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Updated: June 18, 2025
"That's just what I was doing, monsieur. What with the darkness, and the pain of my wound, and the fear of falling into the hands of Monseigneur's troops, I lost my head entirely, and wandered about in a circle. When morning came I was hardly a mile from Montcontour. Then some peasants seized me, and for once in my life I was glad to count a robber among my friends." "How so?"
"Madame would she dress herself to go out, or to keep the lodging?" Madame would not go out. Was it warm? Oh yes, it was very warm. In fact it was hébétant. Would Madame see Monsieur le Duc if he called at eleven? Monseigneur's Monsieur Veelees had charged her to inquire of Madame. No, Madame would not see Monsieur le Duc this morning. But if any one called, Madame desired to be informed.
"Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Mousqueton in a melancholy tone, "since monseigneur's departure all the pleasures have gone too!" "Well, my dear Mousqueton, refresh your memory." "With what day shall I begin?" "Eh, pardieux! begin with Sunday; that is the Lord's day." "Sunday, monsieur?" "Yes."
"Ah, the women all over the world!" cried the Duke, laughing; "but I hear your /belles Anglaises/ are sentimental, and love /a l'Arcadienne/." "It is true at present; but who shall say how far Monseigneur's example might enlighten them in a train of thought so erroneous?" "True. Nothing like example, eh, Dubois? What would Philip of Orleans have been but for thee?"
Fagon came out, and allowed so much to be understood. The King, much afflicted, and very grieved that Monseigneur's confession had been so tardily made, abused Fagon a little; and went away led by Madame de Maintenon and the two Princesses.
His good priest, Pere Richot, who got the bishop's ear, took a highly moral and humane view of the matter. "He was a disturber, and it was good to make an example of him." In a little, we may be sure, the Monseigneur's opinion did not differ very widely from that of the "crocmitaine" priest. "Let the people all assemble," the bishop proclaimed: "I have important declarations to make to them."
"That is the name we have given to monseigneur's eldest son," replied Bertrand. "My son!" cried the old man; "have I a son? a son to bear my name and to perpetuate it!" He rose to his feet and began to walk about the room with steps in turn precipitate and slow. Then he made an imperious gesture, sending every one away from him except the priest.
"Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Mousqueton in a melancholy tone, "since monseigneur's departure all the pleasures have gone too!" "Well, my dear Mousqueton, refresh your memory." "With what day shall I begin?" "Eh, pardieux! begin with Sunday; that is the Lord's day." "Sunday, monsieur?" "Yes."
And who among the company at Monseigneur's reception in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt, that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold-laced, pumped, and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out!
We look over monseigneur's sheep and goats; we make the shepherds dance to pipes and reeds, as is written in a book monseigneur has in his library, which is called 'Bergeries. The author died about a month ago." "Monsieur Racan, perhaps," said D'Artagnan. "Yes, that was his name M. Racan. But that is not all: we angle in the little canal, after which we dine, crowned with flowers.
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