"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 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.