Raoul blushed again.

"You asked the name of that young lady. She is called the fair Indian."

"Excuse me, sir," returned Raoul, blushing still more deeply, "I know no
more than I did before. Alas! I am from the country."

"Which means that you know very little about the nonsense which here
flows down our streets. So much the better, young man! so much the
better! Don't try to understand it--you will only lose your time."

"You forgive me, then, sir," said Raoul, "and you will deign to tell me
who is the person that you call the young Indian?"

"Certainly; one of the most charming persons that lives--Mademoiselle
Frances d'Aubigne."

"Does she belong to the family of the celebrated Agrippa, the friend of
Henry IV.?"

"His granddaughter. She comes from Martinique, so I call her the
beautiful Indian."

Raoul looked surprised and his eyes met those of the young lady, who
smiled.

The company went on speaking of the poet Voiture.

"Monsieur," said Mademoiselle d'Aubigne to Scarron, as if she wished
to join in the conversation he was engaged in with Raoul, "do you not
admire Monsieur Voiture's friends? Listen how they pull him to pieces
even whilst they praise him; one takes away from him all claim to good
sense, another robs him of his poetry, a third of his originality,
another of his humor, another of his independence of character, a
sixth--but, good heavens! what will they leave him? as Mademoiselle de
Scudery remarks."

Scarron and Raoul laughed. The fair Indian, astonished at the sensation
her observation produced, looked down and resumed her air of naivete.

Athos, still within the inclosure of the window, watched this scene with
a smile of disdain on his lips.

"Tell the Comte de la Fere to come to me," said Madame de Chevreuse, "I
want to speak to him."

"And I," said the coadjutor, "want it to be thought that I do not speak
to him. I admire, I love him--for I know his former adventures--but I
shall not speak to him until the day after to-morrow."

"And why day after to-morrow?" asked Madame de Chevreuse.

"You will know that to-morrow evening," said the coadjutor, smiling.

"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;