I
must tell Scarron; he will make me laugh in retelling it."
Madame's lips formed for a spiteful utterance, but what she said was:
"Prison life has aged you."
"Aged me, Madame?" reproachfully. "I grow old? Never. I have found
the elixir of life."
"You will give me the recipe?" softening.
"You already possess it."
"I? Pray, explain."
"We who have the faculty of learning, without the use of books, of
refusing to take life seriously, of forgetting injuries,--we never grow
old. We simply die."
A third person would have enjoyed this blundering, unconscious irony
which in no wise disturbed madame.
"The recipe is this," continued Beaufort: "enjoy the hours as they
come; borrow not in advance, but spend the hour you have; shake the
past from the shoulders like a worn-out cloak; laugh at and with your
enemies; and be sure you have enemies, or life's without salt."
Madame gazed dreamily at the picture-lined walls. She smiled,
recalling some happy souvenir. Presently she asked: "And who is this
Chevalier du Cevennes?"
"A capital soldier, a gay fellow, rich and extravagant. I do not know
him intimately, but I should like to.
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