h!" answered Aramis, "as you see, from Heaven."

"From Heaven," replied D'Artagnan, shaking his head; "you have no more
the appearance of coming from thence than you have of going there."

"My friend," said Aramis, with a look of imbecility on his face which
D'Artagnan had never observed whilst he was in the musketeers, "if I did
not come from Heaven, at least I was leaving Paradise, which is almost
the same."

"Here, then, is a puzzle for the learned," observed D'Artagnan, "until
now they have never been able to agree as to the situation of Paradise;
some place it on Mount Ararat, others between the rivers Tigris and
Euphrates; it seems that they have been looking very far away for it,
while it was actually very near. Paradise is at Noisy le Sec, upon the
site of the archbishop's chateau. People do not go out from it by the
door, but by the window; one doesn't descend here by the marble steps
of a peristyle, but by the branches of a lime-tree; and the angel with
a flaming sword who guards this elysium seems to have changed his
celestial name of Gabriel into that of the more terrestrial one of the
Prince de Marsillac."

Aramis burst into a fit of laughter.

"You were always a merry companion, my dear D'Artagnan," he said, "and
your witty Gascon fancy has not deserted you. Yes, there is something
in what you say; nevertheless, do not believe that it is Madame de
Longueville with whom I am in love."

"A plague on't! I shall not do so. After having been so long in love
with Madame de Chevreuse, you would hardly lay your heart at the feet of
her mortal enemy!"

"Yes," replied Aramis, with an absent air; "yes, that poor duchess! I
once loved her much, and to do her justice, she was very useful to us.
Eventually she was obliged to leave France. He was a relentless enemy,
that damned cardinal," continued Aramis, glancing at the portrait of the
old minister. "He had even given orders to arrest her and would have cut
off her head had she not escaped with her waiting-maid--poor Kitty! I
have heard that she met with a strange adventure in I don't know what
village, with I don't know what cure, of whom she asked hospitality and
who, having but one chamber, and taking her for a cavalier, offered to
share it with her. For she had a wonderful way of dressing as a man,
that dear Marie; I know only one other woman who can do it as well.
So they made this song about her: 'Laboissiere, dis moi.' You know it,
don't you?"

"No, si