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Books
The Three Musketeers
Twenty Years Later
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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Twenty Years Later 74 at Prostate Health
as if to force the
fugitive ideas it contained to concentration in a moment.
"Shall I help you, madame?" asked Athos.
"Yes, do," said the duchess.
"This Athos was connected with three young musketeers, named
Porthos, DArtagnan, and ---- "
He stopped short.
"And Aramis," said the duchess, quickly.
"And Aramis; I see you have not forgotten the name."
"No," she said; "poor Aramis; a charming man, elegant,
discreet, and a writer of poetical verses. I am afraid he
has turned out ill," she added.
"He has; he is an abbe."
"Ah, what a misfortune!" exclaimed the duchess, playing
carelessly with her fan. "Indeed, sir, I thank you; you have
recalled one of the most agreeable recollections of my
youth."
"Will you permit me, then, to recall another to you?"
"Relating to him?"
"Yes and no."
"Faith!" said Madame de Chevreuse, "say on. With a man like
you I fear nothing."
Athos bowed. "Aramis," he continued, "was intimate with a
young needlewoman from Tours, a cousin of his, named Marie
Michon."
"Ah, I knew her!" cried the duchess. "It was to her he wrote
from the siege of Rochelle, to warn her of a plot against
the Duke of Buckingham."
"Exactly so; will you allow me to speak to you of her?"
"If," replied the duchess, with a meaning look, "you do not
say too much against her."
"I should be ungrateful," said Athos, "and I regard
ingratitude, not as a fault or a crime, but as a vice, which
is much worse."
"You ungrateful to Marie Michon, monsieur?" said Madame de
Chevreuse, trying to read in Athoss eyes. "But how can that
be? You never knew her."
"Eh, madame, who knows?" said Athos. "There is a popular
proverb to the effect that it is only mountains that never
meet; and popular proverbs contain sometimes a wonderful
amount of truth."
"Oh, go on, monsieur, go on!" said Madame de Chevreuse
eagerly; "you cant imagine how much this conversation
interests me."
"You encourage me," said Athos, "I will continue, then. That
cousin of Aramis, that Marie Michon, that needlewoman,
notwithstanding her low condition, had acquaintances in the
highest rank; she called the grandest ladies of the court
her friend, and the queen -- proud as she is, in her double
character as Austrian and as Spaniard -- called her her
sister."
"Alas!" said Madame de Chevreuse, with a slight sigh and a
little movement of her eyebrows that was peculiarly her own,
"since that time everything has changed."
"And the queen had reason for her affection, for Marie was
devoted to her -- devoted to that degree that she served her
as medium of intercourse with her brother, the king of
Spain."
"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 mens 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-lAbeille."
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
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