There was once in the Rue des Tournelles a house known byall the sedan chairmen and footmen of Paris, and yet,nevertheless, this house was neither that of a great lordnor of a rich man. There was neither dining, nor playing atcards, nor dancing in that house. Nevertheless, it was therendezvous of the great world and all Paris went there. Itwas the abode of the little Abbe Scarron.

In the home of the witty abbe dwelt incessant laughter;there all the items of the day had their source and were soquickly transformed, misrepresented, metamorphosed, someinto epigrams, some into falsehoods, that every one wasanxious to pass an hour with little Scarron, listening towhat he said, reporting it to others.

The diminutive Abbe Scarron, who, however, was an abbe onlybecause he owned an abbey, and not because he was in orders,had formerly been one of the gayest prebendaries in the townof Mans, which he inhabited. On a day of the carnival he hadtaken a notion to provide an unusual entertainment for thatgood town, of which he was the life and soul. He had madehis valet cover him with honey; then, opening a feather bed,he had rolled in it and had thus become the most grotesquefowl it is possible to imagine. He then began to visit hisfriends of both sexes, in that strange costume. At first hehad been followed through astonishment, then with derisiveshouts, then the porters had insulted him, then children hadthrown stones at him, and finally he was obliged to run, toescape the missiles. As soon as he took to flight every onepursued him, until, pressed on all sides, Scarron found noway of escaping his escort, except by throwing himself intothe river; but the water was icy cold. Scarron was heated,the cold seized on him, and when he reached the farther bankhe found himself crippled.

Every means had been employed in vain to restore the use ofhis limbs. He had been subjected to a severe disciplinarycourse of medicine, at length he sent away all his doctors,declaring that he preferred the disease to the treatment,and came to Paris, where the fame of his wit had precededhim. There he had a chair made on his own plan, and one day,visiting Anne of Austria in this chair, she asked him,charmed as she was with his wit, if he did not wish for atitle.

"Yes, your majesty, there is a title which I covet much,"replied Scarron.

"And what is that?"

"That of being your invalid," answered Scarron.

So he was called the queen's invalid, with a pension offifteen hundred francs.

From that lucky moment Scarron led a happy life, spendingboth income and principal. One day, however, an emissary ofthe cardinal's gave him to understand that he was wrong inreceiving the coadjutor so often.

"And why?" asked Scarron; "is he not a man of good birth?"

"Certainly."

"Agreeable?"

"Undeniably."

"Witty?"

"He has, unfortunately, too much wit."

"Well, then, why do you wish me to give up seeing such aman?"

"Because he is an enemy."

"Of whom?"

"Of the cardinal."

"What?" answered Scarron, "I continue to receive MonsieurGilles Despreaux, who thinks ill of me, and you wish me togive up seeing the coadjutor, because he thinks ill ofanother man. Impossible!"

The conversation had rested there and Scarron, through sheerobstinacy, had seen Monsieur de Gondy only the morefrequently.

Now, the very morning of which we speak was that of hisquarter-day payment, and Scarron, as usual, had sent hisservant to get his money at the pension-office, but the manhad returned and said that the government had no more moneyto give Monsieur Scarron.

It was on Thursday, the abbe's reception day; people wentthere in crowds. The cardinal's refusal to pay the pensionwas known about the town in half an hour and he was abusedwith wit and vehemence.

In the Rue Saint Honore Athos fell in with two gentlemenwhom he did not know, on horseback like himself, followed bya lackey like himself, and going in the same direction thathe was. One of them, hat in hand, said to him:

"Would you believe it, monsieur? that contemptible Mazarinhas stopped poor Scarron's pension."

"That is unreasonable," said Athos, saluting in his turn thetwo cavaliers. And they separated with courteous gestures.

"It happens well that we are going there this evening," saidAthos to the vicomte; "we will pay our compliments to thatpoor man."

"What, then, is this Monsieur Scarron, who thus puts allParis in commotion? Is he some minister out of office?"

"Oh, no, not at all, vicomte," Athos replied; "he is simplya gentleman of great genius who has fallen into disgracewith the cardinal through having written certain versesagainst him."

"Do gentlemen, then, make verses?" asked Raoul, naively, "Ithought it was derogatory."

"So it is, my dear vicomte," said Athos, laughing, "to makebad ones; but to make good ones increases fame - witnessMonsieur de Rotrou. Nevertheless," he continued, in the toneof one who gives wholesome advice, "I think it is better notto make them."

"Then," said Raoul, "this Monsieur Scarron is a poet?"

"Yes; you are warned, vicomte. Consider well what you do inthat house. Talk only by gestures, or rather always listen."

"Yes, monsieur," replied Raoul.

"You will see me talking with one of my friends, the Abbed'Herblay, of whom you have often heard me speak."

"I remember him, monsieur."

"Come near to us from time to time, as if to speak; but donot speak, and do not listen. That little stratagem mayserve to keep off interlopers."

"Very well, monsieur; I will obey you at all points."

Athos made two visits in Paris; at seven o'clock he andRaoul directed their steps to the Rue des Tournelles; it wasstopped by porters, horses and footmen. Athos forced his waythrough and entered, followed by the young man. The firstperson that struck him on his entrance was Aramis, plantednear a great chair on castors, very large, covered with acanopy of tapestry, under which there moved, enveloped in aquilt of brocade, a little face, youngish, very merry,somewhat pallid, whilst its eyes never ceased to express asentiment at once lively, intellectual, and amiable. Thiswas the Abbe Scarron, always laughing, joking, complimenting- yet suffering - and toying nervously with a smallswitch.

Around this kind of rolling tent pressed a crowd ofgentlemen and ladies. The room was neatly, comfortablyfurnished. Large valances of silk, embroidered with flowersof gay colors, which were rather faded, fell from the widewindows; the fittings of the room were simple, but inexcellent taste. Two well trained servingmen were inattendance on the company. On perceiving Athos, Aramisadvanced toward him, took him by the hand and presented himto Scarron. Raoul remained silent, for he was not preparedfor the dignity of the bel esprit.

After some minutes the door opened and a footman announcedMademoiselle Paulet.

Athos touched the shoulder of the vicomte.

"Look at this lady, Raoul, she is an historic personage; itwas to visit her King Henry IV. was going when he wasassassinated."

Every one thronged around Mademoiselle Paulet, for she wasalways very much the fashion. She was a tall woman, with aslender figure and a forest of golden curls, such as Raphaelwas fond of and Titian has painted all his Magdalens with.This fawn-colored hair, or, perhaps the sort of ascendancywhich she had over other women, gave her the name of "LaLionne." Mademoiselle Paulet took her accustomed seat, butbefore sitting down, she cast, in all her queen-likegrandeur, a look around the room, and her eyes rested onRaoul.

Athos smiled.

"Mademoiselle Paulet has observed you, vicomte; go and bowto her; don't try to appear anything but what you are, atrue country youth; on no account speak to her of Henry IV."

"When shall we two walk together?" Athos then said toAramis.

"Presently - there are not a sufficient number of peoplehere 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 avery celebrated name. Athos did the same. He knew the Abbede Gondy only by report.

He saw a little dark man, ill made and awkward with hishands in everything - except drawing a sword and firing apistol - with something haughty and contemptuous in hisface.

Scarron turned around toward him and came to meet him in hischair.

"Well," said the coadjutor, on seeing him, "you are indisgrace, then, abbe?"

This was the orthodox phrase. It had been said that eveninga hundred times - and Scarron was at his hundredth bon moton the subject; he was very nearly at the end of hishumoristic tether, but one despairing effort saved him.

"Monsieur, the Cardinal Mazarin has been so kind as to thinkof me," he said.

"But how can you continue to receive us?" asked thecoadjutor; "if your income is lessened I shall be obliged tomake 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 wasannounced. Every one arose. Scarron turned his chair towardthe door, Raoul blushed, Athos made a sign to Aramis, whowent and hid himself in the enclosure of a window.

In the midst of all the compliments that awaited her on herentrance, the duchess seemed to be looking for some one; atlast she found out Raoul and her eyes sparkled; sheperceived Athos and became thoughtful; she saw Aramis in theseclusion of the window and gave a start of surprise behindher fan.

"Apropos," she said, as if to drive away thoughts thatpursued her in spite of herself, "how is poor Voiture, doyou know, Scarron?"

"What, is Monsieur Voiture ill?" inquired a gentleman whohad spoken to Athos in the Rue Saint Honore; "what is thematter with him?"

"He was acting, but forgot to take the precaution to have achange of linen ready after the performance," said thecoadjutor, "so he took cold and is about to die."

"Is he then so ill, dear Voiture?" asked Aramis, half hiddenby the window curtain.

"Die!" cried Mademoiselle Paulet, bitterly, "he! Why, he issurrounded by sultanas, like a Turk. Madame de Saintot hashastened 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 littlethat I should be delighted to order masses for the repose ofhis soul."

"You are not called `Lionne' for nothing," observed Madamede Chevreuse, "your teeth are terrible."

"You are unjust to a great poet, it seems to me," Raoulventured to say.

"A great poet! come, one may easily see, vicomte, that youare lately from the provinces and have never so much as seenhim. A great poet! he is scarcely five feet high."

"Bravo bravo!" cried a tall man with an enormous mustacheand a long rapier, "bravo, fair Paulet, it is high time toput little Voiture in his right place. For my part, I alwaysthought his poetry detestable, and I think I know somethingabout poetry."

"Who is this officer," inquired Raoul of Athos, "who isspeaking?"

"Monsieur de Scudery, the author of `Clelie,' and of `LeGrand Cyrus,' which were composed partly by him and partlyby his sister, who is now talking to that pretty personyonder, near Monsieur Scarron."

Raoul turned and saw two faces just arrived. One wasperfectly charming, delicate, pensive, shaded by beautifuldark hair, and eyes soft as velvet, like those lovelyflowers, the heartsease, in which shine out the goldenpetals. The other, of mature age, seemed to have the formerone under her charge, and was cold, dry and yellow - thetrue type of a duenna or a devotee.

Raoul resolved not to quit the room without having spoken tothe beautiful girl with the soft eyes, who by a strangefancy, although she bore no resemblance, reminded him of hispoor little Louise, whom he had left in the Chateau de laValliere and whom, in the midst of all the party, he hadnever for one moment quite forgotten. Meantime Aramis haddrawn near to the coadjutor, who, smiling all the while,contrived to drop some words into his ear. Aramis,notwithstanding his self-control, could not refrain from aslight movement of surprise.

"Laugh, then," said Monsieur de Retz; "they are looking atus." And leaving Aramis he went to talk with Madame deChevreuse, who was in the midst of a large group.

Aramis affected a laugh, to divert the attention of certaincurious listeners, and perceiving that Athos had betakenhimself to the embrasure of a window and remained there, heproceeded to join him, throwing out a few words carelesslyas he moved through the room.

As soon as the two friends met they began a conversationwhich was emphasized by frequent gesticulation.

Raoul then approached them as Athos had directed him to do.

"'Tis a rondeau by Monsieur Voiture that monsieur l'abbe isrepeating to me." said Athos in a loud voice, "and I confessI think it incomparable."

Raoul stayed only a few minutes near them and then mingledwith the group round Madame de Chevreuse.

"Well, then?" asked Athos, in a low tone.

"It is to be to-morrow," said Aramis hastily.

"At what time?"

"Six o'clock."

"Where?"

"At Saint Mande."

"Who told you?"

"The Count de Rochefort."

Some one drew near.

"And then philosophic ideas are wholly wanting in Voiture'sworks, but I am of the same opinion as the coadjutor - heis a poet, a true poet." Aramis spoke so as to be heard byeverybody.

"And I, too," murmured the young lady with the velvet eyes."I have the misfortune also to admire his poetryexceedingly."

"Monsieur Scarron, do me the honor," said Raoul, blushing,"to tell me the name of that young lady whose opinion seemsso different from that of others of the company."

"Ah! my young vicomte," replied Scarron, "I suppose you wishto propose to her an alliance offensive and defensive."

Raoul blushed again.

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

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

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

"You forgive me, then, sir," said Raoul, "and you will deignto tell me who is the person that you call the youngIndian?"

"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 herthe beautiful Indian."

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

The company went on speaking of the poet Voiture.

"Monsieur," said Mademoiselle d'Aubigne to Scarron, as ifshe wished to join in the conversation he was engaged inwith Raoul, "do you not admire Monsieur Voiture's friends?Listen how they pull him to pieces even whilst they praisehim; 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 ofcharacter, a sixth - but, good heavens! what will theyleave him? as Mademoiselle de Scudery remarks."

Scarron and Raoul laughed. The fair Indian, astonished atthe sensation her observation produced, looked down andresumed her air of naivete.

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

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

"And I," said the coadjutor, "want it to be thought that Ido not speak to him. I admire, I love him - for I know hisformer adventures - but I shall not speak to him until theday 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 oneof the Apocalypse. Monsieur d'Herblay," she added, turningtoward Aramis, "will you be my servant once more thisevening?"

"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; I wishto speak with him."

Aramis found Athos and brought him.

"Monsieur le comte," said the duchess, giving him a letter,"here is what I promised you; our young friend will beextremely well received."

"Madame, he is very happy in owing any obligation to you."

"You have no reason to envy him on that score, for I owe toyou the pleasure of knowing him," replied the witty woman,with a smile which recalled Marie Michon to Aramis and toAthos.

As she uttered that bon mot, she arose and asked for hercarriage. Mademoiselle Paulet had already gone; Mademoisellede Scudery was going.

"Vicomte," said Athos to Raoul, "follow the duchess; beg herto do you the favor to take your arm in going downstairs,and thank her as you descend."

The fair Indian approached Scarron.

"You are going already?" he said.

"One of the last, as you see; if you hear anything ofMonsieur Voiture, be so kind as to send me word to-morrow."

"Oh!" said Scarron, "he may die now."

"Why?" asked the young girl with the velvet eyes.

"Certainly; his panegyric has been uttered."

They parted, laughing, she turning back to gaze at the poorparalytic man with interest, he looking after her with eyesof love.

One by one the several groups broke up. Scarron seemed notto observe that certain of his guests had talkedmysteriously, that letters had passed from hand to hand andthat the assembly had seemed to have a secret purpose quiteapart from the literary discussion carried on with so muchostentation. What was all that to Scarron? At his houserebellion could be planned with impunity, for, as we havesaid, since that morning he had ceased to be "the queen'sinvalid."

As to Raoul, he had attended the duchess to her carriage,where, as she took her seat, she gave him her hand to kiss;then, by one of those wild caprices which made her soadorable and at the same time so dangerous, she had suddenlyput her arm around his neck and kissed his forehead, saying:

"Vicomte, may my good wishes and this kiss bring you goodfortune!"

Then she had pushed him away and directed the coachman tostop at the Hotel de Luynes. The carriage had started,Madame de Chevreuse had made a parting gesture to the youngman, and Raoul had returned in a state of stupefaction.

Athos surmised what had taken place and smiled. "Come,vicomte," he said, "it is time for you to go to bed; youwill start in the morning for the army of monsieur leprince. Sleep well your last night as citizen."

"I am to be a soldier then?" said the young man. "Oh,monsieur, I thank you with all my heart."

"Adieu, count," said the Abbe d'Herblay; "I return to myconvent."

"Adieu, abbe," said the coadjutor, "I am to preach to-morrowand have twenty texts to examine this evening."

"Adieu, gentlemen," said the count; "I am going to sleeptwenty-four hours; I am just falling down with fatigue."

The three men saluted one another, whilst exchanging a lastlook.

Scarron followed their movements with a glance from thecorner of his eye.

"Not one of them will do as he says," he murmured, with hislittle monkey smile; "but they may do as they please, thebrave gentlemen! Who knows if they will not manage torestore to me my pension? They can move their arms, theycan, and that is much. Alas, I have only my tongue, but Iwill try to show that it is good for something. Ho, there,Champenois! here, it is eleven o'clock. Come and roll me tobed. Really, that Demoiselle d'Aubigne is very charming!"

So the invalid disappeared soon afterward and went into hissleeping-room; and one by one the lights in the salon of theRue des Tournelles were extinguished.