t seen her; she is much changed.”

“In that respect unlike you, my dear Aramis, for you are still the same; you have still your beautiful dark hair, still your elegant figure, still your feminine hands, which are admirably suited to a prelate.”

“Yes,” replied Aramis, “I am extremely careful of my appearance.  Do you know that I am growing old?  I am nearly thirty-seven.”

“Mind, Aramis” —­ D’Artagnan smiled as he spoke —­ “since we are together again, let us agree on one point:  what age shall we be in future?”