Man in the Iron Mask by Dumas, Alexandre part one

“No, Chevalier, at the present day we have other interests. Every period of life brings its own; and as we now understand each other in conversing as perfectly as we formerly did without saying a word, let us talk, if you like.”

“I am at your orders, Duchess. Ah! I beg your pardon; how did you obtain my address, and what was your object?”

“You ask me why? I have told you. Curiosity, in the first place. I wished to know what you could have to do with the Franciscan with whom I had certain business, and who died so singularly. You know that on the occasion of our interview at Fontainebleau, in the cemetery, at the foot of the grave so recently closed, we were both so much overcome by our emotions that we omitted to confide anything to each other.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Well, then, I had no sooner left you than I repented, and have ever since been most anxious to ascertain the truth. You know that Madame de Longueville and myself are almost one, I suppose?”

“I was not aware of it,” said Aramis, discreetly.

“I remembered, then,” continued the duchess, “that neither of us said anything to the other in the cemetery; that you did not speak of the relationship in which you stood to the Franciscan, whose burial you had superintended, and that I did not refer to the position in which I stood to him,- all which seemed to me very unworthy of two such old friends as ourselves; and I have sought an opportunity of an interview with you in order to give you proof that I am devoted to you, and that Marie Michon, now no more, has left behind her a ghost with a good memory.”

Aramis bowed over the duchess’s hand, and pressed his lips upon it. “You must have had some trouble to find me again,” he said.

“Yes,” answered the duchess, annoyed to find the subject taking a turn which Aramis wished to give it; “but I knew that you were a friend of M. Fouquet, and so I inquired in that direction.”

“A friend! Oh,” exclaimed the chevalier, “you exaggerate, Madame! A poor priest who has been favored by so generous a protector, and whose heart is full of gratitude and devotion to him, is all that I am to M. Fouquet.”

“He made you a bishop?”

“Yes, Duchess.”

“So, my fine musketeer, that is your retirement!”

“In the same way that political intrigue is for yourself,” thought Aramis. “And so,” he said, “you inquired after me at M. Fouquet’s?”

“Easily enough. You had been to Fontainebleau with him, and had undertaken a voyage to your diocese,- which is Belle-Isle-en-Mer, I believe.”

“No, Madame,” said Aramis; “my diocese is Vannes.”

“I meant that. I only thought that Belle-Isle-en-Mer-”

“Is a property belonging to M. Fouquet,- nothing more.”

“Ah! I had been told that Belle-Isle was fortified; besides, I know that you are a military man, my friend.”

“I have forgotten everything of the kind since I entered the church,” said Aramis, annoyed.

“Very well. I then learned that you had returned from Vannes, and I sent to one of our friends, M. le Comte de la Fere, who is discretion itself; but he answered that he was not aware of your address.”

“So like Athos,” thought the bishop; “that which is actually good never alters.”

“Well, then, you know that I cannot venture to show myself here, and that the Queen-Mother has always some grievance or other against me.”

“Yes, indeed; and I am surprised at it.”

“Oh, there are various reasons for it! But, to continue, being obliged to conceal myself, I was fortunate enough to meet with M. d’Artagnan,- one of your old friends, I believe.”

“A friend of mine still, Duchess.”

“He gave me some information, and sent me to M. de Baisemeaux, the governor of the Bastille.”

Aramis started; and a light flashed from his eyes in the darkness of the room which he could not conceal from his keen-sighted friend. “M. de Baisemeaux!” he said; “why did d’Artagnan send you to M. de Baisemeaux?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“What can this possibly mean?” said the bishop, summoning all the resources of his mind to his aid, in order to carry on the combat in a befitting manner.

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