“Very good,” thought Aramis. “Croak on, old owl — hiss, beldame-viper.”

But the duchesse had said enough, and advanced a few steps towards the door.

Aramis, however, had reserved one exposure which she did not expect.

He rang the bell, candles immediately appeared in the adjoining room, and the bishop found himself completely encircled by lights, which shone upon the worn, haggard face of the duchesse, revealing every feature but too clearly. Aramis fixed a long ironical look upon her pale, thin, withered cheeks — her dim, dull eyes — and upon her lips, which she kept carefully closed over her discolored scanty teeth. He, however, had thrown himself into a graceful attitude, with his haughty and intelligent head