Athos made two visits in Paris; at seven o'clock he and Raoul directed their steps to the Rue des Tournelles; it was stopped by porters, horses and footmen. Athos forced his way through and entered, followed by the young man. The first person that struck him on his entrance was Aramis, planted near a great chair on castors, very large, covered with a canopy of tapestry, under which there moved, enveloped in a quilt of brocade, a little face, youngish, very merry, somewhat pallid, whilst its eyes never ceased to express a sentiment at once lively, intellectual, and amiable. This was the Abbe Scarron, always laughing, joking, complimenting -- yet suffering -- and toying nervously with a small switch.
Around this kind of rolling tent pressed a crowd of gentlemen and ladies. The room was neatly, comfortably furnished. Large valances of silk, embroidered with flowers of gay colors, which were rather faded, fell from the wide windows; the fittings of the room were simple, but in excellent taste. Two well trained servingmen were in attendance on the company. On perceiving Athos, Aramis advanced toward him, took him by the hand and presented him to Scarron. Raoul remained silent, for he was not prepared for the dignity of the bel esprit.
After some minutes the door opened and a footman announced Mademoiselle Paulet.
Athos touched the shoulder of the vicomte.
"Look at this lady, Raoul, she is an historic personage; it was to visit her King Henry IV. was going when he was assassinated."
Every one thronged around Mademoiselle Paulet, for she was always very much the fashion. She was a tall woman, with a slender figure and a forest of golden curls, such as Raphael was fond of and Titian has painted all his Magdalens with.
This fawn-colored hair, or, perhaps the sort of ascendancy which she had over other women, gave her the name of "La Lionne." Mademoiselle Paulet took her accustomed seat, but before sitting down, she cast, in all her queen-like grandeur, a look around the room, and her eyes rested on Raoul.
Athos smiled.
"Mademoiselle Paulet has observed you, vicomte; go and bow to her; don't try to appear anything but what you are, a true country youth; on no account speak to her of Henry IV."
"When shall we two walk together?" Athos then said to Aramis.
"Presently -- there are not a sufficient number of people here yet; we shall be remarked."
At this moment the door opened and in walked the coadjutor.
At this name every one looked around, for his was already a very celebrated name. Athos did the same. He knew the Abbe de Gondy only by report.
He saw a little dark man, ill made and awkward with his hands in everything -- except drawing a sword and firing a pistol -- with something haughty and contemptuous in his face.
Scarron turned around toward him and came to meet him in his chair.
"Well," said the coadjutor, on seeing him, "you are in disgrace, then, abbe?"
This was the orthodox phrase. It had been said that evening a hundred times -- and Scarron was at his hundredth bon mot on the subject; he was very nearly at the end of his humoristic tether, but one despairing effort saved him.
"Monsieur, the Cardinal Mazarin has been so kind as to think of me," he said.
"But how can you continue to receive us?" asked the coadjutor; "if your income is lessened I shall be obliged to make you a canon of Notre Dame."
"Oh, no!" cried Scarron, "I should compromise you too much."
"Perhaps you have resources of which we are ignorant?"
"I shall borrow from the queen."
"But her majesty has no property," interposed Aramis.
At this moment the door opened and Madame de Chevreuse was announced. Every one arose. Scarron turned his chair toward the door, Raoul blushed, Athos made a sign to Aramis, who went and hid himself in the enclosure of a window.
In the midst of all the compliments that awaited her on her entrance, the duchess seemed to be looking for some one; at last she found out Raoul and her eyes sparkled; she perceived Athos and became thoughtful; she saw Aramis in the seclusion of the window and gave a start of surprise behind her fan.
"Apropos," she said, as if to drive away thoughts that pursued her in spite of herself, "how is poor Voiture, do you know, Scarron?"
"What, is Monsieur Voiture ill?" inquired a gentleman who had spoken to Athos in the Rue Saint Honore; "what is the matter with him?"
"He was acting, but forgot to take the precaution to have a change of linen ready after the performance," said the coadjutor, "so he took cold and is about to die."
"Is he then so ill, dear Voiture?" asked Aramis, half hidden by the window curtain.
"Die!" cried Mademoiselle Paulet, bitterly, "he! Why, he is surrounded by sultanas, like a Turk. Madame de Saintot has hastened to him with broth; La Renaudot warms his sheets; the Marquise de Rambouillet sends him his tisanes."
"You don't like him, my dear Parthenie," said Scarron.
"What an injustice, my dear invalid! I hate him so little that I should be delighted to order masses for the repose of his soul."
"You are not called `Lionne' for nothing," observed Madame de Chevreuse, "your teeth are terrible."
"You are unjust to a great poet, it seems to me," Raoul ventured to say.
"A great poet! come, one may easily see, vicomte, that you are lately from the provinces and have never so much as seen him. A great poet! he is scarcely five feet high."
"Bravo bravo!" cried a tall man with an enormous mustache and a long rapier, "bravo, fair Paulet, it is high time to put little Voiture in his right place. For my part, I always thought his poetry detestable, and I think I know something about poetry."
"Who is this officer," inquired Raoul of Athos, "who is speaking?"
"Monsieur de Scudery, the author of `Clelie,' and of `Le Grand Cyrus,' which were composed partly by him and partly by his sister, who is now talking to that pretty person yonder, near Monsieur Scarron."