LONDON, FARRINGDON STREET. ,
1
SUITABLE TOE RAILWAY OR HOME BEADING.
^ffob ait)* Cities
PUBLISHED BT
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO
(And, ly Order, of all Booksellers.)
SIR EDWARD 2ULWER LYTTON'S WORKS
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, boards,
Leila; or, the Siege of Granada. | Pilgrims of the Rhine (The).
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling and Sixpence each, boards,
Night and Morning.
Lucretia.
Pelham.
Dkvereux.
Disowned (The).
Last Days of Pompeii (The).
Zanoni.
Godolphin.
Paul Clifford.
Alice ; or, the Mysteries.
Ernest Maltravers.
Rienzi.
Eugene Aram.
In fcap. 8vo, price 2s. each, boards,
My Novel. 2 Vols. | Caxtons (The).
Harold. , (j Last of the Barons.
"Now that the works of England's greatest novelist can be obtained for a f(
shillings, we can hardly imagine there will be any library, however small, witho
them."
KATHAEIEL HAWTHORNE'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, boards, or in cloth, ls.fid.
Scarlet Letter (The). 1 House of the Seven Gables (Thi
Mosses from an Old Manse. | Twice-told Tales. 2 Vols.
" Hawthorne is the best writer of fiction yet produced by America, and in styl]
thought, and the mode of telling a story, thoroughly original."
MISS EBGEWORTH'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, boards, or in cloth, Is. 6d.
The Absentee. I Manoeuvring.
Ennui. | Vivian.
"Sir Walter Scott, in speaking of Miss Edgeworth, says, that the rich humor
pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact that she displayed in her sketches
character, led him first to think that something'might be attempted for his o
country of the same kind with that which Miss Edgeworth fortunately achiev
for hers."
RAILWAY AND HOME READING.
JAMES GRANT'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Two Shillings each, boards, or in cloth gilt, 2s. 6d.
Harry Ogilvie.
Frank. Hilton.
Yellow Frigate (The).
Romance of War (The).
Scottish Cavalier (The)
Bothwell.
Jane Seton.
Philip Rollo.
Adventures of an Aide-de-
Camp (The).
" The author of the 'Romance of War' deserves the popularity which has made
im, perhaps, the most read of living novelists. His tales are full of life and
ction, and his soldier spirit and turn for adventure carry him successfully through,
nth a skill in narrative which even the author of ' Charles O'Malley' seldom
hows."
CAPTAIN MARRYAT'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, boards,
Newton Fokster.
Dog Fiend (The).
Valerie. (Edited.)
Poacher (The).
Phantom Ship (The).
Percival Keene.
Peter Simple.
Midshipman Easy (Mr.).
King's Own (The).
Rattlin the Reefer. (Edited )
Jacob Faithful.
Japhet in Search of a Father.
Pacha of Many Tales (The).
Marryat's works abound in humour—real, unaffected, buoyant, overflowing
humour. Many bits of his writings strongly remind us of Dickens. He is an in-
corrigible joker, and frequently relates such strange anecdotes and adventures, that
the gloomiest hypochondriac could not read them without involuntarily indulging
in the unwonted luxury of a hearty cachinnation."—Dublin University Magazine.
W. HARRISON AmSWORTH'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, boards,
Miser's Daughter (The).
Windsor Castle.
I Saint James's.
| James II. (Edited by.)
Also, uniform,
Price 2s. each, boards,
Tower of London (The).
Lancashire Witches (The).
Price Is. 6d.t boards,
Rookwood.
Crichton.
Guy Fawkes.
Flitch of Bacon (The).
" A cheap Edition of Mr. Ainsworth's Novels is now being published, and that
fact we doubt not will enable thousands to possess what thousands have before
been only able to admire and covet."
J. P. COOPER'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, boards, or in cloth, 2s.
Last of the Mohicans (The).
Spy (The).
Lionel Lincoln.
Pilot (The).
Pioneers (The).
SEA Lions (The).
Borderers, or Heathcotes (The).
Bravo (The).
Homeward Bound.
Afloat and Ashore.
Satanstoe.
Wyandotte.
Mark's Reef.
" Cooper constructs enthralling stories, which hold us in breathless suspense,
and make our brows alternately paliid with awe and terror, or flushed with
powerful emotion : when once taken up, they are so fascinating, that we must per-
force read on from beginning to end, panting to arrive at the thrilling denoue-
ment."—Dublin University Magazine.
Deerslayer (The).
Oak Openings (The).
Pathfinder (The).
Headsman (The).
Water Witch (The).
Two Admirals |The).
Miles Wallingford.
Prairie (The).
Red Rover (The).
Eve Effingham.
Heidenmauer (The).
Precaution.
RAILWAY AND HOME READING.
ALBERT SMITH'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Two Shillings each, boards, or 2s. 6d. cloth gilt,
Adventures of Mr. Ledbury (The). I Scattergood Family (The).
Christopher Tadpole. . | Pottleton Legacy (The).
And price Eighteenpence, boards,
The Marchioness of Brinvilliers; the Poisoner of the 17th Century.
" Albert Smith's name, as the author of any work, is quite sufficient to prove
that it is an interesting one, and one that can be read with pleasure by every one."
' ' \
THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Is. boards, In fcap. 8vo, price 2s. boards,
The Roving Englishman; or, I Turkey, by the Rovina Englishman;
Sketches on the Continent. j being Sketches from Life.
" Who is unfamiliar with those brilliant sketches of naval, particularlv the pic-
tures of Turkish, life and manners, from the pen of the ' Roving Englishman,'
and who does not hail their collection into a companionable size volume with
delight?"
CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price 2s. boards, In post 8vo, price 3s. 6d. cloth,
Arthur O'Leary's Adventures. | Con Cregans Adventures.
" We would rather be the author of ' Charles O'Malley,' and ' Harry Lorrequer,'
than hundreds of ' Pickwick'Papers,' and « Nicholas Nicxiebys.'"—Standard.
W. H. PRESCQTT'S WOPKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Two Shillings each volume, boards, or in cloth, 2s. 6d.
Ferdinand and Isabella. 2 Vols. | Conquest of Mexico (The). 2 Vols.
Conquest of Peru. 2 Vols. I Charles the Fifth. 2 Vols.
Philip IR, History of (The). 2 Vols. |
and
Biographical and Critical Essays; reprinted from the genuine American
Edition, with all the Notes, &c. 1 Vol.
" Prescott's works, in point of style, rank with the ablest English historians,
and paragraphs may be found in Which the grace and elegance of Addison are
combined with Robertson's cadence and Gibbon's brilliancy."—Athenaeum.
MRS. CROWE'? WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price 1a 6d. each, boards, In fcap. 8vo, price 2s. each, boards,
Light and Darkness. I Susan Hopley.
Lilly Dawson. | Night Side of Nature (The).
" Mrs. Crowe has a clearness and plain force of style, and a power in giving
reality to a scene, by accumulating a number of minute details, that reminds-us
forcibly of Defoe."—Aberdeen Banner.
MRS. GORE'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, boards, or in cloth, 2s.
Heir of Selwood (The). I Self; or, the Narrow, Narrow
Dowager (The). World.
Pin Money. I Monev Lender (The).
" Mrs. Gore is one of the most popular writers of the day; her works are all
pictures of existing life and manners."
THE
VICOMTE EE BRAGELONNE;
OK,
TEN YEARS LATER:
BEING THE COMPLETION 01' THE
"THREE MUSKETEERS" AND •'TWENTY YEARS AFTER."
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS,
A1IEOB OF " MONTE CHBISTO," " SIARGUEllITIi DE YALOIS,"
ETC. ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
G. ROUTLEDGE & CO. EARRINGDON STREET;
NEW XOEK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.
1857.
CONTENTS.
1.—The Letter .. .. .. ,, ., Page \
2.—The Messenger .. .. .. .. .. 6
3.—The Interview .. .. .. .. .. ..11
4.—Father and Son .. .. .. .. .. .. 16
5.—In which something will be said of Cropoli.—Of Cropoli and of
a great unknown Painter .. .. .. 19
6.—The Unknown .. .. .. .. .. .. 23
7.—Parry .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 27
8.—What his Majesty King Louts XIV. "was at the age of twenty-two 31
9.—In which the Unknown of the hostelry of "les Medici" loses his
Incognito .. . . .. .. .. ... 37
10.—The Arithmetic of M. de Mazarin .. .. .. . . 44
11.—Mazarin's Policy . . . . .. .. .. . . 50
12.—The King and the Lieutenant .. .. .. ..55
18.— Mary de Mancini . . . . . . .. .. .. 58
11.—In which the King and the Lieutenant each give proofs of
Memory .. .. . . .. .. .. 62
15.—The Proscribed .. .. .. .. .. ..67
16.—"Remember;'' .. .. ., .. .. ..71
17.—In which Aramis is sought for, and only Bazin found .. .. 77
13.—In which d'Artagnan seeks for Porthos, and only finds Mous-
quetou .. .. .. .. .. 83
19.—What d'Artagnan went to do in Paris .. .. 88
.20.—Of the Society which was formed in the Rue des Lombards, at
the sign of the "Pilon d'Or," to cany out the idea of
M. d'Artagnan . . .. . . .. .. . . 91
21.—In which d'Artagnan prepares to travel for the house of Planchet
and Company .. .. ., ., .. .. 97
22.—D'Artagnan travels for the house of Planchet and Company .. 102
IV CONTENTS.
23.—In wliicli the Author, verv unwillingly, is forced to do a little
History .. .. .. . . Page 105
24.—The Treasure .. .. .. .. . • • •
25.—:The March .. .. .. .. • • .. 118
26.—Heart and Mind .. .. . • • • • • • • 1^3
27.—The next Day .. .. . • • • • • • •
28.—Smuggling .. .. .. ■ • • • • • 138
29.—In which d'Artagnan begins to fear he has placed his Money and
that of Planchct in the Sinking Fund .. .. .. 1-28
30.—The Shares of the Company of Flanchet and Co. rise again to Par 142
31.—Monk reveals himself .. .. .. .. .. 1-1'i
32.—Athos and d'Artagnan meet once more at the hostelry of the
" Corne du Cerf" .. .. .. .. .. 149
33.—The Audience .. ... .. .. .. ..156
34.—Of the Embarrassment of Riches .. .. .. ..161
35.—Upon the Canal .. .. .. .. .. .. 1G4
36.-—How d'Artagnan drew, as a fairy would Lave done, a country-
seat from a deal box .. .. .. .. .. 109
37.—How d'Artagnan regulated the Passive of the Company before he
established its Active .. .. .. .. ..175
38.—In which it is seen that the French Grocer had already been
established in the seventeenth century .. .. .. 179
39.—Mazarin's Gaming Party .. .. .. .. 182
40.—An Affair of State .. .. .. .. .. 185
41.—The Recital .. .. " .. .. .. .. 1SS
42.—In which Mazarin becomes prodigal .. .. .. 192
43.—GuGnaud .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 195
44.—Colbert .. .. .. ,. .. .. .. 197
45.—Confession of a Man of Wealth .. .. .. .. 200
46.—The Donation .. .. .. .. .. .. 208
47.—How Anne of Austria gave one piece of advice to Louis XIV.,
and liow M. Fouquet gave him another .. .. .. 207
48.—Agony .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 212
49.—.The first appearance of Colbert .. .. .. ..218
50.—The first day of the Royalty of Louis XIV. .. .. .. 222
51.—'A Passion .. .. .. .. .. .. 225
52.—D'Artagnan's Lesson .. .. .. ... .. 229
CONTENTS,
V
5-3.—The King > . .. .. .. ., Page
54.—The Houses of M. Fouquc-t . .
55.—The Abbe Bouquet
r,b.—The Win© of M. do la Fontaine
57.—'The Gallery of Saint-Mandd
58.—The Epicure: jis
59.—A Quarter of an Hour's Delay
00.—Plan of Battle
01.—The Cabaret of the "Image de Notre 'Dame "
02.—Vive Colbert!
63.—How the Diamond of M. d'Eymeris passed into the hands of
M. d'Artagnan..
(j-i.—Of the notable difference d'Artagnan finds between Monsieur the
Intendant and Monsieur the Surintendant
65.—Philosophy of the Heart and Mind .,
bo.—The Jouniey
67.—How d'Artagnan became acquainted with a Poet, who had turned
Printer for tho sake of Printing his own Verses
•>8.—D'Artagnan continues his Investigations
69.—In which the reader, no doubt, will be as astonished as d'Artagnan
was to meet with an old acquaintance
70.—"Wherein the- ideas of d'Artagnan. at first very troubled, begin to
clear up a little
71.—A Procession at Valines .. .. .. ,,
72.—The Grandeur of the Bishop of Valines
7;3.—In which Porthos begins to be sorry for having conio with
d'Artagnan
71.—In which d'Artagnan makes all speed, Porthos snores, and
Aramis counsels .. _ ..
75.—In which M. Bouquet acts ..
7b.—In which d'Artagnan finishes by at length placing his hand
upon his Captain's Commission . .
77.—A Lover and a Mistress
78.—Tn which wc at length see the true Heroine of this History appear.
79.—Malicorne and Manicamp
80.—Manicamp and Malicorne . .
81.—The Courtyard of the Hotol Grammont
234
215
252
257
259
262
2b5
2(59
272
°77
281
28 tj
290
293
290
301
300
310
315
319
332
330
342
340
350
355
358
363
Vi CONTENTS.
82.—The Portrait of Madame .. .. • • ' •' ^a3e 368
83.—Havre .. .. .. •• •• •• ^7^
84.—At Sea .. .. .. .. •• •• * * 376
85.—The Tents .. .. .. • • • • • • 381
86.—Night 887
87.—From Havre to Paris .. .. . • • * *' • •
88.—An Account of what the Chevalier de Lorraine thought of
Madame .. .. .. • • • • • • 397
89.—The Surprise of Madame de Montalais .. .. .. 402
90.—The Consent of Atlios .. .. .. .. •. 409
91.—Monsieur becomes jealous of the Duke of Buckingham .. 412
92.—For Ever! .. .. .. .. .. ..418
93.—King Louis XIV. does not think Mademoiselle de la Vallifere
either rich enough or pretty enough for a gentleman of the
rank of the Vieomte de Bragelonne .. .. .. 422
94.—Sword-thrusts in the Water .. .. .. . . 426
95.—Sword-thrusts in the Water (concluded) .. .. .. 432
96.—Baisemeaux de Montlezun .. .. .. .. .. 43S
97.—The King's Card-table .. .. .. .. .. 443
98.—M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun's Accounts .. .. .. 450
99.—The Breakfast of Monsieur de Baisemeaux .. .. .. 457
100.—The second floor of la Bertaudiere .. .. .. .. 461
101.—The two Friends .. .. .. .. .. .. 466
02.—Madame de Bellifere's Plate .. .. .. .. 471
103.—The Dowrj' .. .. .« .. .. .. 475
104.—Le Terrain de Dieu .. .. .. .. .. 480
105.—Threefold Love .. .. .. .. .. .. 485
106.—M. de Lorraine's Jealousy .. ,. .. .. .. 488
107.—Monsieur is jealous of Guiche ,. .. .. ., 493
108.—The Mediator .. .. .. ., . , .. 409
109.—The Advisers .. . . .. .. .. _ 591
110.—Fontainebleau .. .. .. .. . ^ >
111.—The Bath .. .. .. .. ..515
112.—The Butterfly-chase .. .. .. ..
113.—What was caught in the hand after the Butterflies .. . _ 599
114.—The Ballet of the Seasons .. .. .. .. . _ 596
CONTENTS. Vii
115.—The Nymphs of the Park of Fontainebleau .. .. Page 531
116.—What was said under the Royal Oak .. .. .. 536
117.—The King's Uneasiness .. .. .. .. .. 542
11S.—The King's Secret .. .. .. .. .. 546
119.—Courses de Nuit . . . . .. .. .. .. 552
120.—In which Madame acquires a proof that listeners can hear what
is said . . .. .. .. .. ,. 557
121.—Aramis's Correspondence .. .. .. .. .. 562
122.—The Orderly Clerk .. 567
123.—Fontainebleau at two o'clock in the morning .. .. 573
124.—The Labyrinth . . .. .. .. .. .. 578
125.—How Malicorne had been turned out of the Hotel of the "Beau
Paon" .. 5S3
126.—What actually did occur at the Inn called the "Beau Paon" .. 588
127.—A Jesuit of the Eleventh Year .. .. .. .. 595
128.—The State Secret .. .. . . .. . . .. 598
129.—Mission .. .. .. .. . . .. .. 605
130.—Happy as a Prince .. .. .. .. .. 611
131.—Story of a Dryad and of a Naiad .. .. .. .. 622
132.—Conclusion of the Story of a Naiad and of a Dryad .. .. 630
133.—Royal Psychology .. .. .. .. .. 636
134. Showing what neither the Naiad nor Dryad had anticipated .. 642
135.—The New General of the Jesuits .. .. .. .. 647
136.—The Storm .. .. .. .. •. .. 653
137.—The Shower of Rain .. .. .. .. .. 658
138—Toby .. .. •• .. •• •• ..665
139.—Madame's Four Chances .. .. •• .. ..670
140.—The Lottery .. .. .. •• •• •• 675
THE
YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
CHAPTER I.
The Letter.
Towards the middle of the month of May, in the year 1660, at nine
o'clock in the morning, when the sun, already high in the heavens, was
fast absorbing the dew from the ravenelles of the castle of Blois, a little
cavalcade, composed of three men and two pages, re-entered the city by
the bridge, without producing any other effect upon the passengers of
the quay beyond a first movement of the hand to the head, as a salute,
and a second movement of the tongue to express, in the purest French
then spoken in France: " There is Monsieur returning from hunting."
And that was all.
Whilst, however, the horses were climbing the steep acclivity which
leads from the river to the castle, several shopboys approached tho
last horse, from whose saddle-bow a number of birds were suspended by
the beak.
At seeing this, the inquisitive youths manifested with rustic freedom
their contempt for such paltry sport, and, after a dissertation among
themselves upon the disadvantages of hawking, they returned to their
occupations. One only of the curious party, a stout, chubby, cheerful
lad, having demanded how it was that Monsieur, who, from his great
revenues, had it in his power to amuse himself so much better, could
he satisfied with such mean diversions,
" Do you not know," one of the standers-by replied, " that Monsieur's
principal amusement is to weary himself?"
The light-hearted boy shrugged his shoulders with a gesture which
said as clear as day: " In that case I would rather be plain Jack than a
prince." And all resumed their labours.
In the mean while, Monsieur continued his route with an air at once
so melancholy and so majestic, that he certainly would have attracted
the attention of spectators, if spectators there had been; but the good
citizens of Blois could not pardon Monsieur for having chosen their gay
city for an abode in which to indulge melancholy at his ease, and as
often as they caught a glimpse of the illustrious ennuye, they stole away
gaping, or drew back their heads into the interior of their dwellings, to
escape the soporific influence of that long pale face, of those watery
eyes, and that languid address; so that the worthy prince was almost
certain to find the streets deserted whenever he chanced to pass through
them.
Now, on the part of the citizens of Blois this was a culpable piece oh
£
2 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
disrespect, for Monsieur was, after the king—nay, even, perhaps, before
the king—the greatest noble of the kingdom. In fact, God, who had
granted to Louis XIV., then reigning, the honour of being son of
Louis XIII., had granted to Monsieur the honour of being son of
Henry IY. It was not then, or, at least, it ought not to have been, a
trifling source of pride for the city of Blois, that Gaston of Orleans had
chosen it as his residence, and held his court in the ancient castle of
its states.
But it was the destiny of this great prince to excite the attention and
admiration of the public in a very modified degree wherever he might
be. Monsieur had fallen into this situation by habit.
It was not, perhaps, this which _ gave him that air of listlessness.
Monsieur had been tolerably busy in the course of his life. A man
cannot allow the heads of a dozen of his best friends to be cut off with-
out feeling a little excitement: and as since the accession of Mazarin to
power no heads had been cut off, Monsieur's occupation was gone, and
his morale suffered from it.
The life of the poor prince was then very dull. After his little
morning hawking-party on the banks of the Beuvion, or in the woods
of Chiverny, Monsieur crossed the Loire, went to breakfast at Cham-
bord, with or without an appetite, and the city of Blois heard no more
of its sovereign lord and master till the next hawking-day.
So much for the ennui eottra muros; of the ennui of the interior we
will give the reader an idea if he will with us follow the cavalcade to the
majestic porch of the castle of the states.
Monsieur rode a little steady-paced horse, equipped with a large
saddle of red Flemish velvet, with stirrups in the shape of buskins; the
horse was of a bay colour; Monsieur's pourpoint of crimson velvet
corresponded with the cloak of the same shade and the horse's equip-
ment, and it was only by this red appearance of the whole that the
prince could be known from his two companions, the one dressed in
violet, the other in green. He on the left, in violet, was his equerry,;
he on the right, in green, was the grand veneur.
One of the pages carried two gerfalcons upon a perch, the other a
hunting-horn, which he blew with a careless note at twenty paces from
the castle. Every one about this listless prince did what he had to do
listlessly.
At this signal, eight guards, who were lounging in the sun in the
square court, ran to their halberts, and Monsieur made his solemn entry
into the castle.
When he had disappeared under the shades of the porch, three or
four idlers, who had followed the cavalcade to the castle, after pointing
out the suspended birds to each other, dispersed with comments upon
what they saw; and, when they were gone, the street, the place, and the
court, all remained deserted alike.
Monsieur dismounted without speaking a word, went straight to his
apartments, where his valet changed his dress, and as Madame had not
yet sent orders respecting breakfast, Monsieur stretched himself upon a
chaise longue, and was soon as fast asleep as if it had been eleven o'clock
at niMit.
The eight guards, who concluded their service for the day was over,
laid themselves down very comfortably in the sun upon some stone
benches; the grooms disappeared with their horses into the stables,
and, with the exception of a few joyous birds, startling each other with
their sharp chirping in the tufts of gilhflowers, it might have been
thought that the whole castle was as soundly asleep as Monsieur was.
THE LETTEB.
3
All at once, in the midst of this delicious silence, there resounded a
clear ringing laugh, which caused several of the halberdiers in the
enjoyment of their siesta to open at least one eye.
* This burst of laughter proceeded from a window of the castle, visited
at this moment by the sun, which united it in one of those large angles
which the profiles of the chimneys mark out upon the walls before
mid-day.
The little balcony of wrought iron which advanced in front of this
window was furnished with a pot of red gilliflowers, another pot of
primroses, and an early rose-tree, the foliage of which, beautifully green,
was variegated with numerous fed specks announcing future roses.
In the chamber lighted by this window was a square table, covered
with an old large-flowered Haarlem tapestry; in the centre of this table
was a long-necked stone bottle, in which were irises and lilies of the
valley; at each end of this table was a young girl.
The position of these two young people was singular; they might
have been taken for two boarders escaped from a convent. One of
them, with both elbows on the table, and a pen in her hand, was tracing
characters upon a sheet of fine Dutch paper; the other, kneeling upon
a chair, which allowed her to advance her head and bust over the back
of it to the middle of the table, was watching her companion as she
wrote, or rather hesitated to write. ,
Thence the thousand cries, the thousand railleries, the thousand
laughs, One of which, more brilliant than the rest, had startled the birds
of the ravenelles, and disturbed the slumbers of Monsieur's guards.
We are taking portraits now; we shall be allowed, therefore, we hope,
to sketch the two last of this chapter.
The one who was leaning in the chair—that is to say, the joyous, the
laughing one—was a beautiful girl of from eighteen to twenty, with
brown complexion and brown hair, splendid, from eyes which sparkled
beneath strongly marked brows, and particularly from her teeth, which
seemed to shine like pearls between her red coral lips. Her every
movement seemed the result of a springing mine; she did not live—she
bounded.
The other, she who was writing, looked at her turbulent companion
with an eye as limpid, as pure, and as blue as the heaven of that day,
Her hair, of a shaded fairness, arranged with exquisite taste, fell in silky
curls over her lovely mantling cheeks; she passed across the paper a
delicate hand, whose thinness announced her extreme youth. At each
burst of laughter that proceeded from her friend, she raised, as if
annoyed, her white shoulders in a poetical and mild manner, but they
were wanting in that rich fulness of mould which was likewise to be
wished in her arms and hands.
"Montalais! Montalais!" said she at length, in a voice soft and
caressing as a melody, " you laugh too loud—you laugh like a man!
Tou will not only draw the attention of messieurs the guards, but you
will not hear Madame's bell when Madame rings."
This admonition neither made the young girl called Montalais cease
to laugh nor gesticulate. She only replied: " Louise, you do not speak as
Sou think, my dear; you know that messieurs the guards, as you call them,
ave only just commenced their sleep, and thlt a cannon would not
waken them; you know that Madame's bell can be heard at the bridge
of Blois, and that consequently I shall hear it when my services are
required by Madame. "What annoys you, my child, is that I laugh
while vou are writing: and what vou are afraid of is that Madame de
;ome un here as she does sometimes
4 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGEIONNE.
when we laugh too loud; that she should surprise us, and that she
should see that enormous sheet of paper upon which, in a quarter of an
hour, you have only traced the words Monsieur Raoul. Now, you
are right, my dear Louise, because after these words,' Monsieur Raoul,'
others may be put so significant and so incendiary as to cause Madame
de Saint-Remy to burst out into fire and flames! Sein ! is not that
true now ?—say."
And Montalais redoubled her laughter and noisy provocations.
The fair girl at length became quite angry; she tore the sheet of
paper, on which, in fact, the words " Monsieur Raoul" were written in
good characters; and crushing the paper in her trembling hands, she
threw it out of the window.
" There, there !" said Mademoiselle de Montalais; " there is our
little lamb, our gentle dove angry ! Don't he afraid, Louise,—Madame
de Saint-Remy will not come; and if she should, you know I have a
quick ear. Besides, what can be more permissible than to write to an
old friend of twelve years' standing, particularly when the letter begins
with the words ' Monsieur Raoul' ? "
" It is all very well—I will not write to him at all," said the young
girl.
" Ah, ah ! in good sooth, Montalais is properly punished," cried the
jeering brunette, still laughing. " Come, come! let us try another sheet
of paper, and finish our despatch off hand. Good! there is the bell
ringing now. By my faith, so much the worse! Madame must wait,
or else do without her first maid of honour this morning."
A bell, in fact, did ring: it announced that Madame had finished her
toilette, and waited for Monsieur to give her his hand, and conduct her
from the salon to the refectory.
This formality being accomplished with great ceremony, the husband
and wife breakfasted, and then separated till the hour of dinner, inva-
riably fixed at two o'clock.
The sound of this bell caused a door to be opened in the offices on
the left hand of the court, from which filed two maitres d'hotel, fol-
lowed by eight scullions bearing a kind of hand-barrow loaded with
dishes under silver covers.
One of the maitres d'hotel, the first in rank, touched one of the
guards, who was snoring on his bench, slightly with his wand; he even
carried his kindness so far as to place the halbert which stood against
the wall in the hands of the man, stupid with sleep, after which the
soldier, without explanation, escorted the viande of Monsieur to the
refectory, preceded by a page and the two maitres d'hotel.
Wherever the viande passed, the soldiers ported arms.
Mademoiselle de Montalais and her companion had watched from
their window the details of this ceremony, to which, by the bye, they
must have been pretty well accustomed. But they did not look so
much from curiosity as to be assured they should not be disturbed.
So, guards, scullions, maitres d'hotel, and pages having passed, they
resumed their places at the table; and the sun, which, through the
window-frame, had for an instant fallen upon those two charming
countenances, now only shed its light upon the gilliflowers, primroses,
and rose-tree.
" Bah!" said Mademoiselle de Montalais, taking her place again;
" Madame will breakfast very well without me ! "
"Oh! Montalais, you will be punished! " replied the other girl, sit-
ting down quietly in hers.
" Punished, indeed !—that is to say, deprived of a ride ! That is just
THE LETTER. 5
the way in which I wish to be punished. To go out in the grand coach,
perched upon a doorstep ; to turn to the left, twist round to the right,
over roads full of ruts, where we cannot exceed a league in two hours;
and then to come back straight towards the wing of the castle in which
is the window of Mary de Medici, so that Madame never fails to say :
' Could one believe it possible that Mary de Medici should have escaped
from that window—forty-seven feet high ? The mother of two princes
and three princesses!' If you call that relaxation, Louise, all I ask is
to be punished every day; particularly when my punishment is to
remain with you and write such interesting letters as we write !"
"Montalais ! Montalais ! there are duties to be performed."
"You talk of them very much at your ease, my little heart!—you,
who are left quite free amidst this tedious court. You are the only
person that reaps the advantages of them without incurring the trou-
hie,—you, who are really more one of Madame's maids of honour than
I am, because Madame makes her affection for your father-in-law
glance off upon you; so that you enter this dull house as the birds fly
into yonder court, inhaling the air, pecking the flowers, picking up the
grain, without having the least service to perform, or the least annoy-
ance to undergo. And you talk to me of duties to be performed! In
sooth, my pretty idler, what are your own proper duties, unless to write
to the handsome Raoul ? And even that you don't do ; so that it looks
to me as if you likewise were rather negligent of your duties !"
Louise assumed a serious air, leant her chin upon her hand, and, in
a tone full of candid remonstrance, " And do you reproach me with
my good fortune ? " said she. " Can you have the heart to do it ? You
have a future; you belong to the court; the king, if he should marry,
will require Monsieur to be near his person; you will see splendid
fetes; you will see the king, who they say is so handsome, so agree-
able!"
"Ay, and still more, I shall see Raoul, who attends upon M. le
Prince," added Montalais, maliciously.
" Poor Raoul!" sighed Louise.
"Now is the time to write to him, my pretty dear! Come, begin
again, with that famous 'Monsieur Raoul' which figures at the top of
the poor torn sheet."
She then held the pen towards her, and with a charming smile en-
couraged her hand, which quickly traced the words she named.
" What next ? " asked the younger of the two girls.
" Why, now write what you think, Louise," replied Montalais.
" Are you quite sure I think of anything ? "
" You think of somebody, and that amounts to the same thing, or
rather even worse."
" Do you think so, Montalais ? "
" Louise, Louise, your blue eyes are as deep as the sea I saw at
Boulogne last year! No, no, I mistake,—the sea is perfidious: your
eyes are as deep as the azure yonder—look !—over our heads ! "
"Well, since you can read, so well in my eyes, tell me what I am
thinking about, Montalais."
" In the first place, you don't think Monsieur Eaoul; vou think My
dear Eaoul."
" Oh! "
"Never blush for such a trifle as that! 'My dear Raoul,' we will
say,—' You implore me to write to you at Paris, where you are detained
by your attendance on M. le Prince. As you must be very dull there,
to seek for amusement in the remembrance of a provincial^ '"
6 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
Louise rose up suddenly. "No, Montalais," said she, with a smile;
"I don't think a word of that. Look, this is what I think;" and
she seized the pen boldly, and traced, with a firm hand, the following
words:—
" I should have been very unhappy if your entreaties to obtain a
remembrance of me had been less warm. Everything here reminds
me of our early days, which so quickly passed away, which so delightfully
flew by, that no others will ever replace the charm of them in my
heart."
Montalais, who watched the flying pen, and read, the wrong way
upwards, as fast as her friend wrote, here interrupted by clapping her
hands. "Capital!" cried she; "there is frankness—there is heart—
there is style! Show these Parisians, my dear, that Blois is the city
for fine language!"
" He knows very well that Blois was a Paradise to me," replied the
girl.
"That is exactly what you mean to say; and you speak like an
angel."
" I will finish, Montalais," and she continued as follows:—"You
often think of me, you say, Monsieur B/aoul: I thank you; but that
does not surprise me, when I recollect how often our hearts have beaten
close to each other."
"Oh! oh!" said Montalais. " Beware, my lamb! You are scattering
your wool, and there are wolves about."
Louise was about to reply when the gallop of a horse resounded under
the porch of the castle.
" What is that?" said Montalais, approaching the window. "A
handsome cavalier, by my faith !"
" Oh !—Raoul!" exclaimed Louise, who had made the same move-
ment as her friend, and, becoming pale as death, sunk back beside
her unfinished letter.
"Now, he is a clever lover, upon my word!" cried Montalais; "he
arrives just°at the proper moment."
" Come in, come in, I implore you!" murmured Louise.
" Bah! he does not know me. Let me see what he is come here for."
CHAPTER, II.
The Messenger.
Mademoiselle de Montalais was right: the young cavalier was
goodly to look upon.
He was a young man of from twenty-four to twenty-five years of age,
tall and slender, wearing gracefully the picturesque military costume
of the period. His large boots contained a foot which Mademoiselle de
Montalais might not have disowned if she had been transformed into
a man. With one of his delicate but nervous hands he checked his
horse in the middle of the court, and with, the other raised his hat,
whose long plumes shaded his at once serious and ingenuous coun-
tenance.
The guards, roused by the steps of the horse, awoke, and were on
foot in a minute. The young man waited till one of them was
close to his saddle-bow; then stooping towards him, in a clear, distinct
THE MESSENGEE. 7
voice, which was perfectly audible at tlio window where the two girls
were concealed, " A message for his royal highness," he said.
" Ah, all!" cried the soldier. " Ollicer, a messenger !"
But this brave guard knew very well that no ollicer would appear,
seeing that the only one who could have appeared dwelt at the other
side of the castle, in an apartment looking into the gardens. So he
hastened to add : " The officer, monsieur, is on his rounds ; but, in his
absence, M. de Saint-Remy, the maitre d'hotel, shall be informed."
" M. de Saint-Remy?" repeated the cavalier, slightly blushing.
" Do you know him ?"
" Why, yes; but request him, if you please, that my visit be an-
nounced to his royal highness as soon as possible."
" It appears to be pressing," said the guard, as if speaking to himself,
but really in the hope of obtaining an answer.
The messenger made an affirmative sign with his head.
" In that case," said the guard, " I will go and seek the mailre d'hotel
myself."
The young man, in the mean time, dismounted; and whilst the others
were making their remarks upon the line horse the cavalier rode, the
soldier returned.
" Your pardon, young gentleman; but your name, if you please ?"
" The Vicomte de Bragelonne, on the part of his highness M. le
Prince de Conde."
The soldier made a profound bow, and, as if the name of the con-
queror of Rocroy and Sens had given him wings, he stepped lightly up
the steps leading to the ante-chamber.
M. de Bragelonne had not had time to fasten his horse to the iron-
bars of the perron, when M. de Saint-Remy came running, out of breath,
supporting his capacious stomach with one hand, whilst with the other
he cut the air as a fisherman cleaves the waves with his oar.
" Ah, Monsieur le Yicomte ! You at Blois !" cried he. " Well, that
is a wonder ! Good day to you—good day, Monsieur Raoul!"
" I offer you a thousand respects, M. de Saint-Remy."
" How Madame de la Yall 1 mean, how delighted Madame de
Saint-Remy will be to see you ! But come in. His royal highness is at
breakfast—must he be interrupted ? Is the matter serious ?"
" Yes, and no, Monsieur de Saint-Remy. A moment's delay, however,
would be disagreeable to his royal highness."
" If that is the case we will force the consigne, Monsieur le Yicomte.
Come in. Besides, Monsieur is in an excellent humour to-day. And
then, you bring news, do you not ?"
" Great news, Monsieur de Saint-Remy."
" And good, I presume ?"
" Excellent."
" Come quickly, come quickly, then !" cried the worthy man, putting
his dress to rights as he went along.
Raoul followed him, hat in hand, and a little disconcerted at the
noise made by his spurs in these immense salons.
As soon as he had disappeared in the interior of the palace, the win-
dow of the court was repeopled, and an animated whispering betrayed
the emotion of the two girls. They soon appeared to have formed a
resolution, for one of the two faces disappeared from the window. This
was the brunette; the other remained behind the balcony, concealed
by the flowers, watching attentively through the branches the perron by
which M. de Bragelonne had entered the castle.
In the mean time the object of so much laudable curiosity continued
8 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
his route, following the steps of the mattre d'hotel. The noise of quick
steps, an odour of wine and viands, a clinking of crystals and plates,
warned them that they were coming to the end of their course.
The pages, valets, and officers, assembled in the office which preceded
the refectory, welcomed the new-comer with the proverbial politeness
of the country: some of them were acquainted with Raoul, and all
knew that he came from Paris. It might be said that his arrival for a
moment suspended the service. In fact, a page who was pouring out
wine for his royal highness, on hearing the jingling of spurs in the next
chamber, turned round like a child, without perceiving that he was
continuing to pour out, not into the glass, but upon the table-cloth.
Madame, who was not so preoccupied as her glorious spouse was,
remarked this distraction of the page. " "Well!" exclaimed she.
" Well!" repeated Monsieur; " what is going on then ?"
M. de Saint-Remy, who had just introduced his head through the
doorway, took advantage of the moment.
"Why am I to be disturbed?" said Gaston, helping himself to a
thick slice of one of the largest salmon that had ever ascended the
Loire to be captured between Painboeuf and Saint-Nazaire.
" There is a messenger from Paris. Oh! but after monseigneur has
breakfasted will do; there is plenty of time."
" From Paris !" cried the prince, letting his fork fall. " A messenger
from Paris, do you say ? And on whose part does this messenger come ? "
" On the part of M. le Prince," said the maUre d'hotel promptly.
Every one knows that the Prince de Conde was so called.
" A messenger from M. le Prince !" said Gaston, with an inquietude
that escaped none of the assistants,, and consequently redoubled the
general curiosity.
Monsieur, perhaps, fancied himself brought back again to the happy
times when the opening of a door gave him an emotion, in which every
letter might contain a state secret,—in which every message was con-
nected with a dark and complicated intrigue. Perhaps, likewise, that
great name of M. le Prince expanded itself, beneath the roofs of Blois,
into the proportions of a phantom.
Monsieur pushed away his plate.
" Shall I tell the envoy to wait ?" asked M. de Saint-Remy.
A glance from Madame emboldened Gaston, who replied: " No, no;
let him come in, at once, on the contrary. A propos, who is he ? "
" A gentleman of this country, M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne."
" Ah, very well! Introduce him, Saint-Remy—introduce him."
And when he had let fall these words, with his accustomed gravity,
Monsieur turned his eyes, in a certain manner, upon the people of his
suite, so that all, pages, officers, and equerries, quitted the service,
knives, and goblets, and made towards the second chamber a retreat as
rapid as it was disorderly.
This little army had dispersed in two files when Raoul de Bragelonne,
preceded by M. de Saint-Remy, entered the refectory.
The short moment of solitude in which this retreat had left him,
permitted Monsieur the time to assume a diplomatic countenance. He
did not turn round, but waited till the maUre d'hotel should bring the
messenger face to face with him.
Raoul stopped even with the lower end of the table, so as to be
exactly between Monsieur and Madame. From this place he made a
profound bow to Monsieur, and a very humble one to Madame; then
drawing himself up into military pose, he waited for Monsieur to ad-
dress him.
THE MESSENGER. 9
On his part the prince waited till the doors were hermetically closed;
he would not turn round to ascertain the fact, as that would have been
derogatory to his dignity, but he listened with all his ears for the noise
of the lock, which would promise him at least an appearance of secrecy.
The doors being closed, Monsieur raised his eyes towards the vicomte,
and said, " It appears that you come from Paris, monsieur ? "
" This minute, monseigneur."
" How is the king ? "
" His majesty is in perfect health, monseigneur."
" And my sister-in-law ? "
" Her majesty the queen-mother still suffers from the complaint in
her lungs, but for the last month she has been rather better."
" Somebody told me you came on the part of M. le Prince. They
must have been mistaken, surely ?"
" No, monseigneur; M. le Prince has charged me to convey this letter
to your royal highness, and I am to wait for an answer to it."
Raoul had been a little annoyed by this cold and cautious reception,
and his voice insensibly sank to a low key.
The prince forgot that he was the cause of this apparent mystery,
and his fears returned.
He received the letter from the Prince de Conde with a haggard look,
unsealed it as he would have unsealed a suspicious packet, and, in order
to read it so that no one should remark the effects of it upon his coun-
tenance, he turned round.
Madame followed, with an anxiety almost equal to that of the prince,
every manoeuvre of her august husband.
Raoul, impassible, and a little disengaged by the attention of his
hosts, looked from his place through the open window at the gardens
and the statues which peopled them.
" Well!" cried Monsieur, all at once, with a cheerful smile, " here is
an agreeable surprise, and a charming letter from M. le Prince! Look,
Madame!"
The table was too large to allow the arm of the prince to reach the
hand of Madame; Raoul sprang forward to be their intermediary, and
did it with so good a grace as to procure a flattering acknowledgment
from the princess.
" You know the contents of this letter, no doubt ?" said Gaston to
Raoul.
" Yes, monseigneur; M. le Prince at first gave me the message ver-
bally, but upon reflection his highness took up his pen."
" It is beautiful writing," said Madame, "but I cannot read it."
" Will you read it to Madame, M. de Bragelonne ?" said the duke.
" Yes; read it, if you please, monsieur."
Raoul began to read, Monsieur giving again all his attention. The
letter was conceived in these terms
" Monseigneur,—The king is about to set out for the frontiers.
You are aware that the marriage of his majesty is concluded upon. The
king has done me the honour to appoint me his marechal-des-logis for
this journey, and as I knew with what joy his majesty would pass a day
at Blois, I venture to ask your royal highness's permission to mark the
house you inhabit as our quarters. If, however, the suddenness of this
request should create to your royal highness any embarrassment, I
entreat you to say so by the messenger I send, a gentleman of my suite,
M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne. My itinerary will depend upon your
royal highness's determination, and instead of passing through Blois,
10 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
we shall come through Yendome and Romorantin. I venture to hope
that your royal highness will be pleased with my arrangement, it being
the expression of my boundless desire to make myself agreeable to you."
" Nothing can be more gracious towards us," said Madame, who had
more than once consulted the looks of her husband during the reading
of the letter. " The king here!" exclaimed she, in a rather louder
tone than would have been necessary to preserve secrecy.'
" Monsieur," said his royal highness in his turn, " you will offer my
thanks to M. le Prince de Condd, and express to him my gratitude for
the pleasure he has done me." Raoul bowed.
" On what day will his majesty arrive ? " continued the prince.
" The king, monseigneur, will, in all probability, arrive this evening."
" But how, then, could he have known my reply if it had been in the
negative ? "
" I was desired, monseigneur, to return in all haste to Beaugency, to
give counter-orders to the courier, who was himself to go back immedi-
ately with counter-orders to M. le Prince."
" His majesty is at Orleans, then ? "
"Much nearer, monseigneur; his majesty must by this time have
arrived at Meung."
" Does the court accompany him ? "
" Yes, monseigneur."
"Apropos, I forgot to ask you after M. le Cardinal."
" His eminence appears to enjoy good health, monseigneur."
" His nieces accompany him, no doubt ? "
"No, monseigneur; his eminence has ordered the Mesdemoiselles de
Mancini to set out for Brouage. They will follow the left bank of the
Loire, while the court will come by the right."
"What! Mademoiselle Mary de Mancini quit the court in that
manner ? " asked Monsieur, his reserve beginning to diminish.
" Mademoiselle Mary de Mancini in particular," replied Raoul
discreetly.
A fugitive smile, an imperceptible vestige of his ancient spirit of
intrigue, shot across the pale face of the prince.
"Thanks, M. de Bragelonne," then said Monsieur. "You would,
perhaps, not be willing to render M. le Prince the commission with
which I would charge you, and that is, that his messenger has been very
agreeable to me; but I will tell him so myself."
Baoul bowed his thanks to Monsieur for the honour he had done him.
Monsieur made a sign to Madame, who struck a bell which was placed
at her right hand; M. de Saint-Bemy entered, and the room was soon
filled with people.
" Messieurs," said the prince, " his majesty is about to pay me the
honour of passing a day at Blois; I depend upon the king, my nephew,
not having to repent of the favour he does my house."
" Vive le Hoi!" cried all the officers of the household, with frantic
enthusiasm, and M. de Saint-Bemy louder than the rest.
Gaston hung down his head with evident chagrin. He had all his life
been obliged to hear, or rather to undergo, this cry of " Vive le Hoi !"
which passed over him. For a long time, being unaccustomed to hear
it, his ear had had rest, and now a younger, more vivacious, and more
brilliant royalty rose up before him, like a new and a more painful pro-
vocation.
Madame perfectly understood the sufferings of that timid, gloomy
heart; she rose from the table, Monsieur imitated her mechanically,
THE INTERVIEW. 11
and all the domestics, with a buzzing like that of several bee-hives,
surrounded Raoul for the purpose of questioning him.
Madame saw this movement, and called M. de Saint-Remy. " This
is not the time for gossiping, but working," said she, with the tone of
an angry housekeeper.
M. de Saint-Remy hastened to break the circle formed by the officers
round Eaoul, so that the latter was able to gain the antechamber.
" Care will be taken of that gentleman, I hope," added Madame,
addressing M. de Saint-Remy.
The worthy man immediately hastened after Raoul. " Madame
desires refreshment to be offered to you," said he; "and there is,
besides, a lodging for you in the castle."
" Thanks, M. de Saint-Remy," replied Raoul; " but you know how
anxious I must be to pay my duty to M. le Comte, my father."
" That is true, that is true, Monsieur Raoul; present him, at the
same time, my humble respects, if you please."
Raoul thus once more got rid of the old gentleman, and pursued his
way. As he was passing under the porch, leading his horse by the
bridle, a soft voice called him from the depths of an obscure path.
" Monsieur Raoul!" said the voice.
The young man turned round surprised, and saw a dark-complexioned
girl, who, with a finger on her lip, held out her other hand to him.
This girl was perfectly unknown to him.
CHAPTER III.
The Interview.
Raoul made one step towards_ the girl who thus called him.
" But my horse, madame ? " said he.
" Oh ! you are terribly embarrassed ! Go out that way—there is a
shed in the outer court; fasten your horse, and return quickly."
" I obey, madame."
Raoul was not four minutes in performing what he had been directed
to do; he returned to the little door, where, in darkness, he found his
mysterious conductress waiting for him, on the first steps of a winding
staircase.
" Are you brave enough to follow me, monsieur knight-errant ?"
asked the girl, laughing at the momentary hesitation Raoul had mani-
fested..
The latter replied by springing up the dark staircase after her. They
thus climbed up three stories, he behind her, touching with his hands,
when he felt for the banister, a silk dress which rubbed against each
side of the staircase. At every false step made by Raoul, his con-
ductress cried " Hush! " and held out to him a soft and perfumed
hand.
" One would mount thus to the donjon of the castle without being
conscious of fatigue," said Raoul.
" All which means, monsieur, that you are very much perplexed,
very tired, and very uneasy. But be of good cheer, monsieur; here we
are, arrived."
The girl threw open a door, which immediately, without any trans-
ition, filled with a flood of light the landing of the staircase, at the top
of which Raoul appeared, holding fast by the balustrade.
12 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
The girl continued to walk on—he followed her; she entered a
chamber—he did the same.
As soon as he was fairly in the net, he heard a loud cry, and, turning
round, saw at two paces from him, with her hands clasped and her eyes
closed, that beautiful fair girl with blue eyes and white shoulders, who,
recognizing him, had called him Eaoul.
He saw her, and divined at once so much love and so much joy in
the expression of her countenance, that he sank on his knees in the
middle of the chamber, murmuring, on his part, the name of Louise.
"Ah! Montalais!—Montalais!" sighed she, "it is very wicked to
deceive one so."
" Who, I ? I have deceived you ? "
" Yes; you told me you would go down to inquire the news, and you
have brought up monsieur!"
" Well, I was obliged to do so—how else could he have received the
letter you wrote him ? "
And she pointed with her finger to the letter which was still upon
the table. Eaoul made a step to take it; Louise, more rapid, although
she had sprung forward with a sufficiently remarkable physical hesi-
tation, reached out her hand to stop him. Eaoul came in contact with
that trembling hand, took it within his own, and carried it so respect-
fully to his lips, that he might be said to have deposited a sigh upon it
rather than a kiss.
In the mean time, Mademoiselle de Montalais had taken the letter,
folded it carefully, as women do, in three folds, and slipped it into her
bosom.
"Don't be afraid, Louise," said she; " monsieur will no more venture
to take it hence than the defunct king, Louis XIII., ventured to take
billets from the corsage of Mademoiselle de Hautefort."
Eaoul blushed at seeing the smile of the two girls; and he did not
remark that the hand of Louise remained in his.
" There ! " said Montalais, "you have pardoned me, Louise, for having
brought monsieur to you; and you, monsieur, bear me no malice for
having followed me to see mademoiselle. Now, then, peace being made,
let us chat like old friends. Present me, Louise, to M. de Bragelonne."
" Monsieur le Vicomte," said Louise, with her quiet grace and in-
genuous smile, " I have the honour to present to you Mademoiselle
Aure de Montalais, maid of honour to her royal highness Madame,
and moreover my friend—my excellent friend."
Eaoul bowed ceremoniously.
"And me, Louise," said he,—"will you not present me also to
mademoiselle?"
" Oh, she knows you—she knows all! "
This unguarded expression made Montalais laugh and Eaoul sigh
with happiness, for he interpreted it thus: " She knows all our love."'
" The ceremonies being over, Monsieur le Vicomte," said Montalais,
" take a chair, and tell us quickly the news you bring flying thus."
"Mademoiselle, it is no longer a secret; the king, on his way to
Poitiers, will stop at Blois, to visit his royal highness."
" The king here!" exclaimed Montalais, clapping her hands. " What!
are we going to see the court ? Only think, Louise—the real court
from' Paris! Oh! good heavens! But when will this happen, mon-
sieur ?"
"Perhaps this evening, mademoiselle; at latest, to-morrow."
Montalais lifted her shoulders in sign of vexation.
"No time to get ready! No time to prepare a single dress! We are
THE INTERVIEW. 13
as far behind the fashions as the Poles. "We shall look like portraits of
the times of Henry IV. Ah, monsieur ! this is sad news you bring us!"
" But, mesdemoiselles, you will be still beautiful."
" That's stale ! Yes, we shall be always beautiful, because nature has
made us passable; but we shall be ridiculous, because the fashion will
have forgotten us. Alas! ridiculous! I shall be thought ridicu-
lous-I!"
"And by whom ? " said Louise, innocently.
" By whom ? You are a strange girl, my dear. Is that a question to
put to me ? I mean everybody; I mean the courtiers, the nobles; I
mean the king."
" Pardon me, my good friend; but as here every one is accustomed
to see us as we are "
" Granted; but that is about to change, and we shall be ridiculous,
even for Blois; for close to us will be seen the fashions from Paris,
and -they will perceive that we are in the fashion of Blois! It is
enough to make one wild!"
" Console yourself, mademoiselle."
" Well, so let it be! After all, so much the worse for those who do
not find me to their taste !" said Montalais, philosophically.
" They would be very difficult to please," replied Raoul, faithful to his
regular system of gallantry.
" Thank you, Monsieur le Vicomte. We were saying, then, that the
king is coming to Blois ?"
" With all the court."
" Mesdemoiselles de Mancini, will they be with them ? "
" No, certainly not."
" But, as the king, it is said, caunot do without Mademoiselle Mary?"
"Mademoiselle, the king must do without her. M. le Cardinal will
have it so. He has exiled his nieces to Brouage."
" He !—the hypocrite !"
" Hush ! " said Louise, pressing a finger on her friend's rosy lips.
"Bah ! nobody can hear me. I say that old Mazarino Mazarini is
a hypocrite, who burns impatiently to make his niece queen of France."
" That cannot be, mademoiselle, since M. le Cardinal, on the contrary,
has brought about the marriage of his majesty with the Infanta Maria
Theresa."
Montalais looked Raoul full in the face, and said, "And do you
Parisians believe in these tales ? Well! we are a little more cunning
than you, at Blois."
" Mademoiselle, if the king goes beyond Poitiers and sets out for
Spain; if the articles of the marriage contract are agreed upon by Don
Luis de Haro and his eminence, you must plainly perceive that it is
not child's play."
" All very fine! but the king is king, I suppose ? "
"No doubt, mademoiselle; but the cardinal is the cardinal."
" The king is not a man, then! And he does not love Mary Mancini ? "
" He adores her."
"Well, he will marry her, then. We shall have war with Spain.
M. Mazarin will spend a few of the millions he has put away; our
gentlemen will perform prodigies of valour in their encounters with
the proud Castilians, and many of them will return crowned with
laurels, to be recrowned by us with myrtles. Now, that is my view of
P°" Montalais, you are wild!" said Louise, "and every exaggeration
attracts you as light does a moth."
14 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
■" Louise, you are so extremely reasonable, that you will never know
how to love."
" Oh !" said Louise, in a tone of tender reproach, " don't you see,
Montalais ? The queen-mother desires to marry her son to the infanta;
would you wish him to disobey his mother ? Is it for a royal heart
like his to set such a bad example ? When parents forbid love, love
must be banished."
And Louise sighed; Eaoul cast down his eyes, with an expression of
constraint. Montalais, on her part, laughed aloud.
" Well, I have no parents!" said she.
"You are acquainted, without doubt, with the state of health of
M. le Comte de la Fere ? " said Louise, after breathing that sigh which
had revealed so many griefs in its eloquent utterance.
" No, mademoiselle," replied Eaoul, " I have not yet paid my respects
to my father; I was going to his house when Mademoiselle de Montalais
so kindly stopped me. I hope the comte is well. You have heard
nothing to the contrary, have you ?"
" No, M. Eaoul—nothing, thank God !"
Here, for several instants, ensued a silence, during which two spirits,
which followed the same idea, communicated perfectly, without even
the assistance of a single glance.
" Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Montalais, in a fright; " there is somebody
coming up."
" Who can it be ? " said Louise, rising in great agitation.
" Mesdemoiselles, I inconvenience you very much. I have, without
doubt, been very indiscreet," stammered Eaoul, very ill at ease.
" It is a heavy step," said Louise.
" Ah ! if it is only M. Malicorne," added Montalais, " do not disturb
yourselves."
Louise and Eaoul looked at each other to inquire who M. Malicorne
could be.
" There is no occasion to mind him," continued Montalais; " he is not
jealous."
" But, mademoiselle " said Eaoul.
" Yes, I understand. Well, he is as discreet as I am."
" Good heavens !" cried Louise, who had applied her ear to. the door,
which had been left ajar; " it is my mother's step!"
" Madame de Saint-Eemy ! Where shall I hide myself?" exclaimed
Eaoul, catching at the dress of Montalais, who looked quite bewildered.
"Yes," said she; "yes, I know the clicking of those pattens! It is
our excellent mother. M. le Vicomte, what a pity it is the window
looks upon a stone pavement, and that fifty paces below it!"
Eaoul glanced at the balcony in despair. Louise seized his arm, and
held it tight.
"Oh, how silly I am!" said Montalais; "have I not the robe-of-
ceremony closet ? It looks as if it were made on purpose."
It was quite time to act; Madame de Saint-Eemy was coming up at
a quicker pace than usual. She gained the landing at the moment
when Montalais, as in all scenes of surprises, shut the closet by leaning
with her back against the door.
" Ah!" cried Madame de Saint-Eemy, " you are here, are you,
Louise ? "
"Yes, madame," replied she, more pale than if she had committed a
great crime.
" Well, well!"
The interview. 15
" Pray be seated, madame," said Montalais, offering her a chair, which
she placed so that the back was towards the closet.
" Thank you, Mademoiselle Aure—thank you. Come, my child, be
quick,"
" Where do you wish me to go, madame ? "
" Why, home, to be sure; have you not to prepare your toilette ? "
" What did you say ? " cried Montalais, hastening to affect surprise,
so fearful was she that Louise would in some way commit herself.
"You don't know the news, then ?" said Madame de Saint-Remy.
" "What news, madame, is it possible for two girls to learn up in this
dovecot ? "
" What! have you seen nobody ? "
" Madame, you talk in enigmas, and you torment us at a slow f;re !"
cried Montalais, who, terrified at seeing Louise become paler and paler,
did not know to what saint to put up her vows.
At length she caught an eloquent look of her companion's, one of
those looks which would convey intelligence to a brick wall. Louise
directed her attention to a hat—Raoul's unlucky hat, which was set out
in all its feathery splendour upon the table.
Montalais sprang towards it, and, seizing it with her left hand, passed
it behind her into the right, concealing it as she was speaking.
"Well," said Madame de Saint-Remy, "a courier has arrived, an-
nouncing the approach of the king. There, mesdemoiselles; there is
something to make you put on your best looks."
" Quick, quick !" cried Montalais. " Follow Madame your mother,
Louise; and leave me to get ready my dress of ceremony."
Louise arose; her mother took her by the hand, and led her out on
to the landing.
" Come along," said she; then adding in a lower voice, " When I
forbid you to come to the apartment of Montalais, why do you do so ? "
" Madame, she is my friend. Besides, I was but just come."
" Did you see nobody concealed while you were there ? "
" Madame!"
" I saw a man's hat, I tell you—the hat of that fellow, that good-for-
nothing!"
" Madame !" repeated Louise.
" Of that do-nothing de Malicorne! A maid of honour to have
such company—fie ! fie !" And their voices were lost in the depths of
the narrow staircase.
Montalais had not missed a word of this conversation, which echo
conveyed to her as if through a tunnel. She shrugged her shoulders
on seeing Raoul, who had listened likewise, issue from the closet.
" Poor Montalais," said she, " the victim of friendship! Poor
Malicorne, the victim of love!"
She stopped on viewing the tragi-comic face of Raoul, who was vexed
at having, in one day, surprised so many secrets.
" Oh, mademoiselle!" said he; " how can we repay your kindnesses?"
" Oh, we will balance accounts some day," said she. " For the pre-
sent, begone, M. de Bragelonne, for Madame de Saint-Remy is not
over indulgent; and any indiscretion on her part might bring hither a
domiciliary visit, which would be disagreeable to all parties."
" But Louise—how shall I know "
" Begone! begone! King Louis XI. knew very well what he was
about when he invented the post."
" Alas!" sighed Raoul.
16 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" And am I not here—I, who am worth all the posts in the king-
dom ? Quick, I say, to horse! so that if Madame de Saint-Remy should
return for the purpose of preaching me a lesson on morality, she may
not find you here."
" She would tell my father, would she not?" murmured Raoul.
" And you would be scolded. Ah, vicomte, it is very plain you come
from court; you are as timid as the king. Peste! at Blois we contrive
better than tnat, to do without papa's consent. Ask Malicorne else!"
And at these words the girl pushed Raoul out of the room by the
shoulders. He glided swiftly down to the porch, regained hi§ horse,
mounted, and set off as if he had had Monsieur's guards at his heels.
CHAPTER IY.
Father and Son.
Raoul followed the well-known road, so dear to his memory, which
led from Blois to the residence of the Comte de la Fere.
The reader will dispense with a second description of that habitation:
he, perhaps, has been with us there before, and. knows it. Only, since
our last journey thither, the walls had taken a greyer tint, and the
brickwork assumed a more harmonious copper tone; the trees had
grown, and many that then only stretched their slender branches along
the tops of the hedges, now, bushy, strong, and luxuriant, cast around,
beneath boughs swollen with sap, a thick shade of flowers or fruit for
the benefit of the traveller.
Raoul perceived from a distance the two little turrets, the dovecot in
the elms, and the flights of pigeons, which wheeled incessantly around
that brick cone, seemingly without a power to quit it, like the sweet
memories which hover round a spirit at peace.
As he approached, he heard the noise of the pulleys which grated
under the weight of the massy pails; he also fancied he heard the
melancholy moaning of the water which falls back again into the wells,
—a sad, funereal, solemn sound, which strikes the ear of the child and
the poet—both dreamers—which the English call splash; Arabian poets,
gasgachau; and which we Frenchmen, who would be poets, can only
translate by a paraphrase—the noise of water falling into water.
It was more than a year since Raoul had been to visit his father. He
had passed the whole time in the household of M. le Prince. In fact,
after all the commotions of the Fronde, of the early period of which we
formerly attempted to give a sketch, Louis de Conde had made a public,
solemn, and frank reconciliation with the court. During all the time
that the rupture between the king and the prince had lasted, the prince,
who had long entertained a great regard for Bragelonne, had in vain
offered him advantages of the most dazzling kind for a young man.
The Comte de la Fere, still faithful to his principles of loyalty and
royalty, one day developed before his son in the vaults of Saint-Denis,—
the Comte de la Fere, in the name of his son, had always declined them.
Moreover, instead of following M. de Conde in his rebellion, the
vicomte had followed M. de Turenne, fighting for the king. Then,
when M. de Turenne, in his turn, had appeared to abandon the royal
cause, he had quitted M. de Turenne, as he had quitted M. de Conde.
It resulted from this invariable line of conduct, that, as Conde and
Turenne had never been conquerors of each other but under the
IATHEB AND SON. 37
standard of the king, Eaoul, however young, had ten victories inscribed
on his list of services, and not one defeat from which his bravery or
conscience had to suffer.
Eaoul, therefore, had, in compliance with the wish of his father,
served obstinately and passively the fortunes of Louis XIV., in spite of
the tergiversations which were endemic, and, it might be said, in-
evitable, at that period.
M. de Conde, on being restored to favour, had at once availed himself
of all the privileges of the amnesty, to ask for many things back again
which had been granted him before, and among others, Eaoul. M. de
la Fere, with his invariable good sense, had immediately sent him again
to the prince.
A year, then, had passed away since the separation of the father and
son ; a few letters had softened, but not removed, the pains of absence.
We have seen that Eaoul had left at Blois another love in addition to
filial love. But let us do him this justice,—if it had not been for chance
and Mademoiselle de Montalais, two tempting demons, Eaoul, after
delivering his message, would have galloped off towards his father's
house, turning his head round, perhaps, but without stopping for a
single instant, even if Louise had held out her arms to him.
So the first part of the distance was given by Eaoul to regretting the
past which he had been forced to quit so quickly, that is to say, his
lady-love; and the other part to the friend he was about to join, so
much too slowly for his wishes.
Eaoul found the garden-gate open, and rode straight in, without re-
garding the long arms, raised in anger, of an old man dressed in a
jacket of violet-coloured wool, and a large cap of old faded velvet.
The old man, who was weeding with his hands a bed of dwarf roses
and marguerites, was indignant at seeing a horse thus traversing his
sanded and nicely-raked walks. He even ventured a vigorous " Humph!"
which made the cavalier turn round. Then there was a change of
scene; for no sooner had he caught sight of Eaoul's face, than the old
man sprang up and set off in the direction of the house, amidst inter-
rupted growlings, which he meant to be paroxysms of wild delight.
When arrived at the stables, Eaoul gave his horse to a little lackey,
and sprang up the perron with an ardour that would have delighted
the heart of his father.
He crossed the antechamber, the dining-room, and the salon, with-
out meeting with any one; at length, on reaching the door of M. de la
Fere's apartment, he rapped impatiently, and entered almost without
waiting for the word "Enter!" which was thrown to him by a voice at
once sweet and serious. The comte was seated at a table covered with
papers and books: he was still,the noble, handsome gentleman of former
days, but time had given to this nobleness and beauty a more solemn
and distinct character. A brow white and void of wrinkles, beneath
his long hair, now more white than black; an eye piercing and mild,
under the lids of a young man; his moustache, fine but slightly grizzled,
waved over lips of a pure and delicate model, as if they had never been
curled by mortal passions; a shape straight and supple; an irreproach-
able but thin hand;—this was what remained of the illustrious gentle-
man whom so many illustrious mouths had praised under the name
of Athos. He was engaged in correcting the pages of a manuscript book,
entirely filled by his own hand.
Eaoul seized his father by the shoulders, by the neck, as he could,
and embraced him so tenderly and so rapidly that the comte had neither
c
18 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
strength nor time to disengage himself, or to overcome his paternal
emotions.
" What! you here, Raoul—you! Is it possible?" said he.
" Oh, monsieur, monsieur, what joy to see you once again!"
" But you don't answer me, vicomte. Have you leave of absence, or
has some misfortune happened at Paris ?"
" Thank God, monsieur," replied Raoul, calming himself by degrees,
" nothing has happened but what is fortunate. The king is going to be
married, as I had the honour of informing you in my last letter, and,
on his way to Spain, he will pass through Blois."
" To pay a visit to Monsieur ?"
" Yes, monsieur le comte. So, fearing to find him unprepared, or
wishing to be particularly polite to him, monsieur le prince sent me
forward to have the lodgings ready."
" You have seen Monsieur?" asked the vicomte eagerly.
" I have had that honour."
" At the castle ?"
" Yes, monsieur," replied Raoul, casting down his eyes, because, no
doubt, he had felt there was something more than curiosity in the
comte's inquiries.
" Ah, indeed, vicomte ? Accept my compliments thereupon."
Raoul bowed.
" But you have seen some one else at Blois ?"
" Monsieur, I saw her royal highness Madame."
" That's very well; but it is not Madame that I mean."
Raoul coloured deeply, but made no reply.
" You do not appear to understand me, monsieur le vicomte," per-
sisted M. de la Fere, without accenting his words more strongly, but
with a rather severer look.
"I understand you quite plainly, monsieur," replied Raoul, "and if
I hesitate a little in my reply, you are well assured I am not seeking for
a falsehood."
"No, you cannot lie; and that makes me so astonished you should
be so long in saying yes or no."
"I cannot answer you without understanding you well; and, if I
have understood you, you will take my first words in ill part. You will
be displeased, no doubt, monsieur le comte, because I have seen "
" Mademoiselle de la Valliere—have you not ?"
" It was of her you meant to speak, I know very well, monsieur,"
said Raoul, with inexpressible sweetness.
" And I ask you if you have seen her."
" Monsieur, I was ignorant, when I entered the castle, that Made-
moiselle de la Valliere was there; it was only on my return, after I had
performed my mission, that chance brought us together. I have had the
honour of paying my respects to her."
" But what do you call the chance that led you into the presence of
Mademoiselle de la Valliere ?"
" Mademoiselle de Montalais, monsieur."
"And who is Mademoiselle de Montalais?"
"A young lady I did not know before, whom I had never seen. She
is maid of honour to Madame."
"Monsieur le vicomte, I will push my interrogatory no further,
and reproach myself with having carried it so far. I had desired you
to avoid Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and not to see her without my
permission. Oh 1 I am quite sure you have told me the truth, and that
you took no measures to approach her. Chance has done me this injury;
cropoli. 19
I do not accuse you of it. I will be content then with what I formerly
said to you concerning this young lady. I do not reproach her with
anything—God is my witness; only it is not my intention or wish that
you should frequent her place of residence. I beg you once more, my
dear Raoul, to understand that."
It was plain the limpid, pure eye of Raoul was troubled at this
speech.
" Now, my friend," said the comte, with his soft smile and in his
customary tone, "let us talk of other matters. You are returning,
perhaps, to your duty ?"
"No, monsieur, I have no duty for to-day except the pleasure of
remaining with you. The prince kindly appointed me no other, which
was so much in accord with my wish."
" Is the king well ?"
" Perfectly."
" And monsieur le prince also ?"
" As usual, monsieur."
The comte forgot to inquire after Mazarin; that was an old habit.
"Well, Raoul, since you are entirely mine, I will give up my whole
day to you. Embrace me—again, again ! You are at home, vicomte !
Ah! there is our old Grimaud! Come in, Grimaud; monsieur le
vicomte is desirous of embracing you likewise."
The good old man did not require to be twice told; he rushed in with
open arms, Raoul meeting him halfway.
"Now, if you please, we will go into the garden, Raoul. I will show
you the new lodging I have had prepared for you during your leave of
absence; and, whilst examining the last winter's plantations, and two
saddle-horses I have just changed for, you will give me all the news of
our friends in Paris."
The comte closed his manuscript, took the young man's arm, and
went out into the garden with him.
Grimaud looked at Raoul with a melancholy air as the young man
passed out; observing that his head nearly touched the traverse of
the doorway, stroking his white royale> ho allowed the single word
"Grown !" to escape him.
CHAPTER Y.
In which something will be said of Cropoli.—Of Cropoli and of a great
unknown Painter.
"Whilst the Comte de la Pere with Raoul visits the new buildings he
has had erected, and the new horses he has bought, with the reader's
permission we will lead him back to the city of Blois, and make him a
witness of the unaccustomed activity which pervades that city.
It was in the hotels that the surprise of the news brought by Raoul
was most sensibly felt.
In fact, the king and the court at Blois, that,is to say a hundred
horsemen, ten carriages, two hundred horses, as many lackeys as mas-
ters—where was this crowd to be housed ? Where were to be lodged all
the gentry of the neighbourhood, who would flock in in two or three
hours after the news had enlarged the circle of its report, like the
increasing circumferences produced by a stone thrown into a placid
lake?
C 2
20 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Blois, as peaceful in the morning, as we have seen, as the calmest lake
in the world, at the announcement of the royal arrival, was suddenly
filled with the tumult and buzzing of a svvaru! of bees.
All the servants of the castle, under the inspection of the officers,
were sent into the city in quest of provisions, and ten horsemen
were despatched to the preserves of Chambord to seek for game, to
the fisheries of Beuvion for fish, and to the gardens of Chaverny for
fruits and flowers.
Precious tapestries, and lustres with great gilt chains, were drawn
from the wardrobes; an army of the poor were engaged in sweeping
the courts and washing the stone fronts, whilst their wives went in
droves to the meadows beyond the Loire, to gather green boughs and
field-flowers. The whole city, not to be behind in this luxury of
cleanliness, assumed its best toilette, with the help of brushes, brooms,
and water.
The kennels of the upper city, swollen by these continued lotions,
became rivers at the bottom of the city, and. the pavement, generally
very muddy, it must be allowed, took a clean face, and absolutely shone
in the friendly rays of the sun.
Next the music was to be provided : drawers were emptied; the shop-
keepers had a glorious trade in wax, ribands, and sword-knots; house-
keepers laid in stores of bread, meat, and spices. Already numbers of
the citizens, whose houses were furnished as if for a siege, having nothing
more to do, donned their festive clothes, and directed their course
towards the city gate, in order to be the first to signal or see the corthge,
They knew very well that the king would not arrive before night, per-
haps not before the next morning. But what is expectation but a kind
of folly, and what is that folly but an excess of hope ?
In the lower city, at scarcely a hundred paces from the Castle of the
States, between the mail and the castle, in a sufficiently handsome
street, then called B-ue Vieille, and which must, in fact, have been very
old, stood a venerable edifice, with pointed gables, of squat and large
dimensions, ornamented with three windows looking into the street
on the first floor, with two in the second, and with a little ceil de bceuf.
in the third.
On the sides of this triangle had recently been constructed a paral-
lelogram of considerable size, which encroached upon the street remorse-
lessly, according to the familiar uses of the edility of that period. The
street was narrowed by a quarter by it, but then the house was enlarged
by a half; and was not that a sufficient compensation ?
Tradition said that this house with the pointed gables was inhabited,
in the time of Henry III., by a councillor of sfate whom Queen Cathe-
rine came, some say to visit, and others to strangle. However that
may be, the good lady must have stepped with a circumspect foot over
the threshold of this building.
After the councillor had died—whether by strangulation or naturally
is of no consequence,—the house had been sold, then abandoned, and
lastly isolated from the other houses of the street. Towards the
middle of the reign of Louis XIII. only, an Italian, named Cropoli,
escaped from the kitchens of the Marquis d'Ancre, came and took
possession of this house. There he established a little hostelry, in which
was fabricated a maccaroni so delicious that people came from miles
round to fetch it or eat it. • »
So famous had the house become for it, that when Mary de Medici
was a prisoner, as we know, in the castle of Blois, she once sent for
some.
CEOPOLI. 21
It was precisely on the day she had escaped by the famous window.
The dish of maccaroni was left upon the table, only just tasted by the
royal mouth.
This double favour, of a strangulation and a maccaroni, conferred
upon the triangular house, gave poor Cropoli a fancy to grace his hos-
telry with a pompous title. But his quality of an Italian was no recom-
mendation in these times, and his small well-concealed fortune forbade
attracting too much attention.
When he found himself about to die, which happened in 1643, just
after the death of Louis XIII., he called to him his son, a young cook
of great promise, and, with tears in his eyes, he recommended him to
preserve carefully the secret of the maccaroni, to Frenchify his name,
and at length, when the political horizon should be cleared from the
clouds which obscured it—this was practised then as in our day,—to
order of the nearest smith a handsome sign, upon which a famous
painter, whom he named, should design two queens' portraits, with these
words as a legend" To the Medici."
The worthy Cropoli, after these recommendations, had only suffi-
cient time, to point out to his young successor a chimney, under the
slab of which he had hidden a thousand ten-franc louis, and then
expired.
Cropoli the younger, like a man of good heart, supported the loss
with resignation, and the gain without insolence. He began by accus-
toming the public to sound the final i of his name so little, that, by the
aid of general complaisance, he was soon called nothing but M. Cropole,
which is quite a French name. He then married, having had in his
eye a little French girl, from whose parents he extorted a reasonable
dowry, by showing them what there was beneath the slab of the
chimney.
These two points accomplished, he went in search of the painter
who was to paint the sign; and he was soon found. He was an old
Italian, a rival of the "Raphaels and the Caracchi, but an unfortunate
rival. He said he was of the Yenetian school, doubtless from his fond-
ness for colour. His works, of which he had never sold one, attracted
the eye at a distance of a hundred paces; but they so formidably dis-
pleased the citizens, that he had finished by painting no more.
He boasted of having painted a bath-room for Madame la Marechale
d'Ancre, and moaned over this chamber having been burnt at the time
of the marechal's disaster.
Cropoli, in his character of a compatriot, was indulgent towards
Pittrino, which was the name of the artist. Perhaps he had seen the
famous pictures of the bath-room. Be this as it may, he held in such
esteem, we may say in such friendship, the famous Pittrino, that he
took him into his own house.
Pittrino, grateful, and fed with maccaroni, set about propagating the
■reputation of this national dish, and from the time of its founder he
had rendered, with his indefatigable tongue, signal services to the house
of Cropoli.
As he grew old, he attached himself to the son as he had done to the
father, and by degrees became a kind of overlooker of a house in
which his remarkable integrity, his acknowledged sobriety, and a thou-
sand other virtues useless to enumerate, gave him an eternal place by
the fireside, with a right of inspection over the domestics. Besides
this, it was he who tasted the maccaroni, to maintain the pure flavour
of the ancient tradition; and it must be allowed that he never per-
mitted a grain of pepper too much, or an atom of parmesan too little.
22 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
His joy was at its height on that day when called upon to share the
secret of Cropoli the younger, and to paint the famous sign.
He was seen at once rummaging with ardour in an old box, in
which he found some pencils, a little gnawed by the rats, but still pass-
able ; some colours in bladders, almost dried up; some linseed-oil in a
bottle, and a palette which had formerly belonged to Bronzino, that
dieu de la pittoure, as the ultramontane artist, in his ever-young enthu-
siasm, always called him.
Pittrino was puffed up with all the joy of a rehabilitation.
He did as Raphael had done—he changed his style, and painted, in the
fashion of the Albanian, two goddesses rather than two queens. These
illustrious ladies appeared so lovely on the sign.—they presented to the
astonished eyes such an assemblage of lilies and roses, the enchanting
result of the change of style in Pittrino,—they assumed the poses of
sirens so Anacreontically,—that the principal echevin, when admitted to
view this capital piece in the salle of Cropole, at once declared that
these ladies were too handsome, of too animated a beauty, to figure as a
sign in the eyes of passengers.
To Pittrino he added, "His royal highness Monsieur, who often
comes into our city, will not be much pleased to see his illustrious
mother so slightly clothed, and he will send you to the oubliettes of the
state; for, remember, the heart of that glorious prince is not always
tender. You must efface either the two sirens or the legend, without
which I forbid the exhibition of the sign. I say this for your-sake,
Master Cropole, as well as for yours, Signor Pittrino."
What answer could be made to this ? It was necessary to thank the
echevin for his kindness, which Cropole did. But Pittrino remained
downcast and sad: he felt assured of what was about to happen.
The edile was scarcely gone when Cropole, crossing his arms, said:
"Well, master, what is to be done?"
"We must efface the legend," said Pittrino, in a melancholy tone.
" I have some excellent ivory-black; it will be done in a moment, and
we will replace the Medici by the nymphs or the sirens, whichever you
prefer."
" No," said Cropole, " the will of my father must be carried out. My
father considered "
" He considered the figures of the most importance," said Pittrino.
" He thought most of the legend," said Cropole.
" The proof of the importance in which he held the figures," said
Pittrino, " is that he desired they should be likenesses, and they are so."
"Yes; but if they had not been so, who would have recognized
them without the legend ? At the present day even, when the memory
of the Blaisois begins to be faint with regard to these two celebrated
persons, who would recognize Catherine and Mary without the words
fTo the Medici'?"
" But the figures ? " said Pittrino, in despair; for he felt that young
Cropole was right. " I should not like to lose the fruit of my labour."
" And I should not wish you to be thrown into prison, and myself
into the oubliettes."
" Let us efface ' Medici,'" said Pittrino, supplicatingly.
"No," replied Cropole, firmly. " I have got an idea, a sublime idea
—your picture shall appear, and my legend likewise. Does not' Medici'
mean doctor, or physician, in Italian ? "
"Yes, in the plural."
"Well, then, you shall order another sign-frame of the smith; you
shall paint six physicians, and write underneath. (Aux Medici,' which
makes a very pretty plav unon words."
the unknown. 23
"Six physicians! impossible! And the composition?" cried Pit-
trino.
" That is your business—but so it shall be—I insist upon it—it must
he so—my maccaroni is burning."
This reasoning was peremptory—Pittrino obeyed. He composed
the sign of six physicians, with the legend; the echevin applauded and
authorized it.
The sign produced an extravagant success in the city, which proves
that poetry has always been in the wrong before citizens, as Pittrino
said.
Cropole, to make amends to his painter-in-ordinary, hung up the
nymphs of the preceding sign in his bed-room, which made Madame
Cropole blush every time she looked at it, when she was undressing at
night.
This is the way in which the pointed-gable house got a sign; and
this is how the hostelry 01 die Medici, making a fortune, was found to
be enlarged by a quarter, as we have described. And this is how there
was at Blois a hostelry of that name, and had for painter-in-ordinary
Master Pittrino.
CHAPTER VI.
The Unknown.
Thus founded and recommended by its sign, the hostelry of Master
Cropole held its way steadily on towards a solid prosperity.
It was not an immense fortune that Cropole had in perspective; but
he might hope to double the thousand louis d'or left by his father, to
make another thousand louis by the sale of his house and stock, and
at length to live happily like a retired citizen.
Cropole was anxious for gain, and was half-crazy with joy at the news
of the arrival of Louis XIV.
Himself, his wife, Pittrino, and two cooks immediately laid hands
upon all the inhabitants of the dovecot, the poultry-yard, and the
rabbit-hutches; so that as many lamentations and cries resounded in
the yards of the hostelry of the Medici as were formerly heard in Rama.
Cropole had, at the time, but one single traveller in his house.
This was a man of scarcely thirty years of age, handsome, tall, austere,
or rather melancholy, in all his gestures and looks.
He was dressed in black velvet with jet trimmings; a white collar, as
plain as that of the severest Puritan, set off the whiteness of his youthful
neck; a small dark-coloured moustache scarcely covered his curled,
disdainful lip.
He spoke to people looking them full in the face, without affecta-
tion, it is true, but without scruple; so that the brilliancy of his black
eyes became so insupportable, that more than one look had sunk beneath
his, like the weaker sword in a single combat.
At this time, in which men, all created equal by God, were divided,
thanks to prejudices, into two distinct castes, the gentleman and the
commoner, as they are really divided into two races, the black and the
white,—at this time, we say, he whose portrait we have just sketched
could not fail of being taken for a gentleman, and of the best class.
To ascertain this, there was no necessity to consult anything but his
hands, long, slender, and white, of which every muscle, every vein
24 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
became apparent through the skin at the least movement, and the
phalanges reddened at the least crispation.
This gentleman, then, had arrived alone at Cropole's house. He had
taken, without hesitation, without reflection even, the principal apart-
ment which the hotelier had pointed out to him with a rapacious aim,
very praiseworthy some will say, tfery reprehensible will say others, if
they admit that Cropole was a physiognomist, and judged people at
first sight.
This apartment was that which composed the whole front of the
ancient triangular house; a large salon, lighted by two windows on the
first stage, a small chamber by the side of it, and another above it.
Now, from the time he had arrived this gentleman had scarcely
touched any repast that had been served up to ,him in his chamber.
He had spoken but two words to the host, to warn him that a traveller
of the name of Parry would arrive, and to desire that, when he did, he
should be shown up to him immediately.
He afterwards preserved so profound a silence, that Cropole was
almost offended, so much did he prefer people who were good company.
This gentleman had risen early the morning of the day on which this
history begins, and had placed himself at the window of his salon,
seated upon the ledge, and leaning upon the rail of the balcony, gazing
sadl.v but persistently on both sides of the street, watching, no doubt,
for the arrival of the traveller he had mentioned to the host.
In this way he had seen the little cortege of Monsieur return from
hunting, then had again partaken of the profound tranquillity of the
■ street, absorbed in his own expectation. *
All at once the movement of the poor going to the meadows, couriers
setting out, washers of pavement, purveyors of the royal household,
gabbling, scampering shopboys, chariots in motion, hair-dressers on
the run, and pages toiling along,—this tumult and bustle had surprised
him, but without his losing any of that impassible and supreme majesty
which gives to the eagle and the lion that serene and contemptuous
glance amidst the hurrahs and shouts of hunters or the curious.
Soon the cries of the victims slaughtered in the poultry-yard, the
hasty steps of Madame Cropole up that little wooden staircase, so
narrow and so sonorous; the bounding pace of Pittrino, who only that
morning was smoking at the door with all the phlegm of a Dutchman;
all this communicated something like surprise and agitation to the
traveller.
As he was rising to make inquiries, the door of his chamber opened.
The unknown concluded they were about to introduce the impatiently
expected traveller, and made three precipitate steps to meet him.
But, instead of the person he expected, it was Master Cropole who
appeared, and behind him, in the half-dark staircase, the pleasant face
of Madame Cropole, rendered trivial by curiosity. She only gave one
furtive glance at the handsome gentleman, and disappeared.
Cropole advanced, cap in hand, rather bent than bowing.
A gesture of the unknown interrogated him, without a word being
pronounced.
" Monsieur," said Cropole, " I come to ask how what ought I to
say: your lordship, monsieur le comte, or monsieur le marquis ? "
" Say monsieur, and speak quickly," replied the unknown, with that
haughty accent which admits of neither discussion nor reply.
" I came then to inquire how monsieur had passed the night, and if
monsieur intended to keep this apartment."
"Yes."
THE UNKNOWN. 25
" Monsieur, something has happened upon which we could not
; reck on." " What ? "
" His majesty Louis XIV. will enter our city to-day, and will remain
here one day, perhaps two."
Great astonishment was painted on the countenance of the unknown.
" The king of France coming to Blois ? "
" He is on the road, monsieur."
"Then there is the stronger reason for my remaining," said the
unknown.
" Very well; but will monsieur keep all the apartments ? "
" I do not understand you. Why should I require less to-day than
yesterday ? "
" Because, monsieur, your lordship will permit me to say, yesterday
I did not think proper, when you chose your lodging, to fix any price
that might have made your lordship believe that I prejudged your
resources; whilst to-day "
The unknown coloured; the idea at once struck him that he was
supposed to be poor, and was being insulted. " Whilst to-day," replied
he, coldly, " you do prejudge."
" Monsieur, I am a well-meaning man, thank God! and, simple hotelier
as I am, there is in me the blood of a gentleman. My father was a
servant and officer of the late Marechal d'An ere. God rest his soul!"
. " I do not contest that point with you; I only wish to know, and that
quickly, to what your questions tend."
" You are too reasonable, monsieur, not to comprehend that bur city
is small, that the court is about to invade it, that the houses will be
overflowing with inhabitants, and that lodgings will consequently obtain
considerable prices."
Again the unknown coloured. " Name your terms," said he.
" I name them with scruple, monsieur, because I seek an honest gain,
and that I wish to carry on my business without being uncivil or extra-
vagant in my demands. Now the room you occupy is considerable, and
you are alone."
" That is my business."
" Oh ! certainly. 1 do not mean to turn monsieur out."
The blood rushed to the temples of the unknown; he darted at poor
Cropole, the descendant of one of the officers of the Marechal d'Anore,
a glance that would have crushed him down to beneath that famous
chimneyslab, if Cropole had not been nailed to the spot by the ques-
tion of his owmproper interests.
" Ho you desire me to go? " said he. " Explain yourself—but quickly."
" Monsieur, monsieur, you do not understand me. It is very deli-
cate—I know—that which I am doing. I express myself badly, or,
perhaps, as monsieur is a foreigner, which I perceive by his accent "
In fact, the unknown spoke with that slight defect which is the
principal character of English accentuation, even among men who
speak the French language with the greatest purity.
" As monsieur is a foreigner, I say, it is perhaps he who does not
catch my exact meaning. I wish for monsieur to give up one or two
of the apartments he occupies, which would diminish his expenses
and ease my conscience. Indeed, it is hard to increase unreasonably
the price of the chambers, when one has had the honour to let them at
a reasonable price."
"How much does the hire amount to since yesterday P"
" Monsieur, to one louis, with refreshments and the charge for the
horse."
26 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" "Very well; and that of to-day ? "
" Ah! there is the difficulty. This is the day of the king's arrival;
if the court comes to sleep here, the charge of the day is reckoned.
From that it results that three chambers, at two louis each, make six
louis. Two louis, monsieur, are not much; but six louis make a great
deal."
The unknown, from red, as we have seen him, became very pale.
He drew from his pocket, with heroic bravery, a purse embroidered
with a coat-of-arms, which he carefully concealed in the hollow of his
hand. This purse was of a thinness, a flabbiness, a hollowness, which
did not escape the eye of Cropole.
The unknown emptied the purse into his hand. It contained three
double louis, which amounted to the six louis demanded by the host.
But it was seven that Cropole had required.
He looked, therefore, at the unknown, as much as to say, " And
then ? "
" There remains one louis, does there not, master hotelier ? "
"Yes, monsieur, but "
The unknown plunged his hand into the pocket of his Tiaut-de-
chausses, and emptied it. It contained a small pocket-book, a gold
key, and some silver. "With this change he made up a louis.
" Thank you, monsieur," said Cropole. " It now only remains for me
to ask whether monsieur intends to occupy his apartments to-morrow,
in which case I will reserve them for him; whereas, if monsieur does
not mean to do so, I will promise them to some of the king's people
who are coming."
" That is but right," said the unknown, after a long silence; " but as
I have no more money, as you have seen, and as I yet must retain the
apartments, you must either sell this diamond in the city, or hold it in
pledge."
Cropole looked at the diamond so long, that the unknown said,
hastily:
. " I prefer your selling it, monsieur; for it is worth three hundred
pistoles. A Jew—are there any Jews in Blois ?—would give you two
hundred, or a hundred and fifty for it—take whatever may be offered
for it, if it be no more than the price of your lodging. Begone !"
" Oh ! monsieur," replied Cropole, ashamed of the sudden inferiority
which the unknown retorted upon him by this noble and disinterested
confidence, as well as by the unalterable patience opposed to so many
suspicions and evasions. "Oh, monsieur, I hope people are not so
dishonest at Blois as you seem to think; and that the diamond, being
worth what you say "
The unknown here again darted at Cropole one of his eloquent
glances.
"I really do not understand diamonds, monsieur, I assure you,"
cried he.
"But the jewellers do. Ask them," said the unknown. "Now I
believe our accounts are settled, are they not, monsieur l'hote ? "
"Yes, monsieur, and to my profound regret; for I fear I have
offended monsieur."
"Not at all! " replied the unknown, with ineffable majesty.
" Or have appeared to be extortionate with a noble traveller. Con-
sider, monsieur, the peculiarity of the case."
" Say no more about it, I desire; and leave me to myself."
Cropole bowed profoundly, and left the room with a stupified air,
which announced that he had a good heart, and felt genuine remorse.
tauey. 27
The unknown himself shut the door after him, and, when left alone,
looked mournfully at the bottom of the purse, from which he had
taken a small silken bag containing the diamond, his last resource.
He dwelt likewise upon the emptiness of his pockets, turned over
the papers in his pocket-book, and convinced himself of the state of
absolute destitution in which he was about to be plunged.
He raised his eyes towards heaven, with a sublime emotion of de-
^pairing calmness, brushed off with his hand some drops of sweat which
trickled over his noble brow, and then cast down upon the earth a look
which just before had been impressed with almost divine majesty.
That the storm had passed far from him, pei'haps he had prayed in
the bottom of his soul.
He drew near to the window, resumed his place in the balcony, and
remained there, motionless, annihilated, dead, till the moment when,
the heavens beginning to darken, the first flambeaux traversed the
embalmed street, and gave the signal for illumination to all the windows
of the city.
CHAPTER VII.
Parry.
Whilst the unknown was viewing these lights with interest, and
lending an ear to the various noises, Master Cropole entered his
apartment, followed by two attendants, who laid the cloth for his meal.
The stranger did not pay them the least attention; but Cropole,
approaching him respectfully, whispered, " Monsieur, the diamond has
been valued."
" Ah!" said the traveller. " Well ? "
"Well, monsieur, the jeweller of S.A.E. gives two hundred and
eighty pistoles for it."
" Have you them ? "
" I thought it best to take them, monsieur; nevertheless, I made it
a condition of the bargain, that if monsieur wished to keep his diamond,
it should be held till monsieur was again in funds."
" Oh no, not at all. I told you to sell it."
" Then I have obeyed, or nearly so, since, without having definitively
sold it, I have touched the money."
" Pay yourself," added the unknown.
" I will do so, monsieur, since you so positively require it."
A sad smile passed over the lips of the gentleman.
"Place the money on that trunk," said he, turning round, and
pointing to the piece of furniture.
Cropole deposited a tolerably large bag as directed, after having
taken from it the amount of his reckoning.
" Now," said he, " I hope monsieur will not give me the pain of not
taking any supper. Dinner has already been refused; this is affronting
to the house of les Medici. Look, monsieur, the supper is on the
table, and I venture to say that it is not a bad one."
The unknown asked for a glass of wine, broke off a morsel of bread,
and did not stir from the window whilst he ate and drank.
Shortly after was heard a loud flourish of trumpets; cries arose in
the distance, a confused buzzing filled the lower part of the city, and
the first distinct sound that struck the ears of the stranger was the
tramp of advancing horses.
28
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" The Icing! the king!" repeated a noisy and eager crowd.
"The king!" cried Cropole, abandoning his guest and his ideas of
delicacy to satisfy his curiosity.
With Cropole were mingled, and jostled, on the staircase, Madame
Cropole, Pittrino, and the waiters and scullions.
The cortege advanced slowly, lighted by a thousand flambeaux, in the
streets and from the windows.
After a company of musketeers, and a closely ranked troop of gentle-
men, came the litter of monsieur le cardinal, drawn like a carriage by
four black horses. The pages and people of the cardinal marched
behind.
Next came the carriage of the queen-mother, with her maids of
honour at the doors; her gentlemen, on horseback, at both sides.
The king then appeared, mounted upon a splendid horse of Saxon
race, with a flowing mane. The young prince exhibited, when bowing
to some windows from which issued the most animated acclamations,
a noble and handsome countenance, illumined by the flambeaux of his
pages.
pomp was of a military character.
Some of the courtiers—the elder ones, for instance—wore travelling
dresses; but all the rest were clothed in warlike panoply. Many wore
the gorget and buff coat of the times of Henry IV. and Louis XIII.
When the king passed before him, the unknown, who had leant
forward over the balcony to obtain a better view, and who had con-
cealed his face by leaning on his arm, felt his heart swell and overflow
with a bitter jealousy.
The noise of the trumpets excited him—the popular acclamations
deafened him: for a moment he allowed his reason to be absorbed in
this flood of lights, tumult, and brilliant images.
" He is a king!" murmured he, in an accent of despair.
Then, before he had recovered from his sombre reverie, all the noise,
all the splendour, had passed away. At the angle of the street there
remained nothing beneath the stranger but a few hoarse, discordant
voices, shouting at intervals, " Vive le Boi ! "
There remained likewise the six candles held by the inhabitants of
the hostelry dies Medici; that is to say, two for Cropole, two for Pit-
trino, and one for each scullion. Cropole never ceased repeating, " How
good-looking the king is! How strongly he resembles his illustrious
father!"
" A handsome likeness!" said Pittrino.
" And what a lofty carriage he has!" added Madame Cropole, already
in promiscuous commentary with her neighbours of both sexes.
Cropole was feeding their gossip with his own personal remarks, with-
out observing that an old man on foot, but leading a small Irish horse
by the bridle, was endeavouring to penetrate the crowd of men and
women which blocked up the entrance to the Medici. But at that
moment the voice of the stranger was heard from the window.
" Make way, monsieur l'hotelier, to the entrance of your house!"
Cropole turned round, and, on seeing the old man, cleared a passage
for him.
The window was instantly closed.
Pittrino pointed out the way to the newly-arrived guest, who entered
without uttering a word.
PARRY. 29
The stranger waited for him on the landing; he opened his arms to
the old man, and led him to a seat.
" Oh no, .no, my lord!" said he. "Sit down in your presence?—
never!"
"Parry," cried the gentleman, "I beg you will; you come from
England—you come so far. Ah ! it is not for your age to undergo the
fatigues my service requires. Rest yourself."
" 1 have my reply to give your lordship, in the first place."
" Parry, I conjure you, tell me nothing; for if your news had been
good, you would not have begun in such a manner; you go about,
which proves that the news is bad."
" My lord," said the old man, "do not hasten to alarm yourself; all is
not lost, I hope. You must employ energy, but more particularly
resignation."
" Parry," said the young man, "I have reached this place through a
thousand snares and after a thousand difficulties: can you doubt my
energy ? I have meditated this journey ten years, in spite of all counsels
and all obstacles—have you faith in my perseverance? I have this
evening sold the last of my father's diamonds; for I had nothing where-
with to pay for my lodging, and my host was about to turn me out."
Parry made a gesture of indignation, to which the young man replied
by a pressure of the hand and a smile.
" I have still two hundred and seventy-four pistoles left, and I feel my-
self rich. I do not despair, Parry;—have you faith in my resignation ?"
The old man raised his trembling hands towards heaven.
"Let me know," said the stranger,—"disguise nothing from me—
what has happened."
" My recital will be short, my lord; but, in the name of Heaven, do
not tremble so."
- " It is impatience, Parry. Come, what did the general say to you ?"
" At first the general would not receive me."
" He took you for a spy ?"
" Yes, my lord; but I wrote him a letter."
"Well?"
" He received it, and read it, my lord."
" Did that letter thoroughly explain my position and my views ?"
"Oh yes!" said Parry, with a sad smile; "it painted your very
thoughts faithfully."
" Well—then, Parry ?"
" Then the general sent me back the letter by an aide-de-camp, in-
forming me that if I were found the next day within the circumscription
of his command, he would have me arrested."
"Arrested!" murmured the young man. "What! arrest you, my
most faithful servant?"
" Yes, my lord."
" And notwithstanding you had signed the name Parry ?"
" To all my letters, my lord; and the aide-de-camp had known me at
St. James's, and at Whitehall too," added the old man with a sigh.
The young man leant forward, thoughtful and sad.
"Ay, that's what he did before his people," said he, endeavouring to
cheat himself with hopes. " But, privately—between you and him—
what did he do ? Answer J"
"Alas! my lord, he sent to me four cavaliers, who gave me the horse
with which you just, now saw me come back. These cavaliers con-
ducted me, in great haste, to the little port of Tenby, threw me, rather
than embarked me, into a fishing-boat about to sail for Brittany, and
here I am."
30 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
"Oh!" sighed the young man, clasping his neck convulsively with
his hand, and with a sob. " Parry, is that all ?—is that all ? "
"Yes, my lord; that is all."
After this brief reply ensued a long interval of silence, broken only by
the convulsive beating of the heel of the young man on the floor.
The old man endeavoured to change the conversation; it was leading
to thoughts much too sinister.
" My lord," said he, "what is the meaning of all the noise which pre-
ceded me ? What are these people crying ' Vive le Roi I' for ? What
king do they mean ? and what are all these lights for ?"
"Ah! Parry," replied the young man, ironically, "don't you know
that this is the king of France visiting his good city of Blois ? All those
trumpets are his, all those gilded housings are his, all those gentlemen
wear swords that are his. His mother precedes him in a carriage
magnificently encrusted with silver and gold. Happy mother! His
minister heaps up millions, and conducts him to a rich bride. Then all
these people rejoice; they love their king, they hail him with their
acclamations, and they cry ' Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi !'"
"Well, well! my lord," said Parry, more uneasy at the turn the
conversation had taken than at the other.
"You know," resumed the unknown, "that my mother and my
sister, whilst all this is going on in honour of the king of France, have
neither money nor bread; you know that I myself shall be poor and
degraded within a fortnight, when all Europe will become acquainted
with what you have told me. Parry, are there not examples in which
a man of my condition should himself "
" My lord, in the name of Heaven "
" You are right, Parry; I am a coward, and if I do nothing for myself,
what will God do? No, no; I have two arms, Parry, and I have a
sword." And he struck his arm violently with his hand, and took down
his sword, which hung against the wall.
" What are you going to do, my lord ? "
" What am I going to do, Parry ? What every one in my family
does. My mother lives on public charity, my sister begs for my mother;
I have, somewhere or other, brothers who equally beg for themselves;
and I, the eldest, will go and do as all the rest do—I will go and ask
charity!"
And at these words, which he finished sharply with a nervous and
terrible laugh, the young man girded on his sword, took his hat from
the trunk, fastened to his shoulder a black cloak, which he had worn
during all his journey, and pressing the two hands of the old man, who
watched his proceedings with a look of anxiety,—
" My good Parry," said he, " order a fire. Drink, eat, sleep, and be
happy; let us both be happy, my faithful friend, my only friend. We
are rich, as rich as kings !"
He struck the bag of pistoles with his clenched hands as he spoke,
and it fell heavily to the ground. He resumed that dismal laugh that
had so alarmed Parry; and whilst the whole household was screaming,
singing, and preparing to instal the travellers who had been preceded
by their lackeys, he glided out by the principal entrance into the street,
where the old man, who had gone to the window, lost sight of him in a
moment.
louis xiv.
31
CHAPTER VIII.
What his Majesty King Louis XIV. was at the age of twenty-two.
. It has been seen, by the account we have endeavoured to give of it,
that the entree of King Louis XIV. into the city of Blois nad been
noisy and brilliant: his young majesty had therefore appeared per-
fectly satisfied with it.
On arriving beneath the porch of the Castle of the States, the king
met, surrounded by his guards and gentlemen, with S.A.K. the duke,
Gaston of Orleans, whose physiognomy, naturally rather majestic, had
borrowed on this solemn occasion a fresh lustre and a fresh dignity.
On her part, Madame, dressed in her robes of ceremony, awaited, in the
interior balcony, the entrance of her nephew. All the windows of the
old castle, so deserted and dismal on ordinary days, were resplendent
with ladies and lights.
It was then to the sound of drums, trumpets, and vivats, that the
young king crossed the threshold of that castle in which, seventy-two
years before, Henry III. had called in the aid of assassination and
treachery to keep upon his head and in his house a crown which was
already slipping from his brow, to fall into another family.
All eyes, after having admired the young king, so handsome and so
agreeable, sought for that other king of France, much otherwise king
than the former, and so old, so pale, so bent, that people called him the
Cardinal Mazarin.
Louis was at this time endowed with all the natural gifts which
make the perfect gentleman; his eye was brilliant, mild, and of a clear
azure blue. But the most skilful physiognomists, those divers into the
soul, on fixing their looks upon it, if it had been possible for a subject
to sustain the glance of the king,—the most skilful physiognomists, we say,
would never have been able to fathom the depths of that abyss of mild-
ness. It was with the eyes of the king as with the immense depth of
the azure heavens, or with those more terrific, and almost as sublime,
which the Mediterranean reveals under the keels of its ships in a clear
summer day, a gigantic mirror in which heaven delights to reflect some-
times its stars, sometimes its storms.
The king was short of stature—he was scarcely five feet two inches;
but his youth made up for this defect, set off likewise by great noble-
ness in all his movements, and by considerable address in all bodily
exeroises.
Certes, he was already quite a king, and it was a great thing to be a
king in that period of traditional devotedness and respect; but as, up
to that time, he had been but seldom and always poorly shown to the
people, as they to whom he was shown saw him by the side of his
mother, a tall woman, and monsieur le cardinal, a man of commanding
presence, many found him so little of a king as to say—" Why, the king
is not so tall as monsieur le cardinal!"
' Whatever may be thought of these physical observations, which were
principally made in the capital, the young king was welcomed as a god
by the inhabitants of Blois, and almost like a king by his uncle and
aunt, Monsieur and Madame, the inhabitants of the castle.
It must, however, be allowed, that when he saw, in the hall of recep-
tion, chairs of equal height placed for himself, his mother, the cardinal,
aqd his uncle and aunt, a disposition artfully concealed by the semi-
82 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
circular form of the assembly, Louis XIV. became red with auger, and
looked around him, to ascertain by the countenances of those that were
present, if this humiliation had been prepared for him. But as he saw
nothing upon the impassible visage of the cardinal, nothing on that of
his mother, nothing on those of the assembly, he resigned himself, and
sat down, taking care to be seated before anybody else.
The gentlemen and ladies were presented to their majesties and
monsieur le cardinal.
The king remarked that his mother and he scarcely knew the names
of any of the persons who were presented to them; whilst the cardinal,
on the contrary, never failed, with an admirable memory and presence
of mind, to talk to every one about his estates, his ancestors, or his
children, some of whom he named, which enchanted those worthy
country gentlemen, and confirmed them in the idea that he alone is
truly king who knows his subjects, from the same reason that the sun
has no rival, because the sun alone warms and lightens.
The study qf the young king, which had begun a long time before,
without anybody suspecting it, was continued then, and he looked
around him attentively, to endeavour to make out something in the
physiognomies which had at first appeared the most insignificant and
trivial.
A collation was served. The king, without daring to call upon the
hospitality of his uncle, had waited for it impatiently. This time,
therefore, he had all the honours due, if not to his rank, at least to his
appetite.
As to the cardinal, he contented himself with touching with his
withered lips a bouillon, served in a gold cup. The all-powerful minis-
ter, who had taken her regency from the queen, and his royalty from
the king, had not been able to take a good stomach from nature.
Anne of Austria, already suffering from the cancer which six or
eight years after caused her death, ate very little more than the
cardinal.
Tor Monsieur, already puffed up with the great event which Had
taken place in his provincial life, he ate nothing whatever.
Madame alone, like a true Lorrainer, kept pace with his majesty; so
that Louis XIV., who, without this partner, might have eaten nearly
alone, was at first much pleased with his aunt, and afterwards with
M. de Saint-Bemy, her maitre d'hote I, who had really distinguished
himself.
The collation over, at a sign of approbation from M. de Mazarin, the
king arose, and, at the invitation of his aunt, walked about among the
ranks of the assembly.
The ladies then observed—there are certain things for which women
are as good observers at Blois as at Paris—the ladies then observed that
Louis XlV. had a prompt and bold look, which premised a distin-
guished appreciator of beauty. The men, on their part, observed that the
prince was proud and haughty, that he loved to look down those who
fixed their eyes upon him too long or too earnestly, which gave presage
of a master.
Louis XIV. had accomplished about a third of his review when his
ears were struck with a word which his eminence pronounced whilst
conversing with Monsieur.
This word was the name of a woman.
Scarcely had Louis XIV. heard this word than he heard, or rather
listened to, nothing else; and neglecting the arc of the circle which
LOUIS XIV. 33
awaited his visit, his object seemed to be to come as quickly as possible
to the extremity of the curve.
Monsieur, like a good courtier, was inquiring of monsieur le cardinal
after the health of his nieces; he regretted, he said, not having the
pleasure of receiving them at the same time with their uncle; they must
certainly have grown in stature, beauty, and grace, as they had promised
to do the last time Monsieur had seen them.
What had first struck the king was a certain contrast in the voices
of the two interlocutors. The voice of Monsieur was calm and
natural while he spoke thus; while that of M. de Mazariu jumped
by a note and a half to reply above the diapason of his usual voice. It
might have been said that he wished that voice to strike, at the end
of the salon, any ear that was too distant.
" Monseigneur," replied he, " Mesdemoiselles de Mazarin have still
to finish their education; they have duties to fulfil, and a position to
make. An abode in a young and brilliant court would dissipate them
a little."
Louis, at this last sentence, smiled sadly. The court was young, it
was true, but the avarice of the cardinal had taken good care that it
should not be brilliant.
" You have nevertheless no intention," replied Monsieur," to cloister
them, or make them bourgeoises ? "
- "Not at all," replied the cardinal, forcing his Italian pronunciation
in such a manner that, from soft and velvety as it was, it became sharp
and vibrating; " not at all: I have a full and fixed intention to marry
them, and that as well as I shall be able."
"Parties will not be wanting, monsieur le cardinal," replied Monsieur,
with a bonhomie worthy of one tradesman congratulating another.
" I hope not, monseigneur, and with reason, as God has been pleased
to give them grace, intelligence, and beauty."
During this conversation, Louis XI V., conducted by Madame, accom-
plished, as we have described, the circle of presentations.
" Mademoiselle Auricule," said the princess, presenting to his majesty
a fat, fair girl of two-and-twenty, who at a village fete might have
been taken for a peasant in Sunday finery,—" the daughter of my
music-mistress."
The king smiled. Madame had never been able to extract four cor-
( rect notes from either viol or harpsichord.
" Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais," continued Madame; " a young
lady of rank, and my good attendant."
This time it was not the king that smiled; it was the young lady
presented, because, for the first "time in her life, she heard given to
her by Madame, who generally showed no tendency to spoil her, such
an honourable qualification.
Our old acquaintance Montalais, therefore, made his majesty a pro-
found curtsey, the more respectful from the necessity she was under of
concealing certain contractions of her laughing lips, which the king
might not have attributed to their real cause.
It was just at this moment that the king caught the word which
startled him.
" And the name of the third ? " asked Monsieur.
" Mary, monseigneur," replied the cardinal.
There was doubtless some magical influence in that word, for, as we
have said, the king started at hearing it, and drew Madame towards
the middle of the circle, as if he wished to put some confidential
.D
34 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
question to her, but, in reality, for the sake of getting nearer to the
cardinal.
" Madame my aunt," said he, laughing, and in a suppressed voice,
" my geography-master did not teach me that Blois was at such an
immense distance from Paris."
" What do you mean, nephew ?" asked Madame.
" Why, because it would appear that it requires several years, as
regards fashions, to travel the distance! — Look at those young
ladies !"
" Well ; I know them all."
" Some of them are pretty."
" Don't say that too loud, Monsieur my nephew; you will drive them
wild."
" Stop a bit, stop a bit, dear aunt!" said the king, smiling; " for the
second part of my sentence will serve as a corrective to the first. Well,
my dear aunt, some of them appear old and others ugly, thanks to their
ten-year-old fashions."
" But, sire, Blois is only five days' journey from Paris."
" Yes, that is it," said the king: " two years behind for each day."
" Indeed! do you really think so ? Well, that is strange! It never
struck me."
" Now look, aunt," said Louis XIV., drawing still nearer to Mazarin,
under the pretext of gaining a better point of view, "look at that simple
white dress by the side of those antiquated specimens of finery, and
those pretentious coiffures. She is probably one of my mother's maids
of honour, though I don't know her."
"Ah! ah i my dear nephew!" replied Madame, laughing; "permit
me to tell you that your divinatory science is at fault for once. The
young lady you honour with your praise is not a Parisian, but a
Blaisoise."
" Oh, aunt!" replied the king, with a look of doubt.
" Come here, Louise," said Madame.
And the fair girl already known to you under that name, approached
them, timid, blushing, and almost bent beneath the royal glance.
" Mademoiselle Louise Pranqoise de la Beaume Leblanc, daughter of
the Marquis de la Valliere," said Madame, ceremoniously.
The young girl bowed with so much grace, mingled with the profound
timidity inspired by the presence of the king, that the latter lost, while
looking at her, a few words of the conversation of Monsieur and the
cardinal.
" Daughter-in-law," continued Madame, "of M. de Saint-Remy, my
maUre d'hotel, who presided over the confection of that excellent daube
truffee, which your majesty seemed so much to appreciate."
No grace, no youth, no beauty, could stand out against such a pre-
sentation. The king smiled. Whether the words of Madame were a
pleasantry, or uttered in all innocency, they proved the pitiless immo-
lation of everything that Louis had found charming or poetic in the
young girl. Mademoiselle de la Valli&re, for Madame, and by rebound,
for the king, was, for a moment, no more than the daughter of a
man of a superior talent over dindes iruffees.
But princes are thus constituted. The gods, too, were just like this
in Olympus. Diana and Venus, no doubt, abused the beautiful Ale-
meua and poor Io, when they descended, for distraction's sake, to speak,
amidst nectar and ambrosia, of mortal beauties at the table of J upiter.
Portunately, Louise was so bent in her reverential salute, that she
did not catch either Madame's words or the king's smile. In fact, if
LOUIS XIV. 35
the poor child, who had so much good taste as alone to have chosen to
dress herself in white amidst all her companions,—if that dove's heart,
so easily accessible to painful emotions, had been touched by the cruel
words of Madame, or the egotistical cold smile of the king, it would
have annihilated her.
And Montalais herself, the girl of ingenious ideas, would not have
attempted to recall her to life; for ridicule kills beauty even.
But, fortunately, as we have said, Louise, whose ears were buzzing,
and her eyes veiled by timidity,—Louise saw nothing and heard nothing;
and the king, who had still his attention directed to the conversation
of the cardinal and his uncle, hastened to return to them.
He came up just at the moment Mazarin terminated by saying:
" Mary, as well as her sisters, has just set out for Brouage. I make
them follow the opposite bank of the Loire to that along which we
have travelled; and if I calculate their progress correctly, according to
the orders I have given, they will to-morrow be opposite Blois."
These words were pronounced with that tact—that measure, that
distinctness of tone, of intention, and reach—which made del Signor
Giulio Mazarini the first comedian in the world.
It resulted that they went straight to the heart of Louis XIV., and
that the cardinal, on turning round at the simple noise of the approach-
ing footsteps of his majesty, saw the immediate effect of them upon the
countenance of his pupil, an effect betrayed to the keen eyes of his
eminence by a slight increase of colour. But what was the ventilating
of such a secret to him whose craft had for twenty years deceived all
the diplomatists of Europe ?
From the moment the young king heard these last words, he appeared
as if he had received a poisoned arrow in his heart. He could not re-
main quiet in a place, but cast around an uncertain, dead, and aimless
look over the assembly. He with his eyes interrogated his mother
more than twenty times; but she, given up to the pleasure of convers-
ing with her sister-in-law, and likewise constrained by the glance of
Mazarin, did not appear to comprehend any of the supplications con-
veyed by the looks of her son.
From this moment, music, lights, flowers, beauties, all became odious
and insipid to Louis XIV. After he had a hundred times bitten his
lips, stretched his legs and his arms like a well-brought-up child, who,
without daring to gape, exhausts all the modes of evincing his weariness
—after having uselessly again implored his mother and the minister,
he turned a despairing look towards the door, that is to say, towards
liberty.
At this door, in the embrasure of which he was leaning, he saw, stand-
ing out strongly, a figure with a brown and lofty countenance, an
aquiline nose, a stern but brilliant eye, grey and long hair, a black mous-
tache, the true type of military beauty, whose gorget, more sparkling
than a mirror, broke all the reflected lights which concentrated upon
it, and sent them back as lightning. This officer wore his grey hat with
its long red plumes upon his head, a proof that he was called there by
his duty, and not by his pleasure. If he had been brought thither by his
pleasure—if he had been a courtier instead of a soldier, as pleasure must
alwaysbepaid for atthesame price—he would have held liishat in his hand.
That which proved still better that this officer was upon duty, and
was accomplishing a task to which he was accustomed, was, that he
watched, with folded arms, remarkable indifference, and supreme apathy,
the joys and ennuis of this fete. Above all, he appeared, like a philo-
sopher, and all old soldiers are philosophers,—he appeared above all to
d 2
36 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
comprehend the ennuis infinitely better than the joys; but in the one
he took his part, knowing very well how to do without the other.
Mow, he was leaning, as we have said, against the carved door-frame
when the melancholy, weary eyes of the king, by chance, met his.
It was not the first time, as it appeared, that the eyes of the officer
had met those eyes, and he was perfectly acquainted with the expression
of them; for, as soon as he had cast his own look upon the countenance
of Louis XIV., and had read by it what was passing in his heart—that
is to say, all the ennui that oppressed him,—all the timid desire to go
out which agitated him,—he perceived he must render the king a ser-
vice without his commanding it,—almost in spite of himself. Boldly,
therefore, as if he had given the word of command to cavalry in battle,
" On the king's service!" cried he, in a clear, sonorous voice.
At these words, which produced the effect of a peal of thunder, pre-
vailing over the orchestra, the singing, and the buzz of the promenaders,
the cardinal and the queen-mother looked at each other with surprise.
Louis XIV., pale, but resolved, supported as he was by that intuition
of his own thought which he had found in the mind of the officer of
musketeers, and which he had just manifested by the order given, arose
from his chair, and took a step towards the door.
"Are you going, my son?" said the queen, whilst Mazarin satisfied
himself with interrogating by a look, which might have appeared mild
if it had not been so piercing.
"Yes, madame," replied the king; "I am fatigued, and, besides, wish
to write this evening."
A smile stole qver the lips of the minister, who appeared, by a bend
of the head, to give the king permission.
Monsieur and Madame hastened to give orders to the officers who
presented themselves.
The king bowed, crossed the hall, and gained the door, where a hedge
of twenty musketeers awaited him. At the extremity of this hedge
stood the officer, impassible, with his drawn sword in his haiid. The
king passed, and all the crowd stood on tiptoe, to have one more look at
him.
Ten musketeers, opening the crowd of the antechambers and the
steps, made way for his majesty. The other ten surrounded the king
and Monsieur, who had insisted upon accompanying his majesty. The
domestics walked behind. This little cortege escorted the king to the
chamber destined for him. The apartment was the same that had been
occupied by Henry III. during his sojourn in the States.
Monsieur had given his orders. The musketeers, led by their officer,
took possession of the little passage by which one wing of the castle
communicates with the other.—This passage was commenced by a small
square antechamber, dark even in the finest days. Monsieur stopped
Louis XIV.
"You are passing now, sire," said he, "the very spot where the Due
de Guise received the first stab of the poniard."
The king was ignorant of all historical matters; he had heard of the
fact, but he knew nothing of the localities or the details.
" Ah !" said he with a shudder.
And he stopped. The rest, both behind him and before him, stopped
likewise.
"The due, sire," continued Gaston, "was nearly where I stand; he
was walking in the same direction as your majesty; M. de Lorgnes was
exactly where your lieutenant of musketeers is; M. de Saint-Maline and
his majesty's ordinaries were behind him and around him. It was here
that lie was struck."
THE UNKNOWN LOSES SIS INCOGNITO. 37
The king turned towards his officer, and saw something like a cloud
pass over his martial and daring countenance.
"Yes, from behind!" murmured the lieutenant, with a gesture of
supreme disdain. And he endeavoured to resume the march, as if ill
at ease at being between walls formerly defiled by treachery.
But the king, who appeared to wish to be informed, was disposed to
give another look at this dismal spot.
Gaston perceived his nephew's desire.
"Look, sire," said he, taking a flambeau from the hands of M. de
Saint-Remy," this is where he fell. There was a bed there, the curtains
of which he tore .rath catching at them."
" Why does the floor seem hollowed out at this spot?" asked Louis.
" Because it was here the blood flowed," replied Gaston; " the blood
penetrated deeply into the oak, and it was only by cutting it out that
they succeeded in making it disappear. And even then," added Gaston,
pointing the flambeau to the spot, " even then this red stain resisted all
the attempts made to destroy it."
Louis XIV. raised his head. Perhaps he was thinking of that bloody
trace that had once been shown him at the Louvre, and which, as a
pendant to that of Blois, had been made there one day by the king his
father with the blood of Concini.
" Let us go on," said he.
The march was resumed promptly; for emotion, no doubt, had given
to the voice of the young prince a tone of command which was not
customary with him. When arrived at the apartment destined for the
king, which communicated not only with the little passage we have
passed through, but further with the great staircase leading to the
court,—
" Will your majesty," said Gaston, "condescend to occupy this apart-
ment, all unworthy as it is to receive you ? "
" Uncle," replied the young king, " I render you my thanks for your
cordial hospitality."
Gaston bowed to his nephew, who embraced him, and then went-out.
Of the twenty musketeers who had accompanied the king, ten recon-
ducted Monsieur to the reception-rooms, which were not yet empty,
notwithstanding the king had retired.
The ten others were posted by their officer, who himself explored, in
five minutes, all the localities, with that cold and certain glance which
not even habit gives unless that glance belong to genius.
Then, when all were placed, he chose as his head-quarters the ante-
chamber, in which he found a large fauteuil, a lamp, some wine, some
water, and some dry bread.
He refreshed his lamp, drank half a glass of wine, curled his lip with
a smile full of expression, installed himself in his large arm-chair, and
made preparations for sleeping.
CHAPTER IX.
In which the Unknown of the hostelry of les Medici loses his Incognito.
This officer, who was sleeping, or preparing to sleep, was, notwith-
standing his careless air, charged with a serious responsibility.
Lieutenant of the king's musketeers, he commanded all the company
which came from Paris, and that company consisted of a hundred and
twenty men; but, with the exception of the twenty of whom we have
38 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
spoken, the other hundred were engaged in guarding the queen-
mother, and more particularly the cardinal.
Monsignor Giulio Mazarini economized the travelling expenses of
his guards; he consequently used the king's, and that largely, since
he took fifty of them for himself—a peculiarity which would not
have failed to strike any one unacquainted with the usages of that
court.
That which would not, still further, have appeared, if not incon-
venient, at least extraordinary, to a stranger, was, that the side of the
castle destined for monsieur le cardinal was brilliant, light, and cheerful.
The musketeers there mounted guard before every door, and allowed
no one to enter, except the couriers, who, even while he was travel-
ling, followed the cardinal for the carrying on of his correspondence.
Twenty men were on duty with the queen-mother; thirty rested, in
order to relieve their companions the next day.
On the king's side, on the contrary, were darkness, silence, and
solitude. When once the doors were closed, there was no longer an
appearance of royalty. All the servitors had by degrees retired. Monsieur
le prince had sent to know, if his majesty required his attendance;
and on the customary " No " of the lieutenant of musketeers, who was
habituated to the question and the reply, all appeared to sink into the
arms of sleep, as if in the dwelling of a good citizen.
And yet it was possible to hear from the side of the house occupied
by the young king, the music of the banquet, and to see the windows
of the great hall richly.illuminated.
Ten minutes after his installation in his apartment, Louis XIY. had
been able to learn, by a movement much more distinguished than
marked his own leaving, the departure of the cardinal, who, in his
turn, sought his bedroom, accompanied by a large escort of ladies and
gentlemen.
Besides, to perceive this movement, he had nothing to do but to
look out at his window, the shutters of which had not been closed.
His eminence crossed the court, conducted by Monsieur, who him-
self held a flambeau; then followed the queen-mother, to whom
Madame familiarly gave her arm; and both walked chatting away, like
two old friends.
Behind these two couples filed nobles, ladies, pages, and officers;
flambeaux gleamed over the whole court, like the moving reflections
of a conflagration. Then the noise of steps and voices became lost in
the upper floors of the castle.
No one was then thinking of the king, who, leaning on his elbow at
his window, had sadly seen pass away all that light, and heard that
noise die off—no, not one, if it was not that unknown of the hostelry
des Medici, whom we have seen go out, enveloped in his cloak.
He had come straight up to the castle, and had, with his melancholy
countenance, wandered round and round the palace, from which the
people had not yet departed; and finding that no one guarded the
great entrance, or the porch, seeing that the soldiers of Monsieur were
fraternizing with the royal soldiers—that is to say, swallowing Beau-
gency at discretion, or rather indiscretion—the unknown penetrated
through the crowd, then ascended to the court, and came to the landing
of the staircase leading to the cardinal's apartment.
What, according to all probability, induced him to direct his steps
that way, was the splendour of the flambeaux, and the busy air of the
pages and domestics. But he was stopped short by a presented musket
ana the cry of the sentinel.
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 39
" Where are you going, my friend ? " asked the soldier.
** " I am going to the king's apartment," replied the unknown, haughtily,
but tranquilly.
The soldier called one of his eminence's officers, who, in the tone in
which a youth in office directs a solicitor to a minister, let fall these
words: " The other staircase, in front."
And the officer, without further notice of the unknown, resumed
his interrupted conversation.
The stranger, without reply, directed his steps towards the staircase
pointed out to him. On this side there was no noise, there were no
more flambeaux.
Obscurity, through which a sentinel glided like a shadow; silence,
which permitted him to hear the sound of his own footsteps, accom-
panied with the jingling of his spurs upon the stone slabs.
This guard was one of the twenty musketeers appointed for attend-
ance upon the king, and who mounted guard with the stiffness and
consciousness of a statue.
" Who goes there ? " said the guard.
" A friend," replied the unknown.
" What do you want ? "
" To speak to the king."
" Do you, my dear monsieur ? that's not very likely."
"Why not?"
"Because the king is gone to bed."
" Gone to bed already ? " "Yes."
"No matter; I must speak to him."
" And I tell you that is impossible."
" And yet "
" Go back!."
" Do you require the wrord ? "
" I have no account to render to you. Stand back!"
And this time the soldier accompanied his word with a threatening
gesture; but the unknown stirred no more than if his feet had taken
root.
" Monsieur le mousquetaire," said he, " are you a gentleman ?"
" I have that honour."
" Yery well! I also am one; and between gentlemen some consider-
ation ought to be observed."
The soldier lowered his arms, overcome by the dignity with which
these words were pronounced.
"Speak, monsieur," said he; "and if you ask me anything in my
power "
" Thank you. You have an officer, have you not ?"
" Our lieutenant ? Yes, monsieur."
"Well, I wish to speak to him."
" Oh ! that's a different thing. Come up, monsieur."
The unknown saluted the soldier in a lofty fashion, and ascended
the staircase ; whilst the cry, " Lieutenant, a visit! " transmitted from
sentinel to sentinel, preceded the unknown, and disturbed the slumbers
of the officer.
Dragging on his boot, rubbing his eyes, and hooking his cloak, the
lieutenant made three steps towards the stranger.
" What can I do to serve you, monsieur ?" asked he.
"You are the officer on duty, lieutenant of the musketeers, are
you?"
" I have that honour," replied the officer.
40 THE VIC031TE DE BEAGELONNE.
"Monsieur, I must absolutely speak to the king." '
The lieutenant looked attentively at the unknown, and in that look,
however rapid, he saw all he wished to see; that is to say, a person of
high distinction in an ordinary dress.
" I do not suppose you to be mad," replied he; " and yet you seem
to me to be in a condition to know, monsieur, that people do not enter
a king's apartments in this manner, without his consent."
" lie will consent."
"Monsieur, permit me to doubt that. The king has retired this
quarter of an hour; he must be now undressing. Besides, the word is
given."
" When he knows who I am, he will recall the word."
The officer was more and more surprised, more and more subdued.
"If I consent to announce you, may I at least know whom to an-
nounce, monsieur ?"
"You will announce His Majesty Charles II., King of England,
Scotland, and Ireland."
The officer uttered a cry of astonishment, drew back, and there
might be seen upon his pallid countenance one of the most poignant
emotions that ever an energetic man endeavoured to drive back to his
her>rt.
" Oh ! yes, sire ; in fact," said he, " I ought to have recognized you."
" You have seen my portrait, then ? "
"No, sire."
" Or else you have seen me formerly at court, before I was driven
from France ? "
" No, sire; it is not even that."
" How then could you have recognized me, if you have never seen
my portrait or my person ? "
" Sire, I saw his majesty your father at a terrible moment."
" The day "
"Yes."
A dark cloud passed over the brow of the prince; then dashing his
hand across it, "Ho you still see any difficulty in announcing me?"
said he.
" Sire! pardon me." replied the officer; " but I could not imagine a
king under so simple an exterior; and yet I had the honour to tell
your majesty just now that I had seen Charles I. But pardon me,
monsieur, I will go and inform the king."
But returning after going a few steps, " Your majesty is desirous,
without doubt, that this interview should be a secret ? " said he.
" I do not require it; but if it were possible to preserve it "
" It is possible, sire, for I can dispense with informing the first gen-
tleman on duty; but, for that, your majesty must please to consent to
give up your sword."
" True, true; I had forgotten that no one armed is permitted to enter
the chamber of a king of France."
" Your majesty will form an exception if you wish it, but then I shall
avoid my responsibility by informing the king's attendant."
" Here is my sword, monsieur. Will you now please to announce
me to his majesty ? "
"Instantly, sire." And the officer immediately went and knocked
at the door of communication, which the valet opened to him.
" His majesty the King of England !" said the officer.
" His majesty the King of England ?" replied the valet-de-chanibre.
At these words a gentleman opened the folding-doors of the king's
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 41
apartment, and Louis XIV. was seen, without hat or sword, and his
pourpoint open, advancing with signs of the greatest surprise.
" You, my brother—you at Blois!" cried Louis XIV., dismissing with
a gesture both the gentleman and the valet-de-chambre, who passed out
into the next apartment.
" Sire," replied Charles II., " I was going to Paris, in the hope of
seeing your majesty, when report informed me of your approaching
arrival in this city. I therefore prolonged my abode here, having
something very particular to communicate to you."
" Will this closet suit you, my brother ? "
" Perfectly well, sire; for I think no one can hear us here."
"I have dismissed my gentleman and my watcher. They are in the
next chamber. There, behind that partition, is a solitary closet; looking
into the antechamber, and in that antechamber you found nobody but
a solitary officer, did you ? "
"No, sire."
"Well, then, speak, my brother; I listen to you."
" Sire, I commence, and entreat your majesty to have pity on the
misfortunes of our house."
The king of France coloured, and drew his chair closer to that of
the king of England.
" Sire," said Charles II., " I have no need to ask if your majesty is
acquainted with the details of my deplorable history."
Louis XIV. blushed this time more strongly than before; then,
stretching forth his hand to that of the king of England, " My brother,"
said he, I am ashamed to say so, but the cardinal scarcely ever speaks
of political affairs before me. Still more: formerly I used to get
Laporte, my valet-de-chambre, to read historical subjects to me, but he
put a stop to these readings, and took away Laporte from me; so that
I beg my brother Charles to tell me all those matters as to a man who
knows nothing."
"Well, sire, I think that by taking things from the beginning, I
shall have a better chance of touching the heart of your majesty."
" Speak on, my brother—speak on."
"You know, sire, that being called in 1650 to Edinburgh, during
Cromwell's expedition into Ireland, I was crowned at Scone. A year
after, wounded in one of the provinces he had usurped, Cromwell
returned upon us. To meet him was my object; to leave Scotland was
my wish."
" And yet," interrupted the young king, " Scotland is almost your
native country, is it not, my brother ?"
" Yes; but the Scots were cruel compatriots for me ! Sire, they had
forced hie to forsake the religion of my fathers; they had hung Lord
Montrose, the most devoted of my servants, because he was not a
Covenanter; and as the poor martyr, to whom they had offered a favour
when dying, had asked that his body might be cut into as many pieces
as there are cities in Scotland, in order that evidence of his fidelity
might be met with everywhere, I could not leave one city, or go into
another, without passing under some fragments of a body which had
acted, fought, and breathed for me.
" By a bold, almost desperate march, I passed through Cromwell's
army, and entered England. The Protector set out in pursuit of this
strange flight, which had a crown for its object. If I had been able to
reach London before him, without doubt the prize of the race would
have been mine; but he overtook me at Worcester.
" The genius of England was no longer with us, but with him. On
42 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGEEONNE.
the 5th of September, 1651, sire, the anniversary of the other battle of
Dunbar, so fatal to the Scots, I was conquered. Two thousand men
fell around me before I thought of retreating a step. At length I was
obliged to fly.
" From that moment my history became a romance. Pursued with
persistent inveteracy, I cut off my hair, I disguised myself as a wood-
man. One day spent amidst the branches of an oak, gave to that tree
the name of the royal oak, which it bears to this day. My adventures
in the county of Stafford, whence I escaped with the daughter of my
host on a pillion behind me, still fill the tales of the country firesides,
and would furnish matter for ballads. I will some day write all this,
sire, for the instruction of my brother kings.
"I will first tell how, on arriving at the residence of Mr. Norton, I
met with a court chaplain, who was looking on at a party playing at
skittles, and 'an old servant who named me, bursting into tears, and
who was as near and as certainly killing me by his fidelity as another
might have been by treachery. Then I will tell of my terrors—yes,
sire, of my terrors, when, at the house of Colonel Windham, a farrier
who came to shoe our horses declared they had been shod in the north."
" How strange!" murmured Louis XIY. " I never heard anything
of all that; I was only told of your embarkation at Brighthelmstone
and your landing in Normandy."
"Oh!" exclaimed Charles, "if Heaven permits kings to be thus
ignorant of the histories of each other, how can they render assistance
to their brothers who need it ? "
"But tell me," continued Louis XIY., "how, after being so roughly
received in England, you can still hope for anything from that xmhappy
country and that rebellious people ? "
"Oh, sire! since the battle of Worcester, everything is changed
there. Cromwell is dead, after having signed a treaty with Prance, in
which his name was placed above yours. He died on the 5th of Septem-
ber, 1658, a fresh anniversary of the battles of Dunbar and Worcester."
" His son has succeeded 'him."
" But certain men have a family, sire, and no heir. The inheritance
of Oliver was too heavy for Richard. Richard was neither a republican
nor a royalist; Richard allowed his guards to eat his dinner, and his
generals to govern the republic; Richard abdicated the protectorate on
the 22 nd of April, 1659, more than a year ago, sire.
" Prom that time England is nothing but a tennis-court, in which
the players throw dice for the crown of my father. The two most eager
players are Lambert and Monk. Well, sire, I, in my turn, wish to take
part in this game, where the stakes are thrown upon my royal mantle.
Sire, it only requires a million to corrupt one of these players and make
an ally of him, or two hundred of your gentlemen to drive them out
of my palace at Whitehall, as Christ drove the money-changers from
the temple."
" You come, then," replied Louis XIY., " to ask me "
" Por your assistance; that is to say, not only for that which kings
owe to each other, but that which simple Christians owe to each other,—
your assistance, sire, either in money or men. Your assistance, sire, and
within a month, whether I oppose Lambert to Monk, or Monk to
Lambert, I shall have recono.uered my paternal inheritance, without
having cost my country a guinea, or my subjects a drop of blood, for
they are now all drunk with revolutions, protectorates, and republics,
and ask nothing better than to fall staggering to sleep in the arms of
royalty. Your assistance, sire, and I shall owe you more than I owe my
THE UNKNOWN LOSES HIS INCOGNITO. 43
father,—my poor father, who bought at so dear a rate the ruin of our
house ! You may judge, sire, whether I am unhappy, whether I am
in despair, for I accuse my own father!"
And the blood mounted to the pale face of Charles II., who remained
for an instant with his head between his hands, and as if blinded by
that blood which appeared to revolt against the filial blasphemy.
The young king was not less affected than his elder brother; he threw
himself about in his fauteuil, and could not find a single word of reply.
Charles II., to whom ten years in age gave a superior strength to
master his emotions, recovered his speech the first.
" Sire," said he, " your reply ? I wait for it as a criminal waits for
his sentence. Must I die ? "
" My brother," replied the French prince, " you ask me for a million—
me, who was never possessed of a quarter of that sum! I possess
nothing. I am no more king of France than you are king'of England.
I am a name, a cipher dressed in Jleur-de-lised velvet,—that is all. I am
upon a visible throne; that is my only advantage over your majesty. I
have nothing—I can do nothing."
" Can it be sop" exclaimed Charles II.
"My brother," said Louis, sinking his voice, " I have undergone
miseries with which my poorest gentlemen are unacquainted. If my poor
Laporte were here, he would tell you that I have slept in ragged sheets,
through the holes of which my legs have passed; he would tell you
that afterwards, when I asked for carriages, they brought me convey-
ances half-destroyed by the rats of the coach-houses; he would tell you
that when I asked for my dinner, the servants went to the cardinal's
kitchen to inquire if there were any dinner for the king. And look !
to-day, this very day even, when I am twenty-two years of age,—to-day,
when I have attained the grade of the majority of kings,—to-day, when
I ought to have the key of the treasury, the direction of policy, the
supremacy in peace and war,—cast your eyes around me, see how I am
left! Look at this abandonment—this disdain—this silence! Whilst
yonder—look yonder ! Yiew the bustle, the lights, the homage! There!
—there you see the real king of France, my brother!"
" In the cardinal's apartments?"
" Yes, in the cardinal's apartments."
" Then I am condemned, sire."
Louis XIY. made no reply.
" Condemned is the word; for I will never solicit him who left my
mother and sister to die with cold and hunger—the daughter and
granddaughter of Henry IY.—if M. de Eetz and the parliament had
not sent them wood and bread."
" To die ?" murmured Louis XIY.
" Well!" continued the king of England, "poor Charles II., grand-
son of Henry IY., as you are, sire, having neither parliament nor Car-
dinal de Eetz to apply to, will die of hunger, as his mother and sister
had nearly done."
Louis knitted his brow, and twisted violently the lace of his ruffles.
This prostration, this immobility, serving as a mark to an emotion so
visible, struck Charles II., and he took the young man's hand.
" Thanks!" said he, " my brother. You pity me, and that is all I can
require of you in your present situation."
Sire," said Louis XIY., with a sudden impulse, -and raising his
head, " it is a million you require, or two hundred gentlemen, I think
you say?"
" Sire, a million would be quite sufficient."
44 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE.
" That is very little."
" Offered to a single man it is a great deal. Convictions have been
purchased at a much lower price; and I should have nothing to do but
with venalities."
" Two hundred gentlemen! Reflect!—that is little more than a single
company."
" Sire, there is in our family a tradition, and that is, that four men,
four Trench gentlemen, devoted to my father, were near saving my
father, though condemned by a parliament, guarded by an army, and
surrounded by a nation."
" Then if I can procure you a million, or two hundred gentlemen,
you will be satisfied; and you will consider me your well-affectioned
brother?"
" I shall consider you as my saviour; and if I recover the throne of
my father, England will be, as long as I reign at least, a sister to Trance,
as you will have been a brother to me."
" Well, my brother," said Louis, rising, "what you hesitate to ask
for, I will myself demand; that which I have never done on my own
account, I will do on yours. I will go and find the king of Trance—the
other—the rich, the powerful one, I mean. I will myself solicit this
million, or these two hundred gentlemen; and—we will see !"
" Oh!" cried Charles, " you are a noble friend, sire—a heart created
by God! You save me, my brother; and if you should ever stand in
need of the life you restore me, demand it."
" Silence, my brother,—silence!" said Louis, in a suppressed voice.
" Take care that no one hears you! We have not obtained our end yet.
To ask money of Mazarin—that is worse than traversing the enchanted
forest, each tree of which inclosed a demon. It is more than setting
out to conquer a world."
" But yet, sire, when you ask it "
" I have already told you that I never asked," replied Louis, with a
haughtiness that made the king of England turn pale.
And as the latter, like a wounded man, made a retreating movement
—" Pardon me, my brother," replied he. " I have neither a mother
nor a sister who are suffering. My throne is hard and naked, but I «n
firmly seated on my throne. Pardon me that expression, my brother; it
was that of an egotist. I will retract it, therefore, by a sacrifice,—I will
go to monsieur le cardinal. Wait for me, if you please—I will return."
CHAPTER X.
The Arithmetic of M. de Mazarin.
Whilst the king was directing his course rapidly towards the wing
of the castle occupied by the cardinal, taking nobody with him but his
valet-de-chambre, the officer of musketeers came out, breathing like a
man who has for a long time been forced to hold his breath, from the
little cabinet of which we have already spoken, and which the king
believed to be quite solitary. This little cabinet had formerly been
part of the chamber, from which it was only separated by a thin par-
tition. It resulted that this partition, which was only for the eye,
permitted the ear the least indiscreet to hear every word spoken in the
chamber.
THE ARITHMETIC OR M. DE MAZARIN. 45
There was no doubt, then, that this lieutenant of musketeers had
heard all that had passed in his majesty's apartment.
Warned by the last words of the young king, he came out just in
time to salute him on his passage, and. to follow him with his eyes till
he had disappeared in the corridor.
Then, as soon as he had disappeared, he shook his head after a fashion
peculiarly his own, and, in a voice which forty years' absence from
Gascony had not deprived of its Gascon accent, " A melancholy service,"
said he, " and a melancholy master !"
These words pronounced, the lieutenant resumed his place in his
fauteuil, stretched his legs, and closed his eyes, like a man who either
sleeps or meditates.
During this short monologue and the mise-en-scene that had accorn-
panied it, whilst the king, through the long corridors of the old castle,
proceeded to the apartments of M. de Mazarin, a scene of another sort
was being enacted in those apartments.
Mazarin was in bed, suffering a little from the gout. But as he was
a man of order, who utilized even pain, he forced his wakefulness to be
the humble servant of his labour. He had consequently ordered
Bernouin, his valet-de-chamhre, to bring him a little travelling-desk, so
that he might write in bed. But the gout is not an adversary that
allows itself to be conquered so easily; therefore, at each movement he
made, the pain from dull became sharp.
" Is Brienne there ?" asked he of Bernouin.
"No, monseigneur," replied the valet-de-chambre; "M. de Brienne,
with your permission, is gone to bed. But, if it is the wish of your
eminence, he can speedily be called."
" No; it is not worth while. Let us see, however. Cursed ciphers !"
And the cardinal began to think, counting on his fingers the while.
" Oh! ciphers is it ?" said Bernouin. " Very well! if your eminence
attempts calculations, I will promise you a pretty headache to-morrow !
And with that please to remember M. Guenaud is not here."
"You are right, Bernouin. You must take Brienne's place, my
friend. Indeed, I ought to have brought M. Colbert with me. That
young man goes on very well, Bernouin, very well; a very orderly
youth."
" I do not know," said the valet-de-chambre, " but I don't like the
countenance of your young man who goes on so well."
"Well, well, Bernouin! We don't stand in need of your advice.
Place yourself there; take the pen, and write."
" I am ready, monseigneur; what am I to write ?"
" There, that's the place; after the two lines already traced."
" I am there."
" Write seven hundred and sixty thousand livres."
" That is written."
" Upon Lyons—1—" The cardinal appeared to hesitate.
" Upon Lyons," repeated Bernouin.
" Three millions nine hundred thousand livres."
" Well, monseigneur ?"
" Upon Bordeaux, seven millions."
" Seven ?" repeated Bernouin.
"Yes," said the cardinal, pettishly, "seven." Then recollecting him-
self, "You understand, Bernouin," added he, "that all this money is
to be spent ?"
" Eh! monseigneur; whether it be to be spent or put away is of very
little consequence to me, since none of these millions arc mine."
46 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" These millions are the king's; it is the king's money I am reckon-
ing. Well, what were we saying ? You always interrupt me!"
" Seven millions upon Bordeaux."
"Ah! yes; that's right. Upon Madrid, four millions. I give you to
understand plainly whom this money belongs to, Bernouin, seeing that
everybody has the stupidity to believe me rich in millions. I repel the
silly idea. A minister, besides, has nothing of his own. Come, go on.
Mentrees generates, seven millions; properties, nine millions. Have
you written that, Bernouin ?"
" Yes, monseigneur."
" Bourse, six hundred thousand livres; various property, two mil-
lions. Ah! I forgot—the furniture of the different chateaux "
"Must I put of the crown ?" asked Bernouin.
"No, no; it is of no use doing that—that is understood. Have you
written that. Bernouin ?"
" Yes, monseigneur."
"And the ciphers?"
" Stand straight under one another."
" Cast them up, Bernouin."
" Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres, mon-
seigneur."
"Ah!" cried the cardinal, in a tone of vexation; "there are not yet
forty millions!"
Bernouin recommenced the addition.
"No, monseigneur, there want seven hundred and forty thousand
livres."
Mazarin asked for the account, and revised it carefully.
"Yes, but," said Bernouin, "thirty-nine millions two hundred and
sixty thousand livres make a good round sum."
"Ah ! Bernouin; I wish the king had it."
"Your eminence told me that this money was his majesty's.
"Doubtless, as clear, as transparent as possible. These thirty-nine
millions are bespoken, and much more."
Bernouin smiled after his own fashion—that is, like a man who believes
no more than he is willing to believe—whilst preparing the cardinal's
night draught, and putting his pillow to rights.
" Oh !" said Mazarin when the valet had gone out; " not yet forty
millions! I must, however, attain that sum, which I had set down for
myself. But who knows whether I shall have time? I sink, I am
going, I shall never reach it! And yet, who knows that I may not find
two or three millions in the pockets of my good friends the Spaniards ?
They discovered Peru, those people did, and—what the devil! they must
have something left."
As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his ciphers, and
thinking no more of his gout, repelled by a preoccupation which, with
the cardinal, was the most powerful of all preoccupations, Bernouin
rushed into the chamber, quite in a fright.
, " Well!" asked the cardinal, " what is the matter now?"
" The king, monseigneur,—the king!"
"How?—the king!" said Mazarin, quickly concealing his paper.
"The king here! the king at this hour! I thought he was in bed long
ago. What is the matter then ?"
The king could hear these last words, and see the terrified gesture of
the cardinal, rising up in his bed, for he entered the chamber at that
moment.
" It is nothing, monsieur le cardinal, or at least nothing which can
THE ARITHMETIC OP M. DE MAZARIN. 47
alarm you. It is an important communication whicli I wish to make
to your eminence to-night,—that is all."
Mazarin immediately thought of that marked attention which the
king had given to his words concerning Mademoiselle de Mancini, and
the communication appeared to him probably to refer to this source.
He recovered his serenity then instantly, and assumed his most agree-
able air, a change of countenance which inspired the king with the
greatest joy; and when Louis was seated,
" Sire," said the cardinal, " I ought certainly to listen to your majesty
standing, but the violence of my complaint "
"No ceremony between us, my dear monsieur le cardinal," said Louis
kindly: " I am your pupil, and not the king, you know very well, and
this evening in particular, as I come to you as a petitioner, as a solicitor,
and one very humble, and desirous to be kindly received, too." ■
Mazarin, seeing the heightened colour of the king, was confirmed in
his first idea; that is to say, that love-thoughts were hidden under all
these fine words. This time, political cunning, keen as it was, made a
mistake; this colour was not caused by the bashfulness of a juvenile
passion, but only by the painful contraction of the royal pride.
Like a good uncle, Mazarin felt disposed to facilitate the confidence.
"Speak, sire," said he, "and since your majesty is willing for an
instant to forget that I am your subject, and call me your master and
instructor, I promise your majesty my most devoted and tender
consideration."
"Thanks, monsieur le cardinal," answered the king; "that which I
have to ask of your eminence has but little to do with myself."
"So much the worse!" replied the cardinal; "so much the worse!
Sire, I should wish your majesty to ask of me something of importance,
even a sacrifice ; but whatever it may be that you ask me, I am ready
to set your heart at rest by granting it, my dear sire."
"Well, this is what brings me here," said the king, with a beating of
the heart that had no equal except the beating of the heart of the
minister: " I have just received a visit from my brother the king of
England."
Mazarin bounded in his bed as if he had been put in relation with a
Leyden jar or a voltaic pile, at the same time that a surprise, or rather
a manifest disappointment, inflamed his features with such a blaze of
anger, that Louis XIV., little diplomatist as he was, saw that the
minister had hoped to hear something else.
" Charles II. ?" exclaimed Mazarin, with a hoarse voice and a dis-
dainful movement of his lips. "You have received a visit from
Charles II. ?"
"Erom King Charles II.," replied Louis, according in a marked
manner to the grandson of Henry IV. the title which Mazarin had
forgotten to give him. "Yes, monsieur le cardinal, that unhappy prince
has touched my heart with the relation of his misfortunes. His
distress is great, monsieur le cardinal, and it has appeared painful to
me, who have seen my own throne disputed, who have been forced in
times of commotion to quit my capital,—to me, in short, who am
acquainted with misfortune,—to leave a deposed and fugitive brother
without assistance."
"Eh !" said the cardinal sharply; "why had he not, as you have, a
Jules Mazarin by his side ? His crown would then have remained
intact."
" I know all that my house owes to your eminence," replied the king
haughtily, " and you may believe well that I, on my part, shall never
48 THE YICOHTE DE BRAGELONNB.
forget it. It is precisely because my brother the king of England has
not about him the powerful genius who has saved me, it is for that, I
say, that I wish to conciliate the aid of that same genius, and beg you
to extend your arm over his head, well assured, monsieur le cardinal,
that your hand, by touching him only, would know how to replace
upon his brow the crown which fell at the foot of his father's scaffold."
" Sire," replied Mazarin, " I thank you for your good opinion with
regard to myself, but we have nothing to do yonder: they are a set of
madmen who deny God, and cut off the heads of their kings. They are
dangerous, observe, sire, and filthy to the touch after having wallowed
in royal blood and covenantal murder. That policy has never suited
me,—I scorn it and reject it."
Therefore you ought to assist in establishing abetter."
"What is that?"
"The restoration of Charles II., for example."
" Good heavens!" cried Mazarin," does the poor prince flatter himself
with that chimera ?"
"Yes, he does," replied the young king, terrified at the difficulties
opposed to this project, which he fancied he could perceive in the
infallible eye of his minister; "he only asks for a million to carry out
his purpose."
"Is that all ?—a little million, if you please!" said the cardinal ironi-
cally, with an effort to conquer his Italian accent. " A little million, if
you please, brother ! Bah ! a family of mendicants !"
" Cardinal," said Louis, raising his head, " that family of mendicants
is a branch of my family."
" Are you rich enough to give millions to other people, sire ? Have
you millions to throw away ?"
" Oh !" replied Louis XIV. with great pain, which he however, by a
strong effort, prevented from appearing on his countenance" oh !
yes, monsieur le cardinal, I am well aware I am poor; and yet the
crown of Erance is worth a million, and to perform a good action, I
would pledge my crown, if it were necessary. I could find Jews who
would be willing to lend me a million."
" So, sire, you say you want a million ?" said Mazarin.
"Yes, monsieur, I say so."
"You are mistaken, greatly mistaken, sire; you want much more than
that—Bernouin !—You shall see, sire, how much you really want."
"What, cardinal!" said the king, "are you going to consult a lackey
upon my affairs ?"
"Bernouin !" cried the cardinal again, without appearing to remark
the humiliation of the young prince. " Come here, Bernouin, and
describe the account I made you go into just now."
"Cardinal, cardinal! did you not hear me?" said Louis, becoming
pale with anger.
" Do not be angry, sire; I deal openly with the affairs of your
majesty. Every one in Erance knows that; my books are as open as
day. What did. I tell you to do just now, Bernouin ?"
"Your eminence commanded me to cast up an account."
" You did it, did you not ? "
" Yes, monseigneur."
" To verify the amount of which his majesty, at this moment, stands
in need. Did I not tell you so ? Be frank, my friend."
" Your eminence said so."
" Well; what sum did I say I wanted ?"
" Eorty-five millions, I think."
THE ARITHMETIC OP M. EE MAZABIN. 49
" And what sum could we find, after collecting all our resources ? "
" Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand."
" That is correct, Bernouin ; that is all I wanted to know. Leave us
now," said the cardinal, fixing his brilliant eyes upon the young king,
who sat mute with stupefaction.
" But yet " stammered the king.
" What, do you still doubt, sire ?" said the cardinal, " Well, here is
the proof of what I said."
And Mazarin drew from under his bolster the paper covered with
figures, which he presented to the king, who turned away his eyes, his
vexation was so profound.
" Therefore, as it is a million you want, sire, and that million is not
set down here, it is forty-six millions your majesty stands in need of.
Well, I don't think that any Jews in the world would lend such a sum,
even upon the crown of France."
The king, clenching his hands beneath his ruffles, pushed away his
chair.
" So it must be then !" said he; " my brother the king of England
will die with hunger."
" Sire," replied Mazarin in the same tone, " remember this proverb,
which I give you as the expression of the soundest policy : c Rejoice at
being poor when your neighbour is poor likewise.'"
Louis meditated for a few moments, with an inquisitive glance
directed to the paper, one end of which remained under the bolster.
" Then," said he, "it is impossible to comply with my demand for
money, monsieur le cardinal, is it ? "
" Absolutely, sire."
" Remember, this will secure me a future enemy, if he succeeds in
regaining his crown without my assistance."
" If your majesty only fears that, you may be quite at ease," replied
Mazarin eagerly.
" Yery well, I say no more about it," exclaimed Louis XIV.
" Have I at least convinced you, sire ? " placing his hand upon that
of the young king.
" Perfectly."
" If there be anything else, ask it, sire; I shall be most happy to grant
it to you, having refused this."
" Anything else, monsieur ? "
" Why, yes ; am I not body and soul devoted to your majesty ? Kola !
Bernouin !—lights and 'guards for his majesty ! His majesty is returning
to his own chamber."
" Not yet, monsieur; since you place your goodwill at my disposal, I
will take advantage of it."
" For yourself, sire ? " asked the cardinal, hoping that his niece was
at length about to be named.
" No, monsieur, not for myself," replied Louis, " but still for my
brother Charles."
The brow of Mazarin again became clouded, and he grumbled a few
words that the king could not catch.
E
50
THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
CHAPTER XI.
Mazarin's Policy.
Instead of the hesitation with which he had accosted the cardinal a
quarter of an hour before, there might be read in the eyes of the young
king, that will against which a struggle might be maintained, and which
might be crushed by its own impotence, but which, at least, would
preserve, like a wound in the depths of the heart, the remembrance
of its defeat.
" This time, monsieur le cardinal, we have to do with a thing much
more easy to be found than a million."
" Do you think so, sire ? " said Mazarin, looking at the king with
that penetrating eye which was accustomed to read to the bottom of
hearts.
" Yes, I think so; and when you know the object of my request
" And do you think I do not know it, sire ? "
" You know what remains for me to say to you P"
" Listen, sire; these are King Charles's own words "
" Oh, impossible !"
" Listen ! ' And if that miser, that beggarly Italian,' said he "
" Monsieur le cardinal!"
" That is the sense, if not the words. Eh ! Good heavens! I wish
him no ill on that account; every one sees with his passions. He said
to you: ' If that vile Italian refuses the million we ask of him, sire,—
if we are forced, for want of money, to renounce diplomacy, well, then
we will ask him to grant us five hundred gentlemen.'"
The king started, for the cardinal was only mistaken in the number.
" Is not that it, sire ? " cried the minister, with a triumphant accent.
" And then he added some fine words: he said,' I have friends on the
other side of the Channel, and these friends only want a leader and a
banner. "When they shall see me, when they shall behold the banner
of Prance, they will rally round me, for they will comprehend that I
have your support. The colours of the Prench uniform will be worth
as much to me as the million M. de Mazarin refuses us,'—for he was
pretty well assured I should refuse him that million.—'I shall conquer
with these five hundred gentlemen, sire, and all the honour will be
yours.' Now, that is what he said, or to that purpose, was it not?—
turning those plain words into brilliant metaphors and pompous images,
for they are fine talkers, that family! The father talked even on the
scaffold."
The perspiration of shame stood upon the brow of Louis. He felt
that it was inconsistent with his dignity to hear his brother thus
insulted, but he did not yet know how to act with him before whom
he had seen every one blench, even his mother. At last he made an
effort.
" But," said he, " monsieur le cardinal, it is not five hundred men, it
is only two hundred."
" Well, but yqu see I guessed what he wanted."
" I never denied, monsieur, that you had a penetrating eye, and that
was why I thought you would not refuse my brother Charles a thing
so simple and so easy to grant him as what I ask of you in his name
monsieur le cardinal, or rather in my own." '
lfA2AKIN5S POLICY. Si
KSire," said Mazarin, "I have studied policy thirty years: first,
under the auspices of M. le Cardinal de Richelieu; and since, alone.
This policy has not always been over-honest, it must be allowed, but
it has never been unskilful. Now that which is proposed to your
majesty is dishonest and unskilful at the same time."
" Dishonest, monsieur ! "
" Sire, you entered into a treaty with Cromwell."
"Yes, and in that very treaty Cromwell signed nis name abovo
mine."
" Why did you sign yours so low down, sire ? Cromwell found a
good place, and he took it; that was his custom. I return, then, to
M. Cromwell. You have a treaty with him, that is to say, with Eng-
land, since when you signed that treaty M. Cromwell was England."
" M. Cromwell is dead."
" Do you think so, sire ? "
"No doubt he is, since his son Richard has succeeded him, and has
abdicated."
"Yes, that is it exactly. Richard inherited after the death of his
father, and England at the abdication of Richard. The treaty formed
part of the inheritance, whether in the hands of M. Richard or in the
hands of England. The treaty is, then, still as good, as valid as ever.
Why should you evade it, sire ? What is changed ? Charles wants
that to-day which we were not willing to grant him ten years ago; but
that was foreseen and provided against. You are the ally of England,
sire, and not of Charles II. It was doubtless wrong, in a family point
of view, to sign a treaty with a man who had cut off the head of the
brother-in-law of the king your father, and to contract an alliance
with a parliament which they call yonder the Rump Parliament;
it was unbecoming, I acknowledge, but it was not unskilful in a poli-
tical point of view, since, thanks to that treaty, I saved your majesty,
then a minor, the trouble and danger of a foreign war, which the
Eronde—you remember the Fronde, sire?"—the young king hung
down his head—'" which the Fronde might have fatally complicated.
And thus I prove to your majesty, that to change our plan now, with-
out warning our allies, would be at once unskilful and dishonest. We
should make war with the aggression on our side; we should make it,
deserving to have it made against us; and we should have the appear-
ance of fearing it whilst provoking it, for a permission granted to five
hundred men, to two hundred men, to fifty men, to ten men, is still a
permission. One Frenchman, that is the nation; one uniform, that is
the army. Suppose, sire, for example, that, sooner or later, you should
have war with Holland, which, sooner or later, will certainly happen; or
with Spain, which will perhaps ensue if your marriage fails" (Mazarin
stole a furtive glance at the king), " and there are a thousand causes that
might still make your marriage fail,—well, would you approve of Eng-
land's sending to the United Provinces or to Spain a regiment, a company,
a squadron even, of English gentlemen? Would you think that they
kept within the limits of their treaty of alliance ? "
Louis listened: it seemed so strange to him that Mazarin should
invoke good faith, and he the author of so many political tricks, called
Mazarinades. " And yet," said the king, " without any manifest au-
thorization, I cannot prevent gentlemen of my states from passing
over into England, if such should be their good pleasure."
"You ought to compel them to return, sire, or at least protest
against their presence as enemies in a country allied with you."
"Well, but come, monsieur le cardinal, you who are so profound a
-r a
.52 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGlLONtfE.
genius, try if you cannot find means to assist this poor king, without
compromising ourselves."
" And that is exactly what I am not willing to do, my dear sire," said
Mazarin. " If England were to act exactly according to my wishes, she
could not act better than she does ; if I directed the policy of England
from this place, I should not direct it otherwise. Governed as she is
governed, England is an eternal nest of contention for all Europe.
Holland protects Charles II., let.Holland do so; they will become
angry, they will light. They are the only two maritime powers. Let
them destroy each other's navy ; we can construct ours with the wreck
of their vessels, and shall save our money to buy nails with."
" Oh, how paltry and mean all that is you tell me, monsieur le car-
dinal!"
" Yes, but nevertheless it is true, sire; you must confess that. There
is this, still further. Suppose I admit, for a moment, the possibility of
breaking your word, and evading the treaty,—such a thing sometimes
happens, but that is when some great interest is to be promoted by it,
or when the treaty is found to be too troublesome,—well, you will autho-
rize the engagement asked of you: France—her banner, which is the same
thing—will cross the Straits and will fight; France will be conquered."
" Why so ? "
"Ma foi! there is a pretty general.for us to fight under,—this
Charles II.! Worcester gave us good proofs of that."
"But he will no longer have to deal with Cromwell, monsieur."
" But he will have to deal with Monk, who is quite as dangerous.
The brave brewer of whom we are speaking, was a visionary; he had
moments of exaltation, faintings, during which he ran over or split like
a too full cask; and from the chinks there always escaped some drops
"of his thoughts, and by the sample the whole of his thought was to be
made out. Cromwell has thus allowed us more than ten times to pene-
trate into his very soul, when one would have conceived that soul to be
enveloped in triple brass, as Horace has it. But Monk! Oh, sire,
God defend you from ever having anything politically to transact with
Monk. It is he who has given me, in one year, all the grey hairs I
have. Monk is no fanatic; unfortunately he is a politician; he does
not split, he keeps close together. For ten years he has had his eyes
fixed upon one object, and nobody has yet been able to ascertain what.
Every morning, as Louis XI. advised, he burns his nightcap. There-
fore, on the day when this plan, slowly and solitarily ripened, shall
break forth, it will break forth with all the conditions of the success
which always accompany an unforeseen event.
" That is Monk, sire, of whom, perhaps, you have never heard—of
whom, perhaps, you did' not know the name even, before your brother,
Charles II., who knows what he is, pronounced it before you. He is
a wonder of depth and tenacity, the two only things against which
intelligence and ardour are blunted. Sire, I had ardour when I was
young: I always had intelligence. I may safely boast of it, because I
am reproached with it. I have done very well with these two qualities,
since, from the son of a fisherman of Piscina, I am become first minister
of the king of France; and in that quality your majesty will perhaps
acknowledge I have rendered some services to the throne of your
majesty. Well, sire, if I had met with Monk on my way, instead of
Monsieur de Beaufort, Monsieur de Retz, or Monsieur le Prince—,
well, we should have been ruined. If you engage yourself rashly,
sire, you will fall into the talons of this politic soldier. The casque of
Monk, sire, is an iron coffer, in the recesses of which he shuts un his
MAZARIN'S POLICY. 53
thoughts, and no one has the key of it. Therefore, near him, or rather
before him, I bow, sire, for I have nothing but a velvet cap."
"What do you think Monk wishes to do, then ?"
" Eh! sire, if I knew that, I would not tell you to mistrust him, for I
should be stronger than he; but with him I am afraid to guess—to guess !
—you understand my word ?—for if I thought I had guessed, I should
stop at an idea, and, in spite of myself, should pursue that idea. Since
that man has been in power yonder, I am like those damned souls in
Dante, whose necks Satan has twisted, and who walk forward, looking
behind them. I am travelling towards Madrid, but I never lose sight
of London.' To guess, with that devil of a man, is to deceive oneself,
and to deceive oneself is to ruin oneself. God. keep me from ever
seeking to guess what he aims at; I confine myself to watching what
he does, and that is pretty well enough. Now, I believe—you observe
the extent of the word I believe ?—I believe, with respect to Monk, ties
one to nothing—I believe that he has a strong inclination to succeed
Cromwell. Your Charles II. has already caused proposals to be made
to him by ten persons; he has satisfied himself with driving these ten
meddlers from his presence, without saying anything to them but,
'Begone, or I will have you hung.' That man is a sepulchre ! At this
moment Monk is affecting devotion to the Rump parliament; of this
devotion, observe, I am not the dupe. Monk has no wish to be assas-
sinated,—an assassination would stop him in the midst of his opera-
tions; and his work must be accomplished ;—so I believe—but do not
believe what I believe, sire; for I say I believe from habit—I believe
that Monk is keeping well with the paxiiament till the day comes for
his dispersing it. You are asked for swords, but they are to fight
against Monk. God preserve you from fighting against Monk, sire;
for Monk would beat us, and I should never console myself after being
beaten by Monk. I should say to myself, Monk has foreseen that
victory ten years. Eor God's sake, sire, out of friendship for you, if
not out of consideration for himself, let Charles II. keep quiet. Your
majesty will make him a little revenue here; you will give him one
of your chateaux. Yes, yes—wait awhile. But I forgot the treaty—
that famous treaty of which we were just now speaking. Your majesty
has not even the right to give him a chateau! "
" How is that ? "
"Yes, yes; your majesty is bound not to afford hospitality to King
Charles, and to compel him to leave France even. It was on this
account we forced him to quit it; and yet here he is returned again.
Sire, I hope you will give your brother to understand that he cannot
remain with us; that it is impossible he should be allowed to com-
promise us ; or I myself "
"Enough, monsieur," said Louis XIV., rising. "For to refuse me
a million, perhaps you have the right; your millions are your own.
To refuse me two hundred gentlemen, you have still further the right;
for you are first minister, and you have, in the eyes of France, the
responsibility of peace and war. But that you should pretend to
prevent me, who am king, affording hospitality to the grandson of
Henry IV., to my cousin-german, to the companion of my childhood
—there your power stops, and there commences my will."
"Sire," said Mazarin, delighted at being let off so cheaply, and who
had, besides, only fought so earnestly to arrive at that,—" she, I will
always bend before the will of my king. Let my king, then, keep near
him, or in one of his chateaux, the king of England; let Mazarin
know it, but let not the minister know it,"
64 THE VICOMTE EE EKAGELONNE.
"Good night, monsieur," said Louis XIV.I go away in despair."
"But convinced; and that is all I desire, sire," replied Mazarin.
The king made no answer, and retired quite pensive, convinced, not
of all Mazarin had told him, but of one thing which he took care not
to mention to him; and that was, that it was necessary for him to study
seriously both his own affairs and those of Europe, for he found them
very difficult and very obscure. Louis found the king of England
seated in the same place that he had left him in. On perceiving him,
the English prince arose; but at the first glance he saw discourage-
ment in dark letters upon his cousin's brow. Then, speaking first, as if
to facilitate the painful avowal that Louis had to make to him :—
"Whatever may it be," said he, "I shall never forget all the kind-
ness, all the friendship, you have exhibited towards me."
"Alas ! " replied Louis, in a melancholy tone, "only sterile good-will,
my brother." • ■
Charles II. became extremely pale; he passed his cold hand over his
brow, and struggled for a few instants against a faintness that made
him tremble. I understand," said he at last; " no more hope !"
Louis seized the hand of Charles II. " Wait, my brother," said he;
"precipitate nothing; everything may change; it is extreme resolu-
tions tnat ruin causes; add another year of trial, I implore you, to the
years you have already undergone. You have, to induce you to act
now rather than at another time, neither occasion nor opportunity.
Come with me, my brother; I will give you one of my residences,
whichever you prefer, to inhabit. I, with you, will keep my eye upon
events; we will prepare. Come, then, my brother, have courage ! "
Charles II. withdrew his hand from that of the king, and drawing
hack, to salute him with more ceremony, " With all my heart, thanks!"
replied he, " sire; but; I have prayed without success to the greatest
king on earth; now I will go and ask a miracle of God." And he went
out without being willing to hear any more, his head carried loftily, his
hand trembling, with a painful contraction of his noble countenance,
and that profound gloom which, finding no more hope in the world of
men, appeared to go beyond it, and ask it in worlds unknown. .The
officer of musketeers, on seeing him pass by thus pale, bowed almost
to his knees as he saluted him. He then took a flambeau, called two
musketeers, and descended the desert staircase with the unfortunate
king, holding in his left hand his hat, the plume of which swept the
steps. Arrived at the door, the musketeer asked the king which way
he was going, that he mieht direct the musketeers.
"Monsieur," replied Charles II. in a subdued voice, "you who have
known my father, say, did you ever pray for him ? If you have done
so, do not forget me in your prayers. Now, I am going alone, and beg
of you not to accompany me, or have me accompanied further."
The officer bowed, and sent away the musketeers into the interior of
the palace. But he himself remained an instant under the porch to
watch the departure of Charles II., till he was lost in the turning of
the next street. " To him, as to his father formerly," murmured he,
" Athos, if he were here, would say with reason' Salutation to fallen
majesty!'" Then reascending the staircase: " Oh! the vile service that
I follow !" said he at every step. "Oh! my pitiful master! Life thus
carried on is no longer tolerable, and it is at length time that I do
something! No more generosity, no more energy ! The master has
succeeded, the pupil is starved for ever. Mordimix ! I will not resist.
Come, vou men," continued he, entering the antechamber, " why are
you all looking at me so ? Extinguish these flambeaux, and return to
TILE SING AND TIIE LIEUTENANT. 55
your posts. Ah! you wore guarding me? Yes, you watch over me,
do you not, worthy fellows ? Brave fools ! I am not the Due de Guise.
Begone! They will not assassinate me in the little colander. Besides,"
added he, in a low voice, " that would be a resolution, and no resolutions
have been formed since Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu died. Now,
with all his faults, that was a man ! It is decided: to-morrow I will
throw my cassock to the nettles."
Then reflecting: "No," said he, "not yet! I have one great trial
to make, and I will make it; but that, and I swear it, shall be the last,
mordioux /"
He had not finished speaking, when a voice issued from the king's
chamber. " Monsieur le lieutenant!" said this voice.
" Here am I," replied he.
" The king desires to speak to you."
"Humph!" said the lieutenant; "perhaps this is for what I was
thinking about." And he went into the king's apartment.
CHAPTER XII.
The King: and the Lieutenant.
As soon as the king saw the officer enter, he dismissed his valet-dc-
chambre and his gentleman. " Who is on duty to-morrow, monsieur ?"
asked he.
The lieutenant bowed his head with military politeness, and replied,
" I am, sire."
"How! you still ?" "I always, sire."
" How can that he, monsieur ?"
" Sire, when travelling, the musketeers supply all the posts of your
majesty's household; that is to say, yours, her majesty the queen's, and
monsieur le cardinal's, the latter of whom borrows of the king the best
part, or rather the most numerous part, of the royal guard.
" But in the interims ?"
" There are no interims, sire, but for twenty or thirty men who rest
out of a hundred and twenty. At the Louvre it is very different, and
if I were at the Louvre, I should rest upon my brigadier; but, when
travelling, sire, no one knows what may happen, and I prefer doing my
duty myself."
" Then you are on guard every day ?"
" And every night. Yes, sire."
"Monsieur, I cannot allow that,—-I will have you rest."
"That is very kind, sire ; but I will not."
"What do you say ?" said the king, who did not at first comprehend
the full meaning of this reply.
" I say, sire, that I will not expose myself to the chance of a fault.
If the devil had an ill turn to play me, you understand, sire, as he
knows the man with whom he has to deal, he would choose the moment
when I should not be there. My duty and the peace of my conscience
before everything, sire."
" But such duty will kill you, monsieur."
"Eh! sire, I have performed it thirty years, and in all Erance and
Navarre there is not a man in better health than I am. Moreover, I
entreat you, sire, not to trouble yourself about me. That would appear
very strange to me, seeing that I am not accustomed to it."
56 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
The king cut short the conversation by a fresh question. " Shall you
be here, then, to-morrow morning ?"
" As at present ? yes, sire."
The king walked several times up and down his chamber; it was
very plain that he burned with a desire to speak, but that he was
restrained by some fear or other. The lieutenant, standing motionless,
hat in hand, leaning on his hip, watched him making these evolutions,
and, whilst looking at him, grumbled to himself, biting his moustache.
" For a demi-pistole, he has not resolution enough! Parole d'honneur !
I would lay a wager he does not speak at all!"
The king continued to walk about, casting from time to time a side
glance at the lieutenant. " He is the very spit of his father," continued
the latter, in his secret monologue; " he is at once proud, avaricious,
and timid. The devil take his master, say I."
The king stopped. "Lieutenant," said he.
" I am here, sire."
" Why did you cry out this evening, down below in the salons—' On
the king's service! His majesty's musketeers!'"
" Because you gave me the order, sire."
"I?" " Yourself."
" Indeed, I did not say a word, monsieur."
" Sire, an order is given by a sign, by a gesture, by a glance, as intel-
ligibly, as freely, and as clearly as by word of mouth. A servant who
has nothing but ears, is not half a good servant."
" Your eyes are very penetrating, then, monsieur."
" How is that, sire ?"
" Because they see what is not."
" My eyes are good, though, sire, although they have served their
master long and much;—when they have anything to see, they seldom
miss the opportunity. Now, this evening, they saw that your majesty
coloured with endeavouring to conceal your inclination to gape; that
your majesty looked with eloquent supplications, first at his eminence,
and then at her majestythe queen-mother, and at length to the door
of entrance; and they so thoroughly remarked all I have said, that they
saw your majesty's lips articulate these words: 'Who will get me out
of this?'"
" Monsieur!"
" Or something to this effect, sire,—' My musketeers!' I could then
no longer hesitate. That look was for me—the order was for me. I cried
out instantly,' His majesty's musketeers!' And, besides, that is proved
to be true, sire, not only by your majesty's not saying I was wrong, but
proving I was right by going out at once."
The king turned away to smile; then, after a few seconds, he again
fixed his limpid eye upon that countenance so intelligent, so bold, and
so firm, that it might have been said to be the proud and energetic pro-
file of the eagle in face of the sun. " That is all very well," said he,
after a short silence, during which he endeavoured, in vain, to look his
officer down.
But, seeing the king said no more, the latter pirouetted on his heels,
and made three steps towards the door, muttering, " He will not speak!
Mordioux! he will not speak !"
" Thank you, monsieur," said the king at last.
"Humph!" continued the lieutenant; "there only wanted that.
.Blamed for having been less of a fool than another might have been."
And he gained the door, allowing his spurs to jingle in true military style.
THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT. 57
But when he was upon the threshold, feeling that the king's desire
drew him back, he returned.
"Has your majesty told me all?" asked he, in a tone we cannot
describe, but which, without appearing to solicit the royal confidence,
contained so much persuasive frankness, that the king immediately
replied,—
Yes; but draw near, monsieur."
" Now, then," murmured the officer, " he is coming to it at last."
" Listen to me."
" I will not lose a word, sire."
" You will mount on horseback to-morrow, at about half-past four in
the morning, and you will have a horse saddled for me."
" From your majesty's stables ?"
"No; one of your musketeers' horses."
" Very well, sire. Is that all ?"
" And you will accompany me."
" Alone?" " Alone."
" Shall I come to seek your majesty, or shall I wait ?"
" You will wait for me."
" Where, sire ?"
" At the little park-gate."
The lieutenant bowed, understanding that the king had told him all
he had to say. In fact, the king dismissed him with a gracious wave
of the hand. The officer left the chamber of the king, and returned to
place himself philosophically in his fauteuil, where, far from sleeping,
as might have been expected, considering how late it was, he began to
•reflect more profoundly than he had ever reflected before. The result
of these reflections was not so melancholy as the preceding ones had
been.
" Come, he has begun," said he. " Love urges him on, and he goes
forward—he goes forward! The king is nobody in his own palace; but
the man perhaps may prove to be worth something. Well, we shall see
to-morrow morning. Oh ! oh !" cried he, all at once starting up, " that
is a gigantic idea, mordioux! and perhaps my fortune depends, at least,
upon that idea!" After this exclamation, the officer arose and marched,
with his hands in the pockets of his justaucorps, about the immense
antechamber that served him as an apartment. The wax-light flamed
furiously under the effects of a fresh breeze which stole in through the
chinks of the door and the window, and cut the salle diagonally. It
threw out a reddish, unequal light, sometimes brilliant, sometimes dull,
and the tall shadow of the lieutenant was seen marching on the wall, in
profile, like a figure by Callot, with his long sword and feathered hat.
" Certes!" said he, "I am mistaken if Mazarin is not laying a snare
for this amorous boy. Mazarin, this evening, gave an address and made
an appointment as complacently as M. Dangeau himself could have
done—I heard him, and I know the meaning of his words. ' To-
morrow morning,' said he,' they will pass opposite the bridge of Blois.'
Mordioux! that is clear enough, and particularly for a lover. That is
the cause of this embarrassment; that is the cause of this hesitation;
that is the cause of this order,—' Monsieur the lieutenant of my mus-
keteers, be on horseback to-morrow at four o'clock in the morning.'
Which is as clear as if he had said,—'Monsieur the lieutenant of my
musketeers, to-morrow, at four, at the bridge of Blois,—do you under-
stand ?' Here is a state secret, then, which I, humble as I am, have in
my possession, while it is in action. And how do I get it ? Because I
58 THE YIC03ITE DE BEAGELONNE.
have good eyes, as his majesty just now said. They say ho loves this
little Italian doll furiously. They say he threw himself at his mother's
feet, to ask her to allow him to marry her. They say the queen went
so far as to consult the court of Rome whether such a marriage, con-
tracted against her will, would be valid. Oh, if I were but twenty-five!
If I had by my side those I no longer have! If I did not despise the
whole world most profoundly, I would embroil Mazarin with the queen-
mother, France with Spain, and I would make a queen after my own
fashion. But let that pass." And the lieutenant snapped his fingers
in disdain.
" This miserable Italian—this poor creature—this sordid wretch—
who has just refused the king of England a million, would not perhaps
give me a thousand pistoles for the news I could carry him. Mordioux !
I am falling into second childhood;—I am becoming stupid indeed!
The idea of Mazarin giving anything! ha! ha! ha!" andne laughed
in a subdued voice.
" Well, let us go to sleep—let us go to sleep; and the sooner the
better. My mind is fatigued with my evening's work, and will see
things to-morrow more clearly than to-day."
And upon this recommendation, made to himself, he folded his cloak
around him, looking with contempt upon his royal neighbour. Five
minutes after this he was asleep, with his hands clenched and his lips
apart, allowing to escape, not his secret, but a sonorous sound, which
rose and spread freely beneath the majestic roof of the antechamber.
CHAPTER XIII.
Mary rle Mancini.
The sun had scarcely enlightened the majestic trees of the park and
the lofty turrets of the castle with his first beams, when the young
king, who had been awake more than two hours, possessed by the
sleeplessness of love, opened his shutters himself, and cast an inquiring
look into the courts of the sleeping palace. He saw that it was the
hour agreed upon: the great court clock pointed to a quarter past four.
He did not disturb his valet-de-chambre, who was sleeping profoundly
at some distance ; he dressed himself, and the valet, in a great fright,
sprang up, thinking he had been deficient in his duty; but the king
sent him back again, commanding him to preserve the most absolute
silence. He then descended the little staircase, went out at a lateral
door, and perceived, at the end of the wall, a mounted horseman, hold-
ing another horse by the bridle. This horseman was not to be recog-
nized in his cloak and slouched hat. As to the horse, saddled like that
of a rich citizen, it had nothing remarkable about it to the most ex-
perienced eye. Louis took the bridle; the officer held the stirrup
without dismounting, and asked his majesty's orders in a low voice.
" Follow me," replied the king.
f The officer put his horse to the trot, behind that of his master, and
they descended the hill towards the bridge. When arrived at the other
side of the Loire,—
"Monsieur," said the king, " you will please to ride on till you see a
carriage coming; then return and inform me. I will wait here."
" Will your majesty deign to give me some description of the carriage
I am oharged to discover ? "
MAUY DE MANCINI. 59
ft A carriage in which you will see two ladies, and probably their
attendants likewise."
" Sire, I should not wish to make a mistake; is there no other sign by
which I may know this carriage ? "
" It will bear, in all probability, the arms of monsieur le cardinal."
" That is sufficient, sire," replied the officer, fully instructed in the
object of his search. He put his horse to the trot, and rode sharply
on in the direction pointed out by the king. But he had scarcely gone
five hundred paces when he saw four mules, and then a carriage, loom
up from behind a little hill. Behind this carriage came another. It
required only one glance to assure him that these were the equipages
he was in search of; he therefore turned his bridle, and rode back to
the king.
" Sire," said he, " here are the carriages. The first, as you said, con-
tains two ladies with their femmes-de-chambre ; the second contains the
footmen, provisions, and necessaries."
" That is well" replied the king, in an agitated voice. " Please to go
and tell those ladies that a cavalier of the court wishes to pay his
respects to them alone."
The officer set off at a gallop. " Mordioux /" said he, as he rode on,
" here is a new and an honourable employment, I hope! I complained
of being nobody. I am the king's confidant: that is enough to make a
musketeer burst with pride."
He approached the carriage and delivered his message, gallantly and
intelligently. There were two ladies in the carriage: one of great
beauty, although rather thin; the other less favoured by nature, but
lively, graceful, and uniting in the light folds of her brow all the signs
of a strong will. • Her eyes, animated and piercing, in particular, spoke
more eloquently than all the amorous phrases in fashion in those days
of gallantry. It was to her D'Artagnan addressed himself, without
fear of being mistaken, although the other was, as we have said, the
more handsome of the two.
" Madame," said he," I am the lieutenant of the musketeers, and
there is on the road a cavalier who awaits you, and is desirous of paying
his respects to you."
At tliese words, the effect of which he watched closely, the lady with
the black eyes uttered a cry of joy, leant out of the carriage window,
and, seeing the cavalier approaching, held out her arms, exclaiming,—
" Ah, my dear sire !" And the tears gushed from her eyes.
The coachman stopped his team; the women rose in confusion from
the bottom of the carriage, and the second lady made a slight reverence,
terminated by the most ironical smile that jealousy ever imparted to
the lips of woman.
" Mary, dear Mary!" cried the king, taking the hand of the black-
eyed lady in both his. And opening the heavy door himself, he drew
her out of the carriage with so much ardour, that she was in his arms
before she touched the ground. The lieutenant, posted on the other
side of the carriage, saw and heard all without being observed.
The king offered his arm to Mademoiselle de Mancini, and made a
sign to the coachmen and lackeys to proceed. It was nearly six o'clock;
the road was fresh and pleasant; tall trees with their foliage still in-
closed in the golden down of their buds, let the dew of morning filter
from their trembling branches, like liquid diamonds; the grass was
bursting at the foot of the hedges; the swallows, only a few days
returned, described their graceful curves between the heavens and the
water; a breeze, perfumed by the blossoming woods, sighed along the
60 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
road and wrinkled the surface of the waters of the river: all these
beauties of the day, all these perfumes of the plants, all these aspirations
of the earth towards the heavens, intoxicated the two lovers, walking
, side by side, leaning upon each other, eyes fixed upon eyes, hand clasped
within hand, and who, lingering as by a common desire, did not dare to
speak, they had so much to say.
The officer saw that the king's horse pulled this way and that, and
inconvenienced Mademoiselle de Mancini. He took advantage of the
pretext of taking the horse to draw near to them, and dismounted,
and walking between the two horses he led, he did not lose a single
word or gesture of the lovers. It was Mademoiselle de Mancini who
at length began.
" Ah, my dear sire!" said she, " you do not abandon me, then ? "
"No," replied the king; "you see I do not, Mary."
" I had been so often told, though, that as soon as we should be sepa-
rated you would no longer think of me."
" Dear Mary; is it then to-day only that you have discovered we are
surrounded by people interested in deceiving us ? "
" But then, sire, this journey, this alliance with Spain ? They are
going to marry you!"
Louis hung his head. At the same time the officer could see in the
sun the eyes of Mary de Mancini shine with the brilliancy of a poniard
starting from its sheath. " And you have done nothing in favour of
our love ? " asked the girl, after a silence of a moment.
" Ah ! mademoiselle, how could you believe that ? I threw myself
at the feet of my mother; I begged her, I implored her; I told her
all my hopes of happiness were in you; I even threatened "
" Well ? " asked Mary, eagerly.
" Well, the queen-mother wrote to the court of Kome, and received
as answer that a marriage between us would have no validity, and would
be dissolved by the holy father. At length, finding there was no hope
for us, I requested to have my marriage with the infanta at least delayed."
" And yet that does not prevent your being on the road to meet
her ? "
" What would you have ? To my prayers, to my supplications, to my
tears, I received no answer but reasons of state."
" Well, well?"
" Well, what is to be done, mademoiselle, when so many wills are
leagued against me ? "
It was now Mary's turn to hang her head. " Then I must bid you
adieu for ever," said she. "You know that I am being exiled; you
know that I am going to be buried alive; you know still more that they
want to marry me also."
Louis became very pale, and placed his hand upon his heart.
" If I had thought that my life only had been at stake, I have been so
persecuted that I might have yielded; but I thought yours was con-
cerned, my dear sire, and I stood out for the sake of preserving your
happiness."
" Oh, yes ! my happiness, my treasure! " murmured the king, more
gallantly than passionately, perhaps.
" The cardinal might have yielded," said Mary, "if you had addressed
yourself to him, if you had pressed him. Lor the cardinal to call
the king of Trance his nephew! do you not perceive, sire ? He would
have made war even for that honour; the cardinal, assured of governing
alone, under the double pretext of having brought up the king ana
given his niece to him in marriage,—the cardinal would have com-
MAEY DE MANCINI. 61
bated all wills, overcome all obstacles. Ob, sire! I can answer for
that. I am a woman, and I see clearly into everything where love is
concerned."
These words produced a strange effect upon the king. Instead of
heightening his passion, they cooled it. He stopped, and said with
precipitation—
" What is to he said, mademoiselle ? Everything has failed."
" Except your will, I trust, my dear sire ? "
" Alas !" said the king, colouring, " have I a will!"
" Oh!" allowed Mademoiselle de Mancini to escape mournfully,
wounded by that expression.
" The king has no will but that which policy dictates, but that which
reasons of state impose upon him."
" Oh ! it is because you have no love," cried Mary; " if you loved,
sire, you would have a will."
On pronouncing these words, Mary raised her eyes to her lover, whom
she saw more pale and more cast down than an exile who is about to
quit his native land for ever. " Accuse me," murmured the king, " but
do not say I do not love you."
A long silence followed these words, which the young king had pro-
nounced with a perfectly true and profound feeling. " I am unable to
think that to-morrow, and after to-morrow, I shall see you no more; I
cannot think that I am going to end my sad days at a distance from
Paris; that the lips of an old man, of an unknown, should touch that
hand which you hold within yours; no, in truth, I cannot think of
all that, my dear sire, without my poor heart bursting with despair."
And Mary de Mancini did shed, floods of tears. On his part, the
king, affected, carried his handkerchief to his mouth, and stifled a sob.
" See," said she, " the carriages have stopped, my sister waits for me,
the time is come; what you are about to decide upon, will be decided
for life. Oh, sire ! you are willing then that I should lose you ? You
are willing, then, Louis, that she to whom you have said ' I love you,'
should belong to another than to her king, to her master, to her
lover ? Oh! courage, Louis ! courage ! One word, a single word! Say
' I will!' and all my life is enchained to yours, and all my heart is yours
for ever."
. The king made no reply. Mary then looked at him as Dido looked at
JEneas in the Elysian fields, fierce and disdainful.
"Adieu, then," said she; "adieu life! adieu love ! adieu heaven!"
And she made a step to depart. The king detained her, seized her hand,
which he glued to his lips, and, despair prevailing over the resolution he
appeared to have inwardly formed, he let fall upon that beautiful hand
a burning tear of regret, which made Mary start, so really had that tear
burnt her. She saw the humid eyes of the king, his pale brow, his
convulsed lips, and cried, with an accent that cannot be described,—
" Oh, sire! you are a king, you weep, and yet I depart!"
As his sole reply, the king concealed his face in his handkerchief.
The officer here uttered something so like a roar that it frightened the
horses. Mademoiselle de Mancini, quite indignant, quitted the king's
arm, got precipitately into the carriage, crying to the coachman,—" Go
on, go on, and quick!"
The coachman obeyed, flogged his mules, and the heavy carriage
rocked upon its creaking axle, whilst the king of France, alone, cast
down, annihilated, did not dare to look either behind or before him. g
62
THE VlCOMTE DE EIUGELONNE.
CHAPTER XiV.
In which the King and the Lieutenant each give proofs of Memory.
When the king, like all the people in the world who are in love, had
long and attentively watched the disappearance in the horizon of the
carriage which bore away his mistress; when he had turned and turned
again a hundred times to the same way, and had at length succeeded
in calming in a degree the agitation of his heart and thoughts, he recol-
lected that he was not alone. The officer still held the horse by the
bridle, and had not lost all hope of seeing the king recover his reso-
lution. He had still the resource of mounting, and riding after the
carriage: they would have lost nothing by waiting a little. But the
imagination of the lieutenant of the musketeers was too rich and too
brilliant; it left far behind it that of the king, who took care not to
allow himself to be carried away by such an excess of luxury. He con-
tented himself with approaching the officer, and in a doleful voice,
" Come," said he, " let us be gone; all is ended. To horse!"
The officer imitated this carriage, this slowness, this sadness, and
leisurely mounted his horse. The king pushed on sharply, the lieu-
tenant followed him. At the bridge Louis turned round for the last
time. The lieutenant, patient as a god who has eternity behind and
before him, still hoped for a return of energy. But it was groundless,
nothing appeared. Louis gained the street which led to the castle, and
entered as seven was striking. When once the king was returned, and
the musketeer, who saw everything, had seen a corner of the tapestry
rise at the window of the cardinal, he breathed a profound sigh, like a
man unloosed from the tightest bonds, and said in a low voice:—
" Now, then, my officer, I hope that it is over."
The king summoned his gentleman. " Please to understand I shall
receive nobody before two o'clock," said he.
"Sire," replied the gentleman, "there is, however, some one who
Requests admittance." v
" Who is that ?" "Your lieutenant of musketeers."
" He who accompanied me ?" " Yes, sire."
"Ah!" said the king, "let him come in."
The officer entered. The king made a sign, and the gentleman and
the valet retired. Louis followed them with his eyes until they had
shut the door, and when the tapestries had fallen behind them,—"You
remind me by your presence, monsieur, of something I had forgotten to
recommend to you, that is to say, the most absolute discretion."
" Oh! sire, why does your majesty give yourself the trouble of making
me such a recommendation ? It is plain you do not know me."
" Yes, monsieur, that is true. I know that you are discreet; but as I
had prescribed nothing "
The officer bowed. " Has your majesty nothing else to say to mc ? "
"No, monsieur; you may retire."
" Shall I obtain permission not to do so till I have spoken to the king,
sire?"
" What have you to say to me ? Explain yourself, monsieur."
" Sire, a thing without importance to you, but which interests me
greatly. Pardon me then for speaking of it. Without urgency, with-
out necessity, I never would have done it, and I would have disappeared,
mute and insignificant .as I always have been."
THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT. 63
" How! Disappeared ! I do not understand you, monsieur."
" Sire, in a word," said the officer," I am come to ask for my discharge
from your majesty's service."
The king made a movement of surprise, but the officer remained as
motionless as a statue.
"Your discharge—yours, monsieur? and for how long a time, I
pray?"
" Why, for ever, sire."
"What, you are desirous of quitting my service, monsieur?" said
Louis, with an expression that revealed something more than surprise.
" Sire, I have that regret."
" Impossible!"
" It is so, however, sire. I am getting old; I have worn harness now
thirty-five years; my poor shoulders are tired; I feel that I must give
place to the young. I don't belong to this age; I have still one foot in
the old one; it results that everything is strange in my eyes, everything
astonishes and bewilders me. In short, I have the honour to ask for
my discharge of your majesty."
" Monsieur," said the king,- looking at the officer, who wore his
uniform with an ease that would have created envy in a young man,
" you are stronger and more vigorous than I am."
"Oh!" replied the officer, with an air of false modesty, "your
majesty says so because I still have a good eye and a tolerably firm
foot—because I can still ride a horse, ana my moustache is black; but,
sire, vanity of vanities all that—illusions all that—appearance, smoke,
sire ! I have still a young air, it is true, but I am old at bottom; and
within six months I feel certain I shall be broken down, gouty, impo-
tent. Therefore, then, sire "
" Monsieur," interrupted the king, " remember your words of yester-
day. You said to me in this very place where you now are, that you
were endowed with the best health of any man in Trance; that fatigue
was unknown to you; that you cared not for passing whole days and
nights at your post. Did you tell me that, monsieur, or not ? Eecall
your memory, monsieur."
The officer breathed a sigh. " Sire," said he, " old age is boastful;
and it is pardonable for old men to make the eulogy of those for whom
others no longer make it. It is very possible I said that; but the fact
is, sire, I am very much fatigued, and request permission to retire."
"Monsieur," said the king, advancing towards the officer with a
gesture at once full of address and majesty, "you are not assigning me
the true reason. You wish to quit my service, it may be true, but you
disguise from me the motive for your retreat."
" Sire, believe that "
" I believe what I see, monsieur; I see a vigorous, energetic man,
full of presence of mind, the best soldier in France, perhaps; and this
personage cannot persuade me the least in the world that you stand
in need of rest."
"Ah! sire," said the lieutenant, with bitterness, "what praises!
Indeed, your majesty confounds me! Energetic, vigorous, brave,
intelligent, the best soldier in the army! But, sire, your majesty
exaggerates my small portion of merit to such a point, that, however
good an opinion I may have of myself, I do not recognize myself; in
truth I do not. If I were vain enough to believe only half of your
majesty's words, I should consider myself as a valuable, indispensable
man. I should say that a servant possessed of such brilliant qualities
was a treasure beyond all price. Now, sire, I have been all my life—
64 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE.
I feel bound to say it—except at the present time, appreciated, in my
opinion, much beneath my value. I therefore repeat, your majesty
exaggerates."
The king knitted his brow, for he saw a bitter raillery beneath the
words of the officer. " Come, monsieur," said he, " let us meet the
question frankly. Are you dissatisfied with my service, say ? No eva-
sions; speak boldly, frankly—I command you to do so."
The officer, who had been twisting his hat about in his hands, vfith
an embarrassed air, for several minutes, raised his head at these words.
"Oh! sire," said he, "that puts me a little more at my ease. To a
question put so frankly, I will reply frankly. To tell the truth is a
good thing, as much from the pleasure one feels in relieving one's
heart, as on account of the rarity of the fact. I will speak the truth
then to my king, at the same time imploring him to excuse the frank-
ness of an old soldier."
Louis looked at his officer with anxious inquietude, which was
manifested by agitation of his gesture. " Well, then, speak!" said he,
" for I am impatient to hear the truths you have to tell me."
The officer threw his hat upon a table, and his countenance, always
so intelligent and martial, assumed, all at once, a strange character of
frandeur and solemnity. " Sire," said he, "I quit the king's service
ecause I am dissatisfied. The valet, in these times, can approach his
master as respectfully as I do, can give him an account of his labour,
bring back his tools, render the funds that have been intrusted to him,
and say,' Master, my day's work is done; pay me, if you please, ana
let us part.'"
" Monsieur! monsieur!" exclaimed the king, purple with anger.
"Ah! sire," replied the officer, bending his knee for a moment,
"never was servant more respectful than I am before your majesty;
only you commanded me to tell the truth. Now I have begun to tell
it, it must come out, even if you command me to hold my tongue."
There was so much resolution expressed in the deep-sunk muscles of
the officer's countenance, that Louis XIV. had no occasion to tell him
to continue; he continued then, whilst the king looked at him with a
curiosity mingled with admiration.
" Sire, I have, as I have said, now served the house of Prance thirty-five
years; few people have worn out so many swords in that service as I
have, and the swords I speak of were good swords too, sire. I was a boy,
ignorant of everything except courage, when the king your father
divined that there was a man in me. I was a man, sire, when the
Cardinal de Richelieu, who was a judge of manhood, divined an enemy
in me. Sire, the history of that enmity between the ant and the lion
may be read, from the first to the last line, in the secret archives of
your family. If ever you feel an inclination to view it, do it, sire; the
history is worth the trouble—it is I who tell you so. You will there read
that the lion, fatigued, harassed, out of breath, at length cried for
quarter, and the justice must be rendered him to say, that he gave as
much as he required. Oh! those were glorious times, sire, strewed
over with battles like one of Tasso's or Ariosto's epopees ! The
wonders of those times, to which the people of ours would refuse
belief, were every-day occurrences. Por five years together, I was a
hero every day, at least so I was told by personages of merit; and that
is a long period for heroism, trust me, sire, is a period of five years.
Nevertheless, I have faith in what these people told me, for they were
good judges. They were named M. de Richelieu, M. de Buckingham
M. de Beaufort, M. de Retz, a rough genius himself in street warfarej
THE KING AND THE LIEUTENANT. 05
In short, the lung, Louis XIII., and even the queen, your august
mother, who one day condescended to say,' Thanlc you! I don't know
what service I had had the good fortune to render her. Pardon me,
sire, for speaking so boldly; but what I relate to you, as I have already,
had the honour to tell your majesty, is history."
The king bit his lips, and threw himself violently into his fauteuil.
" I appear importunate to your majesty," said the lieutenant. " Eh!
sire, that is the fate of truth: she is a stern companion; she bristles
all over with steel; she wounds those she attacks, and sometimes him
who speaks her."
"No, monsieur," replied the king; "I bade you speak—speak then."
" After the service of the king and the cardinal came the service of
the regency, sire; I fought pretty well in the Fronde—much less though
than the first time. The men began to diminish in stature. I have,
nevertheless, led your majesty's musketeers on some perilous occasions,
which stand upon the orders of the day of the company. Mine was a
beautiful lot then! I was the favourite of M. de Mazarin. Lieute-
nant here ! lieutenant there ! lieutenant to the right! lieutenant to
the left! There was not a buffet dealt in France of which your humble
servant was not charged with the dealing; but they soon became not con-
tented with France; monsieur le cardinal, he sent me to England on
Cromwell's account—another gentleman who was not over gentle, I
assure you, sire. I had the honour to know him, and I was well able
to appreciate him. A great deal was promised me on account of that
mission. So, as I did in it quite contrary to all I had been bidden to
do, I was generously paid, for I was at length appointed captain of the
musketeers; that is to say, to the post most envied at court, which
takes the pas over the marechals of France, and with justice; for when
the captain of the musketeers is named, the flower and king of the
brave is named."
"Captain, monsieur!" interrupted the king; "you make a mistake.
Lieutenant you mean to say."
" Not at all, sire—I make no mistake; your majesty may rely upon m e
in that respect. Monsieur le cardinal gave me the commission himself."
« Well!"
" But M. de Mazarin, as you know better than anybody, does not
often give, and sometimes takes back what he has given; he took it back
again, as soon as peace was made and he was no longer in want of me.
Certes, I was not worthy to replace M. de Treville, of illustrious
memory; but they had promised me, and they had given me; they
ought to have stopped there."
" Is that what dissatisfies you, monsieur ? Well, I will make inquiries.
I love justice, and your claim, though made in military fashion, does
not displease me."
" Oh, sire!" said the officer, " your majesty has ill understood me; I
no longer claim anything now."
" Excess of delicacy, monsieur; but I will keep my eye upon your
affairs, and hereafter "
"Oh, sire! what a word!—hereafter! Thirty years have I lived
upon that promising word, which has been pronounced by so many great
personages, and which your mouth has, in its turn, just pronounced.
Hereafter ! that is how I have received a score of wounds, and how I
have reached fifty-four years of age, without ever having had a louis in my
purse, and without ever having met with a protector in my road—I,
who have protected so many people! So I change my formula, sire;
and when any one says to me 'Hereafter,' I reply Now! It is repose
6G THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
I solicit, sire. That may be easily granted me—that will cost nobody
anything."
'■ 1 did not look for this language, monsieur, particularly from a man
who has always lived among the great. You forget you are speaking
to the king, to a gentleman who is, I suppose, of as good a house as
yourself; and when I say hereafier, I mean a certainty."
" I do not at all doubt it, sire; but this is the end of the terrible
truth I had to tell you. 1 f I were to see upon that table a marechaVs
baton, the sword of constable, the crown of Poland, instead of hereafter,
I swear to you, sire, that I should still say Now! Oh, excuse me,
sire! I am from the country of your grandfather, Henry IV. 1 do not
speak often; but wnen 1 do speak, I speak all."
"The future of my reign has little temptation for you, monsieur, it
appears," said Louis, haughtily.
" Forgetfulness, forgetfulness everywhere !" cried the officer with a
noble air: " the master has forgotten the servant, so that the servant
is reduced to forget his master. I live in unfortunate times, sire. I
see youth full of discouragement and fear, I see it timid and despoiled,
when it ought to be rich and powerful. I yesterday evening, tor
example, open the door to a king of England, whose father, humble as
I am, I was near saving, if God had not been against me—God, who
inspired his elect, Cromwell! I open, I said, the door, that is to say,
of the palace of one brother to another brother, and I see—stop, sire,
that presses upon my heart!—I see the minister of that king drive
away the proscribed prince, and humiliate his master by condemning
to want another king, his equal. Then I see my prince, who is young,
handsome, and brave, who has courage in his heart and lightning in his
eye,—I see him tremble before a priest, who laughs at him behind the
curtains of his alcove, where he digests all the gold of France, which
he afterwards stuffs into secret coffers. Yes—I understand your looks,
sire. I am bold to madness; but what is to be said ? I am an old man;
and I tell you here, sire, to you, my king, things which I would cram
down the throat of any one who should dare to pronounce them before
me. You have commanded me to pour out the bottom of my heart
before you, sire, and 1 cast at the feet of your majesty the bile which I
have been collecting during thirty years, as I would pour out all my
blood, if your majesty commanded me to do so."
The king, without speaking a word, wiped the drops of cold and
abundant sweat which trickled from his temples. The moment of silence
which followed this vehement outbreak, represented for him who had
spoken, and for him who had listened, ages of suffering.
"Monsieur," said the king at length, "you have pronounced the
word forgetfulness, I have heard nothing but that word; I will reply,
then, to it alone. Others have perhaps been able to forget, but I have
not, and the proof is, that I remember that one day of riot, that one
day in which the furious people, furious and roaring as the sea, invaded
the royal palace ; that one day when I feigned to sleep in my bed, one
man alone, naked sword in hand, concealed behind my bolster, watched
over my life, ready to risk his own for me, as he had before risked it
twenty times for the lives of my family. Was not the gentleman,
whose name 1 then demanded, called M. d'Artagnan ? say, monsieur."
" Your majesty has a good memory," replied the officer, coldly.
" Y'ou see, then," continued the king, "if I have such remembrances
of my childhood, what an amount I may gather in the age of reason."
" Your majesty has been richly endowed by God," said the officer, in
the same tone.
the proscribed. 6?
" Come, Monsieur d'Artagnan," continued Louis, with feverish agita-
tion, " ought you not to be as patient as I am ? Ought you not to do
as I do ? Come!"
" And what do you do, sire ? " " I wait."
"Your majesty may do so, because you are young; but T, sire, have
not time to wait: old age is at my door, and death is behind it, looking
into the very depths of my house. Your majesty is beginning life, its
future is full of hope and fortune; but I, sire, I am at the other side of
the horizon, and we are so far from each other, that I should never
have time to wait till your majesty came up to me."
Louis made another turn in his apartment, still wiping the sweat
from his brow, in a manner that wchild have terrilied his physicians, if
his physicians had witnessed the state his majesty was in.
"It is very well, monsieur," said Louis XIV. in a sharp voice; "you
are desirous of having your discharge, and you shall have it. You offer
me your resignation of the rank of lieutenant of the musketeers ? "
" I deposit it humbly at your majesty's feet, sire."
" That is sufficient. I will order your pension."
" I shall have a thousand obligations to your majesty."
" Monsieur," said the king, with a violent effort, " I think you are
losing a good master."
" And I am sure of it, sire."
" Shall you ever find such another ? "
" Oh, sire ! I know that your majesty is alone in the world; there-
fore will I never again take service with any king upon earth, and will
never again have other master than myself."
" You say so ? "
" I swear so, your majesty."
" I shall remember that word, monsieur." D'Artagnau bowed.
" And you know I have a good memory? " said the king.
" Yes, sire; and yet I should desire that that memory should fail
your majesty in this instance, in order that you might forget all the
miseries I have been forced to spread before your eyes. Your majesty
is so much above the poor and the mean, that I hope "
"My majesty, monsieur, will act like the sun, which looks upon all,
great and smail, rich and poor, giving lustre to some, warmth to others,
life to all. Adieu, Monsieur d'Artagnan—adieu ; you are free." And
the king, with a hoarse sob, which was lost in his throat, passed quickly
into the next chamber. D'Artagnan took up his hat from the table
upon which he had thrown it, and went out.
CHAPTER XV.
The Proscribed.
D'Artagnan had not reached the bottom of the staircase, when the
king called his gentleman. "I have a commission to give you, mon-
sieur," said he.
" I am at your majesty's commands."
"Wait, then." And the young king began to write the following
letter, which cost him more than one sigh, although, at the same time,
something like a feeling of triumph glittered in his eyes:—
"Monsieur le Cardinal,—Thanks to your good counsels, and,
above all, thanks to your firmness, I have succeeded in overcoming a
E 2
(53 THE VICOllTE BE BRAGELONNE.
weakness unworthy of a king. You have too ably arranged my destiny
to allow gratitude not to stop me at the moment I was about to destroy
your work. I felt I was wrong to wish to make my life deviate from
the course you had marked out for it. Certes, it would have been a
misfortune to France and my family if a misunderstanding had taken
place between me and my minister. This, however, would certainly
have happened if I had made your niece my wife. I am perfectly
aware of this, and will henceforth oppose nothing to the accomplish-
merit of my destiny. I am prepared, then, to marry the infanta, Maria
Theresa. You may at once open the conference.—Your affectionate
" Louis."
The king, after reperusing the letter, sealed it himself. " This letter
for monsieur le cardinal," said he.
The gentleman took it. At Mazarin's door he found Bernouin
waiting with anxiety.
" Well P " asked the minister's valet-de-chambre.
" Monsieur," said the gentleman, " here is a letter for his eminence."
" A letter! Ah! we expected one, after the little journey of the
morning."
"Oh! you know then that his majesty "
" In quality of first minister, it belongs to the duties of our charge to
know everything. And his majesty prays and implores, I presume."
" I don't know, but he sighed frequently whilst he was writing."
" Yes, yes, yes; we understand all that: people sigh sometimes from
happiness as well as from grief, monsieur."
"And yet the king did not look very happy when he returned,
monsieur."
" You did not see clearly. Besides, you only saw his majesty on his
return, for he was only accompanied by the lieutenant of the guards.
But L had his eminence's telescope; I looked through it when he was
tired, and I am sure they both wept."
" Well! was it for happiness they wept ?"
"No, but for love, and they vowed to each other a thousand tender-
nesses, which the king asks no better than to keep. Now this letter is a
commencement of the execution."
" And what does his eminence think of this love, which is, by the bye,
no secret to anybody ?"
Bernouin took the gentleman by the arm, and whilst ascending the
staircase,—" In confidence," said he, in a low voice, " his eminence looks
for success in the affair. I know very well we shall have war with
Spain; but, bah! war will please the nobles. Monsieur le cardinal,
besides, can endow his niece royally, nay, more than royally. There will
be money, festivities, and fireworks—everybody will be delighted."
"Well, for my part," replied the gentleman, shaking his head, "it
appears to me that this letter is very light to contain all that."
My friend," replied Bernouin, " I am certain of what I tell you.
M. d'Artagnan related all that passed to me."
" Ay^ ay ! and what did he tell you ? Let us hear."
" I accosted him by asking him, on the part of the cardinal, if there
were any news, without discovering my designs, observe, for M. d'Ar-
tagnan is a cunning hand. ' My dear Monsieur Bernouin,' he replied,
' the king is madly in love with Mademoiselle de Mancini, that is all
I have to tell you.' And then I asked him: 'Do you think, to such a
degree that it will urge him to act contrary to the designs of his
eminence?' 'Ah! don't interrogate me,' said he; 'Ithink the king
THE PKOSCEIBED. 69
capable of anything: he has a head of iron, and what he wills he wills
in earnest. If he takes it into his head to marry Mademoiselle de
Mancini, he will marry her, depend upon it.' And thereunon he left
me and went straight to the stables, took a horse, saddled'it himself,
jumped upon its back, and set off as if the devil were at his heels,"
" So that you believe, then "
" I believe that monsieur the lieutenant of the guards knew more
than he was willing to say."
In your opinion, then, M. d'Artagnan "
"Is gone, according to all probability, after the exiles, to carry out all
that can facilitate the success of the king's love."
Chatting thus, the two confidants arrived at the door of his eminence's
apartment. His eminence's gout had left him, he was walking about
his chamber in a state of great anxiety, listening to doors and looking
out of windows. Bernouin entered, followed by the gentleman, who had
orders from the king to place the letter in the hands of the cardinal
himself. _ Mazarin took the letter, but before opening it, he got up a
ready smile, a smile of circumstance, able to throw a veil over emotions
of whatever sort they might be. So prepared, whatever was the im-
pression received from the letter, no reflection of that impression was
allowed to transpire upon his countenance.
"Well!" said he, when he had read and re-read the letter, "exceed-
ingly well, monsieur. Inform the king that I thank him for his
obedience t.o the wishes of the queen-mother, and that I will set about
doing everything for the accomplishment of his will."*
The gentleman left the room. The door had scarcely closed before
the cardinal, who had no mask for Bernouin, took off that with which
he had so recently covered his face, and with a most dismal expression,
—" Call M. de Brienne," said he. Five minutes afterwards, the secretary
entered.
"Monsieur," said Mazarin, "I have just rendered a great service to
the monarchy, the greatest I have ever rendered it. You will carry
this letter, which proves it, to her majesty the queen-mother, and
when she shall have returned it to you, you will lodge it in port-
folio B, which is filled with documents and papers relative to my
ministry."
Brienne went as desired, and, as the letter was unsealed, did not fail
to read it on his way. There is likewise no doubt that Bernouin, who
was on good terms with everybody, approached so near to the secretary
as to be able to read the letter over his shoulder; so that the news
spread with such activity through the castle, that Mazarin might have
feared it would reach thenars of the queen-mother before M. de Brienne
could convey Louis XIV.'s letter to her. A moment after, orders
were given for departure, and M. de Conde having been to pay his
respects to the king, at his pretended rising, inscribed the city of
Poitiers upon his tablets, as the place of sojourn and repose for their
majesties. Thus in a few instants was unravelled an intrigue which
had covertly occupied all the diplomacies of Europe. It had nothing,
however, very clear as a result, but to make a poor lieutenant of mus-
keteers lose his commission and his fortune. It is true that in exchange
he gained his liberty. We shall soon know how M. d'Artagnan profited
by this. For the moment, if the reader will permit us, we will return
to the hostelry of les Medici, of which one of the windows opened
at the very moment the orders were given for the departure of the
The window that opened was that of one of the chambers of Charles II.
70 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
The unfortunate prince had passed the night in bitter reflections, his
head supported by his hands, and his elbows on the table, whilst Parry,
infirm and old, fatigued in body and in mind, had fallen asleep in a
corner. A singular fortune was that of this faithful servant, who saw
recommencing for the second generation, the fearful series of misfor-
tunes which had weighed so heavily on the first. When Charles II.
had well thought over the fresh defeat he had experienced, when he
perfectly comprehended the complete isolation into which he had just
fallen, on seeing his fresh hope left behind him, he was seized as with a
vertigo, and sank back in the large fauteuil in which he was seated.
Then God took pity on the unhappy prince, and sent to console him
sleep, the innocent brother of death. He did not wake till half-past
six, that is to say, till the sun shone brightly into his chamber, and
Parry, motionless with the fear of waking him, was observing with
profound grief the eyes of the young man already red with wakeful-
ness, and his cheeks pale with suffering and privations.
At length the noise of some heavy carts descending towards the
Loire awakened Charles. He arose, looked around him like a man
who has forgotten everything, perceived Parry, shook him by the hand,
and commanded him to settle the reckoning with Master Cropole.
Master Cropole, being called upon to settle his account with Parry,
acquitted himself, it must be allowed, like an honest man; he only made
his customary remark, that the two travellers had eaten nothing, which
had the double disadvantage of being humiliating for his kitchen, and
of forcing him to ask payment for a repast not consumed, but not the
less lost. Parry had nothing to say to the contrary, and paid.
" I hope," said the king, "it has not been the same with the horses.
I don't see that they have eaten at your expense, and it would be a
misfortune for travellers like us, who have a long journey to make, to
have our horses fail us."
But Cropole, at this doubt, assumed his majestic air, and replied that
the manger of les Medici was not less hospitable than its refectory.
The king mounted his horse; his old servant did the same, and both
set out towards Paris, without meeting a single person on their road, in
the streets or the faubourgs of the city. Por the prince the blow was
more severe, from being a fresh exile. The unfortunate cling to the
smallest hopes, as the happy do to the greatest good; and when they
are obliged to quit the place where that hope has soothed their hearts,
they experience the mortal regret which the banished man feels when
he places his foot upon the vessel which is to bear him into exile. It
appears that the heart already wounded so many times suffers from the -
least scratch; it appears that it considers as a good the momentary
absence of evil, which is nothing but the absence of pain; and that God,
into the most terrible misfortunes, has thrown hope as the drop of
water which the rich bad man in hell entreated of Lazarus.
Por one instant even the hope of Charles II. had been more than a
fugitive joy;—that was when he found himself so kindly welcomed by
Ills brother king; then it had taken a "form and had become a reality;
then, all at once, the refusal of Mazarin had reduced the factitious
reality to the state of a dream. This promise of Louis XIV. so soon
resumed had been nothing but a mockery; a mockery like his crown
—like his sceptre—like his friends—like all that had surrounded his
royal childhood, and which had abandoned his proscribed youth.
Mockery! everything was a mockery for Charles II. except the cold,
black repose promised by death.
Such were the ideas of the unfortunate prince while sitting listlessly
"remember !" 71
upon his horse, to which he abandoned the reins: he rode slowly along
beneath the warm sun of May, in which the sombre misanthropy of the
exile perceived a last insult to his grief.
CHAPTER XYI.
" Remember!"
A horseman who passed rapidly along the road leading towards Blois,
which he had left nearly half an hour before, crossed the two travel-
lers, and, though apparently in haste, raised his hat as he passed them.
The king scarcely observed this young man, who was about twenty-five
years of age. Turning round several times, he made signals of kindness
to a man standing before the gate of a handsome white-and-red house;
that is to say, built of brick and stone, with a slated roof, situated on the
left hand of the road the prince was travelling.
This man, old, tall, and thin, with white hair,—we speak of him
standing by the gatethis man replied to the farewell signals of the
young one by signs of parting as tender as could have been made by a
father. The young man disappeared at the first turning of the road,
bordered by fine trees, and the old man was preparing to return to the
house, when the two travellers, arriving in front of the gate, attracted
his attention.
' The king, we have said, wps riding with his head cast down, his arms
inert, leaving his horse to go what pace he liked, whilst Parry behind
him, the better to imbibe the genial influence of the sun, had taken off
his hat, and was looking about to the right and left. His eyes encoun-
tered those of the old man leaning against the gate, and who, as if
struck by some strange spectacle, uttered an exclamation, and made one
step towards the two travellers. Prom Parry his eyes immediately
turned towards the king, upon whom they stopped for an instant.
This examination, however rapid, was reflected instantly in a visible
manner upon the features of the tall old man. Por scarcely had he
recognized the younger of the travellers—and we say recognized, for
nothing but a perfect recognition could have explained such an act
—scarcely, we say, had he recognized the younger of the two travellers,
than he clapped his hands together, with respectful surprise, and, raising
his hat from his head, bowed so profoundly that it might have been said
he was kneeling. This demonstration, however absent, or rather, how-
ever absorbed was the king in his reflections, attracted his attention
instantly; and checking his horse, and turning towards Parry, he
exclaimed, " Good God, Parry, who is that man who salutes me in such
a marked manner ? can he know me, think you ?"
Parry, much agitated and very pale, had already turned his horse
towards the gate. " Ah, sire!" said he, stopping suddenly at five or six
paces' distance from the still bending old man; "sire, I am seized with
astonishment, for I think I recognize that brave man. Yes, it must
he he! Will your majesty permit me to speak to him ?"
" Certainly."
" Can it be you, Monsieur Grimaud?" asked Parry.
" Yes, it is," replied the tall old man, looking up without abating in
his respectful attitude.
" Sire," then said Parry, " I was not deceived. This good man is the
servant of the Comte de la and the Comte de la Pere, if you
72 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
remember, is the worthy gentleman of whom I have so often spoken to
your majesty that the remembrance of him must remain, not only in
your mind, but in your heart."
" He who was present at the last moments of my father?" asked
Charles, evidently affected at the remembrance.
" The same, sire."
"Alas!" said Charles; and then addressing Grimaud, whose pene-
trating and intelligent eyes seemed to search and divine his thoughts,—
" My friend," said he, " does your master, Monsieur le Comte de la
Fere, live in this neighbourhood?"
" There," replied Grimaud, pointing with his outstretched arm to the
white-and-red house behind the gate.
" And is Monsieur le Comte de la Fere at home at present?"
" At the back, under the chestnut-trees."
" Parry," said the king, " I will not miss this opportunity, so precious
for me, to thank the gentleman to whom our house is indebted for such
a noble example of devotedness and generosity. Hold my horse, my
friend, if you please." And, throwing the bridle to Grimaud, the king
entered the abode of Athos, quite alone, as one equal enters the dwelling
of another. Charles had been informed by the concise explanation of
Grimaud,—"At the back, under the chestnut-trees;" he left, therefore,
the house on the left, and went straight down the path indicated. The
thing was easy; the tops of those noble trees, already covered with
leaves and flowers, rose above all the rest. On arriving under the
lozenges, by turns luminous and dark, which chequered the ground of
this path according as the trees were more or less in leaf, the young
prince perceived a gentleman walking with his arms behind him,
apparently plunged in a profound reverie. "Without doubt he had
often had this gentleman described to him, for, without hesitating,
Charles II. walked straight up to him. At the sound of his footsteps
the Comte de la Fbre raised his head, and seeing an unknown of a noble
and elegant carriage coming towards him, he raised his hat and waited.
At some paces from him, Charles II. likewise took off his hat. Then,
as if in reply to the comte's mute interrogation,—
" Monsieur le comte," said he, " I come to discharge a duty towards
you. I have, for a long time, had the expression of a profound gratitude
to bring you. I am Charles II., son of Charles Stuart, who reigned m
England, and died on the scaffold."
On hearing this illustrious name, Athos felt a kind of shudder creep
through his veins; but at the sight of the young prince standing un-
covered before him and stretching out his hand towards him, two tears,
for an instant, dimmed his brilliant eyes. He bent respectfully, but
the prince took him by the hand.
" See how unfortunate I am, monsieur le comte; it is only due to
chance that I have met with you. Alas! I ought to have people around
me whom I love and honour, whereas I am reduced to preserve their
services in my heart, and their names in my memory: so that if your
servant had not recognized mine, I should have passed by your door as
by that of a stranger."
" It is but too true," said Athos, replying with his voice to the first
part of the king's speech, and with a bow to the second; "it is but too
true indeed that your majesty has seen many evil days."
" And the worst, alas!" replied Charles, "are perhaps still to come."
" Sire, let us hope."
" Comte, comte," continued Charles, shaking his head, " I entertained
hope till last night, and that of a good Christian, I swear."
"EEMEMBEB!" 73
Athos looked at the king as if to interrogate him.
" Oh, the history is soon related," said Charles. " Proscribed,* de-.
spoiled, disdained, I resolved, in spite of all my repugnance, to tempt
fortune one last time. Is it not written above, that, for our family, all
good fortune and all bad fortune shall eternally come from Prance?
You know something of that, monsieur,—you, who are one of the
Frenchmen whom my unfortunate father found at the foot of his scaf-
fold, on the day of his death, after having found them at his right hand
on the day of battle."
" Sire," said Athos, modestly, " I was not alone. I and my com-
panions did, under the circumstances, our duty as gentlemen, and that
was all. Your majesty was about to do me the honour to relate "
" That is true. I had the protection,—pardon my hesitation, comte,
but, for a Stuart, you who understand everything, you will comprehend
that the word is hard to pronounce I had, I say, the protection of my
cousin the stadtholder of Holland; but without the intervention, or
at least without the authorization of France, the stadtholder would
not take the initiative. I came, then, to ask this authorization of the
king of France, who has refused me."
" The king has refused you, sire ?"
"Oh, not he; all justice must be rendered to my young brother
Louis; but Monsieur de Mazarin "
Athos bit his lips.
" You, perhaps, think I had a right to expect this refusal ? " said the
king, who had remarked the movement.
" That was, in truth, my thought, sire," replied Athos, respectfully;
" I know that Italian of old."
" Then I determined to come to the test, and know at once the
last word of my destiny. I told my brother Louis, that, not to com-
promise either France or Holland, I would tempt fortune myself
in person, as I had already done, with two hundred gentlemen, if
he would give them to me; and a million, if he would lend it me."
" Well, sire ? "
"Well, monsieur, I am suffering at this moment something strange,
and that is, the satisfaction of despair. There is in certain souls—
and I have just discovered that mine is of the number,—a real satis-
faction in that assurance: that all is lost, and the time is come to
yield."
"Oh, I hope," said Athos, "that your majesty is not come to that
extremity."
"To say so, monsieur le comte, to endeavour to revive hope in
my heart, you must have ill understood what I have just told you. I
came to Blois to ask of my brother Louis the alms of a million, with
which I had the hopes of re-establishing my affairs ; and my brother
Louis has refused me. You see, then, plainly that all is lost."
" Will your majesty permit me to express a contrary opinion ? "
" How is that, comte ? Do you take me for a mind vulgar to such a
degree as not to know how to confront my position ? "
"Sire, I have always seen that it was in desperate positions that
suddenly the great turns of fortune have taken place."
" Thank you, comte; it is some comfort to meet with a heart like
yours; that is to say, sufficiently trustful in God and in monarchy,
never to despair of a royal fortune, however low it may be fallen. Un-
fortunately, my dear comte, your words are like those remedies they
call' sovereign' and which, notwithstanding being only able to cure
curable wounds or diseases, fail against death. Thank you for your
74 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
erseverance in consoling me, comte, thanks for your devoted remem-
ranee, but I know what I have to trust to,—nothing will save me now.
And see, my friend, I was so convinced, that I was taking the route of
exile, with my old Parry; I was returning to devour my poignant griefs
in the little hermitage offered me by Holland. There, believe me,
comte, all will soon be over, and death will come quickly; it is called
for so often by this body, which the soul gnaws, and by this soul which
aspires to heaven."
' Your majesty has a mother, a sister, and brothers; your majesty is
the head of the family ; you ought therefore to ask a long life of God,
instead of imploring him for a prompt death. Your majesty is pro-
scribed, a fugitive, but you have right on your side; you ought to
aspire to combats, dangers, business, and not to the repose of the
heavens."
"Comte," said Charles II., with a smile of indescribable sadness,
"have you ever heard of a king who reconquered his kingdom with one
servant of the age of Parry, and with three hundred crowns which
that servant carries in his purse ? "
"No, sire; but I have heard—and that more than once—that a
dethroned king has recovered his kingdom with a firm will, persever-
ance, some friends, and a million skilfully employed."
"But you cannot have understood me. The million I asked of my
brother Louis, he has refused me."
" Sire," said Athos, "will your majesty grant me a few minutes, and
listen attentively to what remains for me to say to you ? "
Charles II. looked earnestly at Athos. "Willingly, monsieur,"
said he.
" Then I will show your majesty the way," resumed the comte,
directing his steps towards the house. He then conducted the king to
his closet, and begged him to be seated. " Sire," said he, " your majesty
just now told me that, in the present state of England, a million would
suffice for the recovery of your kingdom."
" To attempt it at least, monsieur; and to die as a king if I should
not succeed."
"Well, then, sire, let your majesty, according to the promise you
have made me, have the goodness to listen to what 1 have to say."
Charles made an affirmative sign with his head. Athos walked straight
up to the door, the bolts of which he drew, after having looked if any-
body was near, and then returned. " Sire," said he, " your majesty has
kindly remembered that I lent assistance to the very noble and very
unfortunate Charles I. when his executioners conducted him from St.
James's to Whitehall."
" Yes, certainly I do remember it, and always shall remember it."
" Sire, it is a dismal history for a son to listen to, and who no doubt
has had it related to him many times; and yet I ought to repeat it to
your majesty without omitting one detail."
" Speak on, monsieur."
"When the king your father ascended the scaffold, or rather wheu
he passed from his chamber to the scaffold, even with his window
everything was prepared for his escape. The executioner was got out
of the way; a hole contrived under the floor of his apartment; I my-
self was beneath the funeral vault, which I heard all at once creak
beneath his feet."
• " Parry has related to me all these terrible details, monsieur."
Athos bowed, and resumed. " But here is something he has not
related to you, sire, for what follows passed between God, your father
"eemembee !" 75
and myself; and never has the revelation of it been made even to my
dearest friends. ' Go a little further off,' said the august patient to the
executioner; 'it is but for an instant, and I know that I belong to you;
but remember not to strike till I give the signal. I wish to offer up
my prayers in freedom.'"
"Pardon me," said Charles II., turning very pale, "but you, comite,
who know so many details of this melancholy event,—details which, as
you said just now, have never been revealed to any one,—do you
know the name of that infernal executioner, of that base wretch who
concealed his face that he might assassinate a king with impunity ? "
Athos became slightly pale. " His name ?" said, he; "yes, I know it,
hut cannot tell it."
"And what is become of him, for nobody in England knows his
destiny ? "
" He is dead."
" But he did not die in his bed; he did not die a calm and peaceful
death; he did not die the death of the good ?"
" He died a violent death, in a terrible night, rendered so by the
passions of man and a tempest from God. His body, pierced by a
poniard, sank to the depths of the ocean. God pardon his mur-
derer!"
"Proceed, then," said Charles II., seeing that the comte was un-
willing to say more.
" The king of England, after having, as I have said, spoken thus to
the masked executioner, added' Observe, you will not strike till I
shall stretch out my arms, saying—Pemember !'"
" I was aware," said Charles in an agitated voice, " that that was the
last word pronounced by my unfortunate father. But with what aim ?
for whom?"
" For the French gentleman placed beneath his scaffold."
" For you, then, monsieur ?"
" Yes, sire; and every one of the words which he spoke to me, through
the planks of the scaffold covered with a black cloth, still sounds in my
ears. The king knelt down on one knee: ' Comte de la Fere,' said he,
'are you there ?' ' Yes, sire,' replied I. Then the king stooped towards
the boards."
Charles II., also, palpitating with interest, burning with grief, stooped
towards Athos, to catch, one by one, every word that escaped from him.
His head touched that of the comte.
"Then," continued Athos, "the king stooped. 'Comte de la Fere,'
said he,' it was not possible for me to be saved by you: it was not to be.
How, even though I commit a sacrilege, I must speak to you. Yes, I
have spoken to men—yes, I have spoken to God, and I speak to you the
last. By supporting a cause which I thought sacred, I have lost the
throne of my fathers, and diverted the heritage of my children.'"
Charles II. concealed his face in his hands, and a bitter tear glided
between his white and slender fingers.
"' I have still a million left,' continued the king. ' I buried it in
the vaults of the castle of Newcastle, a moment before I quitted that
city.'" Charles raised his head with an expression of such painful joy as
would have drawn tears from any one acquainted with his misfortunes.
"A milliou !" murmured he. "Oh, comte!"
'"You alone know that this money exists; employ it when you think
it can be of the greatest service to my eldest son. And now, Comte de
la Fere, bid me adieu !'"
" 'Adieu, adieu, sire!' cried I."
76 THE VICOHTE HE BBAGELOKNE.
Charles arose, and went and leant his burning brow against the
window.
" It was then," continued Athos, " the king pronounced the word
' Remembeb !5 addressed to me. You see, sire, that I have remem-
bered."
The king could not resist or conceal his emotion. Athos beheld the
movement of his shoulders, which undulated convulsively; he heard
the sobs which burst from his overcharged breast. He was silent him-
self, suffocated by the flood of bitter remembrances which he had just
poured upon that royal head. Charles II., with a violent effort, left the
window, devoured his tears, and came and reseated himself by Athos.
"Sire," said the latter, "I thought, till to-day, that the time was not
yet arrived for the employment of that last resource; but, with my eyes
fixed upon England, I thought it was approaching. To-moi'row I meant
to go and inquire in what part of the world your majesty was, and then
I purposed going to you. You come to me, sire; that is an indication
that God is with us."
"Monsieur," said Charles, in a voice choked by emotion, "you are,
for me, what an angel sent from heaven would be,—you are a preserver,
sent to me from the tomb of my father by himself; but, believe me, since
ten years of civil war have passed over my country, striking down men,
tearing up the soil, it is no more probable that gold should remain in
the entrails of the earth, than love in the hearts of my subjects."
" Sire, the spot in which his majesty buried the million is well known
to me, and no one, I am sure, has been able to discover it. Besides, is
the castle of Newcastle quite destroyed? Have they demolished it
stone by stone, and uprooted the soil to the last tree ?"
" No, it is still standing: but at this moment General Monk occupies
it, and is encamped there. The only spot from which I could look for
succour, where I possess a single resource, you see, is invaded by my
enemies."
" General Monk, sire, cannot have discovered the treasure I speak of."
" Y es, but can I go and deliver myself up to Monk in order to
recover this treasure? Ah! comte, you see plainly I must yield to
destiny, since it strikes me to the earth every time I rise. Y^hat can I
do -with Parry as my only servant, with Parry whom Monk has already
driven from his presence? No, no, no, comte, we must yield to this
last blow."
" But what your majesty cannot do, ana what Parry can no more
attempt, do you not believe that I could succeed in ? "
" You—you, comte—you would go ? "
"If it pleases your majesty," said Athos, bowing to the king, "yes,
I will go, sire."
" What! you, who are so happy here, comte ? "
" I am never happy when I have a duty left to accomplish, and it is
an imperative duty which the king your father left me to watch over
your fortunes, and make a royal use of his money. So, if your majesty
honours me with a sign, I will go with you."
" Ah, monsieur!" said the king, forgetting all royal etiquette, and
throwing his arms round the neck of Athos, " you prove to me that
there is a God in heaven, and that this God sometimes sends messengers
to the unfortunate who groan upon the earth."
Athos, exceedingly moved by this burst of feeling of the young man,
thanked him with profound respect, and approached the window,
" Grimaud!" cried he, " bring out my horses."
AEAMIS IS SOUGHT FOB, 77
"What, now—immediately!" said the king. "Ah, monsieur, you
are indeed a wonderful man !"
" Sire," said Athos, " I know of nothing more pressing than your
majesty's service. Besides," added he, smiling, " it is a habit contracted
long since, in the service of the queen your aunt, and of the king your
father. How is it possible for me to lose it at the moment your majesty's
service calls for it ? "
" What a man!" murmured the king.
Then, after a moment's reflection,—" But no, comte, I cannot expose
you to such privations. I have no means of rewarding such services."
"Bah!" said Athos, laughing. "Your majesty is joking; have you
not a million ? Ah! why am I not possessed of the half of such a
sum ? I would already have raised a regiment. But, thank God! I
have still a few rouleaux of gold and some family diamonds left. Your
majesty will, I hope, deign to share with a devoted servant."
" With a friend—yes, comte, but on condition that, in his turn, that
friend will share with me hereafter."
" Sire," said Athos, opening a casket, from which he drew both gold
and jewels; " you see, sire, we are too rich. Fortunately, there are four
of us, in the event of meeting with thieves."
Joy made the blood rush to the pale cheeks of Charles II., as he
saw Athos's two horses, led by Grimaud, already booted for the journey,
advance towards the peristyle.
" Blaisois, this letter for the Vicomte de Bragelonne. For everybody
else, I am gone to Paris. I confide the house to you, Blaisois." Blaisois
bowed, shook hands with Grimaud, and shut the gate.
CHAPTER XVII.
In which Aramis is sought for, and only Eazin found.
Two hours had scarcely passed away after the departure of the master
of the house, who, in Blaisois' sight, had taken the road to Paris, when
a cavalier, mounted on a good pied-horse, stopped before the gate, and
with a sonorous hola! called the horse-boys, who with the gardeners
had formed a circle round Blaisois, the historian-in-ordinary to the
household of the chateau. This hola ! doubtless well known to Master
Blaisois, made him turn his head and exclaim—" Monsieur d'Artagnan!
run quickly, you chaps, and open the gate."
A swarm of eight brisk lads flew to the gate, which was opened as if
it had been made of feathers; and every one loaded him with atten-
tions, for they knew the welcome this friend was accustomed to receive
from their master; and for such remarks the eye of the valet may
always be depended upon.
" Ah!" said M. d'Artagnan, with an agreeable smile, balancing
himself upon his stirrup to jump to the ground, " where is my dear
comte ? "
" Ah ! how unfortunate you are, monsieur!" said Blaisois; " and
how unfortunate will monsieur le comte, our master, think himself
when he hears of your coming ! By bad luck monsieur le comte left
home two hours ago." .
D'Artagnan did not trouble hims'elf about such trifles. "Very good!"
said he. " You always speak the best French in the world; you shall
7g THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
give me a lesson in grammar and correct language, whilst I await the
return of your master."
" That is impossible, monsieur," said Blaisois; " you would have to
wait too long."
" Will he not come back to-day, then ? "
"No, nor to-morrow, nor the day after to-morrow. Monsieur le
comte is gone a journey."
" A journey!" said d'Artagnan, surprised; " that's a fable, Master
Blaisois."^
" Monsieur, it is no more than the truth. Monsieur has done me
the honour to commit the house to my charge; and he added, with his
voice so full of authority and kindness—that is all one tome: 'You
will say I am gone to Paris.'"
"-Well!" cried d'Artagnan, "since he is gone towards Paris, that is
all I wanted to know ; you should have told me so at first, booby ! He
is then two hours in advance ? "
"Yes, monsieur."
" I shall soon overtake him. Is he alone ? "
"No, monsieur."
" Who is with him, then ? "
"A gentleman whom I don't know, an old man, and M. Grimaud."
" Such a party cannot travel as fast as I can—I will start."
"Will monsieur listen to mean instant ?" said Blaisois, laying his
hand gently on the reins of the horse.
" Yes, if you don't favour me with fine speeches, and make haste."
" Well, then, monsieur, that word Paris appears to me to be only a
lure."
" Oh, oh!" said d'Artagnan, seriously, " a lure, eh ? "
"Yes, monsieur: and monsieur le comte is not going to Paris, I will
swear."
" What makes you think so ? "
" This :—M. Grimaud always knows where our master is going; and
he had promised me that the first time he went to Paris, he would take
a little money for me to my wife."
" What, have you a wife, then ? "
" I had one—she was of this country; but monsieur thought her a
noisy scold, and I sent her to Paris: it is sometimes inconvenient, but
very agreeable at others."
" I understand; but go on. You do not believe the comte is gone to
Paris ? "
"No, monsieur; for then M. Grimaud would have broken his word,
he would have been perjured—and that is impossible."
" That is impossible," repeated d'Artagnan, quite in a study, because
he was quite convinced. "Well, my brave Blaiosis, many thanks to
you." Blaisois bowed.
" Come, you know I am not curious—I have serious business with
your master. Could you not, by a little end of a word—you, who
speak so well—give me to understand—one syllable only—I will guess
the rest."
" Upon my word, monsieur, I cannot. I am quite ignorant where
monsieur le comte is gone to. As to listening at doors, that is contrary
to my nature; and, besides, it is forbidden here."
" My dear lad," said d'Artagnan, " this is a very bad beginning for me.
Never mind; you know when monsieur le comte will return, at least ?"
" As little, monsieur, as the place of his destination,"
"Come, Blaisois, come, search."
ARAMIS IS SOUGHT FOR. 79
"Monsieur doubts my sincerity? Ah, monsieur, that grieves me
sensibly."
"The devil take his gilded tongue!" grumbled d'Artagnan. "A
clown with a word would be worth a dozen of him. Adieu !"
"Monsieur, I have the honour to present you my respects."
" Cuistre!" said d'Artagnan to himself, "the fellow is insupport-
able." He gave another look up to the house, turned his horse's head,
and set off like a man who has nothing either annoying or embarrass-
ing in his mind. When he was at the end of the wall, and out of
sight,—"Well, now, I wonder," said he, breathing quickly, " whether
Athos was at home. No; all those idlers, standing with their arms
crossed, would have been at work if the eye of the master was near.
Athos gone a journey ?—that is incomprehensible. Bah ! it is all devilish
mysterious ! And then—no—he is not the man I want. I want one
of a cunning, patient mind. My business is at Melun, in a certain
presbytery I am acquainted with. Forty-five leagues—four days and
a half! Well, it is fine weather, and I am free. Never mind dis-
tance!"
And he put his horse into a trot, directing his course towards Paris.
On the fourth day he alighted at Melun, as he had intended.
D'Artagnan was never accustomed to ask anybody the road, or for
any common information. For these sorts of details, unless in very
serious circumstances, he confided in his perspicacity, which was so
seldom at fault, in his experience of thirty years, and in a great habit
of reading the physiognomies of houses as well as those of men. At
Melun, d'Artagnan directly found the presbytery,—a charming house,
plastered over red brick, with vines climbing along the gutters, and a
cross, in sculptured stone, surmounting the ridge of the roof. From the
ground-floor of this house, escaped a noise, or rather a confusion of
voices, like the chirping of young birds when the brood is just hatched
under the down. One of these voices was spelling the alphabet distinctly.
A voice, thick, but yet pleasant, at the same time scolded the talkers and
corrected the faults of the reader. D'Artagnan recognized that voice,
and as the window of the ground-floor was open, he leant down from his
horse under the branches and red fibres of the vine, and cried, " Bazin,
my dear Bazin ! good day to you."
A short fat man, with a flat face, a cranium ornamented with a
crown of grey hairs, cut short, in imitation of a tonsure, and covered
with an old black velvet cap, arose as soon as he heard d'Artagnan
—we ought not to say arose, but bounded up. In fact, Bazin bounded
up, drawing with him his little low chair, which the children tried to
take away, with battles more fierce than those of the Greeks endea-
vouring to recover the body of Patroclus from the hands of the
Trojans. Bazin did more than bound; he let fall both his alphabet
and his ferule. " You ! " said he; " you, Monsieur d'Artagnan ? "
"Yes, myself! Where is Aramis—no, M. le chevalier d'Herblay—
no, I am still mistaken—monsieur le vicaire-general ? "
" Ah ! monsieur," said Bazin, with dignity, " monseigneur is at his
diocese."
" What did you say ? " said d'Artagnan.
Bazin repeated the sentence.
" Ah, ah! but has Aramis a diocese ? "
" Yes, monsieur. Why not ? "
" Is he a bishop, then ? "
"Why, where can you come from," said Bazin, rather irreverently,
K that you don't know that ? "
80 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" My dear Bazin, we pagans, we men of the sword, know very well
when a man is made a colonel, or mestre-de-camp, or marechal of
France; but if he be made bishop, archbishop, or pope—devil take me,
if the news reaches us before the three quarters of the earth have had
the advantage of it!"
"Hush! hush! "said Baziu, opening his eyes; "do not spoil these
poor children, in whom I am endeavouring to inculcate such good
principles." In fact, the children had surrounded d'Artagnan, whose
horse, long sword, spurs, and martial air, they very much admired.
But, above all, they admired his strong voice; so that when he uttered
his oath, the whole school cried out, " The devil take me!" with a fear-
ful burst of laughter, shouts, and stamping, as delighted the mus-
keteer, and bewildered the old pedagogue.
"There!" said he, "hold your tongues, you brats! You. are come,
M. d'Artagnan, and all my good principles fly away. With you, as
usual, comes disorder. Babel is revived. Ah! good Lord ! Ah! the
wild little wretches!" And the worthy Bazin distributed right and
left blows which redoubled the cries of his scholars by making them
change the nature of them.
" At least," said he, " you can no more debauch any one here."
"l)o you think so ?" said d'Artagnan, with a smile which made a
shudder creep over the shoulders of Bazin.
" He is capable of it," murmured he.
"Where is your master's diocese?"
" Mouseigneur Bene is bishop of Vannes."
" Who caused him to be nominated ?"
" Why, monsieur le surintendant, our neighbour."
" What! Monsieur Fouquet ?"
" To be sure he did."
" Is Aramis on good terms with him, then ?"
" Monseigneur preached every Sunday at the house of monsieur le
surintendant at Yaux; then they hunted together."
"Ah!"
" And monseigneur composed his homilies—no, I mean his sermons
—with monsieur le surintendant."
" Bah! he preached in verse, then, this worthy bishop ?
" Monsieur, for the love of heaven, do not jest with sacred things."
" There, Bazin, there ! So then Aramis is at Yannes ?"
"At Vannes, in Bretagne."
" You are a deceitful old hunks, Bazin; that is not true."
" See, monsieur, if you please; the apartments of the presbytery are
empty."
" He is right there," said d'Artagnan, looking attentively at the
house, the aspect of which announced solitude.
"But monseigneur must have written you an account of his pro-
motion."
" Prom when does it date ?"
" A month back."
" Oh ! then there is no time lost. Aramis cannot yet have wanted
me. But how is it, Bazin, you do not follow your master ?"
" Monsieur, I cannot; I have occupations."
"Your alphabet ? "
" And my penitents."
" What, do you confess, then ? Are you a priest ? "
" The same as one. I have such a call' »
" But the orders ? "
AEAMIS IS SOUGHT FOE. 81
" Oh," said Bazin, without hesitation, " now that monseigneur is a
bishop, I shall soon have my orders, or at least my dispensations." And
he rubbed his hands.
"Decidedly," said d'Artagnan to himself, "there will be no means of
unrooting these people. Get me some supper, Bazin."
" With pleasure, monsieur."
"A fowl, a bouillon, and a bottle of wine."
" This is Saturday, monsieur—it is a jour maigre."
" I have a dispensation," said d'Artagnan.
Bazin looked at him suspiciously.
" Ah, ah, master hypocrite !" said the musketeer, " for whom do you
take me ? If you, who are the valet, hope for dispensation for com-
mitfcing a crime, shall not I, the friend of your bishop, have dispensa-
tion for eating meat at the call of my stomach ? Make yourself agree-
able with me, Bazin, or, by heavens ! I will complain to the king, and
you shall never confess. Now, you know that the nomination of
bishops rests with the king,—I have the king, I am the stronger."
Bazin smiled hypocritically. "Ah, but we, we have monsieur le
surintendant," said he.
" And you laugh at the king, then ? "
Bazin made no reply; his smile was sufficiently eloquent.
" My supper," said d'Artagnan; "it is getting towards seven o'clock."
Bazin turned round and ordered the eldest of the pupils to inform
the cook. In the mean time, d'Artagnan surveyed the presbytery.
" Pugh i" said he, disdainfully, " monseigneur lodged his Grandeur
but very meanly here."
" We have the Chateau de Vaux," said Bazin.
"Which is, perhaps, equal to the Louvre?" said d'Artagnan, jeer-
ingly.
" Which is better! " replied Bazin, with the greatest coolness ima-
ginable.
" Ah, ah!" said d'Artagnan.
He would perhaps have prolonged the discussion, and maintained the
superiority of the Louvre, but the lieutenant perceived that his horse
remained fastened to the bars of a gate.
_" The devil!" said he. " Get my horse looked after; your master the
bishop has none like him in his stables."
Bazin cast a sidelong glance at the horse, and replied, " Monsieur le
surintendant gave him four from his own stables; and each of the four
is worth four of yours."
The blood mounted to the face of d'Artagnan. His hand itched,
and his eye glanced over the head of Bazin, to select the place upon
which he should discharge his anger. But it passed away; reflection
came, and d'Artagnan contented himself with saying,—
" The devil! the devil! I have done well to quit the service of the
king. Tell me, worthy Master Bazin," added he, " how many musketeer/
does monsieur le surintendant retain in his service?"
" He could have all there are in the kingdom with his money," replied
Bazin, closing his book, and dismissing the boys with some kinaly
stripes of his cane.
" The devil! the devil!" repeated d'Artagnan, once more, as if to
annoy the pedagogue. But as supper was now announced, he followed
the cook, who introduced him into the refectory, where it awaited
him. D'Artagnan placed himself at table, and commenced a hearty
attack upon his fowl.
"It appears to mo," said d'Artagnan, biting with all his might at
82 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELOKNE.
the tough fowl they had served up to him, and which they had evi-
dently forgotten to fatten,—" it appears to me that I have done wrong
in not going to take service in the suite of that master yonder. A
sowerful noble this intendant seemingly ! In good truth, we poor
fellows know nothing at the court, and the rays of the sun prevent our
seeing the large stars, which are suns also, at a little greater distance
from our earth,—that is all."
As d'Artagnan delighted, both from pleasure and system, in making
People talk about things which interested him, he fenced in his best
Style with Master Bazin, but it was pure loss of time; beyond the
fatiguing and hyperbolical praises of monsieur le surintendant of the
finances, Bazin, who, on his side, was on his guard, afforded nothing but
platitudes to the curiosity of d'Artagnan, so that our musketeer, in a
tolerably bad humour, desired to go to bed as soon as he had supped.
D'Artagnan was introduced by Bazin into a mean chamber, in which
there was as poor a bed; but d'Artagnan was not fastidious in that
respect. He had been told that Aramis had taken away the key of his
own private apartment, and as he knew Aramis was a very particular
man, and had generally many things to conceal in his apartment, that
had not at all astonished him. He had, therefore, although it appeared
comparatively even harder, attacked the bed as bravely as he had done
the fowl; and as he had as good an inclination to sleep as he had had
to eat, he took scarcely longer time to be snoring harmoniously than
he had employed in picking the last bones of the bird.
Since he was no longer in the service of any one, d'Artagnan had
promised himself to indulge in sleeping as soundly as he had formerly
slept lightly; but with whatever good faith d'Artagnan had made
himself this promise, and whatever desire he might have to keep it
religiously, he was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud noise
of carriages and servants on horseback. A sudden illumination flashed
oyer the walls of his chamber; he jumped out of bed and ran to the
window in his shirt.
" Can the king be coming this way ? " thought he, rubbing his eyes;
" in truth, such a suite can only be attached to royalty."
" Vive monsieur le surintendant /" cried, or rather vociferated, from a
window on the ground-floor, a voice which he recognized as Bazin's,
who, whilst so crying, waved a handkerchief with one hand, and held
a large candle in the other. D'Artagnan then saw something like a
brilliant human form leaning out at the window of the principal car-
riage; at the same time loud bursts of laughter, provoked no doubt
by the strange figure of Bazin, and which issued from the same carriage,
left, as it were, a train of joy upon the passage of the rapid cortege.
" I might easily see it was not the king," said d'Artagnan ; " people
don't laugh so heartily when the king passes. Sold, Bazin!" cried he
to his neighbour, who was still leaning three parts out of the window,
to follow the carriage with his eyes as long as he could. " What is all
that about ? "
" It is M. Fouquet," replied Bazin, in a patronizing tone.
" And all his people ? "
" That is the court of M. Fouquet."
" Oh, oh 1" said d'Artagnan; " what would M. de Mazarin say to
that if he heard it P " And he returned to his truckle-bed, asking
himself how Aramis always contrived to be protected by the most
powerful persons in the kingdom. " Is it that he has more luck than
I, or that I am a greater fool than he ? Bah !" That was the con-
eluding word by the aid of which d'Artagnan, become wise, now termi-
D'ARTAGNAN SEEKS FOR PORTHOS. 83
nated every thought and every period of his style. Formerly he said,
"Mordioux /" which was a prick of the spur; but now he had become
older, and he murmured that philosophical " Bah!" which served as a
bridle to all the passions.
CHAPTER XVIII.
In which d'Artagnan seeks for Porthos, and only finds Mousqueton.
"WT N d'Artagnan had perfectly convinced himself that the absence
of the Vicaire-General d'Rerblay was real, and that his friend was not to
be found at Melun or in its environs, he left Bazin without regret, gave
an ill-natured glance at the magnificent Chateau de Vaux, which was
beginning to shine with that splendour which brought on its ruin, and,
compressing his lips like a man full of mistrust and suspicion, he put
spurs to his pied horse, saying, "Well, well! I have still Pierrefonds
left, and there I shall find the best man and the best-filled coffer.
And that is all I want, for I have an idea of my own."
We will spare our readers the prosaic incidents of d'Artagnan's
journey, which terminated on the morning of the third day within
sight of Pierrefonds. D'Artagnan came by the way of Nanteuil-le-
Hardouin and Crepy. At a distance he perceived the Castle d'Orleans,
which, having become part of the crown domain, was kept by an old
concierge. This was one of those marvellous manors of the middle
ages, with walls twenty feet in thickness, and a hundred in height.
D'Artagnan rode slowly past its walls, measured its towers with his
eyes, and descended into the valley. From a distance he looked down
upon the chateau of Porthos, situated on the shores of a small lake,
and contiguous to a magnificent forest. It was the same place we have
already had the honour of describing to our readers; we shall there-
fore satisfy ourselves with naming it. The first thing d'Artagnan per-
ceived after the fine trees, the sun of May gilding the sides of the
green hills, long rows of feather-topped wood which stretched out
towards Compiegne, was a large rolling box, pushed forward by two
servants and dragged by tyro others. In this box there was an enormous
green-and-gold thing, which stole along the smiling glades of the park,
thus dragged and pushed. This thing, at a distance, was not to be
made out, and signified absolutely nothing; nearer, it was a tun muffled
in gold-bound green cloth; when close, it was a man, or rather a
poussa, the inferior extremity of which, spreading over the interior of
the box, entirely filled it; when still closer, the man was Mousqueton,
—Mousqueton, with grey hair and a face as red as Punchinello's.
" Bardieu /" cried d'Artagnan; "why, that's my dear Monsieur
Mousqueton!"
"Ah!" cried the fat man, — "ah! what happiness! what joy!
There's M. d'Artagnan. Stop, you rascals!" These last words were
addressed to the lackeys who pushed and dragged him. The box
stopped, and the four lackeys, with a precision quite military, took off
their laced hats and ranged themselves behind it.
" Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan !" said Mousqueton; " why can I not
embrace your knees ? But I am become impotent, as you see."
" Dame ! my dear Mousqueton, it is age."
"No, monsieur, it is not age; it is infirmities—troubles."
" Troubles! you, Mousqueton ? " said d'Artagnan, making the tour of
G 2
84 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
the box; " are you out of your mind, my dear friend ? Thank God!
you are as hearty as a three-hundred-year-old oak."
" Ah ! but my legs, monsieur, my legs!" groaned the faithful servant.
" What's the matter wiih your legs ? "
" Oh, they will no longer bear me !"
"Ah, the ingrates! And yet you feed them well, Mousqueton,
apparently ?"
" Alas, yes! They have nothing to reproach me with in that respect,"
said Mousqueton, with a sigh; " I have always done what I could for
my poor body; I am not selfish." And Mousqueton sighed afresh-.
" I wonder whether Mousqueton wants to be a baron too, as he sighs
after that fashion P " thought d'Artagnan.
" Mon Dieu, monsieur !" said Mousqueton, as if rousing himself
from a painful reverie; "how happy monseigneur will be that you have
thought of him !"
" Kind Porthos !" cried d'Artagnan, " I am anxious to embrace him."
" Oh!" said Mousqueton, much affected, " I will certainly write to
him"
" How!" cried d'Artagnan, " you will write to him ?"
" This very day; I will not delay it an hour."
"Is he not here, then ?"
" No, monsieur."
" But is he near at hand?—is he far off?"
" Oh, can I tell, monsieur, can I tell?"
" Mordioux /" cried the musketeer, stamping with his foot, " I am
unfortunate. Porthos such a stay-at-home!"
" Monsieur, there is not a more sedentary man than monseigneur;
but "
" But what?"
" When a friend presses you "
"A friend?"
" Doubtless—the worthy M. d'Herblay."
" What, has Aramis pressed Porthos?"
" This is how the thing happened, Monsieur d'Artagnan. M. d'Her-
blay w rote to monseigneur "
"Indeed!"
" A letter, monsieur, such a pressing letter that it threw us all into a
bustle."
" Tell me all about it, my dear friend," said d'Artagnan; " but re-
move these people a little further off.first."
Mousqueton shouted, "Fall back, you sirs!" with such powerful
lungs that the breath, without the words, would have been sufficient to
disperse the four lackeys. D'Artagnan seated himself on the shaft of
the box and opened his ears. "Monsieur," said Mousqueton, "mon-
seigneur, then, received a letter from M. le Vicaire-General d'Herblay,
eight or nine days ago; it was the day of champetre pleasures,—yes,
it must have been Wednesday."
" What means that?" said d'Artagnan. "The day of champetre
pleasures ?"
" Yes, monsieur; we have so many pleasures to take in this delightful
country, that we were encumbered by them; so much so, that we have
been forcfed to regulate the distribution of them."
" How easily do I recognize Portnos's love of order in that! Now,
that idea would never have occurred to me; but then I am not en-
cumbered with pleasures."
"We were though," said Mousqueton.
d'artagnan seeks eoe porthos.
85
"And how did you regulate the matter, let me know?" said d'Ar-
j. u is rather long, monsieur."
" Never mind, we have plenty of time; and you speak so well, my
dear Mousqueton, that it is really a pleasure to hear you."
" It is true," said Mousqueton, with a sign of satisfaction, which
emanated evidently from the justice which had. been rendered him, "it
is true I have made great progress in the company of monseigneur."
" I am waiting for the distribution of the pleasures, Mousqueton, and
with impatience. I want to know if I have arrived on a lucky day."
" Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Mousqueton in a melancholy tone,
" since monseigneur's departure all the pleasures are gone too!"
" Well, my dear Mousqueton, refresh your memory."
" With what day shall I begin ?"
" Eh, pardieu ! begin with Sunday, that is the Lord's day."
" Sunday, monsieur?"
" Yes."
"Sunday pleasures are religious: monseigneur goes to mass, makes
the bread-offering, and has discourses and instructions made to him by
his almoner-in-ordinary. That is not very amusing, but we expect a
Carmelite from Paris who will do the duty of our almonry, and who,
we are assured, speaks very well, which will keep us awake, whereas our
present almoner always sends us to sleep. These are Sunday religious
pleasures. On Monday, worldly pleasures."
" Ah, ah !" said d'Artagnan, " what do you mean by that ? Let us
have a glimpse at your worldly pleasures."
" Monsieur, on Monday we go. into the world; we pay and receive
visits, we play on the lute, we dance, we make verses, and burn a little
incense in honour of the ladies."
" Peste ! that is the height of gallantry," said the musketeer, who
was obliged to call to his aid all the strength of his mastoid muscles to
suppress an enormous inclination to laugh.
" Tuesday, learned pleasures."
"Good!" cried d'Artagnan. "What are they? Detail them, my
dear Mousqueton."
" Monseigneur has bought a sphere or globe, which I will show you;
it fills all the perimeter of the great tower, except a gallery which ho
has had built over the sphere: there are little strings and brass wires
to which the sun and moon are hooked. It all turns; and that is very
beautiful. Monseigneur points out to me seas and distant countries.
We don't intend to visit them, but it is very interesting."
" Interesting! yes, that's the word," repeated d'Artagnan, " And
Wednesday?"
" Champ etre pleasures, as I have had the honour to tell you, monsieur
le chevalier. We look over monseigneur's sheep and goats; we make
the shepherds dance to pipes and reeds, as is written in a book mon-
seigneur has in his library, which is called 'Bergeries.' The author
died about a month ago."
" Monsieur Bacan, perhaps?" said d'Artagnan.
" Yes, that was his name—M. Bacan. But that is not all: we angle
in the little canal, after which we dine, crowned with flowers. That is
Wednesday."
" Peste /" said d'Artagnan; " you don't divide your pleasures badly.
And Thursday ?—what can be left for poor Thursday ?"
" It is not very unfortunate, monsieur," said Mousqueton, smiling.
"Thursday, Olympic pleasures. Ah, monsieur, that is superb! We
86 THE VICOMTE BE BBAGELONNE.
get together all monseigneur's young vassals, and we make them throw
the disc, wrestle, and run races. Monseigneur can't run now, no more
can I; but monseigneur throws the disc as nobody else can throw it.
And when he does deal a blow, oh, that proves a misfortune!"
" How so?"
" Yes, monsieur, we were obliged to renounce the cestus. He cracked
heads; he broke jaws—beat in ribs. It was charming sport; but no-
body was willing to play with him."
" Then his wrist "
" Oh, monsieur, more firm than ever. Monseigneur gets a little
weaker in his legs,—he confesses that himself; but his strength has all
taken refuge in his arms, so that "
" So that he can knock down bullocks, as he used formerly."
" Monsieur, better than that,—he beats in walls. Lately, after having
supped with one of our farmers—you know how popular and kind mon-
seigneur is—after supper, as a joke, he struck the wall a blow. The
wall crumbled away beneath his hand, the roof fell, and three men and
an old woman were stifled."
" Good God, Mousqueton ! And your master ?"
"Oh, monseigneur, his head had a little skin rubbed off. "We bathed
the wounds with some water which the monks give us. But there was
nothing the matter with his hand."
" Nothing?"
" No, nothing, monsieur."
" Deuce take the Olympic pleasures! They must cost your master
too dear; for widows and orphans "
" They all had pensions, monsieur; a tenth of monseigneur's revenue
was spent in that way."
" Then pass on to Friday," said d'Artagnan.
" Friday, noble and warlike pleasures. We hunt, we fence, we dress
falcons and break horses. Then, Saturday is the day for intellectual
pleasures: we furnish our minds; we look at monseigneur's pictures
and statues; we write even and trace plans; and then we fire mon-
seigneur's cannon."
" You draw plans, and fire cannon?"
" Y es, monsieur."
" Why, my friend," said d'Artagnan, " M. du Yallon, in truth, pos-
sesses the most subtle and amiable mind that I know. But there is one
kind of pleasure you have forgotten, it appears to me."
" What is that, monsieur ?" asked Mousqueton, with anxiety.
" The material pleasures."
Mousqueton coloured. "What do you mean by that, monsieur?"
said he, casting down his eyes.
" I mean the table—good wine—evenings occupied in the circulation
of the bottle."
" Ah, monsieur, we don't reckon those pleasures,—we practise them
every day."
" My brave Mousqueton," resumed d'Artagnan, " pardon me, but I
was so absorbed in your charming recital that I have forgotten the
principal object of our conversation, which was to learn what M. le
Vicaire-General d'Herblay could have to write to your master about?"
" That is true, monsieur." said Mousqueton;" the pleasures bave mis-
led us. Well, monsieur, this is the whole affair."
" I am all attention, Mousqueton."
" On Wednesday "
" The day of the ckamvUre pleasures ?"
d'abtagnan seeks foe poethos. 57
" Yes-r—a letter arrived; he received it from my hands. I had re-
cognized the writing."
"Well?"
" Monseigneur read it and cried out,' Quick, my horses! my arms!'"
" Oh, good Lord! then it was for some duel ?" said d'Artagnan.
" No, monsieur, there were only these words: ' JDear Portlios, set out,
if you would wish to arrive before the Equinox. I expect you.5"
" Mordioux!" said d'Artagnan, thoughtfully, "that is pressing ap-
parently."
"Ithink so; therefore," continued Mousqueton, "monseigneur set
out the very same day with his secretary, in order to endeavour to
arrive in time."
" And did he arrive in time ? "
"I hope so. Monseigneur, who is hasty, as you know, monsieur,
repeated unceasingly, 'Tonne Dieu! What can this mean? The
Equinox ? Never mind, the fellow must be well mounted if he arrives
before 1 do.'"
"And you think Porthos will have arrived first, do you?" asked
d'Artagnan.
" I am sure of it. This Equinox, however rich he may be, has cer-
tainly no horses so good as monseigneur's."
D'Artagnan repressed his inclination to laugh, because the brevity of
Aramis's letter gave rise to reflection. He followed Mousqueton, or
rather Mousqueton's chariot, to the castle. He sat down to a sump-
tuous table, of which they did him the honours as to a king. But he
could draw nothing from Mousqueton,—the faithful servant seemed to
shed tears at will, but that was all.
D'Artagnan, after a night passed in an excellent bed, reflected much
upon the meaning of Aramis's letter; puzzled himself as to the relation
of the Equinox with the affairs of Porthos; and being unable to make
anything out, unless it concerned some amour of the bishop's, for
.which it was necessary that the days and nights should be equal,
d'Artagnan left Pierrefonds as he had left Melun, as he had left the
chateau of the Comte de la Fere. It was not, however, without a
melancholy, which might by good right pass for one of the dullest of
d'Artagnan's humours. His head cast down, his eyes fixed, he suffered
his legs to hang on each side of his horse, and said to himself, in
that vague sort of reverie which ascends sometimes to the sublimest
eloquence:—
"No more friends! no more future! no more anything! My ener-
gies are broken like the bonds of our ancient friendship. Oh, old age
arrives, cold and inexorable; it envelops in its funereal crape all that
was brilliant, all that was embalming in my youth; then it throws that
sweet burthen on its shoulders and carries it away with the rest into
the fathomless gulf of death."
A shudder crept through the heart of the Gascon, so brave and so
strong against all the misfortunes of life; and during some moments,
the clouds appeared black to him, the earth slippery and full of pits as
that of cemeteries.
"Whither am I going ? " said he to himself. "What am I going to
do ? Alone, quite alone—without family, without friends! Bah!"
cried he all at once. And he clapped spurs to his horse, who, having
found nothing melancholy in the heavy oats of Pierrefonds, profited
by this permission to show his gaiety in a gallop which absorbed two
leagues. " To Paris!" said d'Artagnan to himself. And on the morrow
he alighted in Paris. He had devoted six days to this journey.
88
THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
CHAPTER XIX.
What d'Artagnan went to do in Paris
The lieutenant dismounted before a shop in the Rue des Lombards,
at the sign of the Pilon d'Or. A man of good appearance, wearing a
white apron, and stroking his grey moustache with, a large hand,
uttered a cry of joy on perceiving the pied horse. "Monsieur le
chevalier," said he, " ah, is that you ? "
"Bon jour, Planchet," replied d'Artagnan, stooping to enter the
shop.
" Quick, somebody," cried Planchet, " to look after Monsieur d'Ar-
tagnan's horse,—somebody to get ready his chamber,—somebody to
prepare his supper."
" Thanks, Planchet. Good day, my children," said d'Artagnan to the
eager boys.
"Allow me to send off this coffee, this treacle, and these*raisins,"
said Planchet; " they are for the office of monsieur le surintendant."
" Send them off, send them off! "
" That is only the affair of a moment, then we will sup."
" Order so that we may sup alone; I want to speak to you."
Planchet looked at his old master in a significant manner.
" Oh, be at ease, it is nothing unpleasant," said d'Artagnan.
" So much the better—so much the better!" And Planchet breathed
freely again, whilst d'Artagnan seated himself quietly down in the
shop, upon a bale of corks, and took connaissance of the localities. The
shop was well stocked; there was a mingled perfume of ginger, cinua-
mon, and ground pepper, which made d'Artagnan sneeze. The shop-
boys, proud of being in company with so renowned a man of war, of a
lieutenant of musketeers, who approached the person of the king,,
began to work with an enthusiasm which was something like delirium,
and to serve the customers with a disdainful precipitation that was
remarked by several.
Planchet put away his money, and made up his accounts, amidst
civilities addressed to his old master. Planchet had with his equals
the short speech and the haughty familiarity of the rich shopkeeper
who serves everybody and waits for nobody. D'Artagnan observed this
shade with a pleasure which we will analyze presently. He saw night
come on by degeees, and at length Planchet conducted him to a cham-
ber on the first story, where, amidst bales and chests, a table very nicely
set out awaited the two guests.
D'Artagnan took advantage of a moment's pause to examine the
countenance of Planchet, whom he had not seen for a year past. The
shrewd Planchet had acquired a slight protuberance in front, but his
countenance was not puffed. His keen eye still played with facility in
its deep-sunk orbit; and fat, which levels all the characteristic saliences
of the human face, had not yet touched either his high cheek-bones,
the index of cunning and cupidity, or his pointed chin, the index of
acuteness and perseverance. Planchet reigned with as much majesty
in his dining-room as in his shop. He set before his master a frugal,
but a perlectly Parisian repast: roast meat, cooked at the baker's, with
vegetables, salad, and a dessert borrowed from the shop itself. D'Artag-
nan was pleased that the grocer had drawn from behind the fagots a
d'aetagnan IN PARIS. 89
bottle of that Anjou wine which, during all his life, had been d'Artag-
nan's wine by predilection.
" Formerly, monsieur," said Planchet, with a smile full of bonhomie,
" it was I who drank your wine; now you do me the honour to drink
mine."
"And, thank God, friend Planchet, I shall drink it for a long time to
come, I hope; for at present I am free."
" Free ? You have leave of absence, monsieur ? "
" Unlimited."
" You are leaving the service ? " said Planchet, stupified.
"Yes. I am resting."
"And the king?" cried Planchet, who could not suppose it pos-
sible that the king could do without the services of such a man as
d'Artagnan.
"The king will try his fortune elsewhere. But we have supped
well, you are disposed to enjoy yourself; you provoke me to repose con-
fidence in you. Open your ears, then."
" They are open " And Planchet, with a laugh more frank than
cunning, opened a bottle of white wine.
"Leave me my reason, though."
" Oh, as to you losing your head—you, monsieur!"
"Now my head is my own, and I mean to take better care of it than
ever. In the first place, we will talk of finance. How fares your
money-box ? "
" Wonderfully well, monsieur. The twenty thousand livres I had of
you are still employed in my trade, in which they bring me nine per
cent. I give you seven, so I gain two by you."
" And you are still satisfied ? "
"Delighted. Have you brought me any more ?"
" Better than that. But do you want any ?"
"Oh! not at all. Every one is willing to trust me now. I am
extending my business."
• " That was your project.
" I play the banker a little. I buy goods of my necessitous brethren;
I lend money to those who are not ready for their payments."
" Without usury ?"
" Oh ! monsieur, in the course of the last week I have had two meetings
on the boulevards, on account of the word you have just pronounced."
" What?"
"You shall see: it concerned a loan. The borrower gives me in
pledge some raw sugars, upon condition that I should sell if repayment
were not made at a fixed period. I lend a thousand livres. He does
not pay me, and I sell the sugars for thirteen hundred livres. He
learns this and claims a hundred crowns. Ma foi ! I refused, pre-
tending that I could not sell them for more than nine hundred livres.
He accused me of usury! I begged him ta repeat that word to me
behind the boulevards. He was an old guard, and he came; and I
passed your sword through his left thigh."
" Tu dieu ! what a pretty sort of banker you make !" said d'Artagnan.
" For above thirteen per cent. I fight," replied Planchet: " that is my
character." .
" Take only twelve," said d'Artagnan, and call the rest premium and
brokerage."
" You are right, monsieur; but to your business."
"Ah! Planchet, it is very long, and very hard to speak."
" Do speak it, nevertheless."
90 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGEEONNE.
D'Artagnan twisted his moustache like a man embarrassed with the
confidence he is about to repose, and mistrustful of his confidant.
" Is it an investment ?" asked Planchet.
"Why, yes."
"At good profit?"
" A capital profit,—four hundred per cent., Planchet."
Planchet gave such a blow with his fist upon the table, that the
bottles bounded as if they had been frightened.
Good heavens ! is that possible ?"
" I think it will be more," replied d'Artagnan coolly; " but I like to
lay it at the lowest."
" The devil!" said Planchet, drawing nearer. " Why, monsieur, that
is magnificent! Can one place much money in it ?"
" Twenty thousand livres each, Planchet."
" Why, that is all you have, monsieur. For how long a time ?"
" For a month."
" And that will give us "
" Fifty thousand livres each, profit."
" It is monstrous ! It is worth while to fight for such interest as
that!"
"In fact, I believe it will be necessary to fight not a little," said
d'Artagnan, with the same tranquillity; " but this time there are two
of us, Planchet, and I will take all the blows to myself."
" Oh! monsieur, I will not allow that."
" Planchet, you cannot be concerned in it; you would be obliged to
leave your business and your family."
" The affair is not in Paris, then ?" " No."
" Abroad ?" " In England."
" A speculative country, that is true," said Planchet,—"a country I
am well acquainted with. What sort of an affair, monsieur, without
too much curiosity?"
" Planchet, it is a restoration."
"Of monuments ?"
" Yes, of monuments; we will restore Whitehall."
" That is important. And in a month, you think ?"
" I will undertake it."
" That concerns you, monsieur, and when once you are engaged "
"Yes, that concerns me. I know what I am about; nevertheless, I
will freely consult with you."
"You do me great honour; but I know very little about archi-
tecture."
" Planchet, you are wrong; you are an excellent architect, quite as
good as I am, for the case in question."
" Thanks, monsieur. But your old friends of the musketeers ?"
" I have been, I confess, tempted to name the thing to those gentle-
men, but they are all absent from their houses. It is vexatious, for I
know none more bold or more able."
" Ah! then it appears there will be an opposition, and the enterprise
will be disputed ?"
" Oh yes, Planchet, yes."
" I burn to know the details, monsieur."
" They are these, Planchet close all the doors firmly."
"Yes, monsieur." And Planchet double-locked them.
" That is well; now draw near." Planchet obeyed.
" And open the window, because the noise of the passers-by and the
carts will deafen all who might hear us." Planchet opened the window
d'artagnan's idea.
91
as desired, and the puff of tumult which filled the chamber with cries,
wheels, barkings, and steps deafened d'Artagnan himself, as he had
wished. He then swallowed a glass of white wine, and commenced in
these terms1" Planchet, I have an idea."
" Ah! monsieur, I recognize you so well in that!" replied Planchet,
panting with emotion.
Of the Society which was formed in the Rue des Lombards, at the sign of the
" Pilon d'Or," to cany out the idea of M. d'Artagnan.
After an instant of silence, in which d'Artagnan appeared to be
collecting, not one idea, but all his ideas,—"It cannot be, my dear
Planchet," said he, "that you have not heard speak of his majesty
Charles I. of England?"
" Alas! yes, monsieur, since you left Prance in order to carry him
assistance, and that, in spite of that assistance, he fell and was near
dragging you down in his fall."
"Exactly so; I see you have a good memory, Planchet."
"Peste! the astonishing thing would be, if I could have lost that me-
mory, however bad it might have been. When one has heard Grimaud,
who, you know, is not given to talking, relate how the head of King
Charles fell, how you sailed the half of a night in a scuttled vessel, and
saw rise up upon the water that M. Mordant with a certain gold-hafted
poniard sticking in his breast, one is not very likely to forget such
things."
" And yet there are people who forget them, Planchet."
" Yes, such as have not seen them, or have not heard Grimaud relate
them."
"Well, it is all the better that you recollect all that; I shall only
have to remind you of one thing, and that is, that Charles I. had a son."
"Without contradicting you, monsieur, he had two," said Planchet;
"for I saw the second in Paris, M. le duke of York, one day, as he was
going to the Palais Royal, and I was told that he was not the eldest son
of Charles I. As to the eldest, I have the honour of knowing him by
name, but not personally."
" That is exactly the point, Planchet, we must come to: it is to this
11 ' " 11 1 J' prince of Wales, and who is now styled
- "Yes, Planchet, and you may add an unfortunate prince, more
unfortunate than a man of the dregs of the people in the worst quarter
of Paris."
Planchet made a gesture full of that sort of compassion which we
grant to strangers with whom we think we can never possibly find
ourselves in contact. Besides, he did not see in this politico-sentimental
operation, any sign of the commercial idea of M. d'Artagnan, and it
was in this idea that d'Artagnan, who was, by habit, pretty well
acquainted with men and things, had principally interested Planchet.
I am coming to our business. This young prince of Wales, a king
without a kingdom, as you have so well said, Planchet, has interested
me. I, d'Artagnan, have seen him begging assistance of Mazarin, who
is a cuistre, and the aid of Louis, who is a child, and it appeared to me,
CHAPTER XX.
tiously.
l, monsieur," replied Planchet senten-
92 the yicomte de bbagelonnjj.
who am acquainted with such things, that in the intelligent eye of the
fallen king, in the nobleness of his whole person, a nobleness apparent
above all his miseries, I could discern the stuff of a man and the heart
of a king."
Planchet tacitly approved of all this; but it did not at all, in his eyes
at least, throw any light upon d'Artagnan's idea. The latter continued:
—"This, then, is the reasoning which I made with myself. Listen
attentively, Planchet, for we are coming to the conclusion."
" I am listening."
" Kings are not so thickly sown upon the earth, that people can find
them whenever they want them. Now, this king without a kingdom
is, in my opinion, a grain of seed which will blossom in some season or
other, provided a skilful, discreet, and vigorous hand sow it duly and
truly, selecting soil, sky, and time."
Planchet still approved by a nod of his head, which showed that he did
not perfectly comprehend all that was said.
" ' Poor little seed of a king,' said I to myself, and really I was affected,
Planchet, which leads me to think I am entering upon a foolish business.
And that is why I wished to consult you, my friend."
Planchet coloured with pleasure and pride.
" ' Poor little seed of a king! I will pick you up and cast you into
good ground.'"
" Good God !" said Planchet, looking earnestly at his old master, as
if in doubt of the state of his reason.
" Well, what is it ? " said d'Artagnan; " who hurts you ? "
" Me 1 nothing, monsieur."
" Y ou said c Good God!'"
" Did I?"
" I am sure you did. Can you already understand ? "
" I confess, M. d'Artagnan, that I am afraid "
" To understand ? " "Yes."
" To understand that I wish to replace upon his throne this King
Charles II., who has no throne ? Is that it ? "
Planchet made a prodigious bound in his chair. "Ah, ah!" said he,
in evident terror, " that is what you call a restoration !"
" Yes, Planchet; is not that the proper term for it ?"
" Oh, no dqubt, no doubt! But have you reflected seriously ? "
" Upon what ?"
" Upon what is going on yonder ?"
"Where?" "In England."
" And what is that ? Let us see, Planchet."
" In the first place, monsieur, I ask your pardon for meddling in
these things, which have nothing to do with my trade; but since it
is an affair that you propose to me—for you propose an affair to me, do
you not ? "
" A superb one, Planchet."
" But as it is business you propose to me, I have the right to discuss it."
" Discuss it, Planchet; out of discussion is born light."
"Well, then, since I have monsieur's permission, 1 will tell him that
there is yonder, in the first place, the parliament."
"Well, next?"
" And then the army."
" Good ! Do you see anything else ? "
" Why, then the nation."
" Is that all ? "
" The nation which consented to the overthrow and death of the late
d'artagnan's idea. 93
king, the father of this, and which will not be willing to belie its
acts."
" Planchet," said d'Artagnan, " you reason like a cheese ! The nation
—the nation is tired of these gentlemen who give themselves such bar-
barous names and who sing psalms to it. Chant for chant, my dear
Planchet; I have remarked that nations prefer singing a merry chant
to the plain chant. Remember the Fronde; what did they sing in those
times? Well, those were good times."
" Not too good, not too good! I was near being hung in these
times."
" Well, but you were not." " No."
" And you laid the foundation of your fortune in the midst of all
those songs ? "■ " That is true."
" You have nothing to say against them, then."
" Well, I return then to the army and the parliament."
" I say that I borrow twenty thousand livres of M. Planchet, and that
I put twenty thousand livres of my own to it; and with these forty
thousand livres I raise an army."
Planchet clasped his hands; he saw d'Artagnan was in earnest, and,
in good truth, he believed his master had lost his senses.
" An army !—ah, monsieur," said he, with his most agreeable smile,
for fear of irritating the madman and rendering him furious,—" an
army !—how many ? "
" Of forty men," said d'Artagnan.
" Forty against forty thousand!—that is not enough. I know very well
that you, M. d'Artagnan, alone, are equal to a thousand men; but
where are we to find thirty-nine men equal to you ? Or, if we could
find them, who would furnish you with money to pay them ? "
" Not bad, Planchet. Ah, the devil! you play the courtier."
" No, monsieur, I speak what I think, and that is exactly why I say
that, in the first pitched battle you fight with your forty men, I am
very much afraid "
" Therefore, I will fight no pitched battles, my dear Planchet," said
the Gascon, laughing. " We have very fine examples in antiquity of
skilful retreats and marches, which consisted in avoiding the enemy
instead of attacking them. You should know that, Planchet, who com-
manded the Parisians the day on which they ought to have fought
against the musketeers, and who so well calculated marches and coun-
termarches, that you never left the Palais Royal." v
Planchet could not forbear laughing. " It is plain," replied he, " that
if your forty men conceal themselves, and are not unskilful, they
may hope not to be beaten: but you propose to yourself some result,
do you not ? "
" No doubt. This then, in my opinion, is the plan to be proceeded
upon in order to replace quickly his majesty Charles II. on his throne."
" Good ! " said Planchet, redoubling his attention, " let us see your
plan. But, in the first place, it appears to me we are forgetting some-
thing."
" What is that ? "
"We have set aside the nation which prefers singing merry songs to
psalms, and the army which we will not fight; but the parliament
remains, and that seldom sings."
'* And which does not fight either. How is it, Planchet, that an
intelligent man like you should take any heed of a set of brawlers
who call themselves Rumps and Barebones ? The parliament does not
trouble me at all, Planchet."
94 THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONNE.
" As soon as it ceases to trouble you, monsieur, let us pass on."
" Yes, and arrive at the result. You remember Cromwell, Plancbet? M
" I have heard a great deal of talk about him."
" He was a rough soldier."
" And a terrible eater, moreover."
" What do you mean by that ? "
" Why, at one gulp, he swallowed all England."
" Well, Plancbet, the evening before the day in which he swallowed
England, if any one had swallowed M. Cromwell ? "
" Oh! monsieur, that is one of the first axioms of mathematics, that
the container must be greater than the contained."
" Very well! That is our affair, Planchet."
" But M. Cromwell is dead, and his container is now the tomb."
" My dear Planchet, I see with pleasure, that you have not only
become a mathematician, but a philosopher."
" Monsieur, in my grocery business I use much printed paper, and
that instructs me."
"Bravo! You know then, in that case—for you have not learnt
mathematics and philosophy without a little history—that after this
Cromwell so great, there came one who was very little."
"Yes; he was named Richard, and he has done as you have, M.
d'Artagnan—he has given in his resignation."
"Very well said—very well! After the great man who is dead, after
the little one who gave in his resignation, there is come a third. This
one is named Monk; he is an able general, considering he has never
fought a battle; he is a skilful diplomatist, considering that he never
speaks in public, and that having to say ' good day' to a man, he medi-
tates twelve hours, and ends by saying ' good night;' which makes
people exclaim ' miracle !' seeing that it falls out correctly."
" That is rather strong," said Planchet; " but I know another polite
man who resembles him very much."
" M. Mazarin, don't you mean ? "
" Himself."
"You are right, Planchet; only M. Mazarin does not aspire to
the throne of Prance; and that changes everything, do you see ?
Well, this M. Monk, who has England ready-roasted in his plate, and
who is already opening his mouth to swallow it—this M. Monk, who
says to the people of Charles II., and to Charles II. himself,' Nescio
vos} "
" I don't understand English," said Planchet.
" Yes, but I understand it," said d'Artagnan. "' Nescio vos' means
'I do not know you.' This M. Monk, the most important man in
England, when he shall have swallowed it "
" Well ? " asked Planchet.
"Well, my friend, I will go over yonder, and with my forty men I
will carry him off, pack him up, and bring him into France, where two
modes of proceeding present themselves to my dazzled eyes."
" Oh! and to mine too," cried Planchet, transported with enthusiasm.
" We will put him in a cage, and show him for money."
" Well, Planchet, that is a third plan, of which I had not thought."
" Do you think it a good one ? "
"Yes, certainly; but I think mine better."
"Let us see yours, then."
" In the first place, I will set a ransom on him."
" Of how much ? "
D'ARTAGNAN'S IDEA. 95
" Peste ! a fellow like that must be well worth a hundred thousand
crowns."
«• Yes, yes !"
"You see, then—in the first place, a ransom of a hundred thousand
crowns."
"Or else "
" Or else, which is much better, I deliver him up to King Charles,
who, having no longer either a general or an army to fear, nor a diplo-
mat is t, to trick him, will restore himself, and when once restored will
pay down to me the hundred thousand crowns in question. That is
the idea I have formed; what do you say to it, Planchet ? "
" Magnificent, monsieur !" cried Planchet, trembling with emotion.
"How did you conceive that idea?"
"it came to me one morning on the banks of the Loire, whilst our
beloved king, Louis XIV., was pretending to snivel upon the hand of
Mademoiselle de Mancini."
" Monsieur, I declare the idea is sublime. But "
"Ah ! is there a but ?"
" Permit me! But this is a little like the skin of that fine bear—
you know—that they were about to sell, but which it was necessary to
take from the back of the living bear. Now, to take M. Monk, there
will be a bit of a scuffle, I should think."
"No doubt; but as I shall raise an army "
"Yes, yes—I understand, parbleu !—a coup-de-main. Yes, then,
monsieur, you will triumph, for no one equals you in such sort of
encounters."
" I certainly am lucky in them," said d'Artagnan, with a proud
simplicity. " You know that if for this affair I had my dear Athos, my
brave Porthos, and my cunning Aramis, the business would be settled;
but they are all lost, as it appears, and nobody knows where to find
them. I will do it, then, alone. Now, do you find the business good,
and the investment advantageous ? "
" Too much so—too much so."
" How can that be ? "
" Because fine things never reach the point expected."
" This is infallible, Planchet, and the proof is that I undertake it.
It will be for you a tolerably pretty gain, and for me a very interesting
stroke. It will be said,' Such was the old age of M. d'Artagnan;'
and I shall hold a place in stories, and even in history itself, Planchet.
I am greedy of honour."
" Monsie'ur," cried Planchet, " when I think that it is here, in my
home, in the midst of my sugar, my prunes, and my cinnamon, that
this gigantic project is ripened, my shop seems a palace to me."
"Beware, beware, Planchet!' If the least report of this escapes,
there is the Bastille for both of us. Beware, my friend; for this is a
plot we are hatching. M. Monk is the ally of M. Mazarin—beware !"
" Monsieur, when a man has had the honour to belong to you, he
knows nothing of fear; and when he has the advantage of being bound
up in interests with you, he holds his tongue."
"Very well; that is more your affair than mine, seeing that in a
week I shall be in England."
" Begone, begone, monsieur—the sooner the better."
"Is the money then ready ?"
" It will be to-morrow; to-morrow you shall receive it from my own
hands. "Will you have gold or silver ?"
96 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Gold; that is most convenient. But how are we going to arrange
this? Let us see."
" Oh, good Lord ! in the simplest way possible. You shall give rne a
receipt, that is all"
" No, no," said D'Artagnan, warmly; " we must preserve order in all
things."
" That is likewise my opinion; but with you, M. d'Artagnan "
"And if I should die yonder—if I am killed by a musket-ball—if I
should burst with drinking beer ? "
" Monsieur, I beg you to believe that in that case I should be so
much afflicted at your death, that I should think nothing about the
money."
"Thank you, Planchet; but that will not do. "We will, like two
lawyers' clerks, draw up together an agreement, a sort of act, which,
may be called a deed of company."
" Willingly, monsieur."
" I know it is difficult to draw such a thing up, but we will try."
" Let us try, then." And Planchet went in search of pens, ink, and
paper. D'Artagnan took the pen, and wrote:—" Between Messire
d'Artagnan, ex-lieutenant of the king's musketeers, at present residing
in the Rue Tiquetonne, hotel de la Chevrette; and the Sieur Planchet,
grocer, residing in the Rue des Lombards, at the sign of the ' Pilon
d'Or,' it has been agreed as followsA company, with a capital of
forty thousand livres, and formed for the purpose of carrying out an
idea conceived by M. d'Artagnan. The Sieur Planchet, who is ac-
quainted with this idea of M. d'Artagnan, and who approves of it in
all points, will place twenty thousand livres in the hands of M. d'Ar-
tagnan. He will require neither repayment nor interest before the
return of M. d'Artagnan from a voyage he is about to make into
England. On his part, M. d'Artagnan undertakes to find twenty
thousand livres, which he will join to the twenty thousand already laid
down by the Sieur Planchet.. He will employ the said sum of forty
thousand livres as good to him shall seem, but still in an undertaking
which is described below. On the day in which M. d'Artagnan shall
have re-established, by whatever means, his majesty King Charles II.
upon the throne of England, he will pay into the hands of M. Planchet
the sum of "
" The sum of a hundred and fifty thousand livres," said Planchet,
innocently, perceiving that d'Artagnan hesitated.
" Oh, the devil, no ! " said d'Artagnan, " the division cannot be made
by half; that would not be just."
"And yet, monsieur, we each lay down half," objected Planchet,
timidly.
" Yes; but listen to this clause, my dear Planchet, and if you do not
find it equitable in every respect, when it is written, well, we can
scratch it out again:—'Nevertheless, as M. d'Artagnan brings to the
association, besides his capital of twenty thousand livres, his time, his
idea, his industry, and his skin,—things which he appreciates strongly,
particularly the last,—M- d'Artagnan will keep, of the three hundred
thousand livres, two hundred thousand livres for himself, which will
make his share two-thirds.'"
" Very well," said Planchet.
" Is it just ? " asked d'Artagnan.
" Perfectly just, monsieur."
" And you will be contented with a hundred thousand livres ? "
" Peste ! I think so. A hundred thousand for twenty thousand!"
d'artagnan prepares to travel. 97
" And in a month, understand."
" How, in a month ? "
"Yes, 1 only ask one month."
" Monsieur," said Planchet, generously, " I will give you six weeks."
" Thank you," replied the musketeer civilly; after which the two
partners reperused their deed.
" That is perfect, monsieur," said Planchet; " and the late M. Coque-
nard, the first husband of Madame la Baronne du Yallon, could not
have done it better."
" Do you find it so ? Let us sign it then." And both affixed their
signatures.
" In this fashion," said d'Artagnan, " I shall have no obligations to
any one."
But I shall be under obligations to you," said Planchet.
"No; for whatever store I set by it, Planchet, I may lose my skin
yonder, and you will lose all. A propos—peste /—that makes me think
of the principal, an indispensable clause. I will write it'In the case
of M. d'Artagnan succumbing in this enterprise, liquidation will be
considered made, and the Sieur Planchet will give quittance from that
moment to the shade of Messire d'Artagnan, for the twenty thousand
livres paid by him into the caisse of the said company.'"
This last clause made Planchet knit his brows a little; but when he
saw the brilliant eye, the muscular hand, the back so supple and so
strong, of his associate, he regained his courage, and without regret he
at once added another stroke to his signature. D'Artagnan did the
same. Thus was drawn the first act of a company known; perhaps
such things have been abused a little since, both in form and principle.
"Now," said Planchet, pouring out the last glass of Anjou wine for
d'Artagnan,—" now go to sleep, my dear master."
" No," replied d'Artagnan'; " for the most difficult part now remains
to bo done, and I will think over that difficult part."
" Bah !" said Planchet, " I have such a great confidence in you, M.
d'Artagnan, that I would not give my hundred thousand livres for
ninety thousand livres down."
" And devil take me if I don't think you are right!" Upon which
d'Artagnan took a candle and went up to his bedroom.
CHAPTER XXI.
In which d'Artagnan prepares to travel for the house of Planchet and Company.
D'Artagnan reflected to such good purpose during the night, that
his plan was settled by morning. "This is it," said he, sitting up in
bed, supporting his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand;—
" this is it. I will seek out forty steady, firm men, recruited among
people a little compromised, but having habits of discipline. I will
promise them five hundred livres for a month if they return; nothing
if they do not return, or half for their kindred. As to food and
lodging, that concerns the English, who have beasts in their pastures,
bacon in their bacon-racks, fowls in their poultry-yards, and corn in
their barns. I will present myself to General Monk with my little
body of troops. He will receive me. I shall gain his confidence, and
will abuse it as soon as possible."
But without going further, d'Artagnan shook his head and inter-
it
98 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
ruoterl himself. "No" said he; "I should not dare to relate this to
Athos; the means is not tnen honourable. I must use violence,'' con-
t'inued he,—" very certainly I must, but without compromising my
loyalty. With forty men I will traverse the country as a partisan.
But if I fall in with, not forty thousand English, as Planchet said, but
purely and simply with four hundred, I shall be beaten. Supposing
that among my forty warriors there shall be found at least ten
stupid ones—ten who will allow themselves to be killed one after the
other, from mere folly? No; it is, in fact, impossible to find forty men
to be depended upon—that does not exist. I must learn how to l?e
contented with thirty. "With ten men less I should have the right of
avoiding any armed rencontre, on account of the small number of my
people; and if» the rencontre should take place, my chance is much
more certain with thirty men than forty. Besides, I should save live
thousand francs ; that is to say, the eighth of my capital: that is worth
the trial. This being so, I should have thirty men. I will divide them
into three bands,—we will-spread ourselves about over the country, with
an injunction to reunite at a given moment; in this fashion, ten by ten,
we should excite no suspicion—we should pass unpereeived. Yes, yes,
thirty—that is a magic number. There are three tens—three, that divine
number ! And then, truly, a company of thirty men, when all together,
will look rather imposing. Ah ! stupid wretch that I am !" continued
d'Ariagnan, " I want thirty horses. That is ruinous. Where the devil
was my head when I forgot the horses? "We cannot, however, think
of striking such a blow without horses. Well, so be it, that sacrifice
must be made; we can get the horses in the country—they are not
had, besides. But I forgot—peste! Three bands—that necessitates three
leaders: there is the difficulty. Of the three commanders 1 have
already one—that is, myselt;—yes, but the two others will of themselves
cost almost as much money as all the rest of the troop. No; decidedly
I must have but one lieutenant. In that case, then, I should reduce
my troop to twenty men. 1 know very well that twenty men is but
very little; but since with thirty I was determined not to seek to come
to blows, I should do so more carefully still with twenty. Twenty—
that is a round number; that, besides, reduces the number ol the
horses by ten. which is a consideration; and then, with a good lieute-
nant Mordioux! what things patience and calculation are! Was
1 not going to embark with forty men, and I have now reduced them
to twenty for an equal success? Ten thousand livres saved at one
stroke, and more safety ; that is well! Now, then, let us see; we have
nothing to do but to find this lieutenant—let him be found then; and
after ? That is not so easy: he must be brave and good, a second
myself. Yes; but a lieutenant must have my secret, and as that secret
is worth a million, and 1 shall only pay my man a thousand livres,
fifteen hundred at the most, my man will sell the secret to Monk.
Mordioux! no lieutenant. Besides, this man, were he as mute as a
disciple of Pythagoras,—this man would be sure to have in the troop
some favourite soldier cf whom he would make his sergeant; the ser-
geant would penetrate the secret of the lieutenant, in case the latter
should be honest and unwilling to sell it. Then the sergeant, less
honest and less ambitious, will give up the whole for fifty thousand
livres. Come, come! that is impossible. Decidedly the lieutenant is
impos.-ible. But then I must have no fractions; 1 cannot divide my
troop into two, and act upon two points at once, without another self,
who But what is the use of acting upon two points, as we have
only one man to take ? What can be the good to weaken a corns by
d'artagnan prepares to travel. 99
placing the right here, and the left there ? A single corps, Mordioux /
a single one, and that commanded by d'Artagnan. Very well. But
twenty men marching in one band are suspected by everybody; twenty
horsemen must not be seen marching together, or a company will be
detached against them, and the orderly word will be required; and
which company, upon seeing the embarrassment of the troop in giving
it, would shoot M. d'Artagnan and his men like so many rabbits. 'I
reduce myself then to ten men; in this fashion I shall act simply and
with unity; I shall be forced to be prudent, which is half success in
an affair of the kind I am undertaking: a greater number might, per-
haps, have drawn me into some folly. Ten horses are not many either
to buy or take. A capital idea; what tranquillity it infuses into my
mind! No more suspicions—no orderly words—no more dangers!
Ten men,—they are valets or clerks. Ten men, leading ten horses laden
with merchandise of whatever kind, are tolerated, well received every-
where. Ten men travel on account of the house of Planchet and Co.,
of France: nothing can be said against that* These ten men, clothed
like manufacturers, have a good cutlass or a good mousqueton at their
saddle-bow, and a good pistol in the holster. They never allow them-
selves to be uneasy, because they have no evil designs. They are per-
haps, at bottom, a little disposed to be smugglers, but what harm is in
that? Smuggling is not, like polygamy, a hanging offence. The worst
that can happen to us is the confiscation of our merchandise. Our
merchandise confiscated—a fine affair that! Come, come! it is a
superb plan. Ten men only—ten men, whom I will engage lor my
service; ten men, who shall be as resolute as forty who would cost me
four times as much, and to whom, for greater security, X will never
open my mouth as to my designs, and to whom I shall only sav, ' My
friends, there is a blow to be struck.' Things being after this fashion,
Satan will be very malicious if he plays me one of his tricks. Fifteen
thousand livres saved—that's superb—out of twenty !"
Thus fortified by his laborious calculations, d'Artagnan stopped at
this plan, and determined to change nothing in it. He had already on
a list furnished by his inexhaustible memory ten men illustrated
amongst the seekers of adventures, ill-treated by fortune, and not on
good terms with justice. Upon this d'Artagnan rose, and instantly set
off on the search, telling Planchet not to expect him at breakfast, and
perhaps not at dinner. A day and a half spent in rummaging amongst
certain cabins in Paris sufficed for his recruiting; and, without allowing
his adventurers to communicate with each other, he had picked up and
got together, in less than thirty hours, a charming collection of ill-
looking faces, speaking a French less pure than the English they were
about to attempt. These men were, for the most part, guards, whose
merit d'Artagnan had had an opportunity of appreciating in various
rencontres, and whom drunkenness, unlucky sword-thrusts, unexpected
winnings at play, or the economical reforms of Mazarin, had forced to
seek shade and solitude, those two great consolers of irritated and chafed
spirits. They bore upon their countenances and in their vestments
the traces of the heartaches they had undergone. Some had their
visages scarred,—all had their clothes in rags. D'Artagnan comforted
the most needy of these fraternal miserables by a prudent distribution
of the crowns of the society; then having taken care that these crowns
should be employed in the physical improvement of the troop, he ap-
pointed a rendezvous with them in the north of France, between
Berghes and Saint-Omer. Six days were allowed as the utmost term,
and d'Artagnan was sufficiently acquainted with the good will, the
100 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
good humour, and the relative probity of these illustrious recruits, to
be certain that not one of them would fail in his appointment. These
orders given, this rendezvous fixed, he went to bid farewell to Planchet,
who asked news of his army. D'Artagnan did not think proper to
inform him of the reduction he had made in his personnel. He feared he
should make an abatement in the confidence of his associate by such an
avowal. Planchet was delighted to learn that the army was levied, and
that he (Planchet) found himself a kind of half-king, who, from his
throne-counter, kept in pay a body of troops destined to make war
against perfidious Albion, that enemy of all true French hearts. Plan-
chet paid down, in double-louis, twenty thousand livres to d'Artagnan,
on the part of himself (Planchet) and twenty other thousand livres, still
in double-louis, on account of d'Artagnan. D'Artagnan placed each of
the twenty thousand francs in a bag, and weighing a bag in each hand,
—" This money is very embarrassing, my dear Planchet," said he. "Do
you know this weighs thirty pounds ?"
" Bah ! your horse will/;arry that like a feather."
D'Artagnan shook his head. " Don't tell such things to me, Planchet:
a horse overloaded with thirty pounds, in addition to the rider and his
portmanteau, cannot cross a river so easily—cannot leap over a wall or
a ditch so lightly; and the horse failing, the horseman fails. It is true
that you, Planchet, who have served in the infantry, may not be aware
of all that." |
" Then what is to be done, monsieur?" said Planchet, greatly em-
barrassed.
" Listen to me," said d'Artagnan. " I will pay my army on its return
home. Keep my half, of twenty thousand livres, which you can make
use of during that time."
" And my half?" said Plahchet.
" I will take that with me."
"Your confidence does me honour," said Planchet; "but suppose
you should not return ?"
" That is possible, though not very probable. Then, Planchet, in case
I should not return give me a pen ; I will make my will." D'Ar-
tagnan took a pen and some paper, and wrote upon a plain sheet,—
" 1, d'Artagnan, possess twenty thousand livres, iaid up, sou by sou,
during thirty years that I have been in the service of his majesty the
king of Prance. I leave five thousand to Athos, five thousand to
Porthos, and five thousand to Aramis, that they may give the said sums
in my name and their own to my young friend Baoul, Yicomte de
Bragelonne. I give the remaining live thousand to Planchet, that he
may distribute the fifteen thousand with less regret among my friends.
With which purpose i sign these presents.—D'Artagnan."
Planchet appeared very curious to know what d'Artagnan had
written.
" Here," said the musketeer," read it."
On reading the last lines the tears came into Planchet's eyes. " You
think, then, that I would not have given the money without that?
Then I will have none of your five thousand francs."
D'Artagnan smiled. " Accept it, accept it, Planchet; and in that way
you will only lose fifteen thousand francs instead of twenty thousand,
and you will not be tempted to disregard the signature of your master
and friend, by losing nothing at all."
How well ihat dear Monsieur d'Artagnan was acquainted with the
hearts of men and grocers! They who have pronounced Don Quixote
mad because he rode out to the conquest of an empire with nobody but
d'artagnan prepares to travel. 101
Sancho, his squire, and they who have pronounced Sancho mad because
he accompanied his master in his attempt to conquer the said empire,
—they certainly will have no hesitation in extending the same judgment
to d'Artagnan and Planchet. And yet the first passed for one of the
most subtle spirits among the astute spirits of the court of France. As
to the second, he had acquired by good right the reputation of one of
the longest heads among the grocers of the Rue des Lombards; conse-
quently of Paris, and consequently of France. Now, to consider these
two men from the point of view in which you would consider other
men, and the means by the aid of which they contemplated to restore
a monarch to his throne, comparatively with other means, the shal-
lowest brains of the country where brains are most shallow must have
revolted against the presumptuous madness of the lieutenant and the
stupidity of his associate. Fortunately d'Artagnan was not a man to
listen to the idle talk of those around him, or to the comments that
were made on himself. He had adopted the motto, " Act well, and let
people talk." Planchet, on his part, had adopted this, " Act and say
nothing." It resulted from this, that, according to the custom of all
superior geniuses, these two men flattered themselves, intra pectus, with
being in the right against all who found fault with them.
As a commencement, d'Artagnan set out in the finest of possible
weather, without a cloud in the heavens—without a cloud on his mind,
joyous and strong, calm and decided, great in his resolution, and conse-
quently carrying with him a tenfold dose of that potent fluid which the
shocks of mind cause to spring from the nerves, and which procure for
the human machine a force and an influence of which future ages will
render, according to all probability, an account more arithmetically than
we can possibly do at present. He was again, as in times past, in that
same road of adventures which had led him to Boulogne, and which he
was now travelling for the fourth time. It appeared to him that he
could almost recognize the trace of his own steps upon the road, and that
of his fist upon the doors of the hostelries;—his memory, always active
and present, brought back that youth which had not, thirty years
before, belied either his great heart or his wrist of steel. What a rich
nature was that of this man! He had all passions, all defects, all
weaknesses, and the spirit of contradiction familiar to his understanding
changed all these imperfections into corresponding qualities. D'Artag-
nan, thanks to his ever-active imagination, was afraid of a shadow, and,
ashamed of being afraid, he marched straight up to that shadow, and
then became extravagant in his bravery if the danger proved to be real.
Thus everything in him was emotion, and therefore enjoyment. He
loved the society of others, but never became tired of his own; and
more than once, if he could have been heard when he was alone, he
might have been seen laughing at the jokes he related to himself, or the
tricks his imagination created just five minute's before ennui might have
been looked for. D'Artagnan was not perhaps so gay this time as he
had been with the perspective of finding some good friends at Calais,
instead of that of joining the ten scamps there; melancholy, however,
did not visit him above once a day, and it was about five visits that he
received from that sombre deity before he got sight of the sea at Bou-
logne, and then these visits were indeed but short. But when once d'Ar-
tagnan found himself near the field of action, all other feeling but. that
of confidence disappeared never to return. From Boulogne he followed
the coast to Calais. Calais was the place of general rendezvous, and at
Calais he had named to each of his recruits the hostelry of " Le Grand
Monarque," where living was not extravagant, where sailors messed, and
102 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
where men of the sword, with sheath of leather, he it understood, found
lodging, table, food, and all the comforts of life, for thirty sous per
diem. D'Artaanan proposed to himself to take them by surprise in
■flagrante delicto of wandering life, and to judge by the first appearance
if he could reckon upon them as trusty companions.
He arrived at Calais at half-past four in the afternoon.
CHAPTER XXII.
D'Artagnan Travels for the house of Planchet and Company.
The hostelry of "le Grand Monarque" was situated in a little
street parallel to the port, without looking out upon the port itself.
Some lanes cut—as steps cut the two parallels of the ladder—the two
great straight lines of the port and the street. By these lanes, passen-
gers debouched suddenly from the port into the street, from the street
on to the port. D'Artagnan, arrived at the port, took one of these
lanes, and came out in front of the hostelry of Le Grand Monarque."
The moment was well chosen, and might remind d'Artagnan of his
start in life at the hostelry of the " Franc-Meunier " at Meung. Some
sailors who had been playing at dice had knocked up a quarrel, and
were threatening each other furiously. The host, hostess, and two lads
were watching with anxiety the circle of these angry gamblers, from
the midst of which war seemed ready to break forth, bristling with
knives and hatchets. The play, nevertheless, was continued. A stone
bench was occupied by two men who appeared thence to watch the
door; four tables, placed at the back of the common chamber, were
occupied by eight other individuals. Neither the men at the door nor
those at the tables took any part in the play or the quarrel. D'Artag-
nan recognized his ten men in these cold, indifferent spectators. The
quarrel went on increasing. Every passion has, like the sea, its tide
which ascends and descends. Arrived at the climax of passion, one
sailor overturned the table and the money which was upon it. The
table fell, and the money rolled about. In an instant all belonging to
the hostelry threw themselves upon the stakes, and many a piece of
silver was picked up by people who stole away whilst the sailors were
scuffling with each other.
The two men on the bench and the eight at the tables, although they
seemed perfect strangers to each other, these ten men alone, we say,
appeared to have agreed to remain impassible amidst the cries of fury
and the chinking of money. Two only contented themselves with
repulsing with their feet combatants who came under their table.
Two others, rather than take part in this disturbance, buried their
hands in their pockets; and another two jumped upon the table
they occupied, as people do to avoid being submerged by overflowing
water.
'• Come, come," said d'Artagnan to himself, not having lost one of the
details we have related, " this is a very fair gathering—circumspect,
calm, accustomed to disturbance, acquainted with blows! Peste! I have
been lucky."
All at once his attention was called to a particular part of the room.
The two men who had repulsed the strugglers with their feet, were
assailed with abuse by the sailors, who had become reconciled. One oi
them, half-drunk with passion, and quite drunk with beer, came, in a
d'artagnan on his travels. 103
menacing manner, to demand of the shorter of these two gases, by
what right he had touched with his foot creatures of the good God, who
were not dogs. And whilst putting this question, in order to make it
more direct, he applied his great fist to the nose of d'Artagnan's
recruit. This man became pale, without its being to be discerned
whether his paleness arose from anger or from fear ; seeing which, the
sailor concluded it was from fear, and raised his fist with the manifest
intention of letting it fall upon the head of the stranger. But, without
the threatened man having appeared to move, he dealt the sailor such a
severe blow in the stomacb as sent him rolling and howling to the other
side of the room. At the same instant, rallied by the esprit de corps,
all the comrades of the conquered man fell upon the conqueror. The
latter, with the same coolness of which he had given proof, without
committing the imprudence of touching his arms, took up a beer-pot
with a pewter lid, and knocked down two or three of his assailants;
then, as he was about to yield to numbers, the seven other silent men
at the tables, who had not stirred, perceived that their cause was at
stake, and canSte to the rescue. At the same time, the two indifferent
spectators at the door turned round with frowning brows, indicating
their evident intention of taking the enemy in the rear, if the enemy
did not cease their aggressions. The host, his helpers, and two watch-
men who were passing, and who, from curiosity, had penetrated too far
into the room, were confounded in the tumult and loaded with blows.
The Parisians hit like Cyclops, with an ensemble and a tactic delightful
to behold. At length, obliged to beat a retreat before numbers, tiiey
formed an intrenchment behind the great table, which they raised by
main force; whilst the two others, arming themselves each with a
trestle, so that, using it like a great sledge-hammer, they knocked down
at a blow eight sailors upon whose heads they had brought their mon-
strous catapult in play. The floor was already strewn with wounded,
and the room filled with cries and dust, when d'Artagnan, satisfied with
the test, advanced, sword in hand, and, striking with the pommel every
head that came in his way, he uttered a vigorous hold,! which put an
instantaneous end to the conflict. A great back-flood directly to<'k
place from the centre to the sides of the room, so that d'Artagnan
found himself isolated and dominator.
" What is all this about ?" then demanded he of the assembly, with
the majestic tone of Neptune pronouncing the Quos ego.
At the very instant, at the first sound of his voice, to carry on the
Virgilian metaphor, d'Artagnan's recruits, recognizing each his sove-
reign lord, discontinued at the same time their anger, their plank-tight-
ing, and trestle blows. On their side, the sailors,seeing that long naked
sword, that martial air, and the agile arm which came to the re-cue of
their enemies, in the person of a man who seemed accustomed to com-
mand, on their part, the sailors picked up their wounded and their
pitchers. The Parisians wiped their brows, and viewed their leader
with respect. D'Artagnan was loaded with thanks by the host of " Le
Grand Monarque." He received them like a man who knows that
nothing is being offered that does not belong to him, and then said,
till supper was ready he would go and walk upon the port. Imme-
diately each of the recruits, who understood the summons, took his
hat. brushed the dust off his clothes, and followed d'Artagnan. But
d'Artagnan, whilst observing, examining everything, took care not to
stop; he directed his course towards the dune, and the ten men—sur-
prised at finding themselves going in the track of each other, uneasy at
seeing on their right, on their left, and behind them, companions upon
104 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
whom they had not reckoned—followed him, casting furtive glances at
each other. It was not till he had arrived at the hollow part of the
deepest dune that d'Artagnan, smiling at seeing their shyness, turned
towards them, making a friendly sign with his hand.
" Eh! come, come, messieurs;" said he, " let us not devour each
other; you, are made to live together, to understand each other in all
respects, and not one to devour another."
Instantly all hesitation ceased; the men breathed as if they had been
taken out of a coffin, and examined each other complacently. After
this examination they turned their eyes towards their leader, who had
long been acquainted with the art of speaking to men of that class, and
improvised the following little speech, pronounced with an energy truly
Gascon:—
"Messieurs, you all know who I am. I have engaged you from
knowing you are brave, and from being willing to associate you with
me in a glorious enterprise. Figure to yourselves that in labouring
for me you labour for the king. I only warn you that if you allow
anything of this supposition to appear, I shall be forceflS to crack your
skulls immediately, in the manner most convenient to me. You are
not ignorant, messieurs, that state secrets are like a mortal poison: as
long as that poison is in its box and the box closed, it is not injurious;
out of the box, it kills. Now draw near, and you shall know as much
of this secret as I am able to tell you." All drew close to him with an
expression of curiosity. " Approach," continued d'Artagnan, " and let
not the bird which passes over our heads, the rabbit which sports in the
dunes, the fish which bounds from the waters, hear us. Our business is
to learn and to report to monsieur le surintendant of the finances, to
what extent English smuggling is injurious to the French merchants.
I will enter every place, and will see everything. We are poor Picard
fishermen, thrown upon the coast by a storm. It is certain that we
must sell fish, neither more nor less, like true fishermen. Only people
might guess who we are, and might molest us; it is therefore necessary
that we should be in a condition to defend ourselves. And this is why
I have selected men of spirit and courage. We will lead a steady life,
and we shall not incur much danger, seeing that we have behind us a
powerful protector, thanks to whom, no embarrassment is possible.
One thing alone puzzles me; but I hope, after a short explanation, you
will relieve me from that difficulty. The thing which puzzles me is
taking with me a crew of stupid fishermen, which crew will annoy me
immensely, whilst if, by chance, there were among you any who have
seen t he sea "
" Oh ! let not that trouble you," said one of the recruits; " I was a
prisoner among the pirates of Tunis three years, and can manoeuvre a
boat like an admiral."
"See," said d'Artagnan, "what an admirable thing chance is!"
D'Artagnan pronounced these words with an indefinable tone of feigned
bonhomie, for d'Artagnan knew very well that the victim of pirates
was an old corsair, and he had engaged him in consequence of that
knowledge. But d'Artagnan never said more than there was occasion
for saying, in order to leave people in doubt. He paid himself with the
explanation, and welcomed the effect, without appearing to be pre-
occupied with the cause.
"And I," said a second, "I,by chance, had an uncle who directed the
works of the port of La Rochelle. When quite a child, I played about
the boats, and I know how to handle an oar or a sail as well as the best
Ponantais sailor."—The last did not lie much more than the first, for
d'artagnan ok his travels. 105
he had rowed on board his majesty's galleys six years, at Ciotat. Two
others were more frank; they confessed honestly that they had served
on board a vessel as soldiers on punishment, and did not blush at it.
D'Artagnan found himself, then, the leader of ten men of war and four
sailors, having at once a land army and a sea force, which would have
carried the pride of Planchet to its height, if Planchet had known the
details.
Nothing was now left but the general orders, and d'Artagnan gave
them with precision. He enjoined his men to be ready to set out for
the Hague, some following the coast which leads to Breskens, others
the road to Antwerp. The rendezvous was given, by calculating each
day's march, at fifteen days from that time, upon the chief place at the
Hague. D'Artagnan recommended his men to go in couples, as they
liked best, from sympathy. He himself selected from among those with
the least hanging look, two guards whom he had formerly known, and
whose only faults were being drunkards and gamblers. These men had
not entirely lost all ideas of civilization, and under proper habiliments
their hearts would have renewed their beatings. D'Artagnan, not to
create any jealousy to the others, made the rest go forward. He kept
his two selected ones, clothed them from his own kit, and set out with
them. It was to these two, whom he seemed to honour with an abso-
lute confidence, that d'Artagnan imparted a false confidence, destined
to secure the success of the expedition. He confessed to them that
the object was not to learn to what extent the French merchants
were injured by English smuggling, but to learn how far French smug-
gling could annoy English trade. These men appeared convinced;
they were effectively so. D'Artagnan was quite sure that at the first
debauch, when thoroughly drunk, one of the two would divulge the
secret to the whole band. His play appeared infallible.
Aiortnight after all we have said, had taken place at Calais, the whole
troop assembled at the Hague. Then d'Artagnan perceived that all his
men, with remarkable intelligence, had already travestied themselves
into sailors, more or less ill-treated by the sea. D'Artagnan left them
to sleep in a cabin in Newkerke Street, whilst he lodged comfortably
upon the Grand Canal. He learned that the king of England had come
back to his old ally "William II. of Nassau, stadtholder of Holland. He
learned also that the refusal of Louis XIV. had a little cooled the pro-
tection afforded him up to that time, and in consequence he had gone
to reside in a little village house at Scheveningen, situated in the
dunes, on the seashore, about a league from the Hague. There, it was
said, the unfortunate banished king consoled himself in his exile, by
looking, with the melancholy peculiar to the princes of his race, at that
immense North Sea which separated him from his England, as it had
formerly separated Mary Stuart from France. There, behind the trees
of the beautiful wood of Scheveningen, on the fine sand upon which
grows the golden broom of the dune, Charles II. vegetated as it did,
more unfortunate than it, for he had life and thought, and he hoped
and despaired by turns.
D'Artagnan went once as far as Scheveningen, in order to be certain
that all was true that was said of the king. He beheld Charles II.,
pensive and alone, coming out of a little door opening into the wood,
and walking on the beach, in the setting sun, without even attracting
the attention of the fishermen who, on their return in the evening,
drew, like the ancient mariners of the Archipelago, their barks up upon
the sand of the shore. D'Artagnan recognized the king; he saw him
fix his melancholy look upon the immense extent of the waters, and
106 the vicoaite de beagelonne.
absorb upon his pale countenance the red rays of the sun already sloped
by the black line of the horizon. Then Charles returned to his isolated
abode, still alone, still slow and sad, amusing himself with making the
friable and moving sand creak beneath his feet. That very evening
d'Artagnan hired for a thousand livres a fishing boat, worth four
thousand. He paid the thousand livres down, and deposited the three
thousand with a burgomaster, after which he embarked, without
their being seen, and in a dark night, the ten men who formed his land
army; and with the rising tide, at three o'clock in the morning, he
got into the open sea, manoeuvring ostensibly with the four others, and
depending upon the science of his galley-slave as upon that of the first
pilot of the port.
CHAPTER XXIII.
In which the Author, very unwillingly, is forced to do a little History.
Whilst kings and men were thus occupied with England, which
governed itself quite alone, and which, it must be said to its praise, had
never been so badly governed, a man upon whom God had fixed his
eye, and placed his finger, a man predestined to write his name in
brilliant letters in the book of history, was pursuing in the face of the
world a work full of mystery and audacity. He went on, and no one
knew whither he meant to go, although not only England, but France,
but Europe, watched him marching with a firm step and a lofty head.
All that was known of this man we are about to tell. Monk had just
declared for the liberty of the Rump parliament, a parliament which
General Lambert, imitating Cromwell, whose lieutenant he had been,
had just blocked up so closely, in order to bring it to his will, that no
member, during all the blockade, was able to go out, and only one,
Peter Wentwortb, had been able to get in. Lambert and Monk—^
everything was resumed under these two men; the first representing
military despotism, the second representing pure republicanism. These
men were the two sole political representatives of that revolution id
which Charles I. had at first lost his crown, and afterwards his head.
As regarded Lambert, he did not dissemble his views; he sought to
establish a military government, and to be himself the head of that
government.
Monk, a rigid republican, some said, wished to maintain the Rump
parliament, that visible representation, although degenerated, of the
republic. Monk, artful and ambitious, said others, wished simply to
make of this parliament, which he affected to protect, a solid step by
which to mount the throne which Cromwell had made empty, but upon
which he had never dared to take his seat. Thus Lambert by perse-
cuting the parliament, and Monk by declaring for it, had mutually
proclaimed themselves enemies of each other. Monk and Lambert,
therefore, had at first thought of creating an army each for himseif:
Monk in Scotland, where were the Presbyterians and the royalists,
that is to say, the malcontents; Lambert in London, where was found,
as is always the case, the strongest opposition against the power which
it had beneath its eyes. Monk had pacified Scotland; he had there
formed for himself an army, and found an asylum. The one watched
the other. Monk knew that the day was not yet come, the day marked
by the Lord for a great change; his sword, therefore, appeared glued to
Historical. 107
the sheath. Inexpugnable in his wild and mountainous Scotland, an
absolute general, king of an army of eleven thousand old soldiers,
whom he had more than once led on to victory ; as well informed, nay,
even better, of the affairs of London than Lambert, who held gar-
rison in the city,—such was the position of Monk, when, at a hundred
leagues from London, he declared himself for the parliament. Lam-
bert, on the contrary, as we have said, lived in the capital. That was
the centre of all his operations, and he there collected around him all
his friends and all the lower class of the people, eternally inclined to
cherish the enemies of constituted power. It was then in London that
Lambert learnt the support that, from the frontiers of Scotland, Monk
lent to the parliament. He judged there was no time to be lost, and that
the Tweed was not so far distant from the Thames that an army could not
march from one river to the other, particularly when it was well com-
manded. He knew besides, that as fast as the soldiers of. Monk pene-
trated into England, they would form on their route that ball of snow,
the emblem of the globe of fortune, which is for the ambitious nothing
but a step growing unceasingly higher to conduct him to his object.
He got together, then, his army, formidable at the same time for its com-
position and its numbers, and hastened to meet Monk, who, on his part,
like a prudent navigator sailing amidst rocks, advanced by very short
marches, his nose to the wind, listening to the reports and scenting the
air which came from London.
The two armies came in sight of each other near Newcastle; Lambert,
arriving first, encamped in the city itself. Monk, always circumspect,
stopped where he was, and placed his general quarters at Coldstream,
on the Tweed. The sight of Lambert spread joy through the army oi"
Monk, whilst, on the contrary, the sight of Monk threw disorder into
the army of Lambert. It might have been believed that these intrepid
warriors, who had made such a noise in the streets of London, had set
out with the hopes of meeting no one, and that now, seeing that they
had met an army, and that that army hoisted before them not only a
standard, but, still further, a cause and a principle,—it might have been
believed, we say, that these intrepid warriors had begun to reflect that
they were less good republicans than the soldiers of Monk, since the
latter supported the parliament; whilst Lambert supported nothing,
not even himself. As to Monk, if he had had to reflect, or if he did
reflect, it must have been alter a sad fashion, for history relates,—and
that modest dame, it is well known, never lies,—for history relates, that
the day of his arrival at Coldstream, search was made in vain through-
out the place for a single sheep.
If Monk had commanded an English army, that was enough to have
brought about a general desertion. But it is not with the Scotch as it
is with the English, to whom that fluid flesh which is called blood is a
Jiaramount necessity; the Scotch, a poor and sober race, live upon a
ittle barley crushed between two stones, diluted with the water of the
fountain, and cooked upon another stone, heated. The Scotch, their
distribution of barley being made, cared very little whether there vuis
or was not any meat in Coldstream.- Monk, little accustomed to barley-
cakes, was hungry, and his staff, at least as hungry as himself, looked
with anxiety to the right and left, to know what was being got ready
for supper. Monk ordered search to be made; his scouts had on arriv-
ing in the place, found it deserted and the cupboards empty; upon
butchers and bakers it was of no use depending in Coldstream. The
smal.esb .morsel of bread, then, could not be found for the general's
table.
108 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
As accounts succeeded each other, all equally unsatisfactory, Monk,
seeing terror and discouragement upon every face, declared that he was
not hungry; besides, they should eat on the morrow, since Lambert was
there probably with the intention of giving battle, and consequently to
give up his provisions, if he were forced in Newcastle, or to deliver the
soldiers of Monk from hunger for ever if he were conquered. This
consolation was not efficacious but upon a very small number; but of
what importance was it to Monk, for Monk was very absolute, under
the appearance of the most perfect mildness ? Every one, therefore, was
obliged to be satisfied, or at least to appear so. Monk, quite as hungry
as his people, but affecting perfect indifference for the absent mutton, cut
a fragment of tobacco, half an inch long, from the carotte of a sergeant
who formed part of his suite, and began to masticate the said fragment,
assuring his lieutenants that hunger was a chimera, and that, besides,
people were never hungry when they had anything to chew. This plea-
santry satisfied some of those who had resisted Monk's first deduction
from the neighbourhood of Lambert's army; the number of the dis-
sentients diminished then greatly; the guard took their posts, the
patrols began, and the general continued his frugal repast beneath his
open tent.
Between his camp and that of the enemy stood an old abbey, of
which, at the present day, there only remain some ruins, but which
then was in existence, and was called N ewcastle Abbey. It was built
upon a vast site independent at once of the plain and of the river,
because it was almost a marsh fed by springs and kept up by rains.
Nevertheless, in the midst of these strips of water, covered with long
grass, rushes, aud reeds, were seen elevated solid spots of ground, con-
secrated formerly to the kitchen-garden, the park, the pleasure-gardens,
and other dependencies of the abbey, like one of those great sea-spiders,
whose body is round, whilst the claws go diverging round from this
circumference. The kitchen-garden, one of the longest claws of the
abbey, extended to the camp of Monk. Unfortunately it was, as we
have said, early in June, and the kitchen-garden, being abandoned,
offered no resources. Monk had ordered this spot to be guarded, as
most subject to surprises. The fires of the enemy's general were plainly
to be perceived on the other side of the abbey. But between these fires
and the abbey extended the Tweed, unfolding its luminous scales be-
neath the tnick shade of tall green oaks. Monk was perfectly well
acquainted with this position, Newcastle and its environs having
already more than once been his head-quarters. He knew that by day
his enemy might without doubt throw a few eclaireurs into these ruins
and promote a skirmish, but that by night he would take care to abstain
from such a risk. He felt himself, therefore, in security. Thus his
soldiers saw him, after what he boastingly called his supper—that is to
say, after the exercise of mastication reported by us at the commence-
inent of this chapter—like Napoleon on the eve of Austerlitz, sleeping
seated in his rush chair, half beneath the light of his lamp, half beneath
the reflection of the moon, commencing its ascent into the heavens,
which denoted that it was nearly half-past nine in the evening. All at
once Monk was roused from his half-sleep, factitious perhaps, by a troop
of soldiers, who came with joyous cries, and kicked the poles of his tent
with a humming noise as if on purpose to wake him. There was no
need of so much noise; the general opened his eyes quickly.
" Well, my children, what is going on now ?" asked the general.
"General!" replied several voices at once, " General! you shall have
some supper."
HISTOBlCAfc. ii
"I have had my supper, gentlemen," replied he quietly, "and was
comfortably digesting it, as you see. But come in, and tell me what
brings you hither."
" Good news, general."
" Bah! Has Lambert sent us word that he will fight to-morrow ?"
"No; but we have just captured a fishing-boat conveying fish to
Newcastle."
" And you have done very wrong, my friends. These gentlemen from
London are delicate, they smack of their first service; you will put
them sadly out of humour this evening, and to-morrow they will be
pitiless. It would really be in good taste to send back to Lambert
both his fish and his fishermen, unless " and the general reflected
an instant.
" Tell me," continued he, "what are these fishermen, if you please ?"
" Some Picard seamen who were fishing on the coasts of Prance or
Holland, and who have been thrown upon ours by a gale of wind."
" Do any among them speak our language ?"
" The leader spoke some few words of English."
The mistrust of the general was awakened in proportion as fresh
information reached him. " That is well," said he, " I wish to see these
men ; bring them to me."
An officer immediately went to fetch them.
" How many are there of them ?" continued Monk; " and what is
their vessel ?"
_" There are ten or twelve of them, general, and they were aboard of a
kind of cliasse-maree, as it is called—Dutch-built, apparently."
"And you say they were carrying fish to Lambert's camp ?"
"Yes, general, and they seem to have had good luck in their fishing."
" Humph! We shall see that," said Monk.
At this moment the officer returned, bringing the leader of the fisher-
men with him. He was a man from fifty to fifty-five years old, but
good-looking for his age. He was of middle height, and wore a justau-
corps of coarse wool, a cap pulled down over his eyes, a cutlass hung
from his belt, and he walked with the hesitation peculiar to sailors, who,
never knowing, thanks to the movement of the vessel, whether tlaeir
foot will be placed upon the plank or upon nothing, give to every one
of their steps a fall as firm as if they Were driving a pile. Monk, with
an acute and penetrating look, examined the fisherman for some time,
while the latter smiled, with that smile, half cunning, half silly, peculiar
to Prench peasants.
"Do you speak English?" asked Monk, in excellent Prench.
"Ah ! but badly, my lord," replied the fisherman.
This reply was made much more with the lively and sharp accentu-
ation of the people beyond the Loire, than with the slightly drawling
accent of the countries on the west and north of Prance.
"But you do speak it?" persisted Monk, in order to examine this
accent once more.
" Eh ! we men of the sea," replied the fisherman, "speak a little of all
languages."
" Then you are a sea-fisherman ?"
"I am at present, my lord—a fisherman, and a famous fisherman
too. I have taken a barbel that weighs at least thirty pounds, and more
than fifty mullets; I have also some little whitings that will fry
beautifully."
" You appear to me to have fished more frequently in the Gulf of
Gascony than in the Channel," said Monk, smiling.
THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"Well, I am from the south; but does that prevent me from being a
good fisherman, my lord?"
" Oh ! not at all; I will buy your fish. And now speak frankly: for
whom did you destine them ?"
" My lord, I will conceal nothing from you. I was going to New-
castle, following the coast, when a party of horsemen who were passing
along in an opposite direction made a sign to my barque to turn back
to your honour's camp, under penalty of a discharge of musketry. As
I was not armed for fighting," added the fisherman, smiling," I was forced
to submit."
" And why did you go to Lambert's camp in preference to mine ?"
" My lord, I will be frank; will your lordship permit me ?"
" Yes, and even, if there be occasion, shall command you to be so."
"Well, my lord, I was going to M.Lambert's camp because those
gentlemen from the city pay well—whilst your Scotchmen, Puritans,
Presbyterians, Covenanters, or whatever you choose to call them, eat
but little, and pay for nothing."
Monk shrugged his shoulders, without, however, being able to refrain
from smiling at the same time. " How is it that, being from the south,
you come to fish on our coasts ? "
" Because I have been fool enough to marry in Picardy."
"Yes; but even Picardy is not England."
" My lord, man shoves his boat into the sea, but God and the wind do
the rest, and drive the boat where they please."
" You had, then, no intention of landing on our coasts ?"
"Never."
"And what route were you steering?"
"We were returning from Ostend, where some mackerel have been
seen already, when a sharp wind from the south drove us from our
course; then, seeing that it was useless to struggle against it, we let it
drive us. It then became necessary, not to lose our fish, which were
good, to go and sell them at the nearest English port, and that was
Newcastle. We were told the opportunity was good, as there was an
increase of population in the camp, an increase of population in the
city; both we were told were full of gentlemen, very rich and very
hungry. So we steered our course towards Newcastle."
" And your companions, where are they ?"
"Oh! my companions have remained on board; they are sailors
without the least instruction."
"Whilst you P" said Monk.
" Who, I ?" said the patron,laughing; "I have sailed about with my
father: and I know what is called a sou, a crown, a pistole, a louis, ana
a double-louis, in all the languages of Europe: my crew therefore listen
to me as they would to an oracle, and obey me as if I were an admiral."
" Then it was you who preferred M. Lambert as the best customer ? "
"Yes, certainly. And, to be frank, my lord, was I wrong ? "
"You will see that by-and-by."
" At all events, my lord, if there is a fault, the fault is mine; and my
comrades should not be dealt hardly with on that account."
"This is decidedly an intelligent, sharp fellow," thought Monk.
Then, after a few minutes' silence employed in scrutinizing the fisher-
man,—" You come from Ostend, did you not say ? " asked the general.
" Yes, my lord, straight as a line."
"You have then heard speak of the affairs of the day ; for I have no
doubt that both in Prance and Holland they excite interest. What
is he doing who calls himself king of England ? "
HISTORICAL. Ill
"Oh, my lord ! " cried the fisherman, with loud and expansive frank-
Iiess, "that is a lucky question, and you could not put it to anybody
better than to me, for in truth 1 can make you a famous reply. Ima-
gine, my lord, that when putting into Ostend, to sell the few mackerel
we had caught, I saw the ex-king walking on the dunes, waiting for his
horses, which were to take him to the Hague. He is a rather tall, pale
man, with black hair, and somewhat hard-featured. He looks ill, and
I don't think the air of Holland agrees with him."
Monk followed with the greatest attention the rapid, heightened, and
diffuse conversation of the fisherman, in a language which was not
his own, but which, as we have said, he spoke with great facility. The
fisherman, on his part, employed sometimes a Trench word, sometimes
an English word, and sometimes a word which appeared not to belong
to any language, but was, in truth, pure Gascon. Fortunately his eyes
spoke for him, and that so eloquently, that it was possible to lose a
word from his mouth, but not a single intention from his eyes. The
general appeared more and more satisfied with his examination. " You
must have heard that this ex-king, as you call him, was going to the
Hague for some purpose P "
" Oh yes," said the fisherman ; "I heard that."
"And what was his purpose ?"
" Always the same," said the fisherman. " Must he not always enter-
tain the fixed idea of returning to England ? "
"That is true," said Monk pensively.
"Without reckoning," added the fisherman, "that the stadtholder—
you know, my lord, William II.P "
" Well ? "
" He will assist him with all his power."
" Ah ! did you hear that said ?"
"No, but I think so." ■
" You are quite a politician, apparently," said Monk.
"Why, we sailors, my lord, who are accustomed to study the water
and the air—that is to say, the two most mobile things in the world—
are seldom deceived as to the rest."
"Now, then," said Monk, changing the conversation, " I am told you
are going to provi.-ion us."
" I will do my best, my lord."
"How much do \ou ask for your fish, in the first place ?"
"Not such a fool as to name a price, my lord."
"Why not P—" Because my fish is yours."
" By what right ? "
"By that of the strongest."
"But my intention is to pay you for it."
" That is very generous of you, my lord."
" Is it worth "
" My lord, I fix no price."
" What do you ask, then ? "
" I only ask to be permitted to go away."
"Where?—to General Lambert's camp? "
" I!" cried the fisherman ; " what should I go to Newcastle for, now
I have no longer any fish ?"
" At all events, listen to me."
" I do, my lord."
" I will give you counsel."
" How, my lord ?—pay me and give me good counsel likewise ? You
overwhelm me, my lord."
112 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Monk looked more earnestly than ever at the fisherman, of whom he
still appeared to entertain some suspicion. " Yes, I will pay you, and
give you a piece of advice; for the two things are connected. If you
return, then, to General Lambert "
The fisherman made a movement of his head and shoulders, which
signified, " If he persists in it, I won't contradict him."
"Do not cross the marsh," continued Monk; " you will have money
in your pocket, and there are in the marsh some Scotch ambuscaders
I have placed there. Those people are very intractable; they under-
stand but very little of the language which you speak, although it
appears to me to be composed of three languages. They might take
from you what I had given you, and, on your return to your country,
you would not fail to say that General Monk has two hands, the one
Scotch, and the other English ; and that he takes back with the Scotch
hand what he has given with the English hand."
" Oh! general, I will go where you like, he sure of that," said the
fisherman, with a fear too expressive not to be exaggerated. " I only
wish to remain here, if you will allow me to remain."
"I readily believe you," said Monk, with an imperceptible smile;
" but I cannot, nevertheless, keep you in my tent."
" I have no such wish, my lord, and desire only that your lordship
should point out where you will have me posted. Do not trouble
yourself about us—with us a night soon passes away."
"You shall be conducted to your barque."
" As your lordship pleases. Only, if your lordship would allow me
to be taken back by a carpenter, I should be extremely grateful."
" Why so P "
" Because the gentlemen of your army, in dragging my boat up the
river with a cable pulled by their horses, have battered it a little upon
the rocks of the shore, so that I have at least two feet water in my
hold, my lord."
" The greater reason why you should watch your boat, I think."
" My lord, I am quite at your orders," said the fisherman. " I will
empty my baskets where you wish; then you will pay me, if you please
to do so ; and you will send me away, if it appears right to you. You
see I am very easily managed and pleased, my lord."
•' Come, come, you are a very good sort of a fellow," said Monk,
whose scrutinizing glance had not been able to find a single shade in
the limpid eye of the fisherman. " Holloa! Digby! " An aide de-camp
appeared. " You will conduct this good fellow and his companions to
the little tents of the canteens, in front of the marshes, so that they
will be near their barque, and yet will not sleep on board to-night.—
What is the matter, Spithead ? "
Spithead was the sergeant from whom Monk had borrowed a piece of
tobacco for his supper. Spithead having entered the general's tent
without being sent for, had drawn this question from Monk.
" My lord," said he, " a French gentleman has just presented himself
at the outposts, and asks to speak to your honour."
All this was said, be it understood, in English; but, notwithstanding,
it produced a slight emotion in the fisherman, which Monk, occupied
with his sergeant, did not remark.
" Who is the gentleman ?" asked Monk.
" My lord," replied Spithead, " he told it me; hut those devils of
French names are so difficult to be pronounced by a Scotch throat, that
I could not retain it. I believe, however, from what the guards say,
that it is the same gentleman who presented himself yesterday at the
halt, and whom your honour would not receive."
the tbeasuite. 113
" That is true; I was holding a council of officers."
" Will your honour give any orders respecting this gentleman?"
" Yes, let him be brought here."
" Must we take any precautions ?"
" Such as what?"
" Binding his eyes, for instance."
" To what purpose ? He can only see what I desire should be seen ;
that is to say, that I have around me eleven thousand brave men, who
ask no better than to have their throats cut in honour of the parlia-
ment of Scotland and England."
" And this man, my lord ?" said Spithead, pointing to the fisherman,
who, during this conversation, had remained standing and motionless,
like a man who sees but does not understand.
"Ah! that is true," said Monk. Then turning towards the fisher-
man,—" I shall see you again, my brave fellow," said he; " I have clv>sen
you a lodging. Digby, take him to it. Pear nothing; your money shall
be sent to you presently."
" Thank you, my lord," said the fisherman, and, after having bowed,
he left the tent, accompanied by Digby. Before he had gone a hundred
paces he found his companions, who were whispering with a volubility
which did not appear exempt from inquietude; but he made them a
sign which seemed to reassure them. " Hola, you fellows!" said the
patron, " come this way. His lordship, General Monk, has the gener-
osity to pay us for our fish, and the goodness to give us hospitality foi
to-night."
The fishermen gathered round their leader, and, conducted by Digby,
the little troop proceeded towards the canteens, the post, as may be
remembered, which had been assigned them. As they went along
in the dark, the fishermen passed close to the guards who were con-
ducting the French gentleman to General Monk. This gentleman was
on horseback and enveloped in a large cloak, which prevented the
patron from seeing him, however great his curiosity miuht be. As to
the gentleman, ignorant that he was elbowing compatriots, he did not
pay any attention to the little troop.
The aide-de-camp installed his guests in a tolerably comfortable tent,
from which was dislodaed an Irish canteen-woman, who went, with her
six children, to sleep where she could. A large fire was burning in the
front of this tent, and threw its purple light over the grassy pools of the
marsh, rippled by a fresh breeze. The installation made, the aide-de-
camp wished the fishermen good night, calling to their notice that they
might see from the door of the tent the masts of their barque, which
was tossing gently on the Tweed, a proof that it had not yet sunk.
The sight of this appeared to delight the leader of the fishermen in-
finitely.
CHAPTER XXIY.
The Treasure.
The French gentleman whom Spithead had announced to Monk,
and who had passed, so closely wrapped in his cloak, by the fisherman
who left the general's tent five minutes before he entered it,—the French
gentleman passed through the various posts without even casting his
eyes around him, for fear of appearing indiscreet. As the order had
been given, he was conducted to the tent of the general. The gentle-
i
114 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
man was left alone in the sort of antechamber in front of the principal
body of the tent, where he awaited Monk, who only delayed till he had
hoard the report of his people, and observed through the opening of the
canvas the countenance of the person who solicited an audience. With-
out doubt the report of those who had accompanied the French gentle-
man established the discretion with which he was conducted; for the
first impression the stranger received of the welcome made him by the
general was more favourable than he could have expected at such a
moment, and on the part of so suspicious a man. N evertheless, ac-
cording to his custom, when Monk found himself in the presence of a
stranger, he fixed upon him his penetrating eyes, which scrutiny the
stranger, on his part, sustained without embarrassment or notice. At
the end of a few seconds, the general made a gesture with his hand and
head in sign of attention.
" My lord," said the gentleman, in excellent English, " I have re-
quested an interview with your honour, for an affair of importance."
" Monsieur," replied Monk, in French, "you speak our language well
for a son of the continent. I ask your pardon—for doubtless the ques-
tion is indiscreet—do you speak French with the same purity ?"
" There is nothing surprising, my lord, in my speaking English
tolerably; I resided for some time in England in my youth, and since
that I have made two voyages to this country." These words were
spoken in French, and with a purity of accent that bespoke not only a
Frenchman, but a Frenchman from the environs of Tours.
" And what part of England have you resided in, monsieur ?"
"In my youth, London, my lord; then, about 1635,1 made a pleasure
trip to Scotland; and, lastly, in 1648,1 lived for some time at Newcastle,
particularly in the convent, the gardens of which are now occupied by
your army."
" Excuse me, monsieur; but you must comprehend that these ques-
tions are necessary on my part—do you not ?"
" It would astonish me, my lord, if they were not made."
" Now, then, monsieur, what can I do to serve you? What do you
wish ?"
" This, my lordbut, in the first place, are we alone?"
" Perfectly so, monsieur, except, of course, the post which guards us."
So saying, Monk pulled open the canvas with his hand, and pointed to
the soldier placed at ten paces at most from the tent, and who, at the
first call, could have rendered assistance in a second.
" In that case, my lord," said the gentleman, in as calm a tone as if
he had been for a length of time in habits of intimacy with his inter-
locutor, " I have made up my mind to address myself to you, because
I believe you to be an honest man. Indeed, the communication I am
about to make to you will prove to you the esteem in which I hold
you."
Monk, astonished at this language, which established between him
and the French gentleman equality at least, raised his piercing eye to
the stranger's face, and with a sensible irony conveyed by the inflexion
of his voice alone, for not a muscle of his face moved,—" I thank you,
monsieur," said he; " but, in the first place, whom have I the honour
of speaking to ? "
" I sent you my name by your sergeant, my lord."
" Excuse him, monsieur, he is a Scotchman,—he could not retain it."
" I am called the Comte de la Fere, monsieur," said Athos, bowing.
" The Comte de la Fere?" said Monk, endeavouring to recollect the
name. " Pardon me, monsieur, but this appears to be the first time
THE TBEASUEE. 115
I have ever heard that name. Do you fill any post at the court of
France?"
" None; I am a simple gentleman."
" What dignity ?"
" King Charles I. made me a knight of the Garter, and Queen Anne
of Austria has given me the cordon of the Holy Ghost. These are my
only dignities."
" The Garter! the Holy Ghost! Are you a knight of those two
orders, monsieur ?"
"Yes."
"And on what occasions have such favours been bestowed upon
you?"
" For services rendered to their majesties."
Monk looked with astonishment at this man, who appeared to him
so simple and so great at the same time. Then, as if he had renounced
endeavouring to penetrate this mystery of a simplicity and grandeur
upon which the stranger did not seem disposed to give him any other
information than that which he had already received,—" Did you pre-
sent yourself yesterday at our advanced posts ?"
" And was sent back ? Yes, my lord."
" Many officers, monsieur, would not permit anybody to enter their
camp, particularly on the eve of a probable battle. But I differ from
my colleagues, and like to leave nothing behind me. Every advice is
good to me: all danger is sent to me by God, and I weigh it in my
hand with the energy He has given me. So, yesterday, you were only
sent back on account of the council I was holding. To-day I am at
liberty,—speak."
" My lord, you have done so much the better in receiving me, from
that which I have to say having nothing to do witli the battle you are
about to fight with General Lambert, or with your camp; and the
proof is, that I turned away my head that I might not see your men,
and closed my eyes that I might not count your tents. No, I come to
speak to you, my lord, on my own account."
" Speak, then, monsieur," said Monk.
"Just now," continued Athos, "I had the honour of telling your
lordship that I for a long time lived in Newcastle: it was in the time
of Charles I., and when the king was given up to Cromwell by the
Scots."
" I know," said Monk coldly.
" I had at that time a large sum in gold, and on the eve of the battle,
from a presentiment perhaps of the turn which things would take
on the morrow, I concealed it in the principal vault of the convent of
Newcastle, in the tower of which you may see from hence the sum-
mit silvered by the moon. My treasure has then remained interred
there, and I am come to entreat your honour to permit me to withdraw
it before, perhaps, the battle turning that way, a mine or some other war
engine may destroy the building and scatter my gold, or render it so
apparent that the soldiers will take possession of it."
Monk was well acquainted with mankind; he saw in the physiognomy
of this gentleman all the energy, all the reason, all the circumspection
possible: he could therefore only attribute to a magnanimous confidence
the revelation the Frenchman had made him, and he showed himself
profoundly touched by it.
" Monsieur," said he, "you have augured justly by me. But is the
sum worth the trouble to which you expose yourself? Do you even
believe that it can be in the place where you left it ? "
I 2
116 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGKELONNE.
" It is there, monsieur, I- do not doubt."
" That is a reply to one question ; but to the other. I asked you if
the sum were so large as to lead you to expose yourself thus."
" It is really large; yes, my lord, for it is a million I inclosed in two
barrels."
" A million! " cried Monk, whom this time, in his turn, Athos looked
at earnestly and long. Monk perceived this, and his mistrust returned.
" Here is a man," said he, " who is laying a snare for me. So you
wish to withdraw this money, monsieur," replied he," as I understand ?"
"If you please, my lord."
" To-day ? "
" This very evening, and that on account of the circumstances I have
named."
" But, monsieur," objected Monk, "General Lambert is as near the
abbey where you have to act as I am. "Why, then, have you not ad-
dressed yourself to him ? "
" Because, my lord, when one acts in important matters, it is best to
consult one's instinct before everything. Well, General Lambert does
not inspire me with so much confidence as you do."
" Be it so, monsieur. I will assist you in recovering your money, if,
however, it can still be there; for that is far from likely. Since 1648
twelve years have rolled away, and many events have taken place."
Monk dwelt upon this point, to see if the French gentleman would
seize the evasions that were open to him, but Athos did not lift his
brows once.
" I assure you, my lord," he said firmly, " that my conviction is, that
the two barrels have neither changed place nor master." This reply
had removed one suspicion from the mind of Monk, but it had suggested
another. Without doubt this Frenchman was some emissary sent to
entice into error the protector of the Parliament; the gold was nothing
but a lure; and by the help of this lure they thought to excite the
cupidity of the general, _ This gold might not exist. It was Monk's
business, then, to seize in the fact of falsehood and trick, the French
gentleman, and to draw from the false step itself in which his enemies
wished to entrap him, a triumph for his renown. When Monk was
determined how to act,—
" Monsieur," said he to Athos, " without doubt you will do me the
honour to share my supper this evening P"
"Yes, my lord," replied Athos, bowing; "for you do me an honour
of which I leel myself worthy, by the inclination which drew me
towards you."
_ " It is so much the more gracious on your part to accept my invita-
tion with such frankness, from my cooks being but few and inexpert,
and from my providers having returned this evening empty-handed;
so that if it had not been for a fisherman of your nation who strayed
into our camp, General Monk would have gone to bed without his
supper to-day. I have then some fresh fish to offer you, as the vendor
assures me."
" My lord, it is principally for the sake of having the honour to pass
an hour more with you."
After this exchange of civilities, during which Monk had lost nothing
of his circumspection, the supper, or that which was to serve for one,
had been laid upon a deal table. Monk made a sign to the Comte de la
Fere to be seated at this table, and took his place opposite to him. A
single dish filled with boiled fish, set before the two illustrious guests,
promised more to hungry stomachs than to delicate palates, Whilst
THE TBEASUBE. 117
supping, that is, while eating the fish, washed down with bad ale, Monk
got Athos to recount to him the last events of the Fronde, the reconcilia-
tion of M. de Conde with the king, and the probable marriage of the king
with the infanta of Spain ; but he avoided, as Athos himself avoided it,
all allusion to the political interests which united, or rather which (lis-
united at this time, England, France, and Holland. Monk, in this
conversation, convinced himself of one thing, which he must have
remarked at the first words exchanged: that was, that he had to do v\ith
a man of high distinction. He could not be an assassin, and it was
repugnant to Monk to believe him to be a spy; but there were sufficient
finesse and at the same time firmness in Athos to lead Monk to fancy
he was a conspirator. When they had quitted table, " You still believe
in your treasure, then, monsieur ? " asked Monk.
"Yes, my lord."
" Seriously P "
" Quite seriously."
" And you think you can find the place again where it was buried ? "
" At the first inspection."
"Well, monsieur, from curiosity I will accompany you. And it is
so much the more necessary that I should accompany you, that you
would find great difficulties in passing through the camp without me
or one of my lieutenants."
"General, I would not suffer you to inconvenience yourself if I did
not, in fact, stand in need of your company ; but, as I recognize that
this company is not only honourable, but necessary, I accept ir."
" Do you desire we should take any people with us P" asked Monk.
"General, I believe that would be useless, if you yourself do not see
the necessity for it. Two men and a horse will suffice to transport the
two casks on board the felucca which brought me hither."
" But it will be necessary to pick, dig, and remove the earth, and
split stones; you don't reckon upon doing this work yourself, monsieur,
do you ? "
"General, there is no picking or digging required. The treasure is
buried in the sepulchral vault of the convent, under a stone in which
is fixed a large iron ring, and under that a little stair of four steps opens.
The two casks are there, placed end to end, covered with a coat of
plaster in the form of a bier. There is besides an inscription, which
will enable me to recognize the stone; and as I am not willing, in an
affair of delicacy and confidence, to keep the secret from your honour,
here is the inscription: —' Hie jacet venerabilis Petrns Guliehnus
Scott, Canon Honorab. Conventus Novi Castelli. Obiit quartd et
decimd Feb. ann. Bom. MCCVIIT. Requiescat in pace.'"
Monk did not lose a single word. He was astonished either at the
marvellous duplicity of this man, and the superior style in which he
played his part, or at the good loyal faith with which he presented his
request, in a situation in which was concerned a million of money,
risked against the stab of a poniard, amidst an army that would have
considered the theft as a restitution. " That is well," said he; "I will
accompany you ; and the adventure appears to me so wonderful, that I
will carry the flambeau miself." And, saying these words, he girded
on a short sword, placed a pistol in his belt, disclosing in this move-
ment, which opened his pourpoint a little, the tine rings of a coat of
mail, destined to screen him from the first poniard-stroke of an assassin.
After which he took a Scotch dirk in his left hand, and then turning
to Athos, " Are you ready, monsieur ? " said he. " I am."
Athos, as if in opposition to what Monk had done, unfastened his
118 the yicomte de bragelonne.
poniard, which he placed upon the table; unhooked his sword-belt,
which he laid close to his poniard; and, without affectation opening his
pourpoint, as if to seek his handkerchief, showed beneath his fine
cambric shirt his naked breast, without arms, either offensive or de-
fensive.
" This is truly a singular man," said Monk; " he is without any arms;
he has an ambuscade placed somewhere yonder."
" General," said he, as if he had divined Monk's thought, " you wish
we should be alone; that is very right, but a great captain ought never
to expose himself with temerity. It is night, the passage of the march
may present dangers; be accompanied."
"You are right," replied he, calling Digby. The aide-de-camp ap-
peared. " Fifty men, with swords and muskets," said he, looking at
Athos.
" That is too few if there is danger, too many if there is not."
" I will go alone," said Monk; " I want nobody. Come, monsieur."
CHAPTER XXY.
The March.
Athos and Monk traversed, in going from the camp towards the
Tweed, that part of the ground which ]j)igby had traversed with the
fishermen coming from the Tweed to the camp. The aspect of this
place, the aspect of the changes man had wrought in it, was of a nature
to produce a great effect upon a lively and delicate imagination like
that of Athos. Athos looked at nothing but these desolate spots;
Monk looked at nothing but Athos—at Athos, who, with his eyes
sometimes directed towards heaven, and sometimes towards the earth,
sought, thought, and sighed. Digby, whom the last orders of the
feneral, and particularly the accent with which he had given them,
ad at first a little excited, Digby followed the night-walkers about
twenty paces, but the general having turned round as if astonished to
find his orders had not been obeyed, the aide-de-camp perceived his
indiscretion, and returned to his tent. He supposed that the general
wished to make, incognito, one of those reviews of vigilance which
every experienced captain never fails to make on the eve of a decisive
engagement; he explained to himself the presence of Athos in this
case as an inferior explains all that is mysterious on the part of his
leader. Athos might be, and, indeed, in the eyes of Digby must be, a
spy, whose information was to enlighten the general.
At the end of a walk of about ten minutes among the tents and posts,
which were closer together near the head-quarters, Monk entered upon
a little causeway which diverged into three branches. That on the left
led to the river, that in the middle to Newcastle Abbey on the marsh,
that on the right crossed the first lines of Monk's camp; that is to say,
the lines nearest to Lambert's army. Beyond the river was an advanced
post, belonging to Monk's army, which watched the enemy; it was
composed of one hundred and fifty Scots. They had swum across the
Tweed, and, in case of attack, were to recross it in the same manner,
fiving the alarm; but as there was no post at that spot, and as
jambert's soldiers were not so prompt at taking to the water as Monk's
were, the latter appeared not to have much uneasiness on that side.
On this side of the river, at about five hundred paces from the old
THE MARCH. 1 19
abbey, the fishermen had taken up their abode amidst a crowd of small
tents raised by the soldiers of the neighbouring clans, who had with
them their wives and children. All this confusion, seen by the moon's
light, presented a striking coup d'ceil; the half-shade enlarged every
detail, and the light, that flatterer which only attaches itself to the
polished side of things, courted upon each rusty musket the point still
left intact, and upon every rag of canvas the whitest and least sullied
part. Monk arrived then with Athos, crossing this spot, illumined by
a double light, the silver splendour of the moon, and the red blaze of
the fires at the meeting of the three causeways ; there he stopped, and
addressing his companion,—"Monsieur," said he, "do you know your
road?"
" General, if I am not mistaken, the middle causeway leads straight
to the abbey."
" That is right; but we shall want lights to guide us in the vaults."
Monk turned round.
" Ah ! I thought Digby was following us !" said he. " So much the
better; he will procure us what we want."
" Yes, general, there is a man yonder who for some time has been
walking behind us."
" Digby!" cried Monk, " Digby! come here, if you please."
But, instead of obeying, the shadow made a motion of surprise, and,
retreating instead of advancing, it bent down and disappeared along
the jetty on the left, directing its course towards the lodging of the
fishermen.
" It appears not to be Digby," said Monk.
Both had followed the shadow which had vanished. But it was not
so rare a thing for a man to be wandering about at eleven o'clock at
night, in a camp in which are reposing ten or eleven thousand men, as
to give Monk and Athos any alarm at his disappearance.
"As it is so," said Monk, "and we must have a light, a lantern, a
torch, or something by which we may see where to set our feet, let us
seek this light."
" General, the first soldier we meet will light us."
"No," said Monk, in order to discover if there were not any conniv-
ance between the Comte de la Fere and the fishermen. "No, I should
prefer one of these French sailors who came this evening to sell me
their fish. They will leave to-morrow, and the secret will be better
kept by them; whereas, if a report should be spread in the Scotch
army, that treasures are to be found in the abbey of Newcastle, my
Highlanders will believe there is a million concealed beneath every
slab; and they will not leave a stone upon a stone in the building."
" Do as you think best, general," replied Athos, in so natural a tone
of voice, as made it evident that soldier or fisherman was the same to
him, and that he had no preference.
M.onk approached the causeway behind which had disappeared the
person he had taken for Digby, and met a patrol who, making the tour
of the tents, was going towards head-quarters; he was stopped with his
companion, gave the pass-word, and went on. A soldier, roused by the
noise, unrolled his plaid, and looked up to see what was going forward.
" Ask him," said Monk to Athos, " where the fishermen are; if I were
to speak to him, he would know me."
Athos went up to the soldier, who pointed out the tent to him;
immediately Monk and Athos turned towards it. It appeared to the
general that at the moment they came up, a shadow, like to that they
had already seen, ailided into this tent: but. m drawing nearer, he
120 THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONNE.
perceived he must have been mistaken, for all of them were asleep
pele-mele, and nothing was seen but arms and legs joined, crossed, and
mixed. Athos, fearing he should be suspected of connivance with some
of his compatriots, remained outside the tent.
"SolaI" said Monk, in French, "wake up here." Two or three of
the sleepers got up. " 1 want a man to light me," continued Monk.
" Your honour may depend upon us," said a voice which made Athos
start. " Where do you wish us to go ?"
" You shall see. A light! come, quickly!"
"Yes, your honour. Does it please your honour that I should
accompany you ?"
" You or another, it is of very little consequence, provided I have a
light."
"It is strange!" thought Athos; "what a singular voice that man
has!'
"Some fire, you sirs!" cried the fisherman; "come, make haste!"
Then addressing in a low voice his companion nearest to him
"Get a light, Menneville," said he, " and hold yourself ready for any-
thing."
One of the fishermen struck light from a stone, set fire to some
tinder, and by the aid of a match lib a lantern. The light immediately
spread all over the tent.
" Are you ready, monsieur ? " said Monk to Athos, who had turned
away, not to expose his face to the light.
"Yes, general," replied he.
"Ah ! the French gentleman!" said the leader of the fishermen to
himself. " Pesle ! I have a great mind to cnarge you with the com-
mi-sion, Menneville; he may know me. Light! light! " This dialogue
was pronounced at the back of the tent, and in S9 low a voice that
Monk could not hear a syllable of it; he was. besides, talking with
Athos. Menneville got himself ready in the mean time, or rather re-
ceived the orders of his leader.
" Well ? " said Monk.
" I am ready, general," said the fisherman.
Monk, Athos, and the fisherman left the tent.
" It is impossible!" thought Athos. " What dream could put that
into my head ?"
" Go forward; follow the middle causeway, and stretch out your
legs," said Monk to the fisherman.
They were not twenty paces on their way, when the same shadow
that had appeared to enter the tent came out of it again, crawled along
as far as the piles, and, protected by that sort of parapet placed along
the causeway, carefully observed the march of the general. All three
disappeared in the night haze. They were walking towards Newcastle,
the white stones of which appeared to them like sepulchres. After
standing for a few seconds under the porch, they penetrated into the
interior. The door had been broken open by hatchets. A post of
four men slept in safety in a corner; so certain were they that the
attack would not take place on that side.
" Will not these men be in your way ? " said Monk to Athos.
"On the contrary, mon-ieur, they will assist in rolling out the
barrels, if your honour will permit them."
" You are right."
The post, however fast asleep, roused up at the first steps of the three
visitors amongst the briars and grass that invaded the porch. Monk
gave the pass-word, and penetrated into the interior of the convent,
THE MAHCH. 121
preceded by the light. He walked last, watching even the least move-
ment of Athos, his naked dirk in his sleeve, and ready to plunge it
into the reins of the gentleman at the first suspicious gesture he should
see him make. Bub Athos, with a firm and sure step, traversed the
chambers and courts. Not a door, not a window was left in this
building. The doors had been burnt, some upon the spot, and the
charcoal of them was still jagged with the action of the fire, which had
gone out of itself, powerless, no doubt, to get to the heart of those
massive joints of oak fastened together by iron nails. As to the win-
dows, all the panes having been broken, birds of darkness, alarmed by
the torch, flew away through the holes of them. At the same time,
gigantic bats began to trace their vast, silent circles around the in-
truders, whilst their shadows appeared trembling upon the lofty stone
walls in the light projected by the torch. Monk concluded there could
be no man in the convent, since wild beasts and birds were there still,
and fled away at his approach. After having passed the rubbish, and.
torn away more than one branch of ivy that had made itself a guardian
for the solitude, Athos arrived at the vaults situated beneath the great
ball, but the entrance of which was from the chapel. There he stopped.
" Here we are, general," said he.
" This, then, is the slab ? "
"Yes."
" Ay, and here is the ring—but the ring is sealed into the stone."
"We must have a lever."
" That's a thing very easy to find."
Whilst looking round them, Athos and Monk perceived a little ash
of about three inches in diameter, which had shot up in an angle of
the wall, reaching to a window, which its branches darkened.
" Have you a knife ? " said Monk to the fisherman.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Cut down this tree, then."
The fisherman obeyed, but not without notching his cutlass. When
the ash was cut and fashioned into the shape of a lever, the three men
penetrated into the vault.
" Stop where you are," said Monk to the fisherman. "We are going
to dig up some powder; your light may be dangerous."
The man drew back in a sort of terror, and faithfully kept to the
post assigned him, whilst Monk and Atuos turned behind a column at
the foot of which, through a spiracle, penetrated a moonbeam, reflected
exactly by the stone of which the Comte de la Fere had come so far in
search.
" This is it," said Athos, pointing out to the general the Latin in-
scription.
" Yes," said Monk.
Then, as if still willing to leave the Frenchman one means of eva-
sion,—
" JDo you not observe that this vault has already been broken into,"
continued he, "and that several statues have been knocked down ?"
" My lord, you have, without doubt, heard say that the religious
respect of your Scots loves to confide to the statues of the dead the
valuable objects they have possessed during their lives. Therefore the
soldiers had reason to think that under the pedestals of the statues
which ornament most of these tombs, a treasure was hidden. They
have consequently broken down pedestal and statue : but the tomb of
the venerable canon, with which we have to do, is not distinguished by
any monument. It is simple, therefore it has been protected by the
122 the vicomte he bbagelonne.
superstitious fear which your puritans have always had of sacrilege.
Not a morsel of the masonry of this tomb has been chipped oil'."
"That is true," said Monk.
Athos seized the lever.
" Shall I help you ? " said Monk.
" Thank you, my lord ; but I am not willing your honour should put
your hand to a work of which, perhaps, you would not take the respon-
sibility if you knew the probable consequences of it."
Monk raised his head.
" What do you mean by that, monsieur ? "
" I mean but that man "
" Stop," said Monk; " I perceive what you are afraid of. I will make
a trial." Monk turned towards the fisherman, the whole of whose
profile was thrown upon the wall.
" Come here, friend!" said he in English, and in a tone of command.
The fisherman did not stir.
"That is well," continued he; "he does not know English. Speak
to me, then, in English, if you please, monsieur."
^" My lord," replied Athos, " I have frequently seen men in certain
circumstances have the command over themselves not to reply to a
opiestion put to them in a language they understood. The fisherman
is perhaps more learned than we believe him to be. Send him away,
my lord, I beg of you."
" Decidedly," said Monk, " he wishes to have me alone in this vault.
Never mind, we will go through with it; one man is as good as another
man; and we are alone.—My friend," said Monk to the fisherman,
" go back up the stairs we have just descended, and watch that nobody
comes to disturb us." The fisherman made a sign of obedience.
" Leave your torch," said Monk; " it would betray your presence, and
might procure you a musket-ball."
The fisherman appeared to appreciate the counsel; he laid down the
light, and disappeared under the vault of the stairs. Monk took up
the torch, and brought it to the foot of the column.
" Ab, ah !" said he; " money, then, is concealed under this tomb ? "
"Yes, my lord ; and in five minutes you will no longer doubt it."
At the same time Athos struck a violent blow upon the plaster,
which split, presenting a chink for the point of the'lever. Athos
introduced the bar into this crack, and soon large pieces of plaster
yielded, rising up like rounded slabs. Then the Comte do la Fere
seized the stones and threw them away with a force that hands so deli-
cate as his might not have been supposed capable of.
" My lord," said Athos, " this is plainly the masonry of which I told
your honour."
" Yes ; but I do not yet see the casks," said Monk.
"If I had a poniard," said Athos, looking round him, "you
should soon see them, monsieur. Unfortunately I left mine in your
tent."
"I would willingly ofFer you mine," said Monk, "but the blade is
too thin for such work."
Athos appeared to look around him for a thing of some_ kind that
might serve as a substitute for the arm he desired. Monk did not lose
one of the movements of his hands, or one of the expressions of his
eyes. " Why do you not ask the fisherman for his cutlass ? " said
Monk; " he has a cutlass."
"Ah! that is true," said Athos; "for he cut the tree down with it.''
And he advanced towards the stairs.
HEART AND MIND. 123
" Friend," said he to the fisherman, "throw me down your cutlass, if
you please; I want it."
The noise of the falling arm resounded over the marshes.
" Take it," said Monk; " it is a solid instrument, as I have seen, and
of which a strong hand might make good use."
Athos only appeared to give to the words of Monk the natural and
simple sense under which they were to be heard and understood. Nor
did he remark, or at least appear to remark, that when he returned
with the weapon, Monk drew back, placing his left hand on the stock
of his pistol; in the right he already held his dirk. He went to work
then, turning his back to Monk, placing his life in his hands, without
possible defence. He then struck, during several seconds, so skilfully
and sharply upon the intermediary plaster, that it separated in two
parts, ana Monk was able to discern two barrels placed end to end,
and which their weight maintained motionless in their chalky envelope.
" My lord," said Athos, " you see that my presentiments have not
been disappointed."
" Yes, monsieur," said Monk, " and I have good reason to believe
you are satisfied; are you not ? "
_ " Doubtless I am; the loss of this money would have been inexpres-
sibly great to me; but I was certain that God, who protects the good
cause, would not have permitted this gold, which should procure its
triumph, to be diverted to baser purposes."
" You are, upon my honour, as mysterious in your words as in your
actions, monsieur," said Monk. " Just now I did not perfectly under-
stand you when you said that you were not willing to throw upon me
the responsibility of the work we were accomplishing."
" I had reason to say so, my lord."
" And now you speak to me of the good cause. What do you mean by
the words ' the good cause'? We are defending at this moment, in Eng-
land, five or six causes, which does not prevent every one from consi-
dering his own, not only as the good cause, but as the best. What is
yours, monsieur ? Speak boldly, that we may see if, upon this point,
to which you appear to attach a great importance, we are of the same
opinion."
Athos fixed upon Monk one of those penetrating looks which seem
to convey, to him they are directed to, a challenge to conceal a single
one of his thoughts; then, taking off his hat, he began in a solemn
voice, while his interlocutor, with one hand upon his visage, allowed
that long and nervous hand to compress his moustache and beard, at
the same time that his vague and melancholy eye wandered about the
recesses of the vaults.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Heart and Mind.
" My lord," said the Comte de la Fere, "you are a noble Englishman,
you are a loyal man; you are speaking to a noble Frenchman, to a man
of heart. This gold contained in these two casks before us, I have told
you was mine. I was wrong—it is the first lie I have pronounced in
my life, a temporary lie, it is true. This gold is the property of King
Charles II., exiled from his country, driven from his palaces, the orphan
at once of his father and his throne, and deprived of everything, even
of the melancholy happiness of kissing on his knees the stone upon
124 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
which the hands of his murderers have written that simple epitaph
which will eternally cry out for vengeance upon them:—'Here
lies Charles 1.'"
Monk grew slightly pale, and an imperceptible shudder crept over
his skin and raised his grey moustache.
" I," continued Athos, " I, Comte de la Fere, the last, the only faith-
ful friend the poor abandoned prince has left, 1 have offered him to
come hither to find the man upon whom now depends the fate of roy-
alty and of England; and I am come, and have placed myself under the
eye of this man, and have placed myself naked and unarmed in his
hands, saying:—' My lord, here is the1 last resource of a prince whom
God made your master, whom his birth made your king; upon you, and
you alone, depend his life and his future. Will you employ this money
in consoling England for the evils it must have suffered from anarchy;
that is to say, will you aid, and if not aid, will you allow to act, King
Charles II. ? You are master, you are king, all-powerful master and
king, for chance sometimes defeats the work of time and God. I am
here alone with you, my lord: if the success being divided alarms you,
if my complicity annoys you, you are armed, my lord, and here is a
grave ready-dug; if, on the contrary, the enthusiasm of your cause
carries you away, if you are what you appear to be, if your hand in
what it undertakes obeys your mind, and your mind your heart, here
are the means of ruining for ever the cause of your enemy Charles
Stuart. Kill, then, the man you have before you, for that man will
never return to him who has sent him without bearing with him the
deposit which Charles I., his father, confided to him, ana keep the gold
which may assist in carrying on the civil war. Alas ! my lord, it is the
fate of this unfortunate prince. He must either corrupt or kill, for
everything resists him, everything repulses him, everything is hostile to
him; and yet he is marked with the divine seal, and he must, not to
belie his blood, reascend the throne, or die upon the sacred soil of his
country.
" My lord, you have heard me. To any other but the illustrious
man who listens to me, I would have said: ' My lord, you are poor;
my lord, the king offers you this million as an earnest of an immense
bargain; take it, and serve Charles II. as I served Charles I., and I feel
assured that God who listens to us, who sees us, who alone reads in
your heart, shut up from all human eyes,—I am assured God will give you
a happy eternal life after a happy death.' But to General Monk, to the
illustrious man of whose standard I believe I have taken measure, I
say : 'My lord, there is for you in the history of peoples and kings a
brilliant place, an immortal, imperishable glory, if alone, without any
other interests but the good of your country and the interests of justice,
you become the supporter of your king. Many others have been con-
querors and glorious usurpers; you, my lord, you will be content with
being the most virtuous, the most honest, and the most incorrupt of
men : you will have held a crown in your hand, and instead of placing
it upon your own brow, you will have deposited it upon the head of
him for whom it was made. Oh, my lord, act thus, and you will leave
to posterity the most enviable of names, in which no human creature
can rival you.'"
Athos stopped. During the whole time that the noble gentleman
was speaking, Monk had not given one sign of either approbation or
disapprobation; scarcely even, during this vehement appeal, had his
eyes been animated with that fire which bespeaks intelligence. The
Comte de la Fere looked at him sorrowfully, and on seeing that melan-
REART AND MIND. 125
choly countenance, felt discouragement penetrate to his very heart. At
length Monk appeared to recover, and broke the silence.
" Monsieur," said he, in a mild, calm tone, " in reply to you, I will
make use o^your own words. To any other but yourself I would reply
by expulsion, imprisonment, or still worse; for, in fact, you tempt me
and you force me at the same time. But you are one of those men,
monsieur, to whom it is impossible to refuse the attention and respect
they merit; you are a brave gentleman, monsieur,—1 say so, and I am
a judge. You just now spoke of a deposit which the late king trans-
mitted through you to his son,—are you, then, one of those French-
men who, as I have heard, endeavoured to carry off Charles I. from
"Whitehall?"
" Yes, my lord; it was I who was beneath the scaffold during the
execution; I, who had not been able to redeem it, received upon my
brow the blood of the martyred king. I received, at the same time,
the last word of Charles I.; it was to me he said ' Remember !' and
in saying ' Remember !5 he made allusion to the money at your feet,
my lord."
" I have heard much of you, monsieur," said Monk, " but I am
happy to have, in the first place, appreciated you by my own observation,
ana not by my remembrances. I will give you, then, explanations that
I have given to no other, and you will appreciate what a distinction
I make between you and the persons who have hitherto been sent to me."
Athos bowed, and prepared to absorb greedily the words which fell,
one by one, from the mouth of Monk,—those words rare and precious
as the dew in the desert.
"You spoke to me," said Monk, "of Charles II.; but pray, monsieur,
of what consequence to me is that phantom of a king ? I have grown
old in a war and in a policy which are now-a-days so closely linked
together, that every man of the sword must fight in virtue of his rights
or his ambition with a personal interest, and not blindly behind an
officer, as in ordinary wars. For myself I perhaps desire nothing, but
I fear much. In the war of to-day resides the liberty of England, and
perhaps that of every Englishman. How can you expect that I, free in
the position I have made for myself, should go willingly and hold out
my hands to the shackles of a stranger ? That is all Charles is to me.
He has fought battles here which he has lost, he is therelore a bad cap-
tain; he has succeeded in no negotiation, he is therefore a bad diplo-
matist; he has paraded his wants and his miseries in all the courts of
Europe, he has therefore a weak and pusillanimous heart. Nothing
noble, nothing great, nothing strong, has hitherto emanated from that
genius which aspires to govern one of the greatest, kingdoms of the
«arth. I know this Charles, then, under none but bad aspects, and you
would wish me, a man of good sense, to go and make myself gratuitously
the slave of a creature who is inferior to me in military capacity, in
politics, and in dignity ! No, monsieur. When some great and noble
action shall have taught me to value Charles, I will perhaps recognize
his rights to a throne from which we have cast the father because he
wanted the virtues which his son has to this time wanted; but hitherto,
in fact of rights, I only recognize my own: the revolution made me a
general, my sword will make me protector, if I wish it. Let Charles
show himself, let him present himself, let him pass through the concur-
rence open to genius, and, above all, let him remember that he is of a
race from whom more will be looked for than from any other. There-
fore, monsieur, say no more about him, I neither refuse nor accept: I
reserve myself—I wait."
126 THE VI(?OMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
Athos knew Monk to be too well informed of all concerning Charles
to venture to urge the discussion further; it was neither the time nor
the place. " My lord," then said he, " I have nothing to do but to thank
you."
" And for what, monsieur ? For your having formed a correct
opinion of me, and for my having acted according to your judgment?
Is that, in truth, worthy of thanks ? This gold which you are about to
carry to Charles will serve me as a test for him, by seeing the use he
will make of it. I shall have an opinion which now I have not."
" And yet does not your honour fear to compromise yourself by al-
lowing such a sum to be carried away for the service of your enemy ?"
" My enemy, say you ? Eh, monsieur, I have no enemies. I am in
the service of the parliament, which orders me to combat General Lam-
bert and Charles Stuart,—its enemies, and not mine. I combat them. If
the parliament, on the contrary, ordered me to unfurl my standards on
the port of London, to assemble my soldiers on the banks to receive
Charles II. "
" You would obey?" cried Athos, joyfully.
" Pardon me," said Monk, smiling, " I was going,—I, a grey-headed
man,—in truth, how did I forget myself? I was going to speak like a
foolish young man."
" Then you would not obey ?" said Athos.
" I do not say that either, monsieur. The welfare of my country
before everything. God who has given me the power has, no doubt,
willed that I should have that power for the good of all; and he has
given me, at the same time, discernment. If the parliament were to
order such a thing, I should reflect."
The brow of Athos became clouded. "Then I may decidedly say
that your honour is not inclined to favour King Charles II. ?"
" You continue to question me, Monsieur le Comte; allow me, in
my turn, if you please."
" Do, monsieur; and may God inspire you with the idea of replying
to me as frankly as I will reply to you!"
" When you shall have taken this money back to your prince, what
advice will you give him?"
Athos fixed upon Monk a proud and resolute look. " My lord,"
said he, " with this million, which others would perhaps employ in ne-
gotiating, I would advise the king to raise two regiments, to enter by
Scotland, which you have just pacified; to give to the people the fran-
cbises which the revolution promised them, and in which it has not,
in all cases, kept its word. I should advise him to command in person
this little army, which would, believe me, increase, and to die, standard
in hand, and sword in its sheath, saying,—'Englishmen! I am the
third king of my race you have killed; beware of the justice of God!'"
Monk hung down his head, and mused for an instant. " If he sue-
ceeded," said he, " which is very improbable, but not impossible—for
everything is possible in this world—what would you advise him to do ?"
" To think that by the will of God he lost his crown, but by the
good will of men he has recovered it."
An ironical smile passed over the lips of Monk. " Unfortunately,
monsieur," said he, " kings do not know how to follow good advice."
" Ah, my lord, Charles II. is not a king," replied Athos, smiling in
his turn, but with a very different expression than Monk had done.
" Let us terminate this, Monsieur le Comte,—that is your desire, is it
not?"
Athos bowed.
HEART AND MIND. 127
" I will give orders tliat these two casks shall he transported whither
you please. Where are you lodging, monsieur ?"
" In a little bourg at the mouth of the river, your honour."
" Oh, I know the bourg; it consists of hve or six houses, does it not ?"
" Exactly. Well, I inhabit the first,—two net-makers occupy it with
me; it is their barque which placed me on shore."
" But your own vessel, monsieur ?"
" My vessel is at anchor, a quarter of a mile at sea, and waits for me."
" "You do not think, however, of setting out immediately?"
" My lord, I shall try once more to convince your honour."
" You will not succeed," replied Monk; "but it is of consequence
that you should quit Newcastle without leaving on your passage the
least suspicion that might prove injurious to me or you. To-morrow
my officers think Lambert will attack me. 1, on the contrary, will be
bound he will not stir; it is, in my opinion, impossible. Lambert leads
an army devoid of homogeneous principles, and there is no possible
army with such elements. I have taught my soldiers to consider my
authority subordinate to another, which causes that after me, around
me, and beneath me, they still look for something. It would result,
that if I were dead, whatever might happen, my army would not be
demoralized all at once; it results, that if I chose to absent myself, for
instance, as it does please me to do sometimes, there would not be in
my camp the shadow of uneasiness or disorder. I am the magnet—the
sympathetic and natural strength of the English. All those scattered
arms that will be sent against me 1 shall attract to myself. Lambert,
at this moment, commands eighteen thousand deserters; but I have never
mentioned that to my officers, you may easily suppose. Nothing is mpre
useful to an army than the expectation of a coming battle: everybody
is awake—everybody is on his guard. I tell you this that you may live
in perfect security. Do not be in a hurry, then, to cross the seas;
within a week there will be something fresh, either a battle or an ac-
commodation. Then, as you have judged me to be an honourable man,
and confided your secret to me, I have to thank you for this confidence,
and 1 will come and pay you a visit or send for you. Do not go before
I send you wqrd. I repeat the request."
" I promise you, general," cried Athos, with a joy so great, that, in
spite of all his circumspection, he could not prevent its sparkling in his
eyes.
Monk surprised this flash, and immediately extinguished it by one of
those mute smiles which always broke, between these two interlocutors,
the way which Athos believed he had made in his mind.
" Then, my lord, it is a week that you desire me to wait?"
" A week ? yes, monsieur."
" And during these days what shall I do?"
" If there should be a battle, keep at a distance from it, I conjure
you. I know the French delight in such amusements;—you might
take a fancy to see how we fight, and you might meet with some chance
shot. Our Scotchmen are very bad marksmen, and I do not wish that
a worthy gentleman like you should return to France wounded. I
should not like either to be obliged, myself, to send to your prince
his million left here by you; for then it would be said, and with reason,
that I paid the pretender to enable him to make war against the parlia-
ment. Go, then, monsieur, and let it be done as has been agreed
upon."
" Ah, my lord," said Athos, "what joy it would give me to be the first
that penetrated to the noble heart which beats beneath that cloak 1"
128 THE VICOMTE BE BEAGELONNE.
" You decidedly think, then, that I have secrets," said Monk, without
changing the half-cheerful expression of his countenance. " Why,
monsieur, what secret can you expect to find in the hollow head of a
soldier ? But it is getting late, and our torch is almost out; let us call
our man."
" Hola!" cried Monk in French, approaching the stairs; " hola!
fisherman!"
The fisherman, benumbed by the cold night-air, replied in a hoarse
voice, asking what they wanted of him.
" Go to the post," said Monk, " and order a sergeant, in the name of
General Monk, to come here immediately."
This was a commission easily performed; for the sergeant, uneasy at
the general's being in that desolate abbey, had drawn nearer by degrees,
and was not much further off than the fisherman. The general's order
was therefore heard by him, and he hastened to obey it.
" Get a horse and two men," said Monk.
" A horse and two men ?" repeated the sergeant.
" Yes," replied Monk. " Have you any means of getting a horse with
a pack-saddle or two paniers ?"
"No doubt, at a hundred paces off, in the Scotch camp."
" Yery well."
" What shall I do with the horse, general?"
" Look here."
The sergeant descended the three steps which separated him from
Monk, and came into the vault.
" You see," said Monk, " that gentleman yonder ?"
" Y es, general."
" And you see these two casks ?"
" Perfectly."
" They are two casks, one containing powder and the other halls; I
wish these casks to be transported to the little bourg at the mouth of
the river, and which I reckon upon occupying to-morrow with two
hundred muskets. You understand that the commission is a secret
one, for it is a movement that may decide the fate ol the battle."
" Ob, general! " murmured the sergeant.
" Mind, then ! Let these casks be fastened on to the horse, and let
them be escorted by two men and you to the residence of this gentle-
man, who is my friend. But take care that nobody knows it."
" 1 would go by the marsh if I knew the road," said the sergeant.
"I know one myself," said Athos; "it is not wide, but it is solid,
having br.en made upon piles; and with precaution we shall get there
safely enough "
" l)o everything this gentleman shall order you to do."
" Oh ! oh ! the casks are heavy," said the sergeant, trying to lift one.
" They weigh four hundred pounds each, if they contain what they
ought to contain, do they not, monsieur?"
" Thereabouts," said Athos.
The sergeant went in search of the two men and the horse. Monk, left
alone with Athos, affected to speak to him of nothing but indifferent
things, while examining the vault in a cursory manner. Then, hearing
the horse's steps,—
" I leave you with your men, monsieur," said he, " and return to the
camp. You are perfectly safe."
" 1 shall see you again, then, my lord ? " asked Athos.
" That is agreed upon, monsieur, and with much pleasure." Monk
held out his hand to Athos.
THE NEXT DAT. 129
" Ah! my lord, if you would!" murmured Athos.
" Hush! Monsieur, it is agreed that we shall speak no more of that."
And bowing to Athos, he went up the stairs, passing, about the middle
of them, his men who were coming down. He had not gone twenty
Saces, when a faint but prolonged whistle was heard at a distance,
lonk listened, but seeing nothing and hearing nothing, he continued
his route. Then he remembered the fisherman, and looked about for
him; but the fisherman had disappeared. If he had, however, looked
with more attention, he might have seen that man, bent double, gliding
like a serpent along the stones and losing himself in the mist, floating
over the surface of the marsh. He might have equally seen, attempting
to pierce that mist, a spectacle that might have attracted his attention;
and. that was the rigging of the vessel, which had changed place, and
was now nearer the shore. But Monk saw nothing; and thinking he
had nothing to fear, he entered the desert causeway which led to his
camp. It was then that the disappearance of the fisherman appeared
strange, and that a real suspicion began to take possession of his mind.
He had just placed at the orders of Athos the only post that could
protect him. He had a mile of causeway to traverse before he could
regain his camp. The fog increased with such intensity that he could
scarcely distinguish objects at ten paces' distance. Monk then thought
he heard the sound of an oar over the marsh on the right. " "Who
goes there ? " said he.
But nobody answered; then he cocked his pistol, took his sword in
his hand, and quickened his pace, without, however, being willing to
call anybody. Such a summons, for which there was no absolute
necessity, appeared unworthy of him.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The next Day.
It was seven o'clock in the morning, the first rays of day lightened
the pools of the marsh, in which the sun was reflected like a red ball,
when -Athos awaking and opening the window of his bedchamber,
which looked out upon the banks of the river, perceived, at fifteen paces'
distance from him, the sergeant and the men who had accompanied him
the evening before, and who, after having deposited his casks at his
house, had returned to the camp by the causeway on the right.
For what could these men, after having returned to the camp, come
back ? That was the question which first presented itself to Athos. The
sergeant, with his head raised, appeared to be watching the moment
when the gentleman should appear, to address him. Athos, surprised
to see these men there, whom he had seen depart the night before, could
not prevent himself from expressing his astonishment to them.
" There is nothing surprising in that, monsieur," said the sergeant;
"for yesterday the general commanded me to watch over your safety,
and I thought it right to obey that order."
" Is the general at the camp ? " asked Athos.
"No doubt he is, monsieur; as when he left you he was going back."
"Well, wait for me a moment; I am going thither to render an
account of the fidelity with which you fulfilled your duty, and to get
my sword, which I left upon the table in the tent."
K
130 THE VICOMTE DE- BRAGELONNE.
" That falls out very well," said the sergeant, " for we were about to
request you to do so."
Athos fancied he could detect an air of equivocal bonhomie upon the
countenance of the sergeant; but the adventure of the vault might have
excited the curiosity of the man, and he was not surprised that he
allowed some of the feelings which agitated his mind to appear in his
face. Athos closed the doors carefully, confiding the keys to Grimaud,
who had chosen his domicile beneath the shed itself, which led to the
cellar where the casks had been deposited. The sergeant escorted the
Comte de la Fere to the camp. There a fresh guard awaited him, and
relieved the four men who had conducted Athos. This fresh guard was
commanded by the aide-de-camp Digby, who, on their way, fixed upon
Athos looks so little encouraging, that the Frenchman asked himself,
whence arose, with regard to him, this vigilance and this severity, when
the evening before he had been left perfectly free. He continued his
way not the less to the head-quarters, keeping to himself the observations
which men and things forced him to make. He found under the
general's tent, to which he had been introduced the evening before,
three superior officers: these were Monk's lieutenant and two colonels.
Athos perceived his sword; it was still on the table where he had left it.
Neither of the officers had seen Athos, consequently neither of them
knew him. Monk's lieutenant asked, at the appearance of Athos, if
that were the same gentleman with whom the general had left the tent.
" Yes, your honour," said the sergeant; " it is the same."
" But," said Athos, haughtily, " I do not deny it, I think; and now,
gentlemen, in my turn, permit me to ask you to what purpose are these
questions asked, and particularly some explanation upon the tone in
which you ask them P "
" Monsieur," said the lieutenant, " if we address these questions to
you, it is because we have a right to do so, and if we make them in a
particular tone, it is because that tone, believe me, agrees with the
circumstances."
" Gentlemen," said Athos, "you do not know who I am; but I must
tell you I acknowledge no one here but General Monk as my equal.
Where is he ? Let me be conducted to him, and if he has any questions
to put to me, I will answer him, and to his satisfaction, I hope. I
repeat, gentlemen, where is the general ? "
" Eh ! good God! you know better than we do where he is," said
the lieutenant.
" I ? " " Yes, you."
" Monsieur," said Athos, " I do not understand you."
" You will understand me—and, on your part, in the first place, do
not speak so loud." *
Athos smiled disdainfully.
"We don't ask you to smile," said one of the colonels warmly; " we
require you to answer."
" And I, gentlemen, declare to you that I will not reply until I am in
the presence of the general."
" But," replied the same colonel who had already spoken, " you know
very well that that is impossible."
" This is the second time I have received this strange reply to the wish
I express," said Athos. " Is the general absent ? "
This question was made with such apparent good faith, and the gen-
tleman wore an air of such natural surprise, that the three officers
exchanged a meaning look. The lieutenant, by a tacit convention with
the other two, was spokesman.
THE tfEXT DAY. 1S1
" Monsieur, the general left you last night in the boundaries of the
monastery ? "
" Yes, monsieur."
" And you went "
" It is not for me to answer you, but for those who have accompanied
me. They were your soldiers, ask them."
" But if we please to interrogate you ? "
" Then it will please me to reply, monsieur, that I do not appeal to
any one here, that I know no one here but the general, and that it is to
him alone I will reply."
" So be it, monsieur; but as we are the masters, we constitute
ourselves a council of war, and when you are before judges you must
reply."
The countenance of Athos expressed nothing but astonishment and
disdain, instead of the terror the officers expected to read in it- at
this threat.
" Scotch or English judges upon me, a subject of the king of France ;
upon me, placed under the safeguard of British honour! You are mad,
gentlemen!" said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.
The officers looked at each other. " Then, monsieur," said one of
them, " do you pretend not to know where the general is ? "
" To that, monsieur, I have already replied."
" Yes, but you have already replied an incredible thing."
" It is true, nevertheless, gentlemen. Men of my rank are not gene-
rally liars. I am a gentleman, I have told you, and when I have at
my side the sword which, by an excess of delicacy, I last night left
upon the table whereon it still lies, believe me no man says that to
me which 1 am unwilling to hear. I am at this moment disarmed;
if you pretend to be my judges, try me; if you are but my execu-
tioners, kill me."
" But, monsieur " asked the lieutenant, in a more courteous voice,
struck with the lofty coolness of Athos.
" Monsieur, I came to speak confidentially with your general about
affairs of importance. It was not an ordinary welcome that he gave me.
The accounts your soldiers can give you may convince you of that. If,
then, the general received me in that manner, he knew what were my
titles to his esteem. Now, you do not suspect, I should think, that I
should reveal my secrets to you, and still less his."
" But these casks, what do they contain ? "
" Have you not put that question to your soldiers ? What was
their reply ? "
" That they contained powder and ball."
" From whom had they that information ? They must have told you
that."
" From the general; but we are not dupes."
" Beware, gentlemen; it is not to me you are now giving the lie, it is
to your leader."
The officers again looked at each other. Athos continued: " Before
your soldiers the general told me to wait a week, and at the expiration
of that week he would give me the answer he had to make me. Have I
fled away ? No; I wait."
" He told you to wait a week !" cried the lieutenant.
" He told me so clearly so, monsieur, that I have a sloop at the
mouth of the river, which I could with ease have joined yesterday, and
embarked. Now, if I have remained, it was only in compliance with
the desire of your general; his honour having requested me not to
K 2
132 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGELON5E.
dopart without a last audience, which he fixed at a week hence. 1
reoeat to you then, I am wailing."
The heutenant turned towards the other officers, and said, in a low
voice: "ll this gentleman speaks truth, there may still be some hope.
The general may be carrying out some negotiations so secret, ihat he
thought it imprudent to inform even us. Then the time limited for his
absence would be a w eek." Then, turning towards Athos:—" Mon-
sieur," said he, "your declaration is of the most serious importance;
are you willing to repeat it under the seal of an oath ?"
" Monsieur," replied Athos, "1 have always lived in a world where
my simple word was regarded as the most sacred of oaths."
" This time, however, monsieur, the circumstance is move grave than,
any you may have been placed in. The safety of the whole army is at
stake, lieflect; the general has disappeared, and our search for him
has been vain. Is this disappearance natural'{ Has a crime been
committed ? Are we not bound to carry our investigations to extre-
mity ? Have we any right to wait with patience ? At this moment,
everything, monsieur, depends upon the words you are about to
pronounce."
"Interrogated thus, monsieur, I no longer hesitate," said Athos.
"Yes, I came hither to converse confidentially with General Monk,
and to ask of him an answer regarding certain interests; yes, the
general being, doubtless, unable to pronounce before the expected
battle, begged me to remain a week in the house I inhabit, promising
me that in a week I should see him again. Yes, all this is true, and,!
swear it, by the God who is the absolute master of my life and yours."
Athos pronounced these words with so much grandeur and solemnity,
that the three officers were almost convinced. Nevertheless, one or
the colonels made a last attempt.
" Monsieur," said he, " although we may be now persuaded of the
truth of what you say, there is yet a strange mystery in all this. The
general is too prudent a man to have thus abandoned his army on the
eve of a battle, without having at least given to one of us a notice of it.
As for myself, I cannot believe but that some strange event has been
the cause of this disappearance. Yesterday some foreign fishermen
came to sell their fish here; they were lodged yonder among the Scots;
that is to say, on the road the general took with this gentleman, to go
to the abbey, and to return from it. It was one of those fishermen
that accompanied the general with a light. And this morning, barque
and fishermen have all disappeared, carried away by the night's tide."
"For my part," said the lieutenant, "I see nothing in that, that is
not quite natural, for these people were not prisoners."
"No ; but I repeat it was one of them who lit the general and this
gentleman to the abbey, and Higby assures us that the general had
strong suspicions concerning those people. Now, who can say whether
these people were not connected with this gentleman; and that, the
blow being struck, the gentleman, who is evidently brave, did not
remain to reassure us by his presence, and to prevent our researches
being made in a right direction ?"
This speech made an impression upon the other two officers.
" Monsieur," said Athos, "permit me to tell you, that your reasoning,
though specious in appearance, nevertheless wants consistency, as re-
gards me. 1 have remained, you say, to divert suspicion. W ell! on
the contrary, suspicions arise in me as well as in you; and I say, it is
impossible, gentlemen, that the general, on the eve of a battle, should
leave his army without saying anything to, at least, one of his officers.
SMUGGLING. 133
Yes, there is some strange event connected with this; yes, instead of
being idle and waiting, \ou must display all the activity, and a!! the
vigilance possible. I am your pri-oner, gentlmimn, upon i ai\-]e or
otherwise. My honour is concerned m the ascertaining of w at is
become of General Monk, and to such a point, that if you were to say
to me, 'Depart!' I should reply : 'No, I will remain !' And if you
were to ask niv opinion, I should add; ' Yes, the general is the victim
of some conspiracy; for, if he had intended to leave the camp he would
have told me so.' Seek then, search the land, search the sea; the general
has not gone with his own good will."
The lieutenant made a sign to the two other officers
"No, monsieur," said he, "no; in your turn, you go too far. The
general has nothing to suffer from these events, and no doubt, has
directed them. What Monk is now doing he has often done before.
We are wrong in alarming ourselves ; his absence will, doubtless, be of
short duration; therefore, let us beware, lest by a pusillanimity which
the general would consider a crime, of making his absence public; and
by that means demoralizing the army. The general gives a striking
proof of his confidence in us; let us show ourselves worthy of it.
Gentlemen, let the most profound silence cover all this with an impene-
trable veil: we will detain this gentleman, not from mistrust of him
with regard to the crime, but to assure more effectively the secrecy of
the absence of the general, and the concentrating of it among our-
selves; therefore, until fresh orders, the gentleman will remain at
head-quarters."
"Gentlemen," said Athos, "you forget that last night the general
confided to me a deposit over which I am bound to watch. Give me
whatever guard you like, enchain me if you like, but leave me the
house I inhabit for my prison. The general, on his return, would re-
proach you, I swear on the honour of a gentleman, for having displeased
him in this."
" So be it, monsieur," said the lieutenant; " return to your abode."
Then they placed over Athos a guard of fifty men, who surrounded
his house, without losing sight of him for a minute.
The secret remained secure, but hours, but days passed away without
the general's returning, or without anything being heard of him.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Smuggling.
Two days after the events we have just related, and whilst every
instant General Monk was looked for in the camp to which he did not
return, a little Dutch felucca, manned by eleven men, cast anchor
upon the coast of Scheveningen, nearly within cannon-shot of the
port. It was night, the darkness was great, the sea rose in the dark-
ness; it was a capital time to land passengers and merchandise.
The road of Scheveningen forms a vast crescent; it is not very deep
and not very safe; therefore nothing is seen stationed there but large
Flemish hoys, or some of those Dutch barques which fishermen draw
up upon the sands upon rollers, as the ancients did, according to Yirgil.
When the tide is rising, ascends and advances on the land, it is not
prudent to bring the vessels too close in shore, for, if the wind is fresh,
the prows are buried in the sand; and the sand of that coast is
334 the vicohte de bragelonne.
spoilt; it receives easily, but does not give up so. It was on this
account, no doubt, that a boat was detached from the barque, as soon
as the latter had cast anchor, and came with eight sailors, amidst
whom was to be seen an object of an oblong form, a sort of large
pannier or bale.
The shore was deserted; the few fishermen inhabiting the dune were
gone to bed. The only sentinel that guarded the coast (a coast very
badly guarded, seeing that a landing from large ships was impossible),
without having been able to follow the example of the fishermen, who
were gone to bed, imitated them so far, that he slept at the back of his
watch-box as soundly as they slept in their beds. The only noise to be
heard, then, was the whistling of the night-breeze among the bushes
and brambles of the dune. But the people who were approaching were
doubtless mistrustful people, for this real silence and apparent solitude
did not satisfy them. Their boat, therefore, scarcely Visible as a dark
speck upon the ocean, glided along noiselessly, avoiding the use of their
oars for fear of being heard, and gained the nearest land. Scarcely had
it touched the ground when a single man jumped out of the boat, after
having given a brief order, in a manner which denoted the habit of
commanding. In consequence of this order, several muskets immedi-
ately glittered in the feeble light reflected from that mirror of the
heavens, the sea; and the oblong bale of which we spoke, containing
no doubt some contraband object, was transported to land, with infinite
precautions. Immediately after, the man who had landed the first, set
off in a hasty pace diagonally towards the village of Scheveningen,
directing his course to the nearest point of the wood. When there, he
sought for that house we have already described as the temporary resi-
dence—and a very humble residence—of him who was styled by cour-
tesy king of England. All were asleep there, as everywhere else, only
a large dog, of the race of those which the fishermen of Scheveningen
harness to little carts to carry fish to the Hague, began to bark formid-
ably as soon as the stranger's steps were audible beneath the windows.
But this watchfulness, instead of alarming the newly-landed man, ap-
peared, on the contrary, to give him great joy, for his voice might
perhaps have proved insufficient to rouse the people of the house,
whilst, with an auxiliary of that sort, his voice became almost useless.
The stranger waited, then, till these reiterated and sonorous barkings
should, according to all probability, have produced their effect, and then
he ventured a summons. On hearing his voice, the dog began to roar
with such violence that soon another voice was heard from the interior,
appeasing that of the dog. With that the dog was quieted.
" What do you want ?" asked that voice, at the same time weak,
broken, and civil.
' I want his majesty King Charles II., king of England," said the
stranger.
"What do you want with him?"
" I want to speak to him."
"Who are you?"
"Ah! mordioux! you ask too much; I don't like talking through
doors."
" Only tell me your name."
" I don't like to declare my name in the open air, neither; besides,
you may be sure I shall not eat your dog, and I hope to God he will be
as reserved with respect to me."
"You bring news, perhaps, monsieur, do you not?" replied the voice,
patient and querulous as that of an old man.
SMUGGLING. 135
" I will answer for it, I bring you news you little expect. Open the
door, then, if you please, hein
" Monsieur," persisted the old man, " do you believe, upon your soul
and conscience, that your news is worth waking the king for ?"
" For God's sake, my dear monsieur, draw your bolts; you will not be
sorry, I will swear, for the trouble it will give you. I am worth my
weight in gold, parole d'honneur!"
" Monsieur, I cannot, notwithstanding, open the door till you have
told me your name."
" Must I, then ?"
" It is by the order of my master, monsieur."
" "Well, my name is but, I warn you, my name will tell you abso-
lutely nothing."
" Never mind, tell it, notwithstanding."
"Well, I am the Chevalier d'Artagnan."
The voice uttered an exclamation.
" Oh! good heavens!" said the voice on the other side of the door,
" Monsieur d'Artagnan! What happiness! I could not help thinking
I knew that voice."
"Humph!" said d'Artagnan. "My voice is known here! That's
flattering."
"Oh! yes, we know it," said the old man, drawing the bolts; "and
here is the proof." And at these words he let in d'Artagnan, who, by
the light of the lantern he carried in his hand, recognized his obstinate
interlocutor.
"Ah! mordioux!" cried he; "why it is Parry! I ought to have
known that."
" Parry, yes, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, it is I. What joy to see
you once again!"
"You are right there, what joy!" said d'Artagnan, pressing the old
man's hand. " There, now you'll go and inform the king, will you not ?"
" But the king is asleep, my dear monsieur."
"Mordioux! then wake him. He won't scold you for having dis-
turbed him, I will promise you."
"You come on the part of the comte, do you not?"
" The Comte de la Fere."
" From Athos ? "
"Ma foil no; I come on ray own part. Come, Parry, quick!
The king—I want the king."
Parry did not think it his duty to resist any longer; he knew d'Ar-
tagnan long before ; he knew that although a Gascon, his words never
Eromised more than they could stand to. He crossed a court and a
ttle garden, appeased the dog, who seemed seriously to wish to taste
the musketeer, and went howling to the shelter of a chamber forming
the ground-floor of a little pavilion. Immediately a little dog inhabit-
ing that chamber replied to the great dog inhabiting the court.
" Poor king!" said d'Artagnan to himself, " these are his body-
guards. It is true he is not the worse guarded on that account."
" What is wanted with me ? " asked the king from the back of the
chamber.
" Sire, it is M. le Chevalier d'Artagnan, who brings you some news.
A noise was immediately heard in the chamber, a door was opened,
and a flood of light inundated the corridor and the garden. The king
was working by the light of a lamp. Papers were lying about upon
his desk, and he had commenced the foul copy of a letter which showed,
by the numerous erasures, the trouble he had had in writing it.
136 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Come in, monsieur le chevalier," said he, turning round. Then
perceiving the fisherman, " What did you mean, Parry ? Where is
M. le Chevalier d'Artagnan ?" asked Charles.
" He is before you, sire," said M. d'Artagnan.
" What, in that costume ? "
" Yes; look at me, sire; do you not remember having seen me at
Blois, in the antechambers of king Louis XIY. ? "
" Yes, monsieur, and I remember I was much pleased with you."
D'Artagnan bowed. " It was my duty to conduct myself as I did,
the moment I knew that I had the honour of being near your
maiesty."
' You bring me news, do you say ?"
"Yes, sire."
" Prom the king of Prance ? "
"Mafoi! no, sire," replied d'Artagnan. "Your maiesty must have
seen yonder that the king of Prance is only occupied with his own
majesty ? "
Charles raised his eyes towards heaven.
"No, sire, no," continued d'Artagnan. "I bring news entirely
composed of personal facts. Nevertheless, I hope your majesty will
listen to the facts and news with some favour."
" Speak, monsieur."
"If I am not mistaken, sire, your majesty spoke a great deal at
Blois, of the embarrassed state in which the affairs of England are."
Charles coloured. " Monsieur," said he, " it was to the king of
Prance I related "
"Oh! your majesty is mistaken," said the musketeer, coolly, "I
know how to speak to kings in misfortune. It is only when they are
in misfortune that they speak to me; once fortunate, they look upon
me no more. * I have, then, for your majesty, not only the greatest
respect, but, still more, the most absolute devotion; and that, believe
me, with me, sire, means something. Now, hearing your majesty com-
plain of your destiny, I found that you were noble and generous, and
bore misfortune well."
" In truth!" said Charles, much astonished, " I do not know which
I ought to prefer, your freedoms or your respects."
" You will choose presently, sire," said d'Artagnan. " Then your
majesty complained to your brother, Louis XIY., of the difficulty you
experienced in returning to England and regaining your throne, for
want of men and money."
Charles allowed a movement of impatience to escape him.
"And the principal object your majesty found in your way," con-
tinued d'Artagnan, " was a certain general commanding the armies of
the parliament, and who was playing yonder the part of another Crom-
well. Did not your majesty say so ? "
" Yes; but I repeat to you, monsieur, those words were for the king's
ears alone."
" And you will see, sire, that it is very fortunate they fell into those
of his lieutenant of musketeers. That man so troublesome to your
majesty was one General Monk, I believe; did I not hear his name
correctly, sire ? "
" Yes, monsieur; but once more, to what purpose are all these ques-
tions ? "
" Oh ! I know very well, sire, that etiquette will not allow kings to
be interrogated. I hope, however, presently you will pardon my want of
etiquette. Your majesty added that, notwithstanding, if you could
SMUGGLING. 137
see him, confer with him, and meet him face to face, you would
triumph, either by force or persuasion, over that obstacle—the only
serious one, the only insurmountable one, the only real one you met
with on your road."
" All that is true, monsieur; my destiny, my future, my obscurity,
or my glory depend upon that man; but what do you draw from
that ?"
" One thing alone : that if this General Monk is troublesome to the
point you describe, it would be expedient to get rid of him, your majesty,
or to make an ally of him."
" Monsieur, a king who has neither army nor money, as you have
heard my conversation with my brother Louis, has no means of acting
against a man like Monk."
" Yes, sire, that was your opinion, I know very well; but, fortunately
for you, it was not mine."
" What do you mean by that ? "
" That, without an army and without a million, I have done—I,
myself—what your majesty thought could alone be done with an army
and a million."
" How! What do you say ? What have you done ? "
" What have I done ? Eh! well, sire, I went yonder to take this man
who is so troublesome to your majesty."
" In England ? "
" Exactly, sire."
" You went to take Monk in England ?5
" Should I by chance have done wrong, sire ? "
" In truth you are mad, monsieur!"
" Not the least in the world, sire."
" You have taken Monk ? "
"Yes, sire."
" Where?"
" In the midst of his camp."
The king trembled with impatience.
" And having taking him on the causeway of Newcastle, I bring him
to your majesty," said d'Artagnan simply.
" You bring him to me ! " cried the king, almost indignant at what
he considered a mystification.
" Yes, sire," replied d'Artagnan, in the same tone, " I bring him to
you; he is down below yonder, in a large chest pierced with holes, so
as to allow him to breathe."
"Good God!"
" Oh! don't be uneasy, sire; we have taken the greatest possible care
of him. He comes in good state and in perfect condition. Would
your majesty please to see him, to talk with him, or to have him
thrown into the sea ? "
" Oh, heavens!" repeated Charles, " oh, heavens! do you speak the
truth, monsieur ? Are you not insulting me with some unworthy
pleasantry ? You have accomplished this unheard-of act of audacity
and genius—impossible!"
" Will your majesty permit me to open the window ? " said d'Artag-
nan, opening it.
The king had not time to reply, yes or no. D'Artagnan gave a
shrill and prolonged whistle, which he repeated three times through
the silence of the night.
" There!" said he, "he will be brought to your majesty."
138
THE VICOMTE DE BBAGEtONNE.
CHAPTER XXIX.
In which d'Artagnan begins to fear he has placed his Money and that of Plancbet
in the Sinking Fund.
The king could not overcome his surprise, and looked sometimes at
the smiling face of the musketeer, and sometimes at the dark window
which opened into the night. But before he had fixed his ideas, eight
of d'Artagnan's men, for two had remained to take care of the barque,
brought to the house, where Parry received them, that object of an
oblong form, which, for the moment, inclosed the destinies of England.
Before he left Calais, d'Artagnan had had made in that city a sort of
coffin, large and deep enough for a man to turn in it at his ease. The
bottom and sides, properly mattressed, formed a bed sufficiently soft to
prevent the rolling of the ship turning this kind of cage into a rat-
trap. The little grating, of which d'Artagnan had spoken to the king,
like the vizor of a helmet, was placed opposite to the man's face. _ It
was so constructed that, at the least cry, a sudden pressure would stifle
that cry, and, if necessary, him who had uttered that cry. D'Artagnan
was so well acquainted with his crew and his prisoner, that during the
whole voyage he had been in dread of two things: either that the
general would prefer death to this sort of imprisonment, and would
smother himself by endeavouring to speak, or that his guards would
allow themselves to be tempted by the offers of the prisoner, and put
him, d'Artagnan, into the box instead of Monk. D'Artagnan, there-
fore, had passed the two days and the two nights of the voyage close to
the coffin, alone with the general, offering him wine and food, which he
had refused, and constantly endeavouring to reassure him upon the
destiny which awaited him at the end of this singular captivity. Two
pistols on the table and his naked sword made d'Artagnan easy with
regard to indiscretions from without. When once at Scheveningen he
had felt completely reassured. His men greatly dreaded any conflict
with the lords of the soil. He had, besides, interested in his cause him
who had morally served him as lieutenant, and whom we have seen
reply to the name of Menneville. The latter, not being a vulgar spirit,
had more to risk than the others, because he had more conscience. He
had faith in a future in the service of d'Artagnan, and consequently
would have allowed himself to be cut to pieces, rather than violate the
order given by his leader. Thus it was that, once landed, it was to him
d'Artagnan had confided the care of the chest and the general's respira-
tion. It was him too he had ordered to have the chest brought by
the seven men as soon as he should hear the triple whistle. We have
seen that the lieutenant obeyed. The coffer once in the house, d'Artag-
nan dismissed his men with a gracious smile, saying, " Messieurs, you
have rendered a great service to King Charles II., who in less than six
weeks will be king of England. Your gratification will then be doubled.
Be turn to the boat and wait for me." Upon which they departed with
such shouts of joy as terrified even the dog himself.
D'Artagnan had caused the coffer to be brought as far as into the
king's antechamber. He then, with great care, closed the doors of this
antechamber, after which he opened the coffer, and said to the general:
" General, I have a thousand excuses to make to you ; my manner of
acting has not been worthy of such a man as you, I know very well;
but I wished you to take me for the captain of a barque. And then
D'ARTAGNAN'S FEARS. 139
England is a very inconvenient country for transports. I hope, there-
fore, you will take all that into consideration. But now, general, you
are at liberty to get up and walk." This said, he cut the bonds which
fastened the arms and hands of the general. The latter got up, and
then sat down with the countenance of a man who expects death.
D'Artagnan opened the door of Charles' cabinet, and said, " Sire, here
is your enemy, M. Monk; I promised myself to perform this service
for your majesty. It is done, now order as you please. M. Monk.,"
added he, turning towards the prisoner, " you are in the presence of his
majesty Charles II., sovereign lord of Great Britain."
Monk raised towards the prince his coldly stoical look, and replied:
"I know no king of Great Britain; I recognize even here no one
worthy of bearing the name of gentleman; for it is in the name of
King Charles II. that an emissary, whom I took for an honest man,
has come and laid an infamous snare for me. I have fallen into that
snare; so much the worse for me. Now, you the tempter," said he to
the king; " you the executor," said he to d'Artagnan; " remember what
I am about to say to you : you have my body, you may kill it, and I
persuade you to do so, for you shall never have my mind or my will.
And now, ask me not a single word, for from this moment I will not
open my mouth even to cry out. I have said."
And he pronounced these words with the savage, invincible resolution
of the most mortified Puritan. D'Artagnan looked at his prisoner like
a man who knows the value of every word, and who fixes that value
according to the accent with which it has been pronounced.
" The fact is," said he, in a whisper, to the king, " the general is an
obstinate man; he would not take a mouthful of bread, nor swallow a
drop of wine, during the two days of our voyage. But as from this
moment it is your majesty who must decide his fate, I wash my hands
of him."
Monk, erect, pale, and resigned, waited with his eyes fixed and his
arms folded. D'Artagnan turned towards him "You will please to
understand perfectly," said he, " that your speech, otherwise very fine,
does not suit anybody, not even yourself. His majesty wished to
speak to you, you refused him an interview; why, now that you are
face to face, that you are here by a force independent of your will, why
do you confine yourself to rigours which I consider as useless and
absurd ? Speak! what the devil! speak, if only to say ' No.'"
Monk did not unclose his lips, Monk did not turn his eyes; Monk
stroked his moustache with a thoughtful air, which announced that
matters were going on badly.
During all this time Charles II. had fallen into a profound reverie.
Por the first time he found himself face to face with Monk; that is to
say, of that man he had so much desired to see; and, with that peculiar
glance which God has given to eagles and kings, he had fathomed the
abyss of his heart. He beheld Monk, then, resolved positively to die
rather than speak, which was not to be wondered at in so considerable
a man, the wound in whose mind must at the moment have been cruel.
Charles II. formed, on the instant, one of those resolutions upon which
an ordinary man risks his life, a general his fortune, and a. king his
kingdom. " Monsieur," said he to Monk, " you are perfectly right upon
certain points; I do not, therefore, ask you to answer me, but to listen
to me."
There was a moment's silence, during which the king looked at Monk,
who remained impassible.
" You have made me, just now a painful reproach, monsieur," con-
140 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
tinued the king; "you said that one of my emissaries had been to
Newcastle to lay a snare for you, and that, parenthetically, cannot be
understood by M. d'Artagnan here, and to whom, before everything, I
owe sincere thanks for his generous, his heroic devotion."
D'Artagnan bowed with respect; Monk took no notice.
"For M. d'Artagnan—and observe, M. Monk, I do not say this to
excuse myself,—for M. d'Artagnan," continued the king, "has gone
into England on his own proper movement, without interest, without
orders, without hope, like a true gentleman as he is, to render a service
to an unfortunate king, and to add to the illustrious actions of an ex-
istence, already so well filled, one fine action more."
D'Artagnan coloured a little, and coughed to keep his countenance.
Monk did not stir.
"You do not believe what I tell you, M. Monk," continued the king,
" I can understand that,—such proofs of devotion are so rare, that their
reality may well be put in doubt."
" Monsieur would do wrong not to believe you, sire," cried d'Artag-
nan; " for that which your majesty has said is the exact truth, and the
truth so exact that it appears, in going to fetch the general, I have done
something which sets everything wrong. In truth, if it be so, I am in
despair."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, pressing the hand of the
musketeer, " you have obliged me as much as if you had promoted the
success of my cause, for you have revealed to me an unknown friend,
to whom I shall ever be grateful, and whom I shall always love." And
the king pressed his hand cordially. "And," continued he, bowing to
Monk, "an enemy whom I shall henceforth esteem at his proper value."
The eyes of the Puritan flashed, but only once, and his countenance,
for an instant illumined by that flash, resumed its sombre impas-
sibility.
" Then, Monsieur d'Artagnan," continued Charles, " this is what
was about to happen: M. le Comte de la Fere, whom you know, I believe,
has set out for Newcastle."
" What, Athos!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
" Yes, that was his nom de guerre, I believe. The Comte de la Fere
had then set out for Newcastle, and was going, perhaps, to bring the
general to hold a conference with me or with those of my party, when
you violently, as it appears, interfered with the negotiation."
" Mordioux I" replied d'Artagnan, " who entered the camp the very
evening in which I succeeded in getting into it with my fisher-
men "
An almost imperceptible frown on the brow of Monk told d'Artagnan
that he had surmised rightly.
" Yes, yes," muttered he, " I thought I knew his person ; I even fan-
cied I knew his voice. Unlucky wretch that I am! Oh ! sire, pardon
me! I thought I had so successfully steered my barque."
" There is nothing ill in it, monsieur," said the king, " except that
the general accuses me of having laid a snare for him, which is not the
case. No, general, those are not the arms which I contemplated em-
ploying with you, as you will soon see. In the meanwhile, when I
give you. my word upon the honour of a gentleman, believe me,
monsieur, believe me ! Now, Monsieur d'Artagnan, a word with you,
if you please."
" I listen on my knees, sire."
"You are truly at my service, are you not ? "
" Your majesty has seen I am, too much so,"
D'ARTAGNAN'S FEARS. 141
" That is well; from a man like you one word suffices. In addition to
that word you brina actions. (General, have the goodness to follow me.
Come with us, M. u'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan, considerably surprised, prepared to obey. Charles II.
went out, .Monk followed him, d'Artagnan followed Monk. Charles
took the path by which d'Artagnan had come to his abode; the fresh
sea-breezes soon saluted the faces of the three nocturnal travellers, and,
at fifty paces from the lit tie gate which Charles opened, they found
themselves upon the dune in face of the ocean, which, having ceased to
rise, reposed upon the shore like a monster fatigued. Charles II. walked
pensively along, his head hanging down and his hand beneath his
cloak. Monk followed him, with crossed arms and an uneasy look.
D'Artagnan came last, with his hand on the hilt of his sword,
. " Where is the boat in which you came, gentlemen ? " said Charles to
the musketeer.
" Yonder, sire; I have seven men and an officer waiting for me in
that little barque which is lighted by a fire."
Yes, 1 see ; the boat is drawn up upon the sand ; but you certainly
did not come from Newcastle in that frail barque ?"
"No, sire; I freighted a felucca, on my own account, which is at
anchor within cannon-shot of the dunes. It was in that felucca we
made the voyage."
" Monsieur," said the king to Monk, " you are free."
However firm of will, Monk could not suppress an exclamation.
The king added an affirmative motion of his head, and continued:
" We will waken a fisherman of the village, who will put his boat to sea
immediately, and will take you back to any place you may command
him. M. d'Artagnan here will escort your honour. I place M. d'Ar-
tagnan under the safeguard of your loyalty, M. Monk."
Monk allowed a murmur of surprise to escape him, and d'Artagnan
a profound sigh. The king, without appearing to notice either, knocked
against the deal trellis which inclosed the cabin of the principal
fisherman inhabiting the dune. " Hola! Keyser!" cried he,
" awake!"
" Who calls me ?" asked the fisherman.
" I, Charles, the king."
"Ah, my lord!" cried Keyser, rising ready dressed from the sail
in which he slept, as people sleep in a hammock. " What can I do
to serve you ? "
" Captain Keyser," said Charles, " you must set sail immediately.
Here is a traveller who wishes to freight your barque, and will pay you
well; use him well." And the king drew back a few steps to allow
Monk to speak to the fisherman.
" I wish to cross over into England," said Monk, who spoke Dutch
enough to make himself understood.
" This minute," said the patron, " this very minute, if you wish it."
" But will that be long ? " said Monk.
" Not half an hour, your honour. My eldest son is at this mo-
ment preparing the boat, as we were going out fishing at three o'clock
in the morning."
" Well, is all arranged ? " asked the king, drawing near.
" All but the price," said the fisherman; " yes, sire."
" That is my affair," said Charles, " the gentleman is my friend."
Monk started and looked at Charles, on hearing this word.
"Very well, my lord," replied Keyser. And at that moment they
heard Keyser's eldest son, signalling from the shore with the blast of a
bull's horn.
142 THE VlCOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" Now, gentlemen," said the kin g, " be gone!"
" Sire," said d'Artagnan, " will it please your majesty to grant me a
few minutes ? I have engaged men, and I am going without them, 1
must give them notice."
" Whistle to them," said Charles, smiling.
D'Artagnan, accordingly, whistled, whilst the patron Keyser replied
to his son; and four men, led by Menneville, attended the first summons.
" Here is some money on account," said d'Artagnan, putting into
their hands a purse containing two thousand five hundred livres in gold.
" Go and wait for me at Calais, you know where." And d'Artagnan
heaved a profound sigh, as he let the purse fall into the bands of
Menneville.
" What, are you leaving us ?" cried the men.
"Dor a short time," said d'Artagnan, "or for a long time, who
knows? But with 2,500 livres, and the 2,500 you have already re-
ceived, you are paid according to our agreement. We are quits, then,
my friends."
" But the boat ?"
" Do not trouble yourself about that ? "
" Our things are on board the felucca."
"Go and seek them, and after yvards set off immediately."
" Yes, captain."
D'Artagnan returned to Monk, saying:—"Monsieur, I await your
orders, for I understand we are to go together, unless my company be
disagreeable to you."
" On the contrary, monsieur," said Monk.
" Come, gentlemen, on board," cried Keyser's son.
Charles bowed to the general with grace and dignity, saying: " You
will pardon me this unfortunate accident, and the violence to which
you have been subjected, when you are convinced that I was not the
cause of them."
Monk bowed profoundly without replying. On his side, Charles
affected not to say a word to d'Artagnan in private, but aloud" Once
more, thanks, monsieur le chevalier," said he, " thanks for your services.
They will be repaid you by the Lord God, who, I hope, reserves for me
alone trials and troubles."
Monk followed Keyser, and his son embarked with them. D'Artagnan
came after, muttering to himself: " Poor Planchet! poor Planchet! I
am very much afraid we have made but a bad speculation."
CHAPTER XXX.
The Shares of the Company of Planchet and Co. rise again to Par.
During the passage, Monk only spoke to d'Artagnan in cases of
urgent necessity. Thus, when the Frenchman hesitated to come and
take his repast, a poor repast composed of salt fish, biscuit, and Hollands
gin, Monk called him, saying: "To table, monsieur, to table!" This
was all. D'Artagnan, from being himself on all great occasions ex-
tremely concise, did not draw from the general's conciseness a favour-
able augury of the result of his mission. Now, as d'Artagnan had
plenty of time for reflection, he battered his brains during this time in
endeavouring to find out how Athos had seen King Charles, how he
had conspired his departure with him, and lastly, how he had entered
?HE SHAKES OP THE COMPANY EISE AGAIN. 143
Monk's camp; and the poor lieutenant of musketeers plucked a hair
from his moustache every time he reflected that the cavalier who
accompanied Monk on the night of the famous abduction, must have
been Athos. At length, after a passage of two nights and two days, the
patron Keyser touched the point where Monk, who had given all orders
during the voyage, had commanded they should land. It was exactly
at the mouth of the little river, near which Athos had chosen his
abode. Day was declining, a splendid sun, like a red steel buckler, was
plunging the lower extremity of his disc under the blue line of the sea.
The felucca was making fair way up the river, tolerably wide in that
part, but Monk, in his impatience, desired to be landed, and Keyser's
boat placed him and d'Artagnan upon the muddy bank, amidst the
reeds. D'Artagnan, resigned to obedience, followed Monk exactly as a
chained bear follows his master; but the position humiliated him not a
little, and he grumbled to himself that the service of kings was a bitter
one, and that the best of them was good for nothing. Monk walked
with long and hasty strides; it might be thought that he did not*yet
feel certain of having regained English land. They had already begun
to perceive distinctly a few of the cottages of the sailors and fishermen
spread over the little quay of this humble port, when, all at once,
d'Artagnan cried out,—" God pardon me, there is a house on fire."
Monk raised his eyes, and perceived there was, in fact, a house which
the flames were beginning to devour. It had begun at a little shed
belonging to the house, the roof of which it had seized upon. The
fresh evening breeze agitated the fire. The two travellers quickened
their steps, hearing loud cries, and seeing, as they drew nearer, soldiers
with their glittering arms pointing towards the house on fire. It was
doubtless this menacing occupation which had made them neglect to
signalize the felucca. Monk stopped short for an instant, and, for the
first time, formulated his thought with words. " Eh ! but," said he,
" perhaps they are not my soldiers, but Lambert's."
These words contained at once a pain, an apprehension, and a
reproach perfectly intelligible to d'Artagnan. In fact, during the
general's absence, Lambert might have given battle, conquered, and
dispersed the parliament's army, and taken with his own the place of
Monk's army, deprived of its strongest support. At this doubt, which
passed from the mind of Monk to his own, d'Artagnan made this rea-
soning:—" One of two things is going to happen; either Monk has
spoken correctly, and there are no longer any but Lambertists in the
country—that is to say, enemies who would receive me wonderfully
well, since it is to me they owe their victory; or nothing is changed,
and Monk, transported with joy at finding his camp still in the same
place, will not prove too severe in his settlement with me. Whilst
thinking thus, the two travellers advanced, and began to find them-
selves engaged in a little knot of sailors, who looked on with sorrow at
the burning house, but did not dare to say anything, on account of the
menaces of the soldiers. Monk addressed one of these sailors :—" What
is going on here ? " asked he.
" Monsieur," replied the man, not recognizing Monk as an officer,
under the thick cloak which enveloped him, " that house was inhabited
by a foreigner, and this foreigner became suspected by the soldiers.
Then they wanted to get into his house under the pretence of taking
him to the camp; but he, without being frightened by their numbers,
threatened death to the first who should cross the threshold of his
door; and, as there was one who did venture, the Frenchman stretched
him on the earth with a pistol-shot."
144 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Ah! he is a Frenchman is he ? " said d'Artagnan rubbing his hands.
"Good!"
" How good ? " replied the fisherman.
" No, I don't mean that.—Next—my tongue tripped."
"Next, monsieur?—why, the other men became as enraged as so
many lions; they fired more than a hundred shots at the house; but
the Frenchman was sheltered by the wall, and every time they tried to
enter by the door they met with a shot from his lackey, whose aim is
deadly, d'ye see ? Every time they threatened the window, they met
with a pistol-shot from the master. Look and count—there are seven
men down."
" Ah ! my brave compatriot," cried d'Artagnan, " wait a little, wait
a little. I will be with you; and we will give an account of all this
canaille."
" One instant, monsieur," said Monk, " wait."
" Long?"
" No; only the time to ask a question." Then, turning towards the
sailor, " My friend," asked he, with an emotion which, in spite of all
his self-command, he could not conceal," Whose soldiers are these, pray
tell me?"
" Whose should they be but that madman, Monk's ? "
" There has been no battle, then ? " t »
" A battle, yes! but what good ? Lambert's army is melting away
like snow in April. All come to Monk, officers and soldiers. In a
week Lambert won't have fifty men left." '
The fisherman was interrupted by a fresh salvo of musketry dis-
charged against the house, and. by another pistol-shot which replied to
the salvo, and struck down the .most daring of the aggressors. The
rage of the soldiers was at its height. The'fire still continued to
increase, and a crest of flame and smoke whirled and spread over the
roof of the house. D'Artagnan could no longer contain himself.
" Mordioux ! " said he to Monk, glancing at him sideways; " are you
a general, and allow your men to burn houses and assassinate people,
while you look on and warm your hands at the blaze of the conflagra-
tion ? Mordioux ! you are not a man."
" Patience, monsieur, patience ! " said-Monk, smiling.
" Patience ! yes, until that brave gentleman is roasted—is that what
you mean ? " And d'Artagnan rushed forward.
" Remain where you are, monsieur," said Monk, in a tone of com-
mand. And he advanced towards the house, just as an officer had
approached it, saying to the besieged: "The house is burning, you will
be grilled within an hour ! There is still time—come, tell us what you
know of General Monk, and we will spare your life. Reply, or by Saint
Patrick-—"
The besieged made no answer; he was, no doubt, reloading his pistol.
" A reinforcement is gone for," continued the officer; "in a quarter
of an hour there will be a hundred men round your house."
" I reply to you," said the Frenchman. " Let your men be sent away;
I will come out freely and repair to the camp alone, or else I will be
killed here!"
"Mille tonnerres!" shouted d'Artagnan; "why that's the voice of
Athos! Ah, canailles!" and the sword of d'Artagnan flamed from its
sheath. Monk stopped him, and advanced himself, exclaiming, in a
sonorous voice: " Hola! what is going on here ? Digby, whence is this
fire? why these cries?"
" The general!" cried Digby, letting the point of his sword fall.
THE SHAKES OF THE COMPANY BISE AGAIN. 145
w The general!" repeated the soldiers.
"Well, what is there so astonishing in that ? " said Monk, in a calm
tone. Then, silence being re-established—"Now," said he, "who lit
this fire ? "
The soldiers hung down their heads.
" "What! do I ask a question, and nobody answers me ? " said Monk.
" What! do I find a fault, and nobody repairs it ? The fire is still burn-
ing, I believe."
Immediately the twenty men rushed forward, seizing pails, buckets,
jars, barrels, and extinguishing the fire with as much ardour as they had,
an instant before, employed in promoting it. But already, and before
all the rest, d'Artagnan had applied a ladder to the house, crying,
" Athos! it is I, d'Artagnan ! Do not kill me, my dearest friend !" And
in a moment the comte was clasped in his arms.
In the meantime, Grimaud, preserving his calm air, dismantled the
fortification of the ground-floor, and after having opened the door, stood,
with his arms crossed, quietly on the sill. Only, at hearing the voice of
d'Artagnan, he had uttered an exclamation of surprise. The fire being
extinguished, the soldiers presented themselves, Digby at their head.
" General," said he, " excuse us; what we have done was for the love
of your honour, whom we thought lost."
" You are mad, gentlemen. Lost! Is a man like me to be lost ? Am
I not, by chance, to be permitted to be absent, according to my pleasure,
without giving formal notice ? Do you, by chance, take me for a citizen
from the city ? Is a gentleman, my friend, my guest, to be besieged,
entrapped, and threatened with death because he is suspected ? What
signifies that word, suspected ? Curse me if I don't have every one of
you shot that the brave gentleman has left alive!"
" General," said Digby, piteously, " there were twenty-eight of us, and
see, there are eight on the ground."
" I authorize M. le Comte de la Fere to send the twenty to join the
eight," said Monk, stretching out his hand to Athos. " Let them return
to camp. Monsieur Digby, you will consider yourself' under arrest
during a month."
" General "
" That is to teach you, monsieur, not to act, another time, without
orders."
" I had these of the lieutenant, general."
" The lieutenant has no such orders to give you, and he shall be placed
under arrest, instead of you, if he has really commanded you to burn
this gentleman."
" He did not command that, general; he commanded us to bring him
to the camp; but the comte was not willing to follow us."
" I was not willing that they should enter and plunder my house,"
said Athos to Monk, with a significant look.
"And you were quite right. To the camp, I say." The soldiers de-
parted with dejected looks. " Now we are alone," said Monk to Athos,
" have the goodness to tell me, monsieur, why you persisted in remain-
ing here, whilst you had your felucca ■"
"I waited for you, general," said Athos. "Had not your honour
appointed me a meeting in a week ? "
An eloquent look from d'Artagnan made it clear to Monk that these
two men, so brave and so loyal, had not acted in concert for his abduc-
tion. He knew already it could not be so.
" Monsieur," said he to d'Artagnan, " you were perfectly right. Have
L
146 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
the kindness to allow me a moment's conversation with M. le Comte de
la Fere/'
D'Artagnan took advantage of this to go and ask Grimaud bow he
did. Monk requested Athos to conduct him to the chamber he lived in.
This chamber was still full of smoke and rubbish. More than fifty
balls had passed through the windows, and mutilated the walls. They
found a table, inkstand, and materials for writing. Monk took up a
pen, wrote a single line, signed it, folded the paper, sealed the letter
with the seal of his ring, and passed over the missive to Athos, saying,
"Monsieur, carry, if you please, this letter to King Charles II., and set
out immediately, if nothing detains you here any longer."
"And the casks?" said Athos.
" The fisherman who brought me hither will assist you in transport-
ing them on board. Be gone, if possible, within an hour."
"Yes, general," said Athos.
" Monsieur d'Artagnan !" cried Monk from the window. D'Artagnan
ran up precipitately. " Embrace your friend and bid him adieu, mon-
sieur ; he is returning to Holland."
" To Holland!" cried d'Artagnan; "and I ?"
"You are at liberty to follow him, monsieur; but I request you to
remain," said Monk. " Will you refuse me ? "
" Oh, no, general; I am at your orders,"
D'Artagnan embraced Athos, and only had time to bid him adieu.
Monk watched them both. Then he took upon himself the prepara-
tions for the departure, the carrying of the casks on board, and the
embarkation of Athos; then, taking d'Artagnan by the arm, who was
quite amazed and agitated, he led him towards Newcastle. Whilst
g'oing along, the general leaning on his arm, d'Artagnan could not help
murmuring to himself,—" Come, come, it seems to me that the shares
of the house of Planchet and company are rising."
CHAPTER XXXI.
Monk reveals himself.
D'Artagnan, although he flattered himself with better success, had,
nevertheless, not too well comprehended his situation. It was a strange
and grave subject for him to reflect upon—this voyage of Athos into
England; this league of the king with Athos, and that extraordinary
combination of his design with that of the Comte de la Fere. The best
way was to let things follow their own train. An imprudence had been
committed, and, whilst having succeeded as he had promised, d'Ar-
tagnan found that he had gained no advantage by his success. Since
everything was lost, he could risk no more. D'Artagnan followed Monk
through his camp. The return of the general had produced a marvel-
lous effect, for his people had thought him lost. But Monk, with his
austere look and icy demeanour, appeared to ask of his eager lieu-
tenants and delighted soldiers the cause of all this joy. Therefore to
the lieutenants who had come to meet him, and who expressed the
uneasiness with which they had learnt his departure
" Why is all this ? " said he; "ami obliged to render an account of
myself to you ? "
" But, your honour, the sheep may well tremble without the shep-
herd."
MONK EEVEALS HIMSELF. 147
"Tremble!" replied Monk, with his calm and powerful voice; "ah,
monsieur, what a word ! Curse me, if my sheep have not both teeth
and claws, I renounce being their shepherd. Ah! you tremble, gen-
tlemen, do you?"
" Yes, general, for you."
" Oh! pray meddle with your own concerns. If I have not the wit
God gave to Oliver Cromwell, I have that which He has sent to me: I
am satisfied with it, however little it may be."
The officer made no reply; and Monk, having imposed silence on his
people, all remained persuaded that he had accomplished some impor-
taut work, or made some important trial. This was forming a very
poor conception of his patient and scrupulous genius. Monk, if he had
the good faith of the puritans, his allies, must have returned thanks
with much fervour to the patron saint who had taken him from the
box of M. d'Artagnan. Whilst these things were going on, our mus-
keteer could not help constantly repeating,—" God grant that M. Monk
may not have as much self-love as I have; for I declare if any one
had put me into a coffer with that grating over my mouth, and carried
me so packed up, like a calf, across the seas, I should retain such an ill
remembrance of my pious looks in that coffer, and such an ugly
animosity against him who had inclosed me in it, I should dread so
greatly to see a sarcastic smile blooming upon the face of the mali-
cious wretch, or in his attitude any grotesque imitation of my position
in the box, that, Mordioux I I should plunge a good poniard into his
throat in compensation of the grating, and would nail him down in
a veritable bier, in remembrance of the false coffin in which I had
been left to grow mouldy for tfrodays." And d'Artagnan spoke honestly
when he spoke thus; for the skin of our Gascon was a very thin one.
Monk, fortunately, entertained other ideas. He never opened his mouth
concerning thepast to his timid conqueror; but he admitted himverynear
to his person in his labours, took him with him to several reconnaissances,
in such a way as to obtain that which he evidently warmly desired,—a
rehabilitation in the mind of d'Artagnan. The latter conducted him-
self liked a passed master in the art of flattery: he admired all Monk's
tactics, and the ordering of his camp; he joked very pleasantly upon
the circumvallations of the camp of Lambert, who had, he said, very
uselessly given himself the trouble to inclose a camp for twenty thou-
sand men, whilst an acre of ground would have been quite sufficient
for the corporal and fifty guards who would perhaps remain faithful to
him. Monk, immediately after his arrival, had accepted the proposition
made by Lambert the evening before, for an interview, and which
Monk's lieutenants had refused, under the pretext that the general was
indisposed. This interview was neither long nor interesting: Lambert
demauded a profession of faith of his rival. The latter declared he had
no other opinion but that of the majority. Lambert asked if it would
not be more expedient to terminate the quarrel by an alliance than by
a battle. Monk thereupon required a week for consideration. Now,
Lambert could not refuse this; and Lambert, nevertheless, had come
saying, that he should devour the army of Monk. Therefore, at the
end of the interview, which Lambert's party watched with impatience,
nothing was decided—neither treaty nor battle—the rebel army, as
M. d'Artagnan had foreseen, began to prefer the good cause to the bad
one, and the parliament, rumpish as it was, to the pompous nothings of
the designs of Lambert. They remembered, likewise, the good repasts
of London—the profusion of ale and sherry with which the citizens of
London paid their friends the soldiers;—they looked with terror at the
L a
148 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
black war bread, at the troubled waters of the Tweed,—too salt for the
glass, not enough so for the pot; and they said to themselves, " Are not
the roast meats kept warm for Monk in London?" Prom that time
nothing was heard of but desertion in Lambert's army. The soldiers
allowed themselves to be drawn away by the force of principles, which
are, like discipline, the obligatory tie in everybody, constituted for any
purpose. Monk defended the parliament,—Lambert attacked it. Monk
had no more inclination to support the parliament than Lambert had,
but he had it inscribed upon his standards, so that all those of the con-
trary party were reduced to write upon theirs, " Rebellion," which
sounded ill in puritan ears. They flocked then from Lambert to Monk,
as sinners flock from Baal to God.
Monk, made his calculations: at a thousand desertions aday Lambert had
men enough to last twenty days; but there is in things which sink such a
growth of increase and swiftness, which combine with each other, that a
hundred left the first day, five hundred the second, a thousand the third.
Monk thought he had obtained his rate. But from a thousand the de-
sertion passed quickly on to two thousand, then to four thousand, and, a
week after, Lambert perceiving that he had no longer the possibility of
accepting battle, if it were offered to him, took the wise resolution of
decamping during the night, to return to London, and be beforehand with
Monk, in constructing a power with the wreck of the military party.
But Monk, free and without inquietude, marched towards London as
a conqueror, augmenting his army from all the floating parties on his
passage. He encamped at Barnet, that is to say, within four leagues of
the capital, cherished by the parliament, which thought it beheld in
him a protector, and looked for by the people, who were anxious to see
him reveal himself that they might judge him. H'Artagnan himself
had not been able to fathom his tactics: he observed—he admired.
Monk could not enter London with a settled determination without
renouncing civil war. He temporized for a short time. Suddenly,
without anybody expecting it, Monk drove the military party out or
London, and installed himself in the city amidst the citizens, by order
of the parliament; then, at the moment when the citizens were crying
out against Monk—at the moment when the soldiers themselves were
accusing their leader—Monk, finding himself certain of a majority,
declared to the Rump that it must abdicate—be dissolved—and yield
its place to a government which would not be a joke. Monk pronounced
this declaration, supported by fifty thousand swords, to which, that
same evening, were united, with hurrahs of delirious joy, the five hun-
dred thousand inhabitants of the good city of London. At length, at
the moment when the people, after their triumphs and festive re-
pasts in the open streets, were looking about for a master, it was
affirmed that a vessel had left the Hague, bearing Charles II. and his
fortunes.
" Gentlemen," said Monk to his officers, " I am going to meet the
legitimate king. He who loves me will follow me." A burst of accla-
mations welcomed these words, which d'Artagnan did not hear without
the greatest delight.
" Mordioux !" said he to Monk, " that is bold, monsieur."
" You will accompany me, will you not ?" said Monk.
" Pardieu! general. But tell me, I beg, what you wrote by Athos,
that is to say, the Comte de la Tere—you know—the day of our
arrival ? "
" I have no secrets for you now," replied Monk. " I wrote these
words: ' Sire, I expect your majesty in six weeks at Dover.'"
ATHOS and d'aetagnan meet once moke. 149
"Ah!" said d'Artagnan, " I no longer say it is bold; I say it is well
piayed: it is a fine stroke !"
"You are something of a judge in such matters," replied Monk.
And this was the only time the general had ever made an allusion to
his voyage to Holland.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Athos and d'Artagnan meet once more at the hostelry of the " Corne du Cerf." ]
The king of England made his entree into Dover with great pomp, as
he afterwards did into London. He had sent for his brothers; he had
brought aver his mother and sister. England had been for so long a
time given up to herself—that is to say, to tyranny, mediocrity, and
nonsense, that this return of Charles II., whom the English only knew
as the son of the man whose head they had cut off, was a festival for
the three kingdoms. Consequently, all the vows, all the acclamations,
which accompanied his return, struck the young king so forcibly, that
he stooped towards the ear of James of York, his younger brother, and.
said, " In truth, James, it appears to have been our own fault that we
were so long absent from a country where we are so much beloved! "
The cortege was magnificent. Beautiful weather favoured the so-
lemnity. Charles had regained all his youth, all his good humour; he
appeared to be transfigured; hearts seemed to smile beneath him like
the sun. Amongst this obstreperous crowd of courtiers and worshippers,
who did not appear to remember they had conducted to the scaffold at
"Whitehall the father of the new king, a man, in the garb of a lieutenant
of musketeers, looked, with a smile upon his thin, intellectual lips,
sometimes at the people vociferating their benedictions, and sometimes
at the prince who pretended emotion, and who bowed most particularly
to the women, whose bouquets were strewed before his horse's feet.
" What a fine trade is that of a king!" said this man, drawn away by
his contemplation, and so completely absorbed, that he stopped in the
middle of his road, leaving the cortege to file past. "Now, there is, in
good truth, a prince all stitched over with gold and diamonds, enam-
elled with flowers like a spring meadow; he is about to plunge his
empty hands into the immense coffer in which his now faithful—but
so lately unfaithful—subjects have amassed one or two cart-loads of
ingots of gold. They cast bouquets enough upon him to smother him;
and yet, if he had presented himself to them two months ago, they
would have sent as many bullets "and balls at him as they now throw
flowers. Decidedly it is worth something to be born in a certain
fashion; with submission to the lowly, who pretend that it is of very
little advantage to them to be born lowly. The cortege continued to
file on, and, with the king, the acclamations began to die away in the
direction of the palace, which, however, did not prevent our officer from
being shoved about.
" Mordioux /" continued the reasoner," these people tread upon my
toes and look upon me as of very little consequence, or rather of none at
all, seeing that they are Englishmen and I am a Frenchman. If all these
people were asked—' Who is M. d'Artagnan ?' they would reply 'Nescio
vos.' But let anyone say to them,' There is the king going by,'' There
is M. Monk going by,' they would run away, shouting—' Vive le roi I Vive
M Monk /' till their lungs were exhausted. And yet" continued he,
150 THE vicomte DE BBAGELONNE.
surveying, with that look sometimes so keen and sometimes so proud,
the diminishing crowd—" and yet, reflect a little, my good people, on
what your king has done, on what M. Monk has done, and then think
what has been done by this poor unknown, who is called M. d'Artagnan!
It is true you do not know him, since he is here unknown, which prevents
your thinking about the matter. But, bah ! what matters it! All that
does not prevent Charles 11, from being a great king, although he has been
exiled twelve years, or M. Monk from being a great captain, although
he did make a voyage to Holland in a box. Well, then, since it is
admitted that one is a great king and the other a great captain—
Hurrah for King Charles II.!—hurrah for General Monlc !" And his
voice mingled with the voices of the hundreds of spectators, over which
it dominated for a moment. Then, the better to play the devoted man,
he took oft his hat and waved it in the air. Some one seized his arm
in the very height of his expansive loyalism. (In 1660' that was so
termed which we now call royalism.)
" Athos !" cried d'Artagnan, " you here!" And the two friends
seized each other's hands.-
"You here!—and being here," continued the musketeer, "you are
not in the midst of all those courtiers, my dear comte ! What! you,
the hero of the fete, you are not prancing on the left hand'of the king,
as M. Monk is prancing on the right ? In truth, I cannot comprehend
your character, nor that of the prince who owes you so much !"
" Still a railer! my dear d'Artagnan !" said Athos. " W ill you neve"
correct yourself of that vile habit ? "
" But, you do not form part of the cortege ?"
"I do not, because I was not willing to do so."
" And why were you not willing ? "
" Because I am neither envoy nor ambassador, nor representative of
the king of France; and it does not become me to exhibit myself thus
near the person of another king than the one God has given me for a
master."
" Mordioux! you came very near to the person of the king, his
father."
" That was another thing, my friend; he was about to die."
"And yet that which you did for him "
" I did because it was my duty to do it. But you know I hate all
ostentation. Let King Charles II. then, who no longer stands in need
of me, leave me to my repose, and in the shade, that is all I claim of
him."
D'Artagnan sighed.
" What is the matter with you ?" said Athos. " One would say that
this happy return of the king to London saddens you, my friend; you
who have done at least as much for his majesty as I have."
"Have I not," replied d'Artagnan, with his Gascon laugh, "have I
not done much for his majesty, without any one suspecting it ?"
" Yes, yes, but the king is well aware of it, my friend," cried Athos.
" He is aware of it!" said the musketeer bitterly, " by my faith! I
did not suspect so, and I was even, a moment ago, trying to forget it
myself."
" But he, my friend, will not forget it, I will answer for him."
"You tell me that to console me a little, Athos."
" For what ?"
" Mordioux ! for the loss of all the expenses I have been at. I have
ruined myself, my friend, ruined myself for the restoration of this young
prince who has just passed, capering upon his isabelte coloured horse.".
ATHOS AND D'ARTAGNAN meet once more. 151
"The king does not know you have ruined yourself, my friend; but
he knows he owes you much."
" And say, Athos, does that advance me in any respect ? for to do you
justice, you have laboured nobly. But I, I, who in appearance marred
your combinations, it was I who really made them succeed. Follow my
calculations closely; you might not have, by persuasions or mildness,
convinced General Monk, whilst I have so roughly treated this dear
general, that I furnished your prince with an opportunity of showing
himself generous: this generosity was inspired in him by the fact of my
fortunate mistake, and Charles is paid by the restoration which Monk
has brought about."
"All that, my dear friend, is strikingly true," replied Athos.
"Well, strikingly true as it may be, it is not less true, my friend, that I
shall return—greatly noticed by M. Monk, who calls me dear captain
all day long, although I am neither dear to him nor a captain;—and
strongly appreciated by the king, who has already forgotten my name;
—it is not less true, I say, that 1 shall return to my beautiful country,
cursed by the soldiers I had raised with the hopes of large pay, cursed
by the brave Planchet, of whom I borrowed a part of his fortune."
" How is that ? What the devil had Planchet to do in all this ? "
" Ay, yes, my friend; but this king, so spruce, so smiling, so adored,
M. Monk -fancies he has recalled him, you fancy you have supported
him, I fancy I have brought him back, the people fancy they have recon-
quered him, he himself fancies he has negotiated so as to be restored ;—
and yet, nothing of all this is true, for Charles II., king of England,
Scotland, and Ireland, has been replaced upon the throne by a French
grocer, who lives in the Rue des Lombards, and is named Planchet.—
And such is grandeur! Vanity! says the Scripture, vanity, all is
vanity."
Athos could not help laughing at this whimsical outbreak of his
friend.
" My dear d'Artagnan," said he, pressing his hand affectionately,
"should you not exercise a little more philosophy ? Is it not some lur-
ther satisfaction to you to have saved my life as you did by arriving so
fortunately with Monk, when those damned parliamentarians wanted
to burn me alive ? "
" Well, but you, in some degree, deserved burning a little, my friend."
" How so! What, for having saved King Charles's million ? "
"What million ?"
"Ah, that is true ! you never knew that, my friend ; but you must
not be angry, for it was not my secret. That word remember which
the king pronounced upon the scaffold."
" And which means souviens-toi!"
" Exactly. That was signified. Remember there is a million buried
in the vaults of Newcastle Abbey, and that that million belongs to my
son."
" Ah! very well, I understand. But what I understand likewise,
and what is very frightful, is, that every time his majesty Charles II.
will think of me, he will say to himself: ' There is the man who was near
making me lose my crown. Fortunately I was generous, great, full of
presence of mind.' This is what will say the young gentleman in a
shabby black pourpoint, who came to the chateau of Blois, hat in hand,
to ask me if I would grant him access to the king of France."
"D'Artagnan! d'Artagnan!" said Athos, laying his hand on the
shoulder of the musketeer, "you are unjust."
" I have a right to be so."
162 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" No—for you are ignorant of the future."
D'Artaguan looked his friend full in the face, and began to laugh.
" In truth, my dear Athos," said he," you have some words so superb,
that they only belong to you and M. le Cardinal Mazarin."
Athos frowned slightly.
" I beg your pardon," continued d'Artagnan, laughing, " I beg your
pardon, if I have offended you. The future! Nein! what pretty
words are words that promise, and how well they fill the mouth in
default of other things! Mordioux ! After having met with so many
who promised, when have I found one who performed ? But, let that
pass!" continued d'Artagnan. " What are you doing here, my dear
Athos ? Are you king's treasurer ? "
. "How—why king's treasurer ?"
" Well; since the king possesses a million, he must want a treasurer.
The king of Prance, although he is not worth a sous, has still an in-
tendant of finance, M. Pouquet. It is true, that, in exchange, M.
Pouquet, they say, has a good number of millions of his own."
" Oh! our million is spent, long ago," said Athos, laughing in his
turn.
" I understand; it was frittered away in satin, precious stones, velvet,
and feathers of all sorts and colours. All these princes and princesses
stood in great need of tailors and dressmakers. Eh ! Athos, do you
remember what we fellows expended in equipping ourselves for the
campaign of La Bochelle, and to make our appearance on horseback ?
Two or three thousand livres, by my faith ! But a king's robe is more
ample, it would require a million to purchase the stuff. At least, Athos,
if you are not treasurer, you are on a good footing at court."
" By the faith of a gentleman, I know nothing about it!" said Athos,
simply.
"What! you know nothing about it?"
" No; I have not seen the king since we left Dover."
" Thenfhe has forgotten you, too! Mordioux ! That is shameful!"
" His majesty has had so much business to transact."
" Oh!" cried d'Artagnan, with one of those intelligent grimaces which
he alone knew how to make, " that is enough to make me recover my
love for Monseigneur Giulio Mazzarini. What! Athos, the king has
not seen you since ?" "No."
" And you are not furious ? "
" I!—why should I be ? Do you imagine, my dear d'Artagnan, that
it was on the king's account, I acted as I have done ? I did not know
the young man. I defended the father, who represented a principle—
sacred in my eyes, and I allowed myself to be drawn towards the son,
by a sympathy for this same principle. Besides, he was a worthy knight,
a noble mortal creature; that father do you remember him ?"
" Yes; that is true, he was a brave, an excellent man, who led a sad
life, but made a fine end."
"Well; my dear d'Artagnan, understand this: to that king, to that
man of heart, to that friend of my thoughts, if I durst venture to sa,y
so. I swore, at the last hour, to preserve faithfully the secret of a deposit
which was to be transmitted to his son, to assist him, at his need. This
young man came to me; he described his destitution; he was ignorant
that he was anything for me, but a lively remembrance of his father.
I have accomplished towards Charles II. what I promised Charles I.;
that is all. Of what consequence is it to me, then, whether he be
grateful, or not! It is to myself I have rendered a service, by relie ing
myself of this responsibility, and not to him."
AMOS AND D'ARTAGNAN MEET ONCE MORE. 153
"Well, I liave always said," replied d'Artagnan, with a sigh, "that
disinterestedness was the finest thing in the world."
"Well, and you, my friend," resumed Athos, "are you not in the
same situation as myself? If I have properly understood your words,
you have allowed yourself to be affected by the misfortunes of this
young man; that, on your part, was much greater than it was upon
mine, for I had a duty to fulfil; whilst you were under no obligation to
the son of the martyr. You had not, on your part, to pay him the
price of that precious drop of blood which he let fall upon my brow,
through the floor of his scaffold. That which made you act was heart
alone—the noble and good heart which you possess beneath your ap-
parent scepticism and sarcastic irony; you have engaged the fortune of
a servant, and your own, I suspect, my benevolent miser! and your
sacrifice is not acknowledged! Of what consequence is it ? You wish
to repay Planchet his money. I can comprehend, that, my friend ; for
it is not becoming in a gentleman to borrow of his inferior, without
returning him principal and interest. Well, I will sell La here, if
necessary, and if not, some little farm. You shall pay Planchet, and
there will be enough, believe me, of corn left in my granaries for us two
and Raoul. In this way, my friend, you will owe an obligation to no-
body but yourself; and, if I know you well, it will not be a small satis-
faction to your mind, to be able to say,' I have made a king 1' Am I
right ? "
" Athos! Athos !" murmured d'Artagnan, thoughtfully, " I have told
you more than once, that the day on which you shall preach, I will
attend the sermon; the day on which you shall tell me there is a hell,
mordionx! I shall be afraid of the gridiron and the forks. You are
better than I, or rather, better than anybody, and I only acknowledge
the possession of one merit, and that is, of not being jealous. Except
that defect, damme, as the English say, if 1 have not all the rest."
" I know nobody equal to d'Artagnan," replied Athos; " but here we
are, arrived gently at the house I inhabit. Will you come in, my
friend ? "
" Eh! why this is the tavern of the ' Corne du Cerf,' I think ? " said
d'Artagnan.
" I confess, I chose it on purpose. I like old acquaintances; I like
to sit down on that place, whereon I sunk, overcome by fatigue, over-
whelmed with despair, when you returned on the 31st of January."
"After having discovered the abode of the masked executioner ? Yes,
that was a terrible day!" \
" Come in, then," said Athos, interrupting him.
They entered the large apartment, formerly the common one. The
tavern, in general, and this room in particular, had undergone great
changes; th« ancient host of the musketeers, having become tolerably
rich for an innkeeper, had closed his shop, and made of this room, of
which we were speaking, an entrepot for colonial provisions. As for the
rest of the house, he let it ready furnished to strangers. It was with
unspeakable emotion d'Artagnan recognised all the furniture of the
chamber of the first story; the wainscoting, the tapestries, and even that
geographical chart which Porthos had so fondly studied in his moments
of leisure.
" It is eleven years ago," cried d'Artagnan. " Mordioux! it appears
to me a century !"
" And to me but a day," said Athos. " Imagine the joy I experience,
my friend, in seeing you there, in pressing your hand, in casting from
me sword and poniard, and tasting without mistrust this glass of sherry!
154 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
And, oh! what still further joy it would be, if our two friends were
there, at the two angles of the table, and Raoul, my beloved Raoul, in
the threshold, looking at us with his large eyes, at once so brilliant and
so soft!"
" Yes, yes," said d'Artagnan, much affected, " that is true. I approve
particularly of the first part of your thought; it is very pleasant to tmile
there where we have so legitimately shuddered at thinking that from
one moment to another M. Mordaunt might appear upon the landing."
At this moment the door opened, and d'Artagnan, brave as he was,
could not restrain a slight movement of fright. Athos understood him,
and smiling:
" It is our host," said he, " bringing me a letter."
"Yes, my lord," said the good man, "here is a letter for your
honour."
" Thank you," said Athos, taking the letter without looking at it.
" Tell me, my dear host, if you do not remember this gentleman ? "
The old man raised his head, and looked attentively at d'Artagnan.
" No," said he,
" It is," said Athos, " one of those friends of whom I have spoken to
you, and who lodged here with me eleven years ago."
" Oh ! but," said the old man, "so many strangers have lodged here!"
" But we lodged here on the 30th of January, 1649," added Athos,
believing he should stimulate the lazy memory of the host by this
remark.
" That is very possible," replied he, smiling; " but it is so long ago !"
and he bowed, and went out.
" Thank you," said d'Artagnan—"perform exploits, accomplish revo-
lutions, endeavour to engrave your name in stone or upon brass with
stroDg swords! there is something more rebellious, more hard, more
forgetful than iron, brass, or stone, and that is, the hrain become old of
the letter of lodgings enriched by his tradehe does not know me!
Well, I should have known him, though."
Athos, smiling at his friend's philosophy, unsealed his letter.
" Ah !" said he, " a letter from Parry."
" Oh! oh!" said d'Artagnan, " read it, my friend, read it! it, no doubt,
contains news."
Athos shook his head, and read:
" Monsieur le Comte,—The king has experienced much regret at
not seeing you to-day, near him, at his entrance. His majesty commands
me to say so, and to recall him to your memory. His majesty will
expect you this evening, at the palace of St. James's, between nine and
ten o'clock.
" I am, with respect, Monsieur le Comte, your honour's very humble
and very obedient servant,—Parry."
" You see, my dear d'Artagnan," said Athos, "we must not despair of
the hearts of kings."
" Not despair ! you have reason to say so !" replied d'Artagnan.
" Oh ! my dear, very dear friend," resumed Athos, whom the almost
imperceptible bitterness of d'Artagnan had not escaped. ""Pardon me!
can I have unintentionally wounded my best comrade ? "
" You are mad, Athos, and to prove it I will conduct you to the
palace; to the very gate, I mean; the walk will do me good."
"You wj'.I go in with me, my friend, I will speak to his majesty."
" No. no!" replied d'Artagnan, with a true pride, free from all mix-
ture; if' there is anything worse than begging yourself, it is making
ATHOS AND D'ABTAGNAN MEET ONCE MOBE. 155
others beg for you. Come, let us go, my friend, the walk will he
charming; I will, in passing, show you the house of M. Monk, who has
detained me with him. A beautiful house, by my faith. Being a
general in England is better than being a mareohal in France, please to
know."
Athos allowed himself to be led along, made quite sad by d'Artagnan's
forced attempts at gaiety. The whole city was in a state of joy ; the
two friends were jostled at every moment by enthusiasts who required
them, in their intoxication, to cry out " Long live good King Charles!"
D'Artagnan replied by a grunt, and Athos by a smile. They arrived
thuain front of Monk's house, before which, as we have said, they had
to pass on their way to St. James's. Athos and d'Artagnan said but
little on their route, for the simple reason that they would have had
so many things to talk about if they had spoken. Athos thought that
by speaking he should evince satisfaction, and that that might wound
d'Artagnan. The latter feared that in speaking he should allow some
little acerbity to steal into his words, which would render his company
unpleasant to his friend. It was a singular emulation of silence between
contentment and ill-humour. D'Artagnan gave way first to that
itching at the tip of his tongue which he so habitually experienced.
"Do you remember, Athos," said he, "the passage of the 'Memoires
de d'Aubigny,' in which that devoted servant, a Gascon like myself, poor
as myself, and, I was going to add, brave as myself, relates instances of
the meanness of Henry IV. ? My father always told me, I remember,
that d'Aubigny was a liar. But, nevertheless, examine how all the
princes, the issue of the great Henry, keep up the character of the race."
"Nonsense!" said Athos, "the kings of France misers? You are
mad, my friend."
" Oh! you are so perfect yourself, you never agree to the faults of
others. But, in reality, Henry IV. was covetous, Louis XIII. his son,
was so likewise; we know something of that, don't we ? Gaston carried
this vice to exaggeration, and has made himself, in this respect, hated
by all who surround him. Henriette, poor woman, might well be
avaricious, she who did not eat every day, and could not warm herself
every winter; and that is an example she has given to her son Charles II.,
grandson of the great Henry IV., who is as covetous as his mother
and his grandfather. See if I have well traced the genealogy of the
misers ? "
" D'Artagnan, my friend," cried Athos, " you are very rude towards
that eagle race called the Bourbons."
" Eh! and I have forgotten the best instance of all—the other grand-
son of the Bearnais, Louis XIV. my ex-master. Well, I hope he is
miserly enough, who would not lend a million to his brother Charles !
Good! I see you are beginning to be angry. Here we are, by good
luck, close to my house, or rather that of my Iriend, M. Monk."
" My dear d'Artagnan, you do not make me angry, you make me sad;
it is cruel, in fact, to see a man of your merit out of the position his
services ought to have acquired; it appears to me, my dear friend, that
your name is as radiant as the greatest names in war and diplomacy.
Tell me if the Luynes, the Bellegardes, and the Bassompierres have
merited, as we have, fortunes and honours ? You are right, my friend,
a hundred times right."
D'Artagnan sighed, and preceding his friend under the porch of the
mansion Monk inhabited, at the extremity of the city, "Permit me,"
said he, " to leave my purse at home; for if in the crowd those clever
pickpockets of London, who are much boasted of, even in Paris, were
156 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
to steal from me the remainder of my poor crowns, I should not be
able to return to France. Now, content I left France, and wild witrt
joy I should return to it, seeing that all my prejudices of former days
against England are returned, accompanied by many others."
Athos made no reply. . „
" So then, my dear friend, one second, and I will follow you, said
d'Artagnan. " I know you are in a hurry to go yonder to receive your
reward, but, believe me, I am not less eager to partake of your joy,
although at a distance. Wait for me." And d'Artagnan was already
passing through the vestibule, when a man, half servant, half soldien
who filled in Monk's establishment the double functions of porter and
guard, stopped our musketeer, saying to him in English,—
" I beg your pardon, my Lord d'Artagnan !"
"Well," replied the latter; "what is it? Is the general going to
dismiss me ? I only wanted to be expelled by him."
These words, spoken in French, made no impression upon the person
to whoi^they were addressed, and who himself only spoke an English
mixed with the rudest Scotch. But Athos was grieved at them, for he
began to think d'Artagnan was not wrong.
The Englishman showed d'Artagnan a letter; " From the general;"
said he.
" Aye! that's it, my dismissal!" replied the Gascon. " Must it be
read, Athos ? "
"You must be deceived," said Athos, "or I know no more honest
people in the world but you and myself."
D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders and unsealed the letter, whilst
the impassible Englishman held for him a large lantern, by the light of
which he was enabled to read it.
" Well, what have you ?" said Athos, seeing the countenance of the
reader change.
" Read it yourself," said the musketeer.
Athos took the paper and read:—
"Monsieur d'Artagnan,—The king very much regrets you did
not come to St. Paul's with his corthge. You have failed with him as
you failed with me, my dear captain. There is but one means of re-
pairing all this. His majesty expects me at nine o'clock at the palace
of St. James's; will you be there at the same time with me? His
gracious majesty appoints that hour for an audience he grants you."
This letter was from Monk.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The Audience.
" Well ?" cried Athos, with a mild look of reproach, when d'Artag-
nan had read the letter addressed to him by Monk.
" Well! " said d'Artagnan, red with pleasure, and a little with shame.
" To be in such a hurry to accuse the king and Monk was a politeness,
—which leads to nothing, it is true, but yet it is a politeness."
" I had great difficulty in believing the young prince ungrateful,"
said Athos.
" The fact is, that his present is still too near to his past," replied
d'Artagnan; " but, after all, everything to the present moment proves
me right."
THE AUDIENCE. 15/
" I acknowledge it, my dear friend, I acknowledge it. Ah! there
is your cheerful look returned. You cannot think how delighted
I am"
" Thus you see," said d'Artagnan, " Charles II. receives M. Monk at
nine o'clock; me he will receive at ten; it is a grand audience, of the
sort which at the Louvre are called ' distributions of holy court water.5
Come, let us go and place ourselves under the spout, my dear friend;
come along.55
Athos replied nothing; and both directed their steps, at a quick pace,
towards the palace of St. James's, which the crowd still surrounded, to
catch, through the windows, the shadows of the courtiers, and the re-
flection of the royal person. Eight o'clock was striking when the two
friends took their places in the gallery filled with courtiers and politi-
cians. Every one gave a glance at these simply-dressed men in foreign
habits, at these two noble heads so full of character and meaning. On
their side, Athos and d'Artagnan, having with two looks taken the mea-
sure of the whole of the assembly, resumed their chat. A great noise was
suddenly heard at the extremity of the gallery,—it was General Monk,
who entered, followed by more than twenty officers, all anxious for one
of his smiles, for he had been the evening before master of all England,
and a glorious morrow was looked for for the restorer of the family of
the Stuarts.
" Gentlemen," said Monk, turning round, " henceforward I beg you
to remember that I am no longer anything. Lately I commanded the
principal army of the republic; now that army is the king's, into
whose hands I am about to replace, at his command, my power of
yesterday."
Great surprise was painted on the countenances of all, and the circle
of adulators and suppliants which surrounded Monk an instant before,
was enlarged by degrees, and finished by being lost in the large undula-
tions of the crowd. Monk was going into the antechamber as others
did. D'Artagnan could not help remarking this to the Comte de la
Pere, who frowned on beholding it. Suddenly the door of the royal
closet opened, and the young king appeared, preceded by two officers of
his household.
" Good evening, gentlemen," said he. " Is General Monk here ? "
" I am here, sire," replied the old general.
Charles stepped hastily towards him, and seized his hand with the
warmest demonstration of friendship. " General," said the king, aloud,
" I have just signed your patent,—you are Duke of Albemarle; and
my intention is that no one shall equal you in power and fortune in
this kingdom, where—the noble Montrose excepted—no one has
equalled you in loyalty, courage, and talent. Gentlemen, the duke is
commander of our armies by land and by sea, pay him your respects,
if you please, in that character."
Whilst every one was pressing round the general, who received all
this homage without losing his impassibility for an instant, d'Artagnan
said to Athos: " When one thinks that this duchy, this command of
the land and sea forces, all these grandeurs, in a word, have been shut
up in a box, six feet long and three feet wide ! "
"My friend," replied Athos, "much more imposing grandeurs are
confined to boxes still smaller,—and remain there for ever."
All at once Monk perceived the fr^o gentlemen, who held themselves
apart until the crowd had diminished; he made himself a passage to-
wards them, so that he surprised them in the midst of their philoso-
phical reflections. " Were you speaking of me ? " said he, with a smile.
158 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGELONNE.
"My lord," replied Athos, "we were speaking likewise of God."
Monk reflected for a moment, and then replied gaily: "Gentlemen,
let us speak a little of the king likewise, if you please; for you have, I
believe, an audience of his majesty."
" At nine o'clock," said Athos.
" At ten o'clock," said d'Artagnan.
" Let us go into this closet at once," replied Monk, making a sign to
his two companions to precede him; but to which neither would
consent.
The king during this so French debate, had returned to the centre of
the gallery.
" Oh ! my Frenchmen!" said he, in that tone of careless gaiety which,
in spite of so much grief and so many crosses, he had never lost. "My
Frenchmen! my consolation !" Athos and d'Artagnan bowed.
" Duke, conduct these gentlemen into my study. I am at your service,
messieurs," added he in French. And he promptly expedited his court,
to return to his Frenchmen, as he called them. " Monsieur d'Artagnan,"
said he, as he entered his closet, " I am glad to see you again."
" Sire, my joy is at its height at having the honour to salute your
majesty in your own palace of St. James's."
" Monsieur, you have been willing to render me a great service, and I
owe you my gratitude for it. If I did not fear to intrude upon the
rights of our general commandant, I would offer you some post worthy
of you near our person."
" Sire," replied d'Artagnan, " I have quitted the service of the king of
France, making my prince a promise not to serve any other king."
" Humph !" said Charles, " I am sorry to hear that; I should like to
do much for you; you please me greatly."
" Sire "
"But, let us see," said Charles with a smile, "if we cannot make you
break your word. Duke, assist me. If you were offered, that is to say,
if I offered you the chief command of my musketeers?" D'Artagnan
bowed lower than before.
"I should have the regret to refuse what your gracious majesty would
offer me," said he; "a gentleman has but his word, and that word, as I
have had the honour to tell your majesty, is engaged to the king of
France."
" We will say no more about it, then," said the king, turning towards
Athos, and leaving d'Artagnan plunged in the deepest pangs of disap-
pointment.
"Ah! I said so!" muttered the musketeer. "Words! words!
Court holy water! Kings have always a marvellous talent for offering
us that which they know we will not accept, and in appearing generous
without risk. So be it!—triple fool that I was to have hoped for a
moment!"
During this time, Charles took the hand of Athos. " Comte," said he,
" you have been to me a second father; the services you have rendered
me are above all price. I have thought of a recompence, notwithstand-
ing. You were created by my father a Knight of the Garter—that is
an order which all the kings of Europe cannot bear; by the queen
regent, Knight of the Holy Ghost—which is an order not less illustrious;
I join to it that of the Golden Fleece, w hich the king of France has sent
me, to whom the king of Spain, his father-in-law, gave two on the
occasion of his marriage; but, in return, I have a service to ask of
you."
" Sire," said Athos, with confusion, " the Golden Fleece for me! when
THE AUDIENCE. 159
the king of France is the only person in my country who enjoys that
distinction!" ,
" I wish you to be in your country and elsewhere the equal of all
those whom sovereigns have honoured with their favour," said Charles,
drawing the chain from his neck; "and I am sure, comte, my father
smiles on me from the depths of his tomb."
" It is unaccountably strange," said d'Artagnan to himself, whilst his
friend, on his knees, received the eminent order which the king con-
/erred on him—" if is almost incredible that I have always seen showers
of prosperity fall upon all who surrounded me, and that not a drop ever
reached me ! If I were a jealous man, it would be enough to make one
tear one's hair, parole d'honneur /"
Athos rose from his knees, and Charles embraced him tenderly.
"General!" said he to Monk—then stopping, with a smile, "pardon
me, duke I mean. No wonder if I mistake; the word duke is too short
for me, I always seek for some title to elongate it. I should wish to see
you so near my throne, that I might say to you, as to Louis XIV., my
brother! Oh! I have it; and you will be almost my brother, for I
make you viceroy of Ireland and Scotland, my dear duke. So, after that
fashion, henceforward I shall not make a mistake."
The duke seized the hand of the king, but without enthusiasm, with-
out joy, as he did everything. His heart, however, had been moved by
this last favour. Charles, by skilfully husbanding his generosity, had
left the duke time to wish, although he might not have wished for so
much as was given him.
" Mordioux!" grumbled d'Artagnan, "there is the shower beginning
again! Oh! it is enough to turn one's brain!" and he turned away
with an air so sorrowful and so comically piteous, that the king, who
caught it, could not restrain a smile. Monk was preparing to leave the
closet to take leave of Charles.
"What! my trusty and well-beloved!" said the king to the duke,
"are you going?"
"If it please your majesty, for in truth I am tired. The emotions of
the day have worn me out: I stand in need of repose."
"But," said the king, "you are not going without M. d'Artagnan, I
hope."
" Why not, sire ?" said the old warrior.
" W ell! you know very well why," said the king.
Monk looked at Charles with astonishment.
" Oh! it may be possible; but if you forget, you, M. d'Artagnan, do
not."
Astonishment was painted on the face of the musketeer.
"Well, then, duke," said the king, "do you not lodge with M.
d'Artagnan ?"
" I have the honour to offer M. d'Artagnan a lodging; yes, sire."
" That idea is your own, and yours solely ?"
"Mine and mine only, yes, sire."
" Well! but it could not be otherwise—the prisoner is always at the
home of his conqueror."
Monk coloured in his turn. " Ah! that is true," said he; "I am M.
d'Artagnan's prisoner."
" Without doubt, duke, since you are not yet ransomed; but take no
heed of that; it was I who took you out of M. d'Artagnan's hands, and
it is I who will pay your ransom."
The eyes of d'Artagnan regained their gaiety and their brilliancy.
The Gascon began to comprehend. Charles advanced towards him.
160 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
" The general," said he, "is not rich, and cannot pay you what he is
worth. I am richer, certainly; but now that he is a duke, and if not a
king, almost a king, he is worth a sum I could not perhaps pay. Come,
M. d'Artagnan, be moderate with me: how much do I owe you ?"
D'Artagnan, delighted at the turn things were taking, but not for a
moment losing his self-possession, replied,—" Sire, your majesty has no
occasion to be alarmed. When I had the good fortune to take his grace,
M. Monk was only a general; it is therefore only a general's ransom
that is due to me. But if the general will have the kindness to deliver
me his sword, I shall consider myself paid; for there is nothing in the
world but the general's sword which is worth so much as himself."
" Odds fish! as my father said," cried Charles. " That is a gallant
proposal, and a gallant man, is he not, duke ?"
" Upon my honour, yes, sire," and he drew his sword. " Monsieur,"
said he to d'Artagnan, " here is what you demand. Many may have
handled a better blade; but however modest mine may be, I have never
surrendered it to any one."
D'Artagnan received with pride the sword which had just made a king.
" Oh ! oh! " cried Charles II.: What! a sword that has restored me
to my throne—to go out of the kingdom—and not, one day, to figure
among the crown jewels! No, on my soul! that shall not be! Captain
d'Artagnan, I will give you two hundred thousand livres for your sword;
if that is too little, say so."
" It is too little, sire," replied d'Artagnan, with inimitable seriousness.
" In the first place, I do not at all wish to sell it; but your majesty desires
me to do so, and that is an order. I obey, then; but the respect I owe
to the illustrious warrior who hears me, commands me to estimate at a
third more the reward of my victory. I ask then three hundred thou-
sand livres for the sword, or I will give it to your majesty for nothing."
And taking it by the point he presented it to the king. Charles broke
into hilarious laughter.
"A gallant man, and a joyous companion! Odds fish! is he not,
duke ? is he not, comte ? He pleases me ! I like him! Here chevalier
d'Artagnan, take this." And going to a table, he took a pen and wrote
an order upon his treasurer for three hundred thousand livres.
D'Artagnan took it, and turning gravely towards Monk. " I have
still asked too little, I know," said he, " but, believe me, monsieur le
due, I would rather have died than allow myself to be governed by
avarice."
The king began to laugh again, like the happiest cockney of his
kingdom.
" You will come and see me again before you go, chevalier ? " said he,
" I shall want to lay in a stock of gaiety now my Frenchmen are leaving
me."
" Ah ! sire, it shall not be with the gaiety as with the duke's sword;
I will give it to your majesty gratis," replied d'Artagnan, whose feet
scarcely seemed to touch the ground.
" And you, comte," added Charles, turning towards Athos, " come
again, also; I have an important message to confide to you. Your hand,
duke." Monk pressed the hand of the king.
" Adieu ! gentlemen," said Charles, holding out each of his hands to
the two Frenchmen, who carried them to their lips.
"Well," said Atlios, when they were out of the palace, "are you
satisfied ? " '
" Hush!" said d'Artagnan, wild with joy, " I am not yet returned
from the treasurer's—the spout may fall upon my head."
or THE EMBABBASSMENT OF BICHES.
161
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Of the Embarrassment of Riches.
D'Artagnan lost no time, and as soon as the thing was suitable and
opportune, he paid a visit to the lord-treasurer of his majesty. He had
then the satisfaction to exchange a piece of paper, covered with very
ugly writing, for a prodigious number of crowns, recently stamped with
the effigies of his very gracious majesty, Charles II. D'Artagnan easily
recovered his self-possession; and yet, upon this occasion, he could not
help evincing a joy which the reader will perhaps comprehend, if he
deigns to have some indulgence for a man who, since his birth, had
never seen so many pieces and rouleaux of pieces juxta-placed in an
order truly agreeable to the eye. The treasurer placed all these rouleaux
in bags, and closed each bag with a stamp of the arms of England, a
favour which treasurers do not accord to everybody. Then impassible,
and just as polite as he ought to be towards a man honoured with the
friendship of the king, he said to d'Artagnan
" Take away your money, sir." Your money ! These words made a
thousand chords vibrate in the heart of d'Artagnan, which he had never
felt before. He had the bags packed in a small cart, and returned home
meditating profoundly. A man who possesses three hundred thou-
sand livres can no longer expect to wear a smooth brow; a wrinkle
for every hundred thousand livres is not too much. D'Artagnan
shut himself up, ate no dinner, closed his door against everybody, and,
with a lighted lamp, and a loaded pistol on the table, he watched all
night, ruminating upon the means of preventing these lovely crowns,
which from the coffers of the king had passed into his coffers, from
passing from his coffers into the pockets of any thief whatever. The
best means discovered by the Gascon was to enclose his treasure, for the
present, under locks so solid that no wrist could break them, and so
complicated that no master-key could open them. D'Artagnan remem-
bered that the English are passed masters in mechanics and conservative
industry; and he determined to go in the morning in search of a
mechanic who would sell him a strong box. He did not go far, the
sieur Will Jobson, dwelling in Piccadilly, listened to his propositions,
comprehended his wishes, and promised to make him a safety-lock that
should relieve him from all future fear.
"I will give you," said he, "a piece of mechanism entirely new. At
the first serious attempt upon your lock, an invisible plate will open of
itself and vomit forth a pretty copper bullet of the weight of a mark—
which will knock down the intruder, and not without a loud report.
"What do you think of it ? "
" I think it very ingenious," cried d'Artagnan;" the little copper bullet
pleases me mightily. So, now, monsieur the mechanic, the terms ? "
"A fortnight for the execution, and fifteen hundred livres, payable on
delivery," replied the artizan.
D'Artagnan's brow darkened. A fortnight was delay enough to
allow the thieves of London time to remove all occasion for the strong
box. As to the fifteen hundred livres—that would be paying too dear
for what a little vigilance would procure him for nothing.
"I will think of it," said he; "thank you, monsieur." And he
returned home at full speed; nobody'had yet touched his treasure,
ii
162 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
That same day, Athos paid his friend a visit, and found him so thought-
ful that he could not help expressing his surprise.
" How is this ? " said he, " you are rich and not gay—you who were so
anxious for wealth !"
" My friend, the pleasures to which we are not accustomed oppress us
more than the griefs we are familiar with. Give me your opinion, if you
please. I can ask you, who have always had money; when we have
money, what do we do with it ? " " That depends."
" What have you done with yours, seeing that it has not made you a
miser or a prodigal ? For avarice dries up the heart, and prodigality
drowns it—is not that so P "
" Fabricius could not have spoken more justly. But, in truth, my
money has never been a burden to me."
" How so ? Do you place it out at interest ? "
" No; you know I have a tolerably handsome house; and that house
composes the better part of my property."
" I know it does."
" So that you can be as rich as I am, and, indeed, more rich, whenever
you like, by the same means."
" But your rents,—do you lay them by P " ■" No."
" What do you think of a chest concealed in a wall ? "
" I never made use of such a thing."
" Then you must have some confidant, some safe man of business,
who pays you interest at a fair rate."
" Not at all."
" Good heavens! what do you do with it, then ? "
" I spend all I have, and I only have what I spend, my dear d'Artagnan."
"Ah ! that may be. But you are something of a prince; fifteen or.
sixteen thousand livres melt away between your fingers: and then you
have expenses and appearances "
" Well, I don't see why you should be less of a noble than I am, my
friend; your money would be quite sufficient."
" Three hundred thousand livres ! Two-thirds too much ! "
" I beg your pardon—did you not tell me ?—I thought I heard you
say—I fancied you had a partner "
"Ah ! Mordioux! that's true ! " cried d'Artagnan, colouring, "there
is Planchet. I had forgotten Planchet, upon my life! Well! there
are my hundred thousand crowns broken into. That's a pity ! it was a
round sum, and sounded well.—That is true, Athos; I am no longer rich.
What a memory you have !"
" Tolerably good; yes, thank God! "
"Bravo, Planchet!" grumbled d'Artagnan; "he has not had a bad
dream ! What a speculation ! Peste! Well! what is said is said!"
" How much are you to give him ? "
" Oh! " said d'Artagnan, " he is not a bad fellow; I shall arrange
matters with him. I have had a great deal of trouble, you see, and
expenses; all that must be taken into account."
" My dear friend, I can depend upon you, and have no fear for the
worthy Planchet; his interests are better in your hands than in his own.
But now that you have nothing more to do here, we will be gone, if you
please. Tou can go and thank his majesty, ask if he has any commands,
and in six days, we may be able to get sight of the towers of Notre Dame."
" My friend, I am most anxious to be off, and will go at once and pay
my respects to the king."
" I," said Athos, " am going to call upon some friends in the city, and
shall be then at your service."
OF THE EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES. 163
" Will you lend me Grimaud ? "
" With all my heart. What do you want to do with him ? "
" Something very simple, and which will not fatigue him; I will only
beg him to take charge of my pistols, which lie there on the table near
that coffer."
"Very well!" replied Athos, imperturbably.
" And he will not stir, will he ? "
" Not more than the pistols themselves."
" Then I will go and take leave of his majesty. Au revoir!"
D'Artagnan arrived at St. James's, where Charles II., who was busy
writing, kept him in the antechamber a full hour. Whilst walking
about in the gallery, from the door to the window, from the window to
the door, he thought he saw a cloak like Athos' cross the vestibule; but
at the moment he was going to ascertain if it were he, the usher sum-
moned him to his majesty's presence. Charles II. rubbed his hands at
receiving the thanks of our friend.
" Chevalier," said he, " you are wrong in expressing gratitude to me;
I have not paid you a quarter of the value of the history of the box
into which you put the brave general—the excellent duke of Albemarle,
I mean." And the king laughed heartily.
D'Artagnan did not think it proper to interrupt his majesty, and
bowed with much modesty.
"Apropos," continued Charles, "do you think, my dear Monk has
really pardoned you !"
" Pardoned me ! yes, I hope so, sire ! "
" Eh !—but it was a cruel trick! Odds fish ! to pack up the first
personage of the English revolution like a herring. In your place, I
would not trust him, chevalier."
" But, sire "
"Yes, I know very well that Monk calls you his friend. But he has
too penetrating an eye not to have a memory, and too lofty a brow not
to be very proud, you know, grande supercilium."
" I certainly will learn Latin," said d'Artagnan to himself.
" But, stop," cried the merry monarch, " I must manage your recon-
ciliation; I know how to set about it; so "
D'Artagnan bit his moustache. "Will your majesty permit me to
tell you the truth ? "
" Speak, chevalier, speak!"
"Well, sire, you alarm me greatly. If your majesty undertakes the
affair, as you seem inclined to do, I am a lost man; the duke will have
me assassinated."
The king burst into a fresh roar of laughter, which changed d'Arta-
gnan's alarm into downright terror.
"Sire, I beg you to allow me to settle this matter myself; and if
your majesty has no further need of my services ■"
"No, chevalier. What, do you want to leave us?" replied Charles,
with an hilarity that grew more and more alarming.
" If your majesty has no more commands for me."
Charles became more serious.
"One single thing. See my sister, the lady Henrietta. Do you
know her?"
"No, sire, but—an old soldier like me, is not an agreeable spectacle
for a young and gay princess."
" Ay! but my sister must know you; she must, at her need, have
you to depend upon."
"Sire, every one that is dear to your majesty, will be sacred for me."
M 2
164 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
" Very well!—Parry! Come here, Parry."
The lateral door opened, and Parry entered, his face beaming with
pleasure as soon as he saw d'Artagnan.
" What is Rochester doing ?" said the king.
" He is upon the canal with the ladies," replied Parry.
" And Buckingham ?"
" He is there also."
" That is well. You will conduct the chevalier to Villiers; that is,
the duke of Buckingham, chevalier; and beg the duke to introduce
M. d'Artagnan to the princess Henrietta."
Parry bowed and smiled to d'Artagnan.
" Chevalier," continued the king, " this is your parting audience, you
can afterwards set out as soon as you please."
Sire, I thank you."
" But be sure you make your peace with Monk!"
" Oh ! sire "
" You know there is one of my vessels at your disposal ?"
" Sire, you overpower me, I cannot think of putting your majesty's
officers to inconvenience on my account."
The king slapped d'Artagnan upon the shoulder.
"Nobody will be inconvenienced on your account, chevalier, but for
that of an ambassador I am about sending to France, and to whom you
will serve willingly as a companion, I fancy, for you know him."
D'Artagnan appeared astonished.
"He is a certain comte de la Fere,—he you call Athos," added the
king; terminating the conversation as he had begun it, by a joyous
burst of laughter. " Adieu, chevalier, adieu ! Love me as 1 love you."
And thereupon, making a sign to Parry to ask if there were any one
waiting for him in the adjoining closet, the king disappeared into that
closet, leaving the place to the chevalier, perfectly astonished with this
singular audience. The old man took his arm in a friendly way, and
led him towards the garden.
CHAPTER XXXV.
Upon the Canal.
Upon' the canal of waters of an opaque green, bordered with marble,
upon which time had already scattered black spots and tufts of mossy
grass, there glided majestically a long flat barque, jjavoisee with the
arms of England, surmounted by a dais, and carpeted with long
damasked stuti's, which trailed their fringes in the water. Eight rowers,
leaning lazily to their oars, made it move upon the canal with the
graceful slowness of the swans, which, disturbed in their ancient posses-
sions by the approach of the barque, looked from a distance at this splendid
and noisy pageant. We say noisy—for the barque contained four players
upon the guitar and the lute, two singers, and several courtiers, all
sparkling with gold and precious stones, and showing their white teeth
in emulation of each other, to please the lady Henrietta Stuart, grand-
daughter of Henry IV., daughter of Charles I., and sister of Charles II.,1
who occupied the seat of honour under the dais of the barque. We
know this young princess, we have seen her at the Louvre with her
mother, wanting wood, wanting bread, and fed by the coadjuteur and
the parliament. She had, therefore, like her brothers, passed through
UPON THE CANAL. 165
a troublous youth; then, all at once, she had just awakened from a
long and horrible dream, seated on the steps of a throne, surrounded by
courtiers and flatterers. Like Mary Stuart on leaving prison, she
aspired not only for life and liberty, but for power and wealth.
The lady Henrietta, in growing, had attained remarkable beauty,
which the recent restoration had rendered celebrated. Misfortune had
taken from her the lustre of pride, but prosperity had restored it to
her. She was resplendent, then, in her joy and her happiness,—like
those hot-house flowers which, forgotten during a night of the first
frosts of autumn, have hung their heads, but which on the morrow,
warmed once more by the atmosphere in which they were born, rise again
with greater splendour than ever. Villiers, duke of Buckingham, son
of him who played so conspicuous a part in the early chapters of this
history,—Villiers of Buckingham, a handsome cavalier, melancholy with
women, a jester with men,—and Wilmot, lord Rochester, a jester with
both sexes, were standing at this moment before the lady Henrietta,
disputing the privilege of making her smile. As to that young and
beautiful princess, reclining upon a cushion of velvet bordered with
gold, her hands hanging listlessly so as to dip in the water, she listened
carelessly to the musicians without hearing them, and heard the two
courtiers without appearing to listen to them. This lady Henrietta—
this charming creature—this woman who joined the graces of Prance
to the beauties of England, not having yet loved, was cruel in her
coquetry. The smile, then,—that innocent favour of young girls—did
not even enlighten her countenance; and if, at times, she did raise her
eyes, it was to fasten them upon one or other of the cavaliers with such
a fixity, that their gallantry, bold as it generally was, took the alarm,
and became timid.
In the mean while the boat continued its course, the musicians made
a great noise, and the courtiers began, like them, to be out of breath.
Besides, the excursion became doubtless monotonous to the princess, for,
all at once, shaking her head with an air of impatience—" Come, gentle-
men,—enough of this;—let us land."
"Ah, madam," said Buckingham, "we are very unfortunate! We
have not succeeded in making the excursion agreeable to your royal
highness."
" My mother expects me," replied the princess; " and I must frankly
admit, gentlemen, I am ennuyee." And whilst uttering this cruel word,
Henrietta endeavoured to console by a look each of the young men,
who appeared terrified at such frankness. The look produced its effect
—the two faces brightened; but immediately, as if the royal coquette
thought she had done too much for simple mortals, she made a move-
ment, turned her back to both her adorers, and appeared plunged in a
reverie in which it was evident they had no part.
Buckingham bit his lips with anger, for he was truly in love with the
lady Henrietta, and, in that case, took everything in a serious light.
Rochester bit his lips likewise; but as his wit always dominated over
his heart, it was purely and simply to repress a malicious smile. The
princess was then allowing the eyes she turned from the young nobles
to wander over the green and flowery turf of the park, when she per-
ceived Parry and d'Artagnan at a distance.
" Who is coming yonder P" said she.
The two young men turned round with the rapidity of lightning.
" Parry," replied Buckingham; " nobody but Parry."
" I beg your pardon," said Rochester, " but I think he has a com-
panion."
166 THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONNE.
" Yes," said the princess, at first with languor, hut then—" What
mean those words, 'Nobody but Parrry;' say, my lord?"
" Because, madam," replied Buckingham, piqued, " because the
faithful Parry, the wandering Parry, the eternal Parry is not, I believe,
of much consequence."
" You are mistaken, duke. Parry—the wandering Parry, as you call
him—has always wandered for the service of my family, and the sight
of that old man always gives me satisfaction."
The lady Henrietta followed the usual progress of pretty women,
particularly coquettish women: she passed from caprice to contradic-
tionthe gallant had undergone the caprice, the courtier must bend
beneath the contradictory humour. Buckingham bowed, but made no
reply.
" It is true, madam," said Rochester, bowing in his turn, " that
Parry is the model of servants; but, madam, he is no longer young,
and we only laugh at seeing cheerful objects. Is an old man a gay
object?"
Enough, my lord," said the princess, coolly; " the subject of con-
versation is unpleasant to me."
Then, as if speaking to herself, " It is really unaccountable," said she,
" how little regard my brother's friends have for his servants."
" Ah, madam," cried Buckingham, " your royal highness pierces my
heart with a poniard forged by your own hands."
" What is the meaning of that speech, which is turned so like a
Erench madrigal, duke ? I do not understand it."
" It means, madam, that you yourself so good, so'charming, so sen-
sible, you have laughed sometimes—smiled, I should say—at the idle
prattle of that good Parry, for whom your royal highness to-day enter-
tains such a marvellous susceptibility."
"Well, my lord, if I have forgotten myself so far," said Henrietta,
"you do wrong to remind me of it." And she made a sign of impatience.
" The good Parry wants to speak to me, I believe: please to order them
to row to the shore, my Lord Rochester."
Rochester hastened to repeat the princess's command; and, a moment
after, the boat touched the bank. 1
"Let us land, gentlemen," said Henrietta, taking the arm which
Rochester offered to her, although Buckingham was nearer to her, and
had presented his. Then Rochester, with an ill-dissembled pride,
which pierced the heart of the unhappy Buckingham through and
through, led the princess across the little bridge which the rowers had
cast from the royal boat to the shore.
" Which way will your royal highness go ?" asked Rochester.
" You see, my lord, towards that good Parry, who is wandering, as my
lord of Buckingham says, and seeking me with eyes weakened by the
tears he has shed over our misfortunes."
" Good heavens!" said Rochester, " how sad your royal highness is
to-day; we have, in truth, the air of appearing ridiculous fools to you,
madam."
" Speak for yourself, my lord," interrupted Buckingham, with vexa-
tion; "for my part, I displease her royal highness to such a degree,that
I appear absolutely nothing to her."
Neither Rochester nor the princess made any reply; Henrietta
only urged her cavalier to a quicker pace. Buckingham remained
behind, and took advantage of this isolation to give himself up to
such rage, in his handkerchief, that the cambric was bitten in holes.
" Parry, my good Parry," said the princess, with her weak voice,
TTPON THE CANAL. 167
ct come hither. I see you are seeking for me, and I am waiting for
you."
" Ah, madam," said Rochester, coming charitably to the succour of
his companion, remaining, as we have said, behind, " if Parry cannot see
your royal highness, the man who follows him is a sufficient guide, even
for a blind man; for he has eyes of flame. That man is a double-lamped
lantern."
" Lighting a very handsome martial countenance," said the princess,
determined to be as ill-natured as possible. Rochester bowed. " One
of those vigorous soldiers' heads seen nowhere but in Prance," added
the princess, with the perseverance of a woman sure of impunity.
Rochester and Buckingham looked at each other, as much as to say,
" What can be the matter with her ? "
" See, my lord of Buckingham, what Parry wants," said Henrietta,
" go!"
The young man, who considered this order as a favour, resumed his
courage, and hastened to meet Parry, who, followed by d'Artagnan,
advanced slowly on account of his age. D'Artagnan walked slowly but
nobly, as d'Artagnan, doubled by the third of a million, ought to walk,
that is to say, without conceit or swagger, but without timidity. When
Buckingham, who had been very eager to comply with the desire of the
princess, had stopped at a marble bench, as if fatigued with the few
steps he had gone,—when Buckingham, we say, was at a distance of
only a few paces from Parry, the latter recognized him.
" Ah ! my lord," cried he, quite out of breath, " will your grace obey
the king ? "
"In what, Monsieur Parry ? " said the young man, with a kind of
coolness tempered by a desire of making himself agreeable to the
princess.
"Well, his majesty begs your grace to present this gentleman to her
royal highness the princess Henrietta."
" In the first place, what is the gentleman's name ? " said the duke,
haughtily.
D'Artagnan, as we know, was easily affronted; the tone of the duke
of Buckingham displeased him. He surveyed the courtier from head
to foot, and two flashes beamed from beneath his bent brows. But,
after a ^struggle, " Monsieur le chevalier d'Artagnan, my lord," replied
he, quietly.
" Pardon me, monsieur, that name teaches me your name, but no-
thing more."
" That is to say ?" " That is to say, I do not know you."
"I am more fortunate than you, monsieur," replied d'Artagnan;
" for I have had the honour of knowing much of your family, and par-
ticularly my lord duke of Buckingham your illustrious father."
" My father ? " said Buckingham. " Well, I think I now remember.
Monsieur le chevalier d'Artagnan, do you say ? "
D'Artagnan bowed. " In person," said he.
" Pardon me; but are you one of those Frenchmen who had secret
relations with my father ? "
" Exactly, monsieur the duke, I am one of those Frenchmen."
" Then, monsieur, permit me to say that it was strange my father
never heard of you during his lifetime."
" No, monsieur, but he heard of me at the moment of his death: it
was I who sent to him, by the hands of the valet de chamlre of Anne of
Austria, notice of the dangers which threatened him; unfortunately, it
came too late."
168 THE VICOMTE DE EBAOELONNE.
"Never mind, monsieur," said Buckingham. "I understand now,
that, having had the intention of rendering a service to the father, you
are come to claim the protection of the son."
" In the first place, my lord," replied d'Artagnan, phlegmatically, " I
claim the protection of no man. His majesty Charles II., to whom I
have had the honour of rendering some services—I may tell you, my
lord, my life has been passed in such occupations—King Charles II..
then, who wishes to honour me with some kindness, has desired I shall
be presented to her royal highness the princess Henrietta, his sister,
to whom I shall, perhaps, have the good fortune to be of service here-
after. Now, the king knew that you, at this moment, were with her
royal highness, and has sent me to you, by the intermission of Parry,
There is no other mystery. I ask absolutely nothing of you; and if you
will not present me to her royal highness, I shall be compelled to do
without you, and present myself."
" At least, monsieur," said Buckingham, determined to have the last
word, "you will not go back from an explanation provoked by yourself."
" I never go back, monsieur," said d'Artagnan.
" As you have had relations with my father, you must be acquainted
with some private details ? "
" These relations are already far removed from us, my lord—for you
were not then born—and for some unfortunate diamond studs, which I
received from his hands and carried back to Prance, it is really not
worth while awakening so many remembrances."
" Ah! monsieur," said Buckingham, warmly, going up to d'Artagnan,
and holding out his hand to him, " it is you, then—you whom my father
sought for so earnestly, and who had a right to expect so much from us."
"To expect, monsieur; in truth that is my forte, all my life I have
expected."
At this moment, the princess, who was tired of not seeing the stranger
approach her, arose and came towards them.
At least, monsieur," said Buckingham, "you shall not wait for the
presentation you claim of me."
Then turning towards the princess, and bowing: "Madam," said the
young man, "the king your brother desires me to have the honour of
presenting to your royal highness, monsieur le chevalier d'Artagnan."
" In order that your royal highness may have, at your need, a firm
support and a sure friend," added Parry. D'Artagnan bowed.
" You have still something to say, Parry," replied Henrietta, smiling
upon d'Artagnan, while addressing the old servant.
"Yes, madam; the king desires you to preserve religiously in your
memory the name, and to remember the merit, of M. d'Artagnan, to
whom his majesty owes, he says, the recovery of his kingdom." Buck-
ingham, the princess, and Rochester looked at each other
" That," said d'Artagnan, " is another little secret, of which, in all
probability, I shall not boast to his majesty's son, as I have done to you
with respect to the diamond studs."
"Madam," said Buckingham, "monsieur has just, for the second
time, recalled to my memory an event which excites my curiosity to
such a degree, that I will venture to ask your permission to take him on
one side for a moment, to converse in private."
" Do, my lord," said the princess; " but restore to the sister, as quickly
as possible, this friend so devoted to the brother." And she took the
arm of Rochester, whilst Buckingham took that of d'Artagnan.
"Oh! tell me, chevalier," said Buckingham, "all that aflair of the
HOW d'aetagnan deew a countey-seat. 169
diamonds, which nobody knows in England, not even the son of him
who was the hero of it."
" My lord, one person alone had a right to relate all that affair, as you
call it, and that was your father; he thought proper to be silent, I must
beg you to allow me to be so likewise." And d'Artagnan bowed like a
man upon whom it was evident no entreaties could prevail.
"Since it is so, monsieur," said Buckingham, "pardon my indiscre-
tion, I beg you; and if, at any time, I should go into Erance " and
he turned round to take a last look at the princess, who took but little
notice of him, totally occupied as she was, or appeared to be, with Ro-
Chester. Buckingham sighed.
"Well ?" said d'Artagnan.
" I was saying that if, any day, I were to go into Erance "
" You will go, my lord," said d'Artagnan, " I will answer for that."
"And how so?"
"Oh, I have strange powers of prediction; if I do predict anything, I
am seldom mistaken. If, then, you do come to Erance ? "
"Well, then, monsieur, you of whom kings ask that valuable friend-
ship which restores crowns to them, I will venture to beg of you a
little of that great interest you avowed for my father."
"My lord," replied d'Artagnan, "believe me, I shall deem myself
highly honoured if, in Erance, you remember having seen me here.
And now permit "
Then, turning towards the princess: " Madame," said he, " your
royal highness is a daughter of France; and in that quality I hope to
see you again in Paris. One of my happy days will be that on which
your royal highness shall give me any command whatever, which will
assure me that you have not forgotten the recommendations of your
august brother." And he bowed respectfully to the young princess,
who gave him her hand to kiss with a right royal grace.
"Ah! madam," said Buckingham, in a subdued voice, "what can a
man do to obtain a similar favour from your royal highness ? "
" Dame! my lord," replied Henrietta, " ask Monsieur d'Artagnan;
he will tell you."
CHAPTER XXXVI.
How d'Artagnan drew, as a fairy would have done, a country-seat from
a deal box.
The king's words regarding the wounded pride of Monk had not
inspired d'Artagnan with a small portion of apprehension. The lieu-
tenant had had, all his life, the great art of choosing his enemies; and
when he had found them implacable and invincible, it was when he
had not been able, under any pretence, to make them otherwise. But
Imints of view change greatly in the course of a life. It is a magic
. antern, of which the eye of man every year changes the aspects. It
results that from the last day of a year on which we saw white, to the
first day of the vear on which we shall see black, there is but the
interval of a single night.
Now d'Artagnan, when he left Calais with his ten scamps, would
have hesitated as little in attacking a Goliath, a Nebuchadnezzar, or a
Holofernes, as he would in crossing swords with a recruit or cavilling
with a landlady. Then he resembled the sparrow-hawk, which, fasting,
attacks a ram. Hunger blinds. Butd'Artagnan satisfied—d'Artagnan rich
170 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
—d'Artagnan a conqueror—d'Artagnan proud of so difficult a triumph
—d'Artagnan had too much to lose not to reckon, figure by figure,.
with probable bad fortune. His thoughts were employed, therefore,
all the way on the road from his presentation, with one thing, and.
that was, how he should manage a man like Monk, a man whom Charles
himself, king as he was, managed with difficulty; for, scarcely estab-
lished, the protected might again stand in need of the protector, and
would, consequently, not refuse him, such being the case, the petty
satisfaction of transporting M. d'Artagnan, or to confine him in one of
the Middlesex prisons, or to drown him a little on his passage from
Dover to Boulogne. Such sorts of satisfaction kings are accustomed
to render to viceroys without disagreeable consequences. It would
not be at all necessary for the king to be active in that contrepartie
of the piece in which Monk should take his revenge. The part of the
king would be confined to simply pardoning the viceroy of Ireland
all he should undertake against d'Artagnan. Nothing more was
necessary to place the conscience of the duke of Albemarle at rest
than a te absolvo said with a laugh, or the scrawl of " Charles the King,"
traced at the foot of a parchment; and with these two words pro-
nounced, and these "two words written, poor d'Artagnan was for ever
crushed under the ruins of his imagination. And then, a thing suffi-
ciently disquieting for a man with such foresight as our musketeer, he
found himself alone; and even the friendship of Athos could not
restore his confidence. Certes, if the affair had. only concerned a free
distribution of sword-thrusts, the musketeer would have reckoned
upon his companion; but in delicate matters with a king, when the
perhaps of an unluoky chance should arise in justification of Monk or
of Charles of England, d'Artagnan knew Athos well enough to be
sure he would give the best possible colouring to the loyalty of the
survivor, and would content himself with shedding floods of tears on
the tomb of the dead, supposing the dead to be his friend, and after-
wards composing his epitaph in the most pompous superlatives.
" Decidedly," thought the Gascon; and this thought was the result of
the reflections which he had just whispered to himself, and which we
have repeated aloud—" decidedly, I must be reconciled with M. Monk,
and acquire a proof of his perfect indifference for the past. If, as God
forbid it should be so! he is still sulky and reserved in the expression
of this sentiment, I will give my money to Athos to take away with
him; I will remain in England just long enough to unmask him, then,
as I have a quick eye and a light foot, I \till seize the first hostile sign;
I will decamp, or conceal myself at the residence of my lord of Buck-
ingham, who seems a good sort of devil at bottom, and to whom, in
return for his hospitality, I will then relate all that history of the
diamonds, which can now compromise nobody, but an old queen, who
need not be ashamed, after being the wife of a poor creature like
Mazarin, of having formerly been the mistress of a handsome nobleman
like Buckingham. Mordioux ! that is the thing, and this Monk shall
not get the better of me. Eh! and besides, I have an idea!"
We know that, in general, d'Artagnan was not wanting in ideas; and
during his monologue, d'Artagnan buttoned his vest up to the chin, and
nothing excited his imagination like this preparation for a combat of
any kind, called accinction by the Romans. He was quite heated when
he reached the mansion of the duke of Albemarle. He was introduced
to the viceroy with a promptitude which proved that he was considered
as one of the household. Monk was in his business-closet.
how d'artagnan drew a country-seat. 171
" My lord," said d'Artagnan, with that expression of frankness, which
the Gascon knew so well how to assume, " my lord, I am come to ask
your grace's advice!"
Monk, as closely buttoned up morally, as his antagonist was physi-
cally, Monk replied: " Ask, my friendand his countenance presented
an expression not less open than that of d'Artagnan.
" My lord, in the first place, promise me secrecy and indulgence."
" I promise you all you wish. What is the matter ? Speak!"
" It is, my lord, that I am not quite pleased with the king."
"Indeed ! And on what account, my dear lieutenant ?"
"Because his majesty gives way sometimes to pleasantries very com-
promising for his servants; and pleasantry, my lord, is a weapon that
seriously wounds men of the sword, as we are."
Monk did all in his power not to betray his thought, but d'Artagnan
watched him with too close an attention not to detect an almost imper-
ceptible redness upon his face. " Well, now, for my part," said he, with
the most natural air possible," I am not an enemy to pleasantry, my dear
monsieur d'Artagnan; my soldiers will tell you even that many times
in camp, I listened, very indifferently, and with a certain pleasure, to
the satirical songs which the army of Lambert passed into mine, and
which, certainly, would have made the ears of a general more suscep-
tible than I am, tingle."
" Oh ! my lord," said d'Artagnan, " I know you are a complete man;
I know you have been, for a long time, placed above human miseries;
but there are pleasantries, and pleasantries of a certain kind, which, as
to myself, have the power of irritating me beyond expression."
"May I inquire,-what kind, my friend?"
" Such as are directed against my friends, or against people I respect,
my lord!"
Monk made a slight movement, but which d'Artagnan perceived.
" Eh! and in what," asked Monk, " in what can the stroke of a pin
which scratches another tickle your skin ? Answer me that."
" My lord, I can explain it to you in one single sentence; it concerns
you."
Monk advanced a single step towards d'Artagnan. " Concerns me?"
said he.
"Yes, and this is what I cannot explain; but that arises, perhaps,
from my want of knowledge of his character. How can the king have
the heart to joke about a man who has rendered him so many and such
great services ? How can one understand that he should amuse himself
in setting by the ears a lion like you with a gnat like me ? "
" I cannot conceive that in any way," said Monk.
"But so it is. The king, who owed me a reward, might have rewarded
me as a soldier, without contriving that history of the ransom, which
affects you, my lord."
"No;" said Monk, laughing; "it does not affect me in anyway, I
can assure you."
"Not as regards me, I can understand; you know me, my lord, I am
so discreet, that the grave would appear a babbler, compared to me; but
do you understand, my lord ? "
"No," replied Monk, with persistent obstinacy.
" If another knew the secret which I know "
" What secret ? "
"Eh! my lord, why that unfortunate secret of Newcastle."
" Oh! the million of M. le comte de la Fere ?"
"No, my lord, no; the enterprise made upon your grace's person."
172 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" It was well played, clievalier, that is all, and no more is to be said
about it; you are a soldier, both brave and cunning, which proves that
you unite the qualities of Dabius and Hannibal. You employed your
means, force and cunning; there is nothing to be said against that; I
ought to have been more guarded."
"Ah! yes; I know, my lord, and I expected nothing less from your
partiality; so that if it were only the abduction in itself, mordioux!
that would be nothing; but there are "
" What ?" " The circumstances of that abduction."
" What circumstances ? "
" Oh! you know very well what I mean, my lord."
" No, curse me if I do."
" Tbere is in truth, it is difficult to speak it."
"There is?"
" Well, there is that devil of a box!"
Monk coloured visibly. "Well, I have forgotten it."
" Deal box," continued d'Artagnan, " with holes for the nose and
mouth. In truth, my lord, all the rest was well; but the box, the box !
decidedly that was a coarse joke." Monk fidgeted about in his chair.
"And, notwithstanding, that I have done that," resumed d'Artagnan,
" I, a soldier of fortune, it was quite simple, because by the side of that
action, a little inconsiderate I admit, which I committed, but which the
gravity of the case may excuse, I possess circumspection and reserve."
" Oh!" said Monk, " believe me, I know you well, monsieur d'Ar-
ta<man, and I appreciate you."
D'Artagnan never took his eyes off Monk; studying all which passed
in the mind of the general, as he prosecuted his idea. " But it does not
concern me," resumed he.
" Well, then, whom does it concern ?" said Monk, who began to grow
a little impatient.
" It relates to the king, who will never restrain his tongue."
" Well! and suppose he should say all he knows ?" said Monk, with a
degree of hesitation.
" My lord," replied d'Artagnan, " do not dissemble, I implore you,
with a man who speaks so frankly as I do. You have a right to feel
your susceptibility excited, however benignant it may be. What, the
devil! it is not the place for a man like you, a man who plays with
crowns and sceptres as a Bohemian plays with his balls; it is not the
place of a serious man, I said, to be shut up in a box like a curious
object of natural history; for you must understand it would make
all your enemies ready to burst with laughter, and you are so great,
so noble, so generous, that you must have many enemies. This
secret is enough to set half the human race laughing, if you were
represented in that box. It is not decent to have the second personage
in the kingdom laughed at."
Monk was quite out of countenance at the idea of seeing himself
represented in his box. Ridicule, as d'Artagnan had judiciously fore-
seen, acted upon him in a manner which neither the chances of war,
the aspirations of ambition, nor the fear of death, had been able to do.
"Good!" thought the Gascon, "he is frightened: I am safe."
"Oh! as to the king," said Monk, " fear nothing, my dear monsieur
d'Artagnan; the king will not jest with Monk, I assure you!"
The flash of his eye was intercepted in its passage by d'Artagnan.
Monk lowered his tone immediately: " The king," continued he, " is of
too noble a nature, the king's heart is too high to allow him to wish ill
to those who do him good."
now d'artagnan drew a country-seat. 173
" Oh! certainly," cried d'Artagnan. " I am entirely of your grace's
opinion with regard to his heart, but not as to his head—it is good, but
it is trifling."
" The king will not trifle with Monk, be assured."
" Then you are quite at ease, my lord ?"
" On that side, at least; yes, perfectly."
" Oh! I understand you, you are at ease as far as the king is con-
cerned?"
" I have told you I was."
"But you are not so much so on my account?"
" I thought I had told you that I had faith in your loyalty and dis-
cretion."
"Without doubt, without doubt, but you must remember one
thing " i
" What is that?"
"That I was not alone, that I had companions; and what com-
panions!"
" Oh! yes, I know them."
"And, unfortunately, my lord, they know you, too !"
"Well?"
" Well; they are yonder, at Boulogne, waiting for me."
" And you fear "
"Yes, I fear that in my absence Parbleu! if I were near them, 1
could answer for their silence."
" Was I not right in saying that the danger, if there was any danger,
would not come from his majesty, however disposed he may be to
joke, but from your companions, as you say To be laughed at by
a king may be tolerable, but by the horse-boys and scamps of the
army! Damn it!"
" Yes, I comprehend, that would be insupportable; that is why, my
lord, I came to saty,—do you not think it would be better that I should
set out for France as soon as possible ? "
" Certainly, if you think your presence "
" Would impose silence upon these scoundrels ? Oh ! I am sure of
that, my lord."
" Your presence will not prevent the report from spreading, if the tale
has already transpired."
" Oh ! it has not transpired, my lord, I will be bound. At all events,
be assured I am determined upon one thing."
" What is that ? "
" To blow out the brains of the first who shall have propagated
that report, and of the first who has heard it. After which I will
return to England to seek an asylum, and perhaps employment with
your grace."
"Oh, come back ! come back!"
" Unfortunately, my lord, I am acquainted with nobody here but
your grace, and if I should no longer find you, 01* if you should have
forgotten me in your greatness ? "
"Listen to me, monsieur d'Artagnan," replied Monk; "you are a
superior gentleman, full of intelligence and courage; you merit all
the good fortune this world can bring you; come with me into
Scotland, and, 1 swear to you, 1 will create you a destiny which all
may envy."
" Oh ! my lord, that is impossible at present. At present I have a
sacred duty to perform; I have to watch over your glory, I have to
prevent a low joker from tarnishing in the eyes of our contemporaries
174 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGEIONNE.
—who knows? in the eyes of posterity—the splendour of your
name."
Of posterity, monsieur d'Artagnan ? "
" Doubtless. It is necessary, as regards posterity, that all the details
of that history should remain a mystery; for, admit that this unfortu-
nate history of the deal box should spread, and it should be asserted
that you had not re-established the king loyally, and of your free-will,
but in consequence of a compromise entered into at Scheveningen
between you two. It would be in vain for me to declare how the thing
came about, for me who knew I should not be believed, it would be
said that I had received my part of the cake, and was eating it."
Monk knitted his brow. " Glory, honour, probity !" said he, "you
are but words."
" Mist!" replied d'Artagnan; " nothing but mist, through which
nobody can see clearly."
" Well, then, go to Trance, my dear monsieur d'Artagnan," said
Monk; go, and to render England more attractive and agreeable to
you, accept a remembrance of me."
" What now ?" thought d'Artagnan.
" I have on the banks of the Clyde," continued Monk, " a little house
beneath trees, a cottage as it is called here. To this house are attached
a hundred acres of land. Accept it as a memorial."
" Oh, my lord ! "
" Dame ! you will be there in your own home, and that will be the
place of refuge you were talking of just now."
" For me to be obliged to your lordship to such an extent! Eeally,
your grace, I am ashamed."
" Not at all, not at all, monsieur," replied Monk, with an arch
smile; " it is I who shall be obliged to you. And," pressing the hand of
the musketeer, " I will go and draw up the deed of gift,"—and he left
the room. *
D'Artagnan looked at him as he went out with something of a pen-
sive and even an agitated air.
" After all," said he, " he is a hrave man. It is only a sad reflection
that it is from fear of me, and not affection, that he acts thus. Well, I
will endeavour that affection may follow. Then, after an instant's
deeper reflection,—" Bah!" said he, " to what purpose ? He is an
Englishman." And he in his turn went out, a little confused with the
combat. " So," said he, " I am a land-owner ! But hoW the devil am
I to share the cottage with Planchet ? Unless I give him the land
and I take the chateau, or that he takes the house and I—nonsense !
M. Monk will never allow me to share a house he has inhabited with a
grocer. He is too proud for that. Besides, why should I say anything
about it to him ? It was not with the money of the company I have
acquired that property, it was with my mother-wit alone; it is all
mine then. So, now I will go and find Athos." And he directed his
steps towards the dwelling of the comte de la Fbre.
HOW D'AETAGNAN BEGULATED THE COMPANY.
175
CHAPTER XXXVII.
How d'Artagnan regulated the Passive of the Company before he established
its Active.
"Decidedly," said d'Artagnan to himself, "I am in good vein.
That star which shines once in the life of every man, which shone for
Job and Irus, the most unfortunate of the Jews and the poorest of the
Greeks, is come at last to shine on me. I will commit ho folly, I will
take advantage of it; it comes quite late enough to find me reasonable."
He supped that evening, in very good humour, with his friend Athos;
he said nothing to him about the expected donation, but he could not
forbear questioning his friend, while he was eating, about country
produce, sowing, and planting. Athos replied complacently, as he
always did. His idea was that d'Artagnan wished to become a pro-
prietor; only he could not help regretting, more than once, the absence
of the lively humour and amusing sallies of the cheerful companion of
former days. In fact, d'Artagnan was so absorbed, that, with his knife,
he took advantage of the grease left at the bottom of his plate, to trace
ciphers and make additions of surprising rotundity. The order, or
rather licence, for their embarkation, arrived at Athos' lodgings that
evening. At the same time this paper was remitted to the comte,
another messenger brought to d'Artagnan a little bundle of parchment,
adorned with all the seals employed in setting-off property-deeds in
England. Athos surprised him turning over the leaves of these dif-
ferent acts which establish the transmission of property. The prudent
Monk—others would say the generous Monk, had commuted the
donation into a sale, and acknowledged the receipt of the sum of fifteen
thousand livres as the price of the property ceded. The messenger was
gone. D'Artagnan still continued reading. Athos watched him with a
smile. D'Artagnan, surprising one of those smiles over his shoulder,
put the bundle into its wrapper.
"I beg your pardon," said Athos.
" Oh! not at all, my friend," replied the lieutenant; " I will tell
you "
"No, don't tell me anything, I beg you; orders are things so sacred,
that to one's brother, one's father, the person charged with such orders
should never open his mouth. Thus I, who speak to you, and love you
more tenderly than brother, father, or all the world "
"Except your Baoul?"
"I shall love Raoul still better when he shall be a man, and I shall
have seen him develop himself in all the phases of his character and his
actions—as I have seen you, my friend."
" You said, then, that you had an order likewise, and that you would
not communicate it to me."
"Yes, my dear d'Artagnan."
The Gascon sighed. "There was a time,' said he, "m which you
would have placed that order open upon the table, saying,' D'Artagnan,
read this scrawl to Porthos, Aramis, and me.'"
" That is true. Oh ! that was the time of youth, confidence, the gene-
rous season when the blood commands, when it is warmed by feeling !"
" Well! Athos, will you allow me to tell you ? "
" Speak, my friend!"
" That delightful time, that generous season, that domination of the
176 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
heated blood, were all very fine things, no doubt: but I do not regret
them at all. It is absolutely like the period of studies, i have constantly
met with fools who would boast of the days of pensums, ferules, and
crusts of dry bread. It is singular, but I never loved all that: for my
part, however active and sober I might be (yon knew if I was so, Athos),
so simple as I might appear in my clothes, I would not the less have
preferred the braveries and embroideries of Porthos to my little porous
cassock, which admitted the wind in winter and the sun in summer.
I should always, my friend, mistrust him who would pretend to prefer
evil to good. Now, in times past, all was evil with me, the times past
in which every month found a fresh hole in my cassock and in my skin,
a gold crown less in my poor purse; of that execrable time of small beer
and see-saw, I regret absolutely nothing, nothing, nothing, but our
friendship; for within me I have a heart, and it is a miracle that heart
has not been dried up by the wind of poverty which passed through
the holes of my cloak, or pierced by the swords of all shapes which
passed through the holes in my poor flesh."
"Do not regret our friendship," said Athos, " that will only die with
ourselves. Friendship is composed, above all things, of remembrances
and habits, and if you have just now made a little satire upon mine,
because I hesitate to tell you tbenature of my mission into France "
" Who ! I ?—Oh ! heavens! if you knew, my dear friend, how in-
different all the missions of the world will henceforth become to me ! "
And he laid his hand upon the parchment in his vast pocket.
Athos rose from the table and called the host in order to pay the
reckoning.
" Since I have known you, my friend," said d'Artagnan, " I have
never discharged the reckoning. Porthos often did, Aramis sometimes,
and you, you almost always drew out your purse with the dessert. I
am now rich, and should like to try if it is heroic to pay."
" Do so," said Athos, returning his purse to his pocket.
The two friends then directed their steps towards the park, not, how-
ever, without d'Artagnan's frequently turning round to watch the
transport of his dear crowns. Night had just spread her thick veil
over the yellow waters of the Thames; they heard those noises of casks
and pulleys, the precursors of preparing to sail which had so many times
made the hearts of the musketeers beat when the dangers of the sea
were the least of those they were going to face. This time they were
to embark on board a large vessel which awaited them at Gravesend,
and Charles II., always delicate in small matters, had sent one of his
yachts, with twelve men of his Scotch guard, to do honour to the
ambassador he was deputing to France. At midniaht the yacht had
deposited its passengers on board the vessel, and at eight o'clock in the
morning, the vessel landed the ambassador and his friend before the
jetee at Boulogne. "Whilst the comte, with Grimaud, was busy in
procuring horses to go straight to Paris, d'Artagnan hastened to the
hostelry where, according to his orders, his little army was to wait for
him. These gentlemen were at breakfast upon oysters, fish, and aroma-
tized brandy, when d'Artagnan appeared. They were all very gay, but
not one of them had yet exceeded the bounds of reason. A hurrah of
joy welcomed the general. " Here I am," said d'Ariagnan, " the cam-
paign is ended. I am come to bring each his supplement of pay, as
agreed upon." Their eyes sparkled. " I will lay a wager there are
not, already, a hundred livres remaining in the purse of the richest
among you."
" That is true!" cried they in chorus.
how d'abtagnan kegulated the company. 177
"Gentlemen," said d'Artagnan, "then, this is the last order. The
treaty of commerce has been concluded, thanks to our coup-de-main
which made us masters of the most skilful financier of England, for
now I am at liberty to confess to you that the man we had to carry off
was the treasurer of General Monk."
This word treasurer produced a certain effect in his army. D'Arta-
gnan observed that the eyes of Menneville alone did not evince perfect
faith. " This treasurer," continued d'Artagnan, " I have conveyed to a
neutral territory, Holland; I have forced him to sign the treaty; I have
even reconducted him to Newcastle; and as he was obliged to be satis-
fied with our proceedings towards him—the deal coffer being always car-
ried without jolting, and being lined softly, I asked for a gratification for
you. Here it is." He threw a respectable-looking purse upon the cloth;
and all, involuntarily, stretched out their hands. " One moment, my
lambs," said d'Artagnan; " if there are benefices, there are also charges."
" Oh! oh!" murmured they.
"We are about to find ourselves, my friends, in a position that would
not be tenable for people without brains. I speak plainly: we are
between the gallows and the Bastille."
" Oh! oh!" said the chorus.
" That is easy to be understood. It was necessary to explain to
General Monk the disappearance of his treasurer. I waited for that
purpose, till the very unhoped-for moment of the restoration of King
Charles II., who is one of my friends."
The army exchanged a glance of satisfaction in reply to the sufficiently
proud look of d'Artagnan. " The king being restored, I restored Monk
his man of business, a little plucked, it is true, but, in short, I restored
him. Now, General Monk, when he pardoned me, for he has pardoned
me, could not help repeating these words to me, which I charge every
one of you to engrave deeply there, between the eyes, under the vault
of the cranium:—' Monsieur, the joke has been a good one, but I don't
naturally like jokes; if ever a word of what you have done' (you under-
stand me, M. Menneville) ' escapes from your lips, or the lips of your
companions, I have, in my government of Scotland and Ireland, seven
hundred and forty-one wooden gibbets, of strong oak, clamped with iron,
and fresh greased every week. I will make a present of one of these
gibbets to each of you, and observe well, M. d'Artagnan,' added he,
(remark it also, M. Menneville),' I shall still have seven hundred and
thirty left for my private pleasures. And still further '"
" Ah ! ah!" said the auxiliaries, " is there more still ?"
" One trouble more. ' Monsieur d'Artagnan, I expedite to the king
of France the treaty in question, with a request that he will cast into
the Bastille provisionally, and then send to me, all who have taken part
in this expedition; and that is a prayer with which the king will cer-
tainly comply.'"
A cry of terror broke from all corners of the table.
" There! there! there !" said d'Artagnan, " this brave M. Monk has
forgotten one thing, and that is that he does not know the name of any
one of you; I alone know you, and it is not I, you may well believe,
who will betray you. Why should I ? As for you, I cannot suppose
you will be silly enough to denounce yourselves, for then the king, to
spare himself the expenses of feeding and lodging you, will send you off
to Scotland, where the seven hundred and forty-one gibbets are to be
found. That is all, messieurs; I have not another word to add to what
I have had the honour to tell you. I am sure you have understood me
perfectly well, have you not, M. Menneville ?"
N
178 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Perfectly," replied the latter.
"Now the crowns!" said d'Artagnan. "Shut the doors," he cried,
and opened the bag upon the table, from which rolled several fine gold
crowns. Every one made a movement towards the floor.
"Gently!" cried d'Artagnan, "I insist upon it nobody stoops, and
then I shall not be out in my reckoning." He found it all right, gave
fifty of those splendid crowns to each man, and received as many bene-
dictions as he bestowed pieces. " Now," said he, " if it were possible for
you to reform a little, if you could become good and honest citizens "
" That is rather difficult," said one of the troop.
" "What then, captain?" said another.
" Because I might be able to find you again, and, who knows ? re-
freshed from time to time by some windfall." He made a sign to
Menneville, who listened to all he said with a composed air. " Menne-
ville," said he, " come with me. Adieu, my brave fellows 1 I need not
recommend you to be discreet."
Menneville followed him, whilst the salutations of the auxiliaries were
mingled with the sweet sound of the money clinking in their pockets.
" Menneville," said d'Artagnan, when they were once in the street,
" you were not my dupe; beware of being so. You did not appear to
me to have any fear of the gibbets of Monk, or the Bastille of his
majesty King Louis XIV., but you will do me the favour of being afraid
of me. Then listen; at the smallest word that shall escape you, I will
kill you as I would a fowl. I have absolution from our holy father the
pope in my pocket."
" I assure you I know absolutely nothing, my dear M. d'Artagnan,
and that your words have all been to me so many articles of faith."
" I was quite sure you were an intelligent fellow," said the musketeer;
" I have tried you for a length of time. These fifty gold crowns which
I give you more than the rest, will prove the estimation I hold you in.
Take them."
" Thanks, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Menneville.
"With that sum you can really become an honest man," replied
d'Artagnan, in the most serious tone possible. " It would be disgraceful
for a mind like yours, and a name you no longer dare to bear, to sink
for ever under the rust of an evil life. Become a gallant man, Menne-
ville, and live for a year upon those hundred gold crowns: it is a good
provision; twice that of a high officer. In a year come to me, and,
mordioux! I will make something of you."
Menneville swore, as his comrades had sworn, that he would be as
mute as the tomb. And yet some one must have spoken; and as, to a
certainty, it was not one of the nine companions, as, equally certainly, it
was not Menneville, it must have been d'Artagnan, who, in his quality
of a Gascon, had his tongue very near to his lips. For, in short, if it
was not he, who could it be ? And how can it be explained that the
secret of the deal coffer pierced with holes should come to our know-
ledge, and in so complete a fashion that we have, as has been seen,
related the history of it in all its details the most intimate; details
which, besides, throw a light as new as unexpected upon all that portion
of the history of England which has been left, up to the present day,
completely in, the shade by the historians of our neighbours ?
THE FEENCH GEOCEB.
179
CHAPTER XXXYIII.
In which it is seen that the French Grocer had already been established in
the seventeenth century.
His accounts once settled, and his recommendations made, d'Arta-
gnan thought of nothing but regainiug Paris as soon as possible. Athos,
on his part, was anxious to reach home and to repose a little. How-
ever entire may remain the character and the man after the fatigues of
a voyage, the traveller perceives with pleasure, at the close of the day—
even though the day has been a fine one,—that night is approaching,
and will bring a little sleep with it. So, from Boulogne to Paris, j"g-
ging on side by side, the two friends, in some degree absorbed each in
his individual thoughts, conversed of nothing sufficiently interesting
for us to intrude upon our readers with. Each of them, given up to
his personal reflections, and constructing his future after his own
fashion, was above all anxious to abridge the distance by speed. Athos
and d'Artagnan arrived at the barriers of Paris on the evening of the
fourth day after leaving Boulogne.
" Where are you going, my friend ? " asked Athos. " I shall direct
my course straight to my hotel."
" And I straight to my partner's."
" To Planchet's ? " " Good Lord, yes; at the ' Pilon d'Or.'"
" Well, but shall we not meet again ? "
" If you remain in Paris, yes ; for I shall stay here."
"No; after having embraced Eaoul, with whom I have appointed
a meeting at my hotel, I shall set out immediately for La Pere."
"Well, adieu, then, dear and true friend."
" Au revoir ! I should rather say, for why can you not come and live
with me at Blois ? You are free; you are rich. I will purchase for
you, if you like, a handsome property in the environs of Cheveray or
of Bracieux. _ On the one side you will have the finest woods in the
world, which join those of Chambord; on the other, admirable marshes.
You who love sporting, and who, whether you admit it or not, are a
poet, my dear friend, you will find pheasants, rayl, and teal, without
reckoning sunsets and excursions on the water, to make you fancy
yourself Nimrod and Apollo themselves. Awaiting the acquisition, you
can live at La Pere, and we will go together to fly our hawks among
the vines, as Louis XIII. used to do. That is a quiet amusement for
old fellows like us."
D'Artagnan took the hands of Athos in his own. "Dear eomte,"
said he, " I will neither say ' Yes' nor c No.' Let me pass in Paris the
time necessary for the regulation of my affairs, and accustom myself, by
degrees, to the heavy and glittering idea which is beating in my brains
and dazzles them. I am rich, do you see, and from this moment till
the time 1 have acquired the habit of being rich, I know myself, and I
shall be an unsupportable animal. Now, I am not enough of a fool to
wish to appear to have lost my wits before a friend like you, Athos.
The habit is handsome, the habit is richly gilded, but it is new, and does
not seem to fit me."
Athos smiled. " So be it," said he. " But a apropos of this habit,
dear d'Artagnan, will you allow me to offer you a little advice ?"
" Yes, willingly."
"You will not be angry ?"—-"Proceed."
» 2
180 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" When wealth falls to any one late or all at once, that any one, in
order not to change, will most likely become a miser, that is to say, will
not spend much more money than he had done before; or else^ become
a prodigal, and contract so many debts as to become poor again."
" Oh! but what you say looks very much like a sophism, my dear
philosophic friend."
" I do not think so. Will you become a miser ? " J}
" No. pardieu! I was one already, having nothing. Let us change.
" Then be prodigal."
" Still less, morclioux ! Debts terrify me. Creditors appear to me,
by anticipation, those devils who turn the damned upon the gridirons;
and as patience is not my dominant virtue, I am always tempted to
thrash those devils."
"You are the wisest man I know, and stand in no need of counsel
from any one. Great fools must they be who think they have any-
thing to teach you. But are we not at the Rue Saint Honore ? "
" Yes, dear Athos."
" Look yonder, on the left, that small, long white house is the hotel
at which I lodge. You may observe that it has but two stages; I oc-
cupy the first; the other is let to an officer whose duties oblige him to
be absent eight or nine months in the year,—so I am in that house as
at my own home, without the expense."
" Oh! how well you manage, Athos! What order and what liber-
ality! They are what I wish to unite! But, of what use trying! that
comes from birth, and cannot be acquired."
" You are a flatterer ! Well! adieu, dear friend. A propos, remem-
her me to master Planchet, he was always a lad of spirit."
" And of heart too, Athos. Adieu."
And they separated. During all this conversation, d'Artagnan had
not for a moment lost sight of a certain pack-horse, in whose panniers,
under some hay, were spread the sacoches (messenger's bags) with the
portmanteau. Nine o'clock was striking at Saint-Mine; Planchet's lads
were shutting up his shop. D'Artagnan stopped the postilion who rode
the pack-horse, at the corner of the Rue des Lombards, under a pent-
house, and calling one of Planchet's boys, he desired him not only to
take care of the two horses, but to watch the postilion ; after which he
entered the shop of the grocer, who had just finished supper, and who,
in his little private room was, with a degree of anxiety, consulting the
calendar, from which, every evening, he scratched out the day that was
past. At the moment when Planchet, according to his daily custom,
with the back of his pen, erased another day, d'Artagnan kicked with his
feet at the door, and tne blow made his steel spur jingle. " Oh! good
Lord !" cried Planchet. The worthy grocer could say no more; he per-
ceived his partner. D'Artagnan entered with a bent back and a dull
eye: the Gascon had an idea with regard to Planchet.
" Good God !" thought the grocer, looking earnestly at the traveller,
" he looks very sad !" The musketeer sat down.
" My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan !" said Planchet, with a horrible
palpitation of the heart. " Here you are ! and your health ?"
Tolerably good ! Planchet, tolerably good!" said d'Artagnan, with
a profound sigh.
" You have not been wounded, I hope ?" " Pugh!"
" Ah! I see," continued Planchet, more and more alarmed, " the
expedition has been a trying one ?"
u Yes," said d'Artagnan. A shudder ran through the whole frame of
Planchet. " I should like to have something to drink," said the mus-
keteer, raising his head piteously.
THE FRENCH GROCER. 181
Planchet ran to the cupboard, and poured d'Artagnan out some wine
in a large glass. D'Artagnan examined the bottle.
" What wine is that ?" asked he.
" Alas! that which you prefer, monsieur," said Planchet; "that good
old Anjou wine, which was one day nearly costing us all so dear."
"Ah!" replied d'Artagnan, with a melancholy smile, "Ah! my poor
Planchet! ought I still to drink good wine ?"
" Come! my dear master," said Planchet, making a superhuman
effort, whilst all his contracted muscles, his paleness, and his trembling
betrayed the most acute anguish. " Come! I have been a soldier, and
consequently have some courage; do not make me linger, dear Mon-
sieur d'Artagnan ; our money is lost, is it not ?"
Before he answered, d'Artagnan took time which appeared an age to the
poor grocer. Nevertheless he did nothing but turn about upon his chair.
"And if that were the case," said he, slowly, moving his head up and
down, " if that were the case, what would you say, my dear friend ?"
Planchet, from being pale turned yellow. It might have been thought
he was going to swallow his tongue, so full became his throat, so red
were his eyes!
" Twenty thousand livres!" murmured he. " Twenty thousand
livres, though "
D'Artagnan, with his neck elongated, his legs stretched out, and his
hands hanging listlessly, looked like a statue of discouragement. Plan-
chet tore up a sigh from the deepest cavities of his breast.
" Well," said he, " I see how it is. Let us be men ! It is all over, is it
not ? The principal thing is, monsieur, that you have saved your life."
" Doubtless! doubtless!—life is something—but I am ruined !"
"Cordieu! monsieur!" said planchet, "if it is so, we must not
despair for that; you shall become a grocer with me; I will make you
my partner, we Will share the profits, and if there should be no more
profits, well, why then we will share the almonds, raisins, and prunes,
and we will nibble together the last quarter of Dutch cheese."
D'Artagnan could hold out no longer. " Mordioux!" cried he, with
?'eat emotion, "thou art a brave fellow, by my honour, Planchet.
ou have not been playing comedy, have you ? You have not seen the
pack-horse with the sacoohes under the shed yonder ?"
" What horse ? What sacoches ?" said Planchet, whose trembling
heart .began to suggest that d'Artagnan was mad.
"Why! the English bags, mordioux /" said d'Artagnan, all radiant,
quite transfigured.
" Ah! good God!" articulated Planchet, drawing back before the
dazzling fire of his looks.
" Imbecile !" cried d'Artagnan, " you think me mad! mordioux ! on
the contrary, never was my head more clear, or my heart more joyous.
To the sacoches, Planchet, to the sacoches!"
" But to what sacoches, mon Dien !
D'Artagnan pushed Planchet towards the window. "Under the
penthouse, yonder, don't you see a horse P " " Yes."
" Don't you see how his back is laden ? " " Yes, yes !"
"Don't you see your lads chatting with the postilion ?"
" Yes, yes, yes !"
"Well! you know the name of that lad, because he is your own.
Call him."
" Abdon ! Abdon !" vociferated Planchet from the window.
" Bring the horse !" shouted d'Artagnan.
" Bring the horse!" screamed Planchet.
" Now give ten livres to the postilion," said d'Artagnan, in the tone
182 THE VICOJITE DE BEAGELONNE.
he would have employed in commanding a manoeuvre; " two lads to
brin^ up the two first sacoches, two to bring up the two last—and,
move, mordioux! be alive !"
Planchet precipitated himself down the stairs, as if the devil had been
at his lieeis. The moment after, the lads ascended the staircase, bending
beneath their burden. D'Artagnan sent them off to their garrets, care-
fully closed the door, and addressing Planchet, who, in his turn, looked
a little wild:
" Now, we are by ourselves," said he; and he spread upon the floor
a large cover, and emptied the first sacoche into it. Planchet did the
same with the second; then d'Artagnan, all in a tremble, let out the
precious bowels of the third with a knife. When Planchet heard the
provoking sound of the silver and gold—when he saw bubbling out of the
bags the shining crowns, which glittered like fiAi from the sweep-net—
when he felt himself plunging his hands up to the elbow in that still
rising tide of yellow and silver pieces, a giddiness seized him, and he
sank, like a man who is thunderstruck, heavily down upon the enormous
heap, which his weight caused to roll away in all directions. Planchet,
suffocated with joy, had lost his senses. D'Artagnan threw a glass of
white wine in his face, which, incontinently, recalled him to life.
" Ah ! good heavens! good heavens! good heavens!" said Planchet,
wiping his moustache and beard.
At that time, as they do now, grocers wore the cavalier moustache
and the lansquenet beard, only the bains d'argent, already become rare
in those days, have become almost unknown now.
"Mordioux!" said d'Artagnan, "there are a hundred thousand livres
for you, partner. Draw your share, if you please; and I will draw
mine."
" Oh! the lovely sum! Monsieur d'Artagnan, the lovely sum!"
"I confess that, half an hour ago, I regretted that I had to give you
so much; but I now no longer regret it; thou art a brave grocer,
Planchet. There, let us close our accounts, for, as they say, short
reckonings make long friends."
" Oh ! rather, in the first place, tell me the whole history," said Plan-
chet, " that must be better than the money."
" Ma foi!" said d'Artagnan, stroking his moustache, "I can't say noj
and if ever the historian turns to me for information, he will be able to
say he has not dipped his bucket into a dry spring. Listen, then, Plan-
chet, I will tell you all about it."
" And I will build piles of crowns," said Planchet. " Commence, my
dear master."
" Well, this is it," said d'Artagnan, drawing breath.
" And that is it," said Planchet, picking up his first handful of crowns.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Mazarin's Gaming Party.
In a large chamber of the Palais-Royal, covered with a dark coloured
velvet, which threw into strong relief the gilded frames of a great
number of magnificent pictures, on the evening of the arrival of the two
Prenchmen, the whole court was assembled before the alcove of M. le
cardinal de Mazarin, who gave a party, for the purposes of play, to the
king and queen. A small screen separated three prepared tables. At
one of these tables the king and the two queens were seated. Louis
XIV., placed opposite to the young queen, his wife, smiled upon her
HAZARIN'S GAMING PARTY. 183
with an expression of real happiness. Anne of Austria held the cards
against the cardinal, and her daughter-in-law assisted her in her game,
when she was not engaged in smiling at her husband. As for the car-
dinal, who was reclining on his bed, his cards were held by the comtesse
de Soissons, and he watched them with an incessant look of interest and
cupidity.
The cardinal had been painted by Bernouin; but the rouge, which
glowed only on his cheeks, threw into stronger contrast the sickly pallor
of the rest of his countenance and the shining yellow of his brow. His
eyes alone acquired a more lively expression from this auxiliary, and
upon those sick man's eyes were, from time to time, turned the uneasy
looks of the king, the queen, and the courtiers. The fact is, that the
two eyes of the signor Mazarin were the stars more or less brilliant in
which the France of the seventeenth century read its destiny every
evening and every morning. Monseigneur neither won nor lost; he
was, therefore, neither gay nor sad. It was a stagnation in which, full of
pity for him, Anne of Austria would not have willingly left him; but
m order to attract the attention of the sick man by some brilliant
stroke, she must have either won or lost. To win would have been
dangerous, because Mazarin would have changed his indifference for an
ugly grimace; to lose would likewise have been dangerous, because she
must have cheated, and the infanta, who watched her game, would,
doubtless, have exclaimed against her partiality for Mazarin. Profiting
by this calm, the courtiers were chatting. When not in a bad humour,
M. de Mazarin was a very debonnaire prince, and he, who prevented
nobody from singing, provided they paid, was not tyrant enough to
prevent people from talking, provided they made up their minds to
lose. They were chatting then. At the first table, the king's younger
brother, Philip, due d'Anjou, was admiring his handsome lace in the
glass of a box. His favourite, the chevalier de Lorraine, leaning over
the fauteuil of the prince, was listening, with secret envy, to the comte
de Guiche, another of Philip's favourites, who was relating in choice
terms the various vicissitudes of fortune of the royal adventurer
Charles II. He told, as so many fabulous events, all the history of his
peregrinations in Scotland, and his terrors when the enemy's party was
so closely on his track; of nights passed in trees, and days passed in
hunger and combats. By degrees, the fate of the unfortunate king
interested his auditors so greatly, that the play languished even at the
royal table, and the young king, with a pensive look and downcast eye,
followed, without appearing to give any attention to it, the smallest
details of this Odyssey, very picturesquely related by the comte de Guiche.
The comtesse de Soissons interrupted the narrator, " Confess, comte,
you are inventing."
" Madame, I am repeating like a parrot all the histories related to me
by different Englishmen. I am compelled to my shame to say, I am as
textual as a copy."
" Charles II. would have died before he could have endured all that."
Louis XIV. raised his intelligent and proud head, " Madame," said
he, in a grave tone, still partaking something of the timid child, " mon-
sieur le cardinal will tell you that in my minority, the affairs of France
have been in jeopardy,—-and that if i had been older, and obliged to
take sword in hand, it would sometimes have been for the evening
meal."
" Thanks to God," said the cardinal, who spoke for the first time,
"your majesty exaggerates, and your supper has always been ready
with that of your servant; "
The king coloured.
184 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGEIONNE.
" Oh!" cried Philip, inconsiderately, from his place, and without ceas-
ing to admire himself,—" I recollect once, at Milan, the supper was laid
for nobody, and that the king ate two-thirds of a slice of bread, and
abandoned to me the other third."
The whole assembly, seeing Mazarin smile, began to laugh. Courtiers
flatter kings with the remembrance of past distresses, as with the hopes
of future good fortune.
" It is not to be denied that the crown of Prance has always remained
firm upon the heads of its kings," Anne of Austria hastened to say,
" and that it has fallen off from that of the king of England; and when,
by chance, that crown oscillated a little,—for there are throne-quakes
as well as earthquakes,—every time, I say, that rebellion threatened it,
a good victory restored tranquillity."
With a few gems added to the crown," said Mazarin.
The comte de Guiche was silent; the king composed his countenance,
and Mazarin exchanged looks with Anne of Austria, as if to thank her
for her intervention.
"It is of no consequence," said Philip, smoothing his hair; "my
cousin Charles is not handsome, but he is very brave, and has fought
like a Eeister; and if he continues to fight thus, no doubt he will finish
by gaining a battle, like Eocroy "
" He has no soldiers," interrupted the chevalier de Lorraine.
" The king of Holland, his ally, will give him some. I would Wil-
lingly have given him some if I had been king of Prance."
Louis XIV. blushed excessively. Mazarin affected to be more atten-
tive to his game than ever.
" By this time," resumed the comte de Guiche, " the fortune of this
unhappy prince is decided. If he has been deceived by Monk he is
ruined. Imprisonment, perhaps death, will finish what exile, battles,
and privations have commenced."
Mazarin's brow became clouded.
" Is it certain," said Louis XIV., " that his majesty Charles II. has
quitted the Hague ? "
" Quite certain, your majesty," replied the young man; " my father
has received a letter containing all the details ; it is even known that
the king has landed at Dover; some fishermen saw him entering the
port; the rest is still a mystery."
"I should like to know the rest," said Philip, impetuously. "Vou
know,—you, my brother."
Louis XIV. coloured again. That was the third time within an
hour. " Ask monsieur le cardinal," replied he, in a tone which made
Mazarin, Anne of Austria, and everybody else open their eyes.
" Which means, my son," said Anne of Austria, laughing, "that the
king does not like affairs of state to be talked of out of the council."
Philip received the reprimand with a good grace, and bowed, first
smiling at his brother, and then at his mother. But Mazarin saw from
the corner of his eye that a group was about to be formed in the corner
of the room, and that the due d'Anjou, with the comte de Guiche, and
the chevalier de Lorraine, prevented from talking aloud, might say, in
a whisper, what it was not convenient should be said. He was begin-
ning then to dart at them glances full of mistrust and uneasiness,
inviting Anne of Austria to throw perturbation amidst the unlawful
assembly, when, suddenly, Benouin, entering under the tapestry of the
. bedroom, whispered in the ear of Mazarin, " Monseigneur, an envoy
from his majesty, the king of England."
Mazarin could not help exhibiting a slight emotion, which was per-
an affair of state. 185
ceived by the king. To avoid being indiscreet, still less than not to
appear useless, Louis XIV. rose immediately, and approaching his
eminence, wished him good night. All the assembly had risen with a
great noise of rolling of chairs and tables being pushed away.
"Let everybody depart by degrees," said Mazarin in a whisper to
Louis XIV., " and be so good as to excuse me a few minutes. I am
going to expedite an affair about which I wish to converse with your
majesty this very evening."
And the queens ?" asked Louis XIV.
"And M. le due d'Anjou," said his eminence.
At the same time he turned round in his ruelle, the curtains of
which, in falling, concealed the bed. The cardinal, nevertheless, did
not lose sight of the conspirators.
"M. le comte de Guiche," said he, in a fretful voice, whilst put-
ting on, behind the curtain, his robe de chambre, with the assistance
of Bernouin.
" I am here, monseigneur," said the young man, as he approached.
"Take my cards, you are lucky. Win a little money for me of these
gentlemen."
" Yes, monseigneur."
The young man sat down at the table from which the king withdrew
to talk with the two queens. A serious game was commenced between
the comte and several rich courtiers. In the inean time Philip was
discussing questions of dress with the chevalier de Lorraine, and they
had ceased to hear the rustling of the cardinal's silk robe from behind
the curtain. His eminence had followed Bernouin into the closet
adjoining the bed-room.
CHAPTER XL.
An Affair of State.
The cardinal, on passing into his cabinet, found the comte de la
Fere, who was waiting for him, engaged in admiring a very fine Raphael
placed over a side-board covered with plate. His eminence came in
softly, lightly, and silently as a shadow, and surprised the countenance
of the comte, as he was accustomed to do, pretending to divine by the
simple expression of the face of his interlocutor, what would be the
result of the conversation. But, this time, Mazarin was disappointed
in his expectation: he read nothing upon the face of Athos, not even
the respect he was accustomed to meet with on all faces. Athos was
dressed in black, with a simple lacing of silver. He wore the Holy
Ghost, the Garter, and the Golden Fleece, three orders of such import-
ance, that a king alone, or else a player, could wear them at once.
Mazarin rummaged a long time in his somewhat troubled memory to
recall the name he ought to give to this icy figure, but he did not
succeed. " I am told," said he, at length, " you have a message from
England for me."
And he sat down, dismissing Bernouin, who, in his quality of secre-
tary, was getting his pen ready.
" On the part of his majesty, the king of England, yes, your emi-
nence."
"You speak very good French, for an Englishman, monsieur," said
Mazarin graciously, looking through his fingers at the Holy Ghost,
186 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Garter, and Golden Fleece, but more particularly at the face of the
messenger.
" I am not an Englishman, but a Frenchman, monsieur le cardinal,"
replied Athos.
'• It is remarkable that the king of England should choose a French-
man for his ambassador; it is an excellent augury. Tour name, mon-
sieur, if you please."
" Comte de la Fere," replied Athos, bowing more slightly than the
ceremonial and pride of the all-powerful minister required.
Mazarin bent his shoulders, as if to say:—"I do not know that
name."
Athos did not alter his carriage.
"And you come, monsieur," continued Mazarin, "to tell me "
" I come on the part of his majesty the king of Great Britain to
announce to the king of France " Mazarin frowned. "To an-
nounce to the king of France," continued Athos, imperturbably, " the
happy restoration of his majesty Charles II. to the throne of his
ancestors."
This shade did not escape his cunning eminence. Mazarin was too
much accustomed to mankind, not to see in the cold and almost haughty
politeness of Athos, an index of hostility, which was not of the tempera-
ture of that hot-house called a court.
" You have powers, I suppose ?" asked Mazarin in a short, querulous
tone
" Yes, monseigneur." And the word " monseigneur" came so painfully
from the lips of Athos, that it might be said it skinned them.
" In that case, show them."
Athos took from an embroidered velvet bag which he carried under
his pourpoint, a despatch. The cardinal held out his hand for it.
" Your pardon, monseigneur," said Athos. " My despatch is for the
king."
"Since you are a Frenchman, monsieur, you ought to know what
the position of a prime minister is at the court of France."
" There was a time," replied Athos, " when 1 occupied myself with
the importance of prime ministers; but I have formed, long ago, a
resolution to treat no longer with any but the king."
"Then, monsieur," said Mazarin, who began to be irritated, "you
will neither see the minister nor the king."
Mazarin rose. Athos replaced his dispatch in its bag, bowed gravely,
and made several steps towards the door. This coolness exasperated
Mazarin. " What strange diplomatic proceedings are these!" cried he.
"Are we again in the times in which Cromwell sent us bullies in the
guise of charges d'affaires? You want nothing, monsieur, but the
steel cap on your head, and a Bible at your girdle.
"Monsieur," replied Athos, drily, "I have never had, as you have,
the advantage of treating with M. Cromwell; and I have only seen his
charges d'affaires sword in hand: I am therefore ignorant of how he
treated with prime ministers. As for the king of England, Charles II.,
I know that when he writes to his majesty King Louis XIV., lie does
not write to his eminence the Cardinal Mazarin. 1 see no diplomacy
in that distinction."
"Ah!" cried Mazarin, raising his attenuated hand, and striking his
head; "I remember now!" Athcs looked at him in astonishment.
"Yes, that is it! "said the cardinal, continuing to look at his inter-
locutor ; "yes, that is certainly it. I know you now, monsieur. Ah!
diavolo ! I am no longer astonished."
AN AFFAIB OF STATE. 187
" In fact, I was astonished that with the excellent memory your
eminence has," replied Athos, smiling, " you have not recognized me
before."
" Always refractory and grumbling—monsieur—monsieur—What do
they call you ? Stop—a name of a river—Potamos; no—the name of
an island—Naxos; no, per Giove!—the name of a mountain—Athos !
now I have it. Delighted to see you again, and to be no longer at
Eueil, where you and your damned companions made me pay ransom.
.Fronde ! still Fronde! accursed Fronde! Oh, what grudges! Why,
monsieur, have your antipathies survived mine ? If any one had
cause to complain, I think it could not be you, who got out of the
affair not only in a sound skin, but with the cordon of the Holy Ghost
round your neck."
" Monsieur le cardinal," replied Athos, "permit me not to enter into
considerations of that kind. I have a mission to fulfil. Will you
facilitate the means for my fulfilling that mission, or will you not?"
"I am astonished," said Mazarin,—"quite delighted at having re-
gained the remembrance;" and, bristling with malicious points, " I am
astonished, monsieur—Athos—that a Frondeur like you should have
accepted a mission to Mazarin, as used to be said in the good old
times " And Mazarin began to laugh, in spite of a painful cough,
which cut short his sentences, converting them into sobs.
" I have only accepted the mission to the king of France, monsieur
le cardinal," retorted the comte, though with less asperity, for he
thought he had sufficiently the advantage to show himself moderate.
"And yet, monsieur le Frondeur," said Mazarin gaily, "the affair
with which you charge yourself must, from the king "
"With which I am charged, monseigneur. I do not run after affairs."
" Be it so. I say that this negotiation must pass through my hands.
Let us lose no precious time, then. Tell me the conditions."
" 1 have had the honour of assuring your eminence that the letter
alone of his majesty King Charles II. contains the revelation of his
wishes."
" Pooh! you are ridiculous with your obstinacy, Monsieur Athos.
It is plain you have kept company with the Puritans yonder. As to
your secret, I know it better than you do ; and you havfe done wrongly,
perhaps, in not having shown some respect for a very old and suffering
man, who has laboured much during his life, and kept the field bravely
for his ideas as you have for yours.—You will not communicate your
letter to me?—You will say nothing to me?—Wonderfully well!
Come with me into my chamber; you shall speak to the king—and
before the king.—Now then, one last word: who gave you the Fleece ?
1 remember you passed for having the Garter; but as to the Fleece, I
did not know
" Recently, monseigneur, Spain, on the occasion of the marriage of
his majesty Louis XIV., sent King Charles II. a brevet of the Fleece in
blank; Charles II. immediately transmitted it to me, filling up the
blank with my name."
Mazarin arose, and leaning on the arm of Bernouin, he returned to
his ruelle at the moment the name or M. le Prince was being an-
nounced. The prince de Conde, the first prince of the blood, the
conqueror of Rocroy, Lens, and Nordlingen, was, in fact, entering the
apartment of Monseigneur de Mazarin, followed by his gentlemen, and
had already saluted the king, when the prime minister raised his
curtain. Athos had time to see Raoul pressing the hand of the comte
de Guiche, and to return him a smile for his respectful bow. He had
18S THE vicomte "de beagelonne.
time, likewise, to see the radiant countenance of the cardinal, when he
perceived before him, upon the table, an enormous heap of gold, which
the comte de Guiche had won in a run of luck, after his eminence had
confided his cards to him. So, forgetting ambassador, embassy, and
prince, his first thought was of the gold. What!" cried the old man
—" all that—won ?"
" Some fifty thousand crowns; yes, monseigneur," replied the comte
de Guiche, rising. " Must I give up my place to your eminence, or
shall I continue ? "
" Give up! give up ! you are mad. You would lose all you have won.
Tester
" Monseigneur!" said the prince de Conde, bowing.
" Good evening, Monsieur le Prince," said the minister, in a careless
tone; " it is very kind of you to visit an old sick friend."
" A friend!" murmured the comte de la Fere, at witnessing with
stupor this monstrous alliance of words" friend ! when the parties
are Conde and Mazarin!"
Mazarin seemed to divine the thought of the Frondeur, for he
smiled upon him with triumph, and immediately,—" Sire," said he to
the king, " I have the honour of presenting to your majesty, monsieur
le comte de la Fere, ambassador from his Britannic majesty. An affair
of state, messieurs," added he, waving his hand to all who filled the
chamber, and who, the prince de Conde at their head, all disappeared at
the simple gesture. Eaoul, after a last look cast at the comte, followed
M. de Conde. Philip of Anjou and the queen appeared to be consulting
about departing.
"A family affair," said Mazarin, suddenly, detaining them in their
seats. " This gentleman is the bearer of a letter, in which King Charles
II., completely restored to his throne, demands an alliance between
Monsieur, the brother of the king, and Mademoiselle Henrietta, grand-
daughter of Henry IV. Will you remit your letter of credit to the
king, monsieur le comte ? "
Athos remained for a minute stupified. How could the minister
possibly know the contents of the letter, which had never been out of
his keeping for a single instant? Nevertheless, always master of him-
self, he held out the despatch to the young king, Louis XIV., who took
it with a blush. A solemn silence reigned in the chamber of the car-
dinal. It was only troubled by the dull sound of the gold which
Mazarin, with his yellow, dry hand, piled up in a coffret, whilst the king
was reading.
CHAPTER XLI.
The Recital.
The malice of the cardinal did not leave much for the ambassador to
say; nevertheless, the word "restoration" had struck the king, who,
addressing the comte, upon whom his eyes had been fixed since his
entrance,—" Monsieur," said he, " will you have the kindness to give us
some details of English affairs. You come from that country, you are a
Frenchman, and the orders which I see glitter upon your person an-
nounce you to be a man of merit as well as a man of quality."
" Monsieur," said the cardinal, turning towards the queen-mother,
" is an ancient servant of your majesty's, monsieur le comte de la Fire,"
THE EECITAL. 189
Anne of Austria was as oblivious as a queen whose life had been
mingled with fine and stormy days. She looked at Mazarin, whose
malign smile promised her some little disagreeable; then she solicited
from Athos, by another look, an explanation.
" Monsieur," continued the cardinal, " was a Treville musketeer, in
the service of the late king. Monsieur is well acquainted with Eng-
land, whither he has made several voyages at various periods; he is a
subject of the highest merit."
These words made allusion to all the remembrances which Anne of
Austria trembled to evoke. England, that was her hatred of Richelieu
and her love of Buckingham ; a Treville musketeer, that was the whole
Odyssey of the triumphs which had made the heart of the young woman
throb, and of the dangers which had been so near overturning the
throne of the young queen. These words had much power, for they
rendered mute and attentive all the royal personages, who, with very
various sentiments, set about recomposing at the same time the mys-
terious, which the young had not seen, and which the old had believed
to be for ever effaced.
" Speak, monsieur," said Louis XIV., the first to escape from troubles,
suspicions, and remembrances.
" Yes, speak," added Mazarin, to whom the little piece of malice in-
flicted upon Anne of Austria had restored energy and gaiety.
" Sire," said the comte, " a sort of miracle has changed the whole
destiny of Charles II. That which men, till that time, had been unable
to do, God resolved to accomplish."
Mazarin coughed, while tossing about in his bed.
" King Charles II.," continued Athos, " left the Hague neither as a
fugitive nor a conqueror, but like an absolute king, who, after a
distant voyage from his kingdom, returns amidst universal bene-
dictions."
" A great miracle, indeed," said Mazarin; " for, if the news was true,
King Charles II., who has just returned amidst benedictions, went
away amidst musket-shots."
The king remained impassible. Philip, younger and more frivolous,
could not repress a smile, which flattered Mazarin as an applause of his
pleasantry.
" It is plain," said the king, " there is a miracle; but God, who does
so much for kings, monsieur le comte, nevertheless employs the hands
of man to bring aboitt the triumph of his designs. To what men does
Charles II. principally owe his re-establishment ? "
" Why," interrupted Mazarin, " without any regard for the self-love
of the king, does not your majesty know that it is to M. Monk ? "
" I ought to know it," replied Louis XIV., resolutely; " and yet I
ask monsieur, the ambassador, the causes of the change in this Mon-
sieurMonk?"
"And your majesty touches precisely the question," replied Athos;
" for without the miracle I haye had the honour to speak of, Monsieur
Monk would probably have remained an implacable enemy to Charles
II. God willed that a strange, bold, and ingenious idea should enter
into the mind of a certain man, whilst a devoted and courageous idea
took possession of the mind of another man. The combination of these
two ideas brought about such a change in the position of M. Monk, that,
from an inveterate enemy, he became a friend to the deposed king."
" These are exactly the details I asked for," said the king. " Who
and what are the two men of whom you speak? "
" Two Erenchmen, sire."
190 THE VICOJITE DE BBA&ELONNE.
"Indeed! I am glad of that."
"And the two ideas," said Mazarin;—"I am more curious about
ideas than about men, for my part."
"Yes," murmured the king.
" The second idea, the devoted, reasonable idea—the least important,
sire—was to go and dig up a million in gold, buried by King Charles I.
at Newcastle, and to purchase with that gold the adherence of Monk."
"Oh, oh!" said Mazarin, reanimated by the word million. "But
Newcastle was at the time occupied by Monk."
"Yes, monsieur le cardinal, and that is why I venture to call the idea
courageous as well as devoted. It was necessary, if Monk refused the
offers of the negotiator, to reinstate King Charles II. in possession of
this million, which was to be torn, as it were, from the loyalty and not
the loyalism of General Monk. This was effected, in spite of many diffi-
culties: the general proved to be loyal, and allowed the money to be
taken away."
"It seems to me," said the timid, thoughtful king, "that Charles II.
could not have known of this million whilst he was in Paris."
" It seems to me," rejoined the cardinal, maliciously, " that his majesty
the king of Great Britain, knew perfectly well of this million, but that
he preferred having two millions to having one."
" Sire," said Athos, firmly, " the king of England, whilst in France,
was so poor that he had not even money to take the post; so destitute
of hope that he frequently thought of dying. He was so entirely ignor-
ant of the existence of the million at Newcastle, that but for a gentle-
man—one of your majesty's subjects—the moral depositary of the
million, and who revealed the secret to King Charles II., that prince
would still be vegetating in the most cruel forgetfulness."
"Let us pass on to the strange, bold, and ingenious idea," interrupted
Mazarin, whose sagacity foresaw a check. " What was that idea ? "
" This—M. Monk formed the only obstacle to the re-establishment of
the fallen king. A Frenchman imagined the idea of suppressing this
obstacle."
" Oh! oh ! but that is a scoundrel, that Frenchman," said Mazarin;
"and the idea is not so ingenious as to prevent its author being tied up
by the neck at the Place de Greve, by decree of the parliament."
" Your eminence is mistaken," replied Athos, drily; " I did not say
that the Frenchman in question had resolved to assassinate M. Monk,
but only to suppress him. The words of the French language have a
value which the gentlemen of France know perfectly. Besides, this is
an affair of war; and when men serve kings against their enemies they
are not to be condemned by a parliament—God is their judge. This
French gentleman, then, formed the idea of gaining possession of the
person of Monk, and he executed his plan."
The king became animated at the recital of great actions. The king's
younger brother struck the table with his hand, exclaiming, " Ah! that
is fine!"
" He carried off Monk ? " said the king. " Why, Monk was in his
camp."
" And the gentleman was alone, sire."
" That is marvellous!" said Philip.
" Marvellous indeed !" cried the king.
"Good! There are two little lions unchained," murmured the car-
dinal. And with an air of spite, which he did not dissemble: " I am
unacquainted with these details, will you guarantee the authenticity of
them, monsieur ? "
THE RECITAL. 191
"All the more easily3 monsieur le cardinal, from having seen the
events."
"You have?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
The king had involuntarily drawn close to the comte, the due d'Anjou
had turned sharply round, and pressed Athos on the other side.
" Next! monsieur, next!" cried they both at the same time.
" Sire, M. Monk, being taken by the Frenchman, was brought to King
Charles II., at the Hague. The king restored Monk his liberty, and the
grateful general, in return, gave Charles II. the throne of Great Britain,
for which so many valiant people have died without result."
Philip clapped his hands with enthusiasm, Louis XIV., more reflec-
tive, turned towards the comte de la Fere.
" Is this true," said he, " in all its details ? "
" Absolutely true, sire."
" That one of my gentlemen knew the secret of the million, and kept
it?"
" Yes, sire."
" The name of that gentleman ? "
" It was your humble servant," said Athos, simply, and bowing.
A murmur of admiration made the heart of Athos swell with pleasure.
He had reason to be proud, at least. Mazarin, himself, had raised his
arms towards heaven.
" Monsieur," said the king, " I will seek, I will find means to reward
you." Athos made a movement. " Ob, not for your probity, to be paid
for that would humiliate you; but I owe you a reward for having par-
ticipated in the restoration of my brother, King Charles II."
" Certainly," said Mazarin.
" It is the triumph of a good cause which fills the whole house of
France with joy," said Anne of Austria.
" I continue," said Louis XIV.: " Is it also true, that a single man
penetrated to Monk, in his camp, and carried him off ?"
" That man had ten auxiliaries, taken from a very inferior rank."
"And nothing but them ?"
"Nothing more."
" And you call him ? "
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, formerly lieutenant of the musketeers of your
majesty."
Anne of Austria coloured; Mazarin became yellow with shame;
Louis XIV. was deeply thoughtful, and a drop of sweat fell from his
pale brow. "What men!" murmured he. And, involuntarily, he
darted a glance at the minister which would have terrified him, if
Mazarin, at the moment, had not concealed his head under his pillow.
"Monsieur," said the young due d'Anjou, placing his band, delicate
and white as that of a woman, upon the arm of Athos, "tell that brave
man, I beg you, that Monsieur, brother of the king, will, to-morrow,
drink his health before five hundred of the best gentlemen of France."
And, on finishing these words, the young man, perceiving that his
enthusiasm had deranged one of his ruffles, set to work to put it to
rights with the greatest care imaginable.
"Let us resume business, sire," interrupted Mazarin, who never was
enthusiastic, and who had no ruffles on.
" Yes, monsieur," replied Louis XIV. " Enter upon your communi-
cation, monsieur le comte," added he, turning towards Athos.
Athos immediately commenced, and offered in due form the hand of
the princess Henrietta Stuart to the young prince, the king's brother.
192 THE vicomte DE BRAGELONNE.
The conference lasted an hour; after which the doors of the chamber
were thrown open to the courtiers, who resumed their places, as if
nothing had been kept from them in the occupations of that evening.
Athos then found himself again with Raoul, and the father and son
were able to clasp hands once more.
CHAPTER XLII.
In which Mazarin becomes Prodigal.
Whilst Mazarin was endeavouring to recover from the serious
alarm he had just experienced, Athos and Raoul were exchanging a
few words in a corner of the apartment. "Well, here you are at Paris,
then, Raoul ?" said the comte.
" Yes, monsieur, since the return of M. le Prince."
"I cannot converse freely with you here, because we are observed;
but I shall return home presently, and shall expect you as soon as your
duty permits."
Raoul bowed, and, at that moment, M. le Prince came up to them.
The prince had that clear and keen look which distinguishes birds of
prey of the noble species: his physiognomy itself presented several
distinct traits of this resemblance. It is known, that in the prince do
Conde, the aquiline nose rose out sharply and incisively from a brow
slightly retreating, rather low than high, which, according to therailers
of the court, a pitiless race even for genius, constituted rather an eagle's
beak than a human nose, in the heir of the illustrmus princes of the
house of Conde. This penetrating look, this imperious expression of
the whole countenance, generally disturbed those to whom the prince
spoke, more than either majesty or regular beauty could have done in
the conqueror of Rocroy. Besides this, the fire mounted so suddenly
to his projecting eyes, that with the prince every sort of animation
resembled passion. Now, on account of his rank, everybody at the
court respected M. le Prince, and many even, seeing only the man, car-
ried their respect as far as terror. Louis de Conde then advanced
towards the comte de la Fere and Raoul, with the marked intention of
being saluted by the one, and of speaking to the other. No man bowed
with more reserved grace than the comte de la Pere. He disdained to
put into a salutation all the shades which a courtier ordinarily borrows
from the same colour—the desire to please. Athos knew his own per-
sonal value, and bowed to the prince like a man, correcting by some-
thing sympathetic and undefinable that which might have appeared
offensive to the pride of the highest rank in the inflexibility of his atti-
tude. The prince was about to speak to Raoul. Athos prevented him.
" If M. le vicomte de Bragelonne," said he, " were not one of the
humble servants of your royal highness, I would beg him to pronounce
my name before you—rnon prince."
" I have the honour to address monsieur le comte de la Pere," said
Conde, instantly.
" My protector," added Raoul, blushing.
" One of the most honourable men in the kingdom," continued the
prince; " one of the first gentlemen of France, and of whom I have
heard so much that I haye frequently desired to number him among
my friends,"
MAZAEIN BECOMES PEODIGAL. 19S
u An honour of which I should he unworthy," replied Athos, " but
for the respect and admiration I entertain for your royal highness."
" Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the prince, " is a good officer, who,
it is plain, has been to a good school. Ah, monsieur le comte, in your
time, generals had soldiers !"
" That is true, monseigneur; but nowadays soldiers have generals."
This compliment, which savoured so little of flattery, made to thrill
with joy a man whom already Europe considered a hero, and who
might be thought to be satiated with praise.
" I very much regret," continued the prince, " that you should have
retired from the service, monsieur le comte; for it is more than pro-
bable that the king will soon have a war with Holland or England,
and opportunities for distinguishing himself would not be wanting
for a man who, like you, knows Great Britain as well as you do
France."
" I believe I may say, monseigneur, that I have acted wisely in re-
tiring from the service," said Athos, smiling. " France and Great
Britain will henceforward live like two sisters, if I can trust my pre-
sentiments."
" Your presentiments ?"
" Stop, monseigneur, listen to what is being said yonder, at the table
of monsieur le cardinal."
" Where they are playing ?"
" Yes, monseigneur."
The cardinal had just raised himself upon one elbow, and made a sign
to the king's brother, who went to him. " Monseigneur," said the cardinal,
" pick up, if you please, all those gold crowns." And he pointed to the
enormous pile of yellow and glittering pieces which the Comte de
Guiche had raised by degrees before him, by a surprising run of luck at
play.
" For me ?" cried the Due d'Anjou.
" Those fifty thousand crowns; yes, monseigneur, they are yours."
" Do you give them to me ?"
" I have been playing on your account, monseigneur," replied the
cardinal, getting weaker and weaker, as if this effort of giving money
had exhausted all his physical and moral faculties.
" Oh, good heavens!" exclaimed Philip, wild with joy, " what a for-
tunateday!" And he himself, making a rake of his fingers, drew a
part of the sum into his pockets, which he filled, and still full a third
remained on the table.
" Chevalier," said Philip to his favourite, the Chevalier de Lorraine,
" come hither, chevalier." The favourite quickly obeyed. " Pocket
the rest," said the young prince.
This singular scene was only taken by the persons present as a touch-
ing kind of family fete. The cardinal assumed the airs of a father with
the sons of France, and the two young princes had grown up under his
wing. No one then imputed to pride, or even impertinence, as would
be done nowadays, this liberality on the part of the first minister.
The courtiers were satisfied with envying the prince.—The king turned
away his head.
" I never had so much money before, said the young prince, joy-
ously, as he crossed the chamber with his favourite, to go to his carriage.
" No, never! What a weight these crowns are!"
" But why has monsieur le cardinal given the money all at once ?"
asked monsieur le prince of the Comte de la F&re. " He must be very
ill, the dear cardinal!"
o
194 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Yes, monseigneur, very ill, without doubt; he looks very ill, as
your royal highness may perceive."
" Certes! but he will die of it. A hundred and fifty thousand livres!
Oh, it is incredible! But why, comte ? Tell me a reason for it ?"
" Patience, monseigneur, I beg of you. Here comes M. le Due
d'Anjou, talking with the Chevalier de Lorraine; I should not be sur-
prised if they spared us the trouble of being indiscreet. Listen to
them."
In fact, the chevalier said to the prince in a low voice, Monseigneur,
it is not natural for M. Mazarin to give you so much money. Take
care! you will let some of the pieces fall, monseigneur. What design
has the cardinal upon you, to make him so generous ?"
" As I said," whispered Athos in the prince's ear; " that, perhaps, is
the best reply to your question."
" Tell me, monseigneur," reiterated the chevalier impatiently, as he
was calculating, by weighing them in his pocket, the quarter of the sum
which had fallen to'his share by rebound.
" My dear chevalier, a nuptial present."
" Plow, a nuptial present!"
" Eh! yes, I am going to be married!" replied the Due d'Anjou,
without perceiving, at the moment he was passing, the prince and
Athos, who both bowed respectfully.
The chevalier darted at the young duke a glance so strange, and so
malicious, that the Comte de la Eere quite started at beholding it.
" You! you be married ! " repeated he; " oh ! that's impossible.—You
would not commit such a folly!"
"Bah! I don't doit myself; I am made to do it," replied the Due
d'Anjou. " But come, quick! let us get rid of our money." Thereupon
he disappeared with his companion, laughing and talking, whilst all
heads were bowed on his passage.
" Then," whispered the prince to Athos, " that is the secret."
"It was not I that told you so, monseigneur."
" He is to marry the sister of Charles II. ? "
" I believe so."
The prince reflected for a moment, and his eye shot forth one of its
not unfrequent flashes. " Humph!" said he slowly, as if speaking to
himself; " once more our swords are to be hung on the wall—for a long
time!" and he sighed.
All which that sigh contained cf ambition silently stifled, of illusions
extinguished and hopes disappointed, Athos alone divined, for he alone
had heard that sigh. Immediately after, the prince took leave and the
king left the apartment. Athos, by a sign made to Bragelonne, renewed
the desire he had expressed at the commencement of the scene. By
degrees the chamber was deserted, and Mazarin was left alone, a prey
to sufferings which he could no longer dissemble. " Bernouin!
Bernouin ! " cried he, in a broken" voice.
" What does monseigneur want ? "
" Guenaud—let Guenaud be sent for," said his eminence. " I think
I am dying."
Bernouin, in great terror, rushed into the cabinet to give the order,
and the piqueur, who hastened to fetch the physician, passed the king's
carriage in the Hue Saint-Honore.
GUEifAtTD.
195
CHAPTETl XLIII.
Guenaud.
The order of the cardinal was pressing; Guenaud quickly obeyed it.
He found his patient stretched upon his bed, his legs swelled, livid, and
his stomach collapsed. Mazarin had just undergone a severe attack of
gout. He suffered cruelly, and with the impatience of a man who has
not been accustomed to resistances. On the arrival of Guenaud: " Ah!"
said he; " now I am saved ! "
Guenaud was a very learned and circumspect man, who stood in no
need of the critiques of Boileau to obtain a reputation. When in face
of a disease, if it were personified in a king, he treated the patient as .a
Turk or Moor. He did not therefore reply to Mazarin as the minister
expected: " Here is the doctor; good-by, disease!" On the contrary,
on examining his patient, with a very serious air:
" Oh ! oh! " said he.
" Eh ! what! G.uenaud ! How you look ! "
"I look as I ought to do on seeing your complaint, monseigneur, it is
a very dangerous one."
" The gout—Oh! yes, the gout."
" With complications, monseigneur."
Mazarin raised himself upon his elbow, and, questioning by look and
gesture: " What do you mean by that ? Am 1 worse than I believe
myself to be ? "
" Monseigneur," said Guenaud, seating himself by the bed, " your
eminence has worked very hard during your life; your eminence has
suffered much."
" But I am not old, I fancy.—The late M. de Richelieu was but seven-
teen months younger than I am, when he died, and died of a mortal
disease. I am young, Guenaud; remember I am scarcely fifty-two."
" Oh ! monseigneur, you are much more than that.—How long did the
Fronde last ? "
" For what purpose do you put such a question to me ? "
" For a medical calculation, monseigneur."
" Well! some ten years—off and on."
"Very well; be kind enough to reckon every year of the Fronde as
three years—that makes thirty; now twenty and fifty-two make seventy-
two years. Tou are seventy-two, monseigneur; and that is a great age."
Whilst saying this, he felt the pulse of his patient. This pulse was
filled with such fatal prognostics, that the physician continued, notwith-
standing the interruptions of the patient:—" Put down the years of the
Fronde at four each, and you have lived eighty-two years."
" Are you speaking seriously, Guenaud ?"
" Alas! yes, monseigneur."
" You take a roundabout way, then, to announce to me that I am
very ill?"
" Ma foi! yes, monseigneur, and with a man of the mind and
courage of your eminence, it ought not to be necessary to do so."
The cardinal breathed with such difficulty that he inspired pity even
in a pitiless physician. , ''There are diseases and diseases," resumed
Mazarin. " From some of them people escape."
" That is true, monseigneur."
196 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
"Is it not?" cried Mazarin, almost joyously; "for, in short, what
else would be the use of power, of strength of will? Of what use
would genius be—your genius, Guenaud ? Of what use would be science
and art, if the patient, who disposes of all tnat, cannot be saved from
peril?" «
Guenaud was about to open his mouth, but Mazarin continued.
"Remember," said he, "I am the most confiding of your patients;
remember I obey you blindly, and that consequently "
" I know all that," said Guenaud.
" I shall be cured then ? "
" Monseigneur, there is neither strength of will, nor power, nor
genius, nor science that can resist a disease which God doubtless sends,
or which he cast upon the earth at the creation, with full power to
destroy and kill mankind. "When the disease is mortal, it kills, and
nothing can "
" Is—my—disease—mortal ?" asked Mazarin.
" Yes, monseigneur."
His eminence sunk down for a moment, like an unfortunate wretch
who is crushed by a falling column. But the spirit of Mazarin was a
strong one, or rather his mind was a firm one. "Guenaud," said he,
recovering from the first shock, " you will permit me to appeal from
four judgment. I will call together the most learned men of Europe;
will consult them. I will live, in short, by the virtue of I care not
what remedy."
" Monseigneur must not suppose," said Guenaud, " that I have the
presumption to pronounce alone upon an existence so valuable as yours.
I have already assembled all the good physicians and practitioners of
France and Europe. There were twelve of them."
" And they said "
"They said that your eminence was attacked with a mortal disease:
I have the consultation signed in my portfolio. If your eminence will
please to see it, you will find the names of all the incurable diseases we
have met with. There is first "
" No, no!" cried Mazarin, pushing away the paper. "No, no, Gue-
naud, I yield! 1 yield!" And a profound silence, during which the
cardinal resumed his senses and recovered his-strength, succeeded to
the agitation of this scene. "There is another thing," murmured
Mazarin ; " there are empirics and charlatans. In my country, those
whom physicians abandon, run the chance of a vendor of orvietan, which
ten times kills them, but a hundred times saves them."
" Has not your eminence observed, that during the last month I have
altered my remedies ten times?"
"Yes.—Well?"
"Well, I have spent fifty thousand livres in purchasing the secrets
of all these fellows: the list is exhausted, and so is my purse. You are
not cured; and, but for my art, you would be dead."
"That ends it!" murmured the cardinal; "that ends it " And
he threw a melancholy look upon the riches which surrounded him.
"And must I quit all that?" sighed he. "I am dying, Gudnaud! I
am dying!"
" Oh! not yet, monseigneur," said the physician.
Mazarin seized his hand. " In what time ?" asked he, fixing his two
large eyes upon the impassible countenance of the physician.
"Monseigneur, we never tell that."
" To ordinary men, perhaps not;—but to me—to me, whose every
minute is worth a treasure. Tell me. Guenaud. tell me !"
«©lbebt. 197
"No, no, monseigneur."
" I insist upon it, I tell you. Oh ! give me a month, and for every
one of those thirty days I will pay you a hundred thousand livres."
" Monseigneur," replied Guenaud, in a firm voice, " it is God who can
give you days of grace, and not I. God only allows you a fortnight."
The cardinal breathed a painful sigh, and sunk back upon his pillow,
murmuring, " Thank you, Guenaud, thank you !"
The physician was about to depart; the dying man raising himself up:
" Silence !" said he, with eyes of flame, " silence !"
" Monseigneur, I have known this secret two months; you see that I
have kept it faithfully."
" Go, Guenaud; I will take care of your fortunes; go, and tell Brienne
to send me a clerk called M. Colbert. Go!"
CHAPTER XLIY.
Colbeirt.
Colbert was not far off. During the whole evening he had remained
in one of the corridors, chatting with Bernouin and Brienne, and com-
menting, with the ordinary skill of people of a court, upon the views
which developed themselves, like air-bubbles upon the water, on the
surface of each event. It is doubtless time to trace, in a few words, one
of the most interesting portraits of the age, and to trace it with as much
truth, perhaps, as contemporary painters have been able to do. Colbert
was a man in whom the historian and the moralist have an equal right.
He was thirteen years older than Louis XIV., his future master. Of
middle height, rather thin than otherwise, he had deep-set eyes, a mean
appearance, coarse black and thin hair, which, say the biographers of
his time, made him take early to the calotte. A look full of severity, of
harshness even, a sort of stiffness, which, with inferiors, was pride, with
superiors an affectation of superior virtue; a surly cast of countenance,
upon all occasions, even when looking at himself in a glass alone—such
is the exterior of the personage. As to the moral part of his character,
the depth of his talent for accounts, and his ingenuity in making sterility
itself productive, were much boasted of. Colbert had formed the idea
of forcing governors of frontier places to feed the garrisons without pay,
with what they drew from contributions. Such a valuable quality made
Mazarin think of replacing Joubert, his intendant, who was recently
dead, by M. Colbert, who had such skill in nibbling down allowances.
Colbert by degrees crept into the court, notwithstanding the meanness
of his birth, for he was the son of a man who sold wine as his father had
done, but who afterwards sold cloth, and then silk stuffs. Colbert,
destined for trade, had been a clerk to a merchant at Lyons, whom he
had quitted to come to Paris in the office of a Chatelet procureur named
Biterne. It was here he had learnt the art of drawing up an account,
and the much more valuable one of complicating it. This stiffness of
Colbert's had been of great benefit to him; so true is it that Fortune,
when she has a caprice, resembles* those women of antiquity, whose
fantasy nothing physical or moral, in either things or men, disgusted.
Colbert, placed with Michel Letellier, secretary of state in 1648, by his
cousin Colbert, seigneur de Saint-Penange, who favoured him, received
one day from the minister a commission for Cardinal Mazarin. His
198 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
eminence was then in the enjoyment of flourishing health, and the bad
years of the Fronde had not yet counted triple and quadruple for him.
He was at Sedan, very much annoyed at a court intrigue in which
Anne of Austria appeared to wish to desert his cause. Of this intrigue
Letellier held the thread. He had just received a letter from Anne of
Austria, a letter very valuable to him, and strongly compromising
Mazarin ; but, as he already played the double part which served him
so well, and by which he always managed two enemies so as to draw
advantage from both, either by embroiling them more and more or by
reconciling them, Michel Letellier wished to send Anne of Austria's
letter to Mazarin, in order that he might he acquainted with it, and
consequently would be pleased with his having rendered him a service
so willingly. To send the letter was an easy matter; to recover it again,
after having communicated it, that was the difficulty. Letellier cast his
eyes around him, and seeing the black and meagre clerk scribbling away
with his scowling brow, in his office, he preferred him to the best gen-
darme for the execution of this design.
Colbert was commanded to set out for Sedan, with positive orders to
carry the letter to Mazarin, and bring it back to Letellier. He listened
to his orders with scrupulous attention, required it to be repeated to
him twice, and was particular in learning whether the bringing back
was as necessary as the communicating, and Letellier replied, sternly,
" More necessary." Then he set out, travelled like a courier, without
any care for his body, and placed in the hands of Mazarin, first a letter
from Letellier, which announced to the cardinal the sending of the
precious letter, and then that letter itself. Mazarin coloured greatly
whilst reading Anne of Austria's letter, gave Colbert a gracious smile,
and dismissed him.
" When shall I have the answer, monseigneur ?"
" To-morrow."
" To-morrow morning ? "
" Yes, monsieur."
The clerk turned upon his heel, after sporting his very best bow. The
next day he was at his post at seven o'clock. Mazarin made him wait
till ten. He remained patiently in the antechamber; his turn being
come, he entered. Mazarin gave him a sealed packet. Upon the
envelope of this packet were these words:—A Monsieur Michel Letel-
lier, &c. Colbert looked at the packet with much attention; the cardinal
put on a pleasant countenance, and pushed him towards the door.
"And the letter of the queen mother, monseigneur?" asked Colbert.
" It is with the rest, in the packet," said Mazarin.
" Oh ! very well," replied Colbert; and placing his hat between his
knees, he began to unseal the packet.
Mazarin uttered a cry. " What are you doing ?" said he, angrily.
" I am unsealing the packet, monseigneur."
" You mistrust me, then, master cuistre, do you ? Did any one ever
see such impertinence ?"
" Oh ! monseigneur, do not be angry with me! It is certainly not
your eminence's word I place in doubt, God forbid 1"
"What then?"
"It is the carefulness of your chancery, monseigneur. What is a
letter ? A rag. May not a rag be forgotten ? And, iook, monseigneur,
look if I was not right. Your clerks have forgotten the rag; the letter
is not in the packet."
" You are an insolent fellow, and you have not looked/' cried Mazarin,
very angrily; "begone and wait my pleasure." Whilst saying these
COLBERT. 199
words, with subtlety perfectly Italian, he snatched the packet from the
hands of Colbert, and re-entered his apartments.
But this anger could not last so long as not to be replaced in time by
reason. Mazarin, every morning, on opening his closet door, found the
figure of Colbert as a sentinel behind the bench, and this disagreeable
figure never failed to ask him humbly, but with tenacity, for the queen-
mother's letter. Mazarin could hold out no longer, and was obliged to
give it up. He accompanied this restitution with a most severe repri-
mand, during which Colbert contented himself with examining, feeling,
even smelling, as it were, the paper, the characters, and the signature,
neither more nor less than if he had had to do with the greatest forger
in the kingdom. Mazarin behaved more rudely still to him, but Col-
bert, still impassible, having obtained a certainty that the letter was the
true one, went off as if he had been deaf. This conduct afterwards was
worth the post of Joubert to him; for Mazarin, instead of bearing malice,
admired him, and was desirous of attaching so much fidelity to himself.
It may be judged, by.this single anecdote, what the character of Col-
bert was. Events, developing themselves, by degrees allowed all the
Sowers of his friend to act freely. Colbert was not long in insinuating
imself into the good graces of the cardinal: he became even indispen-
sable to him. The clerk was acquainted with all his accounts, without
the cardinal's ever having spoken to him about them. This secret
between them was a powerful tie, and this was why, when about to
appear before the Master of another world, Mazarin was desirous of
taking good counsel in disposing of the wealth he was so unwillingly
obliged to leave in this world. After the visit of Guenaud, he therefore
sent for Colbert, desired him to sit down, and said to him: " Let us con-
verse, Monsieur Colbert, and seriously, for I am very sick, and I may
chance to die."
" Man is mortal," replied Colbert.
"I have always remembered that, M. Colbert, and I have worked in
that prevision. You know that I have amassed a little wealth."
" I Know you have, monseigneur."
" At how much do you estimate, as near as you can, the amount of
this wealth, M. Colbert ? "
" At forty millions, five hundred and sixty thousand, two hundred
livres, nine sous, eight deniers," replied Colbert.
The cardinal fetched a deep sigh, and looked at Colbert with wonder;
but he allowed a smile to steal across his lips.
" Property known," added Colbert, in reply to that smile.
The cardinal made quite a start in his bed. " What do you mean by
that ? " said he.
" I mean," said Colbert, " that besides those forty millions, five hun-
dred and sixty thousand, two hundred livres, nine sous, eight deniers,
there are thirteen millions that are not known of."
" Ouf !" sighed Mazarin, " what a man !"
At this moment the head of Bernouin appeared through the embrasure
of the door.
" What is it ? " asked Mazarin, " and why do you disturb me ? "
"The Theatin father, your eminence's director, was sent for this
evening; and he cannot come again to monseigneur till after to-
morrow."
Mazarin looked at Colbert, who arose and took his hat, saying: " I
will come again, monseigneur."
Mazarin hesitated. " No, no," said he; "I have as much business to
transact with you as with him. Besides, you are my other confessor—
200 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGEEONNE.
and what I have to say to one, the other may hear. Remain where
you are, Colbert."
"But, monseigneur, if there be a secret of penitence, will the director
consent to my being here ? "
"Do not trouble yourself about that, come into the ruelle"
" I can wait outside, monseigneur."
" No, no, it will do you good to hear the confession of a rich man."
Colbert bowed, and went into the ruelle.
" Introduce the Theatin father," said Mazarin, closing the curtains.
CHAPTER XLV.
Confession of a Man of Wealth.
The Theatin entered deliberately, without being too much astonished
at the noise and agitation which anxiety for the health of the cardinal
had raised in his household. " Come in, my reverend father," said
Mazarin, after a last look at the ruelle, "come in, and console me."
" That is my duty, monseigneur," replied the Theatin.
"Commence by sitting down, and making yourself comfortable, for I
am going to begin by a general confession ; you will afterwards give me
a good absolution, and I shall believe myself more tranquil."
" Monseigneur," said the father, " you are not so ill as to make a
general confession urgent—and it will be very fatiguing—take care."
" You suspect, then, that it may be long, father ?"
" How can I think it otherwise, when a man has lived so completely as
your eminence has done ?"
" Ah! that is true !—yes—the recital may be long."
" The mercy of God is greatsnuffled the Theatin.
" Stop," said Mazarin, " there I begin to terrify myself with having
allowed so many things to pass which the Lord might reprove."
"Is not that always so ?" said the Theatin naively, removing further
from the lamp his thin pointed face, like that of a mole. " Sinners are
so: forgetful beforehand, and scrupulous when it is too late."
" Sinners ?" replied Mazarin. " Do you use that word ironically, and
to reproach me with all the genealogies I have allowed to be made on
my account—I—the son of a fisherman, in fact." *
" Hum!" said the Theatin.
" That is a first sin, father; for I have allowed myself to be made to
be descended from two old Roman consuls, S. Geganius Macerinus 1st,
Macerinus 2nd, and Proculus Macerinus 3rd, of whom the Chronicle of
Haolander speaks. Prom Macerinus to Mazarin the proximity was
tempting. Macerinus, a diminutive, means leanish, poorish, out of case.
Oh ! reverend father! Mazarini may now be carried to the augment-
ative Maigre, thin as Lazarus. Look !"—and he showed his fleshless
arms.
" In your having been born of a family of fishermen (peeheurs) I see
nothing injurious to you: for—St. Peter was a fisherman; and if you
are a prince of the church, monseigneur, he was the supreme head of
it. Pass on, if you please."
"So much the more for my having threatened with the Bastille a
* This is quite untranslatable — it being: a play upon the words picheur, a
sinner, andpScheur, a fisherman. It is in very bad taste..—Trans.
CONFESSION OF A MAN OF WEALTH. 201
certain Bounet, a priest of Avignon, who wanted to publish a genealogy
of the Casa Mazarini much too marvellous."
" To be probable ?" replied the Theatin.
" Oh ! if I had aci^d up to his idea, father, that would have been the
vice of pride,—another sin."
" It was excess of wit, and a person is not to be reproached with such
sorts of abuses. Pass on, pass on !"
" I was all pride. Look you, father, I will endeavour to divide that
from capital sins."
" I like divisions, when well made."
" I am glad of that. You must know that in 1630—alas! that is thirty-
one years ago!"—
" You were then twenty-nine years old, monseigneur."
" A hot-headed age. I was then something of a soldier, and I threw
myself at Casal into the arquebusades, to show that I rode on horse-
back as well as an officer. It is true, I restored peace between the
French and the Spaniards. That redeems my sin a little."
"I see no sin in being able to ride well on horseback," said the
Theatin; " that is in perfect good taste, and does honour to our gown.
In my quality of a Christian, I approve of your having prevented the
effusion of blood; in my quality of a monk, I am proud of the bravery
a monk has exhibited."
Mazarin bowed his head humbly. "Yes," said he, " but the conse-
quences ? "
" What consequences ? "
"Eh! that damned sin of pride has roots without end. Prom the
time that I threw myself in that manner between two armies, that I
had smelt powder and faced lines of soldiers, I have held generals a
little in contempt."
" Ah !" said the father.
" There is the evil; so that I have not thought one supportable since
that time."
" The fact is," said the Theatin, " that the generals we have had have
not been remarkable."
"Oh!" cried Mazarin, "there was monsieur le prince. I have
tormented him thoroughly !"
" He is not much to be pitied; he has acquired sufficient glory, and
sufficient wealth."
" That may be, for monsieur le prince; but M. Beaufort, for example
—whom I made suffer so long in the dungeon of Vincennes ? "
" Ah ! but he was a rebel, and the safety of the state required that you
should make a sacrifice.—Pass on !"
" I believe I have exhausted pride. There is another sin which I am
afraid to qualify."
" I will qualify it myself.—Tell it."
"A great sin, reverend father !"
"We shall judge, monseigneur."
" You cannot fail to have heard of certain relations which I have had
—with her majesty the queen-mother—the malevolent "
" The malevolent, monseigneur, are fools.—Was it not necessary, for
the good of the state and the interests of the young king, that you should
live in good intelligence with the queen P—Pass on, pass on !"
" I assure you," said Mazarin, "youremove a terrible weight from my
breast."
" These are all trifles !—Look for something serious"
" I have had much ambition, father."
202 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGKELONNE.
" That is the march of great minds and things, monseigneur."
"Even that trifle of the tiara ? "
" To be pope is to be the first of Christians,—Why should you not
desire that ?"
" It has been printed, that to gain that object, triad sold Cambrai to
the Spaniards."
" You have, perhaps, yourself written pamphlets without too much
persecuting pamphleteers."
" Then, reverend father, I have truly a clean breast, I feel nothing
remaining but slight peccadilloes."
" What are they ? "
"Play."
" That is rather mundane; but you were obliged by the duties of
greatness to keep a good house."
" 1 like to win^'
"No player plays to lose."
" I cheated a little."
" You took your advantage. Pass on."
"Well! reverend father, I feel nothing else upon my conscience.
Give me absolution, and my soul will be able, when God shall please to
call it, to mount without obstacle to the throne "
The Theatin moved neither his arms nor his lips. "What are you
waiting for, father?" said Mazarin.
" I am waiting for the end."
" The end of what?"
" Of the confession, monseigneur."
" But I have ended."
" Oh, no; your eminence is mistaken."
" Not that I know of."
" Search diligently."
" I have searched as well as possible."
" Then I will assist your memory."
" Do."
The Theatin coughed several times. "You have said nothing of
avarice, another capital sin, nor of those millions," said he.
" Of what millions, father ?"
" Why, of those you possess, monseigneur."
" Father, that money is mine, why should I speak to you about
that?"
" Because, see you, our opinions differ. You say that money is yours,
whilst I, I believe it is rather the property of others."
Mazarin lifted his cold hand to his brow, which was dewed with
sweat. " How so ?" stammered he.
" This way. Your excellency has gained much wealth -in the ser-
vice of the king."
" Hum! much that is not too much."
" Whatever it may be, whence came that wealth ?"
" Prom the state."
" The state, that is the king."
" But what do you conclude from that, father ?" said Mazarin, who
began to tremble.
"I cannot conclude without seeing a list of the riches you possess.
Let us reckon a little, if you please. You have the bishopric of
Metz ? " " Yes."
" The abbeys of St. Clement, St. Arnould, and St. Vincent,—all at
Metz ? " " Yes."
THE DONATION. 203
" You have the abbey of St. Denis, in France,—a magnificent pro-
perty?"
"Yes, father."
" You have the abbey of Cluny, which is rich ? "
"I have."
" That of St. Midare, at Soissons, with a revenue of a hundred thou-
sand livres ? "
" I cannot deny it."
" That of St. Victor, at Marseilles,—one of the best in the south ?"
" Yes, father."
" A good million a year. With the emoluments of the cardinalship
and the ministry, I say too little when I say two millions a year."
" Eh!"
" In ten years that is twenty millions,—and twenty millions placed
out at fifty per cent, give, by progression, twenty-three millions in ten
years."
" How well you reckon, for a Theatin."
" Since your eminence placed our order in the convent we occupy,
near St. Germain des Pres, in 1641, I have kept the accounts of the
society."
" And mine likewise, apparently, father."
" One ought to know a little of everything, monseigneur."
" Very well. Conclude, at. present."
" I conclude that your baggage is too heavy to allow you to pass
through the gates of Paradise."
" Shall I be damned ? "
" If you do not make restitution, yes."
Mazarin uttered a piteous cry. " Restitution!—but to whom, good
God ?"
" To the owner of that money,—to the king."
" But the king did not give it me all."
"A moment,—does not the king sign the ordonnances?"
Mazarin passed from sighs to groans. " Absolution! absolution ! "
cried he.
" Impossible, monseigneur. Restitution! restitution!" replied the
Theatin. ,
" But you absolve me from all other sins, why not from that ? "
"Because," replied the father, "to absolve you for that motive
would be a sin for which the king would never absolve me, mon-
seigneur."
Thereupon the confessor quitted his penitent with an air full of
compunction. He then went out in the same manner as he had
entered.
" Oh, good God !" groaned the cardinal. " Come here, Colbert, I am
very, very ill indeed, my friend."
CHAPTER XLVI.
The Donation.
Colbert reappeared beneath the curtains.
" Have you heard ? " said Mazarin.
"Alas! yes, monseigneur."
" Can he be right ? Can all this money be badly acquired ? "
"A Theatin, monseigneur, is a bad judge in matters of finance,"
204 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
replied Colbert, coolly. " And yet it is very possible that, according to
his theological ideas, your eminence has been, in a certain dpgree,
wrong. People generally find they have been so,—when tliey die."
"In the first place, they commit the wrong of dyina, Colbert."
"That is true, monseigneur. Against whom, however, did the
Theatin make out that you had committed these wrongs ? Against the
king?"
Mazarin shrugged his shoulders. " As if I had not saved both his
state and its finances."
" That admits of no contradiction, monseigneur."
" Does it ? Then I have received a merely legitimate salary, in spite
of the opinion of my confessor ?"
" That is beyond doubt."
" And I might fairly keep for my own family, which is so needy, a
good fortune,—the whole even of what I have gained ? "
" I see no impediment to that, monseigneur."
" I felt assured that in consulting you, Colbert, I should have sage
advice," replied Mazarin, greatly delighted.
Colbert assumed his pedantic look. " Monseigneur," interrupted he,
"I think it would be quite as well to examine whether what the
Theatin said is not a snare."
" Oh! no, a snare ? "What for ? The Theatin is an honest man."
" He believed your eminence to be at the gates of the tomb, because
your eminence consulted him. Did not I hear him say—' Distinguish
that which the king has given you from that which you have given
yourself.' Recollect, monseigneur, if he did not say something a little
like that to you ?—that is quite a theatrical speech."
" That is possible."
" In which case, monseigneur, I should consider you as required by
the Theatin to ."
"To make restitution !" cried Mazarin, with great warmth*
" Eh! I do not say no."
" What, of all! You do not dream of such a thing! You speak just
as the confessor did."
" To make restitution of a part,—that is to say, his majesty's part; and
that, monseigneur, may have its dangers. Your eminence is too skilful
a politician not to know that, at this moment, the king does not possess
a hundred and fifty thousand livres clear in his coffers."
" That is not my affair," said Mazarin, triumphantly; " that belongs
to M. le Surintendant Fouquet, whose accounts I have given you to
verify for months past."
Colbert bit his lips at the name only of Fouquet. " His majesty,"
said he, between his teeth, " has no money but that which M. Fouquet
collects; your money, monseigneur, would afford him a delicious
banquet."
" Well, but I am not the surintendant of his majesty's finances—I
have my purse—certes, I would do much for his majesty's welfare—
some legacy—but I cannot disappoint my family."
"The legacy of a part would dishonour you and offend the king.
Leaving a part to his majesty, is to avow that that part has inspired you
with doubts as not being acquired legitimately."
"Monsieur Colbert!"
" I thought your eminence did me the honour to ask my advice ?"
" Yes, but you are ignorant of the principal details of the question."
"Iam ignorant of nothing, monseigneur; during ten years, all the
columns of figures which are found in France, have passed in review
THE DONATION". 205
before me; and if I have painfully nailed them into my brain; they are
there now so well riveted, that, from the office of M. Leiellier, which
is suber, to the little secret largesses of M. Pouquet, who is prodigal, I
could recite, figure by figure, all the money that is spent in Trance,
from Marseilles to Cherbourg."
" Then, you would have me throw all my money into the coffers of
the king?" cried Mazarin, ironically; and from whom, at the same
time, the gout forced painful moans. " Certes, the king would reproach
me with nothing, but he would laugh at me, while squandering my
millions, and with reason."
" Your eminence has misunderstood me. I did not, the least in the
world, pretend that his majesty ought to spend your money."
" You said so, clearly, it seems to me, when you advised me to give it
to him."
"Ah!" replied Colbert, "that is because your eminence, absorbed
as you are by your disease, entirely loses sight of the character of
Louis XIV."
"How so?"
" That character, if I may venture to express myself thus, resembles
that which monseigneur confessed just now to the Theatin."
" Go on—that is ? "
" Pride ! Pardon me, monseigneur, haughtiness, nobleness; kings
have no pride, that is a human passion."
" Pride, yes, you are right.—Next ?" v
"AVell, monseigneur, if I have divined rightly, your eminence has
but to give all your money to the king, and that immediately."
" But what for," said Mazarin, quite bewildered.
" Because the king will not accept of the whole."
""What, and he a young man, and devoured by ambition ?"
"Just so."
" A young man who is anxious for my death !"
" Monseigneur!"
" To inherit, yes, Colbert, yes ; he is anxious for my death, in order to
inherit. Triple fool that I am! I would prevent him !"
" Exactly; if the donation be made in a certain form, he would
refuse it."
" Well; but how?"
"That is plain enough. A young man who has yet done nothing—
who burns to distinguish himself—who burns to reign alone, will never
take anything ready built, he will construct for himself. This prince,
monseigneur, will never be content with the Palais Royal, which M. de
Richelieu left him, nor with the Palais Mazarin, Avhich you have
caused to be so superbly constructed, nor with the Louvre, which his
ancestors inhabited; nor with St. Germains, where he was born. All
that does not proceed from himself, I predict he will disdain."
" And you would guarantee, that if I give my forty millions to the
king "
" Saying certain things to him at the same time, I guarantee he will
refuse them."
" But those things what are they ? "
" I will write them, if monseigneur will have the goodness to dictate
them."
" AVell, but, after all, what advantage will that be to me ? "
" An enormous one. Nobody will afterwards be able to accuse your
eminence of that unjust avarice with which pamphleteers have re-
proached the most brilliant mind of the present aere."
206 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"You are right, Colbert, you are right; go, and seek the king, on
my part, and carry him my will."
"Your donation, monseigneur."
" But, if he should accept it! If he should even think of accepting it!"
" Then there would remain thirteen millions for your family, and
that is a good round sum."
" But then you would be either a fool or a traitor."
" And I am neither the one nor the other, monseigneur. You appear
to be much afraid the king will accept; you have a deal more reason to
fear that he will not accept."
" But, see you, if he does not accept, I should like to guarantee my
thirteen reserved millions to him—yes, I will do so—yes. But my pains
are returning, I shall faint. I am very, very ill, Colbert; I am very
near my end! "
Colbert started. The cardinal was indeed very ill; large drops of
sweat flowed down upon his bed of agony, and the frightful paleness of
a face streaming with water, was a spectacle which the most hardened
practitioner could not have beheld without compassion. Colbert was,
without doubt, very much affected, for he quitted the chamber, calling
Bernouin to attend the dying man, and went into the corridor. There,
walking about with a meditative expression, which almost gave noble-
ness to his vulgar head, his shoulders thrown up, his neck stretched
out, his lips half-open, to give vent to unconnected fragments of inco-
herent thoughts, he lashed up his courage to the pitch of the under-
taking contemplated, whilst within ten paces of him, separated only by
a wall, his master was being stifled by anguish which drew from him
lamentable cries, thinking no more of the treasures of the earth, or of
the joys of Paradise, but much of all the horrors of hell. Whilst
burning-hot napkins, topicals, revulsives, and Guenaud, who was re-
called, were performing their functions with increased activity, Colbert,
holding his great head in both his hands, to compress within it the fever
of the projects engendered by the brain, was meditating the tenor of the
donation he would make Mazarin write, at the first hour of respite his
disease should afford him. It would appear as if all the cries of the
cardinal, and all the attacks of death upon this representative of the
past, were stimulants for the genius of this thinker with the bushy eye-
brows, who was turning already towards the rising of the new sun of a
regenerated society. Colbert resumed his place at Mazarin's pillow at
the first interval of pain, and persuaded him to dictate a donation thus
conceived.
" About to appear before God, the Master of mankind, I heg the
king, who was my master on earth, to resume the wealth which his
bounty has bestowed upon me, and which my family would be happy
to see pass into such illustrious hands. The particulars of my property
will be found—they are drawn up—at the first requisition of his
majesty, or at the last sigh of his most devoted servant,
" Jules, Cardinal de Mazarin."
The cardinal sighed heavily as he signed this; Colbert sealed the
packet, and carried it immediately to the Louvre, whither the king had
returned.
He then, went back to his own home, rubbing his hands with the
confidence of a workman who has done a good day's work.
advice given to louis xiv.
207
CHAPTER XLVII.
How Anne of Austria gave one piece of advice to Louis XIV., and how
M. Fouquet gave him another.
The news of the extremity into which, the cardinal had fallen had
already spread, and attracted at least as much attention among the
people of the Louvre as the news of the marriage of Monsieur, the king's
brother, which had already been announced as an official fact. Scarcely
had Louis XIY. returned home, with his thoughts fully occupied with
the various things he had seen and heard in the course of the evening,
when an usher announced that the same crowd of courtiers who, in
the morning, had thronged his fewer, presented themselves again at his
coucher, a remarkable piece of respect which, during the reign of the
cardinal, the court, not very discreet in its preferences, had accorded to
the minister, without caring about displeasing the king.
But the minister had had, as we have said, an alarming attack of
gout, and the tide of flattery was mounting towards the throne.
Courtiers have a marvellous instinct in scenting events beforehand;
courtiers possess a supreme kind of science; they are diplomatists to
throw a light upon the unravelling of difficult circumstances, captains to
divine the issue of battles, and physicians to cure the sick. Louis XIV.,
to whom his mother had taught this axiom, among many others, under-
stood at once that monsieur le cardinal must be very ill. Scarcely had
Anne of Austria conducted the young queen to her apartments and
relieved her brows of the head-dress of ceremony, when she went to
seek her son in his cabinet, where, alone, melancholy and depressed,
he was indulging, as if to exercise his will, in one of those terrible
inward passions — kings' passions—which create events when they
break out, and which, with Louis XIV., thanks to his astonishing com-
mand over himself, became such benign tempests, that his most vio-
lent, his only passion, that which P. Simon mentions with astonishment,
was that famous passion of anger which he exhibited fifty years later,
on the occasion of a little concealment of the Due de Maine's, and
which had for result a shower of blows inflicted with a cane upon the
back of a poor valet who had stolen a biscuit. The young king then
was, as we have seen, a prey to a double excitement; and he said to
himself, as he looked in a glass, " 0 king!—king by name, and not
in factphantom, vain phantom as thou art!—inert statue, which has
no other power than that of provoking salutations from courtiers,
when wilt thou be able to raise thy velvet arm, or clench thy silken
hand ? when wilt thou be able to open for any purpose but to sigh
or smile, lips condemned to the motionless stupidity of the marbles of
thy gallery?"
Then, passing his hand over his brow, and feeling the want of air,
he approached a window, whence he saw below some cavaliers talk-
ing together? and groups of the timidly curious. These cavaliers
were a fraction of the watch; the groups were busy portions of the
people, to whom a king is always a curious thing, as a rhinoceros, a
crocodile, or a serpent is. He struck his brow with his open hand, cry-
ing,—" King of France ! what a title ! People of Prance ! what a
heap of creatures! I have just returned to my Louvre; my horses,
just unharnessed, are still smoking, and I have created interest enough
to induce scarcely twenty persons to look at me as I passed. Twenty !
208 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
what do I say? no; there were not twenty anxious to see the king of
France. There are not even ten archers to guard my place of residence;
archers, people, guards, all are at the Palais Royal! Why, my good
God ! have not I, the king, the right to ask of you all that!"
" Because," said a voice, replying to his, and which sounded from the
other side of the door of the cabinet, " because at the Palais Royal
there is all the gold,—that is to say, all the power of him who desires to
reign."
Louis turned sharply round. The voice which had pronounced these
words was that of Anne of Austria. The king started, and advanced
towards her. "I hope," said he, "your majesty has paid no attention to
the vain declamations with which the solitude and disgust familiar to
kings, give the idea to the happiest characters ? "
"I only paid attention to one thing, my son, and that was, that you
were complaining."
"Who ! I? Not at all," said Louis XIV.; "no, in truth, you mis-
take, madame."
" What were you doing then ? "
" I thought I was under the ferule of my professor, and was develop-
ing a subject of amplification."
" My son," replied Anne of Austria, shaking her head, " you are
wrong not to trust to my word; you are wrong not to grant me your
confidence. A day will come, perhaps quickly, wherein you will have
occasion to remember that axiomGold is universal power; and they
alone are kings who are all-powerful."
"Your intention," continued the king, "was not, however, to cast
blame upon the rich of this age, was it ? "
"No," said the queen, warmly; " no, sire; they who are rich in this
age, under your reign, are rich because you have been willing they
should be so; and I entertain for them neither malice nor envy; they
have, without doubt, served your majesty sufficiently well for your
majesty to have permitted them to reward themselves. That is what I
mean to say by the words for which you reproach me."
" God forbid, madame, that I should ever reproach my mother with
anything!"
" Besides," continued Anne of Austria," the Lord never gives the
goods of this world but for a season; the Lord—as correctives to honour
and riches—the Lord has placed sufferings, sickness, and death; and no
one," added she, with a melancholy smile, which proved she made the
application of the funereal precept to herself, " no one can take their
wealth or their greatness with them into the tomb. It thence results
that the young gather the abundant harvest prepared for them by the
old."
Louis listened with increasing attention to the words which Anne
of Austria, no doubt, pronounced with a view of consoling him.
" Madame," said he, looking earnestly at his mother," one would almost,
in truth, say you had something else to announce to me."
" I have absolutely nothing, my son; only you cannot have failed to
remark that monsieur le cardinal is very ill."
Louis looked at his mother, expecting some emotion in her voice,
some sorrow in her countenance. The face of Anne of Austria was
apparently a little changed, but that was from a suffering of quite a
personal character. Perhaps the alteration was caused by the cancer
which had begun to consume her breast. "Yes, madame," said the
king; " yes, M. de Mazarin is very ill."
" And it would be a great loss to the kingdom if his eminence were
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 209
to be called away by God. Is not that your opinion as well as mine, my
son ?" said the queen.
"Yes, madame; yes, certainly, it would be a great loss for the king-
dom," said Louis, colouring; " but the peril does not seem to me to be
so great; besides, monsieur le cardinal is young yet." The king had
scarcely ceased speaking when an usher lifted the tapestry, and stood
with a paper in his hand, waiting for the king to interrogate him.
" What have you there ? " asked the king.
" A message from M. de Mazarin," replied the usher.
" Give it to me," said the king; and he took the paper. But at the
moment he was about to open it, there was a great noise in the gallery,
the antechamber, and the court.
" Ah, ah!" said Louis XIV., who without doubt knew what the
triple noise meant. " What did I say, there was but one king in France!
I was mistaken, there are two."
As he spoke or thought thus, the door opened, and the surintendant
of the finances, Fouquet, appeared before his nominal master. It was
he who made the noise in the antechamber, it was his horses that made
the noise in the court. In addition to all this, a loud murmur was
heard along his passage, which did not die away till some time after he
had passed. It was this murmur which Louis XIV. so much regretted
not hearing as he passed, and dying away behind him.
" He is not precisely a king, as you fancy," said Anne of Austria to
her son; " he is only g man who is much too rich,—that is all."
Whilst saying these words, a bitter feeling gave to the words of the
queen a most malicious expression; whereas the brow of the king, calm
and self-possessed, on the contrary, was without the slightest wrinkle.
He nodded, therefore, familiarly to Fouquet, whilst he continued to
unfold the paper given to him by the usher. Fouquet perceived this
movement, and with a politeness at once easy and respectful, advanced
towards the queen, so as not to disturb the king. Louis had opened
the paper, and yet he did not read it. He listened to Fouquet making
the most charming compliments to the queen upon her hand and arm.
The frown of Anne of Austria relaxed a little, she even almost smiled.
Fouquet perceived that the king, instead of reading, was attending to
him; he turned half round, therefore, and thus, whilst continuing to
be engaged with the queen, faced the king.
" You know, Monsieur Fouquet," said Louis, " how ill M. Mazarin
is?"
" Yes, sire, I know that," said Fouquet; " in fact he is very ill. I
was at my country house of Vaux when the news reached me; and the
affair seemed so pressing that I left at once."
" You left Vaux this evening, monsieur ? "
" An hour and a half ago, yes, your majesty," said Fouquet, consulting
a watch richly ornamented with diamonds.
" An hour and a half!" said the king, still able to restrain his anger,
but not to conceal his astonishment.
"I understand you, sire. Your majesty doubts my word, and you
have reason to do so; but I have really come so quickly, though it is
wonderful! I have received from England three pairs of very fast
horses, as I had been assured. They were placed at distances of four
leagues apart, and 1 have tried them this evening. They really brought
me from Vaux to the Louvre in an hour and a half, so your majesty
sees I have not been cheated." The queen-mother smiled with some-
thing like secret envy. But Fouquet caught her thought. "Thus,
madame," he promptly said, "such horses are made for kings, not for
P
210 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
subjects; for kings ought never to yield to any one in anything." The
king looked up.
" And yet," interrupted Anne of Austria, " you are not a king, that I
know of, M. Pouquet."
" Truly not, madame; therefore the horses only wait the orders of his
majesty to enter the royal stables; and if I allowed myself to try them,
it was only out of the fear of offering to the king anything that was
not positively wonderful."
The king became quite red.
" You know, Monsieur Pouquet," said the queen, " that at the court
of Prance it is not the custom for a subject to offer anything to his
king."
Louis started.
" I hoped, madame," said Pouquet, much agitated, " that my love for
his majesty, my incessant desire to please him, would serve as a coun-
terpoise to that reason of etiquette. It was not, besides, so much a
present that I permitted myself to offer, as a tribute I paid."
" Thank you, Monsieur Pouquet," said the king politely, "and I am
gratified by your intention, for I love good horses; but you know I am
not very rich, you, who are my surintendant of finances, know it
better than any one else. I am not able then, however willing I may
be, to purchase such a valuable set of horses."
Pouquet darted a look of haughtiness at the queen-mother, who
appeared to triumph at the false position the minister had got into,
and replied
" Luxury is the virtue of kings, sire: it is luxury which makes them
resemble God; it is by luxury they are more than other men. With
luxury a king nourishes his subjects, and honours them. Under the
mild heat of this luxury of kings springs the luxury of individuals, a
source of riches for the people. His majesty, by accepting the gift of
these six incomparable horses, would have piqued the self-love of the
breeders of our country, of Limousin, Perche, and Normandy; and
this emulation would have been beneficial to all. But the king is silent,
and consequently 1 am condemned."
During this speech, Louis was, unconsciously, folding and unfolding
Mazarin's paper, upon which he had not cast his eyes. At length he
glanced upon it, and uttered a faint cry at reading the first line.
"What is the matter, my son?" asked the queen, anxiously, and
going towards the king.
"Prom the cardinal," replied the king, continuing to read; "yes,
yes, it is really from him."
" Is he worse, then ?"
" Read!" said the king, passing the parchment to his mother, as if
he thought that nothing less than reading would convince Anne of
Austria of a thing so astonishing as was conveyed in that paper.
Anne of Austria read in her turn, and, as she read, her eyes sparkled
with a joy the more lively for her uselessly endeavouring to hide it,
which attracted the attention of Pouquet.
" Oh! a regularly drawn up deed of donation," said she,
" A donation ? " repeated Pouquet.
" Yes," said the king, replying pointedly to the surintendant of
finances, " yes, at the point of death, monsieur le cardinal makes me a
donation of all his wealth."
"Porty millions!" cried the queen. "Oh, my son ! this is very noble on
the part of monsieur le cardinal, and will silence all malicious rumours;
forty millions scraped together slowly, coming back all in one heap to
ADVICE GIVEN TO LOUIS XIV. 211
the treasury! It is the act of a faithful subject and a good Christian."
And having once more cast her eyes over the act, she restored it to
Louis XIV., whom the announcement of the sum quite agitated.
Fouquet had made some steps backward, and remained silent. The
king looked at him, and held the paper out to him, in his turn. The
surintendant only bestowed a haughty look of a second upon it; then
bowing,—" Yes, sire," said he, " a donation, I see."
" You must reply to it, my son," said Anne of Austria; 1C you must
reply to it, and that immediately."
" But how, madame ? "
" By a visit to the cardinal."
" Why, it is but an hour since I left his eminence," said the king.
" Write, then, sire."
" Write !" said the young king, with evident repugnance.
"Well!" replied Anne of Austria, " it appears to me, my son, that
a man who has just made such a present, has a good right to expect to
he thanked for it with some degree of promptitude." Then turning
towards Fouquet; " Is not that likewise your opinion, monsieur."
" That the present is worth the trouble ? Yes, madame," said Fou-
quet, with a lofty air that did not escape the king.
" Accept, then, and thank him," insisted Anne of Austria.
" What says M. Fouquet? " asked Louis XIV.
" Does your majesty wish to know my opinion ? " " Yes."
" Thank him, sire "
" Ah!" said the queen.
" But do not accept," continued Fouquet.
" And why not ?" asked the queen.
" You have yourself said why, madame," replied Fouquet; " because
kings ought not and cannot receive presents from their subjects."
The king remained mute between these two so opposite opinions.
" But forty millions!" said Anne of Austria, in the same tone as that
in which, at a later period, poor Marie Antoinette replied, "You will
tell me as much!"
" I know," said Fouquet, laughing, " forty millions are a good round
sum,—such a sum as could almost tempt a royal conscience."
" But, monsieur," said Anne of Austria, " instead of persuading the
king not to receive this present, recall to his majesty's mind, you, whose
duty it is, that these forty millions are a fortune to him."
" It is precisely, madame, because these forty millions would be a
fortune that I will say to the king, ' Sire, if it be not decent for a king
to accept from a subject six horses, worth twenty thousand livres, it
would be disgraceful for him to owe a fortune to another subject, more
or less scrupulous in the choice of the materials which contributed to
the building up of that fortune.'"
" It ill becomes you, monsieur, to give your king a lesson," said Anne
of Austria; " rather procure him forty millions to replace those you
make him lose."
" The king shall have them whenever he wishes," said the surin-
tendant of the finances, bowing.
" Yes, by oppressing the people," said the queen.
" And were they not oppressed, madame," replied Fouquet, " when
they were made to sweat the forty millions given by this deed ? Further-
more, his majesty has asked my opinion,—I have given it; if his ma-
jesty asks my concurrence, it will be the same."
" Nonsense! accept, my son, accept." said Anne of Austria. " You
are above reports and interpretations."
T> O
212 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGElONNE.
" Effuse, sire," said Fouquet. " As long as a king lives, he has no
other measure but his conscience,—no other judge but his own desires;
hut when dead, he has posterity, which applauds or accuses."
" Thank you, mother," replied Louis, bowing respectfully to the
queen. " Thank you, Monsieur Fouquet," said he, dismissing the sur-
intendant civilly.
" Do you accept?" asked Anne of Austria, once more.
" I wUl consider of it," replied he, looking at Fouquet.
CHAPTER XLY1II.
Agony.
The day after the deed of donation had been sent to the king, the
cardinal caused himself to be transported to Vincennes. The king and
the court followed him thither. The last flashes of this torch still cast
splendour enough around to absorb in its radiations all other lights.
Besides, as it has been seen, the faithful satellite of his minister, young
Louis XIV., marched to the last minute in accordance with his gravi-
tation. The disease, as Guenaud had predicted, had become worse; it
was no longer an attack of gout, it was an attack of death: then there
was another thing which made that agony more agonizing still,—and
that was the agitation introduced into his mind by the donation he had
sent t-o the king, and which, according to Colbert, the king ought to
send back not accepted to the cardinal. The cardinal had, as we have
said, great faith in the predictions of his secretary; but the sum was a
large one, and whatever might be the genius of Colbert, from time to
time the cardinal thought to himself that the Theatin also might pos-
sibly have heen mistaken, and that there was at least as much chance
of his not being damned, as there was that Louis XIV. would send him
back his millions. Besides, the longer the donation was" in, coming
back, the more Mazarin thought that forty millions were worth a little
risk, particularly of so hypothetic a thing as the soul. Mazarin, in his
character of cardinal and prime minister, was almost an atheist, and
quite a materialist. Every time that the door opened, he turned sharply
round towards that door, expecting to see the return of his unfortunate
donation; then, deceived in his hope, he threw himself down again in
his bed with a sigh, and found his pains so much the greater for having
forgotten them for an instant. Anne of Austria had also followed
the cardinal; her heart, though age had made it selfish, could not help
evincing towards the dying man a sorrow which she owed him as a
wife, according to some; and as a sovereign, according to others. She
had, in some sort, put on mourning in her countenance beforehand,
and all the court wore it as she did. Louis, in order not to show on his*
face what was passing at the bottom of his heart, persisted in remaining
in his own apartments, where his nurse alone kept him company; the
more he reckoned upon the approach of the time when all constraint
would be at an end, the more humble and patient he was, falling back
upon himself, as all strong men do when they form great designs, in
order to gain more spring at the decisive moment. Extreme unction
had been administered to the cardinal, who, faithful to his habits of
dissimulation, struggled against appearances, and even against reality,
receiving company in his bed, as if only afflicted with a temporary
AGONY. 213
Complaint. Gudnaud, on his part, preserved profound secrecy; fatigued
with visits and questions, he answered nothing but "his eminence is
still full of youth and strength, but God wills that which he wills, and
when he has decided that man is to be laid low, he will be laid low.'
These words, which he scattered with a sort of discretion, reserve, and
preference, were commented upon earnestly by two persons,—the king
and the cardinal. Mazarin, notwithstanding the prophecy of Guenaud,
still lured himself, or rather, so well played his part, that the most
cunning, when saying he lured himself, proved that they were his
dupes. Louis, absent from the cardinal two days; Louis, with his eyes
fixed upon that same donation which so constantly preoccupied the
cardinal; Louis did not exactly know how to make out Mazarin's con-
duct. The son of Louis XIII., following the paternal traditions, had, to
that time, been so little of a king that, whilst ardently desiring royalty,
he desired it with that terror which always accompanies the unknown.
Thus, having formed his resolution, which, besides, he communicated
to nobody, he determined to have an interview with Mazarin. It was
Anne of Austria, who, constant in her attendance upon the cardinal,
first heard this proposition of the king's, and who transmitted it to the
dying man, whom it greatly agitated. For what purpose could Louis
wish for an interview? Was it to return the deed, as Colbert had
said he would? Was it to keep it, after thanking him, as Mazarin
thought he would ? Nevertheless, as the dying man felt that the un-
certainty increased his torments, he did not hesitate an instant.
" His majesty will be welcome,—y6s, very welcome," cried he, making
Colbert, who was seated at the foot of the bed, a sign which the latter
comprehended perfectly. " Madame," continued Mazarin, " will your
majesty be good enough to assure the king yourself of the truth of what
I have just said?"
Anne of Austria rose; she herself was anxious to have the question
of the forty millions settled—the question which seemed to lie heavy
on the mind of everybody. Anne of Austria went out; Mazarin made
a great effort, and, raising himself up towards Colbert: " Well, Colbert,"
said he, " two days have passed away—two mortal days—and, you see,
nothing is come hack from yonder."
" Patience, monseigneur," said Colbert.
" Art thou mad, thou wretch ? Thou advisest me to have patience !
Oh, in sad truth, Colbert, thou art laughing at me. I am dying, and
thou callest out to me to wait! "
" Monseigneur," said Colbert, with his habitual coolness, " it is
impossible that things should not fall out as I have said. His majesty
is coming to see you, and, no doubt, he brings back the deed himself."
"Do you think so? Well, I, on the contrary, am sure that his
majesty is coming to thank me."
At this moment, Anne of Austria returned. On her way to the
apartments of her son, she had met with a new empiric. This con-
cerned a powder which, it was said, had power to save the cardinal;
and she brought a portion of this powder with her. But this was not
what Mazarin expected; therefore he would not even look at it, de-
claring that life was not worth the pains that were taken to preserve it.
But, whilst professing this philosophical axiom, his long-confined secret
escaped him at last.
_ "That, madame," said he, "that is not the interesting part of my
situation. I made the king, now two days ago, a little donation; up
to this time, from delicacy, no doubt, his majesty has not condescended
to say anything about it; but the time for explanation is come, and I
214 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
implore your majesty to tell me if the king has made up his mind on
that matter."
Anne of Austria was about to reply, when Mazarin stopped her.
" The truth, madame," said he—"in the name of Heaven, the truth!
Ho not flatter a dying man with a hope that may prove vain." There
he stopped, a look from Colbert telling him that he was on a wrong
tack.
" I know," said Anne of Austria, taking the cardinal's hand," I know
that you have generously made, not a little donation, as you with so
much modesty call it, but a magnificent gift. I know how painful it
would be to. you if the king "
Mazarin listened, dying as he was, as ten living men could not have
listened.
" That the king " replied he.
"That the king," continued Anne of Austria, "should not freely
accept what you offer so nobly."
Mazarin allowed himself to sink back upon his pillow like Pantaloon;
that is to say, with all the despair of a man who yields to the tempest;
but he still preserved sufficient strength and presence of mind to cast
upon Colbert one of those looks which are well worth a hundred son-
nets, which is to say, ten long poems. a
"Should you not," added the queen, "have considered the refusal of
the king as a sort of insult?" Mazarin rolled his head about upon
his pillow, without articulating a syllable. The queen was deceived,
or feigned to be deceived, by this demonstration.
"Therefore," resumed she, "I have circumvented him with good
counsels; and as certain minds, jealous, no doubt, of the glory you are
about to acquire by this generosity, have endeavoured to prove to the
king that he ought not to accept of this donation, I have struggled in
your favour, and so well have I struggled, that you will not have, I
hope, that disagreeable to undergo."
"Ah!" murmured Mazarin, with languishing eyes, "ah! that is a
service I shall never forget for a single minute during the few hours I
have to live."
"I must admit," continued the queen, "that it was not without
trouble I rendered it to your eminence."
" Ah, peste! I believe that. Oh! oh !"
" Good God ! what is the matter P "
" T am burning ! "
" Ho you suffer much ?"
" As much as one of the damned."
Colbert would have wished to have sunk through the flooring.
"So, then," resumed Mazarin, "your majesty thinks that the
king " he stopped several seconds—" that the king is coming here
to offer me some small thanks ? "
" I think so," said the queen. Mazarin annihilated Colbert with his
last look.
At that moment the ushers announced that the king was in the
antechambers, which were filled with people. This announcement
produced a stir of which Colbert took advantage to escape by the door
of the ruelle. Anne of Austria rose, and awaited her son, standing.
Louis XIV. appeared at the threshold of the door, with his eyes fixed
upon the dying man, who did not even think it worth while to notice
that majesty from which he thought he had nothing more to expect.
An usher placed a fauteuil close to the bed. Louis bowed to his
mother, then to the cardinal, and sat down. The queen took a seat in
AGONY. 215
her turn. Then, as the king had looked behind him, the usher under-
stood that look, and made a sign to the courtiers who filled up the
doorway to be gone, which they instantly complied with. Silence fell
upon the chamber with the velvet curtains. The king, still very
young, and very timid in the presence of him who had been his
master from his birth, still respected him much, particularly now,
surrounded with the supreme majesty of death. He did not dare,
therefore, to commence the conversation, feeling that every word must
have its bearing, not only upon things of this world, but of the next.
As. to the cardinal, at that moment he had but one thought—his
donation. It was not physical pain which gave him that air of de-
spondency, and that lugubrious look; it was the expectation of the
thanks that were about to issue from the king's mouth, and cut off all
hope of restitution. Mazarin was the first to break the silence. " Is
your majesty come to make any stay at Vincennes ? " said he.
Louis made an affirmative sign with his head.
" That is a gracious favour," continued Mazarin, " granted to a dying
man, and which will render death more mild to him."
" I hope," replied the king, " I am come to visit, not a dying man, but
a sick man susceptible of cure." Mazarin replied by a movement of the
head.
" Tour majesty is very kind; but I know more than you on that
subject. The last visit, sire," said he, " the last visit."
" If it were so, monsieur le cardinal," said Louis, " I would come a
last time to ask the counsels of a guide to whom I owe everything."
Anne of Austria was a woman, she could not restrain her tears. Louis
showed himself much affected, and Mazarin still more than his two
guests, but from very different motives. Here the silence returned.
The queen wiped her eyes, and the king resumed his firmness.
" I was saying," continued the king, " that I owed much to your
eminence." The eyes of the cardinal devoured the king, for he felt the
great moment was come. "And," continued Louis, "the principal
object of my visit was to offer you very sincere thanks for the last evi-
dence of friendship you have kindly sent me."
The cheeks of the cardinal sunk in, his lips partially opened, and the
most lamentable sigh he had ever uttered was about to issue from his
chest.
" Sire," said he, " I may have despoiled my poor family; I may have
ruined all that belong to me, which may be imputed to me as an error;
but, at least, it shall not be said of me that I have refused to sacrifice
everything to my king."
Anne of Austria's tears flowed afresh.
" My dear Monsieur Mazarin," said the king, in a more serious tone
than might have been expected from his youth, " you have misunder-
stood me, apparently."
Mazarin raised himself upon his elbow.
" I have no purpose to despoil your dear family, nor to ruin your ser-
vants. Oh, no, that shall never be!"
" Humph!" thought Mazarin, " he is going to restore me some bribe;
let us get the largest piece out of the trap we can."
"The king is going to be foolishly affected, and play the generous,"
thought the queen; "he must not be allowed to impoverish ; mself;
such an opportunity for gaining a fortune will never occur again."
" Sire," said the cardinal aloud, " my family is very numerous, and
my nieces will be destitute when I am gone."
"Oh," interrupted the queen, eagerly, "have no uneasiness with re-
216 THE VICOHTE DE BKAGELONNE.
spect to your family, dear Monsieur Mazarin ; we have no friends dearer
than your friends; your nieces shall be my children, the sisters of his
majesty; and if a favour be distributed in France, it shall be to those
you love."
" Smoke!'" thought Mazarin, who knew better than any one the
faith that can be put in the promises of kings. Louis read the dying
man's thought in his face.
" Be comforted, my dear Monsieur Mazarin," said he, with a half*
smile, sad beneath its irony ; " the Mesdemoiselles de Mancini will lose,
when losing you, their most precious good; but they shall none the less
he the richest heiresses of France; and since you have been kind enough
to give me their dowry"—the cardinal was panting—" I restore it to
them," continued Louis, drawing from his breast, and holding towards
the cardinal's bed the parchment which contained the donation that,
during two days, had kept alive such tempests in the mind of Mazarin.
" What did 1 tell you, monseigneur ? " murmured in the ruelle a voice
which passed away like a breath.
" Your majesty returns me my donation!" cried Mazarin, so disturbed
by joy as to forget his character of a benefactor.
"Your majesty rejects the forty millions ! " cried Anne of Austria, so
stupified as to forget her character of an afflicted wife, or queen.
" Yes, monsieur le cardinal • yes, madame," replied Louis XIV"., tear-
ing the parchment which Mazarin had not yet ventured to clutch;
"yes, I annihilate this deed which despoiled a whole family. The wealth
acquired by his eminence in my service is his own wealth and not mine."
" But, sire, does your majesty reflect," said Anne of Austria, "that
you have not ten thousand crowns in your coffers ? "
"Madame, I have just performed my first royal action, and I hope it
will worthily inaugurate my reign."
" Ah! sire, you are right!" cried Mazarin; " that is truly great—that
is truly generous which you have just done." And he looked, one after
the other, at the pieces of the act spread over his bed, to assure himself
that it was the original and not a copy that had been torn. At length
his eyes fell upon the fragment which bore his signature, and, recogniz-
ing it, he sunk back swooning on his bolster. Anne of Austria, without
strength to conceal her regret, raised her hands and eyes towards
heaven.
"Oh! sire," cried Mazarin, "be you blessed! My God! May you
be beloved by all my family. Per Baccho! if ever any discontent comes
to you on the part of those belonging to me, sire, only frown, and J
will rise lrom my tomb !"
This jpantalonnade did not produce all the effect Mazarin had reckoned
upon. Louis had already passed to considerations of a more elevated
nature, and as to Anne of Austria, unable to support, without aban-
doning herself to the anger she felt burning within her, the magna-
nimity of her son and the hypocrisy of the cardinal, she arose and left
the chamber, heedless of thus betraying the extent of her grief. Mazarin
saw all this, and fearing that Louis XIV. might repent of his decision,
he began, in order to draw attention another way, to cry out, as, at a
later period, Scapin was to cry out, in that sublime piece of pleasantry
which the morose and grumbling Boileau dared to reproach Moli6re
with. His cries, however, by degrees, became fainter; and when Anne
of Austria left the apartment, they ceased altogether.
" Monsieur le cardinal," said the king, " have you any recommenda-
tions to make to me?"
"Sire," replied Mazarin, "you are already wisdom itself, prudence
AGONY. 217
personified; of your generosity I will not venture to speak; that which
you have just done exceeds all that the most generous men of antiauity
or of modern times have ever done." The king received this praise
coldly.
" So you confine yourself, monsieur," said he, " to your thanks—and
your experience, much more extensive than my wisdom, my prudence,
or my generosity, does not furnish me with a single piece of friendly
advice to guide my future." Mazarin reflected for a moment. "You
have just done much for me, sire," said he, "that is, for mine."
" Say no more about that," said the king.
"Well!" continued Mazarin, " I will return you something in ex-
change for these forty millions you have given up so royally."
Louis XIV., by a movement, indicated that these flatteries were
unpleasing to him. "I will give you a piece of advice," continued
Mazarin; "yes, a piece of advice—advice more precious than the forty
millions."
. " Monsieur le cardinal!" interrupted Louis.
" Sire, listen to this advice."
" I am listening."
" Come nearer, sire, for I am weak!—nearer, sire, nearer !"
The king bent over the dying man. " Sire," said Mazarin, in so low
a tone that the breath of his words arrived only like a recommendation
from the tomb in the attentive ears of the king—" Sire, never have
a prime minister."
Louis drew back astonished. The advice was a confession—a treasure,
in fact, was that sincere confession of Mazarin. The legacy of the
cardinal to the young king was composed of six words only, but those
six words, as Mazarin had said, were worth forty millions. Louis
remained for an instant confounded. As for Mazarin, he appeared only
to have said something quite natural. A little scratching was heard
along the curtains of the ruelle, Mazarin understood: " Yes, yes!"
cried he warmly, " yes, sire, I recommend you a wise man, an honest
man, and a clever man."
" Tell me his name, monsieur le cardinal."
" His name is yet almost unknown, sire; it is M. Colbert, my intendant.
Oh! try him," added Mazarin, in an earnest voice; " all that he has
predicted has come to pass; he has a safe glance, he is never mistaken
either in things, or in men—which is more surprising still. Sire, I owe
you much, but 1 think I acquit myself of all towards you in giving you
M. Colbert."
" So be it," said Louis faintly, for, as Mazarin had said, the name of
Colbert was quite unknown to him, and he thought the enthusiasm of
the cardinal partook of the delirium of a dying man. The cardinal
sunk back on his pillow.
"For the present, adieu, sire ! adieu," murmured Mazarin. "I am
tired, and I have yet a rough journey to perform before I present
myself to my new Master.—Adieu, sire !"
The young king felt the tears rise to his eyes; he bent over the dying
man, already half a corpse, and then precipitately retired.
218
THE VICOMTE EE EKIWELONNE.
CHAPTER XLIX.
The first appearance of Colbert.
The whole night was' passed in anguish, common to the dying man
and the king: the dying man expected his deliverance, the king expected
his liberty. Louis did not go to bed. An hour after leaving the chamber
of the cardinal, he learnt that the dying man, recovering a little strength,
had insisted upon being dressed, farded and painted, and seeing the
ambassadors. Like Augustus, he no doubt considered the world to be
a great theatre, and was desirous of playing out the last act of the
comedy. Anne of Austria reappeared no more in the cardinal's apart-
ments; she had nothing more to do there. Propriety was the pretext
for her absence. On his part, the cardinal did not ask for her; the
advice the queen had given her son rankled in his heart. Towards
midnight, still painted, Mazarin's mortal agony came on. He had
revised his testament, and as this testament was the exact expression
of his will, and as he feared that some interested influence might take
advantage of his weakness to make him change something in that testa-
ment, he had given orders to Colbert, who walked up and down the
corridor which led to the cardinal's bedchamber, like the most vigilant
of sentinels. The king, shut up in his own apartment, despatched his
nurse every hour to Mazarin's chamber, with orders to bring him back
the exact bulletin of the cardinal's state. After having heard that
Mazarin was dressed, painted, and had seen the ambassadors, Louis
learnt that prayers for the dying were commenced for the cardinal. At
one o'clock in the morning, Guenaud had administered the last remedy.
This was a relic of the old customs of that fencing time, which was
about to disappear to give place to another time, to believe that death
could be kept off by some good secret thrust. Mazarin, after having
taken the remedy, respired freely for nearly ten minutes. He imme-
diately gave orders that the news should be spread everywhere of a
fortunate crisis. The king, on learning this, felt as if a cold sweat were
passing over his browhe had had a glimpse of the light of liberty;
slavery appeared to him more dark and less acceptable than ever. But
the bulletin which followed entirely changed the face of things. Ma-
zarin could no longer breathe at all, and could scarcely follow the
prayers which the cure of Saint-Nicholas-des-Champs recited near
him. The king resumed his agitated walk about his chamber, and con-
suited, as he walked, several papers drawn from a casket of which he
"alone had the key. A third time the nurse returned. M. de Mazarin
had just uttered a joke, and had ordered his "Plora," by Titian, to be
revarnished. At length, towards two o'clock in the morning, the king
could no longer resist his weariness: he had not slept for twenty-four
hours. Sleep, so powerful at his age, overcame him for about an hour.
But he did not go to bed for that hour; he slept in a fauteuil. About
four o'clock his nurse awoke him by entering the room. ""Well?"
asked the king.
" Well, my dear sire." said the nurse, clasping her hands with an air
of commiseration. " Well; he is dead!"
The king arose at a bound, as if a steel spring had been applied to his
legs. " Dead !" cried he.
"Alas! yes."
THE FIRST APPEARANCE OE COLBERT. 219
" Is it quite certain ? " " Yes."
"Official?" " Yes."
" Has the news of it been made public ? "
"Not yet."
" Who told you, then, that the cardinal was dead ? "
"M. Colbert."
"M.Colbert?" "Yes."
" And was he sure of what he said ? "
" He came out of the chamber, and had held a glass for some minutes
before the cardinal's lips."
" Ah !" said the king. " And what is become of M. Colbert ?"
" He has just left the chamber of his eminence."
" To go whither ? "
" To follow me."
" So that he is "
" There, my dear sire, waiting at your door, till it shall be your good
pleasure to receive him."
Louis ran to the door, opened it himself, and perceived in the passage
Colbert standing waiting. The king started at the sight of this statue,
all clothed in black. Colbert, bowing with profound respect, advanced
two steps towards his majesty. Louis re-entered his chamber, making
Colbert a sign to follow him. Colbert entered; Louis dismissed the
nurse, who closed the door as she went out. Colbert remained modestly
standing near that door.
"What do you come to announce to me, monsieur ? " said Louis,
very much troubled at being thus surprised in his private thoughts,
which he could not completely conceal.
" That monsieur le cardinal has just expired, sire; and that I bring
your majesty his last adieu."
The king remained pensive for a minute; and during that minute he
looked attentively at Colbertit was evident that the cardinal's last
words were in his mind. " Are you, then, M. Colbert ? " asked he.
" Yes, sire."
"The faithful servant of his eminence, as his eminence himself
told me ? "
" Yes, sire."
" The depositary of part of his secrets ? "
" Of all of them."
"The friends and servants of his defunct eminence will be dear to'
me, monsieur, and I shall take care that you are placed in my offices." .
Colbert bowed.
" You are a financier, monsieur, I believe ? "
"Yes, sire."
" And did monsieur le cardinal employ you in his stewardship ? "
" I had that honour, sire."
" You never did anything personally for my household, I believe ? "
" Pardon me, sire, it was I who had the honour of giving monsieur le
cardinal the idea of an economy which puts three hundred thousand
francs a year into your majesty's coffers."
" What economy was that, monsieur ? " asked Louis XIV.
"Your majesty knows that the hundred Swiss have silver lace on
each side of their ribbons ? "
" Doubtless."
"Well, sire, it was I who proposed that false silver lace should be
placed upon these ribbons; it could not be seen, and a hundred thou-
sand crowns serve to feed a regiment during six months; or is the price
220 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
of ten thousand good muskets; or is the value of a vessel of ten guns,
ready for sea."
"That is true," said Louis XIV., considering the personage more
attentively, "and, ma, foil there is an economy well placed; besides it
was ridiculous for soldiers to wear the same lace as noblemen wear."
" I am happy to be approved of by your majesty."
"Is that the only appointment you held about the cardinal?" asked
the king.
" It was I who was appointed to examine the accounts of the surin-
tendant, sire."
" Ah ! " said Louis, who was about to dismiss Colbert, but whom that
word stopped; "Ah ! it was you whom his eminence had charged to
control M. Fouquet, was it ? And the result of the examination ?"
"Is that there is a deficit, sire; but if your majesty will permit
me "
" Speak, M. Colbert."
" I ought to give your majesty some explanations."
"Not at all, monsieur, it is you who have controlled these accounts;
give me the result."
" That is very easily done, sire: empty everywhere, money nowhere."
" Beware, monsieur, you are roughly attacking the administration of
M. Fouquet, who, nevertheless, I have heard say, is an able man."
Colbert coloured, and then became pale, for he felt that from that
minute he entered upon a struggle with a man whose power almost
equalled the power of him who had just died. "Yes, sire, a very able
man," repeated Colbert, bowing.
" But if M. Fouquet is an able man, and, in spite of that ability, if
money be wanting, whose fault is it ? "
" I do not accuse, sire, I verify."
" That is well; make out your accounts, and present them to me.
There is a deficit, do you say ? A deficit may be temporary; credit
returns and funds are restored."
"No, sire."
" Upon this year, perhaps, I understand that; but upon next year ? "
" Next year is eaten as bare as the current year."
"But, the year after, then ? "
" Like next year."
"What do you tell me, Monsieur Colbert ? "
"I say there are four years engaged beforehand."
" They must have a loan, then."
" They must have three, sire."
" 1 will create offices to make them resign, and the money of the posts
shall be paid into the treasury."
" Impossible, sire, for there have already been creations upon crea-
tions of offices, the provisions of which are given in blank, so that the
purchasers enjoy them without filling them. That is why your majesty
cannot make them resign. Further, upon each agreement M. Fouquet
has made an abatement of a third, so that the people have been
plundered, without your majesty profiting by it. Let your majesty
set down clearly your thought, and tell me what you wish me to
explain."
" You are right, clearness is what you wish, is it not ? "
"Yes, sire, clearness. God is God above all things, because he made
light."
"Well, for example," resumed Louis XIV., "if to-day, the cardinal
being dead, and I being king, I wanted money ? "
" Your majesty would not have any."
THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF COLBERT. 221
" Oh! that is strange, monsieur! How! my surintendant would not
find me any money ? "
Colbert shook his large head.
" How is that ? " said the king; " are the revenues of the state so
much in debt that there are no longer any revenues ? "
" Yes, sire, to that extent."
The king started. " Explain me that, M. Colbert," added he, with a
frown. "If it be so, I will get together the ordonnances to obtain
from the holders a discharge, a liquidation, at a cheap rate."
" Impossible, for the ordonnances have been converted into bills,
which bills, for the convenience of return and facility of transaction,
are divided into so many parts, that the originals can no longer be
recognized."
Louis, very much agitated, walked about, still frowning. " But, if
this were as you say, Monsieur Colbert," said he, stopping all at once,
" I should be ruined before I begin to reign."
"You are, in fact, sire," said the impassible caster-up of figures.
" Well, but yet, monsieur, the money is somewhere ? "
"Yes, sire, and even as a beginning, I bring your majesty a note of
funds which M. le Cardinal Mazarin was not willing to set down in
his testament, neither in any act whatever, but which he confided
to me."
" To you ? "
"Yes, sire, with an injunction to remit it to your majesty."
"What! besides the forty millions of the testament ? "
"Yes, sire."
" M. de Mazarin had still other funds ? " Colbert bowed.
" Why, that man was a gulf I" murmured the king.. "M. de Mazarin
on one side, M. Fouquet on the other,—more than a hundred millions,
perhaps between them! No wonder my coffers should be empty !"
Colbert waited without stirring.
" And is the sum you bring me worth the trouble ?" asked the kihg.
"Yes, sire, it is a round sum."
" Amounting to how much ?"
" To thirteen millions of livres, sire."
"Thirteen millions!" cried Louis, trembling with joy; "do you say
thirteen millions, Monsieur Colbert?"
" I said thirteen millions, yes, your majesty."
"Of which everybody is ignorant ?"
" Of which everybody is ignorant."
" Which are in your hands ? "
"In my hands, yes, sire."
" And which I can have ?"
" Within two hours, sire."
" But where are they, then ?" _
" In the cellar of a house which the cardinal possessed in the city,
and which he was so kind as to leave to me by a particular clause of his
will."
"You are acquainted with the cardinal's will, then?"
" I have a duplicate of it, signed by his hand."
"A duplicate?"
"Yes, sire, and here it is." Colbert drew the deed quietly from his
pocket, and showed it to the king. The king read the article relative
to the donation of the house.
" But," said he, " there is no question here but of the house, there is
nothing said of the money."
" Your pardon, sire, it is in my conscience."
222 the vicomte de beagelonne.
"And Monsieur Mazarin has intrusted it to you ?"
"Why not, sire ?"
" He! a man mistrustful of everybody ?"
" He was not so of me, sire, as your majesty may perceive."
Louis fixed his eyes with admiration upon that vulgar but expressive
face. " You are an honest man, M. Colbert," said the king.
" That is not a virtue, it is a duty," replied Colbert, coolly.
"But," added Louis, " does not the money belong to the family ?"
"If this money belonged to the family, it would be disposed of in the
testament, as the rest of his fortune is. If this money belonged to the
family, I, who drew up the deed of donation in favour of your majesty,
should have added the sum of thirteen millions to that of forty millions
which was offered to you."
" How !" exclaimed Louis XIV., "was it you who drew up the deed
of donation ?"
"Yes, sire."
"And yet the cardinal loved you ?" added the king, ingenuously.
"I had assured his eminence you would by no means accept the
gift," said Colbert, in that same quiet manner we have described, and
which, even in the common habits of life, had something solemn in it.
Louis passed his hand over his brow:—" Oh ! how young I am," mur-
mured he, " to have the command of men."
Colbert waited the end of this interior monologue. He saw Louis
raise his head. "At what hour shall I send the money to your
majesty ?" -asked he.
To-night, at eleven o'clock; I desire that no one may know that I
possess this money."
Colbert made no more reply than if the thing had not been said to
him.
" Is the amount in ingots, or coined gold ?"
" In coined gold, sire."
" That is well."
" Where shall I send it to ?"
" To the Louvre. Thank you, M. Colbert."
Colbert bowed and retired. "Thirteen millions !" exclaimed Louis,
as soon as he was alone. " This must be a dream !" Then he allowed
his head to sink between his hands, as if he were really asleep. But, at
the end of a moment, he arose, and opening the window violently, he
bathed his burning brow in the keen morning air, which brought to his
senses the scent of the trees, and the perfume of flowers. A splendid
dawn was rising in the horizon, and the first-rays of the sun inundated
with flame the brow of the young king, "This dawn is that of my
reign," murmured Louis XIV. " Is it a presage that you send, me, all-
powerful God ?"
CHAPTER L.
The first day of the Royalty of Louis XIV.
In the morning, the news of the death of the cardinal was spread
through the castle, and thence speedily reached the city. The ministers
Bouquet, Lyonne, and Letellier entered la sallc des seances, to hold a
council. The king sent for them immediately. " Messieurs," said he
"as long as monsieur le cardinal lived, I allowed him to govern my affairs •
THE FIRST HAY OF THE ROYALTY OF LOUIS XIV. 223
but now, I mean to govern them myself. Tou will give me your advice
when I shall ask it. You may go."
The ministers looked at each other with surprise. If they concealed
a smile, it was with a great effort, for they knew that the prince, brought
up in absolute ignorance of business, by this, took upon himself a
burden much too heavy for his strength. Fouquet took leave of his
colleagues upon the stairs, saying"Messieurs! there will be so much
the less labour for us."
And he got gaily into his carriage. The others, a little uneasy at
the turn things had taken, went back to Paris together. Towards
ten o'clock, the king repaired to the apartment of his mother, with whom
he had a long and perfectly private conversation. After dinner, he got
into his carriage, and went straight to the Louvre. There he received
much company, and took a degree of pleasure in remarking the hesita-
tion of all, and the curiosity of each. Towards evening, he ordered the
doors of the Louvre to be closed, with the exception of one only, that
which opened to the quay. He placed on duty at this point two
hundred Swiss, who did not speak a word of French, with orders to
admit all who carried packages, but no other; and, by no means to
allow any one to go out. At eleven o'clock precisely, he heard the
rolling of a heavy carriage under the arch, then of another, then of a
third: after which the gate grated upon its hinges to be closed. Soou
after, somebody scratched with their nail at the door of the cabinet.
The king opened it himself, and beheld Colbert, whose first word was
this" The money is in your majesty's cellar."
The king then descended and went himself to see the barrels of
specie, in gold and silver, which, under the direction of Colbert, four
men had just rolled into a cellar of which the king had given Colbert
the key in the morning. This review completed, Louis returned to his
apartments, followed by Colbert, who had not warmed his immovable
coldness with one ray of personal satisfaction.
" Monsieur," said the king, " what do you wish that I should give you,
as a recompense for this devotedness and. probity ?"
" Absolutely nothing, sire."
" How! nothing ? Not even an opportunity of serving me?"
" If your majesty were not to furnish me with that opportunity, I
should not the less serve you. It is impossible for me not to be the
best servant of the king."
" You shall be intendant of the finances, M. Colbert."
" But there is already a surintendant, sire."
" I know that."
" Sire, the surintendant of the finances is the most powerful man in
the kingdom."
" Ah!" cried Louis, colouring, " do you think so ?"
" He will crush me in a week, sire. Your majesty gives me a controle
for which strength is indispensable. An intendant under a surintendant,
—that is inferiority."
" You want support—you do not reckon upon me ?"
"I had the honour of telling your majesty, that during the lifetime of
M. de Mazarin, M. Fouquet was the second man in the kingdom; now
M. de Mazarm is dead, M. Fouquet is become the first."
" Monsieur, I agree to what you told me of all things, up to to-day;
but to-morrow, please to remember, I shall no longer suffer it."
"Then I shall be of no use to your majesty ?"
"You are already, since you fear to compromise yourself in serving
me."
224 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
"I only fear to be placed so that I cannot serve your majesty."
" What do you wish then ?"
" I wish your majesty to allow me assistance in the labours of the
office of intendant."
" The post would lose in value."
"It would gain in security."
" Choose your coheagues."
" Messrs. Breteuil, Marin, Harvard."
" To-morrow the ordonnance shall appear."
" Sire, I thank you."
" Is that all you ask ?"
" No, sire, one thing more."
"What is that?"
" Allow me to compose a chamber of justice."
" What would this chamber of justice do ?"
" Try the farmers-general and contractors, who, during ten years, have
peculated."
" Well, but what would you do with them ?"
"Hang two or three, and that would make the rest disgorge."
"I cannot commence my reign with executions, Monsieur Colbert."
" On the contrary, sire, in order not to end with them."
The king made no reply. " Does your majesty consent ?" said Colbert.
" I will reflect upon it, monsieur."
"It will be too late, when reflection may be made."
"Why?"
" Because we have to deal with people stronger than ourselves, if they
are warned."
"Compose that chamber of justice, monsieur."
" I will, sire."
"Is that all?"
"No, sire; there is still an important affair. What rights does your
majesty attach to this office of intendant ?"
'^Well—I do not know—the customary ones."
" Sire, I require that to this office be devolved the right of reading
the correspondence with England."
"Impossible, monsieur, for that correspondence is kept from the
council; monsieur le cardinal himself carried it on."
" I thought your majesty had this morning declared that there should
no longer be a council ?"
" Yes, I said so."
"Let your majesty then have the goodness to read all the letters
yourself, particularly those from England; I hold strongly to this
article."
" Monsieur, you shall have that correspondence, and render me an
account of it."
"Now, sire, what shall I do with respect to the finances ?"
" All which M. Fouquet has not done."
" That is all I ask of your majesty. Thanks, sire, I depart at ease;"
and at these words he did depart. Louis watched that departure.
Colbert was not yet a hundred paces from the Louvre, when the king
received a courier from England. After having looked at and examined
the envelope, the king broke the seal precipitately, and found only a
letter from Charles IL The following is what the English prince wrote
to his royal brother:—
" Your majesty must be rendered very uneasy by the illness of M. le
Cardinal Mazarin; but the excess of danger can only prove of service
a passion. 225
to you. The cardinal is given over by his physician. I thank you for
the gracious reply you have made to my communication touching the
Princess Henrietta, my sister, and, in a week, the princess and her court
will set out for Paris. It is gratifying to me to acknowledge the fraternal
friendship you have evinced towards me, and to call you, more justly
than ever, my brother. It is gratifying to me, above everything, to
prove to your majesty how much I am interested in all that may please
you. You are having Belle-Isle-en-Mer secretly fortified. That is
wrong. We shall never be at war against each other. That measure
does not make me uneasy, it makes me sad. You are spending useless
millions there; tell your ministers so; and be assured that I am well
informed; render me the same service, my brother, if occasion offers."
The king rang his bell violently, and his valet de chambre appeared.
" Monsieur Colbert is just gone; he cannot be far off. Let him be called
back!" exclaimed he. The valet was about to execute the order, when
the king stopped him.
"No," said he, "no; I see the whole scheme of that man. Belle-Isle
belongs to M. Fouquet; Belle-Isle is being fortified, that is a conspiracy
on the part of M. Fouquet. The discovery of that conspiracy is the
ruin of the surintendant, and that discovery is the result of the corre-
spondence with England; this is why Colbert wished to have that cor-
respondence. Oh! but I cannot place all my dependence upon that
man; he is but the head, I must have an arm !" Louis, all at once,
uttered a joyful cry. " I had," said he, " a lieutenant of musketeers !"
"Yes, sire—Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" He quitted the service for a time."
" Yes, sire."
" Let him be found, and be here, to-morrow, at my lever."
The valet de chambre bowed and went out.
" Thirteen millions in my cellar," said the king; "Colbert bearing my
purse, and d'Artagnan carrying my sword—I am king!"
CHAPTER LI.
a Passion.
The day of his arrival, on returning from the Palais Royal, Athos,
as we have seen, went straight to his hotel in the Rue Saint-Honore.
He there found the Vicomte de Bragelonne waiting for him in his
chamber, chatting with Grimaud. It was not an easy thing to talk
with this old servant. Two men only possessed the secret, Athos and
d'Artagnan. The first succeeded, because Grimaud sought to make him
speak himself; d'Artagnan, on the contrary, because he knew how to
make Grimaud talk. Raoul was occupied in making him describe the
voyage to England, and Grimaud had related it in all its details with a
certain number of gestures and eight words, neither more nor less. He
had, at first, indicated, by an undulating movement of his hand, that his
master and he had crossed the sea. "upon some expedition ?" Raoul
had asked.
Grimaud, by bending down his head, had answered, "Yes."
" When monsieur le comte incurred much danger ?" asked Raoul.
" Neither too much, nor too little," was replied by a shrug of the
shoulders.
"But, still, what sort of danger ?" insisted Raoul,
Q.
226 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Grimaud pointed to the sword; he pointed to the fire and to a
musket; hung up over the wail.
" Monsieur le comte had an enemy there, then ?" cried Raoul.
" Monk," replied Grimaud.
"It is strange," continued Raoul, "that monsieur le comte persists in
considering me a novice, and not allowing me to partake the honour
and danger of his rencounters."
Grimaud smiled. It was at this moment Athos came in. The host
was lighting him up the stairs, and Grimaud, recognizing the step of
his master, hastened to meet him, which cut short the conversation.
But Raoul was launched into the sea of interrogatories, and did not stop.
Taking both hands of the comte, with warm, but respectful tenderness^
—"How is it, monsieur," said he, "that you have set out upon a dan-
gerous voyage, without bidding me adieu, without commanding the aid
of mv sword, of myself, who ought to be your support, now I have the
strength; of me, whom you have brought up like a man ? Ah! mon-
sieur, why would you expose me to the cruel trial of never seeing you
again ?"
" Who told you, Raoul," said the comte, placing his cloak and hat
in the hands of Grimaud, who had unbuckled his sword, " Who told
you that my voyage was a dangerous one ?"
" I," said Grimaud.
. "And why did you do so ? " said Athos sternly.
Grimaud was embarrassed; Raoul came to his assistance, by answer-
ing for him. "It is natural, monsieur, that our good Grimaud should
tell me the truth in what concerns you. By whom should you be loved
and supported, if not by me P "
Athos did not reply. He made a friendly motion to Grimaud, which
sent him out of the room; he then seated himself in a fauteuil, whilst
Raoul remained standing before him.
" But is it true," continued Raoul, " that your voyage was an expedi-
tion, and that steel and fire threatened you ? "
" Say no more about that, vicomte," said Athos mildly. " I set out
hastily, it is true; but the service of King Charles II. required a prompt
departure. As to your anxiety, I thank you. for it, and I know that I
can depend upon you. You have not wanted for anything, vicomte, in
my absence, have you ? "
"No, monsieur, thank you."
I left orders with Blaisois to pay you a hundred pistoles, if you
should stand in need of money."
" Monsieur, I have not seen Blaisois."
You have been without money, then ?"
Monsieur, I had thirty pistoles left from the sale of the horses I
took in my last campaign, and M. le Prince had the kindness to make
me win two hundred pjstoles at his play-table, three months ago."
" Do you play ? I dbn't like that, Raoul."
" I never play, monsieur; it was M. le Prince who ordered me to hold
his cards at Chantilly—one night when a courier came to him from the
king. I won, and M. le Prince commanded me to take the stakes."
"Is that a practice in the household, Raoul ? " asked Athos with a
frown.
"Yes, monsieur; every week; M. le Prince affords, upon one occasion
or another, a similar advantage to one of his gentlemen. Ther9 are
fifty gentlemen in his highness's household; it was my turn that time."
very well! You went into Spain, then ?"
" Yes, monsieur, I made a very delightful and interesting journey."
A PASSION. 227
"You have been back a month, have you not ? "
" Yes. monsieur."
" Ana in the course of that month ? "
"In that month "
" What have you done ? "
" My duties, monsieur."
" Have you not been home, to La E&re ?"
Eaoul coloured. Athos looked at him with a fixed hut tranquil
expression.
" You would be wrong not to believe me," said Eaoul, " I feel that I
coloured; and in spite of myself. The question you did me the honour
to ask me, is of a nature to raise in me much emotion. I colour then
because I am agitated, not because I meditate a falsehood."
" I know Eaoul that you never lie."
"No, monsieur."
"Besides, my young friend, you would be wrong; what I wanted to
say "
" I know quite well, monsieur. You would ask me if I have not been
to Blois ? "
• " Exactly so."
" I have not been there; I have not even seen the person of whom
you would speak to me."
The voice of Eaoul trembled as he pronounced these words. Athos,
a sovereign judge in all matters of delicacy, immediately added, " Eaoul,
you answer with a painful feeling; you are unhappy."
"Very, monsieur; you have forbidden me to go to Blois, or to see
Mademoiselle de la Vallibre again." Here the young man stopped.
That dear name, so delightful to pronounce, made his heart bleed,
although so sweet upon his lips.
"And I have acted correctly, Eaoul," Athos hastened to reply. "I
am neither an unjust nor a barbarous father; I respect true love; but
I look forward for you for a future—an immense future. A new reign
is about to break upon us like a fresh dawn. War calls upon a young
king full of chivalric spirit. What is wanting to assist this heroic
ardour is a battalion of young and free lieutenants who would rush to
the fight with enthusiasm, and fall, crying: ' Vive le Eoi!' instead of:
' Adieu, my dear wife!'—You understand that, Eaoul. However brutal
my reasoning may appear to be, I conjure you then to believe me, and
to turn away your thoughts from those early days of youth in which
you took up this habit of love, days of effeminate carelessness, which
soften the heart and render it incapable of containing those strong, bitter
draughts called glory and adversity. Therefore, Eaoul, I repeat to you,
you should see in my counsel only the desire of being useful to you,
only the ambition of seeing you prosper. I believe you capable of be-
coming a remarkable man. March alone, and you will march better,
and more quickly."
"You have commanded, monsieur," replied Eaoul, "and I obey."
" Commanded !" cried Athos. " Is it thus you reply to me ? I have
commanded you! Oh ! you distort my words as you misconceive my
intentions. I did not command you, I requested you."
"No, monsieur, you have commanded," said Eaoul, persistently;
"had you only requested me, your request is still more effective than
your order. I have riot seen Mademoiselle de la Valliere again."
"But you are unhappy! you are unhappy !" insisted Athos.
Eaoul made no reply.
" I find you pale; I find you dull. The sentiment is strong, then ? "
Q 2
228 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" It is a passion," replied Raoul.
"No—a habit."
" Monsieur, you know I have travelled much, that I have passed two
years far from her. A habit would yield to an absence of two years, I
belfeve; whereas, on my return, I loved, not more, that was impossible,
bht as much. Mademoiselle de la Valliere is for me the mate above all
others: but you are for me a god upon earth—to you I sacrifice every-
thing."
" You are wrong," said Athos; " I have no longer any right over you.
Age has emancipated you, you no longer even stand in need of my con-
sent. Besides, I will not refuse my consent after what you have told
me. Marry Mademoiselle de la Yalliere, if you like."
Raoul was startled, but suddenly: " You are very kind, monsieur,"
said he, " and your concession excites my warmest gratitude, but I will
not accept it."
" Then you now refuse ? "
"Yes. monsieur."
"I will not oppose you in anything, Raoul."
" But you have at the bottom of your heart an idea against this mar-
riage: you have not chosen it."
" That is true."
" That is sufficient to make me not persist: I will wait."
" Beware, Raoul! "What you are now saying is serious."
" I know it is, monsieur: as I said, I will wait."
"Until I die ?" said Athos, much agitated.
" Oh ! monsieur!" cried Raoul, with tears in his eyes, "is it possible
that you should wound my heart thus ? I have never given you cause
of complaint!"
" Dear boy, that is true," murmured Athos, pressing his lips violently
together to suppress the emotion of which he was no longer master.
"No, I will no longer afflict you; only I do not comprehend what you
mean by waiting. Will you wait till you love no longer ? "
"Ah! for that!—no, monsieur. I will wait till you change your
opinion."
" I should wish to put the matter to a test, Raoul; I should like to
see if Mademoiselle de la Yalliere will wait as you do."
" I hope so, monsieur."
" But, take care, Raoul! if she did not wai,t ? Ah! you are so young,
so confiding, so loyal! Women are changeable."
" You have never spoken ill to me of women, monsieur; you have
never had to complain of them; why should you doubt of Mademoiselle
de la Yalliere ? "
" That is true," said Athos, casting down his eyes; " I have never
spoken ill to you of women; I have never had to complain of them;
Mademoiselle de la Valliere never gave birth to a suspicion; but when
we are looking forward, we must go even to exceptions, even to impro-
babilities ! If, I say, Mademoiselle de la Valliere should not wait for
you ? "
" How, monsieur ? "
" If she turned her eyes another way ? "
" If she looked favourably upon another man, do you mean that,
monsieur P " said Raoul, pale with agony. " Exactly."
"Well! monsieur, I would kill that man," said Raoul, simply, and
all the men whom Mademoiselle de la Valliere should choose, until one
of them had killed me, or Mademoiselle de la Yalliere had restored me
her heart,"
d'aetagnan's lesson. 229
Athos started. " I thought," resumed he, in an agitated voice, "that
you called me just now your god, your law in this world."
" Oh!" said Eaoul, trembling, " you would forbid me the duel ? "
" If I forbade it, Eaoul ? "
" You would forbid me to hope, monsieur; consequently you would
not forbid me to die."
Athos raised his eyes towards the vicomte. He had pronounced
these words with the most melancholy inflection, accompanied by the
most melancholy look. "Enough," said Athos, after a long silence,
"enough of this subject, upon which we both go too far. Live as well
as you are able, Eaoul, perform your duties, love Mademoiselle de la
Valliere; in a word, act like a man, since you have attained the age of
a man; only do not forget that I love you tenderly, and that you profess
to love me."
" Ah! monsieur le comte!" cried Eaoul, pressing the hand of Athos
to his heart.
" Enough, dear boy! leave me; I want rest. A propos, M. d'Artagnan
has returned from England with me ; you owe him a visit."
I will go and pay it him, monsieur, with great pleasure. I love
Monsieur d'Artagnan exceedingly."
"You are right in doing so; he is a worthy man and a brave cavalier."
" Who loves you dearly."
" I am sure of that. Do you know his address ?"
" At the Louvre, I suppose, or wherever the king is. Does he not
command the musketeers ? "
"No; at present M. d'Artagnan is absent on leave; he is resting a
little. Do not, therefore, seek him at the posts of his service. You
will hear of him at the house of a certain Planchet."
" His former lackey ?"
" Exactly, turned grocer."
" I know ; Eue des Lombards ? "
" Somewhere thereabouts, or Eue des Arcis."
" I will find it, monsieur,—I will find it."
" You will say a thousand kind things to him, on my part, and ask
him to come and dine with me, before I set out for La Pere."
" Yes, monsieur."
" Good night, Eaoul!"
" Monsieur, I see you wear an order I never saw you wear before;
accept my compliments."
" The Pleece!—that is true. A coral, my boy, which no longer
amuses even an old child like myself. Good night, Eaoul."
CHAPTER LII.
D'Artagnan's Lesson.
Eaoul did not meet with d'Artagnan the next day, as he had hoped.
He only met with Planchet, whose joy was great at seeing the young
man again, and who contrived to pay him two or three little soldierly
compliments, savouring very little of the grocer's shop. But as Raoul
was returning the next day from Vincennes, at the head of fifty
dragoons confided to him by monsieur le prince, he perceived, in la
Place Baudoyer, a man with his nose in the air, examining a house, as
we examine a horse we have a lancy to buy. This man, dressed in
230 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
citizen costume buttoned up like a military pourpoint, a very small bat
on his head, but a long shagreen-mounted sword by his side, turned his
head as soon as he heard the steps of the horses, and left off lookipg at
the house to look at the dragoons. This was simply M. d'Artagnan;
d'Artagnan on foot; d'Artagnan with his hands behind him, passing a
little review upon the dragoons, after having reviewed the buildings.
Not a man, not a'tag, not a horse's hoof escaped his inspection. Raoul
rode at the side of his troop; d'Artagnan perceived him the last.
" Eh ! " said he, " Eh ! mordioux !" •
" I was not mistaken !" cried Raoul, turning his horse towards him.
" Mistaken—no ! Good day to you," replied the ex-musketeer: whilst
Raoul eagerly pressed the hand of his old friend. " Take care, Raoul,"
said d'Artagnan, "the second horse of the fifth rank will lose a shoe
before he gets to the Pont Marie; he has only two nails left in his off
fore-foot."
" Wait a minute, I will come back," said Raoul.
" Can you quit your detachment ? "
" The cornet is there to take my place.
" Then you will come and dine with me P "
"Most willingly, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Be quick, then ; leave your horse, or make them give me one."
" I prefer coming back on foot with you."
Raoul hastened to give notice to the cornet, who took his post; he
then dismounted, gave his horse to one of the dragoons, and with great
delight seized the arm of M. d'Artagnan, who had watched him during
all these little evolutions, with the satisfaction of a connoisseur.
" What, do you come from Vincennes ?" said he.
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier."
"And the cardinal ?"
" Is very ill; it is even reported he is dead."
"Are you on good terms with M. Fouquet ?" asked d'Artagnan, with
a disdainful movement of the shoulders, proving that the death of
Mazarin did not affect him beyond measure.
" With M. Fouquet?" said Raoul; " I do not know him."
" So much the worse! so much the worse! for a new king always
seeks to get creatures."
" Oh ! the king means no harm," replied the young inan.
"I say nothing about the crown," cried d'Artagnan; "lam speaking
of the king,—the king, that is M. Fouquet, if the cardinal is dead. You
must contrive to be well with M. Fouquet, if you do not wish to moulder
away all your life as I have mouldered. It is true you have, fortunately,
other protectors."
" M. le prince, for instance."
"Worn out! worn out!"
" M. le Comte de la Fere ?"
" Athos! oh! that's different; yes, Athos—and if you have any wish
to make your way in England, you catfnot apply to a better person. I
can even say, without too much vanity, that I myself have some credit
at the court of Charles IL There is a king—God speed him !"
" Ah!" cried Raoul, with the natural cariosity of well-born young
people, while listening to experience and courage.
" Yes, a king who amuses himself, it is true, but who has had a sword
in his hand, and can appreciate useful men. Athos is on good terms
with Charles II. Take service there, and leave these scoundrels of con-
tractors and farmers-general, who steal as well with French hands a£
others have done with Italian hands; leave the little snivelling king,
d'artagnan's lesson. 231
who is going to give us another reign of Francis II. Do you know any-
thing of history, Raoul ? "
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier."
"Do you know, then, that Francis II. had always the ear-ache?"
" No, I did not know that."
" That Charles IY. had always the head-ache ?"
"Indeed!"
"And Henry III. always the stomach-ache?"
Raoul began to laugh.
"Well, my dear friend, Louis XIY. always has the heart-ache; it is
deplorable to see a king sighing from morning till night, without saying
once in the course of the day, ventre-saint-gris! corbceuf1 or anything
to rouse one."
"Was that the reason why you quitted the service, monsieur le
chevalier ?" " Yes."
" But you yourself, M. d'Artagnan, are throwing the handle after the
axe; you will not make a fortune."
" Who! I?" replied d'Artagnan in a careless tone; "I am settled—
I had some family property."
Raoul looked at him. The poverty of d'Artagnan was proverbial. A
Gascon, he exceeded in ill-luck all the gasconnades of France and
Navarre; Raoul had a hundred times heard Job and d'Artagnan named
together, as the twins Romulus and Remus are named. D'Artagnan
caught Raoul's look of astonishment.
"And has not your father told you I have been in England?"
" Yes, monsieur le chevalier."
" And that I had there met with a very lucky chance ?"
" No, monsieur, I did not know that."
" Yes, a very worthy friend of mine, a great nobleman, the viceroy of
Scotland and Ireland, has endowed me with an inheritance."
" An inheritance ?"
" And a good one, too."
" Then you are rich ? "
"Pugh!"
" Receive my sincere congratulation."
" Thank you! Look, that is my house."
"Place de Greve?"
" Yes; you don't like this quarter ?"
" On the contrary, the look-out on the water is pleasant. Oh! whht
a pretty old house!"
" The sign Notre Dame; it is an old cabaret, which I have transformed
into a private house in two days."
" But the cabaret is still open ?"
" Pardieu !"
" And where do you lodge, then ?"
" I ? I lodge with Planchet."
" You said, just now,' This is my house.'"
" I said so, because, in fact, it is my house. I have bought it."
" Ah ! " said Raoul.
" At ten years' purchase, my dear Raoul; a superb affair; I bought
the house for thirty thousand livres; it has a garden opens to the Rue
de la Matillerie; the cabaret lets for a thousand livres, with the first
story; the garret, or second floor, for five hundred livreS."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, indeed."
" Five hundred livres for a garret ? Why that is not habitable."
232 THE YICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
''Therefore no one does inhabit it; only, you see, this garret has two
windows which look out upon the Place."
Yes, monsieur."
Well, then, every time anybody is broken on the wheel or hung,
quartered, or burnt, these two windows are let for twenty pistoles."
" Oh!" said Raoul, with horror.
" It is disgusting; is it not ? " said d'Artagnan.
" Oh!" repeated Raoul.
" It is disgusting, but so it is. These Parisian cockneys are some-
times real anthropophagi. I cannot conceive how men, Christians, can
make such speculations."
" That is true."
" As for myself," continued d'Artagnan, " if I inhabited that house,
on days of execution I would shut it up to the very keyholes; but I do
not inhabit it."
" And you let the garret for five hundred livres ?"
" To the ferocious cabaretier, who sub-lets it. I said then fifteen
hundred livres."
" The natural interest of money," said Raoul,—"five per cent."
" Exactly so. I then have left the side of the house at the back,
magazines, lodgings, and cellars, inundated every winter, two hundred
livres; and the garden, which is very fine, well planted, well shaded
under the walls and the portal of Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais, thirteen
hundred livres."
" Thirteen hundred livres ! why that is royal!"
" This is the history of it. I strongly suspect some canon of the
parish (these canons are all as rich as Croesus)—I suspect some canon
of having hired the garden to take his pleasure in. The tenant has
given the name of M. Godard. That is either a false name, or a real
name; if true, he is a canon; if false, he is some unknown; but of
what consequence is it to me ? he always pays in advance. 1 had
also an idea just now, when I met you, of t buying & house in the
Place Baudoyer, the back premises of which join my garden, and
would make a magnificent property. Your dragoons interrupted my
calculations. But come, let us take the Rue de la Yannerie, that will
lead us straight to M. Planchet's." D'Artagnan mended his pace, and
conducted Raoul to Planchet's dwelling, a chamber of which the grocer
had given up to his old master. Plancnet was out, but the dinner was
ready. There was a remains of military regularity and punctuality
preserved in the grocer's household. D'Artagnan returned to the
chapter of Raoul's future.
" Your father keeps you rather strictly ? " said he.
"Justly,monsieur le chevalier."
" Oh, yes, I know Athos is just; but close, perhaps ?"
" A royal hand, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"Well, never want, my boy ! If ever you stand in need of a few
pistoles, the old musketeer is at hand."
" My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Do you play a little ?"
"Never."
" Successful with the ladies, then ?—Oh ! my little Aramis ! That,
my dear friend, costs still more than play. It is true we fight when we
lose; that is a compensation. Bah ! the little sniveller of a king makes
men who draw pay for it. What a reign! my poor Raoul, what a
reign! When we think that, in my time, the musketeers w#e be--
sieged in their houses, like Hector and Priam iu the city of Troy; and
d'artagnan's lesson. 233
then the women wept, and then the walls laughed, and then five hun-
dred beggarly fellows clapped their hands, and cried,' Kill! kill!' when
not one musketeer was hurt! Mordioux 1 you will never see any-
thing,like that."
" You are very hard upon the king, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan;
and yet you scarcely know him."
" I! Listen, Raoul. Day by day, hour by hour,—take note of my
words,—I will predict what he will do. The cardinal being dead, he
will weep: very well, that is the thing the least silly he will do, particu-
larly if he does not shed a tear."
" And then ? "
" "Why then he will get M. Fouquet to allow him a pension, and will
go and compose verses at Fontainebleau, upon some Mancini or other,
whose eyes the queen will scratch out. She is a Spaniard, see you,—
this queen of ours; and she has, as a mother-in-law, Madame Anne
of Austria. I know something of the Spaniards of the house of
Austria."
" And next ? "
" "Well; after having torn off the silver lace from the uniforms of his
Swiss, because lace is too expensive, he will dismount the musketeers,
because the oats and hay of a horse cost five sols a day."
" Oh 1 do not say that."
" Of what consequence is it to me; I jam no longer a musketeer, am
I ? Let them be on horseback, let them be on foot, let them carry a
larding-pin, a spit, a sword, or nothing,—what is it to me ? "
" My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, I beseech you, say no more ill to me
of the king. I am almost in his service, and my father would be very
angry with me for having heard even from your mouth words that were
offensive to his majesty."
" Your father, eh! He is a knight in every bad cause. Pardieu !
yes, your father is a brave, is a Csesar, it is true, but a man without
perception."
" Now, my dear chevalier," exclaimed Raoul, laughing, " what are
you going to speak ill of my father, of him you call the great Athos ?
Truly you are in a bad vein to-day; riches render you as sour as poverty
renders other people."
" Pardieu ! you are right. I am a rascal and in my dotage; I am an
unhappy wretch grown old; a forage-cord untwisted, a pierced cuirass,
a boot without a sole, a spur without a rowel;—but do me the pleasure
to say one thing for me ? "
" What is that, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan ? "
" Say this to me: ' Mazarin was a pitiful wretch.'"
" Perhaps he is dead."
" More the reason,—I say was; if I did nqt hope that he was dead, I
would entreat you to say: ' Mazarin is a pitiful wretch.' Come say so,
say so, for the love of me."
" Well, I will."
" Say it!"
" Mazarin was a pitiful wretch," said Raoul, smiling at the musketeer,
who roared with laughter, as in his best days.
" A moment," said the latter; " you have spoken my first proposition,
here is the conclusion of it,—repeat, Raoul, repeat: ' But I regret
Mazarin.'"
" Chevalier!"
" You will not say it ? Well, then, I will say it twice for you."
" But you would regret Mazarin ?"
234 THE VTCOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
And they were still laughing and discussing this digesting of a pro-
fession of principles, when one of the shop-boys entered. " A letter,
monsieur," said he, " for M. d'Artagnan."
" Thank you; give it me," cried the musketeer.
" The handwriting of monsieur le comte," said Baoul.
" Yes, yes." And d'Artagnan broke the seal.
"Dear friend," said Athos, " a person has just been here to beg me to
seek for you, on the part of the king."
" Seek me! " said d'Artagnan, letting the paper fall upon the table.
Baoul picked it up, and continued to read aloud:—
"Make haste. His majesty is very anxious to speak to you, and
expects you at the Louvre." . ,
" Expects me ! " again repeated the musketeer.
" He, he, he!" laughed Baoul.
" Oh, oh!" replied d'Artagnan. " What the devil cah this mean P"
CHAPTER LIH.
The King.
The first movement of surprise over, d'Artagnan re-petuSed Athos's
note. " It is strange," said he, "that the king should send for hie."
" Why so ?" said Baoul; " do you not think, monsieur, that the king
must regret such a servant as you ? "
" Oh, oh! " cried the officer, laughing with all his might; "you are
jeering me, master Baoul. if the king had regretted me, he vvbuld not
have let me leave him. No, no; I see in it something better, 6t worse-,
if you like."
" Worse! What can that be, monsieur le chevalier ? "
"You are young, you are a boy, you are admirable. Oh, how I
should like to be as you are! To be but twenty-four, with an uhfur-
rowed brow, under which the brain is void of everything but woman,
love, and good intentions. Oh, BaoUl, as long as you have not received
the smiles of kings, the confidence of queens; as long as you have hot
had two cardinals killed under yoU, the one a tiger, the other a fox; as
long as you have not But what is the good of all this trifling? We
must part, Baoul."
" How you speak that! What a serious face!"
" Eh ! but the occasion is worthy of it. Listen to me, I have a very
good recommendation to make you."
" I am all attention, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" You will go and inform your father of my departure."
" Your departure ? "
" Pardieu !—You will tell him that I am gone into England; and that
I am living in my little country-house."
" In England, you ! And the king's orders ? "
" You get more and more silly: do you imagine that I am goirig in
that way to the Louvre, to place myself at the disposal Of that little
crowned wolf-cub ? "
" The king a wolf-cub ! Why, monsieur le chevalier, you are mad !"
" On the contrary, I was never so much otherwise. You do hot
know what he wants to do with me, this worthy son of Louis le Juste !
—But, mordioux! that is policy.—He wishes to ensconce me snugly in
the Bastille—purely and simply, see you!"
The king. 235
4C What for ? " cried Eaoul, terrified at what he heard.
" On account of what I told him one day at Blois. I was warm; he
remembers it."
" Y ou told him what ? "
" That he was mean, cowardly, and silly."
" Good God !" pried Eaoul, " is it possible that such words should
have issued from your mouth ? "
" Perhaps I don't give the letter of my speech, but I give the sens#
of it."
" But did not the king have you arrested immediately ? "
" By whom ? It was I who commanded the musketeers; he must
have commanded me to convey myself to prison ; I would never have
consented: I would have resisted myself. And then I went into Eng-
land—no more d'Artagnan. Now, the cardinal is dead, or nearly so,
they learn that I am in Paris, and they lay their hands on me."
" The cardinal was then your protector ? "
" The cardinal knew me; he knew certain particularities of me; I
also knew certain of him; we appreciated eaeh other mutually. And
then, on rendering his soul to the devil, he would recommend Anne of
Austria to make me the inhabitant of a safe place. Go then and find
your father, relate the fact to him—and, adieu!"
" My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Eaoul, very much agitated,
after having looked out at the window, " you cannot even fly !"
"Why not?"
" Because there is below an officer of the Swiss guards waiting for
you'."
" Well!"
"Well, he will arrest you."
D'Artagnan broke into an Homeric laugh.
" Oh ! I know very well that you will resist, that you will fight even;
I know very well that you will prove conqueror; but that amounts to
rebellion, and you are an officer yourself, knowing what discipline is."
" Devil of a boy, how noble, how logical that is!" grumbled d'Ar-
tagnan.
" You approve of it, do you not ? "
"Yes, instead of passing into the street, where that oaf is waiting for
me, I will slip quietly out at the back. I have a horse in the stable,
and a good one. I will burst him, my means permit me to do so, and
by killing one horse after another, I shall arrive at Boulogne in eleven
hours: I know the road. Only tell your lather one thing."
" What is that ? "
"That is—that that which he knows about is placed at Planchet's
house, except a fifth, and that——"
" But, my dear M. d'Artagnan, be assured that if you fly, two things
will be said of you."
" What are they, my dear friend ? "
" The first, that you have been afraid."
" Ah ! and who will dare to say that ? "
" The king, the first."
" Well! but he will tell the truth,—I am afraid."
" The second, that you felt yourself guilty."
" Guilty of what ? "
"Why, of the crimes they wish to impute to you."
" That is true again. So, then, you advise me to go and get myself
made a prisoner in the Bastille ? "
" M. le Comte de la Fere would advise you just as I do."
236 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Pardieu! I know he would," said d'Artagnan thoughtfully. " You
are right, I shall not escape. But if they cast me into the Bastille ? "
"We will get you out again," said Raoul, with a quiet, calm air.
" Mordioux ! You said that after a brave fashion, Raoul," said d'Ar-
tagnan, seizing his hand; " that savours of Athos, quite pure. "Well, I
will go, then. Do not forget my last word."
" Except a fifth," said Raoul.
"Yes, you are a fine boy ! and I wish you to add one thing to that last
word."
" Speak, chevalier!"
"It is that if you cannot get me out of the Bastille, and that I remain
there—Oh! that will be so, and I shall be a detestable prisoner; I, who
have been a passable man,—in that case, I give three-fifths to you, and
the fourth to your father."
" Chevalier!"
" Mordioux ! If you will have some masses said for me, you are wel-
come."
That being said, d'Artagnan took his belt from the hook, girded on
his sword, took a hat the leather of which was fresh, and held his hand
out to Raoul, who threw himself into his arms. When in the shop, he
cast a quick glance at the shop-lads, who looked upon the scene with a
pride mingled with some inquietude; then plunging his hand into a
chest of currants, he went straight to the officer who was waiting for
him at the door.
" Those features! Can it be you, Monsieur de Friedisch ?" cried
d'Artagnan, gaily. "Eh! eh ! what do we arrest our friends ?"
"Arrest!" whispered the lads among themselves.
"Yes, it is I, Monsieur d'Artagnan! Good day to you!" said the
Swiss, in his mountain patois.
" Must I give you up my sword ? I warn you, that it is long and
heavy; you had better let me wear it to the Louvre; I feel quite lost in
the streets without a sword, and you would be more at a loss than I
should, with two."
" The king has given no orders about it," replied the Swiss, " so keep
your sword."
" Well, that is very polite on the part of the king. Let us go, at once."
Monsieur Friedisch was not a talker, and d'Artagnan had too much
to think about to be one. From Planchet's shop to the Louvre was
not far,—they arrived in ten minutes. It was dark night. M. de
Friedisch wanted to enter by the wicket. "No," said d'Artagnan, "you
would lose time by that; take the little staircase."
The Swiss did as d'Artagnan advised, and conducted him to the vesti-
bule of the king's cabinet. When arrived there, he bowed to his pri-
soner, and, without saying anything, returned to his post. D'Artagnan
had not had time to ask why his sword was not taken from him, when
the door of the cabinet opened, and a valet-de-chambre called, "M.
d'Artagnan!" The musketeer assumed his parade carriage, and en-
tered, with his large eyes wide open, his brow calm, his moustache stiff.
The king was seated at a table writing. He did not disturb himself
when the step of the musketeer resounded on the floor; he did not even
turn his head. D'Artagnan advanced as far as the middle of the room,
and seeing that the king paid no attention to him, and suspecting
besides, that that was nothing but affectation, a sort of tormenting
preamble to the explanation which was preparing, he turned his back
on the prince, and began to examine the frescoes on the cornices, and
the cracks in the ceiling. This manoeuvre was accompanied by this
THE KING. 237
little tacit monologue. " Ah! you want to humble me, do you ?—you,
whom I have seen so young,—you, whom I have saved as I would my
own child,—you, whom I have served as I would a God—that is to say,
for nothing. Wait awhile ! wait awhile! you shall see what a man can
do who has snuffed the air of the fire of the Huguenots, under the beard
of monsieur le cardinal—the true cardinal." At this moment Louis
turned round.
" Ah ! are you there, Monsieur d'Artagnan ? " said he.
D'Artagnan saw the movement and imitated it. "Yes, sire," said he.
" Very well; have the goodness to wait till I have cast this up."
D'Artagnan made no reply, he only bowed. " That is polite enough,"
thought he, " I have nothing to say."
Louis made a violent dash with his pen, and threw it angrily away.
" Ah ! go on, work yourself up !" thought the musketeer; " you will
put me at my ease; you shall find I did not empty the bag, the other
day, at Blois."
Louis rose from his seat, passed his hand over his brow; then, stop-
ping opposite to d'Artagnan, he looked at him with an air at once
imperious and kind. " What the devil does he want with me ? 1 wish
he would begin !" thought the musketeer.
" Monsieur," said the king, " you know, without doubt, that monsieur
le cardinal is dead?"
"I suspected so, sire."
" You know that,* consequently, I am master in my own kingdom ? "
" That is not a thing that dates from the death of monsieur le
cardinal, sire; a man is always master in his own house, when he wishes
to be so."
" Yes; but do you remember all you said to me at Blois ?"
"Now we come to it," thought d'Artagnan; "I was not deceived.
Well, so much the better! it is a sign that my scent is tolerably keen
yet."
" You do not answer me," said Louis.
" Sire, I think I recollect."
"You only think?"
" It is so long ago."
" If you do not remember, I do. You said to me,—listen with atten-
tion."
" Ah! I shall listen with all my ears, sire; for it is very likely the
conversation will turn in a fashion very interesting to me."
Louis once more looked at the musketeer. The latter smoothed
the feather of his hat, then his moustache, and waited intrepidly.
Louis XIV. continued: "You quitted my service, monsieur; after
having told me the whole truth ?"
" Yes, sire."
" That is, after having declared to me all you thought to be true, with
regard to my mode of thinking and acting. That is always a merit.
You began by telling me that you had served my family thirty years,
and were tired."
" I said so; yes, sire."
" And you afterwards admitted that that fatigue was a pretext, and
that discontent was the real cause."
" I was discontented,- in fact; but that discontent has never betrayed
itself, that I know of, and if, like a man of heart, I have spoken out
before your majesty, I have not even thought of the matter in face of
anybody else."
" Do not excuse yourself, d'Artagnan, but continue to listen to me.
238 THE VICOMTE BE BRAGELONNE.
When making me the reproach that you were discontented, you re-
ceived in reply a promiseWait.—is not that true ?"
" Yes, sire, as true as what I told you."
"You answered me, 'Hereafter? No, now, immediately.' Ho not
excuse yourself, I tell you. It was natural; but you had no charity for
your poor prince, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Sire, charity for a king, on the part of a poor soldier!"
"You understand me very well: you knew that I stood in need of it;
you knew very well that I was not master; you knew very well that
my hope was in the future. Now, you replied to me when I spoke of
that future,' My discharge—and that directly.'"
" That is true," murmured d'Artagnan, biting his moustache.
" You did not flatter me when I was in distress," added Louis.
" But," said d'Artagnan, raising his head nobly, " if I did not flatter
your majesty when poor, neither did I betray you. I have shed my
blood for nothing; I have watched like a dog at a door, knowing full
well that neither bread nor bone would be thrown to me. I, although
poor likewise, asked nothing of your majesty but the discharge you
speak of."
" I know you are a brave man, but I was a young man, and you ought
to have had some indulgence for me. What had you to reproach the
king with ?—that he left King Charles II. without assistance ?—let us
say further—that he did not marry Mademoiselle de Mancini ?" When
saying these words, the king fixed upon the musketeer a searching look.
" Ah! ah!" thought the latter, " he is doing more than remembering,
he is guessing. The devil!"
" Your sentence," continued Louis, " fell upon the king and fell upon
the man. But, Monsieur d'Artagnan, that weakness, for you considered
it a weakness?"—d'Artagnan made no reply—"you reproached me also
with regard to monsieur, the defunct cardinal. Now monsieur le car-
dinal, did he not bring me up, did he not support me—elevating himself
and supporting himself at the same time, I admit; but the benefit was
discharged. As an ingrate or an egotist, would you, then, have better
loved me or served me ?"
" Sire!"
"We will say no more about it, monsieur; it would only create you
too many regrets, and me too much pain."
H'Artagnan was not convinced. The young king, in adopting a tone
of hauteur with him, did not forward his purpose.
"You have since reflected?" resumed Louis.
" Upon what, sire ?" asked d'Artagnan, politely.
"Why, upon all that I have said to you, monsieur."
"Yes sire, no doubt "
"And you have only waited for an opportunity of retracting your
words?"
" Sire!"
" You hesitate, it seems."
" I do not understand what your majesty did me the honour to say
to me."
Louis' brow became cloudy.
" Have the goodness to excuse me, sire; my understanding is par-
ticularly thick; things do not penetrate it without difficulty; but it is
true, when once they get in, they remain there."
" Yes, yes; you appear to have a memory."
"Almost as good a one as your majesty's."
THE KING. *239
" Then give me quickly one solution. My time is valuable. What
have you been doing since your discharge ? "
" Making my fortune, sire."
" The expression is rude. Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Your majesty takes it in bad part, certainly. I entertain nothing
but the profoundest respect for the king; and if I have been unpolite,
which might be excused by my long sojourn in camps and barracks,
your majesty is too much above me to be offended at a word innocently
escaped from a soldier."
"In, fact, I know that you have performed a brilliant action m
England, monsieur. I only regret that you have broken your pro-
mise."
" I!" cried d'Artagnan.
"Doubtless—You engaged your word not to serve any other prince
on quitting my service. Now, it was for King Chatles II. that you
undertook the marvellous carrying off of M. Monk."
" Pardon me, sire; it was for myself."
" And did you succeed ? "
" Like the captains of tile fifteenth century, coups-de-main and ad-
ventures."
" What do you call succeeding ?—a fortune ? "
" A hundred thousand crowns, sire, which I possess; that is, in one
week the triple of all I ever had in money in fifty years."
" It is a handsome sum—but you are ambitious, I believe ? "
" I, sire ? The quarter of it would be a treasure; and I swear to
you I have no thought of augmenting it."
" What, do you contemplate remaining idle ? "
"Yes, sire."
" To quit the sword ? "
" That is done."
"Impossible, Monsieur d'Artagnan !" said Louis firmly.
" But. sire "
"Well?"
"What for?"
" Because I will that you shall not!" said the young prince, in a
voice so stern and imperious that d'Artagnan evinced surprise and even
uneasiness.
" Will your majesty allow me one word of reply ?" said he.
" Speak."
" I formed that resolution when I was poor and destitute."
" So be it. Go on."
"Now, when by my industry I have acquired a comfortable means of
subsistence, would your majesty despoil me of my liberty ? Your majesty
would condemn me to the least, when I have gained the most."
" Who gave you permission, monsieur, to fathom my designs, or to
reckon with me?" replied Louis, in a'voice almost angry; "who told
you what I shall do, or what you will yourself do ? "
" Sire," said the musketeer, quietly, " as far as I see, freedom is not
the order of the conversation, as it was on the day we came to an expla-
nation at Blois."
"No, monsieur; everything is changed."
" I make your majesty my sincere compliments upon that—but "
" But you don't believe it ? "
" I am not a great statesman, and yet I have my eye upon affairs; it
seldom fails; now, I do not see exactly as your majesty does, sire. The
249 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
reign of Mazarin is over, but that of the financiers is begun. They
have the money : your majesty will not often see much of it. To live
under the paw of these hungry wolves is bard for a man who reckoned
upon independence."
At this moment some one scratched at the door of the cabinet; the
king raised his head proudly. "Your pardon, Monsieur d'Artagnan,"
said he; " it is M. Colbert, who comes to make me a report. Come in.
M. Colbert."
D'Artagnan drew back. Colbert entered with papers in his hand,
and went up to the king. There can be little doubt that the Gascon did
not lose the opportunity of applying his keen, quick glance to the new
figure which presented itself.
" Is the inquiry then made ? "
" Yes, sire."
" And the opinion of the inquisitors ? "
" Is that the accused merit confiscation and death."
"Ah ! ah !" said the king, without changing countenance, and casting
an oblique look at d'Artagnan. " And your own opinion, M. Colbert ?"
said he.
Colbert looked at d'Artagnan in his turn. That imposing countenance
checked the words upon his lips. Louis perceived this. "Do not dis-
turb yourself," said he; "it is M. d'Artagnan,—do you not know
M. d'Artagnan again ? "
These two men looked at each other; d'Artagnan, with his eye open
and bright; Colbert, with his eye half-closed, and dim. The frank
intrepidity of the one displeased the other; the cautious circumspection
of the financier displeased the soldier. " Ah ! ah! this is the gentleman
who made that brilliant stroke in England," said Colbert. And he
bowed slightly to d'Artagnan.
" Ah ! ah ! " said the Gascon, " this is the gentleman who clipped off
the lace from the uniform of the Swiss! A praiseworthy piece of
economy."
The financier thought to embarrass the musketeer; but the mus-
keteer ran the financier right through.
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," resumed the king, who had not remarked*
all the shades of which Mazarin would not have missed one; " this con-
cerns the farmers of the revenue who have robbed me, whom I am
hanging, and whose death-warrants I am about to sign."
" Oh ! oh!" said d'Artagnan, starting.
" What did you say ? "
" Oh! nothing, sire. This is no business of mine."
The king had already taken up the pen, and was applying it to the
paper. " Sire," said Colbert, in a subdued voice, " I beg to warn your
majesty, that if an example be necessary, that example may find some
difficulty in the execution."
" What do you say ? " said Louis.
"You must not conceal from yourself," continued Colbert quietly,
"that attacking the farmers-general is attacking the surintendance.
The two unfortunate guilty men in question are the particular friends
of a powerful personage, and the day of punishment, which otherwise
might be stifled in the Chatelet, disturbances will arise, without doubt."
Louis coloured and turned towards d'Artagnan, who took a slight
bite at his moustache, not without a smile of pity for the financier, as
likewise for the king who had to listen to him so long. But Louis
seized the pen, and with a movement so rapid, that his hand shook, he
affixed his signature at the bottom of the two papers presented by
THE KING. 241
Colbert, then looking the latter in the face: " Monsieur Colbert," said
he, " when you speak to me of affairs, exclude more frequently the word
difficulty from your reasonings and opinions; as to the word impossi-
bility, never pronounce it."'
Colbert bowed, much humiliated at having undergone such a lesson
before the musketeer: he was about to go out, but, jealous to repair his
check: " I forgot to announce to your majesty," said he, " that the con-
fiscations amount to the sum of five millions of livres."
" That's pretty !" thought d'Artagnan.
""Which makes in my coffers ? " said the king.
" Eighteen millions of livres, sire," replied Colbert, bowing.
"Mordioux /" grumbled d'Artagnan, "that's glorious!"
"Monsieur Colbert," added the king, "you will, if you please, go
through the gallery where M. Lyonne is waiting, and will tell him to
bring hither what he has drawn up—by my order."
"Directly, sire; if your majesty wants me no m6re this evening?"
" No, monsieur; adieu!" And Colbert went out.
"Now, let us return to our affair, M. d'Artagnan," said the king, as
if notlhng had happened. " You see that with respect to money, there
is already a notable change"
" Something like from zero to eighteen millions," replied the mus-
keteer, gaily. " Ah! that was what your majesty wanted the day King
Charles II. came to Blois. The two states would not have been em-
broiled to-day: for I must say, that there also I see another stumbling-
block."
" Well, in the first place," replied Louis, " you are unjust, monsieur;
for, if Providence had made me able to give my brother the million that
day, you would not have quitted my service, and, consequently, you
would not have made your fortune, as you told me just now you have
done. But, in addition to this, I have had another piece of good for-
tune; and my difference with Great Britain need not alarm you."
A valet de chambre interrupted the king by announcing M. Lyonne.
"Come in, monsieur," said the king; "you are punctual; that is like a
good servant. Let me see your letter to my brother Charles II."
D'Artagnan pricked up his ears. "A moment, monsieur," said
Louis, carelessly, to the Gascon; " I must expedite to London my
consent to the marriage of my brother, M. le due d'Anjou, with the
Princess Henrietta Stuart."
" He is knocking me about, it seems," murmured d'Artagnan, whilst
the king signed the letter, and dismissed M. de Lyonne; " but, ma
foi ! the more he knocks me about in this manner, the better I shall be
pleased."
The king followed M. de Lyonne with his eyes, till the door was
closed behind him; he even made three steps, as if he would follow the
minister; but, after these three steps, stopping, pausing, and coming
back to the musketeer,—"Now, monsieur," said he, "let us hasten to
terminate our affair. You told me the other day, at Blois, that you
were not rich ? "
"But I am now, sire."
" Yes, but that does not concern me; you have your own money, not
mine; that does not enter into my account."
" I do not well understand what your majesty means."
" Then, instead of leaving you to draw out your words, speak sponta-
neously. Should you be satisfied with twenty thousand livres a-year as
a fixed income?"
"But, sire," said d'Artagnan, opening his eyes to the utmost.
£
242 THE VICOMTE DE BRA.GELONNE.
"Would you be satisfied with four horses furnished and kept, and
with a supplement of funds such as you should require, according to
occasions and needs, or would you prefer a fixed sum which would he,
for example, forty thousand livres ? Answer."
" Sire, your majesty "
" Yes, you are surprised, that is natural, and I expected it. Answer me,
come ! or I shall think you have no longer that rapidity of judgment I
have so much admired in you."
" It is certain, sire, that twenty thousand livres a-year make a hand-
some sum; but "
"No buts ! Yes or no, is it an honourable indemnity ? "
" Oh ! certes "
"You will be satisfied with it ? Well, that is well. It will he better
to reckon the extra expenses separately ; you can arrange that with Col-
bert. Now, let us pass to something more important."
" But, sire, I told your majesty "
" That you wanted rest, I know you did; only I replied that I would
not al'ow it—I am master, I suppose ? "
"Yes, sire."
" That is well. You were formerly in the way of becoming captain of
the musketeers ? "
" Yes, sire."
"Well, here is your commission signed. I place it in this drawer. The
day on which you shall return from a certain expedition which I have
to confide to you, on that day you may yourself take the commission
from the drawer. D'Artagnan still hesitated, and hung down his head.
" Come, monsieur," said the king, " one would believe, to look at you,
that you did not know that at the court of the most Christian king, the
captain general of the musketeers takes precedence of the marechals of
Prance."
" Sire, I know he does."
" Then I must fancy you do not put faith in my word ?"
" Oh ! sire, never—never dream of such a thing."
" I have wished to prove to you, that you, so good a servant, had lost
a good master; am I anything like the master that will suit you ? "
" I begin to think you are. sire."
"Then, monsieur, you will resume your functions. Your company
is quite disorganised since your departure, and the men go about
drinking and rioting in the cabarets, where they fight, in spite of my
edicts, or those of my father. You will reorganize the service as quickly
as possible." " Yes, sire."
" You will not again quit my person."
"Very well, sire."
"You will march with me to the army, you will encamp round my
tent."
" Then, sire," said d'Artagnan, " if it is only to impose upon me a
service like that, your majesty need not give me twenty thousand livres
a year. I shall not earn them."
" I desire that you shall keep open house; I desire that you should
keep an open table; I desire that my captain of musketeers should be a
personage."
"And I," said d'Artagnan bluntly; "I do not like easily found
money; I like money won! Your majesty gives me an idle trade,
which the first comer would perform for four thousand livres."
Louis XIV. began to laugh. " You are a true Gascon, Monsieur
d'Artagnan, you will draw my heart's secret from me."
Me Sing. 24$
"Bah! has your majesty a secret, then?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Well! then I accept the twenty thousand livres, for I will keep
that secret, and discretion is above all price, in these times. Will
your majesty speak now ?"
" You will get booted, Monsieur d'Artagnan, and mount on horseback."
" Directly, sire."
" Within two days."
" That is well, sire; for I have my affairs to settle before I set out;
particularly if it is likely there should be any blows stirring."
" That may happen."
"We can receive them! But, sire, you have addressed yourself to
the avarice; to the ambition; you have addressed yourself to the heart
of M. d'Artagnan, but you have forgotten one thing."
" What is that ? "
"You have said nothing to his vanity; when shall I be a knight of the
king's orders ? "
" Does that interest you ? "
" Why, yes, sire. My friend Athos is quite covered with orders, and
that dazzles me."
" You shall be a knight of my orders a month after you have taken
your commission of captain."
" Ah! ah!" said the officer, thoughtfully, " after the expedition."
" Precisely."
"Where is your majesty going to send me ? "
"Are you acquainted with Bretagne?"
"No, sire."
" Have you any friends there ? "
"In Bretagne ? No, mafoi!"
" So much the better. Do you know anything about fortifications ?"
" I believe I do, sire," said d'Artagnan, smiling.
" That is to say, you can readily distinguish a fortress from a simple
fortification, such as is allowed to chatelains or vassals ? "
" I distinguish a fort from a rampart as I distinguish a cuirass from a
raised pie-crust, sire. Is that sufficient ? "
" Yes, monsieur. You will set out then."
"Por Bretagne?" "Yes."
"Alone?"
"Absolutely alone. That is to say you must not even take a lackey
with you."
" May I ask your majesty for what reason ? "
"Because, monsieur, it will be necessary to disguise yourself some-
times, as the servant of a good family. Your face is very well known in
Prance, M. d'Artagnan."
" And then, sire ? "
" And then you will travel slowly through Bretagne, and will examine
carefully the fortifications of that country."
" The coasts ? "
"Yes, and the isles; commencing by Belle-Isle-en-Mer."
" Ah! which belongs to M. Pouquet ? " said d'Artagnan, in a serious
tone, raising his intelligent eye to Louis XIY.
" I fancy you are right, monsieur, and that Belle-Isle does belong to
M. Pouquet, in fact."
1 " Then your majesty wishes me to ascertain if Belle-Isle is a good
place?" "Yes."
" If the fortifications of it are new or old ?"-—" Precisely."'
n, 2
244 THE VICOMTE de bbagelonne.
"And if the vassals of M. Fouquet are sufficiently numerous to form
a garrison ?"
" That is what I want to know; you have placed your finger on the
question."
" And if they are not fortifying, sire ? "
"You will travel about Bretagne, listening and judging."
"Then I am a king's spy?" said d'Artagnan, bluntly, twisting his
moustache.
" No, monsieur."
" Your pardon, sire; I spy on your majesty's account."
" You go on a discovery, monsieur-. Would you march at the head
of your musketeers, with your sword in your hand, to observe any spot
whatever, or an enemy's position?"
At this word d'Artagnan started.»
" Do you," continued the king, "imagine yourself to be a spy?"
"No, no," said d'Artagnan, but pensively; "the thing changes its
face when one observes an enemy: one is but a soldier. And if they
are fortifying Belle-Isle?" added he, quickly.
"You will take an exact plan of the fortifications."
" Will they permit me to enter ?"
" That does not concern me, that is your affair. Did you not under-
stand that I reserved for you a supplement of twenty thousand livres
per annum, if you wished for it ?"
" Yes, sire; but if they are not fortifying?"
" You will return quietly, without fatiguing your horse."
" Sire, I am ready."
"You will begin to-morrow by going to monsieur le surintendant's
to take the first quarter of the pension I give you. Do you know
M. Fouquet ?"
"Very little, sire; but I beg your majesty to observe that I don't
think it very urgent that I should know him."
" I ask your pardon, monsieur; for he will refuse you the money I
wish you to take; and it is that refusal I look for."
" Ah!" said d'Artagnan. "Next, sire?"
. " The money being refused, you will go and seek it at M. Colbert's.
A propos, have you a good horse ?"
" An excellent one, sire."
" How much did it cost you ? "
" A hundred and fifty pistoles."
" I will buy it of you. Here is a note for two hundred pistoles."
" But I want my horse for my journey, sire."
"Well!"
"Well, and you take mine from me."
" Not at all. On the contrary, I give it you. Only as it is now mine
and not yours, I am sure you will not spare it."
" Your majesty is in a hurry then ?"
" A great hurry."
" Then what compels me to wait two days ?"
" Reasons known to myself."
" That's a different affair. The horse may make up the two days, in
the eight he has to do ; and then there is the post." ,
" No, no, the post compromises, monsieur d'Artagnan. Be gone, and
do not forget you are mine."
" Sire, it was not I who ever forgot it! At what hour to-mojTOW
shall I take my leave of your majesty ?"
" Where do you lodge ?"
THE HOUSES op M. FOUQUET. 245
" X must henceforward lodge at the Louvre."
" That must not be now—keep your lodgings in the city, I will pay
for them. _ As to your departure, it must take place at night; you must
set out without being seen by any one, or, if you are seen, it must not
be known that you belong to me. A close mouth! monsieur."
" Your majesty spoils all you have said by that single word."
" I asked you were you lodged, for I cannot always send to M. le
comte de la h ere to seek you."
" I lodge with M. Planchet, a grocer, Hue des Lombards, at the sign
of the Pilon d'Or."
" Go out but little, show yourself still less, and await my orders."
" And yet, sire, I must go for the money."
" That is true; but, when going to the surintendance, where so many
people are constantly going, you must mingle with the crowd."
" I want the notes, sire, for the money."
" Here they are." The king signed them, and d'Artagnan looked on,
to assure himself of the regularity.
" That is money," said he, " and money is either read or counted."
" Adieu ! monsieur d'Artagnan," added the king;t! I think you have
perfectly understood me."
" I! I understood that your majesty sends me to Belle-Isle-en-Mer,
that is all."
" To learn?"
" To learn how M. Fouquet's works are going on; that is all."
" Very well: I admit you may be taken."
" And I do not admit it," replied the Gascon boldly.
" I admit that you may be killed," continued the king.
" That is not probable, sire."
" In the first case, you must not speak; in the second, there must be
no paper found upon you to speak."
D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders without ceremony, and took leave
of the king, saying to himself:—"The English shower continues—let us
remain under the spout!"
CHAPTER LIV.
The Houses of M. Fouquet.
Whilst d'Artagnan was returning to Planchet's house, his head
aching and bewildered with all that had happened to him, there was
passing a scene of quite a different character, and which, nevertheless,
is not foreign to the conversation our musqueteer had just had with the
king; only this scene took place out of Paris, in a house possessed by
the surintendant Eouquet in the village of Saint-Mande. The minister
had just arrived at this country-house, followed by his principal clerk,
who carried an enormous portfolio full of papers to be examined, ana
others waiting for signature. As it might be about five o'clock in the
afternoon, the masters had dined: supper was being prepared for twenty
subaltern guests. The surintendant did not stop: on alighting from
his carriage, he, at the same bound sprang through the doorway, tra-
versed the apartments and gained his cabinet, where he declared he
would shut himself up to work, commanding that he should not be dis-
turbed for anything but an order from the king. As soon as this order
was given, Fouquet shut himself up, and two footmen were placed as
246 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
sentinels at his door. Then Fouquet pushed a holt which displaced a
panel that walled up the entrance, and prevented everything that
passed in this apartment from being either seen or heard. But, against
all probability, it was only for the sake of shutting himself up that Fou-
quet shut himself up thus, for he went straight to a bureau, seated him-
self at it, opened the portfolio, and began to make a choice in the enor-
mous mass of papers it contained. It was not more than ten minutes
after he had entered, and taken all the precautions we have described,
when the repeated noise of several slight equal strokes struck his ear,
and appeared to fix all his attention. Fouquet raised his head, turned
his ear, and listened.
The little strokes continued. Then the worker arose with a slight
movement of impatience and walked straight up to a glass behind
which the blows were struck by a hand, or by some invisible me-
chanism. It was a large glass let into a panel. Three other glasses,
exactly similar to it, completed the symmetry of the apartment. No-
thing distinguished that from the others. Without doubt, these reite-
rated little strokes were a signal; for, at the- moment, Fouquet ap-
proached the glass listening; the same noise was renewed, and in the
same measure. "Oh! oh!" murmured the intendant, with surprise,
"who is yonder? I did not expect anybody to day." And, without
doubt, to respond to that signal, he pulled a gilded nail in that same
glass, and shook it thrice. Then returning to his place, and seating
himself again. " Ma foi! Let them wait," said he. And plunging
again into the ocean of papers unrolled before him, he appeared to
think of nothing any longer but work. In fact, with incredible rapidity
and marvellous lucidity, Fouquet deciphered the largest papers, and
most complicated writings, correcting them, annotating them with a
pen moved as if by a fever, and the work melting under his hands, sig-
natures, figures, references, became multiplied as if ten clerks—that is
to say, a hundred fingers and ten brains had performed the duties,
instead of the five fingers and single brain of this man. From time to
time, only, Fouquet, absorbed by his work, raised his head to cast a
furtive glance upon a clock placed before him. The reason for this was,
Fouquet set himself a task, and when this task was once set, in one
hour's work he, by himself, did what another would not have accom-
plished in a day; always certain, consequently, provided he was not
disturbed, to arrive at the end in the time his devouring activity had
fixed. But in the midst of his ardent labour, the dry strokes upon the
little bell, placed behind the glass, sounded again once more, hasty, and,
consequently, more urgent.
" The lady appears to begin to be impatient," said Fouquet. " Humph!
a calm! That must be the comtesse; but, no, the comtesse is gone to
Bembouillet for three days. The presidente, then? Oh! no, the
presidente would not assume such grand airs; she would ring very
humbly, then she would wait my good pleasure. The clearest of all is,
that I may not know who it can be, but that I know who it cannot be.
And since it is not you, marquise, since it cannot be you, deuce take the
rest!" And he went on with his work in spite of the reiterated appeals
of the bell. At the end of a quarter of an hour, however, impatience pre-
vailed over Fouquet in his turn: he might be said to burn, rather than to
complete the rest of his work; he thrust his papers into his portfolio,
and giving a glance at the mirror, whilst the taps continued to be faster
than ever. " Oh! oh!" said he, " whence comes all this racket ? What
has happened, and who can the Ariadne be who expects me so impq-
tiently, Let us see!"
THE HOUSES OP M. POUQUET. 247
He then applied the tip of his finger to the nail parallel to the one he
had drawn. Immediately the glass moved like the fold of a door and
discovered a secret closet, rather deep, in which the surintendant dis-
appeared as if going into a vast box. When there, he touched another
spring, which opened not a board, but a block of the wall, and he went
out by that opening, leaving the door to shut of itself. Then Fouquet
descended about a score steps which sank, winding, underground, and
came to a long, paved, subterranean passage, lighted by imperceptible
loop-holes. The walls of this vault were covered with slabs, or tiles, and
the floor with carpeting. This passage was under the street itself
which separated Fouquet's house from the Park of Vincennes. At the
end of the passage ascended a winding staircase parallel with that by
which Fouquet had entered. He mounted these other stairs, entered
by means of a spring placed in a closet similar to that in his cabinet,
and from this closet into a chamber perfectly empty, although furnished
with the utmost elegance. As soon as he entered, he examined care-
fully whether the glass closed without leaving any trace, and, doubtless,
satisfied with his observation, he opened by means of a small gold key,
the triple fastenings of a door in front of him. This time the door
opened upon a handsome cabinet, sumptuously furnished, in which was
seated upon cushions, a lady of surpassing beauty, who, at the sound of
the lock, sprang towards Fouquet. "Ah! good Heavens!" cried the
latter, starting back with astonishment. "Madame la Marquise de
Belliere, you here ?"
" Tes," murmured la marquise. " Yes; it is I, monsieur."
"Marquise! dear marquise!" added Fouquet, ready to prostrate
himself. " Ah! my God! how did you come here ? And I, to keep you
waiting!"
"A long time, monsieur; yes, a very long time!"
"I am happy in thinking this waiting has appeared long to you,
marquise?"
" Oh! an eternity, monsieur; oh! I rang more than twenty times. Did
you not hear me?"
" Marquise, you are pale, you tremble."
"Did you not hear, then, that you were summoned ?"
" Oh, yes; I heard plainly enough, madame; but I could not come.
After your rigour and your refusal, how could I dream it was you ? If
I could have had any suspicion of the happiness that awaited me, believe
me, madame, I would have quitted every thing to fall at your feet, as I
do at this moment."
" Are we quite alone, monsieur ? " asked the marquise, looking round
the room.
" Oh, yes, madame, I can assure you of that."
" Really ?" said the marquise, in a melancholy tone.
" You sigh," said Fouquet.
"What mysteries! what precautions!" said the marquise, with a
slight bitterness of expression; " and how evident it is that you fear the
least suspicion of your amours to escape."
" Would you prefer their being made public ?"
" Oh, no; you act like a delicate man," said the marquise, smiling.
"Come, dear marquise, punish me not with reproaches, I implore
you."
" Reproaches ! Have I a right to make you any ?"
"No, unfortunately, no; but tell me, you, who during a year I have
loved without return or hope "
You are mistaken—without hope it is true, but not without return."
248 THE YICOMTE EE BRAGEEONNE.
" What! for me, to my love! there is but one proof, and that proof I
still want."
" 1 am come to bring it to you, monsieur."
Fouquet wished to clasp her in his arms, but she disengaged herself
with a gesture.
" You persist in deceiving yourself, monsieur, and never will accept of
me the only thing I am willing to give you—devotion."
"Ah, then, you do not love me ? Devotion is but a virtue, love is a
passion."
"Listen to me, I implore you: I should not have come hither with-
out a serious motive: you are well assured of that, are you not ?"
" The motive is of very little consequence, so that you are but here—so
that I see you—so that I speak to you !"
" You are right; the principal thing is that I am here without any
one having seen me, and that I can speak to you." Fouquet sank on
his knees before her. " Speak! speak, madame!" said he, " I listen to
you."
The marquise looked at Fouquet, on his knees at her feet, and there
was in the looks of the woman a strange mixture of love and melancholy.
"Oh !" at length murmured she, "would that I were she who has the
right of seeing you every minute, of speaking to you every instant!
Would that I were she who might watch over you, she who would have
no need of mysterious springs to summon and cause to appear, like a
sylph, the man she loves, to look at him for an hour, and then see him
disappear in the darkness of a mystery, still more strange at his going
out than it had been at his coming in. Oh! that would be to be a
happy woman!"
" Do you happen, marquise," said Fouquet, smiling, " to be speaking
of my wife?"
" Yes, certainly, of her I spoke."
" Well, you need not envy her lot, marquise; of all the women with
whom I am in relation, Madame Fouquet is the one I see the least of,
and who has the least intercourse with me."
" At least, monsieur, she is not reduced to place, as I have done, her
hand upon the ornament of a glass to call you to her; at least you do
not reply to her by the mysterious, frightful sound of a bell, the spring
of which comes from I don't know where; at least you have not for-
bidden her to endeavour to discover the secret of these communications
under pain of breaking off for ever your connexions with her, as you
have forbidden all who have come here before me, and all who shall
come after me."
"Dear marquise, how unjust you are, and how little do you know
what you are doing in thus exclaiming against mystery; it is with mys-
tery alone we can love without trouble; it is with love without trouble
alone that we can be happy. But let us return to ourselves, to that de-
votion of which you were speaking, or rather let me labour under a
pleasing delusion, and believe that this devotion is love."
" Just now," repeated the marquise, passing over her eyes a hand that
might have been a model for the graceful contours of antiquity; "just
now I was prepared to speak, my ideas were clear, bold, now I am quite'
confused, quite troubled; I fear I bring you bad news."
" If it is to that bad news I owe your presence, marquise, welcome be
that bad news! or rather, marquise, since you allow that I am not quite
indifferent to you, let me hear nothing of the bad news, but speak of
yourself."
" No, no, on the contrary, demand it of me; require me to tell it to
THE HOUSES OP M. EOUQUET. 249
you instantly, and not to allow myself to be turned aside by any feeling
whatever. Eouquet, my friend! it is of immense importance!"
" You astonish me, marquise: I will -even say you almost frighten
me. You, so serious, so collected; you who know the world we live in
so well. Is it then important ?"
" Oh! very important."
" In the first place, how did you come here ?" .
"You shall know that presently; but first to something of more
consequence."
"Speak, marquise, speak! I implore ypu, have pity on my im-
patience."
" Do you know that Colbert is made intendant of the finances ?"
" Bah! Colbert, little Colbert."
"Yes, Colbert, little Colbert."
" Mazarin's factotum ? "
" The same."
"Well! what do you see so terrific in that, dear marquise?" little
Colbert is intendant; that is astonishing, I confess, but is hot terrific."
" Do you think the king has given, without a pressing motive, such a
place to one you call a little culstre 1"
"In the first place, is it positively true that the king has given it to
him?"
" It is so said."
"Ay, but who says so ?'-
"Everybody."
"Everybody, that's nobody; mention some one likely to be well
informed who says so."
" Madame Yanel."
" Ah! now you begin to frighten me in earnest," said Eouquet,
laughing; " if any one is well informed, or ought to be well informed, it
is the person you name."
"Do not speak ill of poor Marguerite, Monsieur Eouquet, for she
still loves you."
" Bah! indeed ? That is scarcely credible. I thought little Colbert,
as you said just now, had passed over that love, and left the impression
upon it of a spot of ink or a stain of grease."
" Eouquet! Eouquet! Is this the way you always are for the poor
women you desert ? "
" Why, you surely are not going to undertake the defence of Madame
Yanel ? "
" Y es, I will undertake it; for, I repeat, she loves you still, and the
proof is she saves you."
" By your interposition, marquise; that is very cunning on her part.
No angel could be more agreeable to me, or could lead me more cer-
tainly to salvation. But, let me ask you, do you know Marguerite ?"
" She was my convent friend."
" And you say that she has informed you that Monsieur Colbert was
named intendant?"
" Yes, she did."
"Well, enlighten me, marquise; granted Monsieur Colbert is inten-
dant, so be it. In what can an intendant, that is to say my subor-
dinate, my clerk, give me umbrage or injure me, even were he Monsieur
Colbert?"
" You do not reflect, monsieur, apparently," replied the marquise.
" Upon what ?"
"This: that Monsieur Colbert hates you."
250 the vicomte de beagelonne.
"Hatesme!" cried Fouquet; "Good heavens! marquise, whence do
you come ? where can you live ? Hate me! why all the world hates
me. he as others do."
He more than others."
" More than others—let him."
" He is ambitious."
" Who is not, marquise ?"
" Yes, but with him ambition has no bounds."
" I am quite aware of that, since he made it a point to succeed me
with Madame Vanel."
"And obtained his end: look to that."
" Do you mean to say he has the presumption to hope to pass from
intendant to surintendant ? "
" Have you not yourself already had the same fear ?"
"Oh! oh!" said Fouquet, "to succeed with Madame Yanel is one
thing, to succeed me with the king is another. France is not to be
purchased so easily as the wife of a maitre des comptes"
"Eh! monsieur, everything is to be bought; if not by gold, by
intrigue."
"Nobody knows to the contrary better than you, madame, you to
whom I have offered millions."
" Instead of millions, Fouquet, you should have offered me a true,
only, and boundless love: I might have accepted that. So you see,
still, everything is to be bought, if not in one way, by another."
" So Colbert, in your opinion, is in a fair way of bargaining for my
place of surintendant. Make yourself easy on that head, my dear mar-
quise, he is not yet rich enough to purchase it."
" But if he should rob you of it ?"
"Ah! that is another thing. Unfortunately, before he can (reach
me; that is to say, the body of the place, he must destroy, must make
a breach in the advanced works, and I am devilishly well fortified,
marquise."
" What you call your advanced works are your creatures, are they
not—your friends ?"
" Exactly so."
" And is M. d'Eymeris one of your creatures ? "
" Yes, he is."
" Is M. Lyodot one of your friends?"
" Certainly."
" M. de Vanin?"
" M. de Vanin! ah! they may do what they like with him, but——"
" But "
" But they must not touch the others ?"
" Well, if you are anxious they should not touch MM. d'Eymeris and
Lyodot, it is time to look about you."
" Who threatens them ?"
" Will you listen to me, now ?"
" Attentively, marquise."
" Without interrupting me ?" " Speak."
" Well, this morning Marguerite sent for me."
" And what did she want with you ?"
"' I dare not see M. Fouquet myself,' said she."
" Bah! why should she think I would reproach her? Poor woman,
she vastly deceives herself."
"' See him yourself,' said she, ' and tell him to beware of M. Col-
bert.'"
THE HOUSES OF M. FOUQUET. ,251
" "What! she warned me to beware of her lover ?"
" I have told you she still loves you."
" Go on, marquise."
" ' M. Colbert,' she added, ' came to me two hours ago, to inform me
he was appointed intendant.'"
" I have already told you, marquise, that M. Colbert would only he
the more in my power for that."
" Yes, but that is not all: Marguerite is intimate, as you know, with
Madame d'Eymeris and Madame Lyodot."
" I know she is."
" Well, M. Colbert put many questions to her relative to the fortunes
of those two gentlemen, and as to the devotion they had for you."
" Oh, as to those two, I can answer for them; they must be killed
before they can cease to be mine."
" Then, as Madame Yanel was obliged to quit M. Colbert for an
instant to receive a visitor, and as M. Colbert is industrious, scarcely
was the new intendant left alone, before he took a pencil from his
pocket, and, as there was paper on the table, began, to make pencil notes."
" Notes concerning d'Eymeris and Lyodot ?"
" Exactly."
" I should like to know what those notes were about."
" And that is just what I have brought you."
"Madame Yanel has taken Colbert's notes and sent them to me ?"
""No; but by a chance which resembles a miracle, she has a duplicate
of those notes."
" How could she get that?"
" Listen: I told you that Colbert found some paper on the table."
" Yes."
" That he had taken a pencil from his pocket." " Yes."
" And had written upon that paper." " Yes."
" Well, this pencil was a lead pencil, consequently hard; so, it marked
in black upon the first sheet, and in white upon the second." " Go
on."
" Colbert, when tearing off the first sheet, took no notice of the
second." " Well?"
" Well, on the second was to be read what had been written on the
first; Madame Yanel read it, and sent for me." " Ay, ay ?"
" Then, when she was assured I was your devoted friend, she gave
me the paper, and told me the secret of that house."
" Ana this paper ? "' said Fouquet, in some degree of agitation.
" Here it is, monsieur,—read it," said the marquise. Fouquet read:
—" Names of the farmers of the revenue to be condemned by the
Chamber of Justice: d'Eymeris, friend of M. F.; Lyodot, friend of
M. F.; de Yanin, indif."
" D'Eymeris and Lyodot!" cried Fouquet, reading the paper eagerly
again.
" Friends of M. F.," pointed the marquise with her finger.
" But what is the meaning of these words: ' To be condemned by the
Chamber of Justice ?'"
" Dame !" said the marquise, " that is clear enough, I think. Be-
sides, that is not all. Bead on, read on;" and Fouquet continued,—
" The two first to death, the third to be dismissed, with MM. d'Haute-
mont and de la- Yalette, who will only have their property con-
fiscated."
"Great God!" cried Fouquet, "to death, to death! Lyodot and
d'Eymeris, But even if the Chamber of Justice should condemn them
252 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
to death, the king will never ratify their condemnation, and they cannot
be executed without the king's signature."
" The king has made M. Colbert intendant."
" Oh!" cried Fouquet, as if he caught a glimpse of a yawning abyss
beneath his feet, "impossible! impossible! But who passed a pencil
over the marks made by Colbert ? "
" I did. I was afraid the first would be effaced."
" Oh! I will know all."
" You will know nothing, monsieur; you despise your enemy too
much for that."
" Pardon me, my dear marquise; excuse me; yes, M. Colbert is my
enemy; I believe him to be so; yes, M. Colbert is a man to be dreaded,
I admit. But I! I have time, and as you are here, as you have assured
me of your devotion, as you have allowed me to hope for your love, as
we are alone "
" I came here to save you. Monsieur Fouquet, and not to ruin
myself," said the marquise, rising—" therefore, beware ! "
" Marquise, in truth you terrify yourself too much, at least, unless
this terror is but a pretext "
. " He has a deep heart, that M. Colbert: beware !"
Fouquet, in his turn, drew himself up. " And I ? " asked he.
" And you, you have only a noble heart. Beware ! beware!—
« So ? "
" I have done what I ought, my friend, at the risk of my reputation.
Adieu!"
" Not adieu, au revoir."
" Perhaps," said the marquise, giving her hand to Fouquet to kiss,
and walking towards the door with so firm a step, that he did not
dare to bar her passage. As to Fouquet, he retook, with his head hang-
ing down and a cloud over his brow, the path of the subterranean
passage along which ran the metal wires that communicated from one
house to the other, transmitting, through two glasses, the wishes and
signals of two correspondents.
CHAPTER LY.
The Abbe Fouquet.
Fouquet hastened back to his apartment by the subterranean pas-
sage, and immediately closed the mirror with the spring. He was
scarcely in his closet, when he heard some one knocking violently at the
door, and a well-known voice crying:—" Open the door,, monseigneur,
I entreat you open the door !" Fouquet quickly restored a little order
to everything which might reveal either his absence or his agitation; he
spread his papers over the desk, took up a pen, and, to gain time, said,
through the closed door,—" Who are you ? "
" What, monseigneur, do you not know me ? " replied the voice.
" Yes, yes," said Fouquet to himself, " yes, my friend, I know you
well enough." And then, aloud: " Is it not Gourville ? "
" Why, yes, monseigneur."
Fouquet arose, cast a last look at one of his glasses, went to the
door, pushed the bolt, and Gourville entered. " Ah, monseigneur!
monseigneur !" cried he, " what cruelty !"
" In what ? "
THE ABBE BOUQUET. 253
" I have been a quarter of an hour imploring you to open the door*
and you would not even answer me."
" Once for all, you know that I will not be disturbed when I am busy.
Now, although I might make you an exception, Gourville, I insist upon
iny orders being respected by others."
" Monseigneur, at this moment, orders, doors, bolts, locks, and walls,
I could have broken, overthrown, and split them all!"
" Ah! ah! it relates to some great event, then ? " asked Fouquet.
" Oh ! I assure you it does, monseigneur," replied Gourville.
"And what is this event?" said Fouquet, a little troubled by the
evident agitation of his most intimate confidant.
" There is a secret chamber of justice instituted, monseigneur."
" I know there is, but do the members meet, Gourville ? "
"They not only meet,but they have passed a sentence, monseigneur."
" A sentence ? " said the surintendant, with a shudder and pallor he
Could not conceal. " A sentence! and against whom ? "
" Against two of your friends."
" Lyodot and d'Eymeris, do you mean ? But what sort of a sen-
tence?"
" Sentence of death."
"Passed ? Oh! you must be mistaken, Gourville; that is impossible."
"Here is a copy of the sentence which the king is to sign to-day, if he
has not already signed it."
Fouquet seized the paper eagerly, read it, and returned it to Gourville.
" The king will never sign that," said he. Gourville shook his head.
" Monseigneur, M. Colbert is a bold councillor, do not trust to that."
" Monsieur Colbert again ! " cried Fouquet. " How is it that tbat
name rises upon all occasions to torment my ears, during the last two
or three days? You make so trifling a subject of too much impor-
tance, Gourville. Let M. Colbert appear, I will face him; let him raise
his head, and I will crush him; but you understand, there must be an
asperity upon which my look may fall, there must be a surface upon
which my feet may be placed."
" Patience, monseigneur; for you do not know what Colbert is—study
him quickly; it is with this dark financier as it is with meteors, which
the eye never sees completely before their disastrous invasion; when we
feel them we are dead."
"Oh! Gourville, that is going too far," replied Fouquet, smiling;
"allow me, my friend, not to be so easily frightened; M. Colbert a
meteor! Corbleu, we confront the meteor. Let us see acts, and not
words. "What has he done ? "
" He has ordered two gibbets of the executioner of Paris," answered
Gourville.
Fouquet raised his head, and a flash seemed to strike his eyes. " Are
you sure of what you say ? " cried he.
" Here is the proof, monseigneur." And Gourville held out to the
surintendant a note communicated by one of the secretaries of the Hotel
de Ville, who was one of Fouquet's creatures.
"Yes, that is true," murmured the minister; "the scaffold may be
prepared, but the king has not signed; Gourville, the king will not sign."
" I will soon know," said Gourville.
" How?"
" If the king has signed, the gibbets will be sent this evening to the
Hotel de Ville, in order to be got up and ready by to-morrow morning."
"Oh! no, no!" cried the surintendant, once again; "you are all
deceived, and deceive me in my turn; Lyodot came to see me only the
254 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGEfiONNE.
day before yesterday; only tbree days ago I received a present of some
Syracuse wine from poor d'Eymeris."
" What does that prove ?." replied Gourville," except that the chamber
of justice has been secretly assembled, has deliberated in the absence of
the accused, and that the whole proceeding was complete when they
were arrested."
" What! are they, then, arrested ? "
'"No doubt they are."
" But where, when, how have they been arrested ? "
"Lyodot, yesterday, at daybreak; d'Eymeris, the day before yester-
day, in the evening, as he was returning from the house of his mistress:
their disappearance had disturbed nobody; but at length M. Colbert,
all at once raised the mask, and caused the affair to be published; it is
being cried by sound of trumpet, at this moment in Paris, and, in truth,
monseigneur, there is scarcely anybody but yourself ignorant of the
event." Eouquet began to walk about his chamber with an uneasiness
that became more ana more serious.
" What do you decide upon, monseigneur ? " said Gourville.
" If it really were as you say, I would go to the king," cried Eouquet.
" But as I go to the Louvre, 1 will pass by the Hotel de Ville. We
shall see if the sentence is signed."
" Incredulity ! thou art the pest of all great minds," said Gourville,
shrugging his shoulders.
" Gourville!"
"Yes," continued he, "and, incredulity! thou ruinest them, as con-
tagion destroys the most robust health; that is to say, in an instant."
" Let us go," cried .Eouquet; " desire the door to be opened, Gour-
ville."
" Be cautious," said the latter, " the abbe de Eouquet is there."
" Ah! my brother," replied Eouquet, in a tone of annoyance; " he is
there, is he ? he knows all the ill news, then, and is rejoiced to bring it
to me, as usual. The devil! if my brother is there, my affairs are bad,
Gourville; why did you not tell me that sooner, I should have been the
more readily convinced."
" Monseigneur calumniates him," said Gourville, laughing; " if he is
come, it is not with a bad intention."
"What, do you excuse him?" cried Eouquet; "a fellow without a
heart, without ideas: a devourer of wealth."
" He knows you are rich."
" And would ruin me."
" No, but he would like to have your purse. That is all."
"Enough! enough! A hundred thousand crowns per month, during
two years. Corbleu! it is I that pay, Gourville, and I know my figures."
Gourville laughed in a silent, sly manner. " Yes, yes, you mean to say
it is the king pays," said the surintendant. "Ah, Gourville, that Is a
vile joke; this is not the place."
" Monseigneur, do not be angry."
" Well, then, send away the Abbe Eouquet,' I have not a sou." Gour-
ville made a step towards the door. " He has been a month without
seeing me," continued Eouquet, "why could he not be two months?"
" Because he repents of living in bad company," said Gourville, " and
prefers you to all his bandits."
"Thanks for the preference! You make a strange advocate, Gour-
ville, to-day—the advocate of the Abbe Eouquet!"
" Eh! but every thing and every man has a good side—their useful
side, monseigneur."
THE ABBE FOUQUET. 255
" The bandits whom the abbe keeps in pay and drink have their use-
ful side, have they ? Prove that, if you please."
" Let the circumstance arise, monseigneur, and you will be very glad
to have these bandits under your hand."
"You advise me, then, to be reconciled to the abbd?" said Fouquet,
ironically.
"I advise you, monseigneur, not to quarrel with a hundred or a
hundred and twenty loose fellows, who, by putting their rapiers end to
end, would form a cordon of steel capable of surrounding three thousand
men."
Fouquet darted a searching glance at Gourville, and passing before
him,—"That is all very well; let M. l'Abbe Fouquet be introduced,"
said he to the footman. "You are right, Gourville." Two minutes
after, the Abbe Fouquet appeared in the doorway, with profound rever-
ences. He was a man of from forty to forty-five years of age, half church-
man half soldier,—a spadassin grafted upon an abbe; upon seeing that
he had not a sword by his side, you might be sure he had pistols.
Fouquet saluted him more as an elder brother than as a minister.
" What can I do to serve you, monsieur Pabbe ?" said he.
" Oh! oh! how you speak that to me, brother!"
" I speak it like a man who is in a hurry, monsieur."
The abbe looked maliciously at Gourville, and anxiously at Fouquet,
and said," I have three hundred pistoles to pay to M. de Bregi this
evening. A play debt, a sacred debt."
"Next," said Fouquet bravely, for he comprehended that the Abbe
Fouquet would not have disturbed him for such a want.
" A thousand to my butcher, who will supply no more."
"Next?"
" Twelve hundred to my tailor," continued the abbd; " the fellow has
made me take back seven suits of my people's, which compromises my
liveries, and my mistress talks of replacing me by a farmer of the
revenue, which would be a humiliation for the church."
"What else is there?" said Fouquet.
"You will please to remark," said the abbe humbly, "that I have
asked nothing for myself."
" That is delicate, monsieur," replied Fouquet; " so, as you see, I wait."
" And I ask nothing, oh! no,—it is not for want of need, though, I
assure you."
The minister reflected a minute. " Twelve hundred pistoles to the
tailor; that seems a great deal for clothes," said he.
" I maintain a hundred men," said the abbe, proudly; " that is a
charge, I believe."
" Why a hundred men ?" said Fouquet. " Are you a Richelieu or a
Mazarin, to require a hundred men as a guard ? What use do you
make of these hundred men ?—speak—say."
" And do you ask me that ?" cried the Abbe Fouquet; " ah! how can
you put such a question,—why I maintain a hundred men ? Ah!"
" Why, yes, I do put that question to you. What have you to do
with a hundred men ?—answer."
" Ingrate!" continued the abbe, more and more affected.
" Explain yourself."
" Why, monsieur the surintendant, I only want one valet-cle-chambre,
for my part, and even if I were alone, could help myself very well; but
you, you who have so many enemies—a hundred men are not enough
for me to defend you with. A hundred men !—you ought to have ten
thousand. I maintain, then, these men in order that in public places,
256 THE VIc5SfF1)E BBAGELONNE.
in assemblies, no voice may be raised against you; and without them,
monsieur, you would be loaded with imprecations, you would be torn to
pieces, you would not last a week, no, not a week; do you understand ?"
" Ah! I did not know you were my champion to such an extent,
monsieur l'abbe."
"You doubt it!" cried the abbe. "Listen then to what happened,
not longer ago than yesterday, rue de la Hochette. A man was cheap-
ening a fowl."
" Well, how could that injure me, abbe ? "
" This way. The fowl was not fat. The purchaser refused to give
eighteen sous for it, saying that he could not afford eighteen sous for the
skin of a fowl, of which M. Pouquet had had all the fat."
"Go on."
" The joke caused a deal of laughter," continued the abbd; " laughter
at your expense, death to all the devils! and the canaille were delighted.
The joker added, ' give me a fowl fed by M. Colbert, if you like ! and I
will pay all you ask/ And immediately there was a clapping of
hands. A frightful scandal! you understand; a scandal which forces a
brother to hide his face."
Pouquet coloured. " And you veiled it ? " said the surintendant.
"No, for it so happened I had one of my men in the crowd; a new
recruit from the provinces, one M. de Menneville, whom I like very
much. He made his way through the press, saying to the joker: ' Mille
larbes ! Monsieur the false joker; here's a thrust for Colbert!' ' And
one for Pouquet,' replied the joker. Upon which they drew, in front
of the cook's-shop, with a hedge of the curious round them, and five
hundred as curious at the windows."
" Well ? " said Pouquet.
"Well, monsieur, my Menneville spitted the joker, to the great asto-
nishment of the spectators, and said to the cook '1 Take this goose, my
friend, it is fatter than your fowl.' That is the way, monsieur," ended
the abbe triumphantly, " in which I spend my revenues; I maintain
the honour of the family, monsieur." Pouquet hung his head. " And
I have a hundred as good as he," continued the abbe.
" Very well," said Pouquet," give the account to Gourville, and remain
here this evening."
" Shall we have supper ? "
"Yes, there will be supper."
" But the chest is closed."
" Gourville will open it for you. Leave us,'monsieur l'abbe, leave us."
" Then we are friends ? " said the abbe with a bow.
" Oh yes, friends. Come, Gourville."
" Are you going out ? You will not sup, then?"
" I shall be back in an hour; be contented, abbe." Then, aside to
Gourville—"Let them put to my English horses," said he, "and direct
the coachman to stop at the Hotel deville de Paris."
the wine of m. de la FONTAINE.
257
CHAPTER LVL
The Wine of M. de la Fontaine.
Carriages were already bringing the guests of Fouquet to Saint-
Mande; already the whole house was getting warm with the preparations
for supper, when the surintendant launched his fleet horses upon the road
;to Paris, and going by the quays, in order to meet with fewer people on
his route, reached the Hotel de Ville. It wanted a quarter to eight.
Fouquet alighted at the corner of the rue de Long-Pont, and, on foot,
directed his course towards the Place de Greve, accompanied by
Gourville. At the turning of the Place, they saw a man dressed in
black and violet, of good mien, who was preparing to get into a hired
carriage, and told the coachman to stop at Vincennes. He had before
him a large hamper fllled with bottles, which he had just purchased at
the cabaret with the sign of " L'Image-de-Notre-Dame."
"Eh, but! that is Vatel! my maitre d'hotel!" said Fouquet to
Gourville.
" Yes, monseigneur," replied the latter.
"What can he have been doing at the sign of L'Image-de-Notre-
Dame ? "
" Buying wine, no doubt."
"What! buy wine for me, at a cabaret!" said Fouquet. " My cellar
then must be in a miserable condition! " and he advanced towards the
maitre d'hotel, who was arranging his bottles in the carriage, with the
most minute care.
" Sola,! Yatel," said he in the voice of a master.
"Take care, monseigneur !" said Gourville, "you will be recognized."
" Yery well! Of what consequence ?—Yatel!" The man dressed in
black and violet turned round. He had a good and mild countenance,
without expression—a mathematician, less the pride. A certain fire
sparkled in the eyes of this personage, a smile rather sly played round
his lips; but the observer might soon have remarked that this fire and
this smile applied to nothing, enlightened nothing. Vatel laughed like
an absent man, and amused himself like a child. At the sound of his
master's voice, he turned round, exclaiming: " Oh! monseigneur ! "
" Yes, it is I. What the devil are you doing here, Yatel ? Wine!
You are buying wine at a cabaret in the Place de Greve!"
" But, monseigneur," said Yatel, quietly, after having darted a hostile
glance at Gourville, " why am I interfered with here ? Is my cellar kept
in bad order ? "
" No, certes, Yatel, no; but "
"But what?" replied Yatel. Gourville touched the elbow of Fouquet.
"Don't be angry, Yatel; I thought my cellar—your cellar—sutfici-
ently well stocked for us to be able to dispense with having recourse to
the cellar of L'Image-de-Notre-Dame."
"Eh, monsieur," said Yatel, sinking from monseigneur to monsieur
with a degree of disdain; " your cellar is so well stocked that when cer-
tain of your guests dine with you they have nothing to drink."
Fouquet, in great surprise, looked at Gourville. What do you mean
by that ? "
" I mean that your butler had not wines for all tastes, monsieur; and
that M. de la Fontaine, M. Pellisson, and M. Conrart, do not drink when
s
258 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELOlTNE,
they come to the house—those messieurs do not like strong wine.
What is to be done, then ? "
"Well, and so ?"
" Well, then, I have found here a vin de Joigny, which they like. I
know they come once a week to drink at the Image-de-Notre-Dame.
That is the reason why I make this provision."
Fouquet had no more to say, he was almost affected. Vatel, on his
part, had much more to say, without doubt, and it was plain he was
getting warm. " It is just as if you would reproach me, monseigneur, for
going to the Rue Planche Milbray, to fetch, myself, the cider M. Loret
drinks when he comes to dine at your house."
" Loret drinks cider at my house!" cried Fouquet, laughing.
" Certainly he does, monsieur, and that is the reason why he dines
there with pleasure."
"Vatel," cried Fouquefc, pressing the hand of his maitre d'hotel,
"you are a man! I thank you, Vatel, for having understood that at
my house M. de la Fontaine, M. Conrart, and M. Loret, are as great as
dukes and peers, as great as princes, greater than myself. Vatel, you
are a good servant, and I double your salary."
Vatel did not even thank his master, he merely shrugged his shoulders
a little, murmuring this superb sentiment: " To be thanked for having
done one's duty is humiliating."
" He is right," said Gourville, as he drew Fouquet's attention, by a
gesture, to another point. He showed him a low-built carriage, drawn
by two horses, upon which rocked two strong gibbets, bound together
back to back by chains, whilst an archer, seated upon the thickness of
the post, underwent, as well as he could, with his head cast down, the
comments of a hundred vagabonds, who guessed the destination of the
gibbets, and escorted them to the Hotel de Ville. Fouquet started.
" It is decided, you see," said Gourville.
" But it is not done," replied Fouquet.
" Oh, do not flatter yourself, monseigneur; if they have thus lulled
your friendship and suspicions—if things have gone so far, you will undo
nothing."
" But I have not ratified."
" M. de Lyonne has ratified for you."
" I will go to the Louvre."
" Oh, no, you will not."
"Would you advise such baseness?" cried Fouquet, "would you
advise me to abandon my friends ? would you advise me, whilst able to
fight, to throw the arms I have in my hand to the ground ?"
" I do not advise you to do anything of the kind, monseigneur. Are
you in a position to quit the post of surintendant at this moment ?"
"No."
. " Well, if the king wishes to displace you "
" He will displace me absent as well as present."
"Yes, but you will never have insulted nim."
"Yes, but I shall have been base; now, I am hot willing that my
friends should die; and they shall not die !"
" For that it is necessary you should go to the Louvre."
" Gourville!"
" Beware! once at the Louvre, where you will be forced to defend
your friends openly, that is to say, to make a profession of faith; or you
will be forced to abandon them irrevocably."
" Never!"
" Pardon methe king will propose the alternative to you, rigor-
ously, or else you will propose it to him yourself."
IfHE GALLERY OF SAINT-MANDE. 259
" That is true."
" That is the reason why conflict must be avoided. Let us return to
Saint-Mande, monseigneur."
" Gourville, I will not stir from this place, where the crime is to be
carried out, where my disgrace is to be accomplished; I will not stir, I
say, till I hav# found some means of combating my enemies."
" Monseigneur," replied Gourville, " you would excite my pity, if I
did not know you for one of the great spirits of this world. You possess
a hundred and fifty millions, you are equal to the king in position,
and a hundred and fifty millions his superior in money. M. Colbert
has not even had the wit to have the testament of Mazarin accepted.
Now when a man is the richest person in a kingdom, and will take the
trouble to spend the money, if that be done which he does not like, it
is because he is a poor man. Let us return to Saint-Mande, I say."
" To Consult with Pellisson ?—we will."
"No, monseigneur; to count your money."
" So be it," said Pouquet, with his eyes inflamed; — " yes, yes, to
Saint-Mande !" He got into his carriage again, and Gourville with
him. Upon their road, at the end of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, they
overtook the humble equipage of Yatel, who was quietly conveying
along his vin de Joigny. The black horses, going at a swift pace,
alarmed, as they passed, the timid hack of the mattre d'hotel, who,
putting his head out at the window, cried, in a fright, " Take care of
my bottles!"
CHAPTER LY1I.
The Gallery of Saint-Mande.
Fifty persons were waiting for the surintendant. He did not even
take the time to place himself in the hands of his valet de chambre for
a minute, but from the perron went straight into the premier salon.
There his friends were assembled in full chat. The intendant was
about to order supper to be served, but, above all, the Abbe Pouquet
watched the return of his brother, and was endeavouring to do the
honours of the house in his absence. Upon the arrival of the surin-
tendant, a murmur of joy and affection was heard: Pouquet, full of
affability, good humour, and munificence, was beloved by his poets, his
artists, and his men of business. His brow, upon which his little court
read, as upon that of a god, all the movements of his soul, and thence
drew rules of conduct,—his brow, upon which affairs of state never im-
pressed a wrinkle, was this evening paler than usual, and more than
one friendly eye remarked that paleness. Pouquet placed himself at
the head of the table, and presided gaily during supper. He recounted
Yatel's expedition to La Fontaine; he related the history of Menne-
ville and the thin fowl to Pellisson, in such a manner, that all the table
heard it. A tempest of laughter and jokes ensued, which was only
checked by a serious and even sad gesture from Pellisson. The Abbe
Pouquet, not being able to comprehend why his brother should have
led the conversation in that direction, listened with all his ears, and
sought in the countenance of Gourville, or in that of his brother, an
explanation which nothing afforded him. Pellisson took up the matter:
—" Did they mention M. Colbert, then ? " said he.
" Why not ? " replied Pouquet: " if true, as it is said to be, that the
s 2
£60 THE VICOMTE HE BItAGELONNE.
king has made him his intendant ?" Scarcely had Fouquet uttered
these words, with a marked intention, than an explosion broke forth
among the guests.
" The miser!" said one.
" The mean, pitiful fellow!" said another.
" The hypocrite !" said a third.
Pellisson exchanged a meaning look with Fouquet. •'Messieurs,"
said he, "in truth we are abusing a man whom no one knows: it is
neither charitable nor reasonable; and here is monsieur le surin-
tendant, who, I am sure, agrees with me."
"Entirely," replied Fouquet. "Let the fat fowls of M. Colbert
alone; our business to-day is with thefaisans truffes of M. Vatel." This
speech stopped the dark cloud which was beginning to throw its shade
over the guests. Gourville succeeded so well in animating the poets
with the vin de Joigny; the abbe, intelligent as a man who stands in
need of the. crowns of another, so enlivened the financiers and men of
the sword, that, amidst the vapours of this joy and the noise of con-
versation, the object of inquietudes disappeared completely. The
testament of Cardinal Mazarin was the text of the conversation at the
second course and dessert; then Fouquet ordered basins of confitures
and fountains of liqueur^ to be carried into the salon adjoining the
gallery. He led the way thither, conducting by the hand a lady, the
queen, by his preference, of the evening. The musicians then supped,
and the promenades in the gallery and the gardens commenced, beneath
a spring sky, mild and perfumed. Pellisson then approached the surin-
tendant, and said: " Something troubles monseigneur ? "
" Greatly," replied the minister; " ask Gourville to tell you what it
is." Pellisson, on turning round, found La Fontaine treading upon his
heels. He was obliged to listen to a Latin verse, which the poet had
composed upon Yatel. La Fontaine had, for an hour, been scanning
this verse in all corners, seeking some one to pour it out upon advan-
tageously. He thought he had caught Pellisson, but the latter escaped
him; he turned towards Sorel, who had, himself, just composed a qua-
train in honour of the supper and the Amphytrion. La Fontaine in
vain endeavoured to gain attention to his verses; Sorel wanted to obtain
a healing for his quatrain. He was obliged to retrograde before M. le
Comte de Chanost, whose arm Fouquet had just taken. L'Abbe
Fouquet perceived that the poet, as absent as usual, was about to follow
the two talkers; and he interposed. La Fontaine seized upon him, and
recited his verses. The abbe, who was quite innocent of Latin, nodded
his head, in cadence, at every roll which La Fontaine impressed upon
his body, according to the undulations of the dactyls and spondees.
"While this was going on, behind the confiture-basins, Fouquet related
the event of the day to his son-in-law, M. de Chanost. "We must
send the idle and useless to look at the fireworks," said Pellisson to
Gourville, " whilst we converse here."
" So be it," said Gourville, addressing four words to Vatel. The latter
then led towards the gardens the major part of the beaux, the ladies
and the chatterers, whilst the men walked in the gallery, lighted by three
hundred waxlights, in the sight of all; the admirers of fireworks all
ran away towards the garden. Gourville approached Fouquet, and said:
" Monsieur, we are all here."
" All!" said Fouquet.
" Yqg,—count." The surintendant counted; there were eight persons.
Pellisson and Gourville walked arm in arm, as if conversing upon vague
and light subjects. Sorel and two officers imitated them, in an opposite
THE GALLEBY OF SAINT-MANDE. 261
direction. The Abbe Fouquet walked alone. Fouquet, with M. de
Chanost, walked as if entirely absorbed by the conversation of his son-
in-law. " Messieurs," said he, " let no one of you raise his head as he
walks, or appear to pay attention to me; continue walking, we are alone,
listen to me."
A perfect silence ensued, disturbed only by the distant cries of the
joyous guests, from the groves whence they beheld the fireworks. It
was a whimsical spectacle this, of these men walking in groups, as if
each one was occupied about something, whilst lending attention really
to only one amongst them, who, himself, seemed to be speaking only
to his companion. "Messieurs," said Fouquet, "you have, without
doubt, remarked the absence of two of my friends this evening, who
were with us on Wednesday. For God's sake, abbe, do not stop,—it is
not necessary to enable you to listen; walk on, carrying your head in a
natural way, and as you have an excellent sight, place yourself at the
window, and if any one returns towards the gallery, give us notice by
coughing." The abbe obeyed.
" I have not observed the absent," said Pellisson, who, at this moment,
was turning his back to Fouquet, and walking the other way.
" I do not see M. Lyodot," said Sorel, " who pays me my pension."
"And I," said the abbe, at*the window, "do not see Monsieur
d'Eymeris, who owes me eleven hundred livres from our last game at
Brelan."
" Sorel," continued Fouquet, walking bent, and gloomily, " you will
never receive your pension any more from M. Lyodot; and you, abbe,
will never be paid your eleven hundred livres by M. d'Eymeris; for
both are about to die."
" To die !" exclaimed the whole assembly, stopped, in spite of them-
selves, in the scene they were playing, by that terrible word.
" Recover yourselves, messieurs," said Fouquet, " for, perhaps, we
are watched—I said: to die !"
" To die!" repeated Pellisson; " what, the men I saw not six days
ago, full of health, gaiety, and a future ! What then is man, good God!
that disease should thus bring him down all at once ! "
" It is not a disease," said Fouquet.
"Then there is a remedy," said Sorel,
"No remedy. Messieurs de Lyodot and d'Eymeris are on the eve of
their last day."
" Of what are these gentlemen dying then ? " asked an officer.
"Ask of him who kills them," replied Fouquet.
" Who kills them ? Are they being killed, then ?" cried the terrified
chorus.
" They do better still; they are hanging them," murmured Fouquet,
in a sinister voice, which sounded like a funeral knell in that rich
gallery, splendid with pictures, flowers, velvet, and gold. Involuntarily
every one stopped; the abbe quitted his window; the first fusees of the
fireworks began to mount above the trees. A prolonged cry from the
gardens attracted the surintendant to enjoy the spectacle. He drew
near to a window, and his friends placed themselves behind him,
attentive to his least wish. " Messieurs," said he, " M. Colbert has
caused to be arrested, tried, and will execute to death my two friends;
what does it become me to do ?"
" Mordieu /" exclaimed the abbe, the first, " run M. Colbert through
the body."
" Monseigneur," said Pellisson, "you must speak to his majesty."
" The king, my dear Pellisson, has signed the order for the execution"
262 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Well!" said the Comte de Chanost, "the execution must not take
place, then; that is all."
" Impossible," said Gourville, "unless we could corrupt the jailers.
" Or the governor," said Fouquet.
" This night the prisoners might be allowed to escape."
" Which of you will take charge of the transaction ?"
" I," said the abbe, " will carry the money."
" And I," said Pellisson, " will be bearer of the words."
" Words and money," said Fouquet; " five hundred thousand livres
to the governor of the conciergerie, that is sufficient; nevertheless, it
shall be a million, if necessary."
" A million !" cried the abbe; " why, for less than half, I would cause
the half of Paris to be sacked."
" There must be no disorder," said Pellisson. " The governor being
won, the two prisoners escape; once clear of the fangs of the law, they
will call together the enemies of Colbert, and prove to the king that his
young justice, like all other exaggerations, is not infallible."
" Go to Paris, then, Pellisson," said Fouquet, "and bring hither the
two victims; to-morrow we shall see."
Gourville gave Pellisson the five hundred thousand livres. "Take
care the wind does not carry you away," said the abbe; "what a
responsibility. Teste ! Let me help you a little."
Silence !" said Fouquet, "somebody is coming. Ah! the fireworks
are producing a magical effect." At this moment a shower of sparks
fell rustling among the branches of the neighbouring trees. Pellisson
and Gourville went out together by the door of the gallery; Fouquet
descended to the garden with the five last plotters.
CHAPTER, LYIII.
The Epicureans.
As Fouquet was giving, or appearing to give, all his attention to the
brilliant illuminations, the languishing music of the violins and haut-
boys, the sparkling sheaves of the artificial fires, which, inflaming the
heavens with glowing reflections, marked behind the trees the dark
profile of the donjon of Vincennes; as, we say, the surintendant was
smiling on the ladies and the poets, the fete was not less gay than ordi-
nary; and Yatel, whose restless, even jealous look, earnestly consulted
the look of Fouquet, did not appear dissatisfied with the welcome given
to the ordering of the evening's entertainment. The fireworks over,
the company dispersed about the gardens and beneath the marble
porticos with that delightful liberty which reveals in the master of the
house so much forgetfulness of greatness, so much courteous hospitality,
so much magnificent carelessness. The poets wandered about, arm in
arm, through the groves; some reclined upon beds of moss, to the great
damage of velvet clothes and curled heads, into which little dried leaves
and blades of grass insin uated themselves. The ladies, in small numbers,
listened to the songs of the singers and the verses of the poets; others
listened to the prose, spoken with much art, by men who were neither
actors nor poets, but to whom youth and solitude gave an unaccustomed
eloquence, which appeared to them preferable to all. " Why," said La
Fontaine," does not our master Epicurus descend into the garden ?
Epicurus never abandoned his pupils; the master is wrong."
THE EPICUEEANS. 263
"Monsieur," said Conrard', "you are very wrong in persisting to
decorate yourself with the name of an Epicurean; indeed, nothing here
reminds me of the doctrine of the philosopher of Gargetta."
"Bah!" said La Fontaine, "is it not written that Epicurus purchased
a large garden, and lived in it tranquilly with his friends ?"
" That is true."
. " Well, has not M. Fouquet purchased a large garden at Saint-Mande,
and do we not live here very tranquilly with him and his friends ?"
" Yes, without doubt; unfortunately it is neither the garden nor the
friends which can make the resemblance. Now, what likeness is there
between the doctrine of Epicurus and that of M. Fouquet ?"
" This; pleasure gives happiness."
'."Next?"
"Well, I do not think we ought to consider ourselves unfortunate,
for my part, at least. A good repast—vin de Joigny, which they have
the delicacy to go and fetch for me from my favourite cabaret—not one
impertinence heard during a supper of an hour long, in spite of the
presence of ten millionnaires and twenty poets."
" X stop you there. You mentioned vin de Joigny, and a good repast;
do you persist in that?"
" I persist, anteco, as they say at Port Royal."
" Then please to recollect that the great Epicurus lived, and made his
pupils live, upon bread, vegetables, and clear water."
" That is not certain," said La Fontaine; " and you appear to me to
he confounding Epicurus with Pythagoras, my dear Conrard."
" Remember, likewise, that the ancient philosopher was rather a bad
friend of the gods and the magistrates."
" Oh! that is what I cannot suffer," replied La Fontaine. " Epicurus
was like M. Fouquet."
"Do not compare him to monsieur le surintendant," said Conrard, in
an agitated voice, " or you would accredit the reports which are cir-
eulated concerning him and us."
" What reports ?"
" That we are bad Frenchmen, lukewarm, with regard to the monarch,
deaf to the law."
" I return then to my text," said La Fontaine. " Listen, Conrard,
this is the morality of Epicurus, whom, besides, I consider, if 1 must
tell you so, as a myth. All which touches the least upon antiquity is a
myth. Jupiter, if we give a little attention to it, is life. Alcides is
strength. The words are there to bear me out; Zeus, that is zen, tp
live. Alcides, that is alee, vigour. Well, Epicurus, that is mild watch-
fulness, that is protection ; now who watches better over the state, or
who protects individuals, better than M. Fouquet does ?"
"You talk etymology and not morality; I say that we modern
Epicureans are troublesome citizens."
" Oh!" cried La Fontaine, " if we become troublesome citizens, it
will not be in following the maxims of our master. Listen to one of
his principal aphorisms."
" I listen."
" Wish for good leaders."
" Well?"
" Well! what does M. Fouquet say to us everyday? 'When shall
we be governed ?' Does he say so ? Come, Conrard, be frank."
" He says so, that is true."
" Well, that is a doctrine of Epicurus."
" Yes; but that is a little seditious, observe."
264 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONKE.
" How! seditious to wish to be governed by good beads or leaders ? "
" Certainly, when those who govern are bad."
" Patience! I have a reply for all."
" Even for that I have just said to you ? "
" Listen! would you submit to those who govern ill ? Oh! it is
written: Cacos politeuousi. Tou grant me the text ? "
" Pardieu ! I think so.—Do you know you speak Greek as well as
iEsop did, my dear La Fontaine."
" Is there any wickedness in that, my dear Conrard ?"
" God forbid I should say so."
" Then, let us return to M. Fouquet. What did he repeat to us all
the day ? Was it not this ? ' What a cuistre is that Mazarin ! what
an ass! what a leech! We must, however, submit to the fellowI*
Now, Conrard, did he say so, or did he not ? "
" I confess that he said it, and even perhaps too often."
" Like Epicurus, my friend, still like Epicurus; I repeat, we are Epi-
cureans, and that is very amusing."
" Yes; but I am afraid there will rise up, by the side of us, a sect
like that of Epictetus: you know him well; the philosopher of Hie-
ropolis, he who called bread luxury, vegetables prodigality, and clear
water drunkenness; he who, being beaten by his master, said to him,
grumbling a little it is true, but without being angry: ' I will lay a
wager you have broken my leg!'—and who won his wager."
" He was a gosling, that Epictetus!"
" Granted, but he might easily become the fashion by only changing
his name into that of Colbert."
" Bah ! " replied La Fontaine, " that is impossible. Never will you
find Colbert in Epictetus."
" You are right, I shall find Coluber there, at the most."
" Ah! you are beaten, Conrard; you are reduced to a play upon
words. M. Arnaud pretends that I have no logic; I have more than
M. Nicolle."
" Yes," replied Conrard, " you have logic, but you are a Jansenist."
This peroration was hailed by an immense shout of laughter; by
degrees the promenaders had been attracted by the exclamations of the
two disputants around the arbour under which they argued. All the
discussion had been religiously listened to, and Fouquet himself, scarcely
able to suppress his laughter, had given an example of moderation. But
the denouement of the scene threw off all restraint; he laughed aloud.
Everybody laughed as he did, and the two philosophers were saluted
by unanimous felicitations. La Fontaine, however, was declared
conqueror, on account of his profound erudition and his irrefragable
logic. Conrard obtained the compensation due to an unsuccessful
combatant; he was praised for his loyalty, and the purity of his
conscience.
_ At the moment when this joy was manifesting itself by the most
lively demonstrations, at the moment when the ladies were reproaching
the two adversaries with not having admitted women into the system
of Epicurean happiness, Gourville was seen hastening from the other
end of the garden, approaching Fouquet, who surveyed him anxiously,
and detaching him, by his presence alone, from the group. The sur-
intendant preserved upon his face the smile and the character of
carelessness; but scarcely was he out of sight than he threw off the
mask. " Well!" said he eagerly, " where is Pellisson? What is he
doing ? "
" Pellisson is returned from Paris."
a quarter of an hour's delay. 265
" Has he brought back the prisoners ?"
" He has not even seen the concierge of the prison."
" "What! did he not tell him he came from me?"
" He told him so, but the concierge sent him this reply: ' If any
one came to me from M. Fouquet, he would have a letter from
M. Fouquet.'"
" Oh!" cried the latter, " if a letter is all he wants "
" Never, monsieur !" said Pellisson, showing himself at the corner
of the little wood, " never! Go yourself, and speak in your own
name."
" Tou are right. I will go in, as if to work, let the horses remain
harnessed, Pellisson. Entertain my friends, Gourville."
" One last word of advice, monseigneur," replied the latter.
"Speak, Gourville."
"Do not go to the concierge but at the last minute; it is brave, but
it is not wise. Excuse me, Monsieur Pellisson, if I am not of the
same opinion as you; but believe me, monseigneur, send again a mes-
sage to this concierge,—he is a worthy man, but do not carry it yourself."
" I will think of it," said Eouquet; " besides, we have all the night
before us."
"Do not reckon too much upon time; were the time we have double
what it is, it would not be too much," replied Pellisson; " it is never
a fault to arrive too soon."
"Adieu!" said the surintendant; "come with me, Pellisson. Gour-
ville, I commend my guests to your care." And he. set off. The Epi-
cureans did not perceive that the head of the school had left them: the
violins continued playing all night.
CHAPTER LIX.
A Quarter of an Hour's Delay.
Fouquet, on leaving his house for the second time that day, felt
himself less heavy and less disturbed than might have been expected.
He turned towards Pellisson, who was meditating in the corner of the
carriage some good arguments against the violent proceedings of Colbert.
" My dear Pellisson," said Fouquet, then, " it is a great pity you are
not a woman."
"I think, on the contrary, it is very fortunate," replied Pellisson,
"for, monseigneur, I am excessively ugly."
"Pellisson! Pellisson!" said the surintendant, laughing. "Tou
repeat too often, you are ' ugly,' not to leave people to believe that it
gives you much pain."
" In fact it does, monseigneur, much; there is no man more unfor-
tunate than I; I was handsome, the small-pox rendered me hideous; I
am deprived of a great means of seduction ; now, I am your principal
clerk, or something of the sort; I take great interest in your affairs,
and if, at this moment, I were a pretty woman, I could render you an
important service."
"What?"
" I would go and find the concierge of the Palais; I would seduce
him, for he is a gallant man, extravagantly partial to women; then I
would get away our two prisoners."
266 THE TICOlfW "tm TUBACrELONffE.
"I hope to be able to do so myself, although I am not a pretty
woman," replied Fouquet.
" Granted, monseigneur; but you are compromising yourself very
much."
"Oh!" cried Fouquet, suddenly, with one of those secret transports
which the generous blood of youth, or the remembrance of some sweet
emotion, infuses into the heart. " Oh ! I know a woman who will enact
the personage we stand in need of, with the lieutenant-governor of the
conciergerie."
"And, on my part, I know fifty, monseigneur; fifty trumpets, which
will inform the universe of your generosity, of your devotion to your
friends, and, consequently, will ruin you sooner or later in ruining
themselves."
" I do not speak of such women, Pellisson; I speak of a noble and
beautiful creature who joins to the intelligence and wit of her sex, the
valour and coolness of ours; I speak of a woman, handsome enough to
make the walls of a prison bow down to salute her, of a woman discreet
enough to let no one suspect by whom she has been sent."
"A treasure !" said Pellisson; "you would make a famous present to
monsieur the governor of the conciergerie! Peste ! monseigneur, he
might have his head cut off, that might happen; but he would, before
dying, have had such happiness as no man had enjoyed before him."
"And I add," said Fouquet, "that the concierge of the Palais would
not have his head cut off, for he would receive of me my horses, to
effect his escape, and five hundred thousand livres wherewith to live
comfortably in England: I add, that this woman, my friend, would give
him nothing but the horses and the money. Let us go and seek this
woman, Pellisson."
The surintendant reached forth his hand towards the gold and
silken cord placed in the interior of his carriage, but Pellisson stopped
him. " Monseigneur," said he, " you are going to lose as much time in
seeking this woman as Columbus took to discover the new world. Now,
we have but two hours in which we can possibly succeed; the concierge
once gone to bed, how shall'we get at him without making a disturb-
ance ? "When daylight dawns, how can we conceal our proceedings P
Go, go yourself, monseigneur, and do not seek either woman or an
angel to-night."
"But, my dear Pellisson, here we are before her door."
" What! before the angel's door ?"
"Why, yes!"
" This is the hotel of Madame de Belliere !"
"Hush!"
" Ah! Good Lord !" exclaimed Pellisson.
" What have you to say against her ?"
"Nothing, alas! and it is that which creates my despair. Nothing,
absolutely nothing. Why can I not, on the contrary, say ill enough of
her to prevent your going to her ?"
But Fouquet had already given orders to stop, and the carriage was
motionless. "Prevent me !" cried Fouquet; " why, no power on earth
should prevent my going to pay my compliments to Madame de Plessis-
Belliere; besides, who knows that we shall not stand in need of her?"
" No, monseigneur, no ! "
" But I do not wish you to wait for me, Pellisson," replied Fouquet,
with sincere courtesy.
" The greater reason why I should, monseigneur; knowing that you
are keeping me waiting, you will, perhaps, stay a shorter time. Take
A QUARTER OF AN HOUR'S DELAY. 267
care! Tou see there is a carriage in the courtyard; she has some one
with her." Fouquet leant towards the steps of the carriage. " One
word more," cried Pellisson; " do not go to this lady till you have been
to the concierge, for Heaven's sake !"
"Eh ! five minutes, Pellisson," replied Pouquet, alighting at the steps
of the hotel, leaving Pellisson in the carriage, in a very ill humour.
Fouquet ran up stairs, tbld his name to the footman, which excited an
eagerness and a respect that showed the habit the mistress of the house
had of honouring that name in her family. "Monsieur le surin-
tendant," cried the marquise,advancing,very pale, to meet him; "what
an honour! what an unexpected pleasure!" said she. Then, in a low
voice, " Take care!" added the marquise, "Marguerite Vanel is here !"
"Madame," replied Fouquet, rather agitated," I came upon business.
One single word, in haste, if you please !" And he entered the salon.
Madame Yanel had risen, more pale, more livid, than Envy herself.
Fouquet in vain addressed her, with the most agreeable, most pacific
salutation; she only replied by a terrible glance darted at the marquise
and Fouquet. This keen glance of a jealous woipan is a stiletto which
pierces every cuirass; Marguerite Vanel plunged it straight into the
hearts of the two confidants. She made a curtsey to her friend, a
more profound one to Fouquet, and took leave, under pretence of
having a great number of visits to make, without the marquise trying
to prevent her, or Fouquet, a prey to anxiety, thinking anything about
her. She was scarcely out of the room, and Fouquet left alone with the
marquise, before he threw himself on his knees, without saying a word.
"I expected you," said the marquise, with a tender sigh.
" On ! no," cried he, " or you would have sent away that woman."
" She has been here little more than half an hour, and I had no sus-
picion she would come this evening."
" You do love me a little, then, marquise ? "
" That is not the question, now; it is of your dangers; how are your
affairs going on ? "
" I am going this evening to get my friends out of the prisons of the
palais."
" How will you do that ? "
" By buying and seducing the governor."
"He is a friend of mine; can I assist you, without injuring
you?"
"Oh! marquise, it would be a signal service; but how can you be
employed without your being compromised ? Now, never shall my life,
my power, or even my liberty, be purchased at the expense of a single
tear from your eyes, or of a single pain upon your brow !"
" Monseigneur, speak no more such words, they bewilder me; I have
been culpable in trying to serve you, without calculating the extent of
what I was doing. I love you, in reality, as a tender friend, and as a
friend, I am grateful for your delicate attentions—but, alas!—alas! you
will never find a mistress in me."
" Marquise !" cried Fouquet, in a tone of despair; " why not ? "
" Because you are too much beloved," said the young woman, in a low
voice; " because you are too much beloved by too many people—because
the splendour of glory and fortune wounds my eyes, whilst the darkness
of sorrow attracts them; because, in short, I, who have repulsed you in
your proud magnificence; I, who scarcely looked at you in your splen-
dour, I came, like a mad woman, to throw myself, as it were, into your
arms, when I saw a misfortune hovering over your head. You under-
stand me, now, monseigneur ? Become happy again, that X may again
268 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
become chaste in heart and in thought: your misfortunes would ruin
me!"
" Oh! madamesaid Fouquet, with an emotion he had never before
felt; "were I to fall to the last degree of human misery, and should
hear from your mouth that word which you now refuse me, that day,
madame, you will be mistaken in your noble egotism; that day you will
fancy you are consoling the most unfortunate of men, and you will have
said: I love you to the most illustrious, the most delighted, the most
triumphant of the happy beings of this world."
He was still at her feet, kissing her hand, when Pellisson entered
precipitately, crying, in very ill humour, " Monseigneur! madame!
for Heaven's sake ! excuse me. Monseigneur, you have been here half
an hour. Oh ! do not both look at me so reproachfully. Madame, pray
—who is that lady who left your house soon after monseigneur came
in ?"
" Madame Yanel " said Fouquet.
" There !" cried Pellisson, " I was sure of that."
"Well! what then?"
" Why, she got into her carriage, looking deadly pale."
" What consequence is that to me ? "
" Yes, but what she said to her coachman is of consequence to you."
"What, good God!" cried the marquise, " was that ?"
" To M. Colbert's !" said Pellisson, in a hoarse voice.
" Good Heavens! be gone, be gone, monseigneur!" replied the mar-
quise, pushing Fouquet out of the salon, whilst Pellisson dragged him
by the hand.
" Am I, then, indeed," said the surintendant, " become a child, to be
frightened by a shadow ? "
You are a giant,"said the marquise, "whom a viper is endeavouring
to bite at the heel."
Pellisson continued to drag Fouquet quite to the carriage. " To the
palais at full speed !" cried Pellisson to the coachman. The horses set
off like lightning; no obstacle relaxed their pace for an instant. Only,
at the Arcade Saint-Jean, as they were coming out upon the Place de
Greve, a long file of horsemen, barring the narrow passage, stopped the
carriage of the surintendant. There was no means of forcing this
barrier; it was necessary to wait till the mounted archers of the watch,
for it was they who stopped the way, had passed with the heavy carriage
they were escorting, and which ascended rapidly towards the Place
Baudoyer. Fouquet and Pellisson took no further account of this
circumstance beyond deploring the minute's delay they had to submit
to. They entered the habitation of the concierge du palais five minutes
after. That officer was still walking about in the front court. At the
name of Fouquet, whispered in his ear by Pellisson, the governor eagerly
approached the carriage, and, hat in his hand, was profuse in his reve-
rences. " What an honour for me, monseigneur," said he.
" One word, monsieur le gouverneur, will you take the trouble to
get into my carriage ?" The officer placed himself opposite Fouquet in
the coach.
" Monsieur," said Fouquet, "I have a service to ask of you."
" Speak, monseigneur."
"A service that will be compromising for you, monsieur, but which
will assure to you for ever my protection and my friendship."
"Were it to cast myself into the fire for you, monseigneur, I would
do it."
" That is well," said Fouquet; " what I require is much more simple."
plan 01? battle. 269
"That being so, monseigneur, what is it?"
" To conduct me to the chamber of Messrs. Lyodot and d'Eymeris."
" Will monseigneur have the kindness to say for what purpose ?"
" I will tell you in their presence, monsieur; at the same time that I
will give you ample means of palliating this escape."
" Escape! Why, then, monseigneur, does not know ?"
"What?"
" That Messrs. Lyodot and d'Eymeris are no longer here."
" Since when ?" cried Eouquet, in great agitation.
" About a quarter of an hour." n
" Whither are they gone, then ?
" To Tincennes—to the donjon."
" Who took them from here ?"
" An order from the king."
" Oh! woe! woe!" exclaimed Eouquet, striking his forehead. " Woe!"
and without saying a single word more to the governor, he threw himself
back in his carriage, despair in his heart and death on his countenance.
" Well!" said Pellisson, with great anxiety.
" Our friends are lost. Colbert is conveying them to the donjon. It
wras they who crossed our passage under the arcade St. Jean."
Pellisson, struck as with a thunderbolt, made no reply. With a
single reproach he would have killed his master. "Where is mon-
seigneur going?" said the footman.
"Home—to Paris. You, Pellisson, return to Saint-Mande, and bring
the Abbe Eouquet to me within an hour. Be gone!"
CHAPTER LX.
Plan of Battle.
The night was already far advanced when the Abbd Eouquet joined
his brother. Gourville had accompanied him. These three men, pale
with future events, resembled less three powers of the day than three
conspirators, united by one same thought of violence. Fouquet walked
for a long time, with his eyes fixed upon the floor, striking his hands
one against the other. At length, taking courage, in the midst of a
deep, long sigh: " Abbe," said he, " you were speaking to me, only to-
day, of certain people you maintain ? "
" Yes, monsieur," replied the abbe.
" Tell me precisely who are these people ?" The abb£ hesitated.
" Come! no fear, I am not threatening; no romancing, for I am not
joking."
" Since you demand the truth, monseigneur, here it isI have a
hundred and twenty friends or companions of pleasure, who are sworn
to me as the thief is to the gallows."
"And you think you can depend upon them?"
"Entirely."
"And you will not compromise yourself?"
" I will not even make my appearance."
" And are they men of resolution ?"
" They would burn Paris, if I promised them they should not be
burnt in turn."
" The thing I ask of you, abbe," said Eouquet, wiping the sweat which
fell from his brow," is to throw your hundred and twenty men upon
270 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
the people I will point out to you, at a certain moment given—is it
possible ?"
" It will not be the first time such a thing has happened to them,
monseigneur."
" That is well; but would these bandits attack an armed force ?"
" They are used to that."
" Then get your hundred and twenty men together, abbe."
" Directly. But where ?"
" On the road to Yincennes, to-morrow, at two o'clock precisely."
" To carry off Lyodot and d'Eymeris ? There will be blows to be
got!"
"A number, no doubt; are you afraid?"
"Not for myself, but for you."
" Your men will know then what they have to do ?"
" They are too intelligent not to guess it. Now, a minister who gets
up a riot against his king—exposes himself "
" Of what importance is that to you, I pray ? Besides, if I fall, you
fall with me."
" It would then be more prudent, monsieur, not to stir in the affair,
and leave the king to take this little satisfaction."
" Think well of this, abbe. Lyodot and d'Eymeris at Yincennes are a
prelude of ruin for my house. I repeat it—I arrested, you will be
imprisoned—I imprisoned, you will be exiled."
" Monsieur, I am at your orders; have you any to give me ?"
" What I told you—I wish that, to-morrow, the two financiers of
whom they mean to make victims, whilst there remain so many
criminals unpunished, should be snatched from the fury of my ene-
mies. Take your measures accordingly. Is it possible ? "
" It is possible."
" Describe your plan."
" It is of rich simplicity. The ordinary guard at executions consists
of twelve archers."
" There will be a hundred to-morrow."
" I reckon so. I even say more—there will be two hundred."
"Then your hundred and twenty men will not be enough."
"Pardon me. In every crowd composed of a hundred thousand
spectators, there are ten thousand bandits or cutpurses—only they dare
not take the initiative."
"Well?"
" There will then be, to-morrow, on the Place de Greve, which I
choose as my battle-field, ten thousand auxiliaries to my hundred and
twenty men. The attack commenced by the latter, the others will
finish it."
" That all appears feasible. But what will be done with regard to
the prisoners upon the Place de Greve ? "
" This; they must be thrust into some house—that will make a siege
necessary to get them out again. And stop ! here is another idea, more
sublime still: certain houses have two issues—one upon the Place, and
the other into the rue de la Mortellerie, or la Vannerie, or la
Texeranderie. The prisoners, entering by one door, will go out at
another."
" Yes; but fix upon something positive."
" I am seeking to do so."
" And I," cried Eouquet, " I have found it. Listen to what has oc-
curred to me at this moment."
" I am listening,"
plan of battle. 271
bouquet made a sign to Gourville, who appeared to understand.
" One of my friends lends me sometimes the keys of a house which he
rents, rue Boudoyer, the spacious gardens of which extend behind a
certain house of the Place de Greve."
" That is the place for us," said the abbe. " What house ? "
" A cabaret, pretty well frequented, whose sign represents the image
of Notre Dame."
" I know it," said the abbe.
" This cabaret has windows opening upon the Place, a place of exit
into the court, which must abut upon the gardens of my friend by a
door of communication."
" Good!" said the abbd.
" Enter by the cabaret, take the prisoners in; defend the door while
you enable them to fly by the garden and the Place Boudoyer."
" That is all plain. Monsieur, you would make an excellent general,
like monsieur le prince."
" Have you understood me ? "
" Perfectly well."
" How much will it amount to, to make your bandits all drunk with
wine, and to satisfy them with gold ? "
" Oh, monsieur, what an expression! Oh, monsieur, if they heard
you ! Some of them are very susceptible."
" I mean to say they must be brought no longer to know the heavens
from the earth; for I shall to-morrow contend with the king; and
when I fight I mean to conquer—please to understand."
" It shall be done, monsieur. Give me your other ideas."
" That is your business."
" Then give me your purse."
" Gourville, count a hundred thousand livres for the abbe."
" Good! and spare nothing, did you not say ? "
" Nothing."
" That is well."
"Monseigneur," objected Gourville, "if this should be known, we
should lose our heads."
"Eh! Gourville," replied Eouquet, purple with anger, "you excite
my pity. Speak for yourself, if you please. My head does not shake
in that manner upon my shoulders. Now, abbe, is everything ar-
ranged?"
" Everything."
" At two o'clock to-morrow."
" At twelve, because it will be necessary to prepare our auxiliaries in
a secret manner."
" That is true; do not spare the wine of the cabaretier."
" I will spare neither his wine nor his house," replied the abbe, with
a sneering laugh. " I have my plan, I tell you; leave me to set it in
operation, and you shall see."
" Where shall you be yourself? "
" Everywhere; nowhere."
" And how shall I receive information ? "
" By a courier, whose horse shall be kept in the very garden of your
friend. A propos, the name of your friend ?"
Eouquet looked again at Gourville. The latter came to the succour
of his master, saying, " Accompany monsieur l'abbe for several reasons;
only the house is easily to be known, the 'Image-de-Notre-Dame' in
the front, a garden, the only one in the quarter, behind."
" Good ! good! I will go and give notice to my soldiers."
" Accompany him, Gourville," said Eouquet, " and count him down
272 the vicomte ee bragelonne.
the money. One moment, abbe—one moment, Gourville—what name
will be given to this carrying off ? "
" A very natural one, monsieur—the Riot."
" The riot on account of what ? Tor, if ever the people of Paris are
disposed to pay their court to the king, it is when he hangs financiers."
I will manage that/' said the abbe.
"Yes; but you may manage it badly, and people will guess."
"Not at all,—not at all. 1 have another idea."
" "What is that ? "
" My men shall cry out ' Colbert, rive Colbert!' and shall throw
themselves upon the prisoners as if they would tear them in pieces, and
shall force them from the gibbets, as too mild a punishment."
" Ah! that is an idea," said Gourville. " JPeste ! monsieur l'abbe, what
an imagination you have !"
" Monsieur, we are worthy of our family," replied the abbd, proudly.
"Strange fellow," murmured Pouquet. Then he added, "That is
ingenious. Carry it out, but shed no blood."
Gourville and the abbe set off together, with their heads full of the
meditated riot. The surintendant laid himself down upon some
cushions, half valiant with respect to the sinister projects of the
morrow, half dreaming of love.
CHAPTER LXI.
The Cabaret of the Imagre-de-Notre-Dame.
At two o'clock the next day, fifty thousand spectators had taken
their position upon the Place, around the two gibbets which had been
elevated between the Quai de la Greve and the Quai Pellelier; one
close to the other, with their backs to the parapet of the river. In the
morning also, all the sworn criers of the good city of Paris had tra-
versed the quarters of the city, particularly the halles and the faubourgs,
announcing with their hoarse and indefatigable voices, the great justice
done by the king upon two peculators, two thieves, devourers of the
people. And these people, whose interests were so warmly looked after,
in order not to fail in respect for their king, quitted shops, stalls, and
ateliers, to go and evince a little gratitude to Louis XIV., absolutely
like invited guests, who feared to commit an impoliteness in not re-
pairing to the house of him who had invited them. According to the
tenor of the sentence, which the criers read loudly and badly, two
farmers of the revenues, monopolists of money, dilapidators of the
royal provisions, extortioners and forgers, were about to undergo
capital punishment on the Place de Greve, with their names affixed
over their heads, according to their sentence. As to those names, the
sentence made no mention of them. The curiosity of the Parisians
was at its height, and, as we have said, an immense crowd waited with
feverish impatience the hour fixed for the execution. The news had
already spread that the prisoners, transferred to the Chateau of Vin-
cennes, would be conducted from that prison to the Place de Greve.
Consequently, the faubourg and the Rue Saint-Antoine were crowded;
for the population of Paris in those days of great executions was
divided into two categories; those who came to see the condemned pass
—these were of timid and mild hearts, but curious in philosophy—and
those who wished to see the condemned die—these were of hearts
THE CABARET. 273
desirous of emotions. On this day M. d'Artagnan received his last
instructions from the king, and made his adieus to his friends, the
number of whom was, at the moment, reduced to Planchet, traced
the plan of his day, as every busy man whose moments are counted
ought to do, because he appreciates their importance.
" My departure is to be," said he, " at break, of day, three o'clock in
the morning; I have then fifteen hours before me. Take from them
the six hours of sleep which are indispensable for me—six; one hour for
repasts—seven; one hour for a farewell visit to Athos—eight; two hours
for chance circumstances—total, ten. There are then five hours left.
One hour to get my money,—that is, to have payment refused by
M. Fouquet; another hour to go and receive my money of M. Colbert,
together with his questions and grimaces; one hour to look over my
clothes and my arms, and get my boots cleaned. I have still two hours
left! Mordioux I how rich lam!" And so saying, d'Artagnan felt a
strange joy, q joy of youth, a perfume of those great and happy years of
former times mount into his brain and intoxicate him. "During these
two hours I will go," said the musketeer, " and take my quarter's rent
of the Image-de-Notre-Dame. That will be pleasant! Three hun-
dred and seventy-five livres! Mordioux! but that is astonishing! If
the poor man who has but one livre in his pocket, found a livre and
twelve deniers, that would be justice, that would be excellent; but
never does such a God-send fall to the lot of the poor man. The rich
man, on the contrary, makes himself revenues with his money, which
he does not touch. Here are three hundred and seventy-five livres
which fall to me from heaven. I will go, then, to the Image-de-Notre-
Dame, and drink a glass of Spanish wine with my tenant, which he
cannot fail to offer me. But order must be observed, Monsieur d'Ar-
tagnan, order must be observed! Let us organize our time, then, and
distribute the employment of it: Art. 1st, Athos; Art. 2nd, the Image-
de-Notre-Dame; Art. 3rd, M. Fouquet; Art. 4th, M. Colbert; Art. 5th,
supper; Art. 6th, clothes, boots, horse, portmanteau; Art. 7th and last,
sleep."
In consequence of this arrangement, d'Artagnan then went straight
to the Comte de la Fere, to whom, modestly and ingenuously, he related
a part of his fortunate adventures. Athos had not been without un-
easiness on the subject of d'Artagnan's visit to the king; but few words
sufficed as an explanation of that. Athos divined that Louis had
charged d'Artagnan with some important mission, and did not even
make an effort to draw the secret from him. He only recommended
him to take care of himself, and offered discreetly to accompany him, if
that were desirable.
. " But, my dear friend," said d'Artagnan, " I am going nowhere."
" What! you come and bid me adieu, and are going nowhere ? "
" Oh! yes, yes," replied d'Artagnan, colouring a little, " I am going
to make an acquisition."
" That is quite another thing. Then I change my formula. Instead
of' Do not get yourself killed,' I will say—' Do not get yourself robbed.'"
"My friend, I will inform you if I cast my eye upon any property
that pleases me, and shall expect you will favour me with your
opinion."
" Yes, yes," said Athos, too delicate to permit himself even the con-
solation of a smile. Eaoul imitated the paternal reserve. But d'Ar-
tagnan thought it would appear too mysterious to leave his friends
under a pretence, without even telling them the route he was about to
take.
T
274 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" I have chosen le Mans," said he to Athos. " Is it a good country ? "
"Excellent, my friend," replied the comte, without making him
observe that le Mans was in the some direction as La Touraine, and
that by waiting two days, at most, he might travel with a friend. But
d'Artagnan, more embarrassed than the comte, dug, at every explana-
tion, deeper into the mud, into which he sank by degrees. " I shall set
out to-morrow at daybreak," said he at last. " Till that time, will you
come with me, Baoul ? "
"Yes, monsieur le chevalier," said the young man, "if monsieur le
comte does not want me."
" No, Baoul; I am to have an audience to-day of Monsieur, the
king's brother; that is all I have to do."
Baoul asked Grimaud for his sword, which the old man brought him
immediately. "Now then," added d'Artagnan, opening his arms to
Athos, "Adieu, my dear friend ! " Athos held him in a long embrace,
and the musketeer, who knew his discretion so well, murmured in his
ear—" An affair of state," to which Athos only replied by a pressure of
the hand, still more significant. They then separated. Baoul took the
arm of his old friend, who led him along the Bue Saint-Honore. " I
am conducting you to the abode of the god Plutus," said d'Artagnan
to the young man; " prepare yourself. The whole day you will witness
the piling-up of crowns. Good God! how am I changed!"
" Oh ! oh! what numbers of people there are in the street! " said
Baoul.
"Is there a procession to-day ? " asked d'Artagnan of a passer-by.
" Monsieur, it is a hanging," replied the man.
" What! a hanging at the Greve ? " said d'Artagnan.
" Yes, monsieur."
" Devil take the rogue who gets himself hung the day I want to go
and take my rent! " cried d'Artagnan. " Baoul, did you ever see any
body hung ? "
"Never, monsieur—thank God! "
" Oh! how young that sounds! If you were on guard in the trenches,
as I was, and a spy. But, look you, pardon me, Baoul, I am doting—
you are quite right, it is a hideous sight to see a person hung ! At what
hour do they hang, monsieur, if you please ? "
" Monsieur," replied the stranger, respectfully, delighted at joining
conversation with two men of the sword; " it will take place about
three o'clock."
" Oh ! oh! it is now only half-past one; let us step out, we shall be
there in time to touch my three hundred and seventy-five livres, and
get away before the arrival of the malefactor."
" Malefactors, monsieur," continued the bourgeois ; " there are two
of them.''
" Monsieur, I return you many thanks," said d'Artagnan, who, as he
grew older, had become polite to a degree. Drawing Baoul along, he
directed his course rapidly in the direction of La Greve. Without that
great experience musketeers have of a crowd, to which were joined an
irresistible strength of wrist and an uncommon suppleness of shoulders,
our two travellers would not have arrived at their place of destination.
They followed the line of the Quai, which they had gained on quitting
the Bue Saint Honore, where they left Athos. D'Artagnan went first:
his elbow, his wrist, his shoulder formed three wedges which he knew
how to insinuate with skill into the groups, to make them split and
separate like pieces of wood. He often made use of the hilt of his
sword as an additional help: introducing it between ribs that were too
THE CABAEET. 275
rebellious, making it take the part of a lever or crow-bar, to separate
husband, from wife, uncle from nephew, and brother from brother. And
all this was dqne so naturally, and with such gracious smiles, that people
must have had ribs of bronze, not to cry thank you when the wrist
made its play, or hearts of diamond not to be enchanted when the bland
smile enlivened the lips of the musketeer. Eaoul, following his friend,
cajoled the women, who admired his beauty, pushed back the men, who
felt the rigidity of his muscles, and both opened, thanks to these ma-
noeuvres, the rather compact, and rather muddy tide of the populace.
They arrived in sight of the two gibbets, from which Raoul turned away
his eyes in disgust. As for d'Artagnan, he did not even see them; his
house with its gabled-roof, its windows crowded with the curious,
attracted and even absorbed all the attention he was capable of. He
distinguished in the Place and around the houses a good number of
musketeers on leave, who, some with women, others with friends, awaited
the moment of the ceremony. "What rejoiced him above all was to see
that his tenant, the cabaretier, was so busy he did not know which way
to turn himself. Three lads could not supply the drinkers. They filled
the shop, the chambers, and the court even. D'Artagnan called Raoul's
attention to this concourse, adding: " The fellow will have no excuse for
not paying his rent. Look at those drinkers, Eaoul, one would say they
were jolly companions. Mordioux! why there is no room anywhere !"
D'Artagnan however contrived to catch hold of the master by the corner
of his apron, and to make himself known to him.
" Ah, monsieur le chevalier," said the cabaretier, half muzzy, " one
minute, if you please. I have here a hundred mad devils turning my
cellar upside down."
" The cellar, if you like, but not the money-box."
" Oh, monsieur, your thirty-seven and a half pistoles are all counted
out ready for you, upstairs in my chamber; but there are in that
chamber thirty customers, who are sucking the staves of a little barrel
of Oporto which I tapped for them this morning. Give me a minute,—
only a minute?"
" So b8 it; so be it."
" I will go," said Eaoul, in a low voice, to d'Artagnan; " this hilarity
is vile!"
" Monsieur," replied d'Artagnan, sternly, " you will please to remain
where you are. The soldier ought to familiarize himself with all kinds
of spectacles. There are in the eye, when it is young, fibres which we
must learn how to harden; and we are not truly generous and good
but from the moment when the eye has become hardened, and the
heart remains tender. Besides, my little Eaoul, would you leave me
alone here ? That would be very ill of you. Look, there is yonder in
the lower court a tree, and under the shade of that tree we shall breathe
more freely than in this hot atmosphere of spilt wine."
Prom the spot on which they had placed themselves the two new
guests of the Image-de-Notre-Dame, heard the ever-increasing murmurs
of the tide of people, and lost neither a cry nor a gesture of the drinkers,
at tables in the cabaret, or disseminated in the chambers. If d'Artagnan
had wished to place himself as a vedette for an expedition, he could not
have succeeded better. The tree under which he and Eaoul were seated
covered them with its already thick foliage; it was a low, thick chestnut-
tree, with inclined branches, which cast their shade over a table so
broken that the drinkers had abandoned it. We said that from this
post d'Artagnan saw everything. He observed the goings and comings
of the waiters; the arrival of fresh drinkers; the welcome, sometimes
276 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
friendly, sometimes hostile, given to certain new-comers by certain
others that were installed. He observed all this to amuse himself, for
the thirty-seven and a half pistoles were a long time coming. Raoul
recalled his attention to it. " Monsieur," said he, "you do not hurry
your tenant, and the condemned will soon be here. There will then be
such a press, we shall not be able to get out."
" You are right," said the musketeer. " Sola! oh ! somebody there 1
Mordioux!" But it was in vain he cried and knocked upon the wreck
of the old table, which fell to pieces beneath his fist; nobody came.
D'Artagnan was preparing to go and seek the cabaretier himself, to
force him to a definite explanation, when the door of the court in which
he was with Raoul, a door which communicated with the garden situ-
ated at the back, opened, and a man dressed as a cavalier, with his
sword in the sheath, but not at his belt, crossed the court without
closing the door; and having cast an oblique glance at d'Artasman and
his companion, directed his course towards the cabaret itself, looking
about in all directions with eyes capable of piercing walls or consciences.
" Humph !" said d'Artagnan, " my tenants are communicating. That,
no doubt, now, is some amateur in hanging matters." At the same
moment, the cries and disturbance in the upper chambers ceased.
Silence, under such circumstances, surprises more than a twofold in-
crease of noise. D'Artagnan wished to see what was the cause of this
sudden silence. He then perceived that this man, dressed as a cavalier,
had just entered the principal chamber, and was haranguing the tipplers,
who all listened to him with the greatest attention. D'Artagnan would
perhaps have heard his speech but for the dominant noise of the popu-
lar clamours, which made a formidable accompaniment to the harangue
of the orator. But it was soon finished, and all the people the cabaret
contained came out, one after the other, in little groups, so that there
only Remained six in the chamber; one of these six, the man with the
sword, took the cabaretier aside, engaging him in discourse more or less
serious, whilst the others lit a great fire in the chimney-place,—a cir-
cumstance rendered strange by the fine weather and the heat.
" It is very singular," said d'Artagnan to Raoul, "but I think I know
those faces yonder."
" Don't you think you can smell the smoke here P " said Raoul.
" I rather think I can smell a conspiracy," replied d'Artagnan.
He had not finished speaking, when four of these men came down
into the court, and without the appearance of any bad design, mounted
guard at the aoor of communication, casting, at intervals, glances at
d'Artagnan, which signified many things.
" Mordioux /" said d'Artagnan, in a low voice, " there is something
going on. Are you curious, Raoul ? "
" According to the subject, chevalier."
"Well, I am as curious as an old woman. Come a little more in
front, we shall get a better view of the place. I would lay a wager that
view will be something curious."
" But you know, monsieur le chevalier, that I am not willing to
become a passive and indifferent spectator of the death of the two poor
devils."
"And I, then ! do you think I am a savage ? We will go in again,
when it is time to do so. Come along !" And they made their way
towards the front of the house, and placed themselves near the window
which, still more strangely than the rest, remained unoccupied. The
two last drinkers, instead of looking out at this window, kept up the
VIVE COLBERT ! HI
fire. On seeing d'Artagnan and his friend enter" Ah ! ah! .a rein-
forcement," murmured they.
D'Artagnan jogged Raoul's elbow. " Yes, my braves, a reinforce-
ment," said he: "cordieu! there is a famous fire. Whom are you
going to cook ? "
The two men uttered a shout of jovial laughter, and, instead of
answering, threw on more wood. D'Artagnan could not take his eyes
off them. .
"I suppose," said one of the fire-makers, "they sent you to tell us the
time—did not they ? "
" Without doubt, they have," said d'Artagnan, anxious to know what
was going on" why should I be here else, if it were not for that ? "
" Then place yourself at the window, if you please, and observe."
D'Artagnan smiled in his moustache, made a sign to Raoul, and placed
himself at the window.
CHAPTER LXII.
Vive Colbert!
The spectacle which the Greve now presented was a frightful one.
The heads, levelled by the perspective, extended afar, thick and agitated
as the ears of corn in a vast plain. Prom time to time, a fresh report,
or a distant rumour, made the heads oscillate and thousands of eyes
flash. Now and then there were great movements. All those ears of
corn bent, and became waves more agitated than those of the ocean,
which rolled from the extremities to the centre, and beat, like the
tides, against the hedge of archers who surrounded the gibbets. Then
the handles of the halberts were let fall upon the heads and shoulders
of the rash invaders; at times, also, it was the steel as well as the wood,
and, in that case, a large empty circle was formed around the guard; a
space conquered upon the extremities, which underwent, in their turn,
the oppression of the sudden movement, which drove them against the
parapets of the Seine. Prom the window, that commanded a view of
the whole Place, d'Artagnan saw, with interior satisfaction, that such of
the musketeers and guards as found themselves involved in the crowd,
were able, with blows of their fists and the hilts of their swords, to keep
room. He even remarked that they had succeeded, by that esprit de
corps which doubles the strength of the soldier, in getting together in
one group to the amount of about fifty men; and that, with the excep-
tion of a dozen stragglers whom he still saw rolling here and there, the
nucleus was complete, and within reach of his voice. But it was not
the musketeers and guards only that drew the attention of d'Artagnan.
Around the gibbets, and particularly at the entrances to the arcade of
Saint-Jean, moved a noisy mass, a busy mass; daring faces, resolute
demeanours were to be seen here \and there, mingled with silly faces
and indifferent demeanours ; signals were exchanged, hands given and
taken. D'Artagnan remarked among the groups, and those groups the
most animated, the face of the cavalier whom he had seen enter by the
door of communication from his garden, and who had gone upstairs to
harangue the drinkers. That man was organizing troops and giving
orders. " Mordioux !" said d'Artagnan to himself, " I was not deceived;
I know that man,—it is M.enneville. What the devil is he doing here ?"
278 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGrELONNE.
A distant murmur, which became more distinct by degrees, stopped this
reflection, and drew his attention another way. This murmur was occa-
sioned by the arrival of the culprits; a strong picket of archers preceded
them, and appeared at the angle of the arcade. The whole entire crowd
now joined as if in one cry; all the cries united, formed one immense howl.
D'Artagnan saw Eaoul was becoming pale, and he slapped him roughly
on the shoulders. The fire-keepers turned round on hearing the great
cry, and asked what was going on. "The condemned are-arrived," said
d'Artagnan. " That's well," replied they, again replenishing the fire.
D'Artagnan looked at them with much uneasiness; it was evident that
these men who were making such a fire for no apparent purpose, had
some strange intentions. The condemned appeared upon the Place.
They were walking, the executioner before them, whilst fifty archers
formed a hedge on their right and their left. Both were dressed in
black ; they appeared pale but firm. They looked impatiently over the
people's heads, standing on tip-toe at every step. D'Artagnan remarked
this. " Mordioux /" cried he, "they are in a great hurry to get a sight
of the gibbet!" Eaoul drew back, without, however, having the power
to leave the window. Terror even has its attractions.
" To the death! to the death !" cried fifty thousand voices.
" Yes, to the death!" howled a hundred frantic others, as if the great
mass had given them the reply.
" To the halter ! to the halter!" cried the great whole; " Vive le roi ! "
"Well," said d'Artagnan, "this is droll; I should have thought it
was M. Colbert who had caused them to be hung."
There was, at this moment, a great rolling movement in the crowd,
which stopped for a moment the march of the condemned. The people of
a bold and resolute mien, whom d'Artagnan had observed, by dint of press-
ing,pushing, and lifting themselves up, had succeeded in almost touching
the hedge of archers. The cortege resumed its march. All at once, to
cries of " Vive Colbert!" those men, of whom d'Artagnan never lost
sight, fell upon the escort, which in vain endeavoured to stand against
them. Behind these men was the crowd. Then commenced, amidst a
frightful tumult, as frightful a confusion. This time, there were some-
thing more than cries of expectation or cries of joy, there were cries of
pain. Halberts struck men down, swords ran them through, muskets
were discharged at them. The confusion became then so great that
d'Artagnan could no longer distinguish any thing. Then, from this
chaos, suddenly surged something like a visible intention, like a will
pronounced. The condemned had been torn from the hands of the
guards, and were being dragged towards the house of L'lmage-de-Notre-
Dame. Those who dragged them shouted, " Vive Colbert!" The people
hesitated, not knowing which they ought to fall upon, the archers or
the aggressors. What stopped the people was, that those who cried
" Vive Colbert!" began to cry, at the same time, "No halter! no halter!
to the fire! to the fire ! burn the thieves ! burn the extortioners!"
This cry, shouted with an ensemble, obtained enthusiastic success. The
P9pulace had come to witness an execution, and here was an opportu-
nity offered them of performing one themselves. It was this that must
be most agreeable to the populace; therefore, they ranged themselves
immediately on the party of the aggressors against the archers, crying
with the minority, which had become, thanks to them, the most compact
majority, " Yes, yes ; to the fire with the thieves ! Vive Colbert!"
Mordioux /" exclaimed d'Artagnan, " this begins to look serious."
One of the men who remained near the chimney approached the win-
dow, a fire-brand in his hand. " Ah, ah!" said he, " it gets warm."
VIVE COLBERT! 279
Then, turning to his companion, " There is the signal," added he; and
he immediately applied the burning brand to the wainscoting. Now,
this cabaret of the Image-de-Notre-Dame was not a very newly built
house; and, therefore, did not require much entreating to take fire. In
a second the boards began to crackle, and the flames arose sparkling to
the ceiling. A howling from without replied to the shouts of the incen-
diaries. D'Artagnan, who had not seen what passed, from being engaged
at the window, felt, at the same time, the smoke which choked him and
the fire that scorched him. " Hold!" cried he, turning round, " is the
fire here ? Are you drunk or mad, my masters ? "
The two men looked at each other with an air of astonishment. " In
what ? " asked they of d'Artagnan; " was it not a thing agreed upon ? "
" A thing agreed upon that you should burn my house ! " vociferated
d'Artagnan, snatching the brand from the hand of the incendiary, and
striking him with it across the face. The second wanted to assist his
comrade, but Raoul, seizing him by the middle, threw him out of the
window, whilst d'Artagnan pushed his man down the stairs. Raoul,
first disengaged, tore tne burning wainscoting down, and threw it flam-
ing into the chamber. At a glance, d'Artagnan saw there was nothing
to be feared from the fire, and sprang to the window. The disorder was
at its height. The air was filled with simultaneous cries of " To the fire!"
" To the death!" " To .the halter!" " To the stake !" " Vive Colbert!"
" Vive le roi /" The group which had forced the culprits from the
hands of the archers had drawn close to the house, which appeared to be
the goal towards which they dragged them. Menneville was at the
head of this group, shouting louder than all the others, " To the fire! to
the fire ! Vive Colbert!" D'Artagnan began to comprehend what was
meant. They wanted to burn the condemned, and his house was to
serve as a funeral pile. " Halt, there !" cried he, sword in hand, and
one foot upon the window. " Menneville, what do you want to do ? "
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," cried the latter; " give way, give way! "
" To the fire! to the fire with the thieves ! Vive Colbert!"
These cries exasperated d'Artagnan. "Mordioux !" said he. " "What!
burn the poor devils who are only condemned to be hung ? that is in-
famous!"
Before the door, however, the mass of anxious spectators, rolled hack
against the walls, had become more thick, and olosed up the way. Men-
neville and his men, who were dragging along the culprits, were within
ten paces x>f the door.
Menneville made a last effort. " Passage! passage!" cried he, pistol
in hand.
" Burn them! burn them!" repeated the crowd. " The Image-de-
Notre-Dame is on fire! Burn the thieves! burn the monopolists in
the Image-de-Notre-Dame!"
There now remained no doubt, it was plainly d'Artagnan's house that
was their object. D'Artagnan remembered the old cry, always so effec-
tive from his mouth: " A moi ! mousquetaires /" shouted he, with the
voice of a giant, with one of those voices which dominate over cannon,
the sea, the tempest. "A moi! mousquetaires/" And suspending
himself by the arm from the balcony, he allowed himself to drop amidst
the crowd, which began to draw hack from a house that rained men.
Raoul was on the ground as soon as he, both sword in hand. All the
musketeers on the Place heard that challenging cry—all turned round
at that cry, and recognized d'Artagnan. " To the captain, to the cap-
tain !" cried they, in their turn. And the crowd opened before them
as if before the prow of a vessel. At that moment d'Artagnan and
280 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Menneville found themselves face to face. " Passage, passage!" cried
Menneville, seeing that he was within an arm's length of the door.
" No one passes here," said d'Artagnan. _
" Take"that, then !" said Menneville, firing his pistol, almost withm
touch. But before the cock had dropped, d'Artagnan had struck up
Menneville's arm with the hilt of his sword, and passed the blade
through his body.
" I told you plainly to keep yourself quiet," said d'Artagnan to Menne-
ville, who rolled at his feet.
" Passage ! passage !" cried the companions of Menneville, at first
terrified, but soon recovering, when they found they had only to do
with two men. But those two men were hundred-armed giants: the
sword flies about in their hands like the burning glaive of the arch-
angel. It pierces with its point, strikes with its back, cuts with its
edge; every stroke brings down its man. " For the king!" cried d'Ar-
tagnan, to every man he struck at, that is to say, to every man that fell.
This cry became the charging word for the musketeers, who, guided by
it, joined d'Artagnan. During this time the archers, recovering from
the panic they had undergone, charge the aggressors in the rear, and
regular as mill-strokes, overturn or knock down all that oppose them.
The crowd, which sees swords gleaming, and drops of blood flying in the
air—the crowd falls back, and crushes itself. At length cries for mercy
and of despair resound; that is, the farewell of the vanquished. The
two condemned are again in the hands of the archers. D'Artagnan
approaches them, and seeing them pale and sinking: " Console your-
selves, poor men," said he, " you will not undergo the frightful torture
with which these wretches threatened you. The king has condemned
you to be hung: you shall only be hung. Go on, hang them, and it
will be over."
There is no longer anything going on at the Image-de-Notre-Dame.
The fire has been extinguished with two tuns of wine in default of
water. The conspirators have fled by the garden. The archers were
dragging the culprits to the gibbets. Prom this moment the affair did
not occupy much time. The executioner, heedless about operating
according to the rules of art, made such haste, that he despatched the
condemned in a minute. In the mean time, the people gathered around
d'Artagnan,—they felicitated, they cheered him. He wiped his brow,
streaming with sweat, and his sword, streaming with blood. He
shrugged his shoulders at seeing Menneville writhing at his feet in the
last convulsions. And, while Baoul turned away his eyes in compassion,
he pointed up to the musketeers the gibbets laden with their melan-
choly fruit. "Poor devils!" said he, "I hope they died blessing me,
for I saved them narrowly." These words caught the ear of Menne-
ville, at the moment when he himself was breathing his last sigh. A
dark, ironical smile flitted across his lips; he wished to reply, but the
effort hastened the snapping of the chord of life—he expired.
" Oh ! all this is very frightful!" murmured Baoul: " let us be gone,
monsieur le chevalier."
" You are not wounded ? " asked d'Artagnan.
"Not at all; thank you."
" That's well! Thou art a brave fellow, mordioux ! The head of the
father, and the arm of Porthos. Ah! if he had been here, that Porthos,
you would have seen something worth looking at." Then as if by way
of remembrance—
" But where the devil can that brave Porthos be ? " murmured d'Ar..
tagnan.
THE DIAMOND OF M. D'EYMERIS. 281
" Come, chevalier, pray come !" urged Raoul.
"One minute, my friend; let me take my thirty-seven aud a half
pistoles, and I shall be at your service. The house is a good property,"
added d'Artagnan, as he entered the Image-de-Notre-Dame, "but,
decidedly, even if it were less profitable, I should prefer its being in
another quarter."
CHAPTER LXIII.
How the Diamond of M. d'Eymeris passed into the hands of M. d'Artag-nan.
"Whilst this violent, noisy, and bloody scene was passing on the
Greve, several men, barricaded behind the gate of communication with
the garden, replaced their swords in their sheaths, assisted one among
them to mount a ready saddled horse which was waiting in the garden,
and like a flock of terrified birds, fled away in all directions, some climb-
ing the walls, others rushing out at the gates with all the fury of a
panic. He who mounted the horse, and who gave him the spur so
sharply that the animal was near leaping the wall, this cavalier, we say,
crossed the Place Baudoyer, passed like lightning before the crowd in
the streets, riding against, running over, and knocking down all that
came in his way, and, ten minutes after, arrived at the gates of the
surintendant, more out of breath than his horse. The Abbe Pouquet,
at the clatter of the hoofs on the pavement, appeared at a window of
the court, and before even the cavalier had set foot to the ground,
" Well! Danecamp ? " cried he, leaning half out at the window.
" Well, it is all over," replied the cavalier.
" All over!" cried the abbe; " then they are saved ?"
"No, monsieur," replied the cavalier, "they are hung."
" Hung!" repeated the abbe, turning pale. A lateral door suddenly
opened, and Pouquet appeared in the chamber, pale, distracted, with
lips half opened, breathing a cry of grief and anger. He stopped upon
the threshold to listen to what was addressed from the court to the
window.
" Miserable wretches !" said the abbe, " you did not fight, then ?"
"Like lions."
" Say like cowards."
"Monsieur!"
" A hundred men accustomed to war, sword in hand, are worth ten
thousand archers in a surprise. Where is Menneville, that boaster,
that braggart, who was to come back either dead or a conqueror ?"
"Well, monsieur, he has kept his word; he is dead!"
" Dead! Who killed him ? "
"A demon disguised as a man, a giant armed with ten flaming swords
a madman, who at one blow extinguished the fire, extinguished the riot,
and caused a hundred musketeers to rise up out of the pavement of the
Place de Greve."
Pouquet raised his brow, streaming with sweat, murmuring, " Oh!
Lyodot and d'Eymeris! dead ! dead! dead! and I dishonoured."
The abbe turned round, and perceiving his brother despairing and
livid, " Come, come," said he, " it is a blow of fate, monsieur; we must
not lament thus. As it is not effected, it is because God "
"Be silent, abbe! be silent!" cried Pouquet; "your excuses are
blasphemies. Order that man up here, and let him relate the details of
this horrible event."
282 THE vicomte de bragelonne.
" But, brother "
" Obey, monsieur!"
The abbe made a sign, and in half a minute the step of the man was
heard upon the stairs. At the same time Gourville appeared behind
Fouquet, like the guardian angel of the surintendant, pressing one
linger upon his lips to enjoin observation even amidst the bursts of his
grief. The minister resumed all the serenity that human strength
could leave at the disposal of a heart half broken with sorrow. Dane-
camp appeared. " Make your report," said Gourville.
" Monsieur," replied the messenger, " we received orders to carry off
the prisoners, and to cry 1 Vive Colbert!' whilst carrying them off."
"To burn them alive, was it not, abbe?" interrupted Gourville.
" Yes, yes, the order was given to Menneville. Menneville knew what
was to be done, and Menneville is dead." This news appeared rather to
reassure Gourville than to sadden him.
" Yes, certainly, to burn them alive," said the abbe, eagerly.
" Granted, monsieur, granted," said the man, looking into the eyes
and the faces of the two interlocutors, to ascertain what there was pro-
Stable or disadvantageous to himself in telling the truth.
"Now, proceed," said Gourville.
" The prisoners," continued Danecamp, " were brought to the Greve,
and ,the people, in a fury, insisted upon their being burnt instead of
being hung."
"And the people were right," said the abb A " Go on."
" But," resumed the man, " at the moment the archers were broken,
at the moment the fire was set to one of the houses of the Place, destined
to serve as a funeral-pile for the guilty, the fury, the demon, the giant
of whom I told you, and who, we had been informed, was the proprietor
of the house in question, aided by a young man who accompanied him,
threw out of the window those who kept up the fire, called to-his assist-
ance the musketeers who were in the crowd, leaped himself from the
window of the first story into the Place, and plied his sword so desper-
ately that the victory was restored to the archers, the prisoners were
retaken, and Menneville killed. When once recaptured, the condemned
were executed in three minutes." Pouquet, in spite of his self-corn-
mand, could not prevent a deep groan from escaping him.
" And this man, the proprietor of the house, what is his name ?" said
the abbe.
" I cannot tell you, never having been able to get sight of him; my
post had been appointed in the garden, and I remained at my post; only
the affair was related to me as I repeat it. 1 was ordered, when once
the thing was ended, to come at best speed and announce to you the
manner in which it finished. According to this order, I set out, full
gallop, and here I am."
" Very well, monsieur, we have nothing else to ask of you," said the
abbe, more and more dejected, in proportion as the moment approached
for finding himself alone with his brother.
"Have you been paid?" asked Gourville.
" Partly, monsieur," replied Danecamp.
" Here are twenty pistoles. Be^gone, monsieur, and never forget to
defend, as this time has been done, the true interests of the king."
" Yes, monsieur," said the man, bowing and pocketing the money.
After which he went out. Scarcely had the door closed after him when
Pouquet, who had remained motionless, advanced with a rapid step, and
stood between the abbe and Gourville. Both of them at the same
instant opened their mouths to speak to him. " No excuses," said he,
THE DIAMOND OF M. D'EYMERIS. 283
" no recriminations against anybody. If I bad not been a false friend I
should not have confided to any one the care of delivering Lyodot and
d'Eymeris. I alone am guilty; to me alone are reproaches and remorse
due. Leave me, abbe."
" And yet, monsieur, you will not prevent me," replied the latter,
" from endeavouring to find out the miserable fellow who has inter-
vened for the advantage of Mi Colbert, in this so well-arranged affair;
for, if it is good policy to love our friends dearly, I do not believe that
is bad which consists in pursuing our enemies with inveteracy."
" A truce to policy, abbe; be gone, I beg of you, and do not let me
hear any more of you till I send for you; what we most need is circum-
spectionand silence. You have a terrible example before you, gentle-
men; no reprisals, I forbid them."
" There are no orders," grumbled the abbe, " which will prevent me
from avenging a family affront upon the guilty person."
" And I," cried Eouquet, in that imperative tone to which one feels
there is nothing to reply, "if you entertain one thought, one single
thought, which is not the absolute expression of my will, I will have you
cast into the Bastille, two hours after that thought has manifested
itself. Regulate your conduct accordingly, abbd."
The abbe coloured and bowed. Eouquet made a sign to Gourville to
follow him, and was already directing his steps towards his cabinet,
when the usher announced with a loud voice: Monsieur le Chevalier
d'Artagnan."
" Who is he," said Eouquet negligently to Gourville.
" An ex-lieutenant of his majesty's musketeers," replied Gourville,
in the same tone. Eouquet did not even take the trouble to reflect, and
resumed his walk. " I beg your pardon, monseigneur!" said Gour-
ville, " but I have remembered; this brave man has quitted the king's
service, and probably comes to receive a quarter of some pension or
other."
" Devil take him!" said Eouquet, " why does he choose his time so
ill?"
" Permit me then, monseigneur, to announce your refusal to him;
for he is one of my acquaintance, and is a man whom, in our present cir-
cumstances, it would be better to have as a friend than an enemy."
" Answer him as you please," said Fouquet.
" Eh! good Lord!" said the abbe, still full of malice, like an egotis-
tical man; " tell him there is no money, particularly for musketeers."
But scarcely had the abbd uttered this imprudent speech, when the
partly-open door was thrown back, and d'Artagnan appeared.
" Eh ! Monsieur Eouquet," said he, " I was well aware there was no
money for musketeers here. Therefore I did not come to obtain any,
but to have it refused. That being done, receive my thanks. I give you
good-day, and will go and seek it at M. Colbert's." And he went out,
after making an easy bow.
" Gourville," said Fouquet," run after that man and bring him back."
Gourville obeyed, and overtook d'Artagnan on the stairs. D'Artagnan,
hearing steps behind him, turned round and perceived Gourville.
" Mordioux 1 my dear monsieur," said he, " these are sad lessons which
you gentlemen of finance teach us;—I come to M. Eouquet, to
receive a sum accorded by his majesty, and I am received like a
mendicant who comes to ask charity, or like a thief who comes to steal
a piece of plate."
" But you pronounced the name of M. Colbert, my dear Monsieur
d'Artagnan; you said you were going to M. Colbert's ?"
284 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" I certainly am going there, were it only to ask satisfaction of thd
people who try to burn houses, crying ' Vive Colbert!'"
Gourville pricked up his ears. " Oh, oh!" said he, " you allude to
what has just happened at the Greve ? "
" Yes, certainly."
" And in what did that which has taken place concern you ? "
" What ! do you ask me whether it concerns me, or does not concern
me, if M. Colbert pleases to make a funeral-pile of my house ? "
" So, your house was it your house they wanted to burn ! "
" Pardieu ! was it!"
" Is the cabaret of the Image-de-Notre-Dame yours, then ? "
" It has been this week."
" Well, then, are you the brave captain, are you the valiant blade,
who dispersed those who wished to burn the condemned ? "
" My dear Monsieur Gourville, put yourself in my place; I am an
agent of the public force and a proprietor. As a captain, it is my duty
to have the orders of the king accomplished. As a proprietor, it is my
interest my hoilse should not be burnt. I have then at the same time
attended to the laws of interest and duty in replacing Messrs. Lyodot
and d'Eymeris in the hands of the archers."
" Then it was you who threw the man out of the window ?"
"It was I, myself," replied d'Artagnan, modestly.
" And you who killed Menneville ?"
" I had that misfortune," said d'Artagnan, bowing like a man who is
being congratulated.
"It was you then, in short, who caused the two condemned persons
to be hung?"
" Instead of being burnt, yes, monsieur, and I am proud of it. I
saved the poor devils from horrible tortures. Understand, my dear
Monsieur de Gourville, that they wanted to burn them alive ! It exceeds
imagination !"
" Go, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, go," said Gourville, anxious to
spare Eouquet the sight of a man who had just caused him such pro-
found grief.
"No," said Fouquet, who had heard all from the door of the ante-
chamber; " not so; on the contrary, Monsieur d'Artagnan, come in."
D'Artagnan wiped from the hilt of his sword a last bloody trace, which
had escaped his notice, and returned. He then found himself face to
face with these three men, whose countenances wore very different
expressions: with the abbe it was anger, with Gourville it was stupor,
with Fouquet it was dejection.
" I beg your pardon, monsieur le ministre," said d'Artagnan, " but
my time is short; I have to go to the office of the intendant, to have
an explanation with Monsieur Colbert, and to take my quarter's
pension."
" But, monsieur," said Fouquet, " there is money here." D'Artagnan
looked at the surintendant with astonishment. "You have been
answered inconsiderately, monsieur, I know, because I heard it;" said
the minister; " a man of your merit ought to be known by everybody."
D'Artagnan bowed. " Have you an order ?" added Fouquet.
"Yes, monsieur."
" Give it me, I will pay you myself; come with me." He made a
sign to Gourville and the abbd, who remained in the chamber where
they were. He led d'Artagnan into his cabinet. As soon as the door
was shut. " How much is due to you, monsieur ?"
THE DIAMOND OF M. D'EYMERIS, 285
" Why, something like five thousand livres, monseigneur."
" For ^our arrears of pay ? "
" For a quarter's pay."
" A quarter consisting of five thousand livres !" said Fouquet, fixing
upon the musketeer a searching look. " Does the king, then, give you
twenty thousand livres a year ? "
"Yes, monseigneur, twenty thousand livres a year; do you think it
is too much ? "
" I ? " cried Fouquet, and he smiled bitterly. " If I had any know-
ledge of mankind, if I were—instead of being a frivolous, inconse-
quent, and vain spirit—of a prudent and reflective spirit • if, in a word,
I had, as certain persons have known how, regulated my life, you would
not receive twenty thousand livres a year, but a hundred thousand, and
you would not belong to the king but to me."
D'Artagnan coloured slightly. There is in the manner in which an
eulogium is given, in the voice of the eulogizer, in his affectionate tone,
a poison so sweet, that the strongest mind is sometimes intoxicated by
it. The surintendant terminated this speech by opening a drawer, and
taking from it four rouleaux, which he placed before d'Artagnan. The
Gascon opened one. " Gold! " said he.
" It will be less burdensome, monsieur."
" But then, monsieur, these make twenty thousand livres."
"No doubt they do."
" But only five are due to me."
" I wish to spare you the trouble of coming four times to my office."
" You overwhelm me, monsieur."
" I do only what I ought to do, monsieur le chevalier; and I hope
you will not bear me any malice on account of the rude reception my
brother gave you. He is of a sour, capricious disposition."
" Monsieur," said d'Artagnan, " believe me, nothing would grieve me
more than an excuse from you."
" Therefore I will make no more, and will content myself with asking
you a favour."
" Oh, monsieur."
Fouquet drew from his finger a ring worth about a thousand pistoles.
" Monsieur," said he, " this stone was given me by a friend of my child-
hood, by a man to whom you have rendered a great service."
"A service—I ?" said the musketeer; "I have rendered a service to
one of your friends ? "
"You cannot have forgotten it, monsieur, for it dates this very day."
" And that friend's name was ? "
. " M. d'Eymeris."
" One of the condemned ? "
" Yes, one of the victims. Well! Monsieur d'Artagnan, in return
for the service you have rendered him, I beg you to accept this diamond.
Do so for my sake."
"Monsieur! you "
"Accept it, I say. To-day is with me a day of mourning; hereafter
you wfll, perhaps, learn why; to-day I have lost one friend; well, I will
try to get another."
" But, monsieur Fouquet "
"Adieu ! Monsieur d'Artagnan, adieu !" cried Fouquet, with much
emotion ; "or rather, au revoir." And the minister quitted the cabinet,
leaving in the hands of the musketeer the ring and the twenty thousand
livres.
286 THE VIC(5MinyrilAaEL0NNE.
"Oh! oh !" said d'Artagnan, after a moment's dark reflection. "Do
I understand what this means ? Mordioux! I can understand so far.
he is a gallant man! I will go and explain matters with M. Colbert."
And he went out.
CHAPTER LXIY.
Of the notable difference d'Artagnan finds between Monsieur the Intcndant and
Monsieur the Surintendant.
M. Colbert resided RueNeuve des Petits-champs, in a house which
had belonged to Beautru. The legs of d'Artagnan cleared the distance
in a short quarter of an hour. When he arrived at the residence of the
new favourite, the court was full of archers and police-people, who
came to congratulate him, or to excuse themselves, according to whether
he should choose to praise or blame. The sentiment of flattery is in-
stinctive among people of abject condition; they have the sense of it,
as the wild animal has that of hearing and smell. These people, or
their leader, had then understood that there was a pleasure to offer to
M. Colbert, in rendering him an account of the fashion in which his
name had been pronounced during the rash enterprise of the morning.
D'Artagnan made his appearance just as the chief of the watch was
giving his report. D'Artagnan stood close to the door, behind the
archers. That officer took Colbert on one side, in spite of his resistance
and the contraction of his great eye-brows. " In case," said he, " you
really desired, monsieur, that the people should do justice on the two
traitors, it would have been wise to warn us of it; for, indeed, monsieur,
in spite of our regret at displeasing you, or thwarting your views, we
had our orders to execute."
" Triple fool!" replied Colbert, furiously shaking his hair, thick and
black as a mane; what are you telling me, there ? What! that I
could have had an idea of a riot! Are you mad or drunk ? "
" But, monsieur, they cried ' Vive Colbert!'" replied the trembling
watch.
" A handful of conspirators "
" No, no ; a mass of people."
"Ah! indeed," said Colbert, expanding. "A mass of people cried
' Vive Colbert!' Are you certain of what you say, monsieur ? "
" We had nothing to do but to open our ears, or rather to close them,
so terrible were the cries."
" And this was from the people, the real people ? "
" Certainly, monsieur; only these real people beat us."
" Oh ! very well," continued Colbert, thoughtfully. " Then you
suppose it was the people alone who wished to burn the condemned ? "
" Oh! yes, monsieur."
" That is quite another thing. You strongly resisted, then ? "
"We had three men stifled, monsieur."
" But you killed nobody yourselves ? "
" Monsieur, a few of the rioters were left upon the square, and one
among them who was not a common man."
" Who was he ? "
" A certain Menneville, upon whom the police have a long time had
an eye."
THE INTENDANT AND SUEINTENDANT. 287
" Menneville!" cried Colbert, "what he who killed, Rue de la
Huchette, a worthy man who wanted a fat fowl ? "
" Yes, monsieur; the same."
" And did this Menneville also cry ' Vive Colbert ?'"
" Louder than all the rest; like a madman."
The brow of Colbert became cloudy and wrinkled. A kind of am-
bitious glory which had lighted his face was extinguished, like the light
of those glow-worms which we crush beneath the grass. _ " What then
do you say," resumed the deceived intendant, " that the initiative came
from the people ? Menneville was my enemy; I would have had him
hung, and he knew it well. Menneville belonged to the Abbe Fouquet
—all the affair originated with Fouquet; does not everybody know that
the condemned were his friends from childhood ? "
" That is true," thought d'Artagnan, " and there are all my doubts
cleared up. I repeat it, monsieur Fouquet may be what they please,
but he is a gentlemanly man."
" And," continued Colbert, " are you quite sure Menneville is dead ? "
D'Artagnan thought the time was come for him to make his appear-
ance. " Perfectly, monsieur," replied he, advancing suddenly.
" Oh! is that you, monsieur ? " said Colbert.
"In person," replied the musketeer with his deliberate tone, "it
appears that you had in Menneville a pretty little enemy."
" It was not I, monsieur, who had an enemy," replied Colbert; " it
was the king."
" Double brute! " thought d'Artagnan, " to think to play the great
man and the hypocrite with me. Well," continued he to Colbert, "I
am very happy to have rendered so good a service to the king; will you
take upon you to tell his majesty, monsieur l'intendant ? "
"What commission do you give me, and what do you charge me to
tell his majesty, monsieur ? Be precise if you please," said Colbert, in a
sharp voice, tuned beforehand to hostility.
" I give you no commission," replied d'Artagnan, with that calmness
which never abandons the banterer. " I thought it would he easy for
you to announce to his majesty that it was I who, being there by chance,
did justice upon Menneville, and restored things to order."
Colbert opened his eyes, and interrogated the chief of the watch with
a look—" An! it is very true," said the latter, " that this gentleman
saved us."
"What did you tell me, monsieur, that you are come to relate me
this ? " said Colbert with envy; " everything is explained, and better for
you than for any other."
" You are in error, monsieur l'intendant, I did not at all come for the
purpose of relating that to you."
" It is an exploit, nevertheless."
" Oh !" said the musketeer carelessly, " constant habit blunts the
mind."
" To what do I owe the honour of your visit, then ? "
" Simply to this: the king ordered me to come to you."
" Ah!" said Colbert, recovering himself, because he saw d'Artagnan
draw a paper from his pocket; " it is to demand some money of me ? "
" Precisely, monsieur."
"Have the goodness to wait, if you please, monsieur, till I have
dispatched the report of the watch."
D'Artagnan turned round upon his heel, insolently enough, and find-
ing himself face to face with Colbert, after this first turn, he bowed to
him as a harlequin would have done; then, after a second evolution, he
288 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
directed his steps towards the door in quick time. Colbert was struck
with his pointed rudeness, to which he>as not accustomed. In general,
men of the sword, when they came to his office, had such a want or
money, that though their feet had taken root in the marble, they would
not have lost their patience. "Was d'Artagnan going straight to the
king? Would he go and describe his bad reception, or recount his
exploit ? This was a grave matter of consideration. At all events, the
moment was badly chosen to send d'Artagnan away, whether he came
from the king, or on his own account. The musketeer had rendered too
great a service, and that too recently, for it to be already forgotten,
Therefore Colbert thought it would be better to shake off his arrogance,
and call d'Artagnan back. " Ho! monsieur d'Artagnan," cried Colbert,
" what! are you leaving me thus ? "
D'Artagnan turned round: " Why not ? " said he quietly, " we have
no more to say to each other, have we ? "
" You have at least money to take, as you have an order ?"
" Who, I ? Oh ! not at all, my dear monsieur Colbert."
. "But, monsieur you have an order ! And, in the same manner as you
give a sword-thrust, when you are required, I, on my part, pay when an
order is presented to me. Present yours."
"It is useless, my dear monsieur Colbert," said d'Artagnan, who
inwardly enjoyed the confusion introduced into the ideas of Colbert;
" this order is paid."
" Paid, by whom ? "
" By monsieur le surintendant."—Colbert became pale.
" Explain yourself, then," said he, in a stifled voice—" if you are paid
why do you show me that paper ? "
" In consequence of the word of order of which you spoke to me
so ingeniously just now, dear M. Colbert; the king told me to take a
quarter of the pension he is pleased to make me."
" Of me?" said Colbert.
" Not exactly. The king said to me: ' Go to M. Bouquet; the surin-
tendant will, perhaps, have no money, then you will go and draw it of
M. Colbert.'"
The countenance of M. Colbert brightened for a moment; but it was
with his unfortunate physiognomy as with a stormy sky, sometimes
radiant, sometimes dark as night, according as the lightning-gleams or
the cloud passes. "Eh! and was there any money in the surintendant's
coffers?" asked he.
" Why, yes, he could not be badly off for money," replied d'Artagnan
—" it may be believed, since M. Bouquet, instead of paying me a quarter,
of five thousand livres "
" A quarter, of five thousand livres !" cried Colbert, struck, as Bouquet
had been, with the largeness of the sum destined to pay a soldier; " why,
that would be a pension of twenty thousand livres!"
" Exactly, M. Colbert. Peste I you reckon like old Pythagoras; yes,
twenty thousand livres."
" Ten times the appointment of an intendant of the finances. I beg
to offer you my compliments," said Colbert, with a venomous smile.
" Oh !" said d'Artagnan, " the king apologized for giving me so little;
but he promised to make it more hereafter, when he should be rich;
but I must be gone, having much to do "
" So, then, notwithstanding the expectation of the king, the surin-
tendant paid you, did he ? "
" In the same manner as, in opposition to the king's expectation, you
refused to pay me."
THE INTENDANT AND SURINTENDANT. 289
" I did not refuse, monsieur, I only begged you to wait. And you say
that M. Fouquet paid you your five thousand livres ? "
"Yes, as you might have done; but he did still better than that.
M. Colbert."
" And what did he do ?"
" He politely counted me down the totality of the sum, saying, that
for the king, his coffers were always full."
" The totality of the sum! M. Fouquet has given you twenty thou-
sand livres instead of five thousand?"
" Yes, monsieur."
"And what for?"
" In order to spare me three visits to the money-chest of the surin-
tendant; so that I have the twenty thousand livres in my pocket in
good new coin. You see, then, that I am able to go away without
standing in need of you, having come here only for form's sake." And
d'Artagnan slapped his hand upon his pocket, with a laugh which dis-
closed to "Colbert thirty-two magnificent teeth, as white as teeth of
twenty-five years old, and which seemed to say in their language: "Serve
up to us thirty-two little Colberts, and we will grind them willingly."
The serpent is as brave as the lion, the hawk as courageous as the eagle,
that cannot be contested. It can only be said of animals that are
decidedly cowardly, and are so called, that they will not be brave when
they have to defend themselves. Colbert was not frightened at the
thirty-two teeth of d'Artagnan. He recovered, and suddenly,—" Mon-
sieur," said he, " monsieur le surintendant has done what he had no
right to do."
" What do you mean by that ? " replied d'Artagnan.
" I mean that your note—will you let me see your note, if you
please ? "
" Yery willingly; here it is."
Colbert seized the paper with an eagerness which the musketeer did
not remark without uneasiness, and particularly without a certain
degree of regret at having trusted him with it. " Well, monsieur, the
royal order says this' At sight, I command that there be paid to
M. d'Artagnan the sum of five thousand livres, forming a quarter of the
pension I have made him.'"
" So, in fact, it is written," said d'Artagnan, affecting calmness.
" Yery well; the king only owed you five thousand livres; why has
more been given to you ? "
" Because there was more ; and M. Fouquet was willing to give me
more; that does not concern anybody."
" It is natural," said Colbert, with a proud ease, " that you should be
ignorant of the usages of comptabilite; but, monsieur, when, you have
a thousand livres to pay, what do you do ? "
" I never have a thousand livres to pay," replied d'Artagnan.
" Once more," cried Colbert, irritated, " once more—if you had any
sum to pay, would you not pay what you ought ? "
" That only proves one thing," said d'Artagnan; " and that is, that
you have your particular customs in comptabilite, and M. Fouquet has
his own."
" Mine, monsieur, are the correct ones."
" I do not say they are not."
" And you have received what was not due to you."
The eye of d'Artagnan fashed. " What is not due to me yet, you
meant to say, M. Colbert; for if I had received what was not due to me
at all, I should have committed a theft."
u
290 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Colbert made no reply to this subtlety. " You then owe fifteen
thousand livres to the public chest," said he, carried away by his
jealous ardour.
" Then you must give me credit for them," replied d'Artagnan, with
his imperceptible irony.
" Not at all, monsieur."
.""Well! what will you do then? You will not take my rouleaux
from me, will you ? "
"You must return them to my chest."
" I! Oh ! Monsieur Colbert, don't reckon upon that."
" The king wants his money, monsieur."
" And I, monsieur, I want the king's money."
" That may be; but you must return this."
" Not a sou. I have always understood, that in matters of compta-
bilite, as you call it, a good cashier never gives back, or takes back.".
" Then, monsieur, we shall see what the king will say about it. I will
show him this note, which proves that M. Fouquet not only pays what
he does not owe, but that he does not even take care of the receipts for
what he has paid."
" Ah! now I understand why you have taken that paper, M. Col-
bert!"
Colbert did not perceive all that there was of a threatening character
in his name pronounced in a certain manner. " You shall see here-
after what use I will make of it," said he, holding up the paper in
his fingers.
" Oh ! " said d'Artagnan, snatching the paper from h.m with a rapid
movement; " I understand it perfectly well, M.Colbert; I have no occa-
sion to wait for that." And he crumpled up in his pocket the paper he
had so cleverly seized.
" Monsieur, monsieur ! " cried Colbert, " that is violence !"
" Nonsense ! you must not be particular about the manners of a sol-
dier !" replied d'Artagnan. " I kiss your hands, my dear M. Colbert."
And he went out, laughing in the face of the future minister.
" That man, now," muttered he, " was about to adore me; it is a great
pity I was obliged to cut company so soon."
CHAPTER LXV.
Philosophy of the Heart and Mind.
Foe a man who had seen so many much more dangerous ones, the
position of d'Artagnan with respect to M. Colbert was only comic.
D'Artagnan, therefore, did not deny himself the satisfaction of laugh-
ing at the expense of monsieur l'intendant, from the Rue des Petits-
Champs to the Rue des Lombards. It was a great while since d'Arta-
gnan had laughed so long together. He was still laughing when
Planchet appeared, laughing likewise, at the door of his house; for
Planchet, since the return of his patron, since the entrance of the
English guineas, passed the greater part of his life in doing what d'Ar-
tagnan had only done, from Rue-Neuve des Petits-Champs to the Rue
des Lombards.
" You are come, then, my dear master ? " said Planchet.
"No, my friend," replied the musketeer; "I am going, and that
PHILOSOPHY OF THE HEART AND MIND. 291
quickly. I will sup with you, go to bed, sleep five hours, and at break
of day leap into my saddle. Has my horse had an extra feed ? "
" Eh ! my dear master," replied Planchet, " you know very well that
your horse is the jewel of the family ; that my lads are caressing it all
day, and cramming it with sugar, nuts, and biscuits. You ask me if he
has had an extra feed of oats; you should ask if he has not had enough
to burst him."
" Yery well, Planchet, that is all right. Now, then, I pass to what
concerns me—my supper ? "
"Beady. A smoking roast joint, white wine, crayfish, and fresh-
gathered cherries. All ready, my master."
"You are a capital fellow, Planchet; come on, then, let us sup, and I
will go to bed."
During supper d'Artagnan observed that Planchet kept rubbing his
forehead, as if to facilitate the issue of some idea closely pent within his
brain. He looked with an air of kindness at this worthy companion of
his former crosses, and, clinking glass against glass, " Come, Planchet,"
said he, " let us see what it is that gives you so much trouble to bring it
forth. Mordioitx! speak freely, and quickly."
" Well, this is it," replied Planchet: " you appear to me to be going
on some expedition or other."
" I don't say that I am not."
Then you have some new idea ? "
" That is possible, too, Planchet."
" Then there will be a fresh capital to be ventured ? I will lay down
fifty thousand livres upon the idea you are about to carry out." And so
saying, Planchet rubbed his hands one against the other with a rapidity
evincing great delight.
" Planchet," said d'Artagnan, " there is but one misfortune in it."
" And what is that ? "
"That the idea is not mine. I can risk nothing upon it." These words
drew a deep sigh from the heart of Planchet. That Avarice is an ardent
counsellor; she carries away her man, as Satan did Jesus, to the moun-
tain, and when once she has shown to an unfortunate all the kingdoms
of the earth, she is able to repose herself, knowing full well that she has
left her companion Envy to gnaw his heart. Planchet had tasted of
riches easily acquired, and was never afterwards likely to stop in his
desires; but as he had a good heart in spite of his covetousness, as he
adored d'Artagnan, he could not refrain from making him a thousand
recommendations each more affectionate than the others. He would
not have been sorry, nevertheless, to have caught a little hint of the
secret his master concealed so well: tricks, turns, counsels, and traps
were all useless, d'Artagnan let nothing confidential escape him. The
evening passed thus. After supper the portmanteau occupied d'Arta-
gnan; he took a turn to the stable, patted his horse, and examined his
shoes and legs; then, having counted over his money, he went to bed,
sleeping as if only twenty, because he had neither inquietude nor re-
morse; he closed his eyes five minutes after he had blown out his lamp.
Many events might, however, have kept him awake. Thought boiled
in his brain, conjectures abounded, and d'Artagnan was a great drawer
of horoscopes; but, with that imperturbable phlegm which does more
than genius for the fortune and happiness of men of action, he put off
reflection till the next day, for fear, he said, not to be fresh when he
wanted to be so.
The day came. The Bue des Lombards had its share of the caresses
of Aurora with the rosy fingers, and d'Artagnan arose like Aurora,
it 2
292 THE YICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
He did not awaken anybody; he placed his portmanteau under his
arm, descended the stairs without making one of them creak, and with-
out disturbing one of the sonorous snorings storied from the garret to
the cellar; then, having saddled his horse, shut the stable and house
doors, he set off, at a foot-pace, on his expedition to Bretagne. He had
done quite right not to trouble himself with all the political and diplo-
matic affairs which solicited his attention; for, in the morning, in the
freshness and mild twilight, his ideas developed themselves in purity
and abundance. In the first place, he passed before the house of
Bouquet, and threw into a large gaping box the fortunate order which,
the evening before, he had had so much trouble to recover from the
hooked fingers of the intendant. Placed in an envelope, and addressed
to Bouquet, it had not even been divined by Planchet, who in divina-
tion was equal to Calchas or the Pythian Apollo. D'Artagnan thus sent
back the order to Bouquet, without compromising himself, and without
having thenceforward any reproaches to make himself. When he had
effected this proper restitution, " Now," said he to himself," let us inhale
much material air, much freedom from cares, much health; let us allow
the horse Zephyr, whose flanks puff as if he had to respire an atmo-
sphere, breathe; and let us be very ingenious in our little calculations.
It is time," said d'Artagnan, " to form a plan of the campaign, and.
according to the method of M. Turenne, who has a large head full of all
sorts of good counsels, before the plan of the campaign, it is advisable
to draw a striking portrait of the generals to whom we are to be op-
posed. In the first place, M. Bouquet presents himself. What is M.
Bouquet ?—M. Bouquet," replied d'Artagnan to himself, " is a hand-
some man, very much beloved by the women; a generous man, very
much beloved by the poets; a man of wit, much execrated by pre-
tenders. Well, now I am neither woman, poet, nor pretender; I neither
love nor hate monsieur le surintendant. I find myself, therefore, in
the same position in which M. de Turenne found himself when opposed
to the Prince de Conde at Jargeau, Gien, and the Baubourg Saint-
Antoine. He did not execrate monsieur le prince, it is true, but he
obeyed the king. Monsieur le prince is an agreeable man, but the king
is king. Turenne heaved a deep sigh, called Conde ' My cousin,' and
swept away his army. Now, what does the king wish ?—That does not
concern me. Now, what does M. Colbert wish?—Oh, that's another
thing. M. Colbert wishes all that M. Bouquet does not wish. Then
what does M. Bouquet wish ?—Oh, that is serious,—M. Bouquet wishes
precisely for all which the king wishes."
This monologue ended, d'Artagnan began to laugh, whilst making
his whip whistle in the air. He was already on the high road, frighten-
ing the birds in the hedges, listening to the livres chinking and dancing
in his leather pocket, at every step; and, let us confess it, every time
that d'Artagnan found himself in such conditions, tenderness was not
his dominant vice. " Come," said he, " I cannot think the expedition a
very dangerous one; and it will fall out with my voyage as with that
piece M. Monk took me to see in London, and which was called, I
think, Much Ado about Nothing."
THE JOURNEY.
m
CHAPTER LXYI.
The Journey.
It was perhaps the fiftieth time since the day on which wo opened
this history, that this man, with a heart of bronze and muscles of steel,
had left house and friends, everything, in short, to go in search of for-
tune and death. The one—that is to say, death—had constantly re-
treated before him, as if afraid of him; the other—that is to say, for-
tune—for a month past only had really made an alliance with him.
Although he was not a great philosopher, after the fashion of either
Epicurus or Socrates, he was a powerful spirit, having knowledge of life,
and endowed with thought. No one is as brave, as adventurous, or as
skilful as d'Artagnan, without being at the same time inclined to be a
dreamer. He had picked up, here and there, some scraps of M. de la
Rochefoucault, worthy of being translated into Latin by MM. de Port
Eoyal; and he had made a collection, en passant, in the society of Athos
and Aramis, of many morsels of Seneca and Cicero, translated by them,
and applied to the uses of common life. That contempt of riches which
our Gascon had observed as an article of faith during the thirty-five
first years of his life, had for a long time been considered by him as the
first article of the code of bravery. " Article first," said he, "A man is
brave because he has nothing. A man has nothing because he despises
riches." Therefore, with {hese principles, which, as we have said, had
regulated the thirty-five first years of his life, d'Artagnan was no sooner
possessed of riches, than he felt it necessary to ask himself if, in spite of
his riches, he were still brave. To this, for any other but d'Artagnan, the
events of the Place de Greve might have served as a reply. Many con-
sciences would have been satisfied with them, but d'Artagnan was brave
enough to ask himself sincerely and conscientiously if he were brave.
Therefore to this
" But it appears to me that I drew promptly enough, and cut and
thrust pretty freely on the Place de Greve, to be satisfied of my
bravery," d'Artagnan had himself replied. " Gently, captain, that is
not an answer. I was brave that day, because they were burning my
house; and there are a hundred, and even a thousand, to speak against
one, that if those gentlemen of the riots had not formed that unlucky
idea, their plan of attack would have succeeded, or, at least, it would
not have been I who would have opposed myself to it. Now, what will
be brought against me ? I have no house to be burnt in Bretagne; I have
no treasure there that can be taken from me.—No; but I have my skin;
that precious skin of M. d'Artagnan, which to him is worth more than
all the houses and all the treasures of the world. That skin to which I
cling above everything, because it is, everything considered, the binding
of a body which incloses a heart very warm and ready to fight, and,
consequently, to live. Then, I do desire to live; and, in reality, I live
much better, more completely, since I have become rich. Who the
devil ever said that money spoiled life! Upon my soul, it is no such
thing; on the contrary, it seems as if I absorbed a double quantity of
air and sun. Mordioux ! what will it be then, if I double that fortune;
and if, instead of the switch I now hold in my hand, I should ever carry
the b&ton of a marechal ? Then, I really don't know if there will be,
from that moment, enough of air and sun for me. In fact, this is not a
dream; who the devil would oppose it, if the king made me a duke and
294 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
marechal, as his father, King Louis XIII., made a duke and constable of
Albert de Luynes? Am I not as brave, and much more intelligent,
than that imbecile de Yitry P Ah ! that's exactly what will prevent my
advancement: I have too much wit. Luckily, if there is any justice
in this world, fortune owes me many compensations. She owes me,
certainly, a recompense for all I did for Anne of Austria, and an indem-
nification for all she has not done for me. Then, at the present, I am
very well with a king, and with a king who has the appearance of deter-
mining to reign. May God keep him in that illustrious road! For, if
he is resolved to reign, he will want me; and if he wants me, he will give
me what he has promised me—warmth and light; so that I march,
comparatively, now, as I marched formerly,—from nothing to every-
thing. Only the nothing of to-day is the all of former days; there has
only this little change taken place in my life. And now let us see ! let
us take the part of the heart, as I just now was speaking of it. But, in
truth, I only spoke of it from memory." And the Gascon applied his
hand to his breast, as if he were actually seeking the place where his
heart was.
"Ah ! wretch!" murmured he, smiling with bitterness. " Ah! poor
mortal species ! You hoped, for an instant, that you had not a heart,
and now you find you have one,—bad courtier as thou art,—and even one
of the most seditious. You have a heart which speaks to you in favour
of M. Fouquet. And what is M. Fouquet, when the king is in ques-
tion ?—A conspirator, a real conspirator, who did not even give himself
the trouble to conceal his being a conspirator; therefore, what a weapon
would you not have against him, if his good grace and his intelligence
had not made a scabbard for that weapon. An armed revolt!—for, in
fact, M. Fouquet has been guilty of an armed revolt. Thus, while the
king vaguely suspects M. Fouquet of rebellion, I know it—I could
prove that M. Fouquet had caused the shedding of the blood of his
majesty's subjects. Now, then, let us see? Knowing all that, and
holding my tongue, what further would this heart wish in return for a
kind action of M. Fouquet's, for an advance of fifteen thousand livres,
for a diamond worth a thousand pistoles, for a smile in which there was
as much bitterness as kindness ?—I save his life.
" Now, then, I hope," continued the musketeer, " that this imbecile of
a heart is going to preserve silence, and so be fairly quits with M. Fou-
quet. Now, then, the king becomes my sun, and as my heart is quits
with M. Fouquet, let him beware who places himself between me and
my sun! Forward, for his majesty Louis XIY.!—Forward !"
These reflections were the only impediments which were able to retard
the progress of d'Artagnan. These reflections once made, he increased
the speed of his horse. But, however perfect his horse Zephyr might be,
it could not hold out at such a pace for ever. The day after his depart-
ure from Paris, he was left at Chartres, at the house of an old friend
d'Artagnan had met with in an hotelier of that city. From that moment,
the musketeer travelled on post-horses. Thanks to this mode of loco-
motion, he traversed the space which separates Chartres from Chateau-
briand. In the last of these cities, far enough' from the coast to prevent
any one guessing that d'Artagnan wished to reach the sea,—far enough
from Paris to prevent all suspicion of his being a messenger from
Louis XIV., whom d'Artagnan had called his sun, without suspecting
that he who was only at present a rather poor star in the heaven of
royalty, would, one day, make that star his emblem; the messenger of
Louis XIV., we say, quitted the post and purchased a bidet of the
meanest appearance,—one of those animals which an officer of cavalry
THE JOUKNEY. 295
would never choose, for fear of being disgraced. Excepting the colour,
this new acquisition recalled to the mind of d'Artagnan the famous
orange-coloured horse with which, or rather upon which, he had made
his first appearance in the world. Truth to say, from the moment he
crossed this new steed, it was no longer d'Artagnan who was travelling,
—it was a good man clothed in an iron-grey justaucorps, brown haut-de-
chausses, holding the medium between a priest and a layman; that
which brought him nearest to the churchman was, that d'Artagnan had
placed on his head a calotte of threadbare velvet, and over the calotte,
a large black hat; no more sword; a stick, hung by a cord to his wrist;
but to which, he promised himself, as an unexpected auxiliary, to join,
upon occasion, a good dagger, ten inches long, concealed under his
cloak. The bidet purchased at Chateaubriand completed the metamor-
phosis; it was called, or rather, d'Artagnan called it, Furet (ferret).
" If I have changed Zephyr into Furet," said d'Artagnan, " I must
make some diminutive or other of my own name. So, instead of d'Ar-
tagnan, I will be Agnan, short; that is a concession which I naturally
owe to my grey coat, my round hat, and my rusty calotte."
Monsieur d'Artagnan travelled, then, pretty easily upon Furet, who
ambled like a true butter-woman's pad, and who, with his amble,
managed cheerfully about twelve leagues a day, upon four spindle-
shanks, of which the practised eye of d'Artagnan had appreciated the
strength and safety beneath the thick mass of hair which covered
them. Jogging along, the traveller took notes, studied the country,
which he traversed reserved and silent, ever seeking the pretext the
most plausible to go to Belle-Isle-en-Mer, and to see everything
without arousing suspicion. In this manner, he was enabled to con-
vince himself of the importance the event assumed in proportion as he
drew near to it. In this remote country, in this ancient duchy of
Bretagne, which was not France at that period, and is not even so now,
the people knew nothing of the king of France. They not only did
not know him, but were unwilling to know him. One fact—a single
one—floated visibly for them upon the political current. Their
ancient dukes no longer governed them; but it was avoid—nothing
more. In the place of the sovereign duke, the seigneurs of parishes
reigned without control; and, above these seigneurs, God, who has
never been forgotten in Bretagne. Among these suzerains of chateaux
and belfries, the most powerful, the most rich, and the most popular,
was M. Fouquet, seigneur of Belle-Isle. Even in the country, even
within sight of that mysterious isle, legends and traditions consecrate
its wonders. Every one did not penetrate into it: the isle, of an ex-
tent of six leagues in length, and six in breadth, was a seignorial
property, which the people had for a long time respected, covered as it
was with the name of Retz, so much redoubted in the country.
Shortly after the erection of this seigneurie into a marquisate, Belle-
Isle passed to M. Fouquet. The celebrity of the isle did not date from
yesterday; its name, or rather its qualification, is traced back to the
remotest antiquity: the ancients called it Kalonese, from two Greek
words, signifying beautiful isle. Thus, at a distance of eighteen hun-
dred years, it had borne, in another idiom, the same name it still bears.
There was, then, something in itself in this property of M. Fouquet's,
besides its position of six leagues off the coast of France; a position
which makes it a sovereign in its maritime solitude, like a majestic
ship which should disdain roads, and would proudly cast its anchors in
mid-ocean.
D'Artagnan learnt all this without appearing the least in the world
296 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
astonished. He also learnt that the best way to get intelligence was to
go to La Roche-Bernard, a tolerably important city at the mouth of
the Vilaine. Perhaps there he could embark; if not, crossing the
salt marshes, he would repair to Guerande-en-Croisic, to wait for an
opportunity to cross over to Belle-Isle. He had discovered, besides,
since his departure from Chateaubriand, that nothing would be im-
possible for Buret under the impulsion of M. Agnan, and nothing to
M. Agnan upon the initiative of Furet. He prepared, then to sup off
a teal and a tourteau, in an hotel of La Roche-Bernard, and ordered to
be brought from the cellar, to wash down these two Breton dishes,
some cider, which, the moment it touched his lips, he perceived to be
more Breton still.
CHAPTER LXVII.
How d'Artagnan became acquainted with a Poet, who had turned Printer for the
sake of Printing' his own Verses.
Befobe taking his place at table, d'Artagnan, acquired, as was his
custom, all the information he could; but it is an axiom of curiosity,
that every man who wishes to question well and fruitfully ought in the
first place to lay himself open to questions. D'Artagnan sought, then,
with his usual skill, a useful questioner in the hostelry of La Roche-
Bernard. At the moment, there were in the house, in the first story,
two travellers occupied also in preparations for supper, or with their
supper itself. D'Artagnan had seen their nags in the stable, and their
equipage in the salle. One travelled with a lackey, as a sort of per-
sonage;—two Perche mares, sleek, sound beasts, were their means of
locomotion. The other, rather, a little fellow, a traveller of meagre
appearance, wearing a dusty surtout, dirty linen, boots more worn by
the pavement than the stirrup, had come from Nantes with a cart
drawn by a horse so like Furet in colour, that d'Artagnan might have
gone a hundred miles without finding a better match. This cart con-
tained divers large packets wrapped up in pieces of old stuff.
"That traveller there," said d'Artagnan to himself, "is the man for
my money. He will do, he suits me; I ought to do for and suit him;
M. Agnan, with the grey doublet and the rusty calotte, is not unworthy
of supping with the gentleman of the old boots and the old horse." This
being said, d'Artagnan called the host, and desired him to send his teal,
tourteau, and cider up to the chamber of the gentleman of modest
exterior. He himself climbed, a plate in his hand, the wooden staircase
which led to the chamber, and began to knock at the door.
" Come in !" said the unknown. D'Artagnan entered, with a simper
on his lips, his plate under his arm, his hat in one hand, his candle in
the other.
" Excuse me, monsieur," said he, " I am, as you are, a traveller; I know
no one in the hotel, and 1 have the bad habit of losing my spirits when
I eat alone; so that my repast appears a bad one to me, and does not
nourish me. Your face, which 1 saw just now, when you came down
to have some oysters opened,—your face pleased me much. Besides, I
have observed you have a horse just like mine, and that the host, no
doubt on account of that resemblance, has placed them side by side in
the stable, where they appear to agree amazingly well together. I there-
fore, monsieur, cannot see why the masters should be separated when the
horses are united. In consequence, I am come to request the pleasure
d'aetagnan and the poet. 297
of being admitted to your table. My name is Agnan, at your service*
monsieur, the unworthy steward of a rich seigneur, who wishes to
purchase some salt-mines in this country, and sends me to examine his
future acquisitions. In truth, monsieur, I should be well pleased if my
countenance were as agreeable to you as yours is to me; for, upon my
honour, I am quite yours."
The stranger, whom d'Artagnan saw for the first time,—for before he
had only caught a glimpse of him,—the stranger had black and brilliant
eyes, a yellow complexion, a brow a little wrinkled by the weight of
fifty years, bonhomie in his features collectively, but a little cunning in
his look.
" One would say," thought d'Artagnan, " that this merry fellow has
never exercised more than the upper part of his head, his eyes, and his
brain. He must be a man of science: his mouth, nose, and chin
signify absolutely nothing."
" Monsieur," replied the latter, with whose mind and person we have
been making so free, " you do me much honour; not that I am ever
ennuye, for I have," added he, smiling, " a company which amuses me
always; but, never mind that, I am very happy to receive you." But
when saying this, the man with the worn boots cast an uneasy look at
his table, from which the oysters had disappeared, and upon which
there was nothing left but a morsel of salt bacon.
" Monsieur," d'Artagnan hastened to say," the host is bringing me
up a pretty piece of roasted poultry and a superb tourteau." D'Artagnan
had read in the look of his companion, however rapid it had been, the
fear of an attack by a parasite: he divined justly. At this opening, the
features of the man of modest exterior relaxed; and, as if he had
watched the moment for his entrance, as d'Artagnan spoke, the host
appeared, bearing the announced dishes. The'tourteau and. the teal
were added to the morsel of broiled bacon; d'Artagnan and his guest
bowed, sat down opposite to each other, and, like two brothers, shared
the bacon and the other dishes.
" Monsieur," said d'Artagnan, " you must confess that association is a
wonderful thing."
" How so ?" replied the stranger, with his mouth full.
" Well, I will tell you," replied d'Artagnan.
The stranger gave a short truce to the movement of his jaws, in order
to hear the better.
" In the first place," continued d'Artagnan, " instead of one candle,
which each of us had, we have two."
" That is true!" said the stranger, struck with the extreme justness
of the observation.
" Then I see that you eat my tourteau in preference, whilst I, in pre-
ference, eat your bacon."
" That is true again."
" And then, in addition to being better lighted and eating what we
prefer, I place the pleasure of your company."
" Truly, monsieur, you are very jovial," said the unknown, cheerfully.
" Yes, monsieur; jovial, as all people are who carry nothing in their
heads. Oh! I can see it is quite another sort of thing with you," con-
tinued d'Artagnan ; " I can read in your eyes all sorts of genius."
" Oh, monsieur!"
" Come, confess one thing." " What is that ? "
" That you are a learned man." " Ma foil monsieur."
" Rein 1" " Almost."
" Come, then!" " I am an author."
298 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" There !" cried d'Artagnan, clapping his hands, " I knew I could not
be deceived ! It is a miracle ! "
" Monsieur "
" What! shall I have the honour of passing the evening in the society
of an author, of a celebrated author, perhaps ? "
" Oh!" said the unknown, blushing, ' celebrated, monsieur, cele-
brated is not the word."
" Modest!" cried d'Artagnan, transported, " he is modest! " Then,
turning towards the stranger, with a character of blunt bonhomie:
" But tell me at least the name of your works, monsieur ; for you will
please to observe you have not told me yours, and I have been forced
to divine your genius."
" My name is Jupenet, monsieur," said the author.
" A fine name ! a fine name! upon my honour; and I do not know
why—pardon me the mistake, if it be one—but surely I have heard that
name somewhere."
" I have made verses," said the poet modestly.
" Ah! that is it, then; I have heard them read."
" A tragedy."
" I must have seen it played."
The poet blushed again, and said: " I do not think that can be the
case, for my verses have not been printed."
" Well, then, it must have been the tragedy which informed me of
your name."
" You are again mistaken, for MM. the comedians of the Hotel de
Bourgogne would have nothing to do with it," said the poet, with the
smile of which certain sorts of pride alone know the secret. D'Artag-
nan bit his lips. " Thus then you see, monsieur," continued the poet,
" you are in error on my account, and that not being at all known to
you, you have never heard speak of me."
" And that confounds me. That name, Jupenet, appears to me never-
theless, a fine name, and quite as worthy of being known as those of
MM. Corneille, or Botrou, or Garnier. I hope, monsieur, you will
have the goodness to repeat to me a part of your tragedy presently, by
way of dessert, for instance. That will be sugared roast meat,—mor-
dioux! Ah! pardon me, monsieur, that was a little oath which
escaped me, because it is a habit with my lord and master. I sometimes
allow myself to usurp that little oath, as it seems in good taste. I take
this liberty only in his absence, please to observe, for you may under-
stand that in his presence—but, in truth "
" Monsieur, this cider is abominable! do you not think so ? And
besides, the pot is of such an irregular shape it will not stand on
the table."
" Suppose we were to make it level ? "
" To be sure; but with what ? "
" With this knife."
" And the teal, with what shall we cut that up ? Do you not, by
chance, mean to touch the teal ? " " Certainly."
" Well then —" Wait." And the poet rummaged in his pocket,
and drew out a piece of brass, oblong, quadrangular, about a line in
thickness, and an inch and a half in length. But scarcely had this little
piece of brass seen the light, than the poet appeared to have committed
an imprudence, and made a movement to put it back again in his pocket.
D'Artagnan perceived this, for he was a man nothing escaped. He
stretched forth his hand towards the piece of brass : u Humph ! that
which you hold in your hand is pretty, will you allow me to look at
it?"
D'ARTAGNAN AND THE POET. 299
" Certainly," said the poet, who appeared to have yielded too soon to
a first impulse. " Certainly, you may look at it; hut it will be in vain
for you to look at it," added he, with a satisfied air; " if I were not to
tell you the use of that, you would never guess it."
D'Artagnan had seized as an avowal the hesitation of the poet, and
his eagerness to conceal the piece of brass which a first movement had
induced him to take out of his pocket. His attention, therefore, once
awakened on this point, he surrounded himself with a circumspection
which gave him a superiority upon all occasions. Besides, whatever
M. Jupenet might say about it, by the simple inspection of the object,
he had perfectly known what it was. It was a character in printing.
" Can you guess, now, what this is ? " continued the poet.
"No," said d'Artagnan, " no, ma foi!"
""Well, monsieur," said M. Jupenet, "this little piece of brass is a
printing letter." " Bah!"
" A capital."
" Stop, stop, stop," said d'Artagnan, opening his eyes very innocently.
"Yes, monsieur, a capital; the first letter of my name."
" And this is a letter, is it ? " " Yes, monsieur."
" Well; I will confess one thing to you."
" And what is that ? "
" No, I will not; I was going to say something very stupid."
" No, no," said Master Jupenet, with a patronizing air.
" Well, then, I cannot comprehend, if that is a letter, how you can
make a word."
" A word ? " " Yes, a printed word."
" Oh, that's very easy." " Let me see."
" Does it interest you ? " " Enormously."
" Well, I will explain the thing to you. Attend."
" I am attending."
" This is it." " Good."
" Look attentively."
" I am looking." D'Artagnan, in fact, appeared absorbed in his ob-
servations. Jupenet drew from his pocket seven or eight other pieces
of brass, but smaller than the first.
" Ah, ah!" said d'Artagnan.
"What?" "You have, then, a whole printing office in your
pocket. Teste ! that is curious indeed."
" Is it not ? "
" Good God, what a number of things we learn by travelling."
" To your health!" said Jupenet, quite enchanted.
" To yours, mordioux, to yours. But—an instant—not in this cider.
It is an abominable drink, unworthy of a man who quenches his thirst
at the Hippocrene fountain—is not it so you call your fountain, you
poets ? "
"Yes, monsieur, our fountain is so called. That comes from two
Greek words—hippos, which means a horse, and "
" Monsieur," interrupted d'Artagnan, " you shall drink of a liquor
which comes from one single French word, and is none the worse for
that,—from the word grape; this cider gives me the heartburn. Allow
me to inquire of our host if there is not a good bottle of Beaugency, or
of the Ceran growth, at the back of the large bins of his cellar."
The host, being called, immediately attended.
" Monsieur," interrupted the poet, " take care, we shall not have time
to drink the wine, unless we make great haste, for I must take advan-
tage of the tide to secure the boat."
500 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONHE.
" What boat ? " asked d'Artagnan.
" Why, the boat which sots out for Belle-Isle."
" Ah,—for Belle-Isle," said the musketeer, " that is good."
" Bah! you will have plenty of time, monsieur," replied the hotelier,
uncorking the bottle, " the boat will not leave this hour."
" But who will give me notice ? " said the poet.
" Your neighbour," replied the host.
■ " But I scarcely know him."
" When you hear him going, it will be time for you to go."
" Is he going to Belle-Isle, likewise, then ? " " Yes."
" The monsieur who has a lackey ? " asked d'Artagnan. " He is some
gentleman, no doubt ? "
" I know nothing of him."
" How!—know nothing of him ?"
"No; all I know is, that he is drinking the same wine as you."
" Peste! that is a great honour for us," said d'Artagnan, filling his
companion's glass, whilst the host went out.
" So," resumed the poet, returning to his dominant ideas, "you never
saw any printing done ?" " Never."
"Well, then, take the letters thus, which compose the word, you see;
A B; ma foi ! here is an R, two E E, then a G." And he assembled
the letters with a swiftness and skill which did not escape the eye of
d'Artagnan.
" Abrege," said he, as he ended.
"Good!" said d'Artagnan; "here are plenty of letters got together;
but how are they kept so ?" And he poured out a second glass for the
poet. M. Jupenet smiled like a man who has an answer for every-
thing; then he pulled out—still from his pocket—a little metal ruler,
composed of two parts, like a carpenter's rule, against which he put
together, and in a line, the characters, holding them under his left
thumb.
"And what do you call that little metal ruler ?" said d'Artagnan, "for,
I suppose, all these things have names."
"This is called a composing-stick," said Jupenet; "it is by the aid of
this stick that the lines are formed."
" Come, then, I was not mistaken in what I said; you have a press in
your pocket," said d'Artagnan, laughing with an air of simplicity so
stupid, that the poet was completely his dupe.
"No," replied he; "but I am too lazy to write, and when I have a
verse in my head, I print it immediately. That is a labour spared."
" Mordioux /" thought d'Artagnan to himself, " this must be cleared
up." And under a pretext, which did not embarrass the musketeer,
who was fertile in expedients, he left the table, went down stairs, ran to
the shed under which stood the poet's little cart, poked the point of his
poniard into the stuff which enveloped one of the packages, which he
found full of types, like those which the poet had in his pocket.
" Humph!" said d'Artagnan, " I do not yet know whether M. Eou-
quet wishes to fortify Belle-Isle; but, at all events, here are some
spiritual munitions for the castle." Then, rich in his discovery, he ran
up stairs again, and resumed his place at the table.
D'Artagnan had learnt what ne wished to know. He, however, re-
mained, none the less, face to face with his partner, to the moment when
they heard from the next room symptoms of a person's being about to
fo out. The printer was immediately on foot; he had given orders for
is horse to be got ready. His carriage was waiting at the door. The
second traveller got into his saddle, in the courtyard, with his lackey.
d'artagnan continues his investigations. 301
D'Artagnan followed Jupenet to the door; he embarked.his cart and
horse on board the boat. As to the opulent traveller, he did the same
with his two horses and his servant. But all the wit d'Artagnan em-
ployed in endeavouring to find out his name was lost—he could learn
nothing. Only he took such noticeof his countenance, that that coun-
tenance was impressed upon his mind for ever. D'Artagnan had a great
inclination to embark with the two travellers, but an interest, more
powerful than curiosity—that of success—repelled him from the shore,
and brought him back again to the Mtellerie. He entered with a sigh,
and went to bed directly, in order to be ready early in the morning with
fresh ideas and the counsel of the night.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
D'Artagnan continues his Investigations.
At daybreak, d'Artagnan saddled Buret, who had fared sumptuously
all the night, and devoured the remainder of the corn left by her com-
panions. The musketeer sifted all he could out of the host, whom he
found cunning, mistrustful, and devoted, body and soul, to M. Fouquet.
In order then not to awaken the suspicions of this man, he carried on
his fable of being a probable purchaser of some salt-mines. To have
embarked for Belle-Isle at Roche-Bernard, would have been to expose
himself to comments which had, perhaps, been already made, and would
be carried to the castle. Moreover, it was singular that this traveller
and his lackey should have remained a secret for d'Artagnan, in spite of
all the questions addressed by him to the host, who appeared to know
him perfectly well. The musketeer then made some inquiries concern-
ing the salt-mines, and took the road to the marshes, leaving the sea to
his right, and penetrating into that vast and desolate plain which re-
sembles a sea of mud, of which, here and there, a few crests of salt
silver the undulations. Furet walked admirably, with his litle nervous
legs, along the foot-wide causeway^ which separate the salt-mines.
D'Artagnan, aware of the consequences of a fall, which would result in
a cold bath, allowed him to go as he liked, contenting himself with
looking at, in the horizon, the three rocks, which rose up like lance-
blades from the bosom of the plain, destitute of verdure. Pirial, the
bourgs of Batz and Le Croisic, exactly resembling each other, attracted
and suspended his attention. If the traveller turned round, the better
to make his observations, he saw on the other side an horizon of three
other steeples, Guerande, Le Pouiighen, and Saint-Joachim, which, in
their circumference, represented a set of skittles, of which he and
Furet were but the wandering ball. Pirial was the first little port on
his right. He went thither, with the names of the principal salters in
his mouth. At the moment he visited the little port of Pirial, five
large barges, laden with stone, were leaving it. It appeared strange to
d'Artagnan, that stones should be leaving a country where none are
found. He had recourse to all the amenity of M. Agnan to learn from
the people of the port the cause of this singularity. An old fisherman
replied to M. Agnan, that the stones, very certainly, did not come from
Pirial or the marshes.
"Where do they come from, then?" asked the musketeer.
" Monsieur, they come from Nantes and Paimbceuf."
" Where are they going then ?"
802 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
" Monsieur, to Belle-Isle."
"Ah! ah !" said d'Artagnan, in the same tone he had assumed to tell
the printer that his characters interested him; "are they building at
Belle-Isle, then ?"
" Why, yes, monsieur, M. Bouquet has the walls of the castle repaired
every year."
"Is it in ruins then ?" "It is old."
"Thank you."—"The fact is," said d'Artagnan, to himself, "nothing
is more natural; every proprietor has a right to repair his property.
It would be like telling me I was fortifying the ' Image de Notre-Dame,'
when I should be purely and simply obliged to make repairs. In good
truth, I believe false reports have been made to his majesty, and he is
very likely to be in the wrong."
" You must confess," continued he then aloud, and addressing the
fisherman—for his part of a suspicious man was imposed upon him by
the object even of his mission—you must confess, my good monsieur,
that these stones travel in a very curious fashion."
"How so?" said the fisherman.
"They come from Nantes or Paimbceuf by the Loire, do they not ?"
" That descends."
" That is convenient,—I don't say it is not; but why do they not go
straight from Saint-Nazaire to Belle-Isle ?"
"Eh! because the chalands (barges) are bad boats, and keep the sea
badly," replied the fisherman.
" That is not a reason."
"Pardon me, monsieur, one may see that you have never been a
sailor," added the fisherman, not without a sort of disdain.
"Explain that to me, if you please, my good man. It appears to me
that to come from Paimboeuf to Pirial, and go from Pirial to Belle-Isle,
is as if we went from Roche-Bernard to Nantes, and from Nantes to
Pirial."
" By water that would be the nearest way," replied the fisherman,
imperturbably.
But there is an elbow ? " The fisherman shook his head.
" The shortest road from one place to another is the straight line,"
continued d'Artagnan.
"You forget the tide, monsieur." "Well! take the tide."
" And the wind." " Well, and the wind."
" Without doubt; the current of the Loire carries barques almost as
far as Croisic. If they want to lie by a little, or to refresh the crew,
they come to Pirial along the coast; from Pirial they find another
inverse current, which carries them to the Isle-Dumel, two leagues and
a half." " Granted."
" There the current of the Yilaine throws them upon another isle,
the isle of Hoedic." " I agree to that."
"Well, monsieur, from that isle to Belle-Isle the way is quite straight.
The sea, broken both above and below, passes like a canal—like a mirror
between the two isles; the chalands glide along upon it like ducks upou
the Loire; that is it."
" It does not signify," said the obstinate M. Agnan; " it is very far
about."
" Ah! yes; but M. Bouquet will have it so," replied, as conclusive,
the fisherman, taking oflf his woollen cap at the enunciation of that
respected name.
A look from d'Artagnan, a look as keen and piercing as a sword-
blade, found nothing in the heart of the old man but simple confidence;
D'ARTAGNAN CONTINUES HIS INVESTIGATIONS- 303
on his features nothing hut satisfaction and indifference. He said
" M. Fouquet will have it so," as he would have said " God has willed
it."
D'Artagnan had already advanced too far in this direction; besides,
the chalands being gone, there remained nothing at Pirial but a single
barque—that of the old man, and it did not look fit for sea without great
preparation. D'Artagnan therefore aroused Furet, who, as a new proof
of his charming character, resumed his march with his feet in the salt-
mines, and his nose to the dry wind, which bends the furze and the
broom of this country. He reached Croisic about five o'clock.
If d'Artagnan had been a poet, it was a beautiful spectacle that of the
immense strand of a league or more, which the sea covers at high tides,
and which; at the reflux, appears grey, desolate, spread over with poly-
puses and sea-weed, with its pebbles dispersed and white, like the
hones in some vast old cemetery. But the soldier, the politician, and
the ambitious man, had no longer the sweet consolation of looking
towards heaven, to read there-a hope or a warning. A red sky signifies
nothing to such people but wind and disturbance. White and fleecy
clouds upon the azure only say that the sea will be smooth and peace-
ful. D'Artagnan found the sky blue, the breeze embalmed with saline
perfumes, and he said: " I will embark with the first tide, if it be but
in a nut-shell."
At Croisic as at Pirial, he had remarked enormous heaps of stone
lying along the shore. These gigantic walls, demolished every tide by
the transport operated upon them for Belle-Isle, were, in the eyes of
the musketeer, the consequence and the proof of what he had well
divined at Pirial. Was it a wall that M. Fouquet was constructing ?
was it a fortification he was erecting ? To ascertain that, he must see
it. D'Artagnan put Furet into a stable; supped, went to bed, and on
the morrow took a walk upon the port, or rather upon the shingle.
Le Croisic has a port of fifty feet; it has a look-out which resembles an
enormous brioche (a kind of cake) elevated on a dish. The flat strand
is the dish. Hundreds of barrowsful of earth, solidified with the
fjebbles, and rounded into cones, with sinuous passages between, are
ooks-out and brioches at the same time. It is so now, it was so two
hundred years ago, only the brioche was less large, and probably there
were not to be seen trellises of lath around the brioche, which con-
stitute the ornament of it, and which the edility of that poor and pious
bourgade has planted like gardes-fous along the passages, winding
towards the little terrace. Upon the shingle were three or four
fishermen talking about sardines and shrimps. D'Artagnan, with his
eye animated by rough gaiety, and a smile upon his lips, approached
these fishermen.
" Any fishing going on to-day ? " said he.
"Yes, monsieur," replied one of them, "we are only waiting for the
tide."
" Where do you fish, my friends ?"
" Upon the coasts, monsieur."
" Which are the best coasts ? "
" Ah, that is according. The tour of the isles, for example."
"Yes, but they are a long way off, those isles, are they not ? "
"Not very; four leagues."
" Four leagues ! That is a voyage."
The fishermen laughed out in M. Agnan's face.
" Hear me, then," said the latter, with an air of simple stupidity;
" four leagues off you lose sight of land, do you not ? "
304 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Why, not always."
" Ah, it is a long way—too long, or else I would have asked you to
take me aboard, and to show me what I have never seen."
" What is that ? " " A live sea-fish."
" Monsieur comes from the province ? " said a fisherman.
" Yes, I come from Paris."
The Breton shrugged his shoulders; then: "Have you ever seen
M. Fouquet in Paris ? " asked he.
" Often," replied d'Artagnan.
" Often!" repeated the fishermen, closing their circle round the
Parisian. "Ho you know him?"
" A little; he is the intimate friend of my master."
" Ah !" said the fishermen, in astonishment.
" And," said d'Artagnan," I have seen all his chateaux of Saint-Mande
of Yaux, and his hotel in Paris."
" Is that a fine place ? " " Superb."
" It is not so fine a place as Belle-Isle," said the fisherman.
" Bah!" cried M. d'Artagnan, breaking into a laugh so loud that he
angered all his auditors.
"It is very plain you have never seen Belle-Isle," said the most
curious of the fishermen. " Do you know that there are six leagues of
it; and that there are such trees on it as cannot be equalled even at
Nantes-sur-le-Fosse ? "
" Trees in the sea!" cried d'Artagnan; " well, I should like to see
them."
" That can be easily done; we are fishing at the Isle de Hoedic—come
with us. From that place you will see, as a Paradise, the black trees of
Belle-Isle against the sky; you will see the white line of the castle, which
cuts the horizon of the sea like a blade."
" Oh," said d'Artagnan, " that must be very beautiful. But do you
know there are a hundred belfries at M. Fouquet's chateau of Yaux ? "
The Breton raised his head in profound admiration, but he was not
convinced. " A hundred belfries! Ah, that may be; but Belle-Isle is
finer than that. Should you like to see Belle-Isle ? "
" Is that possible ? " asked d'Artagnan.
" Yes, with permission of the governor."
" But I do not know the governor."
" As you know M. Fouquet, you can tell your name."
" Oh, my friends, I am not a gentleman."
"Everybody enters Belle-Isle," continued the fisherman, in his
strong, pure language, " provided he means no harm to Belle-Isle or its
master."
A slight shudder crept over the body of the musketeer. "That is
true," thought he. Then, recovering himself, " If I were sure," said
he, " not to be sea-sick."
"What, upon her!" said the fisherman, pointing with pride to his
pretty round-bottomed barque.
"Well, you almost persuade me," cried M. Agnan; "I will go and
see Belle-Isle, but they will not admit me."
"We shall enter, safe enough."
"You! What for?"
" Why, dame ! to sell fish to the corsairs."
" He ! Corsairs—what do you mean ? "
" Well, I mean that M. Fouquet is having two corsairs built to chase
the Dutch and the English, and we sell our fish to the crews of those
little vessels."
D'AETAGNAN CONTINUES HIS INVESTIGATIONS. 305
" Come, come!" said d'Artagnan to himself—" better and better. A
printing-press, bastions, and corsairs! Well, M. bouquet is not an
enemy to be despised, as I presumed to fancy. He is worth the trouble
of travelling to see him nearer."
"We set out at half-past five," said the fisherman, gravely.
" I am quite ready, and I will not leave you now." So d'Artagnan
saw the fishermen haul their barques to meet the tide with a wind-
lass. The sea rose; M. Agnan allowed himself to be hoisted on board,
not without sporting a little fear and awkwardness, to the amusement
of the young sea-urchins who watched him with their large intelligent
eyes. He laid himself down upon a folded sail, did not interfere with
anything whilst the barque prepared for sea; and, with its large square
sail, it was fairly out within two hours. The fishermen, who prosecuted
their occupation as they proceeded, did not perceive that their pas-
senger had not become pale, had neither groaned nor suffered; that, in
spite of the horrible tossing and rolling of the barque, to which no
hand imparted direction, the novice passenger had preserved his pre-
sence of mind and his appetite. They fished, and their fishing was
sufficiently fortunate. To lines baited with prawns, soles came, with
numerous gambols, to bite. Two nets had .already been broken by the
immense weight of congers and haddocks; three sea-eels ploughed the
hold with their slimy folds and their dying contortions. D'Artagnan
brought them good luck; they told him so. The soldier found the
occupation so pleasant, that he put his hand to the work—that is to
say, to the lines—and uttered roars of joy, and mordioux enough to
have astonished musketeers themselves, every time that a shock given
to his line by a captured prey required the play of the muscles of his
arm, and the employment of his skill and strength. The party of
pleasure had made him forget his diplomatic mission. He was strug-
gling with an awfully large conger, and holding fast with one hand to
the side of the vessel, in order to seize with the other the gaping jowl
of his antagonist, when the patron said to him, "Take care they don't
see you from Belle-Isle !"
These words produced the same effect upon d'Artagnan as the hissing
of the first bullet on a day of battle; he let go of both line and conger,
which, one dragging the other, returned again to the water. D'Arta-
gnan perceived, within half a league at most, the blue and marked pro-
file of the rocks of Belle-Isle, dominated by the white majestic line of
the castle. In the distance, the- land with its forests and verdant
plains; cattle on the grass. This was what first attracted the attention
of the musketeer. The sun darted its rays of gold upon the sea,
raising a shining mist or dust around this enchanted isle. Nothing
could be seen of it, owing to this dazzling light, but the flattened
points; every shadow was strongly marked, and cut with a band of
darkness the luminous sheet of the fields and the walls. "Eh ! eh!"
said d'Artagnan, at the aspect of those masses of black rocks, "these
are fortifications which do not stand in need of any engineer to render
a landing difficult. Which the devil way could a landing be effected
on that isle, which God has defended so completely ?"
" This way," replied the patron of the barque, changing the sail, and
impressing upon the rudder a twist which turned the boat in the
direction of a pretty little port, quite coquettish, quite round, and
quite newly battlemented.
"What the devil do I see yonder? "said d'Artagnan. "You see
Iieomaria," replied the fisherman.
" Well, but there ? " " That is Bragos."
x
306 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" And further on ? " " Sanger, and then the palace."
" Mordioux ! It is a world. Ah ! there are some soldiers."
" There are seventeen hundred men in Belle-Isle, monsieur," replied
the fisherman, proudly. " Do you know that the least garrison is of
twenty companies of infantry ? "
"Mordioux /" cried d'Artagnan, stamping with his foot. "His
majesty was right enough." They landed.
CHAPTER LXIX.
In which the reader, no doubt, will be as astonished as d'Artagnan was to meet
with an old acquaintance.
Thebe is always something in a landing, if it be only from the smallest
sea-boat—a trouble and a confusion which do not leave to the mind the
liberty of which it stands in need in order to study at the first glanoe
the new place that is presented to it. The moveable bridges, the agi-
tated sailor, the noise of the water upon the pebbles, the cries and the
importunities of those who wait on the shores, are the multiplied details
of that sensation which is summed up in one single result—hesitation.
It was not, then, till after standing several minutes on the shore that
d'Artagnan saw upon the port, but more particularly in the interior of
the isle, an immense number of workmen in motion. At his feet
d'Artagnan recognized the five chalands laden with rough stone which
he had seen leave the port of Pirial. The stones were transported
to the shore by means of a chain formed by twenty-five or thirty
peasants. The large stones were loaded upon carriages which conveyed
them in the same direction as the shards, that is to say, towards the
works, of which d'Artagnan could as yet appreciate neither the strength
nor the extent. Everywhere was to be seen an activity equal to that
which Telemachus observed on his landing at Salentum. D'Artagnan
felt a strong inclination to penetrate into the interior; but he could
not, under the penalty of exciting mistrust, exhibit too much curiosity.
He advanced then only by little and little, scarcely going beyond the
line formed by the fishermen on the beach, observing everything, saying
nothing, and meeting all suspicions that might have been excited with
a half-silly question or a polite bow. And yet, whilst his companions
carried on their trade, giving or selling their fish to the workmen
or the inhabitants of the city, d'Artagnan had gained ground by de-
grees, and, reassured by the little attention paid to him, he began
to cast an intelligent and confident look upon the men and things that
appeared before his eyes. And his very first glance fell upon movements
of earth in which the eye of a soldier could not be mistaken. At the
two extremities of the port, in order that the fires should cross upon
the great axis of the ellipsis formed by the basin, in the first place, two
batteries had been raised evidently destined to receive flank pieces, for
d'Artagnan saw the workmen finishing the platforms and making ready
the demi-circumference in wood upon which the wheel of the pieces
might turn to embrace every direction over the epaulment. By the side
of each of these batteries other workmen were strengthening gabions
filled with earth, the lining of another battery. The latter had embra-
sures, and a conductor of the works called successively men who, with
cords, tied the saitcissons, and those who cut the lozenges and right
angles of turfs destined to retain the matting of .the embrasures. By
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 307
the activity displayed in these works, already so far advanced, they
might be considered as terminated; they were not yet furnished with
their cannons, but the platforms had their gites and their madriers all
prepared; the earth, beaten carefully, had consolidated them ; and, sup-
posing the artillery to be on the island, in less than two or three days
the port might be completely armed. That which astonished d'Arta-
gnan, when he turned his eyes from the coast batteries to the fortifica-
tions of the city, was to see that Belle-Isle was defended by an entirely
new system, of which he had often heard the Comte de la Fere speak as
a great advancement, but of which he had never yet seen the applica-
tion. These fortifications belonged neither to the Dutch method of
Marollais, nor to the French method of the Chevalier Antoine de Ville,
but to the system of Manesson Mallet, a skilful engineer, who, for
about six or eight years, had quitted the service of Portugal to enter
that of France. These works had the peculiarity, that instead of rising
above the earth as did the ancient ramparts destined to defend a city
from escalades, they, on the contrary, sunk into it; and what created
the height of the walls was the depth of the ditches. It did not take
long to make d'Artagnan perceive the superiority of such a system,
whioh gives no advantage to cannon. Besides, as the fosses were lower
than, or on a level with, the sea, these/osses might be inundated by sub-
terranean sluices. Otherwise, the works were almost complete, and a
group of workmen, receiving orders from a man who appeared to be
conductor of the works, were occupied in placing the last stones. A
bridge of planks, thrown over the fosse for the greater convenience of
the manoeuvres connected with the barrows, joined the interior to
the exterior. "With an air of simple curiosity, d'Artagnan asked if
he might be permitted to cross the bridge, and he was told that no
order prevented it. Consequently he crossed the bridge, and advanced
towards the group.
This group was superintended by the man whom d'Artagnan had already
remarked, and who appeared to be the engineer-in-chief. A plan was
lying open before him upon a large stone forming a table, and at some
paces from him a crane was in action. This engineer, who by his
evident importance first attracted the attention of d'Artagnan, wore a
justaucorps, which, from its sumptuousness, was scarcely in harmony
with the work he was employed in, which would rather have neces-
sitated the costume of a master mason than of a noble. He was, besides,
a man of high stature and large square shoulders, wearing a hat covered
with feathers. He gesticulated in the most majestic manner, and
appeared, for d'Artagnan only saw his back, to be scolding the workmen
for their idleness and want of strength.
D'Artagnan continued to draw nearer. At that moment the man
with the feathers had ceased to gesticulate, and, with his hands placed
upon his knees, was following, half-bent, the efforts of six workmen to
raise a block of hewn stone to the top of a piece of timber destined to
support that stone, so that the cord of the crane might be passed under
it. The six men, all on one side of the stone, united their efforts to
raise it to eight or ten inches from the ground, sweating and blowing,
whilst a seventh got ready against there should be daylight enough
beneath it to slide in the roller that was to support it. But the stone
had already twice escaped from their hands before gaining a sufficient
height for the roller to be introduced. There can be no doubt that
every time the stone escaped them, they bounded quickly backwards, to
keep their feet from being crushed by the refalling stone. Every time,
the stone, abandoned by them, sunk deeper into the damp earth, which
'303 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
rendered the operation more and more difficult. A third effort was
followed by no better success, but with progressive discouragement.
And yet, when the six men were bent towards the stone, the man with
the feathers had himself, with a powerful voice, given the word of com-
mand, firm, which presides over all manoeuvres of strength. Then he
drew himself up.
"Oh ! oh!" said he, "what is all this about? Have I to do with
men of straw ? Come de loeuf stand on one side, and you shall see how
this is to be done."
" Feste /" said d'Artagnan, " will he pretend to raise that rock ? that
would be a sight worth looking at."
The workmen, as commanded by the engineer, drew back, with their
ears down and shaking their heads, with the exception of the one who
held the plank, who prepared to perform his office. The man with the
feathers went up to the stone, stooped, slipped his hands under the
face lying upon the ground, stiffened his Herculean muscles, and.
without a strain, with a slow motion, like that of a machine, he lifted
the end of the rock a foot from the ground. The workman who held
the plank profited by the space thus given him, and slipped the roller
under the stone.
" That's the way," said the giant, not letting the rock fall again, but
placing it upon its support.
" Mordioux/" cried d'Artagnan, " I know but one man capable of
such a feat of strength."
" Reincried the colossus, turning round.
" Porthos !" murmured d'Artagnan, seized with stupor, "Porthos at
Belle-Isle!"
On his part, the man with the feathers fixed his eyes upon the
disguised lieutenant, and, in spite of his metamorphosis, recognized
him. "D'Artagnan !" cried he; and the colour mounted to his face.
" Hush!" said he to d'Artagnan.
"Hush!" in his turn, said the musketeer. In fact, if Porthos had
just been discovered by d'Artagnan, d'Artagnan had just been dis-
covered by Porthos. The interest of the particular secret of each
struck them both at the same time. Nevertheless, the first movement
of the two men was to throw their arms round each other. "What they
wished to conceal from the bystanders, was not their friendship, but
their names. But, after the embrace, came the reflection.
"What the devil brings Porthos to Belle-Isle, lifting stones?" said
d'Artagnan; only d'Artagnan uttered that question in a low voice.
Less strong in diplomacy than his friend, Porthos thought aloud.
" How the devil did you come to Belle-Isle ?" asked he of d'Artagnan,
" and what do you come to do here ?" It was necessary to reply with-
out hesitation. To hesitate in his answer to Porthos would have been
a check, for which the self-love of d'Artagnan would never have con-
soled itself.
" Fardieu! my friend; I am at Belle-Isle, because you are here."
" Ah, bah!" said Porthos, visibly stupified with the argument, and
seeking to account for it to himself, with that lucidity of deduction
which we know to be peculiar to him.
"Without doubt," continued d'Artagnan, unwilling to give his friend
time to recollect himself, " I have been to see you at Pierrefonds."
" Indeed!" " Y es."
"And you did not find me there? " " No: but I found Mouston."
" Is he well ?" " Feste /" i
"Well, but Mouston did not tell you I was here."
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 309
" Why should he not ? Have I, perchance, deserved to lose his con-
fidence ?"
" No; but he did not know it."
" Well; that is a reason at least not offensive to my self-love."
"Then, how did you manage to find me?"
" My dear friend, a great noble, like you, always leaves traces behind
him on his passage; and I should think but poorly of myself, if I were
not sharp enough to follow the traces of my friends." This explanation,
flattering as it was, did not entirely satisfy Porthos.
"But I left no traces behind me, as I came here disguised," said
Porthos.
" Ah! Tou came disguised, did you ? " said d'Artagnan. " Yes."
" And how ? " " As a miller."
" And do you think a great noble, like you, Porthos, can affect common
. manners so as to deceive people?"
"Well, I swear to you, my friend, that I played my part so well
that everybody was deceived."
" Indeed! so well, that I have not discovered and joined you ? "
" Yes; but how have you discovered and joined me?"
"Stop a bit. I was going to tell you how. Do you imagine
Mouston ?"
"Ah! it was that fellow, Mouston," said Porthos, gathering together
those two triumphant arches which served him for eyebrows.
" But stop, I tell you-it was no fault of Houston's, because he was
ignorant of where you were."
" I know he was; and that is why I am in such haste to under-
stand "
" Oh! how impatient you are, Porthos!"
" When I do not comprehend, I am terrible."
"Well, you will understand. Aramis wrote to you at Pierrefonds, did
he not?"
"Yes." "And he told you to come before the equinox."
" That is true." " Well! that is itsaid d'Artagnan, hoping that
this reason would satisfy Porthos. Porthos appeared to give himself up
to a violent mental labour.
" Yes, yes," said he, " I understand. As Aramis told me to come
before the equinox, you have understood that that was to join him.
You then inquired where Aramis was, saying to yourself, ' Where
Aramis is, there Porthos will be.' You have learnt that Aramis was in
Bretagne, and you said to yourself,' Porthos is in Bretagne.'"
"Exactly! In good truth, Porthos, I cannot tell why you have not
turned conjurer. So you understand that, arriving at Roche-Bernard,
I heard of the splendid fortifications going on at Belle-Isle. The account
raised my curiosity. I embarked in a fishing-boat, without dreaming
that you were here: I came, and I saw a fine fellow lifting a stone
which Ajax could not have stirred. I cried out, 'Nobody but the Baron
de Bracieux could have performed such a feat of strength.' You heard
me, you turned round, you recognized me, we embraced; and, ma foi!
if you like, my dear friend, we will embrace again."
"Ah! now it is all explained," said Porthos; and he embraced d'Ar-
tagnan with so much friendship as to deprive the musketeer of his
breath for five minutes.
"Why, you are stronger than ever," said d'Artagnan, "and still in
your arms. Porthos saluted d'Artagnan with a gracious smile. During
the five minutes d'Artagnan was recovering his breath, he reflected
that he had a very difficult part to play. It was necessary that he
810 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGELONNE.
should question without ever replying. By the time his respiration
returned, he had fixed his plan of the campaign.
CHAPTER LXX.
Wherein the ideas of d'Artag-nan, at first very troubled, begin to clear up
a little.
D'Artagnan immediately took the offensive. "Nowthat I have
told you all, dear friend, or rather now you have guessed all, tell me
what you are doing here, covered with dust and mud P "
Porthos wiped his brow, and looked around him with pride. " "Why,
it appears," said he, " that you may see what I am doing here."
"No doubt, no doubt; you lift great stones."
"Oh ! to show these idle fellows what a man is," said Porthos, with
contempt. " But you understand "
"Yes, that it is not your place to lift stones, although there are
many whose place it is, who cannot lift them as you do. It was that
which made me ask you, just now, What are you doing here, baron ?"
" I am studying topography, chevalier."
"You are studying topography ? "
" Yes; but you—what are you doing in that common dress ? "
D'Arfcagnan perceived he had committed a fault in giving expression
to his astonishment. Porthos had taken advantage of it, to retort
with a question. " Why," said he, " you know I am a bourgeois, in
fact; my dress, then, has nothing astonishing in it, since it conforms
with my condition."
" Nonsense! you are a musketeer."
" You are wrong, my friend; 1 have given in my resignation."
" Bah! " " Oh, mon Dieu! yes."
"And have you abandoned the service ? " " I have quitted it."
"You have abandoned the king?" "Quite."
Porthos raised his arms towards heaven, like a man who has heard
extraordinary news. "Well, that does confound me," said he.
"It is nevertheless true."
"And what led you to form such a resolution ? "
"The king displeased me. Mazarin had disgusted me for a long
time, as you know; so I threw my cassock to the nettles."
" But Mazarin is dead."
"I know that well enough,parlleu! Only, at the period of his
death, my resignation had been given in and accepted two months.
Then, feeling myself free, I set off for Pierrefonds, to see my friend
Porthos. I had heard talk of the happy division you had made of
your time, and I wished, for a fortnight, to divide mine after your
fashion."
" My friend, you know that it is not for a fortnight the house is
open to you; it is for a year—for ten years—for life."
" Thank you, Porthos."
" Ah ! but perhaps you want money—do you ? " said Porthos, making
something like fifty louis chink in his pocket. "In that case, you
know
" No, thank you; I am not in want of anything. I placed my savings
with Planchet, who pays me the interest of them,"
".Your savings ?"
D'ARTAGNAN'S IDEAS BEGIN TO CLEAR UP. 311
"Yes, to be sure," said d'Artagnan; "why should I not put by
savings, as well as another, Porthos ?"
" Oh, there is no reason why; on the contrary, I always suspected
you—that is to say, Ararais always suspected you to have savings. For
my own part, d'ye see, I take no concern about the management of
my household; but I presume the savings of a musketeer must be
small."
"No doubt,relative to yourself, Porthos, who are a millionnaire; but
you shall judge. I had laid by twenty-five thousand livres."
" That's pretty well," said Porthos, with an affable air.
" And," continued d'Artagnan, " on the twenty-eighth of last month
I added to it two hundred thousand livres more."
Porthos opened his large eyes, which eloquently demanded of the
musketeer. Where the devil did you steal such a sum as that, my dear
friend ? Two hundred thousand livres !" cried he, at length.
"Yes; which, with the twenty-five I had, and twenty thousand I
have about me, complete the sum of two hundred and forty-five thou-
sand livres."
" But tell me, whence comes this fortune ? "
" I will tell you all about it, presently, dear friend; but as you have,
in the first place, many things to tell me yourself, let us place my recital
in its proper rank."
"Bravo !" said Porthos; "then we are both rich. But what can I
have to relate to you ? "
"You have to relate to me how Aramis came to be named "
" Ah ! bishop of Vannes."
" That's it," said d'Artagnan, " bishop of Yannes. Dear Aramis!
do you know how he succeeded so well ?"
"Yes, yes; without reckoning that he does not mean to stop there."
" What! do you mean he will not be contented with violet stockings,
and that he wants a red hat ? "
"Hush ! that is promised him."
" Bah ! by the king ? "
" By somebody more powerful than the king."
" Ah ! the devil! Porthos; what incredible things you tell me, my
friend!"
" Why incredible ? Is there not always somebody in France more
powerful than the king ? "
# " Oh yes; in the time of King Louis XIII. it was Cardinal Biche-
lieu; in the time of the regency it was Cardinal Mazarin. In the time
of Louis XIY. it is M. "
"Go on." "It is M.Fouquet."
"Jove ! you have hit it the first time."
" So, then, I suppose it is M. Fouquet who has promised Aramis the
red hat ? "
Porthos assumed an air of reserve. " Dear friend," said he, " God
preserve me from meddling with the affairs of others, above all from
revealing secrets it may be to their interest to be kept. When you
see Aramis, he will tell you all he thinks he ought to tell you."
"You are right, Porthos; and you are quite a padlock for safety.
But, to revert to yourself P " " Yes," said Porthos.
"You said just now you came hither to study topography? "
" I did so."
" Tw Dieu ! my friend, what fine things you will do!"
" How do you mean P "
" Why, these fortifications are admirable."
312 the vicomte de bragelonne.
" Is that your opinion ? "
" Doubtless it is. In truth, to anything but a regular siege, Belle-Isle
is impregnable."
Porthos rubbed his hands. " That is my opinion," said he.
"But who the devil has fortified this paltry little place in this
manner ? "
Porthos drew himself up proudly: " Did not I tell you who ? "
" No." " Do you not suspect ? "
"No; all that I can say is that he is a man who has studied all the
systems, and who appears to me to have stopped at the best."
"Hush!" said Porthos; "consider my modesty, my dear d'Ar-
tagnan."
" In truth," replied the musketeer, " can it be you who oh'."
" Pray my dear friend "
"You, who have imagined, traced, and combined between these
bastions, these redans, these curtains, these halfmoons; and are pre-
paring that covered way P "
" I beg you "
"You who have built that lunette with its retiring angles and its
salient angles."
" My friend "
" You who have given that inclination to the openings of your em-
brasures, by the means of which you so effectively protect the men who
serve the guns P "
" Eh ! mon Dieut,! yes."
" Oh! Porthos, Porthos! I must bow down before you—I must
admire you! But you have always concealed from us this superior
genius. I hope, my dear friend, you will show me all this in detail ? "
" Nothing more easy. There is my plan."
" Show it me." Porthos led d'Artagnan towards the stone which
served him for a table, and upon which the plan was spread. At the
foot of the plan was written, in the formidable writing of Porthos,
writing of which we have already had occasion to speak:—
" Instead of making use of the square or rectangle, as has been done
to this time, you will suppose your place inclosed in a regular hexagon,
this polygon having the advantage of offering more angles than the
quadrilateral one. Every side of your hexagon, of which you will
determine the length in proportion to the dimensions taken upon the
place, will be divided into two parts, and upon the middle point you
will elevate a perpendicular towards the centre of the polygon, which
will equal in length the sixth part of the side. By the extremities of
each side of the polygon, you will trace two diagonals, which will
cut the perpendicular. These two rights will form the lines of the
defence."
"The devil!" said d'Artagnan, stopping at this point of the demon-
stration ; " why, this is a complete system, Porthos."
" Entirely," said Porthos. " Will you continue ?"
"No; I have read enough of it; but, since it is you, my dear Porthos,
who direct the works, what need have you of setting down your system
so formally in writing ? "
" Oh! my dear friend, death !"
"How! death?"
" Why, we are all mortal, are we not ?"
"That is true," said d'Artagnan, "you have a reply for everything,
my friend." And he replaced the plan upon the stone.
But however short a time he had the plan in his hands, d'Artagnan
D'ARTAGNAN'S IDEAS BEGIN TO CLEAR UP. 813
had been able to distinguish, under the enormous writing of Porthos, a
much more delicate hand, which reminded him of certain letiers to
Marie Michon, with which he had been acquainted in his youth. Only
the India-rubber had passed and repassed so often over this writing,
that it might have escaped a less practised eye than that of our
musketeer.
" Bravo! my friend, bravo!" said d'Artagnan.
"And now you know all that you want to know, do you not ?" said
Porthos, wheeling about.
" Mordioux! yes, only do me one last favour, dear friend ?"
" Speak, I am master here."
" Do me the pleasure to tell me the name of that gentleman who is
walking yonder."
" Where, there ?" "Behind the soldiers."
"Poliowed by a lackey ?" " Exactly."
"In company with a mean sort of fellow, dressed in black?"
" Yes, I mean him."
" That is M. Getard." " And who is Getard, my friend ?"
" He is the architect of the house." "Of what house ?"
"Of M. Bouquet's house." "Ah ! ah!" cried d'Artagnan; "you
are of the household of M. Bouquet, then, Porthos ?"
"I! what do you mean by that ?" said the topographer, blushing to
the tips of his ears.
" Why, you say the house, when speaking of Belle-Isle, as if you were
speaking of the chateau of Pierrefonds."
Porthos bit his lips. "Belle-Isle, my friend," said he, "belongs to
M. Bouquet, does it not ?"
" Yes, I believe so."
" As Pierrefonds belongs to me?"
" I told you I believed so; there are not two words to that."
" Did you ever see a man there who is accustomed to walk about
with a ruler in his hand ?"
" No; but I might have seen him there, if he really walked there."
" Well, that gentleman is M. Boulingrin.".
"Who is M. Boulingrin?"
" Now we come to it. If, when this gentleman is walking with a
ruler in his hand, any one should ask me,—'Who is M. Boulingrin ?'
I should reply: 'He is the architect of the house.' Well! M. Getard
is the Boulingrin of M. Bouquet. But he has nothing to do with the
fortifications, which are my department alone; do you understand?
mine, absolutely mine."
"Ah! Porthos," cried d'Artagnan, letting his arms fall as a con-
quered man gives up his sword; ah! my friend, you are not only a
Herculean topographer, you are, still further, a dialectitian of the first
water."
"Is it not powerfully reasoned?" said Porthos; and he puffed and
blew like the conger which d'Artagnan had let slip from his hand.
"And now," said d'Artagnan, "that shabby-looking man, who accom-
panies M. Getard, is he also of the household of M. Bouquet ?"
"Oh ! yes," said Porthos, with contempt; "it is one M. Jupenet, or
Juponet, a sort of poet."
" Who is come to establish himself here ?"
" I believe so."
" I thought M. Bouquet had poets enough, yonder—Scudery, Loret,
Pellisson, La Bontaine ? If I must tell you the truth, Porthos, that
poet disgraces you."
314 THE V1C0MTE DE BRAGELONNE.
"Eh!—my friend; but what saves us is that he is not here as a poet."
" As what then is he ?"
"As printer. And you make me remember, I have a word to say to
the cuistre." " Say it, then."
Porthos made a sign to J upenet, who perfectly recollected d'Artagnan,
and did not care to come nearer; which naturally produced another
sign from Porthos. This was so imperative, he was obliged to obey. As
he approached, " Come hither !" said Porthos. " You only landed yes-
terday, and you have begun your tricks already."
"How so, monsieur le baron ?" asked Jupenet, trembling.
"Your press was groaning all night, monsieur," said Porthos, "and
you prevented my sleeping, come de bceuf j"
"Monsieur " objected Jupenet, timidly.
"You have nothing yet to print; therefore, you have no occasion to
set your press going. What did you print last night ?"
" Monsieur, a light poem of my own composition."
"Light! no, no, monsieur; the press groaned pitifully with it. Let
that not happen again. Do you understand ?" " No, monsieur."
"You promise me?" " I do, monsieur."
"Very well; this time I pardon you. Adieu!"
"Well, now we have combed that fellow's head, let us breakfast."
" Yes," replied d'Artagnan, " let us breakfast."
" Only," said Porthos," I beg you to observe, my friend, that we have
only two hours for our repast."
" What would you have ? We will try to make enough of it. But
why have you only two hours ? "
" Because it is high tide at one o'clock, and, with the tide, I am going
to Vannes. But, as I shall return to-morrow, my dear friend, you can
stay here; you shall be master; I have a good cook and a good cellar."
"No," interrupted d'Artagnan, "better than that." " What?"
" You are going to Vannes, you say ?" " To a certainty."
" To see Aramis ?" " Yes."
" Well! I came from Paris on purpose to see Aramis."
" That's true."
"I will go with you then." "Do; that's the thing."
" Only, I ought to have seen Aramis first, and you after. But man
proposes, and God disposes. I have begun with you, and will finish with
Aramis." " Very well!"
" And in how many hours can you go from hence to Vannes ?"
" Oh! pardieu ! in six hours. Three hours by sea to Sarzeau, three
hours by road from Sarzeau to Vannes."
" How convenient that is! Being so near to the bishopric; do you
often go to Vannes ?"
" Yes; once a week. But, stop till I get my plan."
Porthos picked up his plan, folded it carefully, and engulfed it in
his large pocket.
"Good!" said d'Artagnan aside; "I think I now know the true
engineer who is fortifying Belle-Isle."
Two hours after, at high tide, Porthos and d'Artagnan set our for
Sarzeau.
A pbocession at yannes.
315
CHAPTEB LXXI.
A Procession at Yannes.
The passage from Belle-Isle to Sarzeau was made rapidly enough,
thanks to one of those little corsairs of which d'Artagnan had been tola
during his voyage, and which, shaped for fast sailing and destined for
the chase, were sheltered at that time in the road of Loc-Maria, where
one of them, with a quarter of its war-crew, performed the duty
between Belle-Isle and the continent. D'Artagnan had an opportunity
of convincing himself that Porthos, though engineer and topographer,
was not deeply versed in affairs of state. His perfect ignorance, with
any other, might have passed for well-informed dissimulation. But
d'Artagnan knew too well all the folds and the refolds of his Porthos,
not to find a secret if there were one there; like those regular, minute
old bachelors, who know how to find, with their eyes shut, each book on
the shelves of their library, and each piece of linen in their wardrobe.
Then, if he had found nothing, that cunning d'Artagnan, in rolling and
unrolling his Porthos, it was because, in truth, there was nothing to be
found.
" Be it so," said d'Artagnan; "I shall know more at Yannes in half
an hour, than Porthos has known at Belle-Isle in two months. Only,
in order that I may know something, it is important that Porthos does
not make use of the only stratagem I leave at his disposal. He must
not warn Aramis of my arrival." All the cares of the musketeer were
then, for the moment, confined to the watching of Porthos. And let us
hasten to say, Porthos did not deserve all this mistrust. Porthos thought
of no evil. Perhaps, on first seeing him, d'Artagnan had inspired him
with a little suspicion; but almost immediately d'Artagnan had recon-
quered in that good and brave heart the place he had always occupied,
and not the least cloud darkened the large eye of Porthos, fixed from
time to time with tenderness on his friend.
On landing, Porthos inquired if his horses were waiting, and he soon
perceived them at the crossing of the road which turns round Sarzeau,
and which, without passing through that little city, leads towards
Yannes. These horses were two in number, one for M. de Yallon, and
one for his equerry; for Porthos had an equerry since Mouston was only
able to use a carriage as a means of locomotion. D'Artagnan expected
that Porthos would propose to send forward his equerry upon one horse
to bring back another horse, and he—d'Artagnan—had made up his mind
to oppose this proposition. But nothing which d'Artagnan had expected
happened. Porthos simply told the equerry to dismount and wait his
return at Sarzeau, whilst d'Artagnan would ride his horse; which was
done.
" Eh! but you are quite a man of precaution, my dear Porthos,"
said d'Artagnan to his friend, when he found himself in the saddle,
upon the equerry's horse.
" Yes; but this is a kindness on the part of Aramis. I have not my
stud here, and Aramis has placed his stables at my disposal."
" Good horses for bishop's horses, mordioux ! " said d'Artagnan. " It
is true, Aramis is a bishop of .a peculiar kind."
" He is a holy man !" replied Porthos, in a tone almost nasal, and
with his eyes raised towards heaven,
316 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Then lie is much changed," said d'Artagnan; " you and I have
known him passably profane."
" Grace has touched him," said Portkos.
" Bravo !" said d'Artagnan, " that redoubles my desire to see my
dear old friend." And he spurred his horse, which sprang off into a more
rapid pace.
Peste/" said Porthos, " if we go on at this rate, we shall only take
one hour instead of two."
" To go how far, do you say, Porthos ? " " Pour leagues ana a half."
" That will be a good pace."
" 1 could have embarked you on the canal, but the devil take rowers
and boat-horses ! The first are like tortoises; the second like snails;
and when a man is able to put a good horse between his knees, that
horse is better worth than rowers or any other means."
" You are right; you above all, Porthos, who always look magnificent
on horseback."
" Rather heavy, my friend; I was weighed the other day."
" And what do you weigh ? "
" Three hundredweight!" said Porthos, proudly.
"Bravo!" " So that, you must perceive, that I am forced to choose
horses whose loins are straight and wide, otherwise I break them down
in two hours."
" Yes, giant's horses, you must have, must you not ? "
" You are very polite, my friend," replied the engineer, with an affec-
tionate majesty.
" As a case in point," replied d'Artagnan, " your horse seems to sweat
already."
" Dame ! It is hot! Ah, ah ! do you see Yannes now ? "
" Yes, perfectly. It is a handsome city, apparently."
" Charming, according to Aramis, at least; but I think it black;
but black seems to be considered handsome by artists: I am very
sorry for it."
" Why so, Porthos ? "
" Because I have lately had my chateau of Pierrefonds, which was grey
with age, plastered white."
" Humph!" said d'Artagnan, " but white is more cheerful."
" Yes, but it is less august, as Aramis tells me. Fortunately there are
dealers in black as well as white. I will have Pierrefonds replastered in
black: that is the whole of it. If grey is handsome, you understand,
my friend, black must be superb."
" Dame /" said d'Artagnan, "that appears logical."
" Were you never at Vannes, d'Artagnan ? "
" Never." " Then you know nothing of the city ? " " Nothing."
"Well, look!" said Porthos, raising himself in his stirrups, which
made the fore quarters of his horse bend sadly.—" do you see that
corner, in the sun, yonder ?" " Yes; I see it plainly."
" Well, that is the cathedral." " Which is called ?"
" Saint-Pierre. Now, look again—in the faubourg on the left, do you
see another cross ? " " Perfectly well."
" That is Saint-Paterne, the parish preferred by Aramis."
" Indeed!"
" Without doubt. Saint-Paterne, see you, passes for having been the
first bishop of Yannes. It is true that Aramis pretends that he was
not. But he is so learned that that may be only a paro a para-—"
" But a paradox," said d'Artagnan.
" Precisely; thank you! my tongue trips, I am so hot."
A PROCESSION AT VANNES. 317
,e My friend," said d'Artagnan, " continue your interesting descrip-
tion, I beg. What is that large white building with many windows ? "
" Oh ! that is the college of the Jesuits. Pardieu ! you have a lucky
hand. Do you see, close to the college, a large house with steeples,
turrets, and built in a handsome Gothic style, as that brute, M. Getard,
says ? "
" Tes, that is plainly to be seen. Well ? "
" Well, that is where Aramis resides."
" What! does he not reside at the episcopal palace ? "
" No; that is in ruins. The palace likewise is in the city, and Aramis
prefers the faubourgs. That is why, as I told you, he is partial to
Saint-Paterne; Saint-Paterne is in the faubourg. Besides, there are in
this faubourg a mail, a tennis-court, and a house of Dominicans. Look,
that where the handsome steeple rises to the heavens." " Well ? "
" Next, see you, the faubourg is like a separate city, it has its walls,
its towers, its ditches; the quay is upon it likewise, and the boats land
at the quay. If our little corsair did not draw eight feet water, we could
have come full sail up to Aramis's windows."
" Porthos, Porthos," cried d'Artagnan," you are a well of knowledge,
a spring of ingenious and profound reflections. Porthos, you no longer
surprise me, you confound me."
•' Here we are arrived," said Porthos, turning the conversation with
his usual modesty.
"And high time we were," thought d'Artagnan, " for Aramis's horse
is melting away like a horse of ice." They entered almost at the same
instant into the faubourg; but scarcely had they gone a hundred paces
when they were surprised to find the streets strewed with leaves and
flowers. Against the old walls of Vannes, were hung the oldest and
the strangest tapestries of Prance. From over balconies fell long white
sheets stuck all over with bouquets. The streets were deserted; it
was plain that the whole population was assembled on one point. The
blinds were closed, and the breeze penetrated into the houses under
the hangings, which cast long black "shades between their places of
issue and the walls. Suddenly, at the turning of a street, chants
struck the ears of the newly arrived travellers. A crowd in holiday
garb appeared through the vapours of incense which mounted to the
heavens in blue flocks, and clouds of rose-leaves flew up as high as the
first stories. Above all heads were to be seen the cross and banners,
the sacred symbols of religion. Then, beneath these crosses and ban-
ners, as if protected by them, was a whole world of young girls, clothed
in white, and crowned with corn-flowers. At the two sides of the
street, inclosing the cortege, marched the guards of the garrison,
carrying bouquets in the barrels of their muskets and on the points
of their lances. This was a procession. Whilst d'Artagnan and Por-
thos were looking on with a fervour of good taste, which disguised an
extreme impatience to get forward, a magnificent dais approached,
preceded by a hundred Jesuits and a hundred Dominicans, and
escorted by two archdeacons, a treasurer, a penitentiary, and twelve
canons. A chanter with a thundering voice—a chanter certainly picked
out from all the voices of Prance, as was the drum-major of the
imperial guard from all the giants of the empire—a chanter escorted
by four other chanters, who appeared to be there only to serve him as
an accompaniment, made the air resound, and the windows of all the
houses vibrate. Under the dais appeared a pale and noble counte-
nance, with black eyes, black hair streaked with threads of white, a
delicate, compressed mouth, a prominent and angular chin. This head,
318 the vicomte de beagelonne.
full of graceful majesty, was covered with the episcopal mitre, a head-
dress which gave it, in addition to the character of sovereignty, that of
ascetism and evangelic meditation.
"Aramis !" cried the musketeer, involuntarily, as this lofty counte-
nance passed before him. The prelate started at the sound of the
voice. He raised his large black eyes, with their long lashes, and
turned them without hesitation towards the spot whence the exclama-
tion proceeded. At a glance, he saw Porthos and d'Artagnan close to
him. On his part, d'Artagnan, thanks to the keenness of his sight,
had seen all, seized all. The full portrait of the prelate had entered
his memory, never to leave it. One thing had particularly struck
d'Artagnan. On perceiving him, Aramis had coloured, then he had
concentrated under his eyelids the fire of the look of the master, and
the imperceptible affection of the look of the friend. It was evident
that Aramis addressed this question to himself: " Why is d'Artagnan
with Porthos, and what does he want at Yannes ? " Aramis compre-
hended all that was passing in the mind of d'Artagnan, on turning his
look upon him again, and seeing that he had not lowered his eyes. He
knew the acuteness and intelligence of his friend; he feared to let him
divine the secret of his blush and his astonishment. He was still the
same Aramis, always having a secret to conceal. Therefore, to put an
end to this look of an inquisitor, which it was necessary to get rid of at
all events, as, at any price, a general extinguishes a battery which
annoys him, Aramis stretched forth his beautiful white hand, upon
which sparkled the amethyst of the pastoral ring; he cut the air with
the sign of the cross, and poured out his benediction upon his two
friends. Perhaps, thoughtful and absent, d'Artagnan, impious in
spite of himself, might not have bent beneath this holy benediction;
but Porthos saw his distraction, and laying his friendly hand upon the
back of his companion, he crushed him down towards the earth.
D'Artagnan was forced to give way; indeed, he was little short of being
flat on the ground. In the mean time Aramis had passed. D'Artagnan,
like Antseus, had only touched the ground, and he turned towards
Porthos, almost angry. But there was no mistaking the intention of
the brave Hercules; it was a feeling of religious propriety that had
influenced him. Besides, speech, with Porthos, instead of disguising
his thought, always completed it.
"It is very polite of him," said he, "to have given his benediction to
us alone. Decidedly, he is a holy man, and a brave man." Less con-
vinced than Porthos, d'Artagnan made no reply.
" Observe, my friend," continued Porthos, " he has seen us; and, in-
stead of continuing to walk on at the simple pace of the procession, as
he did just now,—see, what a hurry he is in; do you see how the cortege
is increasing its speed ? He is eager to join us and embrace us, is that
dear Aramis."
"That is true," replied d'Artagnan, aloud.—Then to himself:—
" It is equally true, he has seen me, the fox, and will have time to
prepare himself to receive me."
But the procession had passed; the road was free. D'Artagnan and
Porthos walked straight up to the episcopal palace, which was sur-
rounded by a numerous crowd, anxious to see the prelate return.
D'Artagnan remarked, that this crowd was composed principally of
citizens and military men. He recognized in the nature of these
partisans the address of his friend. Aramis was not the man to
seek for a useless popularity. He cared very little for being beloved
by people who could be of no service to him. Women, children, and
THE GEANDEUB OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 319
old men, that is to say, the cortege of ordinary pastors, was not the
cortege for him.
Ten minutes after the two friends had passed the threshold of the
palace, Aramis returned like a triumphant conqueror; the soldiers pre-
sen ted arms to him as to a superior; the citizens bowed to him as to a
friend and a patron, rather than as a head of the Church. There was
something in Aramis resembling those Roman senators, who had their
doors always surrounded by clients. At the foot of the prison, he had a
conference of half a minute with a Jesuit, who, in order to speak to him
more secretly, passed his head under the dais. He then re-entered his
palace; the doors closed slowly, and the crowd melted away, whilst
chants and prayers were still resounding abroad. It was a magnificent
day. Earthly perfumes were mingled with the perfumes of the air and
the sea. The city breathed happiness, joy, and strength. D'Artagnan
felt something like the presence of an invisible hand which had, all-
powerfully, created this strength, this joy, this happiness, and spread
everywhere these perfumes.
" Oh! oh!" said he," Porthos has got fat; but Aramis is grown taller!"
CHAPTER LXXII.
The Grandeur of the Bishop of Vannes.
Porthos andd'Artagnan had entered the bishop's residence by a pri-
vate door, as his personal friends. Of course, Porthos served d'Artagnan
as guide. The worthy baron comported himself everywhere rather as
if he were at home. Nevertheless, whether it was a tacit acknowledg-
ment of the sanctity of the personage of Aramis and his character, or
the habit of respecting him who imposed upon him morally, a worthy
habit which had always made Porthos a model soldier and an excellent
companion; for all these reasons, say we, Porthos preserved in the
palace of His Greatness the bishop of Vannes a sort of reserve which
d'Artagnan remarked at once, in the attitude he took with respect to
the valets and officers. And yet this reserve did not go so far as to pre-
vent his asking questions. Porthos questioned. They learnt that His
Greatness had just returned to his apartment, and was preparing to
appear in familiar intimacy, less majestic than he had appeared with
his flock. After a quarter of an hour, which d'Artagnan and Porthos
passed in looking mutually at each other with the white of their eyes,
and turning their thumbs in all the different evolutions which go from
north to south, a door of the chamber opened, and His Greatness ap-
peared, dressed in the undress, complete, of a prelate. Aramis carried
his head high, like a man accustomed to command; his violet robe
was tucked up on one side, and his white hand was on his hip. He
had retained the fine moustache, and the lengthened royale of tne time
of Louis XIII. He exhaled, on entering, that delicate perfume which,
among elegant men and women of high fashion, never changes, and
appears to be incorporated in the person, of whom it has become the
natural emanation. In this case only, the perfume had retained some-
thing of the religious sublimity of incense. It no longer intoxicated, it
penetrated; it no longer inspired desire, it inspired respect. Aramis,
on entering the chamber, did not hesitate an instant; and without pro-
nouncing one word, which, whatever it might be, would have been cold on
such an occasion, he went straight up to the musketeer, so well disguised
320 THE VIcSISfFWBEAGEtONNE.
under tlie costume of M. Agnan, and pressed him in his arms with a
tenderness which the most mistrustful could not have suspected of
coldness or affectation.
D'Artagnan, on his part, embraced him with equal ardour. Porthos
pressed the delicate hand of Aramis in his immense hands, and d'Arta-
gnan remarked that His Greatness gave him his left hand, probably
from habit, seeing that Porthos already ten times, had been near
injuring his fingers covered with rings, by pounding his flesh in the
vice of his fist. Warned by the pain, Aramis was cautious, and only
presented flesh to be bruised, and not fingers to be crushed, against gold
or the angles of diamonds.
Between two embraces, Aramis looked d'Artagnan in the face, offered
him a chair, sitting down himself in the shade, observing that the light
fell full upon the face of his interlocutor. This manoeuvre, familiar to
diplomatists and women, resembles much the advantage of the guard
which, according to their skill or habit, combatants endeavour to take
on the ground at a duel. D'Artagnan was not the dupe of this
manoeuvre; but he did not appear to perceive it. He felt himself
caught; but, precisely because he was caught, he felt himself on the
road to discovery, and it little imported to him, old condottiere as he
was, to be beaten in appearance, provided he drew from his pretended
defeat the advantages of victory. Aramis began the conversation.
"Ah ! dear friend! my good d'Artagnan," said he, " what an excellent
chance!"
" It is a chance, my reverend companion," said d'Artagnan, " that
I will call friendship. I seek you, as I always have sought you, when
I had any grand enterprise to propose to you, or some hours of liberty
to give you."
Ah! indeed," said Aramis, without explosion, "you have been
seeking me?"
" Eh! yes, he has been seeking you, Aramis'' said Porthos, " and the
proof is that he has unharboured me at Belle-Isle. That is amiable, is
it not?"
" Ah ! yes," said Aramis, " at Belle-Isle ! certainly."
"Good!" said d'Artagnan, "there is my booby Porthos, without
thinking of it, has fired the first cannon of attack."
"At Belle-Isle !" said Aramis, "in that hole, in that desert! That
is kind indeed!"
" And it was I who told him you were at Vannes," continued Porthos,
in the same tone.
D'Artagnan armed his mouth with a finesse almost ironical.
" Yes, I knew, but I was willing to see," replied he.
" To see what ?" " If our old friendship still held out; if, on seeing
each other, our heart, hardened as it is by age, would still let the old
cry of joy escape, which salutes the coming of a friend."
"Well, and you must have been satisfied," said Aramis. " So, so."
" How is that ? " " Yes, Porthos said hush ! and you——"
"Well! and I ?" " And you gave me your benediction."
" What would you have, my friend ? " said Aramis, smiling; " that is
the most precious thing that a poor prelate, like me, has to give."
" Indeed, my dear friend !" " Doubtless."
"And yet they say at Paris that the bishopric of Vannes is one of the
best in Prance."
■ " Ah! you are now speaking of temporal wealth," said Aramis, with
a careless air.
" To be sure, I wish to speak of that; I hold by it, on my part."
THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 321
"In that case, let me speak of it," said Aramis, with a smile.
" You own yourself to he one of the richest prelates in France ?"
" My friend, since you ask me to give you an account, I will tell you
that the bishopric of Yannes is worth about twenty thousand livres a
year, neither more nor less. It is a diocese which contains a hundred
and sixty parishes."
" That is very pretty," said d'Artagnan.
"It is superb!" said Porthos.
"And yet," resumed d'Artagnan, throwing his eye over Aramis, "you
don't mean to bury yourself here for ever ?"
"Pardon me. Only I do not admit the word bury"
"But it seems to me, that at this distance from Paris a man is
buried, or nearly so."
" My friend, I am getting old," said Aramis; " the noise and bustle of
a city no longer suit me. At fifty-seven, we ought to seek calm and
meditation. I have found them here. "What is there more beautiful,
and stern at the same time, than this old Armorica. I find here, dear
d'Artagnan, all that is opposite to what I formerly loved, and that, is
what must happen at the end of life, which is opposite to the beginning.
A little of my old pleasure of former times still comes to salute me
here, now and then, without diverting me from the road of salvation.
I am still of this world, and yet, every step that I take, brings me nearer
to God."
"Eloquent, wise, and discreet; you are an accomplished prelate,
Aramis, and I offer you my congratulations."
" But," said Aramis, smiling, " you did not come here only for the
purpose of paying me compliments. Speak, what brings you hither ?
May it be that, in some fashion or other, you want me ? "
" Thank God, no, my friend," said d'Artagnan, "it is nothing of that
kind,—I am rich and free."
" Rich !" exclaimed Aramis.
" Yes, rich for me; not for you, or Porthos, understand. I have an
income of about fifteen thousand livres."
Aramis looked at him suspiciously. He could not believe—particu-
larly on seeing his friend in such humble guise—that he had made so
fine a fortune. Then d'Artagnan, seeing that the hour for explanations
was come, related the history of his English adventures. During the
recital he saw ten times the eyes of the prelate sparkle, and his slender
fingers work convulsively. As to Porthos, it was not admiration he
manifested for d'Artagnan, it was enthusiasm, it was delirium. When
d'Artagnan had finished, " Well!" said Aramis.
" Well!" said d'Artagnan, " you see, then, I have in England friends
and property,♦in France a treasure. If your heart tells you so, I offer
them to you. That is what I came here for."
However firm was his look, he could not this time support the look
of Aramis. He allowed, therefore, his eye to stray upon Porthos,—like
the sword which yields to too powerful a pressure, and seeks another
road.
" At all events," said the bishop, " you have assumed a singular tra-
veiling costume, old friend."
" Frightful! I know it is. You may understand why I would not
travel as a cavalier or a noble: since I became rich, I am miserly."
" And you say, then, you came to Belle-Isle ? " said Aramis, without
transition.
" Yes," replied d'Artagnan; " I knew I should find you and Porthos
there."
Y
s22 the vicomte de bbagelokne.
"Find me!" cried Aramis. "Me! For the last year past I have not
once crossed the sea."
" Oh," said d'Artagnan, " I should never have supposed you such a
housekeeper.",
" Ah, dear friend, T must tell you that I am no longer the man of
former times. Biding on horseback is unpleasant to me; the sea
fatigues me. I am a poor ailing priest, always complaining, always
grumbling, and inclined to the austerities which appear to accord with
old'age,—parleys with death. I abide, my dear d'Artagnan, I abide."
" Well, that is all the better, my friend, for we shall probably become
neighbours soon."
" Bah!" said Aramis, with a degree of surprise he did not even seek
to dissemble. " You, my neighbour!"
" Mordioux ! yes."
"How so?" "I am about to purchase some very profitable salt-
mines, which are situated between Pirial and Croisic. Imagine, my
friend, a clear profit of twelve per cent. Never any deficiency, never
any idle expenses; the ocean, faithful and regular, brings every six
hours its contingency to my coffers. I am the first Parisian who has
dreamt of such a speculation. Do not say anything about it, I beg of
you, and in a short time we will communicate on the matter. I am to
have three leagues of country for thirty thousand livres."
Aramis darted a look at Porthos, as if to ask if all this were true, if
some snare were not concealed beneath this outward indifference. But
soon, as if ashamed of having consulted this poor auxiliary, he collected
all his forces for a fresh assault and a fresh defence. " I beard that you
had had some difference with the court, but that you had come out of
it as you know how to come out of everything, d'Artagnan, with the
honours of war."
" I!" said the musketeer, with a burst of laughter that could not
conceal his embarrassment; for, from these words, Aramis was not un-
likely to be acquainted with his last relations with the king. " I! Oh,
tell me all about that, pray, Aramis ? "
" Yes; it was related to me, a poor bishop lost in the middle of the
Landes, that the king had taken you as the confidant of his amours."
" With whom ? " " With Mademoiselle de Mancini."
D'Artagnan breathed freely again. " Ah! I don't say no to that,"
replied he.
" It appears that the king took you, one morning, over the bridge of
Blois, to talk with his lady-love."
"That's true," said d'Artagnan. "And you know that, do you?
Well, then, you must know that the same day I gave in my resigna-
tion."
" What, sincerely ? "
"Nothing could be more sincere."
"It was after that, then, that you went to the Comte de la Fere's ?"
"Yes."
" Afterwards to me ? " " Yes."
" And then Porthos ? " " Yes."
" Was it in order to pay us a simple visit ? "
"No; I did not know you were engaged, and I wished to take you
with me into England."
"Yes, I understand; and then you executed alone, wonderful man
as you are, what you wanted to propose to us all four to do. I sus-
pected you had had something to do in that famous restoration,
when I learnt that you had been seen at King Charles's receptions
THE GRANDEUR OF THE BISHOP OF VANNES. 323
and that he appeared to treat you like a friend, or rather like a person
to whom he was under an obligation."
" But how the devil could you learn all that ?" asked d'Artagnan,
who began to fear that the investigations of Aramis would extend fur-
ther than he wished.
"Dear d'Artagnan," said the prelate, "my friendship resembles, in a
degree, the solicitude of that night-watch whom we have in the little
tower of the mole, at the extremity of the quay. That brave man,
every night, lights a lantern to direct the barques which come from
sea. He is concealed in his sentry-box, and the fishermen do not
see him; but he follows them with interest; he divines them, he calls
them; he attracts them into the way to the port. I resemble this
watcher; from time to time some news reaches me, and recalls to my
remembrance all that I loved. Then I follow the friends of old days
over the stormy ocean of the world; I, a poor watcher, to whom God
has kindly given the shelter of a sentry-box."
" "Well, what did I do when I came from England ?"
" Ah! there," replied Aramis, " you get out of my sight. I knew
nothing of you since your return, d'Artagnan ; my sight grows thick.
I regretted you did not think of me. I wept over your forgetfulness.
I was wrong. I see you again, and it is a festival, a great festival, I
swear to you!—How is Athos ? "
" Very well, thank you."
"And our young pupil, Baoul ?"
" He seems to have inherited the skill of his father, Athos, and the
strength of his tutor, Porthos."
"And on what occasion have you been able to judge of that ? "
" Eh ! mon Dieu ! the eve of my departure from Paris."
" Indeed ! what was it ? "
"Yes; there was an execution at the Greve; and, in consequence of
that execution a riot. We happened, by accident, to be in the riot;
and in this riot we were- obliged to have recourse to our swords. And
he did wonders."
" Bah ! what did he do ? "
" Why, in the first place, he threw a man out of the window, as he
would have thrown a bale of cotton."
" Come, that's pretty well," said Porthos.
" Then he drew, and cut and thrust away, as we fellows used to do
in good old times."
" And what was the caus9 of this riot ? " said Porthos. •
D'Artagnan remarked upon the face of Aramis a complete indiffer-
ence to this question of Porthos. "Why," said he, fixing his eyes
upon Aramis, "on account of two farmers of the revenues, friends of
M- Eouquet, whom the king forced to disgorge their plunder, and then
hanged them."
A scarcely perceptible contraction of the prelate's brow showed that
he had heard d'Artagnan's reply. " Oh, oh !" said Porthos; " and
what were the names of these friends of M. Eouquet ?"
"MM. d'Eymeris and Lyodot," said d'Artagnan. "Do you know
those names, Aramis ? "
"No," said the prelate, disdainfully; "they sound like the names of
financiers."
" Exactly; so they were."
"Oh! M. Eouquet allows his friends to be hanged, then," said Porthos.
" And why not ? " said Aramis.——" Why, it seems to me "
"If these culprits were hanged, it was by order of the king. Now
y 2
324 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
M. Fouquet, although surintendant of the finances, has not, I believe,
the right of life and death."
" That may be," said Porthos; " but in the place of M. Fouquet
Aramis was afraid Porthos was about to say something awkward,
so interrupted him: " Come, d'Artagnan," said he; " this is quite
enough about other people, let us talk a little about you."
" Of me you know all that I can tell you. On the contrary, let me
hear a little about you, Aramis."
" I have told you, my friend. There is nothing of Aramis left in me."
"Nor of the Abbe d'Herblay even? "
"No, not even of him. You see a man whom God has taken by the
hand, whom he has conducted to a position that he could never have
dared even to hope for."
" God ? " asked d'Artagnan. " Yes."
" Well, that is strange! I have been told it was M. Fouquet."
" Who told you that ? " cried Aramis, without being able, with all
the power of his will, to prevent the colour rising to his cheeks.
" Ma foi! why, Bazin."
" The fool!"
" I do not say he is a man of genius, it is true; but he told me so;
and after him, 1 repeat it to you."
" I have never seen M. Fouquet," replied Aramis, with a look as
pure and calm as that of a virgin who has never told a lie.
" Well, but if you had seen him and known him, there is no harm
in that," replied d'Artagnan. " M. Fouquet is a very good sort of a
man."
" Humph!"
"A great politician." Aramis made a gesture of indifference.
"An all-powerful minister."
" I only hold of the king and the pope."
" Dame! listen then," said d'Artagnan, in the most natural tone
imaginable. " I said that because everybody here swears by M. Fou-
quet. The plain is M. Bouquet's; the salt-mines I am about to buy
are M. Fouquet's; the island in which Porthos studies topography is
M. Fouquet's; the garrison is M. Fouquet's; the galleys are M. Fou-
quel's. I confess, then, that nothing would have surprised me in your
enfeoffment, or rather in that of your diocese, to M. Fouquet. He is
another master than the king, that is all; and quite as powerful as the
king."
" Thank God ! I am not enfeoffed to anybody; I belong to nobody,
and am entirely my own," replied Aramis, who, during this conversa-
tion, followed with his eye every gesture of d'Artagnan, every glance of
Porthos. But d'Artagnan was impassible and Porthos motionless; the
thrusts aimed so skilfully were parried by an able adversary; not one
hit the mark. Nevertheless, both began to feel the fatigue of such a
contest, and the announcement of supper was well received by every-
body. Supper changed the course of conversation. Besides, they felt
that, upon their guard as each one had been, they could neither of them
boast of having the advantage. Porthos had understood nothing of
what had been meant. He had held himself motionless, because Aramis
had made him a sign not to stir. Supper, for him, was nothing but
supper; but that was quite enough for Porthos. The supper, then, went
off very well. D'Artagnan was in high spirits. Aramis exceeded him-
self in kind affability. Porthos ate like old Pelops. Their talk was of
war, finance, the arts, and love. Aramis played astonishment at every
word of politics d'Artagnan risked. This long series of surprises
PORTHOS IS SORRY HE CAME WITH D'ARTAGNAN. 325
increased the mistrust of d'Artagnan, as the eternal indifference of
d'Artagnan provoked the suspicions of Aramis. At length d'Artagnan,
designedly, uttered the name of Colbert: he had reserved that stroke
for the last.
" Who is this Colbert ? " asked the bishop.
" Oh ! come," said d'Artagnan to himself, " that is too strong ! We
must be careful, mordioux ! we must be careful."
And he then gave Aramis all the information respecting M. Colbert
he could desire. The supper, or rather the conversation, was pro-
longed till one o'clock in the morning between d'Artagnan and Aramis.
At ten o'clock precisely, Porthos had fallen asleep in his chair, and
snored like an organ. At midnight he awoke up, and they sent him to
bed. " Hum !" said he, " I was near falling asleep ; but that was all
very interesting you were talking about."
At one o'clock Aramis conducted d'Artagnan to the chamber destined
for him, which was the best in the episcopal residence. ' Two servants
were placed at his command. " To-morrow, at eight o'clock," said he,
taking leave of d'Artagnan, " we will take, if agreeable to you, a ride on
horseback with Porthos."
" At eight o'clock! " said d'Artagnan; " so late ? "
" You know that I require seven hours' sleep," said Aramis.
" That is true."
" Good night, dear friend! " And he embraced the musketeer cor-
dially.
D'Artagnan allowed him to depart; then, as soon as the door was
closed, " Good!" cried he, "at five o'clock I will be on foot."
This determination being made, he went to bed, and " folded the
pieces together," as people say.
CHAPTER LXXIII.
In which Porthos begins to be sorry for having come with d'Artagnan.
Scarcely had d'Artagnan extinguished his taper, when Aramis, who
had watched through his curtains the last glimmer of light in his
friend's apartment, traversed the corridor on tiptoe, and went to
Porthos's room. The giant, who had been in bed nearly an hour and a
half, lay grandly stretched out upon the down bed. He was in that
happy calm of the first sleep, which, with Porthos, resisted the noise of
bells or the report of cannon; his head swam in that soft oscillation
which reminds us of the soothing movement of a ship. In a moment
Porthos would have begun to dream. The door of the chamber opened
softly under the delicate pressure of the hand of Aramis. The bishop
approached the sleeper. A thick carpet deadened the sound of his
steps, besides which Porthos snored in a manner to drown all noise.
He laid one hand on his shoulder—'" Rouse," said he, "wake up, my
dear Porthos." The voice of Aramis was soft and kind, but it con-
veyed more than a notice,—it conveyed an order. His hand was light,
but it indicated a danger. Porthos heard the voice and felt the hand of
Aramis, even in the profoundness of his sleep. He started up: " Who
goes there ? " said he, in his giant's voice.
" Hush ! hush! It is I," said Aramis.
" You, my friend ? And what the devil do you wake me for ? "
" To tell you that you must set off directly."
326 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
« Set off?" "Yes."
" Where for ?" " For Paris." . , .
Porthos bounded up in his bed, and. then sank back again, fixing his
great eyes in terror upon Aramis.
" For Paris ? " Y es."
" A hundred leagues ? " said he.
" A hundred and four," replied the bishop.
■"Oh! mon Dieu!" sighed Porthos, lying down again, like those
children who contend with their bonne to gain an hour or two more
" Thirty hours' riding," said Aramis, firmly. " You know there are
good relays."
Porthos pushed out one leg, allowing a groan to escape him.
" Come, come! my friend," insisted the prelate with a sort of impa-
tience.
Porthos drew the other leg out of the bed. " And is it absolutely
necessary that I should go ? " said he.
" Urgently necessary."
Porthos got upon his feet, and began to shake both walls and floors
with his steps of a marble statue.
" Hush ! hush ! for the love of Heaven, my dear Porthos!" said
Aramis, " you will wake somebody."
" Ah ! that's true," replied Porthos, in a voice of thunder, " I forgot
that; but be satisfied, I will observe." And so saying, he let fall a belt
loaded with his sword and pistols, and a purse, from which the crowns
escaped with a vibrating and prolonged noise. This noise made the
blood of Aramis boil, whilst it drew from Porthos a formidable burst of
laughter. " How droll that is ! " said he, in the same voice.
" Not so loud, Porthos, not so loud." ^
" True, true ! " and he lowered his voice a half-note.
" I was .going to say," continued Porthos, " that it is droll that we
are never so slow as when we are in a hurry, and never make so much
noise as when we wish to be silent."
" Yes, that is true; but let us give the proverb the lie, Porthos: let
us make haste, and hold our tongues."
" You see I am doing my best," said Porthos, putting on his haut de
chausses. " Very well."
" This seems to be something in haste ? "
" It is more than that, it is serious, Porthos." " Oh, oh !"
" D'Artagnan has questioned you, has he not ? "
" Questioned me?" " Yes, at Belle-Isle ?"
" Not the least in the woi'ld."
"Are you sure of that, Porthos?" "Parbleu!"
" It is impossible.—Recollect yourself."
"He asked me what I was doing, and I told him;—studying topo-
graphy. I would have made use of another word which you employed
one day."
"Of castrametation?"
"Yes, that's it; but I never could recollect it."
" All the better. What more did he ask you ?"
"Who M. Getard was." "Next?"
" Who M. Jupenet was."
"He did not happen to see our plan of fortifications, did he?"
"Yes."
The devil he did !"
But don't be alarmed; I had rubbed out your writing, with India-
PORTHOS IS SORRY HE CAME WITH D'ARTAGNAN. 327
rubber. It was impossible for him to suppose you had given me any
advice in those works."
"Ay; but our friend has very keen eyes."
" What are you afraid of?"
" I fear that everything is discovered, Porthos; the matter is, then,
to prevent a great misfortune. I have given orders to my people to
close all the gates and doors. D'Artagnan will not be able to get out
before daybreak. Your horse is ready saddled; you will gain the first
relay; by five o'clock in the morning, you will have gone fifteen leagues.
Come!"
Aramis then assisted Porthos to dress, piece by piece, with as much
celerity as the most skilful valet-de-chambre could have done. Porthos,
half confused, half stupified, let him do as he liked, and confounded
himself in excuses. When he was ready, Aramis took him by the
hand, and led him, making him place his foot with precaution on every
step of the stairs, preventing his running against door-frames, turning
him this way and that, as if Aramis had been the giant and Porthos the
dwarf. Soul set fire to and elevated matter. A horse was waiting,
ready saddled, in the courtyard. Porthos mounted. Then Aramis
himself took the horse by the bridle, and led him over some dung
spread in the yard, with the evident intention of suppressing noise. He,
at the same time, pinched the horse's nose, to prevent his neighing.
When arrived at the outward gate, drawing Porthos towards hiin, who
Was going off without even asking him what for. " Now, friend Porthos,
now; without drawing bridle, till you get to Paris," whispered he in
his ears; " eat on horseback, drink on horseback, sleep on horseback,
but lose not a minute."
" That's enough; I will not stop."
"This letter to M. Pouquet; cost what it may, he must have it to-
morrow before mid-day." " He shall have it."
" And do not forget one thing, my friend."
"What is that ?"
" That you are riding after your brevet of due and peer."
" Oh! oh!" said Porthos, with his eves sparkling; " I will do it
in twenty-four hours, in that case." " Try to do so."
" Then let go the bridle—and forward, Goliah !"
Aramis did let go, not the bridle, but the horse's nose. Porthos
released his hand, clapped spurs to his horse, which set off at a gallop.
As long as he could distinguish Porthos through the darkness, Aramis
followed him with his eyes; when he was completely out of sight, he
re-entered the yard. Nothing had stirred in d'Artagnan's apartment.
The valet placed on watch at the door, had neither seen any light, nor
heard any noise. Aramis closed his door carefully, sent the lackey to
bed, and quickly sought his own. D'Artagnan really suspected nothing;
therefore, thought he had gained everything, when he awoke in the
morning, about half-past four. He ran to the window in his shirt. The
window looked out upon the court. Day was dawning. The court was
deserted; the fowls, even, had not yet left their roosts. Not a servant
appeared. All the doors were closed.
" Good! perfect calm," said d'Artagnan to himself. "Never mind: I
am up first in the house. Let us dress; that will be so much done."
And d'Artagnan dressed himself. But, this time, he endeavoured not
to give to the costume of M. Agnan that bourgeoise and almost eccle-
siastical rigidity he had affected before; he managed, by drawing his
belt tighter, by buttoning his clothes in a different fashion, and by
putting on his hat a little on one side, to restore to his person a little of
828 THE VICOMTE DE BEACEIOHKE.
that military character, the absence of which had surprised Aramis.
This being done, he made free, or affected to make free, with his host,
and entered his chamber without ceremony. Aramis was asleep, or
feigned to be asleep. A large book lay open upon his nigbt-desk, a wax-
light was still burning above its silver plateau. This was more than
enough to prove to d'Artagnan the innocence of the night of the pre-
late, and the good intentions of his waking. The musketeer did to the
bishop precisely as the bishop had done to Porthos—he tapped him on
the shoulder. Evidently Aramis pretended to sleep; for, instead of
waking suddenly, he who slept so lightly, he required a repetition of the
summons.
"Ah! ah! is that you?" said he, stretching his arms. ""What an
agreeable surprise! Ma foi! Sleep had made me forget I had the hap-
piness to possess you. What o'clock is it ?"
"I do not know," said d'Artagnan, a little embarrassed. "Early, I
believe. But, you know, that devil of a habit of waking with the day,
sticks to me still."
"Do you wish that we should go out so soon?" asked Aramis. "It
appears to me to be very early."
Just as you like."
" I thought we had agreed not to get on horseback before eight."
" Possibly; but I had so great a wish to see you, that I said to myself,
the sooner the better."
"And my seven hours' sleep!" said Aramis: "take care; I had
reckoned upon them, and what I lose of them I must make up."
" But it seems to me that, formerly, you were less of a sleeper than
that, dear friend; your blood was alive, and you were never to be found
in bed."
" And it is exactly on account of what you tell me, that I am so fond
of being there now."
" Then you confess, that it is not for the sake of sleeping, that you
have put me off till eight o'clock."
" I have been afraid you would laugh at me, if I told you the truth."
" Tell me, notwithstanding."
"Well, from six to eight, L am accustomed to perform my devotions."
" Your devotions?" "Yes."
"I did not believe a bishop's exercises were so severe."
"A bishop, my friend, must sacrifice more to appearances than a
simple clerk."
" Mordioux ! Aramis, that is a word which reconciles me with your
greatness. To appearances! That is a musketeer's word, in good truth!
Vivent les apparences, Aramis !"
" Instead of felicitating me upon it, pardon me it, d'Artagnan. It is
a very mundane word which I have allowed to escape me."
" Must I leave you, then ?"
" I want time to collect my thoughts, my friend, and for my usual
prayers."
" Well, I leave you to them; but, on account of that poor pagan,
d'Artagnan, abridge them for once, I beg: I thirst for speech of you."
"Well, d'Artagnan, I promise you that within an hour and a
half "
" An hour and a half of devotions ! Ah! my friend, be as reasonable
with me as you can. Let me have the best bargain possible."
Aramis began to laugh.
" Still agreeable, still young, still gay," said he. " You have come into
my diocese to set me quarrelling with grace." "Bah !"
ruitTHUS IS SOKEY HE CAME WITH D'AETAGNAN. 329
" And you know well that I was never able to resist your seductions;
you will cost me my salvation, d'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan bit his lips.
"Well," said he, "I will take the sin on my own head, favour me
with one simple Christian sign of the cross, favour me with one pater,
and we will part."
"Hush!" said Aramis, "we are already no longer alone, I hear
strangers coming up." " Well, dismiss them."
" Impossible; I made an appointment with them yesterday; it is
the principal of the college of the Jesuits, and the superior of the
Dominicans."
" Your staff? Well, so be it."
" What are you going to do ?"
, " I will go and wake Porthos, and remain in his company till you
have finished the conference."
Aramis did not stir, his brow remained unbent, he betrayed himself
by no gesture or word: " Go," said he, as d'Artagnan advanced to the
door.
" A apropos, do you know where Porthos sleeps ?"
"No, but I can inquire."
"Take the corridor, and open the second door on the left."
" Thank you ! au revoir." And d'Artagnan departed in the direction
pointed out by Aramis.
Ten minutes had not passed away when he came back. He found
Aramis seated between the superior of the Dominicans and the prin-
cipal of the college of the Jesuits, exactly in the same situation as he
had found him formerly in the auberge at Crevecoeur. This company
did not at all terrify the musketeer.
"What is it?" said Aramis quietly. "You have, apparently, some-
thing to say to me, my friend."
" It is," replied d'Artagnan, fixing his eyes upon Aramis; " it is
that Porthos is not in his apartment."
"Indeed!" said Aramis calmly; "are you sure?" "Pardieu! I
came from his chamber."
" Where can he be, then ?" "That is what I ask you."
"And have not you inquired?" "Yes, I have."
"And what answer did you get?"-;—"That Porthos, often going
out in a morning, without saying anything, was probably gone out."
"What did you do, then?" -"I went to the stables," replied
d'Artagnan carelessly.
"What to do ?" " To see if Porthos was gone out on horseback."
"And?" interrogated the bishop. "Well, there is a horse missing,
stall No. 3, Goliah."
All this dialogue, it may be easily understood, was not exempt from
a certain affectation on the part of the musketeer, and a perfect com-
plaisance on the part of Aramis.
" Oh ! I guess how it is," said Aramis, after having considered for a
moment, " Porthos is gone out to give us a surprise."
" A surprise ?"
"Yes; the canal which goes from _ Valines to the sea abounds in teal
and snipes ; that is Porthos's favourite sport, and he will bring us back
a dozen for breakfast."
" Do you think so ?" said d'Artagnan.
" I am sure of it. Where else can he be ? I would lay a wager he
took a gun with him."
"Well, that is possible," said d'Artagnan.
330 THE VICOHTE HE EKAGELONHE.
" Do one thing, rny friend. Get on horseback, and join liira."
" You are right," said d'Artagnan; "I will."
"Shall I go with you?" "No, thank you; Porthos is rather
remarkable, I will inquire as I go along."
"Will you take an arquebuse ?" " Thank you."
" Order what horse you like to be saddled."
" The one I rode yesterday, on coming from Belle-Isle."
" So be it: use the horse as your own."
Arainis rang, and gave orders to have the horse M. d'Artagnan had
chosen, saddled.
D'Artagnan followed the servant charged with the execution of this
order. When arrived at the door, the servant drew on one side to
allow M. d'Artagnan to pass; and at that moment he caught the eye of
his master. A knitting of the brow gave the intelligent spy to under-
stand that all should be given to d'Artagnan he wished. D'Artagnan
got into the saddle, and Aramis heard the steps of his horse on the
pavement. An instaht after, the servant returned.
"Well?" asked the bishop.
" Monseigneur, he has followed the course of the canal, and is going
towards the sea," said the servant.
" Yery well!" said Aramis.
In fact, d'Artagnan, dismissing all suspicion, hastened towards the
ocean, constantly hoping to see in the Landes, or on the beach, the
colossal pro tile of Porthos. He persisted in fancying he could trace a
horse's steps in every puddle. Sometimes he imagined he heard the
report of a gun. This illusion lasted three hours; during two of them
he went forward in search of his friend, in the last he returned to the
house.
"We must have crossed," said he, "and I shall find them waiting for
me at table."
D'Artagnan was mistaken. He no more found Porthos at the palace
than he had found him on the seashore. Aramis was waiting for him
at the top of the stairs, looking very much concerned.
"Did my people not find you, my dear d'Artagnan?" cried he, as
soon as he caught sight of the musketeer.
" No; did you send any one after me ?"
" I am deeply concerned, my friend, deeply, to have induced you to
take such a useless search; but, about seven o'clock, the almoner of
Saint-Paterne came here. He had met du Yallon, who was going away,
and who, being unwilling to disturb anybody at the palace, had charged
him to tell me that, fearing M. Getard wouid play him some ill turn in
his absence,' he was going to take advantage of the morning tide to
make a tour to Belle-Isle."
"But tell me, Goliah has not crossed the four leagues of sea, I
should think ? "
" There are full six," said Aramis.
" That makes it less probable still."
"Therefore, my friend," said Aramis, with one of his most bland
smiles, " Goliah is in the stable, wTell pleased, I will answer for it, that
Porthos is no longer on his back." In fact, the horse had been brought
back from the relay by the direction of the prelate, from whom no
detail escaped. D'Artagnan appeared as well satisfied as possible with
the explanation. He entered upon a paid of dissimulation which
agreed perfectly with the suspicions that arose more and more strongly
in his mind. He breakfasted between the Jesuit and Aramis, having
the Dominican in front of him, and smiling particularly at the Domi-
POBTHOS IS SOBEY HE CAME WITH D'AETAGNAN. 331
nican, whose jolly fat face pleased him much. The repast was long
and sumptuous; excellent Spanish wine, fine Morbitran oysters, ex-
quisite fish from the mouth of the Loire, enormous prawns from
Paimboeuf, and delicious game from the moors, constituted the prin-
cipal part of it. D'Artagnan ate much, afid drank but little. Aramis
drank nothing, unless it was water. After the repast,—
"You offered me an arquebuse," said d'Artagnan.
" I did." " Lend it me, then."
" Are you going shooting ? "
"Whilst waiting for Porthos, it is the best thing I can do, I think."
" Take which you like from the trophy."
"Will you not come with me ? "
" I would with great pleasure; but, alas ! my friend, sporting is for-
bidden to bishops."
"Ah !" said d'Artagnan, "I did not know that."
" Besides," continued Aramis, " I shall be busy till mid-day."
" I shall go alone, then ? " said d'Artagnan.
" I am sorry to say you must; but come back to dinner."
" Pardieu ! the eating at your house is too good to make me think of
not coming back." And thereupon d'Artagnan quitted his host, bowed
to the guests, and took his arquebuse; but, instead of shooting, went
straight to the little port of Yannes. He looked in vain to observe if
anybody saw him; he could discern neither thing nor person. He en-
gaged a little fishing-boat for twenty-five livres, and set off at half-past
eleveri, convinced that he had not been followed; and that was true,
he had not been followed; only a Jesuit brother, placed in the top of
the steeple of his church, had not, since morning, by the help of an
excellent glass, lost sight of one of his steps. At three-quarters past
eleven, Aramis was informed that d'Artagnan was sailing towards
Belle-Isle. The voyage was rapid; a good north-north-east wind drove
him towards the isle. As he approached, his eyes were constantly
fixed upon the coast. He looked to see if, upon the shore or upon the for-
tifications, the brilliant dress and vast stature of Porthos should stand
out against a slightly clouded sky; but his search was in vain. He
landed without having seen anything; and learnt from the first soldier
interrogated by him, that M. du Yallon was not yet returned from
Yannes. Then, without losing an instant, d'Artagnan ordered his
little barqwe to put its head towards Sarzeau. We know that the wind
changes with the different hours of the day. The wind had gone round
from the north-north-east to the south-east; the wind, then, was
almost as good for the return to Sarzeau, as it had been for the voyage
to Belle-Isle. In three hours d'Artagnan had touched the' continent;
two hours more sufficed for his ride to Yannes. In spite of the ra-
pidity of his passage, what d'Artagnan endured of impatience and
anger during that short passage, the deck alone of the vessel, upon
which he stamped backwards and forwards for three hours, could re-
late to history. He made but one bound from the quay whereon he
landed, to the episcopal palace. He thought to terrify Aramis by the
promptitude Of his return; he wished to reproach him with his du-
plicity, and yet with reserve; but with sufficient spirit, nevertheless,
to make him feel all the consequences of it, and force from him a part
of his secret. He hoped, in short—thanks to that heat of expression
which is to mysteries what the charge with the bayonet is to redoubts
—to bring the mysterious Aramis to some manifestation or other.
But he found, in the vestibule of the palace, the valet-de-chambre,
who closed the passage, while smiling upon him with a stupid air.
332 THE VICOMTE 1)1! BRAGELONNE.
"Monseigneur ?" cried d'Artagnan, endeavouring to put liim aside
with his hand. Moved for an instant, the valet resumed his station.
" Monseigneur ?" said he. " 1 es, to be sure; do you not know me,
imbecile ?"
"Yes; you are the Chevalier d'Artagnan." " Then let me pass."
" It is of no use." " Why of no use ? "
" Because His Greatness is not at home." " What! His Greatness
is not at home ? where is he then ? " " Gone."
" Gone ? " " Yes."
" Whither ? " " I don't know; but, perhaps he tens monsieur le
chevalier."
" And how ? where ? in what fashion ? "
"In this letter, which he gave me for monsieur le chevalier." And
the valet-de-chambre drew a letter from his pocket.
" Give it me, then, you rascal," said d'Artagnan, snatching it from his
hand. " Oh, yes," continued he, at the first fine, "yes, I understand;"
and he read:—
" Dear Friend,—An affair of the most urgent nature calls me to a
distant parish of my diocese. I hoped to see you again before I set out;
but I lose that hope in thinking that you are going, no doubt, to remain
two or three days at Belle-Isle, with our dear Porthos. Amuse yourself
as well as you can ; but do not attempt to hold out against him at table.
This is a counsel I might have given even to Athos, in his most bril-
liant and best days. Adieu, dear friend; believe that I regret greatly
not having better, and for a longer time, profited by your excellent
company."
" Mordioux ! " cried d'Artagnan. " I am tricked. Ah! blockhead,
brute, triple fool that I am! But let them laugh who laugh last. Oh,
duped, duped, like a monkey cheated with an empty nutshell!" And
with a hearty blow bestowed upon the nose of the still grinning valet-
de-chambre, he made all haste out of the episcopal palace. Buret, how-
ever good a trotter, ivas not equal to present circumstances. D'Arta-
gnan, therefore, took the post, and chose a horse, which he made to
understand, with good spurs and a light hand, that stags are not the
most agile creatures in nature.
CHAPTEK LXXPV
In which d'Artagnan makes all speed, Porthos snores, and Aramis counsels.
Prom thirty to thirty-five hours after the events we have just related,
as M. Fouquet, according to his custom, having interdicted his door,
was working in the cabinet of his house at Saint-Mande, with which we
are already acquainted, a carriage, drawn by four horses streaming with
sweat, entered the court at full gallop. This carriage was, probably,
expected; for three or four lackeys hastened to the door, which they
opened. Whilst M. Fouquet rose from his bureau and ran to the
window, a man got painfully out of the carriage, descending with diffi-
culty the three steps of the door, leaning upon the shoulder of his
lackeys. He had scarcely uttered his name, when the valet upon whom
he was not leaning, sprang up the perron, and disappeared in the vesti-
bule. This man went to inform his master; but he had no occasion to
knock at the door: Pouquet was standing on the threshold.
d'artagnan, porthos, and aramis. 333
" Monseigneur, the bishop of Yannessaid he.
"Very well!" replied his master.
Then, leaning over the banister of the staircase, of which Aramis
was beginning to ascend the first steps,—
"You, dear friend !" said he, " you, so soon !"
" Yes; I, myself, monsieur! but bruised, battered, as you see."
"Oh! my poor dear friend," said Bouquet, presenting him his arm,
upon which Aramis leant, whilst the servants drew back with respect.
"Bah!" replied Aramis, "it is nothing, since I am here; the prin-
cipal thing was that I should get here, and here I am."
" Speak quickly," said Bouquet, closing the door of the cabinet
behind Aramis and. himself.
"Are we alone?" "Yes, perfectly."
"No one can listen to us?—no one can hear us? "
" Be satisfied; nobody."
" Is M. du Yallon arrived ?" " Yes."
"And you have received my letter ?"
"Yes. The affair is serious, apparently, since it necessitates your
presence in Paris, at a moment when your presence was so urgent else-
where."
" You are right: it cannot be more serious."
" Thank you! thank you ! What is it about ? But, for God's sake!
before anything else, take time to breathe, dear friend. You are so
pale, you frighten me."
" I am really in great pain. But, for Heaven's sake, think nothing
about me. Bid M. du Yallon tell you nothing, when he delivered the
letter to you?"
" No; I heard a great noise; I went to the window; I saw at the feet
of the perron a sort of horseman of marble; I went down, he held the
letter out to me, and his horse fell down dead."
" But he ? "
" He fell with the horse; he was lifted up, and carried to an apart-
ment. Having read the letter, I went up to him, in hopes of obtaining
more ample information ; but he was asleep, and, after such a fashion,
that it was impossible to wake him. I took pity on him; I gave orders
that his boots should be taken off, and that he should be left quite un-
disturbed.
" So far well; now, this is the question in hand, monseigneur. You
have seen M. d'Artagnan in Paris, have you not?"
" Certes, and think him a man of intelligence, and even a man of
heart; although he did bring about the death of our dear friends,
Lyodot and d'Eymeris."
" Alas! yes, I heard of that. At Tours, I met the courier who was
bringing me the letter from Gourville, and the despatches from Pellisson.
Have you seriously reflected on that event, monsieur ?" "Yes."
"And in it you perceived a direct attack upon your sovereignty ?"
" And do you believe it to be so ? "
" Oh, yes, I think so."
" Well, I must confess, that sad idea occurred to me likewise."
" Do not blind yourself, monsieur, in the name of Heaven ! Listen
attentively to me.—I return to d'Artagnan."
" I am all attention."
" Under what circumstances did you see him ?"
" He came here for money."
" With what kind of order ?" " With an order from the king."
" Direct ?" " Signed by his majesty."
334 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"There, then! "Well, d'Artagnan has been to Belle-Isle; he was
disguised; he came in the character of some sort of an iniendant,
charged by his master to purchase salt-mines. Now, d'Artagnan has
no other master but the king; he came, then, sent by the king. He saw
PortVios."
" Who is Porthos ?" _
" I beg your pardon, I made a mistake. He saw M. du Vallon at
Belle-Isle; and he knows, as well as you and I do, that Belle-Isle is
fortified."
• "And you think that the king sent him there?" said Pouquet, pen-
sively.
" I certainly do."
"And d'Artagnan in the hands of the king, is a dangerous instru-
ment?"
" The most dangerous imaginable."
" Then I formed a correct opinion of him at the first glance."
" How so ?" " I wished to attach him to myself."
" If you judged him to be the bravest, the most acute, and the most
adroit man in France, you have judged correctly."
" B e must be had then, at any price."
" D'Artagnan?"
" Is not that your opinion ? "
" It may be my opinion, but you will never have him." " Why ?"
"Because we have allowed the time to go by. He was dissatisfied with
the court, we should have profited by that ; since that, he has passed
into England; there he powerfully assisted in the restoration, there he
gained a fortune, and, after all, he returned to the service of the king.
Well, if he has returned to the service of the king, it is because he has
been well paid in that service."
" Wre will pay him still better, that is all."
" Oh ! monsieur, excuse me; d'Artagnan has a high sense of his word,
and where that word is once enaased, that word remains where it is."
" What do you conclude, then ?" said Bouquet, with great inquietude.
" At present, the principal thing is to parry a dangerous blow."
" And how is it to be parried ? " " Listen."
" But d'Artagnan will come and render an account to the king of his
mission."
" Oh, we have time enough to think about that." s
" How so ? You are much in advance of him, I presume ? "
"Nearly ten hours."
" Well, in ten hours "
Aramis shook his pale head. "Look at these clouds which flit
across the heavens; at these swallows which cut the air. D'Artagnan
moves more quickly than the clouds or the birds; d'Artagnan is the
ind which carries them."
" A strange man !"
"I tell you, he is something superhuman, monsieur. He is of my
age, and I have known him these five-and-thirty years."
" YY eil ? " " Well, listen to my calculation, monsieur. I sent M.
du Vallon off to you at two hours after midnight. M. du Vallon was
eight hours in advance of me; when did M. du Vallon arrive ?"
" About four hours ago."
"You see, then, that; I gained four upon him; and yet Porthos is a
stanch horseman, and he has left on the road eight dead horses, whose
bodies I came to successively. I rode post fifty leagues; but I have
the gout, the gravel, and what else I know not; so that fatigue kills
D'ABTAGNAN, POETHOS, AND AEAMIS. 335
me. I was obliged to dismount at Tours; since that, rolling along in a
carriage, half-dead, sometimes overturned, often drawn upon the sides,
and sometimes on the back of the carriage, always with four spirited
horses at full gallop, I have arrived—arrived, gaining four hours upon
Porthos; but, see you, d'Artagnan does not weigh three hundred-
weight, as Porthos does; d'Artagnan has not the gout and gravel, as
I have; he is not a horseman, he is a centaux*. D'Artagnan, see you,
set out for Belle-Isle when I set out for Paris; and d'Artagnan, not-
withstanding my ten hours' advance, d'Artagnan will arrive within two
hours after me."
" But, then, accidents ? —" He never meets with any accidents."
" Horses may fail him." " He will run as fast as a horse."
" Good God! what a man!"
"Yes, he is a man whom I love and admire. I love him because he
is good, great, and loyal; I admire him because he represents with me
the culminating point of human powers; but, whilst loving and ad-
miring him, I fear him, and am on my guard against him. Now then,
I resume, monsieur; in two hours d'Artagnan will be here; be before-
hand with him. Go to the Louvre, and see the king before he sees
d'Artagnan."
" What shall I say to the king ? "
"Nothing; give him Belle-Isle."
"Oh! Monsieur d'Herblay! Monsieur d'Herblay," cried Fouquet,
" what projects crushed all at once ! "
" After one project that has failed, there is always another project
which may lead to good; we should never despair. Go, monsieur, and
go quickly."
" But that garrison so carefully chosen, the king will change it di-
recti y."
"That garrison, monsieur, was the king's when it entered Belle-Isle;
it is yours now; it will be the same with all garrisons after a fortnight's
occupation. Let things go on, monsieur. Do you see any inconve-
nience in having an army at the end of a year, instead of two regiments?
Do you not see that your garrison of to-day will make you partisans at
La Rochelle, Nantes, Bordeaux, Toulouse—in short, wherever they'
may be sent to ? Go to the king, monsieur; go ; time flies, and d'Ar-
tagnan, while we are losing time, is flying like an arrow along the high-
road."
" Monsieur d'Herblay, you know that each word from you is a germ
which fructifies in my thoughts. I will go to the Louvre."
. "Instantly, will you not ?"
" I only ask time to change my dress."
" Remember that d'Artagnan has no need to pass through St. Mande;
but will go straight to the Louvre; that is cutting oft'an hour from
the advance which remains to us."
"D'Artagnan may have everything except my English horses. I shall
be at the Louvre in twenty-five minutes." And, without losing a
second, Pouquet gave orders for his departure.
Aramis had only time to say to him, " Return as quickly as you go;
for I shall await you impatiently."
Pive minutes, after, the surintendant was flying along the road to
Paris. During this time, Aramis desired to be shown the chamber in
which Porthos was sleeping. At the door of Fouquet's cabinet, he was
folded in the arms of Pellisson, who had just heard of his arrival, and
had left his office to see him. Aramis received with that friendly dig-
nity which he knew so well how to assume, those caresses as respectful
336 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
as earnest: but, all at once, stopping on the landing-place; " What is
that I hear up yonder ? "
There was, in fact, a hoarse growling kind of noise, like the roar of
a hungry tiger, or an impatient lion. "Oh, that is nothing," said Pel-
lisson, smiling.
"Well; but "
"It is M. du Yallon snoring."
"Ah! true," said Aramis; "I had forgotten. No one but he is
capable of making such a noise. Allow me, Tellisson, to inquire if he
wants anything."
" And you will permit me to accompany you ? "
"Oh, certainly;" and both entered the chamber. Porthos was
stretched upon the bed; his face was violet rather than red; his eyes
were swelled; his mouth was wide open. The roaring which escaped
from the deep cavities of his chest made the glass of the windows
vibrate. To those developed and clearly defined muscles starting from
his face, to his hair matted with sweat, to the energetic heaving of his
chin and shoulders, it was impossible to refuse a certain degree of ad-
miration. Strength carried to this point is almost divinity. The Her-
culean legs and feet of Porthos had, by swelling, burst his leather boots;
all the strength of his enormous body was converted into the rigidity
of stone. Porthos moved no more than does the giant of granite which
reclines upon the plains of Agrigentum. According to Pellisson's
orders, his boots had been cut off, for no human power could have
pulled them off. Pour lackeys had tided in vain, pulling at them as
they would have pulled capstans; and yet all this did not awaken him.
They had taken off his boots in fragments, and his legs had fallen back
upon the bed. They then cut off the rest of his clothes, carried him to
a bath, in which they let him lie a considerable time. They then put
on him clean linen, and placed him in a well-warmed bed—the wbole
with efforts and pains which might have roused a dead man, but which
did not make Porthos open an eye, or interrupt for a second the for-
midable organ of his snoring. Aramis wished, on his part, with a dry,
nervous nature, armed with extraordinary courage, to outbrave fatigue,
and employ himself with Gourville and Pellisson, but he fainted in the
chair in which he had persisted to remain. He was carried into the
adjoining room, where the repose of bed soon calmed his throbbing
brain.
CHAPTER LXXY.
In which Monsieur Fouquet acts.
In the mean time Pouquet was hastening to the Louvre, at the best
speed of his English horses. The king was at work with Colbert. All
at once the king became thoughtful. The two sentences of death he
had signed on mounting his throne sometimes recurred to his memory:
they were two black spots which he saw with his eyes open; two spots
of blood which he saw when his eyes were closed. " Monsieur," said
he, rather sharply, to the intendant, " it sometimes seems to me that
those two men you made me condemn were not very great culprits."
" Sire, they were picked out from the herd of the farmers of the
financiers, which wanted decimating."
" Picked out by whom ?"
M. FOTTQTJET ACTS. 337
" By necessity, sire," replied Colbert, coldly.
"Necessity !—a great word," murmured the young king.
" A great goddess, sire."
" They were devoted friends of the surintendant, were they not ? "
"Yes, sire; friends who would have given their lives for Monsieur
Bouquet."
" They have given them, monsieur," said the king.
" That is truebut uselessly, by good luck,—which was not their
intention."
" How much money had these men fraudulently obtained ? "
"Ten millions, perhaps; of which six have been confiscated."
" And is that money in my coffers ?" said the king, with a certain air
of repugnance.
" It is there, sire; but this confiscation, whilst threatening M. Fou-
.piet, has not touched him."
" You conclude, then, M. Colbert "
" That if M. Fouquet has raised against your majesty a troop of fac-
tious rioters to extricate his friends from punishment, he will raise an
army when he shall have to extricate himself from punishment."
The king darted at his confidant one of those looks which resemble
the red fire of a stormy flash of lightning, one of those looks which
illuminate the darkness of the deepest consciences. " I am astonished,"
said he, " that, thinking such things of M. Fouquet, you did not come
to give me your counsels thereupon."
" Counsels upon what, sire ? "
" Tell me, in the first place, clearly and precisely, what you think,
M. Colbert."
"Upon what subject, sire?"
" Upon the conduct of M. Fouquet."
" I think, sire, that M. Fouquet, not satisfied with attracting all the
money to himself, as M. Mazarin did, and by that means depriving your
majesty of one part of your power, still wishes to attract to himself all
the friends of easy life and pleasures,—of what idlers call poetry, and
politicians, corruption. I think that, by holding the subjects of your
majesty in pay, he trespasses upon the royal prerogative, and cannot, if
this continues so, be long in placing your majesty among the weak and
obscure."
" How would you qualify all these projects, M. Colbert ? "
" The projects of M. Fouquet, sire ? "
" Yes." " They are called crimes of lese majeste?
" And what is done to criminals guilty of lese majeste ?"
" They are arrested, tried, and punished."
" You are quite sure that M. Fouquet has conceived the idea of the
crime you impute to him ? "
" I can say more, sire; there is even a commencement of the execu-
tion of it."
" "Well, then, I return to that which I was saying, M. Colbert."
" And you were saying, sire ? "
" Give me counsel."
" Pardon me, sire; but, in the first place, I have something to add."
"Say—what?"
"An evident, palpable, material proof of treason."
" And what is that ? "
" 1 have just learnt that M. Fouquet is fortifying Belle-Isle."
" Ah, indeed!" " Yes, sire."
" Are you sure ? "
Z
338 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONHE.
"Perfectly. Do you know, sire, what soldiers there are at Belle-
Isle?"
" No, ma foi! Do you ? "
" I am ignorant, likewise, sire; I should therefore propose to your
majesty to send somebody to Belle-Isle."
" Who ? " " Me, for instance."
" And what would you do at Belle-Isle ?"
" Inform myself whether, after the example of the ancient feudal
lords, M. Fouquet was embattlementing his walls."
" And with what purpose could he do that ? "
" With the purpose of defending himself some day against his king."
" But, if it be thus, M. Colbert," said Louis, " we must immediately
do as you say: M. Fouquet must be arrested."
" That is impossible."
" I thought I had already told you, monsieur, that I suppressed that
word in my service."
" The service of your majesty cannot prevent M. Fouquet from being
surintendant-general."
" Well ? " " That, in consequence of holding that post, he has for
him all the parliament, as he has all the army by his largesses, all lite-
rature by his favours, and all the noblesse by his presents."
" That is to say, then, that I can do nothing against M. Fouquet."
"Absolutely nothing,—at least at present, sire."
" You are a sterile counsellor, M. Colbert."
" Oh no, sire; for I will not confine myself to pointing out the peril
to your majesty."
" Come, then, where shall we begin to undermine the Colossus; let us
see;" and his majesty began to laugh with bitterness.
" He has grown great by money: kill him by money, sire."
" If I were to deprive him of his charge ? " " A bad means, sire."
" The good—the good, then ? " " Ruin him, sire, that is the way."
" But how ? "
" Occasions will not be wanting; take advantage of all occasions."
" Point them out to me."
" Here is one at once. His royal highness Monsieur is about to be
married, his nuptials must be magnificent. That is a good occasion for
your majesty to demand a million of M. Fouquet. M. Fouquet, who
pays twenty thousand livres down when he need not pay more than
five thousand, will easily find that million when your majesty shall
demand it."
" That is all very well; I will demand it," said Louis.
" If your majesty will sign the ordonnance, I will have the money
taken myself." And Colbert pushed a paper before the king, and pre-
sented a pen to him.
At that moment the usher opened the door and announced monsieur
le surintendant. Louis turned pale. Colbert let the pen fall, and
drew back from the king, over whom he extended his black wings of a
bad angel. The surintendant made his entrance like a man of the court,
to whom a single glance was sufficient to make him appreciate his
situation. That situation was not very encouraging for Fouquet, what-
ever might be the consciousness of his strength. The small black eye
of Colbert, dilated by envy, and the limpid eye of Louis XIV., inflamed
by anger, signalled a pressing danger. Courtiers are, with regard to
court rumours, like old soldiers, who distinguish through blasts of
wind and moaning of leaves the sound of the distant steps of an armed
troop. They can, after having listened, tell pretty nearly how many
M. FOUQUET ACTS. 339
men are marching, how many arms resound, how many cannons roll.
Fouquet had then only to interrogate the silence which his arrival had
produced; he found it big with menacing revelations. The king allowed
him quite time enough to advance as far as the middle of the chamber.
His adolescent modesty commanded this forbearance of the moment.
Fouquet boldly seized the opportunity.
" Sire," said he, " I was impatient to see your majesty."
" What for?" asked Louis.
" To announce some good news to you."
Colbert, the grandeur of person, less largeness of heart, resembled
Fouquet in many points. The same penetration, the same knowledge
of men. Moreover, that great power of contraction which gives to
hypocrites time to reflect, and gather themselves up to take a spring.
He guessed that Fouquet was going to meet the blow he was about to
deal him. His eyes sparkled.
" What news ?" asked the king. FoUquet placed a roll of papers on
the table.
"Let your majesty have the goodness to cast your eyes over this
work," said he. The king slowly unfolded the paper.
" Plans ?" said he. "Yes, sire."
" And what are these plans ?" "A new fortification, sire."
"Ah, ah!" said the king, "you amuse yourself with tactics and
strategies then, M. Fouquet?"
" I occupy myself with everything that may be useful to the reign of
your majesty," replied Fouquet.
" Beautiful descriptions!" said the king, looking at the design.
"Your majesty comprehends, without doubt," said Fouquet, bending
over the paper; " here is the circle of the walls, here are the forts, there
the advanced works."
" And what do I see here, monsieur ?" " The sea."
" The sea all round ? " " Yes, sire."
" And what is then this place of which you show me the plan ?"
" Sire, it is Belle-Isle-en-Mer," replied Fouquet with simplicity.
At this word, at this name, Colbert made so marked a movement,
that the king turned round to enforce the necessity for reserve. Fouquet
did not appear to be the least in the world concerned by the movement
of Colbert, or the king's signal.
" Monsieur," continued Louis, " you have then fortified Belle-Isle ?"
"Yes, sire; and I have brought the plan and the accounts to your
majesty," replied Fouquet; " I have expended sixteen hundred thousand
livres in this operation."
" What to do ?" replied Louis coldly, having taken the initiative from
a malicious look of the intendant.
" For an aim very easy to seize," replied Fouquet. " Your majesty
was on cool terms with Great Britain."
" Yes; but since the restoration of King Charles II. I have formed
an alliance with him."
"A month since, sire, your majesty has truly said; but it is more
than six months since the fortifications of Belle-Isle have been begun."
" Then they have become useless."
" Sire, fortifications are never useless. I fortified Belle-Isle against
MM. Monk and Lambert, and all those London citizens who were
playing at soldiers. Belle-Isle will be ready fortified against the Dutch,
against whom either England or your majesty cannot fail to make war."
The king was again silent, and looked under at Colbert. " Belle-Isle,
I believe," added Louis, "isyours, M. Fouquet?" "No, sire."
340 THE VICOMTE DE BRA.GELONNE.
"Whose then?" " Your majesty's."
Colbert was seized with as much terror as if a gulf had opened beneath
his feet. Louis started with admiration, either at the genius or the
devotion of Fouquet.
" Explain yourself, monsieur," said he.
"Nothing more easy, sire; Belle-Isle is one of my estates; I have
fortified it at my own expense. But as nothing in the world can oppose
a subject making an humble present to his king, I offer your majesty
the proprietorship of the estate, of which you will leave me the
usufruct. Belle-Isle, as a place of war, ought to he occupied by the
king. Your majesty will he able, henceforth, to keep a safe garrison
there."
Colbert felt almost sinking down upon the floor. To keep himself
from falling, he was obliged to hold by the columns of the wainscoting.
" This is a piece of great skill in the art of war that you have exhibited
here, monsieur," said Louis.
" Sire, the initiative did not come from me," replied Fouquet; " many
officers have inspired me with it. The plans themselves have been made
by one of the most distinguished engineers."
*"His name?" "M. du Vallon."
" M. du Yallon ?" resumed Louis, " I do not know him. It is much
to be lamented, M.Colbert," continued he, "that I do not know the
names of the men of talent who do honour to my reign." And while
saying these words he turned towards Colbert. The latter felt himself
crushed, the sweat flowed from his brow, no word presented itself to
his lips, he suffered an inexpressible martyrdom. " Lou will recollect
that name," added Louis XIV.
Colbert bowed, but was paler than his ruffles of Flemish lace.
Fouquet continued:
" The masonries are of Soman masticthe architects have composed
it for me after the best accounts of antiquity."
" And the cannons ?" asked Louis.
" Oh! sire, that concerns your majesty; it did not become me to
place cannon in my own house, unless your majesty had told me it was
yours."
Louis began to float, undetermined between the hatred which this so
powerful man inspired him with, and the pity he felt for that other
man, so cast down, who seemed to him the counterfeit of the former.
But the consciousness of his kingly duty prevailed over the feelings of
the man, and he stretched out his finger to the paper.
" It must have cost you a great deal of money to carry these plan9
into execution," said he.
"I believe I had the honour of telling your majesty the amount?"
" Itepeat it, if you please, I have forgotten it."
" Sixteen hundred thousand livres."
" Sixteen hundred thousand livres ? you are enormously rich, mon-
sieur."
" It is your majesty who is rich, since Belle-Isle is yours."
" Yes, thank you; but however rich I may be, M. Fouquet ." The
king stopped—"Well, sire?" asked the surintendant. ,
"I foresee the moment when I shall want mouey."
" You, sire ?—And at what moment, then ?"
" To-morrow, for example."
" Will your majesty do me the honour to explain yourself?"
" My brother is going to marry the princess of England,"
M. FOUQUET ACTS. 341
"Well, I ought to give the young princess a reception worthy of the
granddaughter of Henry IT."
" That is but just, sire."
" Then I shall want money." " No doubt."
"I shall want ." Louis hesitated. The sum he was going to
demand was the same that he had been obliged to refuse Charles II.
He turned towards Colbert, that he might give the blow.
"I shall want, to-morrow," repeated he, looking at Colbert.
"A million," said the latter, bluntly; delighted to take his revenge.
Fouquet turned his back upon the intendant to listen to the king, lie
did not at all turn round, but waited till the king repeated, or rather
murmured," a million."
" Oh ! sire," replied Fouquet disdainfully, " a million! What will
your majesty do with a million ?"
" It appears to me, nevertheless " said Louis XIT.
" That is not more than is spent at the nuptials of one of the most
petty princes of Germany."
" Monsieur!"
" Your majesty must have two millions at least. The horses alone,
would run away with five hundred thousand livres. I shall have the
honour of sending your majesty sixteen hundred thousand livres this
evening."
"How," said the king, "sixteen hundred thousand livres ?"
"Look, sire," replied Fouquet, without even turning towards Colbert,
" I know that that wants four hundred thousand livres of the two
millions. But this monsieur of Vintendance " (pointing over his shoulder
to Colbert, who, if possible, became paler, behind him) "has in his coffers
nine hundred thousand livres of mine."
The king turned round to look at Colbert.
" But " said the latter.
"Monsieur," continued Fouquet, still speaking indirectly to Colbert,
"monsieur has received, a week ago, sixteen hundred thousand livres;
he has paid a hundred thousand livres to the guards, sixty-four thousand
livres to the hospitals, twenty-five thousand to the Swiss, a hundred
and thirty thousand to provisions, a thousand for arms, ten thousand
for incidental expenses; I do not err, then, in reckoning upon nine
hundred thousand, livres that are left." Then turning towards Colbert,
like a disdainful head of office towards his inferior, "Take care, mon-
sieur," said he, " that those nine hundred thousand livres be remitted
to his majesty this evening, in gold."
"But," said the king, "that will make two millions five hundred
thousand livres."
" Sire, the five hundred thousand livres over may serve as pocket
money for his royal highness. You understand, Monsieur Colbert, this
evening before eight o'clock."
And with these words, bowing respectfully to the king, the surin-
tendant made his exit backwards, without honouring with a single look
the envious man? whose head he had just half-shaved.
Colbert tore his ruffles to pieces in his rage, and bit his lips till they
bled.
Fouquet had not passed the door of the cabinet, when an usher,
pushing by him, exclaimed: " A courier from Bretagne for his
majesty ?
"M. d'Herblay was right," murmured Fouquet, pulling out his
watch; " an hour and fifty-five minutes. It was quite true "
342
THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
CHAPTER LXXYI.
In which d'Artagnan finishes by at length placing his hand upon his Captain's
Commission.
The reader guesses beforehand -whom the usher announced in an-
jouncing the messenger from Bretagne. This messenger was easily
recognised. It was d'Artagnan, his clothes dusty, his face inflamed, his
hair dripping with sweat, his legs stiff- he lifted his feet painfully the
height of each step upon which resounded the ring of his bloody spurs.
He perceived in the doorway he was passing through the surintendant
coming out. Bouquet bowed with a smile to him who, an hour before,
was bringing him ruin and death. D'Artagnan found in his goodness
of heart, and in his inexhaustible vigour of body, enough presence of
mind to remember the kind reception of this man; he bowed then,
also, much more from benevolence and compassion, than from respect.
He felt upon his lips the word which had so many times been repeated
to the due de Guise: " Fly." But to pronounce that word would have
been to betray his cause; to speak that word in the cabinet of the king,
and before an usher, would have been to ruin himself gratuitously, and
could save nobody. D'Artagnan then contented himself with bowing
to Bouquet, and entered. At this moment the king floated between
the joy the last words of Bouquet had given him, and his pleasure at
the return of d'Artagnan. Without being a courtier, d'Artagnan had
a glance as sure and as rapid as if he had been one. He read, on his
entrance, devouring humiliation on the countenance of Colbert. He
even heard the king say these words to him
_ " Ah! Monsieur Colbert; you have then nine hundred thousand
livres at the intend^ance ?" Colbert, suffocated, bowed, but made no
reply. All this scene entered into the mind of d'Artagnan, by the eyes
and ears, at once. The first word of Louis to his musketeer, as if he
wished it to be in opposition to what he was saying at the moment, was
a kind " good day." His second was to send away Colbert. The latter
left the king's cabinet, livid and tottering, whilst d'Artagnan twisted up
the ends of his moustache.
" I love to see one of my servants in this disorder," said the king,
admiring the martial stains upon the clothes of his envoy.
" I thought, sire, my presence at the Louvre was sufficiently urgent
to excuse my presenting myself thus before you."
" You bring me great news, then, monsieur."
" Sire, the thing is this, in two words. Belle-Isle is fortified, admi-
rably fortified; Belle-Isle has a double enceinte, a citadel, two detached
forts; its port contains three corsairs: and the side batteries only wait
for their cannon."
" I know all that, monsieur," replied the king.
" What! your majesty knows all that ? " replied the musketeer,
stupified.
" I have the plan of the fortifications of Belle-Isle," said the king.
" Your majesty has the plan ? " " Here it is."
" It is really it, sire, and I saw a similar one on the spot."
The brow of d'Artagnan became clouded. " Ah ! I understand all.
¥our majesty has not trusted to me alone, but has sent some other per-
son," said he, in a reproachful tone.
D'AETAGNAN EECEIVES HIS CAPTAIN'S COMMISSION. 343
" Of what importance is the manner, monsieur, in which I have learnt
What I know, so that I do know it ? "
" Sire, sire," said the musketeer, without seeking even to conceal his
dissatisfaction; " but I must be permitted to say to your majesty, that
it is not worth while to make me use such speed, to risk twenty times
the breaking of my neck, to salute me on my arrival with such intel-
ligence. Sire, when people are not trusted, or are deemed insufficient,
they should not be employed." And d'Artagnan, with a movement
perfectly military, stamped with his foot, and left upon the floor dust
stained with blood. The king looked at him, inwardly enjoying his
first triumph.
" Monsieur," said he, at the expiration of a minute, " not only is
Belle-Isle known tome, but, still further, Belle-Isle is mine."
" That is well! that is well, sire, I ask no more," replied d'Artagnan.
—My discharge."
" What! your discharge ? "
" Without doubt. I am too proud to eat the bread of the king with-
out gaining it, or rather by gaining it badly.—My discharge, sire ! "
" Oh, oh !" " I ask for my discharge, or I shall take it."
" You are angry, monsieur ? "
" I have reason—mordioux ! I am thirty-two hours in the saddle, I
ride night and day, I perform prodigies of speed, I arrive stiff as the
corpse of a man who has been hung—and another arrives before me!
Come, sire, I am a fool!—My discharge, sire ! "
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Louis, leaning his white hand upon
the dusty arm of the musketeer, " what I tell you will not at all affect
that which I promised you. A word given, a word should be kept."
And the king going straight to his table, opened a drawer and took out
a folded paper. " Here is your commission of captain of musketeers;
you have won it, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and looked at it twice. He could
scarcely believe his eyes.
" And this commission is given you," continued the king, " not only
on account of your journey to Belle-Isle, but, moreover, for your brave
intervention at the Place de Greve. There, likewise, you served me
valiantly."
" Ah, ah!" said d'Artagnan, without his self-command being able
to prevent a certain redness mounting to his eyes—" you know that
also, sire?"
" Yes, I know it."
The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible judgment, when
it was his object to read a conscience. " You have something to say,"
said he to the musketeer," something to say which you do not say.
Come, speak freely, monsieur ; you know that I told you, once for all,
that you are to be quite frank with me."
" Well, sire ! what I have to say is this, that I would prefer being
made captain of musketeers for having charged a battery at, the head
of my company or taken a city, than for causing two wretches to be
hung."
" Is that quite true that you tell me ? "
" And why should your majesty suspect me of dissimulation, I ask ? "
" Because I know you well, monsieur; you cannot repent of having
drawn your sword for me."
" Well, in that your majesty is deceived, and greatly; yes, I do repent
of having drawn my sword on account of the results that action pro-
344 THE VICOlfTE DE BEAGELONNE.
duced; the poor men who were hung, sire, were neither j our enemies
nor mine; and they could not defend themselves."
The king preserved silence for a moment. " And your companion,
M. d'Artagnan, does he partake of your repentance ? "
" My companion ? "
" Yes, you were not alone, I have been told."
" Alone, where ?" " At the Place de Greve."
" No, sire, nosaid d'Artagnan, blushing at the idea that the king
might have a suspicion that he, d'Artagnan, had wished to engross to
himself all the glory that belonged to Eaoul; " no, mordionx ! and as
your majesty says, I had a companion, and a good companion, too."
" A young man ? " " Yes, sire ; a young man. Oh ! your majesty
must accept my compliments, you are as well informed of things out
of doors as with things within. It is M. Colbert who makes all these
fine reports to the king."
" M. Colbert had said nothing but good of you, M. de Artagnan, and
he would have met with a bad reception if he had come to tell me
anything else."
" That is fortunate !"
" But he also said much good of that young man."
" And with justice," said the musketeer.
" In short, it appears that this young man is a brave," said Louis, in
order to sharpen the sentiment which he mistook for envy.
" A brave ! Yes, sire," repeated d'Artagnan, delighted on his part to
direct the king's attention to Eaoul.
" Do you know his name ? " "Well, I think "
" You know him then ? " " I have known him nearly five-and-
twenty years, sire."
" Why, he is scarcely twenty-five years old!" cried the king.
" Well, sire ! I have known him ever since his birth, that is all."
" Do you affirm that ? "
" Sire," said d'Artagnan, " your majesty questions me with a mistrust
in which I recognize another character than your own. M. Colbert,
who has so well informed you, has he not forgotten to tell you that this
young man i^the son of my most intimate friend ? "
" The Yicomte de Bragelonne is ? "
" Certainly, sire. The father of the Yicomte de Bragelonne is M. le
comte de la Fere, who so powerfully assisted in the restoration of King
Charles II. Bragelonne is of a valiant race, sire."
" Then he is the son of that nobleman who came to me, or rather to
M. Mazarin, on the part of King Charles II., to offer me his alliance ? "
" Exactly, sire."
"And the Comte de la F&re is a brave, say you ?"
" Sire, he is a man who has drawn his sword,more times for the king,
your father, than there are, at present, days in the happy life of your
majesty."
It was Louis XIV. who now bit his lips in his turn.
" That is well, M. d'Artagnan, very well! And M. le Comte de la
Fere is your friend, say you ?"
"For about forty years; yes, sire. Your majesty may see that I do
not speak to you of yesterday."
"Should you be glad to see this young man, M. d'Artagnan ?"
"Delighted, sire."
The king touched his bell, and an usher'appeared. "Call M. de
Bragelonne," said the king.
" Ah! ah! he is here ?" said d'Artagnan.
d'aetagnan eeceives his captain's commission. 345
" He is on guard to-day, at the Louvre, with the company of the gen-
tlemen of monsieur le prince."
The king had scarcely ceased speaking, when Eaoul presented himself,
and, on seeing d'Artagnan, smiled on him with that charming smile
which is only found upon the lips of youth.
" Come, come," said d'Artagnan, familiarly, to Eaoul, " the king will
allow you to embrace me; only tell his majesty you thank him."
Eaoul bowed so gracefully, that Louis, to whom all superior qualities
were pleasing when they did not alfect anything against his own, ad-
mired his beauty, strength, and modesty.
" Monsieur," said the king, addressing Eaoul, "I have asked monsieur
le prince to be kind enough to give you up to me; I have received his
reply, and you belong to me from this morning. Monsieur le prince
was a good master, but I hope you will not lose by the change."
" Yes, yes, Eaoul, be satisfied; the king has some good in him," said
d'Artagnan, who had fathomed the character of Louis, and who played
with his self-love, within certain limits; always observing, be it under-
stood, the proprieties, and flattering, even when he appeared to be ban-
tering.
" Sire," said Bragelonne, with a voice soft and musical, and with the
natural and easy elocution he inherited from his father; " Sire, it is not
from to-day that I belong to your majesty."
" Oh ! no, I know," said the king; "you mean your enterprise of the
Greve. That day, you were truly mine, monsieur."
" Sire, it is not of that day, I would speak; it would not become me
to refer to so paltry a service in the presence of such a man as M.d'Ar-
tagnan. I would speak of a circumstance which created an epoch in
my life, and which consecrated me, from the age of sixteen, to the
devoted service of your majesty."
"Ah! ah!" said the king, "what is that circumstance? Tell me,
monsieur."
" This is it, sire.—When I was setting out on my first campaign, that
is to say, to join the army of monsieur le prince, M. le Comte de la
Fere came to conduct me as far as Saint-Denis, where the remains of
King Louis XIII. wait, upon the lowest steps of the funereal basilique,
a successor, whom God will not send him, I hope, for many years.
Then he made me swear upon the ashes of our masters, to serve rqyalty,
represented by you—incarnate in you, sire—to serve it in word, in
thought, and in action. I swore, and God and the dead were witnesses
to my oath. During ten years, sire, I have not so often as I desired
had occasion to keep it. I am a soldier of your majesty, and nothing
else; and, on calling me nearer to you, I do not change my master, I
only change my garrison."
Eaoul was silent, and bowed. Louis still listened after he had done
speaking.
"Mordioux!" cried d'Artagnan, "that is well spoken! is it not, your
majesty ? A good race ! a noble race !"
" Yes," murmured the agitated king, without, however, daring to
manifest his emotion, for it had no other cause than the contact with
a nature eminently aristocratic. "Yes, monsieur, you say truly;—
wherever you were, you were the king's But in changing your
garrison, believe me, you will find an advancement of which you are
worthy."
Eaoul saw that there stopped what the king had to say to him. And
with the perfect tact which characterized his refined nature, he bowed
and retired.
346 THE VICOSlTE HE BBAGELONNE.
" Is there anything else, monsieur, of which you have to inform me?"
said the king, when he found himself again alone with d'Artagnan.
"Yes, sire, and I kept that news for the last, for it is sad, and will
clothe European royalty in mourning."
"What do you tell me?"
" Sire, in passing through Blois, a word, a sad word, echoed from the
palace struck my ear."
"In truth, you terrify me, M. d'Artagnan!"
" Sire, this word was pronounced to me by a piqueur, who wore a
crape on his arm."
"My uncle, Gaston of Orleans, perhaps ?"
" Sire, he has rendered his last sigh."
"And I was not warned of it!" cried the king, whose royal suscep-
tibility saw an insult in the absence of this intelligence.
"Oh ! do not he angry, sire," said d'Artagnan; "neither the couriers
of Paris, nor the couriers of the whole world, can travel with your ser-
vant; the courier from Blois will not be here these two hours, and he
rides well, I assure you, seeing that I only passed him on the other side
of Orleans."
" My uncle Gaston," murmured Louis, pressing his hand to his brow,
and comprising in those three words all that his memory recalled of
that name of opposite sentiments.
"Eh! yes, sire, it is thus," said d'Artagnan, philosophically replying
to the royal thought, " it is thus the past flies away."
" That is true, monsieur, that is true; but there remains for us, thank
God! the future; and we will try to make it not too dark."
" I feel confidence in your majesty on that head," said d'Artagnan,
bowing, " and now "
"You are right, monsieur; I had forgotten the hundred leagues you
have just ridden. Go, monsieur, take care of one of the best of soldiers,
and when you have reposed a little, come and place yourself at my
orders."
" Sire, absent or present, I always am so."
D'Artagnan bowed and retired. Then, as if he had only come from
Pontainebleau, he quickly traversed the Louvre to rejoin Bragelonne.
CHAPTER LXXYII.
A Lover and a Mistress.
Whilst the wax-lights were burning in the castle of Blois, around
the inanimate body of Gaston of Orleans, that last representative of the
past; whilst the bourgeois of the city were making his epitaph, which
was far from being a panegyric; whilst madame the dowager, no longer
remembering that in her young days she had loved that senseless corpse
to such a degree as to fly the paternal palace for his sake, was making,
within twenty paces of the funeral apartment, her little calculations of
interest and her little sacrifices of pride; other interests and cither
prides were in agitation in all the parts of the castle into which a living
soul could penetrate. Neither the lugubrious sounds of the bells, nor
the voices of the chanters, nor the splendour of the wax-lights through
the windows, nor the preparations for the funeral, had the power to
divert the attention of two persons, placed at a window of the interior
court—a window that we are acquainted with, and which lightened a
A LOVEE AND A MISTEESS. 347
chamber forming part of what were called the little apartments. For
the rest, a joyous beam of the sun, for the sun appeared to care very
little for the loss France had just suffered; a sunbeam, we say, de-
scended upon them, drawing perfumes from the neighbouring flowers,
and animating the walls themselves. These two persons, so occupied,
not by the death of the duo, but by the conversation which was the con-
sequence of that death, these two persons were a young woman and a
young man. The latter personage, a man of from twenty-five to twenty-
six years of age, with a mien sometimes lively and sometimes dull,
making good use of two immensely large eyes, shaded with long eye-
lashes, was short of stature and brown of skin; he smiled with an
enormous, but well-furnished mouth, and his pointed chin, which
appeared to enjoy a mobility which nature does not ordinarily grant to
that portion of the countenance, leant from time to time very lovingly
towards his interlocutrix, who, we must say, did not always draw back
so rapidly as strict propriety had a right to require. The young girl—
we know her, for we have already seen her, at that very same window,
by the light of that same sun—the young girl presented a singular
mixture of slyness and reflection; she was charming when she laughed,
beautiful when she became serious; but, let us hasten to say, she was
more frequently charming than beautiful. The two persons appeared
to have attained the culminating point of a discussion—half-bantering,
half-serious.
" Now, Monsieur Malicorne," said the young girl, " does it, at length,
please you that we should talk reasonably ?"
" You believe that that is very easy, Mademoiselle Aure," replied the
young man.
" To do what we like, when we can only do what we are able "
"Good!" said the young man; "there she is bewildered in her
phrases."
" Who, I ?" " Yes, you; leave that lawyers' logic, my dear."
" Another impossibility." " Clerk, I am Mademoiselle de Monta-
lais."
"Demoiselle, I am Monsieur Malicorne."
"Alas, I know it well, and you overwhelm me by distance; so I will
say no more to you."
" Well, but, no, I don't overwhelm you; say what you have to tell
me—say it, I insist upon it." " Well, I obey you."
" That is truly fortunate." " Monsieur is dead."
" Ah, peste ! there's news! And where do you come from, to be able
to tell us that ?"
" I come from Orleans, mademoiselle."
" And is that all the news you bring ?"
" Ah, no; I am come to tell you that Madame Henrietta of England
is coming to marry his majesty's brother."
" Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your news of the
last century. Now, mind, if you persist in this bad habit of laughing
at people, I will have you turned out."
" Oh !" " Yes; for really you exasperate me."
" There, there. Patience, mademoiselle."
" You want to make yourself of consequence ; I know well enough
why. Go !"
" Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thing be true."
" You know that I am anxious to have that commission of lady of
honour, which I have been foolish enough to ask of you, and you do not
use your credit."
318 THE VldOHTB BE BEAGELONNE.
""Who, I?" Malicorne cast down liis eyes, joined his hands, and
assumed his sullen air. " And what credit can the poor clerk of a
procureur have, pray ?"
" Your father has not twenty thousand livrcs a year for nothing,
M. Malicorne."
" A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais."
" Your father is not in the secrets of monsieur le prince for nothing."
" An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneur money."
" In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow in the pro-
vince for nothing" " You flatter me."
" Who, I ?" " Yes, you."
" How so?" " Since I maintain that I have no credit, and you
maintain I have."
" Well, then,—my commission ?" " Well,—your commission ?
" Shall I have it, or shall I not ?" " You shall have it."
" Ay, but when ?" " When you like."
" Where is it then ?" " In my pocket."
" How—in your pocket?" " Yes." And, with a smile, Malicorne
drew from his pocket a letter, upon which Montalais seized as a prey,
and which she read with avidity. As she read, her face brightened.
" Malicorne," cried she, after having read it, " in truth, you are a good
lad."
" What for, mademoiselle ?"
" Because you might have been paid for this commission, and you
have not." And she burst into a loud laugh, thinking to put the clerk
out of countenance; but Malicorne sustained the attack bravely.
" I do not understand you," said he. It was now Montalais who was
disconcerted in her turn. " I have declared my sentiments to you,"
continued Malicorne. " You have told me three times, laughing all the
while, that you did not love me; you have embraced me once without
laughing, and that is all I want."
" All ?" said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a tone through
which wounded pride was visible.
" Absolutely all, mademoiselle," replied Malicorne.
"Ah!"—And this monosyllable indicated as much anger as the
young man might have expected gratitude. He shook his head quietly.
" Listen, Montalais," said he, without heeding whether that familiarity
pleased his mistress or not; " let us not dispute about it."
"And why not?"
" Because during the year which I have known you, you might have
had me turned out of doors twenty times if I did not please you."
" Indeed; and on what account should I have had you turned out?"
" Because I have been sufficiently impertinent for that."
" Oh, that,—yes, that's true."
" You see plainly that you are forced to avow it," said Malicorne.
" Monsieur Malicorne!"
" Don't let us be angry; if you have retained me, then, it has not
been without cause."
" It is not, at least, because I love you," cried Montalais.
" Granted. I will even say that, at this moment, I am certain that
you execrate me."
" Oh, you have never spoken so truly."
" Well, on my part, I detest you."
" Ah, I take the act."
" Take it. You find me brutal and foolish; on my part I find you
with a harsh voice, and your face distorted with anger. At this
A LOVEE AND A MISTEESS. 349
moment you would allow yourself to be thrown out of that window
rather than allow me to kiss the tip of your fingerI would precipitate
myself from the top of the balcony rather than touch the hem of your
robe. But, in five minutes, you will love me, and I shall adore you.
Oh, it is just so."
" I doubt it." " And I swear it."
" Coxcomb !" " And then, that is not the true reason. You stand
in need of me, Aure, and I of you. When it pleases you to be gay, I
make you laugh; when it suits me to be loving, I look at you. I have
given you a commission of lady of honour which you wished for; you
will give me, presently, something I wish for."
" I will ?" " Y es, you will; but, at this moment, my dear Aure, I
declare to you that I wish for absolutely nothing; so be at ease."
" You are a frightful man, Malicorne; I was going to rejoice at getting
this commission, and thus you take away all my joy."
" Good; there is no time lost,—you will rejoice when I am gone "
" Go, then; and after "
" So be it; but, in the first place, a piece of advice."
" What is it ? " " Resume your good humour,—you are ugly when
you pout."
" Coarse!" " Come, let us tell our truths to each other, while we
are about it."
" Oh, Malicorne! Bad-hearted man !"
" Oh, Montalais ! Ungrateful girl!"
The young man leant with his elbow upon the window-frame;—Mon-
talais took a book and opened it. Malicorne stood up, brushed his hat
with his sleeve, smoothed down his black pourpointMontalais, though
pretending to read, looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
" Good!" cried she, quite furious; " he has assumed his respectful
air—and he will pout for a week."
" A fortnight, mademoiselle," said Malicorne, bowing.
Montalais lifted up her little doubled fist. " Monster!" said she;
"oh ! that I were a man !"
" What would you do to me ?"
" I would strangle you."
" Ah ! very well, then," said Malicorne; " I believe I begin to desire
something."
" And what do you desire, Monsieur Demon ? That I should lose
my soul from anger ?"
Malicorne was rolling his hat respectfully between his fingers; but,
all at once, he let fall his hat, seized the young girl by the two shoulders,
pulled her towards him, and applied to her lips two other very warm
lips for a man pretending to so much indifference. Aure would have
cried out, but the cry was stifled in the kiss. Nervous and, apparently,
angry, the young girl pushed Malicorne against the wall.
"Good!" said Malicorne, philosophically, "that's enough for six
weeks. Adieu, mademoiselle, accept my very humble salutation." And
he made three steps towards the door.
" Well! no,—you shall not go !" cried Montalais, stamping with her
little foot. " Stay where you are ! border you!"
" You order me P" " Yes; am I not mistress ?"
" Of my heart and soul, without doubt."
" A pretty property ! mafoi' The soul is silly and the heart dry."
"Beware, Montalais, I know you," said Malicorne; "you are going
to fall in love with your humble servant."
" Well, yes!" said she, hanging round his neck with childish indo-
350 THE VICOMTE EE beagelonne.
lence, rather than with loving abandonment. "Well, yes! for I must
thank you at least."
"And for what?"
" For the commission; is it not my whole future ?"
" And all mine." Montalais looked at him.
" It is frightful," said she, "that one can never guess whether you are
speaking seriously or not."
"I cannot speak more seriously. I was going to Paris,—you are
going there,—we are going there."
" And so it was for that motive only you have served me; selfish
fellow!"
" What would you have me say, Aure; I cannot live without you."
" Well! in truth, it is just so with me; you are, nevertheless, it must
be confessed, a very bad-hearted young man."
" Aure, my dear Aure, take care! if you take to calling names again,
you know the effect they produce upon me, and I shall adore you."
And so saying, Malicorne drew the young girl a second time towards
him. But at that instant a step resounded on the staircase. The
young people were so close, that they would have been surprised in the
arms of each other, if Montalais had not violently pushed Malicorne,
with his back against the door, just then opening. A loud cry, fol-
lowed by angry reproaches, immediately resounded. It was Madame
de Saint-Eemy who uttered the cry and proffered the angry words. The
unlucky Malicorne almost crushed her between the wall and the door
she was coming in at.
" It is again that good-for-nothing!" cried the old lady. " Always
here!"
" Ah, madame!" replied Malicorne, in a respectful tone; "it is eight
long days since I was here."
CHAPTER LXXYIII.
In which we at length see the true Heroine of this History appear.
Behind Madame de Saint-Eemy came up Mademoiselle de la Yal-
liere. She heard the explosion of maternal anger, and as she divined
the cause of it, she entered the chamber trembling, and perceived the
unlucky Malicorne, whose woful countenance might have softened or
set laughing whoever might have observed it coolly. _ He had promptly
intrenched himself behind a large chair, as if to avoid the first attacks
of Madame de Saint-Eemy; he had no hopes of prevailing with words,
for she spoke louder than he, and without stopping; but he reckoned
upon the eloquence of his gestures. The old lady would neither listen
to nor see anything; Malicorne had long been one of her antipathies.
But her anger was too great not to overflow from Malicorne on to his
accomplice. Montalais had her turn.
" And you, mademoiselle; and you, may you not be certain I shall
inform madame of what is going on in the apartment of one of her
ladies of honour ?"
" Oh, dear mother!" cried Mademoiselle de la Yalliere, " for mercy's
sake, spare "
"Hold your tongue, mademoiselle, and do not uselessly trouble
yourself to intercede for unworthy subjects; that a young maid of
honour like you should be subjected to a bad example is, certes, a mis-
THE TBTJE HEROINE APPEARS. 351
fortune great enough; but that you should sanction it by your indul-
gence is what I will not allow."
"But in truth," said Montalais, rebelling again, "I do not know
under what pretence you treat me thus. I am doing no harm, I
suppose ? "
" And that great good-for-nothing, mademoiselle," resumed Madame
de Saint-Remy, pointing to Malicorn, " is he here to do any good, I
ask you?"
" He is neither here for good nor harm, madame; he comes to see
me, that is all."
" It is all very well! all very well!" said the old lady. " Her royal
highness shall be informed of it, and she will judge."
" At all events, I do not see why," replied Montalais, " it should be
forbidden that M. Malicorne should have intentions towards me, if his
intentions are honourable."
" Honourable intentions with such a face!" cried Madame de Saint-
Remy.
" I thank you, in the name of my face, madame," said Malicorne.
" Come, my daughter, come," continued Madame de Saint-Remy; " we
will go and inform madame that at the very moment she is weeping
for her husband, at the moment when we are all weeping for a master
in this old castle of Blois, the abode of grief, there are people who
amuse themselves with rejoicing."
" Oh!" cried both the accused, with one voice.
" A maid of honour! a maid of honour!" cried the old lady, lifting
her hands towards heaven.
" Well! it is that in which you are mistaken, madame," said Mon-
talais, highly exasperated; " I am no longer a maid of honour, of
madame's, at least."
" Have you given in your resignation, mademoiselle ? That is well!
I cannot but applaud such a determination, and I do applaud it."
" I do not give in my resignation, madame; I take another service,—
that is all."
" In the bourgeoisie or in the robe ?" asked Madame de Saint-Remy
disdainfully.
" Please to learn, madame, that I am not a girl to serve either hour-
geoises or robines; and that instead of the miserable court at which
you vegetate, I am going to reside in a court almost royal."
" Ah! ah! a royal court," said Madame de Saint-Remy, forcing a
laugh; "a royal court! what think you of that, my daughter ?"
And she turned round towards Mademoiselle de la Valliere, whom
she would by main force have dragged away from Montalais, and who,
instead of obeying the impulse of Madame de Saint-Remy, looked first
at her mother and then at Montalais with her beautiful conciliatory
eyes.
" I did not say a royal court, madame," replied Montalais; " because
Madame Henrietta of England, who is about to become the wife of
S. A. R. Monsieur, is not a queen. I said almost royal, and I spoke
correctly, since she will be sister-in-law to the king."
A thunderbolt falling upon the castle of Blois would not have
astonished Madame de Saint-Remy as did the last sentence of Mon-
talais.
"What do you say of Son Altesse Roy ale Madame Henrietta?'*
stammered out the old lady.
" I say I am going to belong to her household, as maid of honour;
that is what I say."
352 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"As maid of honour!" cried, at the same time, Madame de Saint-
Berny with despair, and Mademoiselle de la Valliere with delight.
" Yes, madame, as maid of honour."
The old ladj's head sunk down as if the blow had been too severe for
her. But, almost immediately recovering herself, she launched a last
projectile at her adversary.
" Oh ! oh !" said she; " I have heard of many of these sorts of pro-
raises beforehand, which often lead people to flatter themselves with
wild hopes, and, at the last moment, when the time comes to keep the
promises, and have the hopes realized, they are surprised to see the
great credit upon which they reckoned reduced to smoke."
" Oh! madame, the credit of my protector is incontestable, and his
promises are as good as acts."
"And would it be indiscreet to ask you the name of this powerful
protector ?"
" Oh! mon Dieu ! no ! it is that gentleman there," said Montalais,
pointing to Malicorne, who, during this scene, had preserved the most
imperturbable coolness, and the most comic dignity.
"Monsieur!" cried Madame de Saint-Bemy, with an explosion of
hilarity, " monsieur is your protector! Is the man whose credit is so
powerful, and whose promises are as good as acts, Monsieur Malicorne!"
Malicorne bowed. As to Montalais, as her sole reply, she drew the
brevet from her pocket, and showed it to the old lady.
" Here is the brevet," said she.
At once, all was over. As soon as she had cast a rapid glance over
this fortunate brevet, the good lady clasped her hands, an unspeakable
expression of envy and despair contracted her countenance, and she
was obliged to sit down to avoid fainting. Montalais was not malicious
enough to rejoice extravagantly at her victory, or to overwhelm the
conquered enemy, particularly when that enemy was the mother of her
friend; she used, then, but did not abuse, her triumph. Malicorne
was less generous; he assumed noble poses in fautevil, and stretched
himself out with a familiarity which, two hours earlier, would have
drawn upon him threats of a caning.
"Maid of honour to the young madame!" repeated Madame de
Saint-Bemy, still but half convinced.
" Yes, madame, and through the protection of M. Malicorne, more-
over."
"It is incredible!" repeated the old lady: "is it not incredible,
Louise?" But Louise did not reply; she was leaning, thoughtful,
almost afflicted; passing one hand over her beautiful brow, she sighed
heavily.
" Well, but, monsieur," said Madame de Saint-Bemy, all at once,
"how did you manage to obtain this post ?"
" I asked for it, madame."
" Of whom ? " " One of my friends."
"And have you friends sufficiently powerful at court to give you
such proofs of their credit ? "
" Dame ! it appears so."
" And may one ask the name of these friends ?"
"I did not say I had many friends, madame, I said I had one
friend."
" And that friend is called ?"
"Teste ! madame, you go too far ! When one has a friend as powerful
as mine, we do not publish his name in that fashion, in open day, in
order that he may be stolen from us."
THE TRUE HEROINE APPEARS, 853
"You are right, monsieur, to be silent as to that name; for, I tbink
it would be pretty difficult for you to tell it."
"At all events," said Montalais, "if the friepd does not exist, the
brevet does exist, and that cuts short the question."
"Then, I conceive," said Madame de Saint-Remy, with the gracious
smile of a cat who is going to scratch, " when I found Monsieur here
just now "
" "Well ?" " He brought you the brevet."
"Exactly, madame; you have guessed rightly."
" Well, then, nothing can be more moral or proper."
" I think so, madame."
" And I have been wrong, as it appears, in reproaching you,
mademoiselle."
" Very wrong, madame ; but I am so accustomed to your reproaches,
that I pardon you these."
"In that case, let us be gone, Louise; we have nothing to do but
to retire. Well!" "JVIadame!" said La Valliere, starting, " did you
speak?"
"You do not appear to listen, my child."
"No, madame, 1" was thinking."
"About what?" "A thousand things."
" You bear me no ill-will, at least, Louise ?" cried Montalais, pressing
her hand.
" And why should I, my dear Aure ?" replied the girl, in a .voice soft
as a flute.
" Dame/" resumed Madame de Saint-Remy; " if she did hear you a
little ill-will, poor girl, she could not be much blamed."
"And why should she bear me ill-will, good God ? "
"It appears to me that she is of as good a family, and as pretty as
you."
"Mother! mother!" cried Louise.
" Prettier a hundred times, madame—not of a better family; but that
does not tell me why Louise should bear me ill-will."
" Do you think it will be very amusing for her to be buried alive at
Blois, when you are going to shine at Paris ?"
" But, madame, it is not I who prevent Louise following me thither;
on the contrary, I should certainly be most happy if she came there."
" But it appears that M. Malicorne, who is all-powerful at court "
" Ah ! so much the worse, madame," said Malicorne, " every one for
himself in this poor world."
"Malicorne! Malicorne!" said Montalais. Then stooping towards
the young man :—
" Occupy Madame de Saint-Remy, either in disputing with her, or
making it up with her; I must speak to Louise." And, at the same
time, a soft pressure of the hand recompensed Malicorne for his future
obedience. Malicorne went grumbling towards Madame de Saint-
Remy, whilst Montalais said to her friend, throwing one arm round
her neck:—
" What is the matter ? Say ? Is it true that you would not love
me if I were to shine, as your mother says ?"
" Oh, no !" said the young girl, with difficulty restraining her tears;
" on the contrary, I rejoice at your good fortune."
" Rejoice! why, one would say you are ready to cry !"
" Do people never weep but from envy ?"
" Oh! yes, I understand; I am going to Paris, and that word Paris
recalls to your mind a certain cavalier "
2 A
354 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Aure!"——" A certain cavalier who formerly lived near Blois, and
who now resides at Paris." _ . •
" In truth, I know not what ails me, hut I feel stifled.
" Weep then, weep, as you cannot give me a smile!"
Louise raised her sweet face, which the tears, rolling down, one after
the other, illumined like diamonds.
" Come, con fess," said Montalais.
" What shall I confess ?"
"What makes you weep; people don't weep without a cause. _ I am
your friend; whatever you would wish me to do, I will do. Malicorne
is more powerful than you would think. Do you wish to go to Paris ?"
" Alas!" sighed Louise.
" Do you wish to come to Paris ?"
"To remain here alone, in this old castle, I who have enjoyed the
delightful habit of listening to your songs, of pressing your hand, of
running about the park with you. Oh ! how I shall be enmnjee ! how
quickly I shall die!"
" Do you wish to come to Paris ?" Louise breathed another sigh.
" You do not answer me."
" What would you that I should answer you ? "
" Yes or no ; that is not very difficult, I think."
" Oh! you are very fortunate, Montalais!"
" That is to say you would like to be in my place." Louise was silent.
"Little obstinate thing!" said Montalais; "did ever anyone keep
her secrets from her friend thus ? But, confess that you would like to
come to Paris; confess that you are dying with the wish to see Baoul
again ? "
" I cannot confess that." " Then you are wrong."
" In what way ? "
" Because Do you see this brevet ?"
" To be sure I do."
" Well, I would have made you have a similar one."
" By whose means ? "
" Malicorne's." " Aure, do you tell truth ? Is that possible ?"
" Dame! Malicorne is there; and what he has done for me, he must
be sure to do for you."
Malicorne had heard his name pronounced twice; he was delighted
at having an opportunity of coming to a conclusion with Madame de
Saint-Demy, and he turned round
" What is the question, mademoiselle?"
" Come hither, Malicorne," said Montalais, with an imperious gesture.
Malicorne obeyed.
" A brevet like this," said Montalais.
" How so ?" " A brevet like this; that is plain enough."
" But " " I want one—I must have one!"
"Oh! oh! you must have one!" "Yes."
"It is impossible, is it not, M. Malicorne?" said Louise, with hef
sweet soft voice.
" Dame ! if it is for you, mademoiselle "
" For me. Yes, Monsieur Malicorne, it would be for me."
" And if Mademoiselle de Montalais asks it at the same time—"
"Mademoiselle de Montalais does not ask it, she requires it."
"Well! we will endeavour to obey you, mademoiselle."'
" And you will have her named ? " " We will try."
"No evasive reply. Louise de la Valliere shall be maid of honour to
Madame Henrietta within a week."——" How you talk I"
iL&ilCORNE AND MANICAME. 355
M "Within a week, or else " " Well! or else ?"
" You may take back your brevet. Monsieur Malicorne; I will not
leave my friend." " Dear Montalais !"
" That is right. Keep your brevet; Mademoiselle de la Vallihre shall
he a maid of honour."
" Is that true ?" " Quite true."
" I may then hope to go to Paris ? " " Depend upon it."
" Oh! Monsieur Malicorne, what gratitude !" cried Louise, clapping
her hands, and bounding with joy.
" Little dissembler !" said Montalais, " try again to make me believe
you are not in love with Raoul."
Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of replying, she ran
and embraced her mother. "Madame," said she, "do you know that
M. Malicorne is going to have me appointed maid of honour ?"
" M. Malicorne is a prince in disguise," replied the old lady; " he is
all-powerful, seemingly."
" Should you also like to be maid of honour ? " asked Malicorne of
Madame de Saint-Remy. " Whilst I am about it, I might as well get
everybody appointed."
And upon that he went away, leaving the poor lady quite discon-
certed, as Tallemont des Reaux would say.
"Humph!" murmured Malicorne, as he descended the stairs,—
" Humph! there is another note of a thousand livres that will cost me;
but I must get through as well as I can; my friend Manicamp does
nothing for nothing."
CHAPTER LXXIX.
Malicorne and Manicamp.
The introduction of these two new personages into this history, an<|j
that mysterious affinity of names and sentiments, merit some attention]
on the part of the historian-and the reader. We will then enter intd
some details concerning M. Malicorne and M. Manicamp. Malicorne^
we know, had made the journey to Orleans in search of the brevet
destined for Mademoiselle de Montalais, the arrival of which had pro-
duced such a strong feeling at the castle of Blois. At that moment,
M. de Manicamp was at Orleans. A singular personage was this M.
de Manicamp; a very intelligent young fellow, always poor, always
needy, although he dipped his hand freely into the purse of M. le
Comte de Guiche, one of the best-furnished purses of the period. M.
le Comte de Guiche had had as the companion of his boyhood this
de Manicamp, a poor gentleman vassal born, of the house of Grammont.
M. de Manicamp, with his acuteness, had created himself a revenue
in the opulent family of the celebrated marechal. Prom his infancy
he had, by a calculation much above his age, lent his name and his
complaisance to the follies of -the Comte de Guiche. If his noble com-
panion had stolen some fruit destined for Madame la Marechale, if he
had broken a mirror, or put out a dog's eye, Manicamp declared him-
self guilty of the crime committed, and received the punishment, which
was not made the more mild for falling upon the innocent. But this
was the way in which this system of abnegation was paid for: instead of
wearing such mean habiliments as his paternal fortunes entitled him.
to, he was able to appear brilliant, superb, like a young noble of fifty
thousand livres a year. It was not that he was mean in character or
356 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONHE.
humble in spirit; no, he was a philosopher, or rather he had the in-
difference, the apathy, the extravagance which banish from man every
feeling of the hierarchical world. His sole ambition was to spend
money. But, in this respect, the worthy M. de Manicamp was a gulf.
Three or four times every year he drained the Comte de Guiche, and
when the Comte de Guiche was thoroughly drained, when he had turned
out his pockets and his purse before him, when he declared that it
would be at least a fortnight before paternal munificence would re-fill
those pockets and that purse, de Manicamp lost all his energy, he went
to bed, remained there, ate nothing, and sold his handsome clothes,
under the pretence that, remaining in bed, he did not want them.
During this prostration of mind and strength, the purse of the Comte
de Guiche was getting full again, and when once filled, overflowed into
that of de Manicamp, who bought new clothes, dressed himself again,
and recommenced the same life he had followed before. This mania
of selling .his new clothes for a quarter of what they were worth, had
rendered our hero sufficiently celebrated in Orleans, a city where, in
general, we should be puzzled to say why he came to pass his days of
penitence. Provincial debauches, petits maitres of six hundred livres a
year, shared the fragments of his opulence.
Among the admirers of these splendid toilettes, our friend Malicorne.
was conspicuous; he was the son of a syndic of the city, of whom M.
de Conde, always needy as a de Conde, often borrowed money at enor-
mous interest. M. Malicorne kept the paternal money-chestthat is
to say, that in those 'times of easy morals, he had made for himself, by
following the example of his father, and lending at high interest for
short terms, a revenue of eighteen hundred livres, without reckoning
six hundred other livres furnished by the generosity of the syndic; so
that Malicorne was the king of the gay youth of Orleans, having two
thousand four hundred livres to scatter, squander, and waste on follies
of every kind. But, quite contrary to Manicamp, Malicorne was
terribly ambitious. He loved from ambition; he spent money from
ambition; and he would have ruined himself from ambition. Malicorne
had determined to rise, at whatever price it might cost; and for this, at
whatever price it did cost, he had given himself a mistress and a friend.
The mistress, Mademoiselle de Montalais, was cruel, as regarded the
last favours of love; but she was of a noble family, and that was suffi-
cient for Malicorne. The friend had no friendship, but he was the
favourite of the Comte de Guiche, himself the friend of Monsieur, the
king's brother; and that was sufficient for Malicorne. Only, in the
chapter of charges, Mademoiselle de Montalais cost per an.:—llibbons,
gloves, and sweets, a thousand livres. De Manicamp cost—money lent,
never returned, from twelve to fifteen hundred livres per an. So that
there was nothing left for Malicorne. Ah! yes, we are mistaken;
there was left the paternal strong box. He employed a mode of pro-
ceeding, upon which he preserved the most profound secrecy, and
which consisted in advancing to himself, from the coffer of the syndic,
half a dozen years, that is to say, fifteen thousand livres, swearing to
himself—observe, quite to himself—to repay this deficiency as soon as an
opportunity should present itself. The opportunity was expected to be
the concession of a good post in the household of Monsieur, when that
household would be established at the period of his marriage. This
period was arrived, and the household was about to be established. A
good post in the family of a prince of the blood, when it is given by
the credit, and on the recommendation of a friend, like the Comte de
Guiche, is worth at least twelve thousand livres per an.; and by thq
MALICORNE AND MANICAMP. 357
means which M. Malicorne had taken to make his revenues fructify,
twelve thousand livres might rise to twenty thousand. Then, when
once an incumbent of this post, he would marry Mademoiselle de
Montalais. Mademoiselle de Montalais, of a family which the woman's
side ennobles, not only would be dowered, but would ennoble Mali-
corne. But, in order that Mademoiselle de Montalais, who had not a
large patrimonial fortune, although an only daughter, should be suitably
dowered, it was necessary that she should belong to some great princess,
as prodigal as the dowager Madame was covetous. And in order that
the wife should not be on one side whilst the husband was on the other,
a situation which presents serious inconveniences, particularly with
characters like those of the future consorts—Malicorne had imagined
the idea of making the central point of union the household of Mon-
sieur the king's brother. Mademoiselle de Montalais would be maid
of honour to Madame. M. Malicorne would be officer to Monsieur.
It is plain the plan was formed by a clear head; it is plain, also, that
it had been bravely executed. Malicorne had asked Manicamp to ask
a Irevet of maid of honour of the Comte de Guiche; and the Comtede
Guiche had asked this brevet of Monsieur, who had signed it without
hesitation. The moral plan of Malicorne—for we may well suppose
that the combinations of a mind as active as his were not confined to
the present, but extended to the future—the moral plan of Malicorne, we
say, was thisTo obtain entrance into the household of Madame Hen-
rietta, for a woman devoted to himself, who was intelligent, young,
handsome, and intriguing; to learn, by means of this woman, all the
feminine secrets of the young household; whilst he, Malicorne, and
his friend Manicamp, should, between them, know all the male secrets
of the young community. It was by these means that a^ rapid and
splendid, fortune might be acquired at one and the same time. Mali-
corne was a vile name; he who bore it had too much wit to conceal
this truth from himself; but an estate might be purchased; and Mali-
corne of some place, or even de Malicorne itself quite short, would
sound nobly in the ear.
It was not improbable that a most aristocratic origin might be found
for this name of Malicorne; might it not come from some estate where
a bull with mortal horns had caused some great misfortune, and bap-
tized the soil with the blood it had spilt ? Certes, this plan presented
itself bristling with difficulties; but the greatest of all was Mademoi-
selle de Montalais herself. Capricious, variable, close, giddy, free,
prudish, a virgin armed with claws, Erigone stained with grapes, she
sometimes overturned, with a single dash of her white fingers, or with
a single puff from her laughing lips, the edifice which had employed
the patience of Malicorne a month to establish.
Love apart, Malicorne was happy; but this love, which he could not
help feeling, he had the strength to conceal with care; persuaded that
at the least relaxing of the ties by which he had bound his Protean
female, the demon would overthrow him and laugh at him. He hum-
bled his mistress by disdaining her. Burning with desire, when she
advanced to tempt him, he had the art to appear ice, persuaded that if
he opened his arms, she would run away laughing at him. On her
side, Montalais believed she did not love Malicorne; whilst, on the
contrary, she did love him. Malicorne repeated to her so often his
protestation of indifference, that she finished, sometimes, by believing
him; and then she believed she detested Malicorne. If she tried to
bring him back by coquetry, Malicorne played the coquet better than
she could. But what made Montalais hold to Malicorne in an indis-
358 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
soluble fashion, was that Malicorne was always come cram full of fresh
news brought from the court and the city; it was that Malicorne
always brought to Blois a fashion, a secret, or a perfume; it was that
Malicorne never asked for a meeting, but, on the contrary, required to
be supplicated to receive the favours he burned to obtain. On her side,
Montalais was no miser with stories. By her means Malicorne learnt
all that passed at Blois, in the family of the dowager Madame; and he
related to Manicamp tales that made him ready to die with laughing,
which the latter, out of idleness, took ready-made to M. de Guiche,
who carried them to Monsieur.
Such, in two words, was the woof of petty interests and petty conspi-
racies which united Blois with Orleans, and Orleans with Paris; and
which was about to bring into the last-named city, where she was to
produce so great a revolution, the poor little La Yalliere, who was far
from suspecting, as she returned joyfully, leaning on the arm of her
mother, for what a strange future she was reserved. As to the good
man, Malicorne—we speak of the syndic of Orleans—he did not see
more clearly into the present than others did into the future; and had
no suspicion, as he walked, every day, between three and five o'clock,
after his dinner, upon the Place Sainte-Catherine, in his grey coat, cut
after the fashion of Louis XIII., and his cloth shoes with great knots of
ribbon, that it was he who paid for all those bursts of laughter, all
those stolen kisses, all those whisperings, all that ribbonry, and all those
bubble projects which formed a chain of forty-five leagues in length,
from the palais of Blois to the Palais Eoyal.
CHAPTER LXXX.
Manicamp and Malicorne.
Malicobne, then, left Blois, as we have said, and went to find his
friend Manicamp, then in temporary retreat in the city of Orleans. It
was just at the moment when that young nobleman was employed in
selling the last piece of decent clothing he had left. He had, a fort-
night before, extorted from the Comte de Guiche, a hundred pistoles, all
he had, to assist in equipping him properly to go and meet Madame, on
her arrival at Havre. He had drawn from Malicorne, three days before,
fifty pistoles, the price of the brevet obtained for Montalais. He had
then no expectations from anything else, having exhausted all his
resources, with the exception of selling a handsome suit of cloth and
satin, all embroidered and laced with gold, which had been the admira-
tion of the court. But to be able to sell this suit, the last he had left,
—as we have been forced to confess to the reader—Manicamp had been
obliged to take to his bed. No more fire, no more pocket-money, no
more walking-money, nothing but sleep to take the places of repasts,
companies and balls. It has been said—" He who sleeps^dinesbut it
has not been said—He who sleeps, plays,—or, He who sleeps, dances.
Manicamp, reduced to this extremity of neither playing nor dancing,
for a week at least, was, consequently, very sad, he was expecting a
usurer, and saw Malicorne enter. A cry of distress escaped him.
"Eh ! what!" said he, in a tone which nothing can describe, "is that
you again, dear friend ?"
" Humph! you are very polite!" said Malicorne.
MANICAMP AND MAIICOENE. 339
"Ay, but look you, I was expecting money, and, instead of the
money, I see you come.'3
"And suppose I brought you some money ?"
" Oh! then, it is quite another thing. You are very welcome, my dean
friend!33
And he held out his hand, not for the hand of Malicorne, but for the
purse. Malicorne pretended to be mistaken, and gave him his hand.
" And the money ?33 said Manicamp.
" My dear friend, if you wish to have it, earn it."
""What must be done for it?'3 " Earn it,parhleu!"
"Andafter what fashion?" "Oh! that is rather trying,,I warn
you."
"The devil!33 "You must get out of bed, and go immediately to
M. le Comte de Guiche."
" I get up!" said Manicamp, stretching himself in his bed voluptu-
ously, "oh no, thank you!"
" You have then sold all your clothes ?"
"No, I have one suit left, the handsomest even; but I expect a pur-
chaser."
" And the chausses ?"
"Well, if you look, you can see them on that chair."
" Very well! since you have some chausses and a povrpohib left, put
your legs into the first and your back into the other; have, a horse
saddled, and set off.'3 "Not I."
"Ana why not?" "Morhleu! don't you know then, that M. de
Guiche is at Etampes ? "
"No, I thought he was at Paris; you will then only have fifteen
leagues to go, instead of thirty."
" You are a wonderfully clever fellow! If I were to ride fifteen leagues
in these clothes, they would never be fit to put on again; and, instead of
selling them for thirty pistoles, I should be obliged to take fifteen."
" Sell them for what you like, but I must have a second commission
of maid of honour."
" Good ! for whom ? Is Montalais doubled then ?"
" Vile fellow! It is you who are doubled. You swallow up two for-
tunes—mine, and that of M. le Comte de Guiche."
" You should say that of M. le Comte de Guiche and yours."
" That is true; honour where it is due; but I return to my Irevet"
" And you are wrong." s
" Prove me that."
" My friend, there will only be twelve maids of honour for Madame;
I have already obtained for you what twelve hundred women are trying
for, and for that I was forced to employ my diplomacy."
" Oh! yes, I know you have been quite heroic, my dear friend."
"We know what we are about," said Manicamp.
" To whom do you tell that ? When I am king, I promise you one
thing."
" What ? To call you Malicorne I.?'3
" No; to make you surintendant of my financesbut that is not the
question now."
" Unfortunately."
" The present affair is to procure for me a second place of maid of
honour."
" My friend, if you were to promise me heaven, I would not disturb
myself at this moment." Malicorne chinked the money in his pocket.
There are twenty pistoles here," said Malicorne.
360 THE VIo?WTE PE Pr.ACIICIi'j.iE.
"And what would you do with twenty pistoles, man JDieu
"Well!" said Malicorne, a little angrily, " "suppose I were only to
add them to the five hundred you already owe me ? "
"You are right," replied Manicamp, stretching out his hand again,
"and in that point of view I can accept them. Give them to me."
"An instant, what the devil! it is not only holding out your hand
that will do; if I give you the twenty pistoles, shall I have my brevet ?"
" To be sure you shall."
"Soon?" "To-day."
"Oh! take care! Monsieur de Manicamp; you undertake much, and
I do not ask that. Thirty leagues in a day is too much, you would kill
yourself."
" I think nothing impossible, when obliging a friend."
" You are quite heroic."
" Where are the twenty pistoles ?"
" Here they are," said Malicorne, showing them.
"That's well." "Yes, but my dear M. Manicamp, you would con-
sume them in nothing but post-horses."
"No, no, make yourself easy on that head."
" Pardon me. Why, it is fifteen leagues from this place to Etampes."
" Fourteen." " Well! fourteen be it; fourteen leagues make seven
posts; at twenty sons the post, seven livres; seven livres the courier—
fourteen; as many for coming back—twenty-ei ght! as much for bed
and supper, that makes sixty of the livres which this complaisance
would cost you."
Manicamp stretched himself like a serpent in his bed, and fixing his
two great eyes upon Malicorne; "You are right," said he; "I could
not return before to-morrow;" and he took the twenty pistoles.
"Now then, be off!"
" Well, as I cannot be back before to-morrow, we have time."
" Time for what ?" " Time to play "
"What do you wish to play with?" "Your twenty pistoles,
pardieu /"
" No; you always win." " I will wager them, then."
" Against what ?" " Against twenty others."
" And what shall be the object of the wager ?"
" This. We have said it was fourteen leagues to go to Etampes ?"
"Yes." "And fourteen leagues back?" "Doubtless."
"Well; for these twenty-eight leagues you cannot allow less than
fourteen hours ?"
" That is agreed."
" One hour to find the Comte de Guiche." " Go on."
" And an hour to persuade him to write a letter to Monsieur."
" J ust so."
" Sixteen hours in all."
"You reckon as well as M. Colbert."
" It is now twelve o'clock." " Half-past."
" Hein /—you have a handsome watch!"
"What were you saying?" said Malicorne, putting his watch quickly
back into his fob.
" Ah! true; I was offering to lay you twenty pistoles against these
you have lent me, that you will have the Comte de Guiche's letter in "
" How soon ?" " In eight hours."
" Have you a winged horse, then ?" '
" That is no matter. Will you lay ?"
" I shall have the comte's letter in eight hours ?" " Yes."
MANICAMP AND MALICORNE. SGI
"In hand?" "In hand."
"Well, be it so; I lay," said Malicorne, curious to know how this
seller of clothes would get through.
" Is it agreed ?" " It is."
" Pass me the pen, ink, and paper."
" Here they are." " Thank you."
Manicamp raised himself up with a sigh, and leaning on his left elbow,
he, in his best hand, traced the following lines:—
" An order for a place of maid of honour to Madame, which M. le
Comte de Guiche will take upon him to obtain at sight.
"He Manicamp."
This painful task accomplished, he laid himself down in bed again.
"Well !" asked Malicorne, " what does this mean ?"
" That means that if you are in a hurry to have the letter from the
Comte de Guiche for Monsieur, I have won my wager."
" How the devil is that ?"
" That is transparent enough, I think; you take that paper."
"Well?"
" And you set out instead of me." " Ah !"
" You put your horses to their best speed." " Good!"
" In six hours you will be at Etampes; in seven hours you have the
letter from the comte, and I shall have won my wager without stirring
from my bed, which suits me and you too, at the same time, I am very
sure."
" Decidedly, Manicamp, you are a great man."
" Hein ! I know that."
" I am to start then for Etampes ? " " Directly."
" I am to go to the Comte de Guiche with this order ?"
" He will give you a similar one for Monsieur."
" Monsieur will approve ?" " Instantly."
" And I shall have my brevet ?"
" You will." "Ah!"
" Well, I hope I behave genteelly ?
" Adorably." " Thank you."
" You do as you please, then, with the Comte de Guiche, Malicorne ?"
" Except making money pf him—everything."
" Diable ! the exception is annoying; but then, if instead of asking
him for money, you were to ask "
" What?" " Something important."
"What do you call important?"
"Well! suppose one of your friends asked you to render him a
service?"
" I would not render it to him."
" Selfish fellow!"
" Or at least I would ask him what service he would render me in
exchange."
" Ah ! that, perhaps, is fair. Well, that friend speaks to you."
"What, you, Malicorne?" "Yes; it is I."
" Ah! ah ! you are rich then ?"
" I have still fifty pistoles left."
" Exactly the sum I want. Where are those fifty pistoles ?"
" Here," said Malicorne, slapping his pocket.
"Then speak, my friend; what do you want?"
Malicorne took up the pen, ink, and paper again, and presented them
all to Manicamp. Write!" said he. " Dictate!"
362 the VlCOiZI* vts mhaweloNNE.
" An order for a place in the household of Monsieur."
" Oh !" said Manicamp, laying down the pen, "a place in the house-
hold of Monsieur for fifty pistoles ?"
" Tou mistook me, my friend; you did not hear plainly.'
" What did you say, then ?" " I said five hundred."
"And the five hundred?" "Here they are." .
Manicamp devoured the rouleau with his eyes; but this time Mali-
corne held it at a distance. . .
" Eh! what do you say to that ? Eive hundred pistoles.
"I say it is for nothing, my friend," said Manicamp, taking up the
pen aeain, "and you will wear out my credit. Dictate."
Malicorne continued.
" Which my friend the Comte de Guiche will obtain for my friend
Malicorne."
" That's it," said Manicamp.
" Pardon me, you have forgotten to sign."
" Ah! that is true—The five hundred pistoles?"
" Here are two hundred and fifty of them."
" And the other two hundred and fifty ?"
" When I shall be in possession of my place."
Manicamp made a face.
" Jn that case give me the recommendation back again."
" What to do ?" " To add two words to it."
" Two words ?" " Yes; two words only."
" What are they ?" " In haste."
Malicorne returned the recommendation: Manicamp added the words.
" Good!" said Malicorne, taking back the paper.
Manicamp began to count the pistoles.
" There want twenty," said he. " How so ?"
"The twenty I have won." " In what way ?"
" By laying that you would have the letter from the Comte de Guiche
in eight hours."
" Ah! that's fair," and he gave him the twenty pistoles.
Manicamp began to take up his gold by handfuls, and pour it down
in cascades upon his bed.
" This second place," murmured Malicorne, while drying his paper,
" which, at the first glance, appears to cost me more than the first,
but " He stopped, took up the pen in his turn, and wrote to
Montalais:—
"Mademoiselle,—Announce to your friend that her commission
will not be long before it arrives; I am setting out to get it signed:
that will be twenty-eight leagues I shall have gone for the love of you."
Then with his demon's smile, taking up the interrupted sentence
" This place," said he, " at the first glance, appears to cost more than
the first; but—the benefit will be, I hope, in proportion with the
expense, and Mademoiselle de la Valliere will bring me back more than
Mademoiselle de Montalais, or else,—or else my name is not Malicorne.
Earewell, Manicamp," and he left the room.
THE COURTYARD OE THE HOTEL GRAMMONT.
363
CHAPTER LXXXI.
The Courtyard of the H6tel Grammont.
On Malicorne's arrival at Orleans, lie was informed that the Comte
de Guiche had just set out for Paris. Malicorne rested himself for a
couple of hours, and then prepared to continue his journey. He
reached Paris during the night, and alighted at a small hotel, where, in
his previous journeys to the capital, he had been accustomed to put up,
and at eight o'clock the next morning he presented himself at the
Hotel Grammont. Malicorne arrived just in time, for the Comte de
Guiche was on the point of taking leave of Monsieur before setting
out for Havre, where the principal members of the French nobility
had gone to await Madame's arrival from England. Malicorne pro-
nounced the name of Mauicamp, and was immediately admitted. He
found the Comte de Guiche in the courtyard of the Hotel Grammont,
inspecting his horses, which his trainers and equerries were passing in
review before him. The count, in the presence of his tradespeople and
of his servants, was engaged in praising or blaming, as the case seemed
to deserve, the appointments, horses, and harness which were being
submitted to him; when, in the midst of this important occupation, the
name of Manicamp was announced.
"Manicamp!" he exclaimed; "let him enter by all means." And
he advanced a few steps towards the door.
Malicorne slipped through the half-open door, and, looking at the
Comte de Guiche, who was surprised to see a face which he did not
recognize, instead of the one he expected, said, " Forgive me, monsieur
le comte, but I believe a mistake has been made. M. Manicamp him-
self was announced to you, instead of which it is only an envoy from
him."
" Ah ! " exclaimed de Guiche, coldly; "and what do you bring me ?"
"A letter, monsieur le comte." Malicorne handed him the first
document, and narrowly watched the comte's face, who, as he read it,
began to laugh.
"What!" he exclaimed, "another maid of honour? Are all the
maids of honour in France, then, under his protection ? " Malicorne
bowed. " Why does he not come himself? " he inquired.
" He is confined to his bed."
" The deuce! he has no money then, I suppose," said de Guiche,
shrugging his shoulders. "What does he do with his money ? "
Malicorne made a movement, to indicate that upon this subject he
was as ignorant as the comte himself. "Whydoes he not make use of
his credit, then ? " continued de Guiche.
" With regard to that, I think "
"What?"
" That Manicamp has credit with no one but yourself, monsieur le
comte."
" He will not be at Havre, then ?" Whereupon Malicorne made
another movement.
" But every one will-be there."
" I trust, monsieur le comte, that he will not neglect so excellent an
opportunity."
" He should be at Paris by this time."
" He will take the direct road there, to make up for lost time,"
364 the VICcWTTE "Dli heIgelonne.
" Where is he now ?" " At Orleans."
" Monsieur," said de Guiche, " you seem to me a man of very good
taste."
Malicorne wore Manicamp's clothes. He bowed in return, saying,
"You do me a very great honour, monsieur le comte."
" Whom have I the pleasure of addressing ? "
" My name is Malicorne, monsieur."
" M. de Malicorne, what do you think of these pistol-holsters ?
Malicorne was a man of great readiness, and immediately under-
stood the position of affairs. Besides, the "de" which had been pre-
fixed to his name, raised him to the rank of the person with whom he
was conversing. He looked at the holsters with the air of a connoisseur,
and said, without hesitation, " Somewhat heavy, monsieur."
"You see," said de Guiche to the saddler, "this gentleman, who
understands these matters well, thinks the holsters heavy, a complaint
I had already made." The saddler was full of excuses.
"What do you think," asked de Guiche, "of this horse, which I
have just purchased ? "
"To look at it, it seems perfect, monsieur le comte; but I must
mount it before I give you my opinion."
" Do so, M. de Malicorne, and ride him round the court two or three
times."
The courtyard of the hotel was so arranged, that whenever there
was any occasion for it, it could be used as a riding-school. Malicorne,
with perfect ease, arranged the bridle and snaffle-reins, placed his left
hand on the horse's mane, and, with his foot in the stirrup, raised him-
self and seated himself in the saddle. At first, he made the horse
walk the whole circuit of the courtyard at a foot-pace; next at a trot;
lastly at a gallop. He then drew up close to the count, dismounted,
and threw the bridle to a groom standing by. "Well," said the comte,
" what do you think of it, M. de Malicorne ? "
" This horse, monsieur le comte, is of the Mecklenburg breed. In
looking whether the bit suited his mouth, I saw that he was rising
seven, the very age when the training of a horse intended for a charger
should commence. The fore-hand is light. A horse which holds his
head high, it is said, never tires his rider's hand. The withers are
rather low. The drooping of the hind-quarters would almost make
me doubt the purity of its German breed, and I think there is English
blood in him. He stands well on his legs, but he trots high, and
may cut himself, which requires attention to be paid to his shoeing.
He is tractable; and as I made him turn round and change his feet, I
found him quick and ready in doing so."
"Well said, M. de Malicorne," exclaimed the comte; "you are a
judge of horses, I perceive;" then, turning towards him again, he
continued, "You are most becomingly dressed, M. de Malicorne. That
is not a provincial cut, I presume. Such a style of dress is not to be
met with at Tours or Orleans."
" No, monsieur le comte; my clothes were made at Paris."
" There is no doubt of that. But let us resume our own affair.
Manicamp wishes for the appointment of a second maid of honour."
"You perceive what he has written, monsieur le comte."
" Por whom was the first appointment ? "
Malicorne felt the colour rise'in his face, as he answered hurriedly,
" A charming maid of honour, Mademoiselle de Montalais."
" Ah, ah ! you are acquainted with her ? "
"We are affianced, or nearly so."
THE COUBTYAED OE THE HOTEL GBAMMONT. 365
" That is quite another thing, then—a thousand compliments," ex-
claimed de Guiche, upon whose lips a courtier's jest was already
flitting, but to whom the word "affianced," addressed by Malicorne
with respect to Mademoiselle de Montalais, recalled the respect due to
women.
" And for whom is the second appointment destined ? " asked de
Guiche; " is it for any one to whom Manicamp may happen to be
affianced ? In that case, I pity her, poor girl! for she will have a sad
fellow for a husband in him."
"No, monsieur le comte; the second appointment is for Mademoi-
selle La Baume le Blanc de la Valliere."
"Unknown," said de Guiche.
" Unknown ? yes, monsieur," said Malicorne, smiling in his turn.
"Very good. I will speak to Monsieur about it. By the bye, she is
of gentle birth ? "
" She belongs to a very good family, and is maid of honour to Ma-
dame."
" That's well. Will you accompany me to Monsieur ? "
" Most certainly, if I may be permitted the honour."
" Have you your carriage ? "
" No; I came here on horseback."
" Dressed as you are ? "
"No, monsieur; I posted from Orleans, and I changed my travel-
ling suit for the one I have on, in order to present myself to you."
"True, you already told me you had come from Orleanssaying
which he crumpled Manicamp's letter in his hand, and thrust it in his
pocket.
" I beg your pardon," said Malicorne, timidly; "but I do not think
you have read all."
"Not read all, do you say ?"
"No; there were two letters in the same envelope."
" Oh, oh! are you sure ? "
" Quite sure."
" Let us look, then," said the comte, as he opened the letter again.
" Ah ! you are right," he said, opening the paper which he had not
yet read.
I suspected it," he continued—" another application for an appoint-
ment under Monsieur. This Manicamp is a complete gulf—he is
carrying on a trade in it."
" No, monsieur le comte; he wishes to make a present of it."
" To whom ? "
" To myself, monsieur."
" Why did you not say so at once, my dear M. Mauvaisecorne ? "
" Malicorne, monsieur le comte."
"Forgive me; it is the Latin which bothers me—that terrible habit
of etymologies. Why the deuce are young men of family taught
Latin? Mala and mauvaise—you understand it is the same thing.
You will forgive me, I trust, M. de Malicorne."
" Your kindness affects me much, monsieur; but it is a reason why 1
should make you acquainted with one circumstance without any delay."
" What is it ? "
" That I was not born a gentleman. I am not without courage,
and not altogether deficient in ability; but my name is Malicorne
simply."
"You appear to me, monsieur," exclaimed the comte, looking at
the astute face of his companion, "to be a most agreeable man. Your
366 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
face pleases me, M. Malicorne; and you must possess some indisputably
excellent qualities to have pleased that egotistical Manicamp. Be
candid, and tell me whether you are not some saint descended upon
the earth?'
"Why so?"
" For the simple reason that he makes you a present of anything.
Bid you not say that he intended to make you a present of some ap-
pointment in the king's household? "
" I beg your pardon, comte; but, if I succeed in obtaining the ap-
pointment, you, and not he, will have bestowed it on me."
"Besides, he will not have given it to you for nothing. I suppose.
Stay, I have itthere is a Malicorne at Orleans, who lends money to
the prince."
" I think that must be my father, monsieur."
" Ah! the prince has the father, and that terrible devourer of a
Manicamp has the son. Take care, monsieur; I know him. He will
fleece you completely."
" The only difference is, that I lend without interest," said Malicorne,
smiling.
" I was correct in saying you were either a saint or very much re-
sembled one. M. Malicorne, you shall have the post you want, or I
will forfeit my name."
" Ah! monsieur le comte, what a debt of gratitude shall I not owe
you ? " said Malicorne, transported.
" Let us go to the prince, my dear M. Malicorne." And de Guiche
proceeded towards the door, desiring Malicorne to follow him. At the
very moment they were about to cross the threshold, a young matt
appeared on the other side. He was from twenty-four to twenty-five
years of age, of pale complexion, bright eyes, and brown hair and
eyebrows. " Good day," he said, suddenly, almost pushing de Guiche
back into the courtyard again.
" Is that you, de Wardes ?—"What! and booted, spurred, and whip
in hand, too ? "
" The most befitting costume for a man about to set off" for Havre.
There will be no one left in Paris to-morrow." And hereupon he
saluted Malicorne with great ceremony, whose handsome dress gave
him the appearance of a prince in rank.
" M. Malicorne," said de Guiche to his friend. Be Wardes bowed.
"M. de Wardes," said de Guiche to Malicorne, who bowed in
return. "By the bye, de Wardes," continued de Guiche, "you who
are so well acquainted with these matters, can you tell us, probably,
what appointments are. still vacant at the court; or rather in the
prince's household ? "
" In the prince's household," said de Wardes, looking up with an air
of consideration, "let me see—the appointment of the master of the
horse is vacant, I believe."
" Oh," said Malicorne, " there is no question of such a post as that,
monsieur; my ambition is not nearly so exalted."
Be Wardes had a more penetrating observation than de Guiche, and
understood Malicorne immediately. " The fact is," he said, looking at
him from head to foot, " a man must be either a duke or a peer to fill
that post."
"All I solicit," said Malicorne, " is a very humble appointment; I
am of little importance, and I do not rank myself above my position."
"M. Malicorne, whom you see here," said de Guiche to de Wardes,
"is a very excellent fellow, whose only misfortune is that of not being
THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAM MONT. 367
of gentle birth. As far as I am concerned, you know, I attach little
value to those who have gentle birth alone to boast of."
"Assuredly," said de Wardes; "but will you allow rne to remark,
my dear comte, that, without rank of some sort, one can hardly hope
to belong to his royal highness's household."
"You are right," said the comte; "the etiquette is very strict with
regard to such matters. The deuce! we never thought of that."
" Alas ! a sad misfortune for me, monsieur le comte," said Malicorne,
changing colour slightly.
"Yet not without remedy, I hope," returned de Guiche.
"The remedy is found easily enough," exclaimed de Wardes ; "you
can be created a gentleman. His eminence the Cardinal Mazarin did
nothing else from morning till night."
" Hush, hush, de Wardes," said the comte; " no jests of that kind;
it ill becomes us to turn such matters into ridicule. Letters of nobility,
it is true, are purchasable ; but that is a sufficient misfortune without
the nobles themselves laughing at it."
" Upon my word, de Guiche, you're quite a puritan, as the English
say."
At this moment, the Vicomte de Bragelonne was announced by one
of the servants in the courtyard, in precisely the same manner as he
would have done in a room.
" Come here, my dear Raoul. What, you too booted and spurred ?
You are setting off then P"
Bragelonne approached the group of young men, and saluted them
with that quiet and serious manner which was peculiar to him. His
salutation was principally addressed to de Wardes, with whom he was
unacquainted, and whose features, on his perceiving Raoul, had assumed
a strange sternness of expression. "I have come, de Guiche," he
said, " to ask your companionship. We set off for Havre, I presume."
"This is admirable—this is delightful. We shall have a capital
journey. M. Malicorne, M. Bragelonne—ah! M. de Wardes, let me
present you." The young men saluted each other in a restrained
manner. Their two natures seemed, from the very beginning, disposed
to take exception to each other. l)e Wardes was pliant, subtle, and
full of dissimulation; Raoul was calm, grave, and upright. " Decide be-
tween us—between de Wardes and myself, Raoul."
" Upon what subject ? "
" Upon the subject of noble birth."
" Who can be better informed on that subject than a de Grammont ?"
"No compliments; it is your opinion I ask."
" At least, inform me of the subject under discussion."
"De Wardes asserts that the distribution of titles is abused; I, on
the contrary, maintain that a title is useless as regards the man on
whom it is bestowed."
"And you are correct," said Bragelonne, quietly..
" But, monsieur le vicomte," interrupted de Wardes, with a kind of
obstinacy, " I affirm that it is I who am correct."
" What was your opinion, monsieur ? "
"I was saying that everything is done in Erance at the present
moment, to humiliate men of family."
"And by whom?"
" By the king himself. He surrounds himself with people who can-
not snow four quarterings."
"Nonsense," said de Guiche; "where could you possibly have seen
that, de Wardes ?"
368 THE VICOMTE HE BEAGELONNE.
"One example will suffice," he returned, directing his look fully
upon Eaoul.
" State it, then."
"Do you know who has just been nominated captain-general of the
musketeers—an appointment more valuable than a peerage; for it gives
precedence over all the marechals of Prance ?"
Eaoul's colour mounted in his face; for he saw the object de Wardes
had in view. "No; who has been appointed? In any case it must
have been very recently, for the appointment was vacant eight days
ago; a proof of which is, that the king refused Monsieur, who solicited
the post for one of his 'proteges"
" Well, the king refused it to Monsieur's protege, in order to bestow
it upon the Chevalier d'Artagnan, a younger brother of some Gascon
family, who has been trailing his sword in the antechambers during the
last thirty years "
" Forgive me if I interrupt you," said Eaoul, darting a glance full of
severity at de Wardes: " but you give me the impression of being
unacquainted with the gentleman of whom you are speaking."
" I unacquainted with M. d'Artagnan ? Can you tell me, monsieur,
who does know him ? "
"Those who do know him, monsieur," replied Eaoul, with still
greater calmness and sternness of manner, " are in the habit of saying,
that if he is not as good a gentleman as the king—which is not his
fault—he is the equal of all the kings of the earth in courage and
loyalty. Such is my opinion, monsieur; and I thank heaven I have
known M. d'Artagnan from my birth."
De Wardes was about to reply, when de Guiche interrupted him.
CHAPTER LXXXII.
The Portrait of Madame.
The discussion was becoming full of bitterness. De Guiche per-
fectly understood the whole matter, for there was in Eragelonne's
look something instinctively hostile, while in that of de Wardes there
was something like a determination to offend. Without inquiring into
the different feelings which actuated his two friends, de Guiche resolved
to ward off the blow which he felt was on the point of being dealt by
one of them, and perhaps by both. " Gentlemen," he said, " we
must take our leave of each other, I must pay a visit to Monsieur.
You, de Wardes, will accompany me to the Louvre, and you, Eaoul,
will remain here master of the house; and as all that is done here is
under your advice, you will bestow the last glance upon my preparations
for departure."
Eaoul, with the air of one who neither seeks nor fears a quarrel,
bowed his head in token of assent, and seated himself upon a bench in
the sun. "That is well," said de Guiche, "remain where you are,
Eaoul, and tell them to show you the two horses I have just pur-
chased: you will give me your opinion, for I only bought them on
condition that you ratified the purchase. By the bye, I have to beg
your pardon for ■ having omitted to inquire after the Comte de la
F&re." While pronouncing these latter words, he closely observed
de Wardes, in order to perceive what effect the name of Eaoul's father
would produce upon him. " I thank you," answered the young man,
THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 369
"the count is very well." A gleam of deep hatred passed into
de Wardes' eyes. De Guiche, who appeared not to notice the fore-
boding expression, went up to Raoul, and grasping him by the hand,
said,—" It is agreed then, Bragelonne, is it not, that you will rejoin
us in the courtyard of the Palais Royal?" He then signed to de
"Wardes to follow him, who had been engaged in balancing himself first
on one foot then on the other. "We are going," said he, "come,
M. Malicorne." This name made Raoul start; for it seemed that he
had already heard it pronounced before, but he could not remember
on what occasion. While trying to do so, half-dreamingly, yet half-
irritated at his conversation with de Wardes, the three young men
were on their way towards the Palais Royal, where Monsieur was
residing. Malicorne learned two things; the first, that the young men
had something to say to each other; and the second, that he ought
not to walk in the same line with them; and therefore he walked
behind. "Are you mad ? " said de Guiche to his companion, as soon as
they had left the Hotel de Grammont; " you attack M. d'Artagnan,
and that, too, before Raoul."
" Well," said de Wardes, "what then ?",
" What do you mean by c what then ?'"
" Certainly, is there any prohibition against attacking M. d'Ar-
tagnan ?"
"But you know very well that M. d'Artagnan was one of those cele-
brated and terrible four men who were called the musketeers."
" That may be; but I do not perceive why, on that account, I should
be forbidden to hate M. d'Artagnan."
" What cause has he given you ?"
" Me! personally, none."
" Why hate him, therefore?"
"Ask my dead lather that question."
"Really, my dear de Wardes, you surprise me. M. d'Artagnan is
not one to leave unsettled any enmity he may have to arrange, without
completely clearing his account. Your father, I have heard, on his
side, carried matters with a high hand. Moreover, there are no enmities
so bitter which cannot be washed away by blood, by a good sword-
thru-t loyally given."
"Listen to me, my dear de Guiche, this inveterate dislike existed
between my father and M. d'Artagnan, and when I was quite a child,
he acquainted me with the reason for it, and, as forming part of my
inheritance, I regard it as a particular legacy bestowed upon me."
"And does this hatred concern M. d'Artagnan alone?"
" As for that, M. d'Artagnan was too intimately associated with his
three friends, that some portion of the full measure of my hatred for
him should not fall to their lot, and that hatred is of such a nature
that, whenever the opportunity occurs, they shall have no occasion to
complain of their portion."
De Guiche had kept his eyes fixed on de Wardes, and shuddered at
the bitter manner in which the young man smiled. Something like a
presentiment flashed across his mind; he knew that the time had
passed away for grands coups entre gentilshommes; but that the feeling of
hatred, treasured up in the mind, instead of being diffused abroad, was
still hatred all the same; that a smile was sometimes as full of meaning
as a threat; and, in a word, that, to the fathers who had hated with
their hearts and fought with their arms, would now succeed the sons,
who, themselves also, would indeed hate with their hearts, but would
sro THE VICOIITITKB BEAGELONNE.
no longer encounter their enemies, save by the means of intrigue or
treachery. As, therefore, it certainly was not ltaoul whom he could
suspect either of intrigue or treachery, it was on Raoul's account that de
Guiche trembled. However, while these gloomy forebodings cast a
shade of anxiety over deGuiche's countenance, de Wardes had resumed
the entire mastery over himself.
"At all events," he observed, "I have no personal ill-will towards
M. de Bragelonne, I do not know him even."
" In any case," said de Guiche, with a certain amount of severity in
his tone of voice, " do not forget one circumstance, that Raoul is my
most intimate friend;" a remark at which de Wardes bowed.
The conversation terminated there, although de Guiche tried his
utmost to draw out his secret from him; but, doubtless, de Wardes
had determined to say nothing further, and he remained impenetrable.
De Guiche therefore promised himself a more satisfactory result with
Raoul. In the mean time they had reached the Palais Royal, which
was surrounded by a crowd of lookers-on. The household belonging to
Monsieur awaited his orders to mount their horses, in order to form
part of the escort of the ambassadors, to whom had been intrusted the
care of bringing the young princess to Paris. The brilliant display of
horses, arms, and rich liveries, afforded some compensation in those
times, thanks to the kindly feelings of the people, and to the traditions
oi deep devotion to their sovereigns, for the enormous expenses charged
upon the taxes. Mazarin had said: "Let them sing, provided they
pay;" while Louis XlV.'s remark was, "Let them look." Sight had
replaced the voice; the people could still look, but they could no longer
sing. De Guiche left de Wardes and Malicorne at the bottom of the
grand staircase, while he himself, who shared the favour and good
graces of Monsieur with the Chevalier de Lorraine, who always smiled
at him most affectionate^, while he could not endure him, went straight
to the prince's apartments, whom he found engaged in admiring himself
in the glass, and in putting rouge on his face. In a corner of the
cabinet, the Chevalier de Lorraine was extended full length upon some
cushions, having just had his long hair curled, with which he was
playing in the same manner a woman would have done. The prince
turned round as the count entered, and perceiving who it was, said:
" Ah ! is that you, Guiche, come here and tell me the truth."
" You know, my lord, it is one of my defects to speak the truth."
"You will hardly believe, de Guiche, how that wicked chevalier has
annoyed me."
The chevalier shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, he pretends," continued the prince, "that Mdlle. Henrietta
is better looking as a woman, than I am as a man."
"Do not forget, my lord," said de Guiche, frowning slightly, "you
require me to speak the truth ?"
" Certainly," said the prince tremblingly.
"Well, and I shall tell it you."
"Do not be in a hurry, Guiche," exclaimed the prince, "you have
plenty of time; look at me attentively, and try and recollect Madame.
Besides her portrait is there. Look at it." And he held out to him a
miniature of the finest possible execution. De Guiche took it, and
looked at it for a long time attentively.
" Upon my honour, my lord, this is indeed a most lovely face."
" But look at me, count, look at me," said the prince, endeavouring
to direct upon himself the attention of the count, who was completely
absorbed in contemplation of the portrait.
THE PORTRAIT OF MADAME. 371
" It is wonderful," murmured Guiche.
"Beally, one would almost imagine you had never seen this girl
before."
" It is true, my lord, I have seen her, hut it is five years ago; there is
a great difference between a child of twelve years old and a young girl
of seventeen."
" Well, what is your opinion ?"
" My opinion is that the portrait must he flattered, my lord."
" Of that," said the prince triumphantly," there can be no doubt; but
let us suppose that it is not flattered, what would your opinion be ?"
" My lord, your highness is exceedingly happy to have so charming a
bride."
"Very well, that is your opinion of her, but of me?"
" My opinion, my lord, is, that you are far too handsome for a man."
The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing. The prince under-
stood how severe towards himself this opinion of the Comte de Guiche
was, and he looked somewhat displeased, saying, " My friends are not
over indulgent." De Guiche looked at the portrait again, and, after
lengthened contemplation, returned it with apparent unwillingness,
saying, " Most decidedly, my lord, I should rather prefer to look ten
times at your highness, than to look at Madame once again." It
seemed as if the chevalier had detected some mystery in these words,
which were incomprehensible to the prince, for he exclaimed: "Very
well, get married yourself." Monsieur continued rouging himself, and
when he had finished, looked at the portrait again, once more turned
to admire himself in the glass, and smiled, and no doubt was satisfied
with the comparison. "You are very kind to have come," he said to
Guiche, " I feared you would leave without bidding me adieu."
" Your highness knows me too well to believe me capable of so great
a disrespect."
"Besides, I suppose you have something to ask from me before
leaving Paris ?"
"Your highness has indeed guessed correctly, for I have a request to
make."
" Very good, what is it ? "
The Chevalier de Lorraine immediately displayed the greatest atten-
tion, for he regarded every favour conferred upon another as a robbery
committed against himself. And, as Guiche hesitated, the prince said :
" If it be money, nothing could be more fortunate, for I am in funds;
the surintendant of the finances has sent me 500,000 pistoles."
" I thank your highness; but it is not an affair of money."
" What is it then ? Tell me."
" The appointment of a maid of honour."
" Oh ! oh ! Guiche, what a protector you have become of young ladies,"
said the prince, " you never speak of any one else now."
The Coevalier de Lorraine smiled, for he knew very well that nothing
displeased the prince more than to show any interest in ladies. " My
lord," said the comte, "it is not 1 who am directly interested in the
lady of whom I have just spoken; I am acting on behalf of one of my
friends."
" Ah ! that is different; what is the name of the young lady in whom
your friend is interested ?"
" Mdlle. de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere.; she is already maid of
honour to the dowager princess."
"Why, she is lame," said the Chevalier de Lorraine, stretching him-
self on his cushions.
2 B 2
372 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"Lame," repeated the prince, "and Madame to have her constantly
before her eyes ? Most certainly not, it may be dangerous for her when
in an interesting condition." The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out
laughing.
" Chevalier," said Guiche, "your conduct is ungenerous; while I am
soliciting a favour, you do me all the mischief you can."
"Forgive me, comte," said the Chevalier de Lorraine, somewhat
uneasy at the tone in which Guiche had made his remark, "but I had
no intention of doing so, and I begin to believe I have mistaken one
young lady for another."
"There is no doubt of it, monsieur; and I do not hesitate to declare
that such is the case."
"Do you attach much importance to it, Guiche?" inquired the
prince.
" I do, my lord."
"Well, you shall have it; but ask me for no more appointments,
for there are none to give away."
" Ah!" exclaimed the chevalier, "mid-day already, that is the hour
fixed for the departure."
" You dismiss me, monsieur ?" inquired Guiche.
" Really, comte, you treat me very ill to-day," replied the chevalier.
"For heaven's sake, comte, for heaven's sake, chevalier," said Mon-
sieur, "do you not see how you are distressing me."
"My signature?" said Guiche.
" Take a blank appointment from that drawer, and give it to me."
Guiche handed the prince the document indicated, and at the same
time presented him with a pen already dipped in ink; whereupon the
prince signed. " Here," he said, returning him the appointment, " but
I give it on one condition."
"Name it."
"That you will make friends with the chevalier."
"Willingly," said Guiche. And he held out his hand to the chevalier
with an indifference amounting to contempt.
" Adieu, comte," said the chevalier, without seeming in any way to
have noticed the comte's slight, "adieu, and.bring us back a princess
who will not talk with her own portrait too much."
" Yes, set oft' and lose no time. By the bye, who accompany you?"
" Bravelonne and de Wardes."
" Both excellent and fearless companions."
" Too fearless," said the chevalier; " endeavour to bring them both
back, comte."
" Bad heart, had heart," murmured de Guiche; "he scents mischief
everywhere, and sooner than anything else." And taking leave of the
prince, he quitted the apartment. As soon as he reached the vestibule,
he waved in the air the paper which the prince had signed. Malicorne
hurried forward, and received it trembling with delight. When,
however, he held it in his hand, Guiche observed that he still awaited
something further.
" Patience, monsieur," he said; " the Chevalier de Lorraine was there,
and I feared an utter failure if 1 asked too much at once. "Wait until
I return. Adieu."
"Adieu, monsieur le comte; a thousand thanks," said Malicorne.
"Send Manicamp to me. By the way, monsieur, is it true that
Mdlle. de la Valliere is lame?" As he said this, a horse drew up
behind him, and, on turning round, he noticed that Braaelonne, who
had just at that moment entered the courtyard, turned suddenly pale.
HAVRE. 373
The poor lover had heard the remark, which, however, was not the
case with Malicorne, for he was already beyond the reach of the comte's
voice.
" Why is Louise's name spoken of here," said Raoul to himself; " oh!
let not de Wardes, who stands smiling yonder, even say a word about
her in my presence."
"Now, gentlemen," exclaimed the Comte de Guiche, "prepare to
start."
At this moment, the prince, who had completed his toilette, appeared
at the window, and was immediately saluted by the acclamations of all
who composed the escort, and ten minutes afterwards, banners, scarfs,
and feathers were fluttering and waving in the air, as the cavalcade
galloped away.
CHAPTER LXXXIII.
Havre.
This brilliant and animated company, the members of which were
inspired by various feelings, arrived at Havre four days after their de-
parture from Paris. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon, and no
intelligence had yet been received of Madame. They were soon engaged
in quest of apartments; but the greatest confusion immediately ensued
among the masters, and violent quarrels among their attendants. _ In
the midst of this disorder, the Comte de Guiche fancied he recognized
Manicamp. It was, indeed, Manicamp himself; but as Malicorne had
taken possession of his very best costume, he had not been able to get
any other than a suit of violet velvet, trimmed with silver. Guiche
recognized him as much by his dress as by his features, for he had very
frequently seen Manicamp in this violet suit, which was his last resource.
Manicamp presented himself to the comte under an arch of torches,
which set fire to, rather than illu minated, the gate by which Havre is
entered, and which is situated close to the tower of Prancis I. The
comte, remarking the woe-begone expression of Manioamp's face, could
not resist laughing. "Well, my poor Manicamp," he exclaimed, " how
violet you look; are you in mourning ?"
"Yes," replied Manicamp; "I am in mourning."
" For whom, or for what ?"
"For my blue-and-gold suit, which has disappeared, and in the i^.ace
of which I could find nothing but this; and I was even obliged to
economize, from compulsion, in order to get possession of it."
" Indeed?"
" It is singular you should be astonished at that, since you leave me
without any money."
" At all events, here you are, and that is the principal thing."
" By the most horrible roads."
" Where are you lodging ?"
"Lodging?"
"Yes!"
"I am not lodging anywhere."
He Guiche began to laugh. " Well," said he, " where do you intend
to lodge?"
" In the same place you do."
" But I don't know."
" What do you mean, by saying you don't know ?"
374 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Certainly, how is it likely I should know where I should stay."
"Have you not retained an hotel?" " I?"
' Yes, you or the prince." . T
'Neither of us has thought of it. Havre is of considerable size; I
suppose, and provided I can get a stable for a dozen horses, and a suit-
able house in a good quarter "
" Certainly, there are some very excellent houses." ;
"Well, then "
" But not for us."
" What do you mean by saying not for us ?—for whom, then ?"
" For the English, of course."
" For the English ? "
" Yes ; the houses are all taken."
" By whom ?" " By the duke of Buckingham." _
"I beg your pardon!" said Guiche, whose attention this name had
awakened.
" Yres, by the duke of Buckingham. His grace has been preceded by
a courier, who arrived here three days ago, and immediately retained
all the houses fit for habitation which the town possesses."
" Come, come, Manicamp, let us understand each other."
" Well, what I have told you is clear enough, it seems to me."
" But surely Buckingham does not occupy the whole of Havre ?"
" He certainly does not occupy it, since he has not yet arrived; but,
when once disembarked, he will occupy it."
"Oh! oh!"
" It is quite clear you are not acquainted with the English; they have
a perfect rage for monopolizing everything."
" That may be; but a man who has the whole of one house, is satisfied
with it, and does not require two."
" Yes, but two men ?"
" Be it so; for two men, two houses, or four, or six, or ten, if you like;
but there are a hundred houses at Havre."
" Yes, and all the hundred are let."
" Impossible!"
" What an obstinate fellow you are. I tell you Buckingham has hired
all the houses surrounding the ope which the queen dowager of England
and the princess her daughter will inhabit."
" He is singular enough, indeed," said de Wardes, caressing his
horse's neck.
" Such is the case, however, monsieur."
"You are quite sure of it, Monsieur de Manicamp ?" and as he put
this question, he looked slily at de Guiche, as though to interrogate him
upon the degree of confidence to be placed in his friend's state of mind.
During this discussion the night had closed in, and the torches, pages,
attendants, squires, horses, and carriages, blocked up the gate and the
open place; the torches were reflected in the channel, which the rising
tide was gradually filling, while on the other side of the jetty might be
noticed groups of curious lookers-on, consisting of sailors and towns-
people, who seemed anxious to miss nothing of the spectacle. Amidst
all this hesitation of pux-pose, Bragelonne, as though a perfect stranger
to the scene, remained on his horse somewhat in the rear of Guiche,
and watched the rays of light reflected in the water, inhaling with
rapture the sea-breezes, and listening to the waves which noisily broke
upon the shore and on the beach, dashing the spray into the air with a
noise which echoed in the distance. " But," exclaimed de Guiche," what
is Buckingham's motive for providing such a supply of lodgings ?"
HAVBE. 375
" Yes, yes," said de Wardes, " what reason has hc 9 »
" A very excellent one," replied Manicamp.
"You know what it is, then?"
" I fancy I do."
"Tell us, then."
" Bend your head down towards me."
" What! can it not be said except in secrecy ? "
"You shall judge of that yourself."
" Very well." Be Guiche bent down.
" Love," said Manicamp.
" I do not understand you at all."
" Say rather, you cannot understand me yet
" Explain yourself."
" Yery well; it is quite certain, count, that his royal highness will be
the most unfortunate of husbands." 0
" What do you mean ?"
" The duke of Buckingham "
" It is a name of ill omen to princes of the house of Erance."
" And so the duke is madly in love with Madame, so the rumour runs,
and will have no one approach near her but himself."
De Guiche coloured. " Thank you, thank you," said he to Manicamp,
grasping his hand. Then, recovering himself, added, " Whatever you
do, Manicamp, be careful that this project of Buckingham's is not made
known to any Erenchman here; for, if so, swords will be unsheathed in
this country which do not fear the English steel."
"But after all," said Manicamp, "I have had no satisfactory proof
given me of the love in question, and it may be no more than a mere
idle tale."
"No, no," said de Guiche, "it must be the truth;" and, despite his
command over himself, he clenched his teeth.
"Well," said Manicamp, "after all, what does it matter to you?
What does it matter to me whether the prince is to be what the late
king was? Buckingham the father for the queen, Buckingham the
son for the young princess."
" Manicamp ! Manicamp !"
" It is a fact, or, at least, everybody says so."
" Silence!" said the count.
"But why silence?" said de Wardes; "it is a highly creditable cir-
cumstance for the Erench nation. Are not you of my opinion, Monsieur
de Bragelonne ? "
" To what circumstance do you allude ?" inquired de Bragelonne, with
an abstracted air.
" That the English should render homage to the beauty of our queens
and our princesses."
"Eorgive me, but I have not been paying attention to what has
passed; will you oblige me by explaining."
"There is no doubt it was necessary that Buckingham the father
should come to Paris in order that his majesty, King Louis XIII.,
should perceive that his wife was one of the most beautiful women of
the Erench court; and it seems necessary, at the present time, that
Buckingham the son should consecrate, by the devotion of his worship,
the beauty of a princess who has French blood in her veins. The fact
of having inspired a passion on the other side of the Channel will hence-
forth confer a title to beauty on its object."
" Sir," replied de Bragelonne, " I do not like to hear such matters
treated so lightly. Gentlemen as we are should be careful guardians of
376 the VIC05ITE HE BJtAGELO-NNE.
the honour of our queens and our princesses. If we jest at them, what
will our servants do ?"
" How am I to understand that," said de Wardes, whose ears tingled
at the remark.
"In any way you choose, monsieur," replied de Bragelonne, coldly.
" Bragelonne, Bragelonne," murmured Guiche.
"M. de Wardes," exclaimed Manicamp, noticing that the young man
had spurred his horse close to the side of Baoul.
" Gentlemen, gentlemen," said de Guiche, " do not set such aiv
example in public, in the street too. Be Wardes, you are wrong."
" Wrong; in what way, may I ask you ?"
"You are wrong, monsieur, because you are always speaking ill of
some one or something," replied Baoul, with undisturbed composure.
" Be indulgent, Baoul," said de Guiche, in an undertone.
" Pray do not think of fighting, gentlemen," said Manicamp, " before
you have rested yourselves; for in that case you will not be able to do
much."
"Come," said de Guiche, "forward, gentlemen!" and. breaking
through the horses and attendants, he cleared the way for himself
towards the centre of the square, through the crowd, followed by the
whole cavalcade. A large gateway looking out upon a courtyard was
open; Guiche entered the courtyard; and Bragelonne, de Wardes,
Manicamp, and three or four other gentlemen, followed him. A sort
of council of war was held, and the means to be employed for saving the
dignity of the embassy were deliberated upon. Bragelonne was of
opinion that the right of priority should be respected, while de Wardes
suggested that the town should be sacked. This latter proposition ap-
peared to Manicamp rather rash, he proposing instead that they should
first rest themselves. This was the wisest thing to do, but, unhappily, to
follow his advice, two things only were wanting; namely, a house and
beds. Be Guiche reflected for awhile, and then said aloud, " Let him
who loves me, follow me!"
"The attendants also?" inquired a page, who had approached the
group.
"Every one," exclaimed the impetuous young man. "Manicamp,
show us the way to the house destined for her royal highness's residence."
Without in any way divining the count's project, his friends followed
him, accompanied by a crowd of people, whose acclamations and delight
seemed a happy omen for the success of the project with which they
were yet unacquainted. The wind was blowing loudly from the har-
hour, and moaning in fitful gusts.
CHAPTER LXXX1V.
At Sea.
The following day was somewhat calmer, although the wind still
continued to blow. The sun had, however, risen through a bank of
reddened clouds, tinging with its crimson rays the crests of the black
waves. Watch was impatiently kept from the different look-outs. To-
wards eleven o'clock in the morning a ship, with sails full set, was
signalled as in view; two others followed at the distance of about half
a knot. They approached like arrows shot from the bow of a skilful
archer; and yet the sea ran so high that their speed was as nothing
AT SEA. 377
compared to the rolling of the billows in which the vessels were plung-
ing first in one direction and then in another. The English fleet was
soon recognized by the lines of the ships, and by the colour of their
pennants; the one which had the princess on board and carried the
admiral's flag preceded the others.
The rumour now spread that the princess was arriving. The whole
French court ran to the harbour, while the quays and jetties were soon
covered by crowds of people. Two hours afterwards, the other vessels
had overtaken the flag-ship, and the three, not venturing perhaps to
enter the narrow entrance of the harbour, cast anchor between Havre
and La Heve. When the manoeuvre had been completed, the vessel
which bore the admiral saluted France by twelve discharges of cannon,
which were returned, discharge for discharge, from Fort Francis the
First. Immediately afterwards a hundred boats were launched,—
they were covered with the richest stuffs, and destined for the con-
veyance of the different members of the French nobility towards the
vessels at anchor. But when it was observed that even inside the
harbour the boats were tossed to and fro, and that beyond the jetty the
waves rose mountains high, dashing upon the shore with a terrible
uproar, it will readily be believed that not one of those frail boats
would be able with safety to reach a -fourth part of the distance between
the shore and the vessels at anchor. A pilot-boat, however, notwith-
standing the wind and the sea, was getting ready to leave the harbour
for the purpose of placing itself at the admiral's orders.
De Guiche, who had been looking among the different boats for one
stronger than the others, which might offer a chance of reaching the
English vessels, perceived the pilot-boat getting ready to start, said to
Raoul: " Do you not think, Raoul, that intelligent and vigorous men,
as we are, ought to be ashamed to retreat before the brute strength of
wind and waves ? "
" That is precisely the very reflection I was silently making to my-
self," replied Bragelonne.
" Shall we get into that boat, then, and push off? "Will you come,
de Wardes ?"
" Take care, or you will get drowned," said Manicamp.
"And for no purpose," said de Wardes, "for, with the wind dead
against you, as it will be, you will never reach the vessels."
" You refuse, then ? "
" Assuredly I do; I would willingly risk and lose my life in an en-
counter against men," he said, glancing at Bragelonne, "but as to
fighting with oars against waves, I have no taste for that."
" And for myself," said Manicamp, " even were I to succeed in reach-
ing the ships, I should not be indifferent to the loss of the only good
dress which I have left,—salt water would splash and spoil it."
" You, then, refuse also ? " exclaimed de Guiche.
" Decidedly I do; I beg you to understand that most distinctly."
"But," exclaimed de Guiche, "look, de Wardes—look, Manicamp—
look yonder, the princesses are looking at us from the poop of the
admiral's vessel."
" An additional reason," my dear fellow, " why we should not make
ourselves ridiculous by taking a bath while they are looking on."
" Is that your last word, Manicamp?"—"Yes."
" And yours, de Wardes ? " " Yes."
" Then I go alone."
" Not so," said Raoul, " for I shall accompany you; I thought it was
understood we should do so."
378 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
The fact is, that Raoul, uninfluenced by any devotion, measuring
the risk they would run, saw how imminent the danger was, but he
willingly allowed himself to accept a peril which de Wardes had
declined.
The boat was about to set off when de Guiche called to the pilot.
"Stay," said he; "we want two places in your boat;" and wrapping
five or six pistoles in paper, he threw them from the quay into the
boat.
" It seems you are not afraid of salt water, young gentlemen."
" We are afraid of nothing," replied de Guiche.
" Come along, then."
The pilot approached the side of the boat, and the two young men,
one after the other, with equal vivacity, jumped into the boat. "Courage,
my men," said de Guiche; " I have twenty pistoles left in this purse,
and as soon as we reach the admiral's vessel they shall be yours."
The sailors bent themselves to their oars, and the boat bounded over
the crest of the waves. The interest taken in this hazardous expedition
was universal; the whole population of Havre hurried towards the
jetties, and every look was directed towards the little barque; at one
moment it remained suspended upon the crest of the foaming waves,
then suddenly glided downwards towards the bottom of a roaring abyss,
where it seemed utterly lost within it. At the expiration of an hour's
struggling with the waves, it reached the spot where the admiral's vessel
was anchored, and from the side of which two boats had already been
despatched towards their aid. Upon the quarter-deck of the flag-ship,
sheltered by a canopy of velvet and ermine, which was suspended by
stout supports, Madame Henrietta the queen-dowager and the young
princess—with the admiral, the earl of Norfolk, standing beside them,
—watched with alarm this slender barque, at one moment carried to the
heavens, and the next buried beneath the waves, and against whose dark
sail the noble figures of the two Trench noblemen stood forth in relief
like two luminous apparitions. The crew, leaning against the bulwarks
and clinging to the shrouds, cheered the courage of the two daring
young men, the skill of the pilot, and the strength of the sailors. They
were received at the side of the vessel by a shout of triumph. The
duke of Norfolk, a handsome young man, from twenty-six to twenty-
eight years of age, advanced to meet them. De Guiche and Brage-
lonne lightly mounted the ladder on the starboard side, and, conducted
by the duke of Norfolk, who resumed his place near them, they ap-
proached to ofFer their homage to the princesses. Respect, and yet
more, a certain apprehension, for which he could not account, had
hitherto restrained the comte de Guiche from looking at Madame
attentively, who, however, had observed him immediately, and had
asked her mother, " Is not that Monsieur in the boat yonder ?"
Madame Henrietta, who knew Monsieur better than her daughter
did, smiled at the mistake her vanity had led her into, and had an-
swered, " No; it is only M. de Guiche, his favourite." The princess,
at this reply, had been obliged to check an instinctive tenderness of
feeling which the courage displayed by the count had awakened. At
the very moment the princess had put this question to her mother,
de Guiche had, at last, summoned courage to raise his eyes forwards her,
and could compare the original with the portrait he had so lately seen.
No sooner had he remarked her pale face, her eyes so full of anima-
tion, her beautiful nut-brown hair, her expressive lips, and her every
gesture, which, while betokening her royal descent, seemed to thank
and to encourage him at one and the same time, than he was, for a mo-
AT SEA. 379
merit, so overcome, that, had it not been for Raoul, on whose arm he
leant, he wonld have fallen. His friend's amazed look, and the encou-
raging gesture of the queen, restored Guiche to his self-possession. In
a few words he explained his mission, explained in what way he had
become the envoy of his royal highness; and saluted, according to their
rank and the reception they gave him, the admiral and several of the
English noblemen who were grouped around the princesses.
Raoul was then presented, and was most graciously received; the
share that the Comte de la Fere had had in the restoration of Charles II.
was known to all; and, more than that, it was the comte who had been
charged with the negotiation of the marriage, by means of which the
granddaughter of Henry IV. was now returning to France. Raoul spoke
English perfectly, and constituted himself his friend's interpreter with
the young English noblemen, who were indifferently acquainted with
the French language. At this moment a young man came forward, of
extremely handsome features, and whose dress and arms were remark-
able for their extravagance of material. He approached the princesses,
who were engaged in conversation with the duke of Norfolk, and, in a
voice which ill concealed his impatience, said, " It is time now to disem-
bark, your royal highness." The younger of the princesses rose from
her seat at this remark, and was about to take the hand which the young
nobleman had extended to her, with an eagerness which arose from
a variety of motives, when the admiral advanced between them, observ-
ing: " A moment, if you please, my lord; it is not possible for ladies to
disembark just now, the sea is too rough; it is probable the wind may
abate towards four o'clock, and the landing will not be effected, there-
fore, until this evening."
" Allow me to observe, my lord," said Buckingham, with an irritation
of manner which he did not seek to disguise, " you detain these ladies,
and you have no right to do so. One of them, unhappily, now belongs
to France, and you perceive that France claims them by the voice of
her ambassadorsand at the same moment he indicated Raoul and
Guiche, whom he saluted.
" I cannot suppose that these gentlemen intend to expose the lives of
their royal highnesses," replied the admiral.
" These gentlemen," retorted Buckingham,' " arrived here safely, not-
withstanding the wind; allow me to believe that the danger will not
be greater for their royal highnesses when the wind will be in their
favour."
" These gentlemen have shown how great their courage is," said the
admiral. " You may have observed that there was a great number of
persons on shore who did not venture to accompany them. Moreover,
the desire which they had to show their respect with the least possible
delay to Madame and her illustrious mother, induced them to confront
the sea, which is very tempestuous to-day, even for sailors. These gen-
tlemen, however, whom I recommend as an example for my officers to
follow, can hardly be so for these ladies."
Madame glanced at the Comte de Guiche, and perceived that his face
was burning with confusion. This look had escaped Buckingham, who
had eyes for nothing but watching Norfolk, of whom he was evidently
very jealous, and seemed anxious to remove the princesses from the
deck of a vessel where the admiral reigned supreme. " In that case,"
returned Buckingham, " I appeal to Madame herself."
" And I, my lord," retorted the admiral, " I appeal to my own con-
science, and to my own sense of responsibility. I have undertaken to
convey Madame safely and soundly to France, and I shall keep my
promise."
380 the vicomte de beagelonne.
" Yet, sir,——" continued Buckingham.
" My lord, permit me to remind you that I command here.5'
" Are you aware what you are saying, my lord ? " replied Bucking-
ham, haughtily. _ • u
" Perfectly so; I therefore repeat it: I alone command here, all yield
obedience to me; the sea and the winds, the ships and men too."
This remark was made in a dignified and authoritative manner.
Eaoul observed its effect upon Buckingham, who trembled from head
to foot, and leaned against one of the poles of the tent to prevent him-
self falling; his eyes became suffused with blood, and the hand which
he did not need for his support wandered towards the hilt of his
sword.
"My lord," said the queen, "'permit me to observe that I agree in
every particular with the duke of Norfolk; if the heavens, instead of
being clouded as they are at the present moment, were perfectly serene
and propitious, we can afford to bestow a few hours upon the officer
who has conducted us so successfully, and with such extreme attention,
to the French coast, where he is to take leave of us."
Buckingham, instead of replying, seemed to seek counsel from the
expression of Madame's face. She, however, half-concealed beneath
the thick curtains of velvet and gold which sheltered her, had not
listened to the discussion, having been occupied in watching the Comte
de Guiche, who was conversing with Eaoul. This was a fresh misfor-
tune for Buckingham, who fancied he perceived in Madame Henrietta's
look a deeper feeling than that of curiosity. He withdrew, almost tot-
tering in his gait, and nearly stumbled against the mainmast of the
ship.
" The duke has not acquired a steady footing yet," said the queen-
mother, in French, " and that may possibly be his reason for wishing to
find himself on firm land again."
The young man overheard this remark, turned suddenly pale, and,
letting his hands fall in great discouragement by his side, drew aside,
mingling in one sigh his old affection and his new hatreds. The ad-
miral, however, without taking any further notice of the duke's
ill-humour, led the princesses into the quarter-deck cabin, where
dinner had been served with a magnificence worthy in every respect of
his guests. The admiral seated himself at the right hand of the prin-
cess, and placed the Comte de Guiche on her left. This was the place
Buckingham usually occupied; and when he entered the cabin, how
profound was his unhappiness to see himself banished by etiquette
from the presence of the sovereign to whom he owed respect, to a posi-
tion inferior to that which, by his rank,'he was entitled to occupy. De
Guiche, on the other hand, paler still perhaps from happiness, than his
rival was from anger, seated himself tremblingly next the princess,
whose silken robe, as it lightly touched him, caused a tremor of
mingled regret and happiness to pass through his whole frame. The
repast finished, Buckingham darted forward to hand Madame Henri-
etta from the table; but this time it was de Guiche's turn to give the
duke a lesson. " Have the goodness, my lord, from this moment,"
said he, "not to interpose between her royal highness and myself.
From this moment, indeed, her royal highness belongs to France, and
when her royal highness honours me by touching my hand, it is the
hand of his royal highness Monsieur, the brother of the king of France,
that she touches."
And saying this, he presented his hand to Madame Henrietta with so
marked a timidity, and, at the same time, with a nobleness of mien so
the tents. 381
intrepid, that a murmur of admiration rose from the English, whilst a
groan of despair escaped from Buckingham's lips. Raoul, who loved,
comprehended it all. He fixed upon his friend one of those profound
looks which a friend or a mother can alone extend, either as a protector
or guardian, over the child or the friend about to stray from the right
path. Towards two o'clock in the afternoon the sun shone forth, the
wind subsided, the sea became smooth as a crystal mirror, and the fog
which had shrouded the coast, disappeared like a veil withdrawn from
before it. The smiling hills of France then appeared to the view, with
their numerous white houses rendered more conspicuous by the bright
green of the trees or the clear blue sky.
CHAPTER LXXXV.
The Tents.
The admiral, as has been seen, had determined to pay no further
attention to Buckingham's threatening glances and fits of passion. In
fact, from the moment they had left England, he had gradually and
quietly accustomed himself to it. De Guiche had not yet in any way
remarked the animosity which appeared to influence that young
nobleman against him, but he felt instinctively, that there could be
no sympathy between himself and the favourite of Charles II. The
queen-mother, with greater experience and calmer judgment, per-
ceived the exact position of affairs, and, as she discerned its danger, was
prepared to meet it, whenever the proper moment should arrive.
Quiet had been everywhere restored, except in Buckingham's heart;
he, in his impatience, addressed himself to the princess, in a low tone of
voice. " For Heaven's sake, madame, I implore you to hasten your
disembarkation. Do you not perceive how that insolent duke of Nor-
folk is killing me with his attentions and devotions to you ?"
Henrietta heard his remark; she smiled, and without turning her
head towards him, but giving only to the tone of her voice that in-
flection of gentle reproach, and languid impertinence, which coquetry
so well knows how to assume, she murmured, " I have already told you,
my lord, that you must have taken leave of your senses."
Not a single detail escaped Raoul's attention; he had heard both
Buckingham's entreaty and the princess's reply; he had remarked
Buckingham retire, had heard his deep sigh, and saw him pass his hand
across his face. He understood everything, and trembled as he reflected
on the position of affairs, and the state of the minds of those about him.
At last the admiral, with- studied delay, gave the last directions for the
departure of the boats. Buckingham heard the directions given with
such an exhibition of delight, that a stranger would almost have ima-
gined the young man's reason was affected. As the duke of Norfolk
gave his orders, a large boat or barge, decked with flags, and capable of
holding about twenty rowers and fifteen passengers, was slowly lowered
from the side of the admiral's vessel. The barge was carpeted with
velvet and decorated with coverings embroidered with the arms of
England, and with garlands of flowers; for, at that time, signs and
parables were cultivated freely enough. No sooner was the boat afloat,
and the rowers, with oars uplifted, awaiting, like soldiers presenting
arms, the embarkation of the princess, than Buckingham ran forward
to the ladder in order to take his place in the boat. His progress was,
382 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
however, arrested by the queen. " My lord," she said, " it is hardly
becoming that you should allow my daughter and myself to land,
without having previously ascertained that our apartments are properly
prepared. I beg your lordship to be good enough to precede us ashore,
and to give directions that everything be in proper order on our arrival."
This was a fresh disappointment for the duke, and, still more so, since
it was so unexpected. He hesitated, coloured violently, but could not
reply. He had thought he might be able to keep near Madame during
the passage to the shore, and, by this means, to enjoy to the very last
moment the brief period which fortune still reserved for him. The
order, however, was explicit; and the admiral, who heard it given,
immediately called out, " Launch the ship's gig." His directions were
executed with that celerity which distinguishes every manoeuvre on
board a man-of-war.
Buckingham, in utter hopelessness, cast a look of despair at the
princess, of supplication towards the queen, and directed a glance full
of anger towards the admiral. The princess pretended not to notice
him, while the queen turned aside her head, and the admiral laughed
outright; at the sound of which, Buckingham seemed ready to spring
upon him. The queen-mother rose, and with a tone of authority, said,
" Pray set off, sir."
"The young duke hesitated, looked around him, and with a last
effort,half-choked by contending emotions, said, "And you, gentlemen,
M. de Guiche and M. de Bragelonne, do not you accompany me ?"
De Guiche bowed and said, "Both M. de Bragelonne and myself
await her majesty's orders; whatever may be the commands she im-
poses on us, we shall obey them." Saying this, he looked towards the
princess, who cast down her eyes.
" Your grace will remember," said the queen, "that M. de Guiche is
here to represent Monsieur; it is he who will do the honours of Prance,
as you have done those of England; his presence cannot be dispensed
with; besides, we owe him this slight favour for the courage he dis-
played in venturing to seek us in such terrible weather."
Buckingham opened his lips, as if he were about to speak, but, whe-
ther thoughts or expressions failed him, not a syllable escaped them,
and turning away, as though he were out of his mind, he leapt from the
vessel into the boat. The sailors were just in time to catch hold of him
to steady themselves; for his weight and the rebound had almost upset
the boat.
" His grace cannot be in his senses," said the admiral aloud to Baoul.
" I am uneasy on his grace's account," replied Bragelonne.
"While the boat was advancing towards the shore, the duke kept his
eyes immovably fixed upon the admiral's ship, like a miser torn away
from his coffers, or like a mother separated from her child, about to be
led away to death. No one, however, acknowledged his signals, his ges-
ticulations, or his pitiful gestures. In very anguish of mind, he sank
down in the boat, burying his hands in his hair, whilst the boat, im-
pelled by the exertions of the thoughtless sailors, flew over the waves.
On his arrival, he was in such a state of apathy, that, had he not been
received at the harbour by the messenger whom he bad directed to
precede him, he would hardly have been able to ask his way. Having
once, however, reached the house, which had been set apart for him, he
shut himself up, like Achilles in his tent. The barge bearing the prin-
cesses quitted the admiral's vessel at the very moment Buckingham had
landed. It was followed by another boat, filled with officers, courtiers,
and zealous friends. Great numbers of the inhabitants of Havre,
THE TENTS. 383
having embarked in fishing-boats, and boats of every description, set
off to meet the royal barge. The cannon from the forts fired salutes,
which were returned by the flag-ship and the two other vessels, and the
flashes from the open mouths of the cannon floated in white vapour
over the waves, and then disappeared in the clear blue sky.
The princess landed at the steps of the quay. Bands of gay music
greeted her arrival, and accompanied her every step she took. During
the time she was passing through the centre of the town, and treading
beneath her delicate feet the richest carpets and the gayest flowers
which had been strewn upon the ground, de Guiche and Eaoul, escap-
ing from their English friends, hurried through the town and hastened
rapidly towards the place intended for the residence of Madame.
" Let us hurry forward," said Eaoul to de Guiche, " for, if I read
Buckingham's character aright, he will create some disturbance, when
he learns the result of our deliberations of yesterday."
"Never fear," said de Guiche, "de Wardes is there, who is deter mi-
nation itself, while Manicamp is the very personification of gentleness."
De Guiche was not, however, the less diligent on that account, and
five minutes afterwards they were in sight of the Hotel de Ville. The
first thing which struck them was the number of people assembled in
front of the square. " Excellent," said de Guiche; " our apartments, I
see, are prepared."
In fact, in front of the Hotel de Yille, upon the wide open space
before it, eight tents had been raised, surmounted by the flags of
Erance and England united. The hotel was surrounded by tents, as by
a girdle of variegated colours; ten pages and a dozen mounted troopers,
who had been given to the ambassadors for an escort, mounted guard
before the tents. It had a singularly curious effect, almost fairy-like in
its appearance. These tents had been constructed during the night-
time. Pitted up, within and without, with the richest materials that de
Guiche had been able to procure in Havre, they completely encircled
the Hotel de Yille. The only passage which led to the steps of the
hotel, and which was not inclosed by the silken barricade, was guarded
by two tents, resembling two pavilions, the doorways of both of which
opened towards the entrance. These two tents were destined for de
Guiche and Eaoul; in whose absence, they were intended to be occu-
pied, that of de Guiche by de Wardes, and that of Eaoul by Manicamp.
Surrounding these two tents, and the six others, a hundred officers,
gentlemen, and pages, dazzling in their display of silk and gold, thronged
like bees around a hive. Every one of them, their swords by their
sides, was ready to obey the slightest sign either of de Guiche or
Bragelonne, the two leaders of the embassy.
At the very moment the two young men appeared at the end of one
of the streets leading to the square, they perceived crossing the square,
at full gallop, a young man on horseback, and whose costume was of
surprising richness. He pushed hastily through the crowd of curious
lookers-on, and, at the sight of these unexpected erections, uttered a cry
of anger and dismay. It was Buckingham, who had awakened from his
stupor, in order to adorn himself with a costume perfectly dazzling from
its beauty, and to await the arrival of the princess and the queen-
mother at the Hotel de Yille. At the entrance to the tents, the soldiers
barred his passage, and his further progress was arrested. Buckingham,
completely infuriated, raised his whip; but his arm was seized by a
couple of the officers. Of the two guardians of the tent, only one was
there. De Wardes was in the interior of the Hotel de Ville, engaged
in attending to the execution of some orders given by de Guiche. At
384 THE VICOHTE DE BEAGELOKNE.
the noise made by Buckingham, Manicamp, who was indolently reclin-
ing upon the cushions at the doorway of one of the two tents, rose with
his usual indifference, and, perceiving that the disturbance continued,
made his appearance from underneath the curtains. "What is the
matter ? " he said, in a gentle tone of voice, " and who is it making this
disturbance ? " It so happened, that, at the moment he began to speak,
silence had just been restored, and, although his voice was very soft and
gentle in its tone, every one heard his question. Buckingham turned
round, and looked at the tall thin figure, and the listless expression of
countenance of his questioner. Probably the personal appearance of
Manicamp, who was dressed very plainly, did not inspire him with much
respect, for he replied disdainfully, " Who may you be, monsieur ?"
Manicamp, leaning on the arm of a gigantic trooper, as firm as the
pillar of a cathedral, replied in his usual tranquil tone of voice,—" And
you, monsieur ?"
" I, monsieur, am his grace the duke of Buckingham; I have hired
all the houses which surround the Hotel de Ville, where I have business
to transact; and as these houses are let, they belong to me, and, as I
hired them in order to preserve the right of free access to the Hotel de
Yille, you are not justified in preventing me passing to it."
" But who prevents you passing, monsieur ?" inquired Manicamp.
"Your sentinels."
" Because you wish to pass on horseback, and orders have been given
to let only persons on foot pass."
"No one has any right to give orders here, except myself," said
Buckingham.
"On what grounds?" inquired Manicamp, with his soft tone, "will
you do me the favour to explain this enigma to me ?"
" Because, as I have already told you, I have hired all the houses
looking on the square."
"We are very well aware of that, since nothing hut the square itself
has been left for us."
" You are mistaken, monsieur; the square belongs to me, as well as the
houses in it."
" Forgive me, monsieur, but you are mistaken there. In our country,
we say, the highway belongs to the king, therefore this square is his
majesty's; and, consequently, as we are the king's ambassadors, the
square belongs to us."
" I have already asked you who you are, monsieur," exclaimed Buck-
ingham, exasperated at the coolness of his interlocutor.
" My name is Manicamp," replied the young man, in a voice, whose
tones were as harmonious and sweet as the notes of an iEolian harp.
Buckingham shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and said,
" When I hired these houses which surround the Hotel de Yille, the
square was unoccupied; these barracks obstruct my sight, let them be
removed."
A hoarse and angry murmur ran through the crowd of listeners at
these words. He Guiche arrived at this moment; he pushed through
the crowd which separated him from Buckingham, and, followed by
Baoul, arrived on the scene of action, from one side, just as de Wardes
arrived from the other. "Pardon me, my lord; but if you have any
complaint to make, have the goodness to address it to me, inasmuch as
it was I who supplied the plans for the construction of these tents."
"Moreover, 1 would beg you to observe, monsieur, that the term
'barrack' is objected to," added Manicamp graciously.
" You were saying, monsieur," continued de Guiche -
THE TENTS. 385
" I was saying, monsieur le comte" resumed Buckingham, in a tone
of anger more marked than ever, although in some measure moderated
by the presence of an equal, " I was saying, that it is impossible these
tents can remain where they are."
" Impossible!" exclaimed de Guiche, " and for what reason ?"
" Because I object to them."
A movement of impatience escaped de Guiche, but a warning glance
from Raoul restrained him.
" You should the less object to them, monsieur, on account of the
abuse of priority you have permitted yourself to exercise."
" Abuse!"
"Most assuredly. You commission a messenger, who hires in your
name, the whole of the town of Havre, without considering the mem-
bers of the French court, who would be sure to arrive here to meet
Madame. Your grace will admit that this is hardly friendly conduct
in the representative of a friendly nation."
" The right of possession belongs to him who is first on the spot."
"Not in France, monsieur."
" Why not in France ? "
" Because France is a country where politeness is observed."
"Which means!" exclaimed Buckingham, in so violent a manner
that those who were present drew back, expecting an immediate col-
lision.
" Whioh means, monsieur," replied de Guiche, turning pale, " that I
have caused these tents to be raised as habitations for myself and my
friends, as a shelter for the ambassadors of France, as the only place of
refuge which your exactions have left us in the town; and that I, and
those who are with me, shall remain in them, at least, until an autho-
rity more powerful, and particularly more supreme than your own
shall dismiss me from them."
" In other words, until we are ejected, as the lawyers say," observed
Manicamp, blandly.
" I know an authority, monsieur, which I trust will be such as you
wish for," said Buckingham, placing his hand on his sword.
At this moment, and as the goddess of Discord, inflaming all minds,
was about to direct their swords against each other, Raoul gently placed
his hand on Buckingham's shoulder. " One word, my lord," he said.
" My right, my right, first of all," exclaimed the fiery young man.
" It is precisely upon that point I wish to have the honour of ad-
dressing a word to you."
" Very well, monsieur, but let your remarks be brief."
" One question is all I ask; you can hardly expect me to be briefer."
" Speak, monsieur, I am listening."
" Are you, or is the duke of Orleans, going to marry the grand-
daughter of Henry IY.?"
" What do you mean?" exclaimed Buckingham, retreating a few
steps, quite bewildered.
" Have the goodness to answer me," persisted Raoul tranquilly.
" Do you mean to ridicule me, monsieur ?" inquired Buckingham.
"Your question is a sufficient answer for me."
" You admit, then, that it is not you who are going to marry the
princess."
"You know it perfectly well, monsieur, I should imagine."
"I beg your pardon, but your conduct has been such as'to leave it
not altogether certain."
" Proceed, monsieur, what do you mean to convey ?"
3 c
386 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
Raoul approached the duke. " Are you aware, my lord," he said,
lowering his voice, " that your extravagancies very much resemble the
excesses of jealousy. These jealous fits, with respect to any woman, are
not becoming in one who is neither her lover nor her husband; and I
am sure you will admit that my remark applies with still greater force,
when the lady in question is a princess of royal blood."
" Monsieur," exclaimed Buckingham, " do you mean, to insult Ma-
dame Henrietta."
" Be careful, my lord," replied Bragelonne coldly," for it is you who
insult her. A little while since, when on board the admiral's ship, you
wearied the queen, and exhausted the admiral's patience. I was observ-
ing you, my lord; and, at first, I concluded you were not in possession
of your senses, but I have since surmised the real character of your
madness."
" Monsieur!" exclaimed Buckingham.
" One moment more, for I have yet another word to add. I trust I
am the only one of my companions who have guessed it."
"Are you aware, monsieur," said Buckingham, trembling with
mingled feelings of anger and uneasiness, " are you aware, that you are
holding a language towards me, which requires to be checked."
"Weigh your words well, my lord," said Raoul haughtily; "my na-
ture is not such that its vivacities need checking; whilst you, on the
contrary, are descended from a race whose passions are suspected by
all true Frenchmen; I repeat, therefore, for the seoond time, be
careful!"
"Careful of what, may I ask? Do you presume to threaten me?"
" I am the son of the Comte de la Fere, my lord, and I never threaten,
because I strike first. Therefore, understand me well, the threat that I
hold out to you is this "
Buckingham clenched his hands, but Raoul continued, as though
he had not observed the movement. " At the very first word, beyond
the respect and deference due to her royal highness, which you permit
yourself to use towards her.—Be patient, my lord, for I am perfectly so."
" You?"
"Undoubtedly. So long as Madame remained on English territory, I
held my peace: but from the very moment she stepped on French
ground, and now that we have received her in the name of the prince,
I warn you, that at the first mark of disrespect which you, in your
insane attachment, shall exhibit towards the royal house of France, I
shall have one of two courses to follow;—either I declare, in the pre-
sence of every one, the madness with which you are now affected, and I
get you ignominiously dismissed to England; or, if you prefer it, I will
run my dagger through your throat in the presence of all here. This
second alternative seems to me the least disagreeable, and I think I shall
hold to it."
Buckingham had become paler than the lace collar around his neck.
" M. de Bragelonne," he said, " is it, indeed, a gentleman who is speak-
ing to me ?"
" Yes; only the gentleman is speaking to a madman. Get cured, my
lord, and he will hold quite another language to you."
"But, M. de Bragelonne," murmured the duke, in a voice, half-
choked, and putting his hand to his neck,—" Do you net see I am
dying."
" If your death were to take place at this moment, my lord," replied
Raoul, with unruffled composure, "I -should, indeed, regard it, as a
great happiness, for this circumstance would prevent all finds of evil
NIGHT. 387
remarks; not alone about yourself, but also about those illustrious per-
sons whom your devotion is compromising in so absurd a manner."
"You are right, you are right," said the young man, almost beside
himself. " Yes, yes; better to die, than to suffer as I do, at this mo-
inept." .And bo grasped a beautiful dagger, the handle of which was
inlaid with precious stones; and which he half drew from his breast.
llaoul thrust his hand aside. " Be careful what you do," he said, " if
you do not kill yourself, you cominit a ridiculous action; and if you
were to kill yourself, you sprinkle blood upon the nuptial robe of the
princess of England."
Buckingham remained a minute gasping for breath; during this
interval, his lips quivered, his features worked convulsively, and his
eyes wandered, as though in delirium. Then, suddenly, he said, " M. de
Bragelonne, I know nowhere a nobler mind than yours; you are, in-
deed, a worthy son of the most perfect gentleman that ever lived.
Keep your tents." And he threw his arms round Kaoul's neck. All
who were present, astounded at this conduct, which was such as they
could hardly have expected, considering the violence of the one adver-
sary, and the determination of the other, began immediately to clap
their hands, and a thousand cheers and joyful shouts arose from all
sides. De Quiche, in his turn, embraced Buckingham somewhat against
his inclination; but, at all events, he did embrace him. This was the
signal for Erench and English to do the same; and they who, until that
moment, had looked at each other with restless uncertainty, fraternized
on the spot. In the mean time, the procession of the princess arrived,
and, had it not been for Bragelonne, two armies would have been en-
gaged together in conflict, and blood have been shed upon the flowers
with which the ground was covered. At the appearance, however, of
the banners borne at the head of the procession, quiet was restored.
CHAPTER LXXXVI.
Night.
Concord had returned to resume its place amidst the tents. English
and Erench rivalled each other in their devotion and courteous atten-
tion to the two illustrious travellers. The English forwarded to the
Erench baskets of flowers, of which they had made a plentiful provision
to greet the arrival of the young princess ; the Erench in return invited
the English to a supper, which was to be given the next day. Con-
gratulations were poured in upon the princess everywhere during her
journey. Erom the respect paid her on all sides, she seemed like a
queen; and from the adoration with which she was treated by some two
or three, she seemed like an object of worship. The queen-mother
gave the Erench the most affectionate reception. France was her native
country, and she had suffered too much unhappiness in England, for
England to have made her forget France. She taught her daughter,
then, by her own affection for it, that love for a country where they had
both been hospitably received, and where a brilliant future was being
opened before them. After the public entry was over, and the specta-
tors in the streets had somewhat dispersed, and the sound of the music
and cheering of the crowd could be heard only in the distance; when
the night had closed in, wrapping, with its star-covered mantle, the sea,
the harbour, the town, and surrounding country, de Guiche, still ex-
2o2
388 THE YICOMTE DE BRA.GELONNE.
cited by the great event of the day, returned to his tent, and seated
himself upon one of the stools with so profound an expression of dis-
tress, that Bragelonne kept his eyes fixed on him until he heard him
sigh, and then he approached him. The count had thrown himself
back on his seat, leaning his shoulders against the partition of the tent,
and remained thus, his face buried in his hands, and with heaving chest
and restless limbs.
" You are suffering ? " asked Eaoul.
" Cruelly."
" Bodily, I suppose ? "
"Yes; bodily."
" This has indeed been a harassing day," continued the young man,
his eyes fixed upon his friend.
" Yes ; a night's rest will restore me."
" Shall I leave you ?"
" No; I wish to talk to you."
"You shall not speak to me, Guiche, until you have first answered
my questions."
" Proceed then."
" You will be frank with me?"
" As I always am."
" Can you imagine why Buckingham has been so violent ? "
" I suspect why."
" Because he is in love with Madame, is it not ? "
" One could almost swear it, to see him."
"You are mistaken; there is nothing of the kind."
" It is you who are mistaken, Eaoul; I have read his distress in his
eyes, in his every gesture and action the whole day."
"You are a poet, my dear count, and find subjects for your muse
everywhere."
" I can perceive love clearly enough."
" Where it does not exist ? "
" N ay, where it does exist."
"Do you not think you are deceiving yourself, Guiche?"
" I am convinced of what I say," said the count.
"Now, inform me, count," asked Eaoul, fixing a penetrating look
upon him, " what has happened to render you so clear-sighted ? "
Guiche hesitated for a moment, and then answered, " Self-love, I
suppose."
" Self-love is a very long word, Guiche."
" What do you mean ? "
" I mean that, generally, you are less out of spirits than seems to be
the case this evening."
" I am fatigued."
" Listen to me, dear Guiche; we have been campaigners together; we
have been on horseback for eighteen hours at a time, and our horses
even dying from fatigue, or from sheer exhaustion, of hunger, have
fallen beneath us, and yet we have laughed at our mishaps. Believe
me. it is not fatigue which saddens you to-night."
It is annoyance, then."
" What annoyance ?"
" That of this evening."
" The mad conduct of the duke of Buckingham, do you mean ? "
" Of course; is it not vexatious for us, the representatives of our
sovereign master, to witness the devotion of an Englishman to our
future mistress, the second lady in point of rank in the kingdom ?"
NIGHT. 389
"Yes, you're right; but I do not think any danger is to be appre-
hended from Buckingham."
"No; still he is intrusive. Did he not, on his arrival here, almost
succeed in creating a disturbance between the English and ourselves;
and, had it not been for you, for your admirable prudence, for your
singular decision of character, swords would have been drawn in the
very streets of the town."
" You observe, however, that he has changed."
"Yes, certainly; but it is that which amazes me so much. You
spoke to him in a low tone of voice, what did you say to him ? You
think he loves her; you admit that such a passion does not give way
readily. He does not love her, then!" De Guiche pronounced the
latter words with so marked an expression that Raoul raised his head.
The noble character of the young man's countenance expressed a dis-
pleasure which could easily be read.
" What I said to him, count," replied Raoul, " I will repeat to you.
Listen to me. I said,' You are regarding with wistful feelings, and with
most injurious desire, the sister of your prince,—her to whom you are
not affianced, who is not, who can never be anything to you; you are
outraging those who, like ourselves, have come to seek a young girl to
lead her to her husband.'"
" You spoke to him in that manner ? " asked Guiche, colouring.
" In those very terms; I even added more. ' How would you regard
us,' I said, ' if you were to perceive among us a man mad enough, dis-
loyal enough, to entertain other than sentiments of the most perfect
respect for a princess who is the destined wife of our master ?'"
These words were so applicable to de Guiche that he turned pale,
and, overcome by a sudden agitation, was barely able to stretch out one
hand mechanically towards Raoul, as he covered his eyes and face with
the other.
" But," continued Raoul, not interrupted by this movement of his
friend, " Heaven be praised, the Erench, who are pronounced to be
thoughtless and indiscreet, reckless even, are capable of bringing a calm
and sound judgment to bear on matters of such high importance. I
added even more, for I said,' Learn, my lord, that we gentlemen of
Erance devote ourselves to our sovereigns by sacrificing for them our
affections, as well as our fortunes and our lives; and whenever it may
chance to happen that the tempter suggests one of those vile thoughts
which set the heart on fire, we extinguish that flame, even were it done
by shedding our blood for the purpose. Thus it is that the honour of
three persons is saved: our country's, our master's, and our own. It is
thus that we act, your grace; it is thus that every man of honour ought
to act.' In this manner, my dear Guiche," continued Raoul, " I ad-
dressed the duke of Buckingham ; and he admitted and resigned him-
self unresistingly to my arguments."
De Guiche, who had hitherto sat leaning forward while Raoul was
speaking, drew himself up, his eyes glancing proudly; he seized Raoul's
hand, his face, which had been as cold as ice, seemed on fire. " And
you spoke right well," he said, in a voice half choked; " you are indeed
a friend, Raoul. And now, I entreat you, leave me to myself."
" Do you wish it ? "
"Yes; I need repose. Many things have agitated me to-day, both
in mind and body; when you return to-morrow I shall no longer be
the same man."
" I leave you, then," said Raoul, as he withdrew. The count ad-
vanced a step towards his friend, and pressed him warmly in his arms.
896 the vicomte de beagelonne.
But in this friendly pressure Baoul could detect the nervous agitation
of a great internal conflict.
The night was clear, starlit, and splendid; the tempest had passed
away, and the warmth of the sun had restored life, peace, and security
everywhere. A few light fleecy clouds were floating in the heavens,
and indicated from their appearance a continuance of beautiful weather,
tempered by a gentle breeze from the east. Upon the large square in
front of the hotel, the large shadows of the tents, intersected by the
brilliant moonbeams, formed as it were a huge mosaic of black and white
flagstones. Soon, however, the whole town was wrapped in slumber; a
feeble light still glimmered in Madame's apartment, which looked out
upon the square, and the soft rays from the expiring lamp seemed to be
the image of the calm sleep of a young girl, hardly yet sensible of exist-
ence, and in whom the flame of life sinks down as sleep steals over the
body. Bragelonne quitted the tent with the slow and measured step
of a man curious to observe, but anxious not to be seen. Sheltered
behind the thick curtains of his own tent, embracing with a glance
the whole square, he noticed that, after a few moments' pause, the
curtains of de Guiche's tent were agitated, and then drawn partially
aside. Behind them he could perceive the shadow of de Guiche, his
eyes glistening in the obscurity, fastened ardently upon the princess's
sitting apartment, which was partially lighted by the lamp in tpe inner
room. That soft light which illumined the windows was the count's
star. The fervent aspirations of his nature could be read in his eyes.
Baoul, concealed in the shadow, divined the many passionate thoughts
which established, between the tent of the young ambassador and the
balcony of the princess, a mysterious and magical bond of sympathy—
a bond created by thoughts imprinted with so much strength and per-
sistence of will, that they certainly besought that happy and loving
dreams might alight upon the perfumed couch, which the count, with
the eyes of his soul, devoured so eagerly. But de Guiche and Baoul
were not the only watchers. The window of one of the houses looking
on the square was opened too, the window of the house where Buck-
ingham resided. By aid of the rays of light which issued from this
latter window, the profile of the duke could be distinctly seen, as he
indolently reclined upon the carved balcony with its velvet hangings;
he also was breathing in the direction of the princess's apartment his
prayers and the wild visions of his love.
Bragelonne could not resist smiling, as, thinking of Madame, he said
to himself, " Hers is, indeed, a heart well besiegedand then added,
compassionately, as he thought of Monsieur, " and he is a husband well
threatened too; it is a good thing for him that he is a prince of such
high rank, and that he has an army to win for him that which is his
own." Bragelonne watched for some time the conduct of the two lovers,
listened to the loud and uncivil slumbers of Manicamp, who shored as
imperiously as though he had his blue and gold, instead of his violet
suit, and then turned towards the night breeze which bore towards him,
he seemed to think, the distant song of a nightingale; and, after having
laid in a due provision of melancholy, another nocturnal malady, he
retired to rest, thinking, that with regard to his own love affair, perhaps
four or six eyes, quite as ardent as those of de Guiche and Buckingham,
were coveting his own idol in the chateau at Blois. " And Mademoiselle
de Montalais is by no means a very safe garrison/' said he to himself, as
he sighed aloud.
FBOM HAVBE TO PABIS.
891
CHAPTER LXXXVII.
From Havre to Paris.
The next day thq fetes took place, accompanied by all the pomp and
animation which the resources of the town and the natural disposition
of men's minds could supply. During the last few hours spent in
Havre, every preparation for the departure had been made. After
Madame had taken leave of the English fleet, and, once again, had
saluted the country in saluting its flags, she entered the carriage pre-
pared for her, surrounded by a brilliant escort. De Guiche had hoped
that the duke of Buckingham would accompany the admiral to
England; but Buckingham succeeded in demonstrating to the queen
that there would be great impropriety in allowing Madame to proceed
to Paris, almost entirely alone. As soon as it had been settled that
Buckingham was to accompany Madame, the young duke selected a
court of gentlemen and officers to form part of his own suite, so that it
was almost an army which proceeded towards Paris, scattering gold,
and exciting the liveliest demonstrations as they passed through the
different towns and villages on the route. The weather was very fine.
Prance is a beautiful country, especially along the route by which the
procession passed. Spring cast its flowers and its perfumed foliage upon
their path. Normandy, with its vast variety of vegetation, its blue
skies and silver rivers, displayed itself in all the loveliness of a Paradise
for the new sister of the king. Fetes and brilliant displays received
them everywhere along the line of march. De Guiche and Bucking-
ham forgot everything; de Guiche in his anxiety to prevent any fresh
attempts on the part of the duke, and Buckingham, in his desire to
awaken in the heart of the princess a softer remembrance of the
country, to which the recollection of many happy days belonged. But,
alas! the poor duke could perceive that the image of that country so
cherished by himself became, from day to day, more and more effaced
in Madame's mind, in exact proportion as her affection for Prance
became more deeply engraved on her heart. In fact, it was not difficult
to perceive that his most devoted attention awakened no acknowledg-
ment, and that the grace with which he rode one of his most fiery
horses was thrown away, for it was only casually and by the merest
accident that the princess's eyes were turned towards him. In vain did
he try, in order to fix upon himself one of those looks, which were
thrown carelessly around, or bestowed elsewhere, to produce from the
animal he rode its greatest display of strength, speed, temper, and ad-
dress; in vain did he, by exciting his horse almost to madness, spur
him, at the risk of dashing himself in pieces against the trees, or of
rolling in the ditches, over the gates and barriers which they passed, or
down the steep declivities of the bills. Madame, whose attention had
been aroused by the noise, turned her head for a moment to observe
the cause of it, and then, slightly smiling, again turned round to her
faithful guardians, Baoul and de Guiche, who were quietly riding at
her carriage doors. Buckingham felt himself a prey to all the tortures
of jealousy; an unknown, unheard of anguish glided into his veins, and
laid siege to his heart; and then, as if to show that he knew the folly of
his conduct, and that he wished to correct, by the humblest submission,
his flights of. absurdity, he mastered his horse, and compelled him,
reeking with sweat and flecked with foam* to champ his bit close beside
392 the yicomte de bbagelonne.
the carriage, amidst the crowd of courtiers. Occasionally he obtained
a word from Madame as a recompense, and yet this word seemed almost
a reproach to him.
" That is well, my lord," she said, " now you are reasonable."
Or from Eaoul, " Your grace is killing your horse."
Buckingham listened patiently to Baoul's remarks, for he instinc-
tively felt, without having had any proof that such was the case; that
Eaoul checked the display of de Guiche's feelings, and that, had it not
been for Eaoul, some mad act or proceeding, either of the count, or of
Buckingham himself, would have brought about an open rupture, or a
disturbance, and perhaps even exile itself. Prom the moment of that
excited conversation which the two young men had had in front of
the tents at Havre, when Eaoul had made the duke perceive the im-
propriety of his conduct, Buckingham had felt himself attracted towards
Eaoul almost in spite of himself. He often entered into conversation
with him, and it was nearly always to talk to him either of his father
or of d'Artagnan, their mutual friend, in whose praise Buckingham
was nearly as enthusiastic as Eaoul. Eaoul endeavoured, as much as
possible, to make the conversation turn upon this subject in de Wardes'
presence, who bad, during the whole journey, been exceedingly annoyed
at the superior position taken by Bragelonne, and especially by his in-
fluence over de Guiche. l)e Wardes had that keen and observant
penetration which all evil natures possess, he had immediately remarked
de Guiche's melancholy, and the nature of his regard for the princess.
Instead, however, of treating the subject with the same reserve
which Eaoul had practised; instead of regarding with that respect,
which was their due, the obligations and duties of society, de Wardes
resolutely attacked in the count that ever-sounding chord of juvenile
audacity and egotistical pride. It happened one evening, during a halt
at Nantes, that while de Guiche and de Wardes were leaning against a
barrier, engaged in conversation, Buckingham and Eaoul were also
talking together as they walked up and down. Manicamp was engaged
in devotional attentions to the princesses, who already treated him with-
out any reserve, on account of his versatile fancy, his frank courtesy of
manner, and conciliatory disposition.
"Confess," said de Wardes, "that you are really ill, and that your
pedagogue of a friend has not succeeded in curing you."
" I do not understand you," said the count.
" And yet it is easy enough; you are dying for love."
" You are mad, de Wardes."
" Madness it would be, I admit, if Madame were really indifferent to
your martyrdom; but she takes so much notice of it, observes it to
such an extent, that she compromises herself, and I tremble lest, on
our arrival at Paris, M. de Bragelonne may not denounce both of you."
"For shame, de Wardes, again attacking de Bragelonne."
" Come, come, a truce to child's play," replied the count's evil genius,
in an undertone; " you know, as well as I do, what I mean. Besides,
you must have observed how the princess's glance softens as she looks
at youyou can tell, by the very inflection of her voice, what pleasure
she takes in listening to you, and can feel how thoroughly she appre-
ciates the verses you recite to her. You cannot deny, too, that every
morning she tells you how indifferently she slept the previous night."
"True, de Wardes, quite true; but what good is there in your
telling me all that?"
" Is it not important to know the exact position of affairs ?"
" No, no; not when I am a witness of things which are enough to
drive one mad."
TBOM HAVBE TO PABIS. 393
" Stay, stay," said de Wardes; "look, she calls you,—do you under-
stand ? Profit by the occasion, for your pedagogue is not here."
De Guiche could not resist; an invincible attraction drew him to-
wards the princess. De "Wardes smiled as he saw him withdraw.
" You are mistaken, monsieur," said Raoul, suddenly stepping across
the harrier against which the previous moment the two friends had been
leaning, " the pedagogue is here, and has overheard you."
De Wardes, at the sound of Raoul's voice, which he recognized with-
out having occasion to look at him, half drew his sword.
" Put up your sword," said Raoul, " you know perfectly well that,
until our journey is at an end, every demonstration of that nature is
useless. Why do you distil into the heart of the man you term your
friend all the bitterness which infects your own ? As regards myself,
you wish to arouse a feeling of deep dislike against a man of honour—
my father's friend, and my own; and as for the count, you wish him to
love one who is destined for your master. Really, monsieur, I should
regard you as a coward, and a traitor too, if I did not, with greater jus-
tice, regard you as a madman."
" Monsieur," exclaimed de Wardes, exasperated, "I was deceived, I
find, in terming you a pedagogue. The tone you assume, and the style
which is peculiarly your own, is that of a Jesuit, and not of a gentleman.
Discontinue, I beg, whenever I am present, this style I complain of, and
the tone also. I hate M. d'Artagnan because he was guilty of a cowardly
act towards my father."
" You lie, monsieur," said Raoul, coolly.
" You give me the lie, monsieur?" exclaimed de Wardes
" Why not, if what you assert be untrue ?"
" You give me the lie and do not draw your sword ? "
" I have resolved, monsieur, not to kill you until Madame shall have
been delivered up into her husband's hands."
" Kill me! Believe me, monsieur, your schoolmaster's rod does not
kill so easily."
"No," replied Raoul, sternly, "but M. d'Artagnan's sword kills;
and, not only do I possess his sword, but he has himself taught me how
to use it; and with that sword, when a befitting time arrives, I shall
avenge his name—a name you have so dishonoured."
" Take care, monsieur," exclaimed de Wardes; " if you do not imme-
diately give me satisfaction, I will avail myself of every means to revenge
myself."
" Indeed, monsieur," said Buckingham, suddenly appearing upon the
scene of action, " that is a threat which sounds like assassination, and
would, therefore, ill become a gentleman."
" What did you say, my lord?" said de Wardes, turning round to-
wards him.
" I said, monsieur, that the words you have just spoken, are dis-
pleasing to my English ears."
" Yery well, monsieur, if what you say is true," exclaimed de Wardes,
thoroughly incensed, " I shall at least find in you one who will not
escape me. Understand my words as you like."
" I understand them in the manner they cannot but he understood,"
replied Buckingham, with that haughty tone which characterized him,
and which, even in ordinary conversation, gave a tone of defiance to
everything he said; " M. de Bragelonne is my friend, you insult M. de
Bragelonne, and you shall give me satisfaction for that insult."
De Wardes cast a look upon de Bragelonne, who, faithful to the
character he had assumed, remained calm and unmoved, even after the
duke's defiance.
394 the vicomte de bragelonne.
" It would seem that I did not insult M. de Bragelonne, since M. de
Bragelonne, who carries a sword by his side, does not consider himself
insulted."
" At all events, you insult some one ?"
" Yes, I insulted M. d'Artagnan," resumed de Wardes, who had ob-
served that this was the only means of stinging Raoul, so as to awaken
his anger.
" That, then," said Buckingham, " is another matter."
"Precisely so," said de Wardes; "it is the province of M. d'Ar-
tagnan's friends to defend him."
" I am entirely of your opinion," replied the duke, who had regained
all his indifference of manner; " if M. de Bragelonne were offended,
I could not reasonably be expected to espouse his quarrel, since he
is himself here; but when you say that it is a quarrel of M. d'Ar-
tagnan "
" You will of course leave me to deal with the matter," said de
Wardes.
" Nay, the very contrary, for I draw my sword," said Buckingham,
unsheathing it as he spoke; " for, if M. d'Artagnan injured your father,
he rendered, or at least did all that he could to render, a great service
to mine."
De Wardes seemed thunderstruck.
" M. d'Artagnan," continued Buckingham," is the bravest gentleman
I know. I shall be delighted, as I owe him many personal obligations,
to settle them with you, by crossing my sword with yours." At the
same moment Buckingham drew his sword gracefully from its scabbard,
saluted Raoul, and put himself in guard.
De Wardes advanced a step to meet him.
" Stay, gentlemen," said Raoul, advancing towards them, and placing
his own drawn sword between the combatants, "the affair is hardly
Worth the trouble of blood being shed almost in the presence of the
princess. M. de Wardes speaks ill of M. d'Artagnan, with whom he is
not even acquainted."
" What, monsieur," said de Wardes, setting his teeth hard together,
and resting the point of his sword on the toe of his boot, " do you
assert that I do not know M. d'Artagnan ?"
" Certainly not; you do not know him," replied Raoul, coldly, " and
you are even not aware where he is to be found.'3
" Not know where he is ?"
" Such must be the case, since you fix your quarrel with him upon
strangers, instead of seeking M. d'Artagnan where he is to be found."
De Wardes turned pale. " Well, monsieur," continued Raoul, " I will
tell you where M. d'Artagnan is: he is now in Paris; when on duty he is
to be met with at the Louvre,—when not so, in the Rue des Lombards.
M. d.'Artagnan can be easily discovered at either of those two places.
Having, therefore, as you assert, so many causes of complaint against
him, you do not show your courage in not seeking him out, to afford
him an opportunity of giving you that satisfaction you seem to ask of
every one but of himself." De Wardes passed his hand across his fore-
head, which was covered with perspiration. " For shame, M. de
Wardes ! so quarrelsome a disposition is hardly becoming after the
publication of the edicts against duels. Pray think of that; the king
xVill be incensed at our disobedience, particularly at such a time,—and
his majesty will be in the right."
" Mere excuses " murmured de Wardes; " mere pretexts."
" Really, my dear M, de Wardes," resumed Raoul, " such remarks
From haver to paeis. 395
are the merest idle talk; you know very well that the duke of Bucking-
ham is a man of undoubted courage, who has already fought ten duels,
and will probably fight eleven. His name alone is significant enough.
As far as I am concerned, you are well aware that I can fight also. I
fought at Sens, at Bleneau, at the Dunes in front of the artillery, a
hundred paces in front of the line, while you—I say this parenthetically
—were a hundred paces behind it. True it is, that on that occasion
there were by far too great a concourse of persons present for your
courage to be observed, and on that aocount, perhaps, you did not re-
veal it; while here, it would be a display, and would excite remark,—
you wish th'at others should talk about you, in what manner you do not
care. Do not depend upon me, M. de Wardes, to assist you in your
designs, for I shall certainly not afford you that pleasure."
" Sensibly observed," said Buckingham, putting up his sword, "and I
ask your forgiveness, M. de Bragelonne, for having allowed myself to
yield to a first impulse."
De Wardes, however, on the contrary, perfectly furious, bounded
forward, and raised his sword threateningly against Baoul, who had
scarcely time to put himself in a posture of defence.
" Take care, monsieur," said Bragelonne, tranquilly, " or you will put
out one of my eyes."
" You will not fight, then ?" said de Wardes.
" Not at this moment; but this I promise to do, immediately on our
arrival at Paris: I will conduct you to M. d'Artagnan, to whom you
shall detail all the causes of complaint you have against him. M, d'Ar-
tagnan will solicit the king's permission to measure swords with you.
The king will yield his consent, and when you shall have received the
sword-thrust in due course, you will consider, in a calmer frame of
mind, the precepts of the Gospel, which enjoin forgetfulness of injuries."
" Ah!" exclaimed de Wardes, furious at this imperturbable coolness,
" one can clearly see you are half a bastard, M. de Bragelonne."
Baoul became as pale as death; his eyes flashed like lightning, and
made de Wardes fall back. Buckingham also, who had perceived their
expression, threw himself between the two adversaries, whom he ex-
pected to see precipitate themselves on each other. De Wardes had
reserved this injury for the last; he clasped his sword tight in his
hand, and awaited the encounter. "You are right, monsieur," said
Baoul, mastering his emotion, " I am only acquainted with my father's
•name; but I know too well that the Comte de la Pere is too upright
and honourable a man to allow me to fear for a single moment that
there is, as you seem to say, any stain upon my birth. My ignorance,
therefore, of my mother's name is a misfortune for me, and not a re-
proach. You are deficient in loyalty of conduct; you are wanting in
Courtesy, in reproaching me with a misfortune. It matters little, how-
ever, the insult has been given, and I consider myself insulted accord-
ingly. It is quite understood, then, that after you shall have received
satisfaction from M. d'Artagnan, you will settle your quarrel with me."
" I admire your prudence, monsieur," replied de Wardes, with a
bitter smile; " a little while ago you promised me a sword-thrust from
M. d'Artagnan, and now, after I shall have received his, you offer me
one from yourself."
" Do not disturb yourself," replied Baoul, with concentrated anger,
" in all affairs of that nature, M. d'Artagnan is exceedingly skilful, and
I will beg him as a favour to treat you as he did your father; in other
words, to spare your life at least, so as to leave me the pleasure, after
your recovery, of killing you outright; for you have a bad heart, M, de
396 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Wardes, and in very truth, too many precautions cannot be taken
against you."
" 1 shall take my precautions against you," said de Wardes, " be as-
sured of it."
" Allow me, monsieur," said Buckingham, " to translate your re-
mark by a piece of advice I am about to give M. de Bragelonne: M. de
Bragelonne, wear a cuirass."
De Wardes clenched his hands. " Ah!" said he, " you two gentle-
men intend to wait until you have taken that precaution before you
measure your swords against mine."
" Very well, monsieur," said Raoul, " since you positively will have it
so, let us settle the affair now." And, drawing his sword, he advanced
towards de W ardes.
" What are you going to do?" said Buckingham.
" Be easy," said Baoul, " it will not be very long."
De Wardes placed himself on his guard; their swords crossed. De
Wardes flew upon Raoul with such impetuosity, that at the first clash-
ing of the steel blades Buckingham clearly saw that Baoul was only
trifling with his adversary. Buckingham stepped aside, and watched
the struggle. Baoul was as calm as if he were handling a foil, instead
of a sword; having retreated a step, he parried three or four fierce
thrusts which de Wardes made at him, caught the sword of the latter
within his own, sending it flying twenty paces the other side of the
barrier. Then, as de Wardes stood disarmed and astounded at his
defeat, Baoul sheathed his sword, seized him by the collar and the
waistband, and hurled him also to the other side of the barrier, trem-
bling and mad with rage.
"We shall meet again," murmured de Wardes, rising from the
ground and picking up his sword.
" I have done nothing for the last hour," said Baoul, " but say the
same thing." Then, turning towards the duke, he said, " I entreat you
to be silent about this affair; I am ashamed to have gone so far, but my
anger carried me away, and I ask your forgiveness for it;—forget it
too."
" Dear viscount," said the duke, pressing within his own the vigorous
and valiant hand of his companion, " allow me, on the contrary, to re-
member it, and to look after your safety; that man is dangerous,—he
will kill you."
" My father," replied Baoul, " lived for twenty years under the me-
nace of a much more formidable enemy, and he still lives."
" Your father had good friends, viscount."
" Yes," sighed Baoul, " such friends indeed that none are now left
like them."
" Do not say that, I beg, at the very moment I offer you my friend-
ship," and Buckingham opened his arms to embrace Baoul, who de-
lightedly received the proffered alliance. " In my family," added
Buckingham, " you are aware, M. de Bragelonne, that we die to save
those we love."
" I know it well, duke," replied Baoul.
WHAT LOBBAINE THOUGHT OF matum*:
397
CHAPTER LXXXVIII.
An Account of what the Chevalier de Lorraine thought of Madame.
Nothing further interrupted the journey. Under a pretext which
was little remarked, M. de Wardes went forward in advance of the
others. He took Manicamp with him, for his equable and dreamy dis-
position acted as a counterpoise to his own. It is a subject of remark,
that quarrelsome and restless characters invariably seek the com-
panionship of gentle, timorous dispositions, as if the former sought,
in the contrast, a repose for their own ill humour, and the latter a
protection against their own weakness. Buckingham and Bragelonne
admitting de Guiche into their friendship, joined, in concert with him,
the praises of the princess during the whole of the journey. Bragelonne
had, however, insisted that their three voices should be in concert,
instead of singing in solo parts, as de Guiche and his rival seemed
to have acquired a dangerous habit of doing. This style of harmony
pleased the queen-mother exceedingly, but it was not perhaps so
agreeable to the young princess, who was an incarnation of coquetry,
and who, without any fear as far as her own voice was concerned,
sought opportunities of so perilously distinguishing herself. She
possessed one of those fearless and incautious dispositions which find
gratification in an excess of sensitiveness of feeling, and for whom,
also, danger has a certain fascination. And so her glances, her smiles,
her toilette, an inexhaustible armoury of weapons of offence, were
showered down upon the three young men with overwhelming force;
and, from her well-stored arsenal issued glances, kindly recognitions,
and a thousand other little charming attentions which were intended
to strike at long range the gentlemen who formed the escort, the towns-
people, the officers of the different cities she passed through, pages,
populace, and servants; it was wholesale slaughter, a general devas-
tation. By the time Madame arrived at Paris, she had reduced to
slavery about a hundred thousand lovers: and brought in her train
to Paris, half-a-dozen men who were almost mad about her, and two
who were quite out of their minds. Raoul was the only person who
divined the power of this woman's attraction, and, as his heart was
already engaged, he arrived in the capital full of indifference and dis-
trust. Occasionally during the journey he conversed with the queen
of England respecting the power of fascination which Madame pos-
sessed, and the mother, whom so many misfortunes and deceptions
had taught experience, replied : " Henrietta was sure to be illustrious
in one way or another, whether born in a palace or born in obscurity;
for she is a woman of great imagination, capricious, and self-willed."
De Wardes and Manicamp, in their character of couriers, had an-
nounced the princess's arrival. The procession was met at Nanterre
by a brilliant escort of cavaliers and carriages. It was Monsieur him-
self, who, followed by the Chevalier de Lorraine and by his favourites,
the latter being themselves followed by a portion of the king's military
household, had arrived to meet his affianced bride. At St. Germain,
the princess and her mother had changed their heavy travelling car-
riage, somewhat impaired by the journey, for a light, richly-decorated
chariot drawn by six horses with white and gold harness. Seated in
this open carriage, as though upon a throne, and beneath a parasol of
embroidered silk, fringed with feathers, sat the young and lovely
398 TSE VICOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
princess, on whose beaming face were reflected the softened rose-tints
which suited her delicate skin to perfection. Monsieur, on reaching
the carriage, was struck by her beauty • he showed his admiration in
so marked a manner that the Chevalier de Lorraine shrugged his
shoulders as he listened to his compliments, while Buckingham and de
Guiche were almost heart-broken. After the usual courtesies had been
rendered, and the ceremony completed, the procession slowly resumed
the road to Paris. The presentations had been carelessly made, and
Buckingham, with the rest of the English gentlemen, had been intro-
duced to Monsieur, from whom they had received but a very indifferent
attention. But, during their progress, as he observed that the duke de-
voted himself with his accustomed earnestness to the carriage-door, he
asked the Chevalier de Lorraine, his inseparable companion, "Who is
that cavalier ? "
" He was presented to your highness a short time since; it is the
handsome duke of Buckingham."
" Yes, yes, I remember."
"Madame's knight," added the favourite, with an inflection of the
voice which envious minds can alone give to the simplest phrases.
" What do you say ? " replied the prince.
" I said ' Madame's knight.' "
" Has she a recognized knight, then ? "
" One would think you can judge of that for yourself; look, only,
how they are laughing and flirting. All three of them."
" What do you mean by all three ? "
" Ho you not see that de Guiche is one of the party ? "
" Yes, I see. But what does that prove ?"
" That Madame has two admirers instead of one."
" You poison everything, viper."
" I poison nothing. Ah ! your royal highness's mind is very per-
verted. The honours of the kingdom of Prance are being paid to your
wife, and you are not satisfied."
The duke of Orleans dreaded the satirical humour of the Chevalier de
Lorraine whenever he found it reached a certain degree of bitterness,
and he changed the conversation abruptly. " The princess is pretty,''
said he very negligently, as if he were speaking of a stranger.
" Yes," replied the chevalier, in the same tone.
" You say ' yes' like a ' no.' She has very beautiful black eyes."
" Yes, but small."
" That is so, but they are brilliant. She has a good figure."
|| Her figure is a little spoilt, my lord."
" I do not deny it. She has a noble appearance."
" Yes, but her face is thin."
|| I thought her teeth beautiful."
" They can easily be seen, for her mouth is large enough. Decidedly,
I was wrong, my lord ; you are certainly handsomer than your wife."
But do you think me as handsome as Buckingham ? "
" Certainly, and he thinks so, too; for, look, my lord, he is redoubling
his attentions to Madame to prevent your effacing the impression he
has made.
Monsieur made a movement of impatience, bdt as he noticed a smile
of triumph pass across the chevalier's lips, he drew up his horse to a
foot-pace. Why," said he, '' should I occupy myself any longer about
my cousin? Do I not already know her ? Were we not brought up
together? Did I not see her at the Louvre when she was quite a
child?"
WHAT LORRAINE THOUGHT OR MADAME. 399
• " A great change has taken place in her since then, prince. At the
period you allude to, she was somewhat less brilliant, and somewhat less
proud too. One evening, particularly, you may remember, my lord, the
king refused to dance with her, because he thought her plain and badly
dressed!"
These words made the duke of Orleans frown. It was by no means
flattering for him to marry a princess of whom, when young, the king
had not thought much. He might probably have-replied, but at this
moment de Guiche quitted the carriage to join the prince. He had
remarked the prince and the chevalier together, and full of anxious
attention; he seemed to try and guess the nature of the remarks
which they had just exchanged. The chevalier, whether he had some
treacherous object in view, or from imprudence, did not take the
trouble to dissimulate. " Count," he said, " you're a man of excellent
taste."
" Thank you for the compliment," replied de Guiche; " but why do
you say that ? "
" Well, I appeal to his highness."
"No doubt of it," said Monsieur; "and Guiche knows perfectly well
that I regard him as a most finished cavalier."
" Well, since that is decided, I resume. You have been in the prin-
cess's society, count, for the last eight days, have you not ? "
" Yes," replied de Guiche, colouring in spite of himself.
" Well then, tell us frankly, what do you think of her personal
appearance ? "
" Of her personal appearance ? " returned de Guiche, stupified.
" Yes; of her appearance, of her mind, of herself, in fact."
Astounded by this question, de Guiche hesitated answering.
" Come, come, de Guiche," resumed the chevalier, laughingly, " tell
us your opinion frankly, the prince commands it."
(t Yes, yes," said the prince, " be frank."
He Guiche stammered out a few unintelligible words.
" I am perfectly well aware," returned Monsieur, " that the subject
is a delicate one, but you know you can tell me everything. What do
you think of her ? "
In order to avoid betraying his real thoughts, de Guiche had recourse
to the only defence which a man taken by surprise really has, and
accordingly told an untruth. " I do not find Madame," he said, "either
good or bad looking, yet rather good than bad looking."
" What! count," exclaimed the chevalier, "you who went into such
ecstasies and uttered so many exclamations at the sight of her
portrait."
De Guiche coloured violently. Very fortunately his horse, which was
slightly restive, enabled him by a sudden plunge to conceal his agitation.
" What portrait ? " he murmured, joininf them again. The chevalier
had not taken his eyes off him.
" Yes, the portrait. Was not the miniature a good likeness ? "
" I do not remember. I have forgotten the portrait; it has quite
escaped my recollection."
" And yet it made a very marked ■ impression upon you," said the
chevalier.
" That is not unlikely."
" Is she clever, at all events ? " inquired the duke.
• " I believe so, my lord."
" Is M. de Buckingham so too ? " said the chevalier.
" I do not know."
400 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" My own own opinion is, that he must be," replied the chevalier,
" for he makes Madame laugh, and she seems to take no little pleasure
in his society, which never happens to a clever woman when in the
company of a simpleton."
" Of course, then, he must be clever," said de Guiche, simply.
At this moment Raoul opportunely arrived, seeing how de Guiche
was pressed by his dangerous questioner, to whom he addressed a remark,
and so changed the conversation. The entree was brilliant and joyous.
The king, in honour of his brother, had directed that the festivities
should be on a scale of the greatest magnificence. Madame and her
mother alighted at the Louvre, where, during their exile, they had so
gloomily submitted to obscurity, misery, and privations of every descrip-
tion. That palace, which had been so inhospitable a residence for the
unhappy daughter of Henry IV., the naked walls, the sunken flooring,
the ceilings covered with cobwebs, the vast but broken chimney-places,
the cold hearths on which the charity extended to them by parliament
had hardly permitted a fire to glow, was completely altered in appear-
ance. The richest hangings and the thickest carpets, glistening flag-
stones, and pictures, with their richly gilded frames; in every direction
could be seen candelabras, mirrors, and furniture and fittings of the
most sumptuous character; in every direction also were guards of the
proudest military hearing with floating plumes, crowds of attendants
and courtiers in the antechambers and upon the staircases. In the
court-yards, where the grass had formerly been accustomed to grow,
as if the ungrateful Mazarin had thought it a good idea to let the
Parisians perceive, that solitude and disorder were, with misery and
despair, the proper accompaniments of a fallen monarchy; the im-
mense court-yards, formerly silent and desolate, were now thronged
with courtiers whose horses were pacing and prancing to and fro.
The carriages were filled with young and beautiful women, who
awaited the opportunity of saluting, as sne passed, the daughter of that
daughter of Prance, who, during her widowhood and her exile, had
sometimes gone without wood for her fire, or bread for. her table, whom
the meanest attendants at the chateau had treated with indifference
and contempt. And so, Madame Henrietta once more returned to the
Louvre, with her heart more swollen with grief and bitter recollections
than her daughter, whose disposition was fickle and forgetful, returned
to it with triumph and delight. She knew but too well that present
brilliant reception was paid to the happy mother of a king restored to his
throne, and that throne second to none in Europe, while the worse
than indifferent reception she had before met with was paid to her,
the daughter of Henry IV., as a punishment for having been unhappy.
After the princesses had been installed in their apartments and had
rested themselves, the gentlemen who had formed their escort having
in like manner, recovered from their fatigue, they resumed their aceus-
tomed habits and occupations. Eaoul began by setting off to see his
father, who had leit for Blois. He then tried to see M. d'Artagnan,
who, however, being engaged in the organization of a military house-
hold for the king, could not be found anywhere. Bragelonne next
sought out de Guiche, but the comte was occupied in a long conference
with his tailors and with Manicamp, which consumed his whole time.
With the duke of Buckingham he fared still worse, for the duke was
purchasing horses after horses, diamonds upon diamonds. He mono-
polized every embroiderer, jeweller, and tailor that Paris could boast of.
Between de Guiche and himself a vigorous contest ensued, invariably a
most courteous one, in which, in order to insure success, the duke was
WHAT LOBBAINE THOUGHT OB MADAME. 40l
ready to spend a million; while the marechal de Grammont had only
allowed his son 60,000 francs. So Buckingham laughed and spent his
money. Guiche groaned in despair, and would have shown it more
violently, had it not been for the advice de Bragelonne gave him.
" A million !" repeated de Guiche daily; " I must submit. Yvrhy will
not the marechal advance me a portion of my patrimony ? "
" Because you will throw it away," said Baoul.
" "What can that matter to him ? If I am to die of it, I shall die of
it, and then I shall need nothing further."
" But what need is there to die ? " said Baoul.
" I do not wish to be conquered in elegance by an Englishman."
" My dear comte," said Manicamp, " elegance is not a costly commo-
dity, it is only a very difficult one."
" Yes, but difficult things cost a good deal of money, and I have only
got 60,000 francs."
" A very embarrassing state of things, truly," said de Wardes;
"spend as much as Buckingham; there is only 940,000 francs
difference."
" Where am I to find them ? "
" Get into debt."
" I am so already."
" A greater reason for getting further."
Advice like this resulted in de Guiche becoming excited to such an
extent that he committed extravagances where Buckingham only
incurred expenses. The rumour of this extravagant profuseness de-
lighted the hearts of all the shopkeepers in Paris; from the hotel of'
the duke of Buckingham to that of the comte de Grammont nothing
but wonders was dreamed of. While all this was going on, Madame
was resting herself, and Bragelonne was engaged in writing to Made-
moiselle de la Yalliere. He had already despatched four letters, and
not an answer to any one of them had been received, when, on the very
morning fixed for the marriage ceremony, which was to take place in
the chapel at the Palais Boyal, Baoul, who was dressing, heard his
valet announce M. de Malicorne. " What can this Malicorne want
with me," thought Baoul; and then said to his valet, " Let him wait."
" It is a gentleman from Blois," said the valet.
" Admit him at once," said Baoul, eagerly.
Malicorne entered as brilliant as a star, and wearing a superb sword
by his side. After having saluted Baoul most gracefully, he said:
" M. de Bragelonne, I am the bearer of a thousand compliments
from a lady to you."
Baoul coloured. " From a lady," said he, " from a lady of Blois."
" Yes, monsieur; from Mademoiselle de Montalais."
" Thank you, monsieur; I recollect you now," said Baoul. " And
what does Mademoiselle de Montalais require of me ? "
Malicorne drew four letters from his pocket, which he ofibred to
Baoul.
" My own letters, is it possible ? " he said, turning pale; " my letters,
and the seals unbroken ? "
" Monsieur, your letters did not find, at Blois, the person to whom
they were addressed, and so they are now returned to you."
"Mademoiselle de la Yalliere has left Blois then?" exclaimed
Baoul.
" Eight days ago."
" Where is she, then ? " " At Paris."
" How was it known that these letters were from hie ?"
2 D
402 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Mademoiselle de Montalais recognized your handwriting and your
seal," said Malicorne. . . . ,
Raoul coloured and smiled. " Mademoiselle de Montalais is exceed-
ingly amiable," he said; " she is always kind and charming."
" Always, monsieur."
" Surely she could give me some precise information about Madeinoi-
selle de la Valliere. I could never find her in this immense city.
Malicorne drew another packet from his pocket. " You may possibly
find in this letter what you are anxious to learn."
Raoul hurriedly broke the seal. The writing was that of Mademoi-
selle Aure, and enclosed were these words" Paris, Palais Royal.
The day of the nuptial blessing."
" What does this mean ? " inquired Raoul of Malicorne; you pro-
bably know ? "
" I do, monsieur."
" Por pity's sake, tell me, then."
" Impossible, monsieur."
" Why so?"
" Because Mademoiselle Aure has forbidden me to do so."
Raoul looked at his strange companion, and remained silent:—" At
least, tell me whether it is fortunate or unfortunate."
" That you will see."
" You are very severe in your reservations."
" Will you grant me a favour, monsieur?" said Malicorne.
" In exchange for that you refuse me ? "
" Precisely."
" What is it ? "
" I have the greatest desire to see the ceremony, and I have no ticket
to admit me, in spite of all the steps I have taken to secure one. Could
you get me admitted ? "
" Certainly."
" Do me this kindness, then, I intreat."
" Most willingly, monsieur; come with me."
" I am exceedingly indebted to you, monsieur," said Malicorne.
" I thought you were a friend of M. de Manicamp."
" I am, monsieur ; but this morning I was with him as he was dressing,
and I let a bottle of blacking fall over his new dress, and he flew at me
with his sword in his hand, so that 1 was obliged to make my escape.
That is the reason why I could not ask him for a ticket; he would have
killed me."
" I can believe it," said Raoul. " I know Manicamp is capable of
killing a man who has been unfortunate enough to commit the crime
you have to reproach yourself with in his eyes, but I will repair the
mischief as far as you are concerned; I will but fasten my cloak, and
shall then be ready to serve you, not only as a guide, but as an intro-
duoer also."
CHAPTER LXXXIX.
The surprise of Madame de Montalais.
Madame's marriage was celebrated in the chapel of the Palais Royal,
in the presence of a crowd of courtiers, who had been most scrupulously
selected. However, notwithstanding the marked favour which an in-
vitation indicated, Raoul, faithful to his promise to Malicorne, who
THE SITBFBISE OF MADAME DE MONTALAIS. 403
Was so anxious to witness the ceremony, obtained admission for him.
After he had fulfilled this engagement, Eaoul approached de Guiche,
who, as if in contrast with his magnificent costume, exhibited a coun-
tenance so utterly cast down by intense grief, that the duke of Buck-
ingham was the only one present who could contend with him as far
as extreme pallor and dejection were concerned.
" Take care, count," said Eaoul, approaching his friend, and preparing
to support him at the moment the archbishop blessed the married
couple. In fact, the prince of Conde was attentively scrutinizing these
two images of desolation, standing like caryatides at either side of the
nave of the church. The count, consequently, kept a more careful
watch over himself.
At the termination of the ceremony, the king and queen passed on-
ward towards the grand reception-room, where Madame and her suite
were to be presented to them. It was remarked that the king, who
had seemed more than surprised at his sister-in-law's appearance, was
most flattering in his compliments to her. Again, it was remarked that
the queen-mother, fixing a long and thoughtful gaze upon Buckingham,
leaned towards Madame de Motteville as though to ask her, " Do you
not see how much he resembles his father ?" and finally it was re-
marked that Monsieur watched everybody, and seemed very discon-
tented. After the reception of the princes and ambassadors, Monsieur
solicited the king's permission to present to him as well as to Madame
the persons belonging to their new household.
" Are you aware, vicomte," inquired the prince de Conde of Eaoul,
" whether the household has been selected by a person of taste, and
whether "there are any faces worth looking at?"
" I have not the slightest idea, monseigneur," replied Eaoul.
" Tou affect ignorance, surely."
" In what way, monseigneur ?"
"Tou are a friend of de Guiche, who is one of the friends of the
prince."
" That may be so, monseigneur, but the matter having no interest
whatever for me, I never questioned de Guiche on the subject; and de
Guiche on his part, never having been questioned, has not communicated
any particulars to me."
"But Manicamp ? "
" It is true I saw Manicamp at Havre, and during the journey here,
but I was very careful to be as little inquisitive towards him as I had
been towards de Guiche. Besides, is it likely that Manicamp should
know anything of such matters, for he is a person of only secondary
importance?"
" My dear vicomte, do you not know better than that ? " said the
prince; "why, it is these persons of secondary importance who, on such
occasions, have all the influence; and the truth is, that nearly every-
thing has been done through Manicamp's presentations to de Guiche,
and through de Guiche to Monsieur."
" I assure you, monseigneur, I was completely ignorant of that," said
Eaoul, " and what your highness does me the honour to impart is
perfectly new to me."
" I will most readily believe you, although it seems incredible; besides
we shall not have long to wait. See, the flying squadron is advancing,
as good Queen Catherine used to say. Ah ! ah! what pretty faces! "
A bevy of young girls at this moment entered the salon, conducted
by Madame de Navailles, and to Manicamp's credit be it said, if indeed
he had taken that part in their selection which the prince de Conde had
2 D 2
404 the vicomte t>e beageionhe.
assigned him, it was a display calculated to dazzle those, who, like the
prince, could appreciate every character and style of beauty. A young
fair-complexioned girl, from twenty to one-and-twenty years of age,
and whose large blue eyes flashed, as she opened them, in the most
dazzling manner, walked at the head of the band and was the first
presented.
" Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente," said Madame de Navailles to
Monsieur, who, as he saluted his wife, repeated, "Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente."
"Ah! ah !" said the prince de Conde to Eaoul, "she seems tolerable
enough."
" Yes," said Eaoul, " but has a somewhat haughty style."
" Bah! we know these airs very well, vicomte; three months hence
she will be tame enough. But look, that, indeed, is a pretty face."
"Yes," said Eaoul, " and one I am acquainted with."
" Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais," said Madame de Navailles. The
name and Christian name were carefully repeated by Monsieur.
" Great heavens!" exclaimed Eaoul, fixing his bewildered gaze upon
the entrance-doorway.
" What's the matter ? " inquired the prince; " was it Mademoiselle
Aure de Montalais who made you utter such a ' Great heavens ?'"
" No, monseigneur, no," replied Eaoul, pale and trembling.
" Well then, if it be not Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais, it is that
pretty blonde who follows her. What beautiful eyes! She is rather
thin, but has fascinations without number."
" Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere!" said Madame
de Navailles; and, as this name resounded through his whole being, a
cloud seemed to rise from his breast to his eyes, so that he neither saw
nor heard anything more; and the prince finding him nothing more
than a mere echo which remained silent under his railleries, moved
forward to inspect somewhat closer the beautiful girls whom his first
glance had already particularized.
"Louise here, Louise a maid of honour to Madame," murmured
Eaoul, and his eyes, which did not suffice to satisfy his reason, wan-
dered from Louise to Montalais. The latter had already emancipated
herself from her assumed timidity, which she only needed for the pre-
sentation and for her reverences.
Mademoiselle de Montalais, from the corner of the room to which she
had retired, was looking with no slight confidence at the different per-
sons present; and, having discovered Eaoul, she amused, herself with
the profound astonishment which her own and her friend's presence
there had caused the unhappy lover. Her merry and malicious look,
which Eaoul tried to avoid meeting, and yet which he sought in-
quiringly from time to time, placed Eaoul on the rack. As for Louise,
whether from natural timidity, or from any other reason for which
Eaoul could not account, she kept her eyes constantly cast down, and
intimidated, dazzled, and with impeded respiration, she withdrew her-
self as much as possible aside, unaffected even by the knocks which
Montalais gave her with her elbow. The whole scene was a perfect
enigma for Eaoul, the key to which he would have given anything to
obtain. But no one was there who could assist him, not even Malicorne;
who, a little uneasy at finding himself in the presence of so many
persons of good birth, and not a little discouraged by Montalais' ban-
tering glances, had described a circle, and by degrees had succeeded in
getting a few paces from the prince, behind the group of maids of
honour, and nearly within reach of Mademoiselle Aure's voice, she
THE SUBPRISE OF MADAME DE MONTAIAIS. 405
being the planet around which he, her attendant satellite, seemed com-
Eelled to gravitate. As he recovered his self-possession, Raoul fancied
e recognized voices on his right hand which were familiar to him, and
he perceived de Wardes, de Guiche, and the chevalier de Lorraine,
conversing together. It is true they were talking in tones so low, that
the sound of their words could hardly be heard in the vast apartment.
To speak in that manner from any particular place without bending
down, or turning round, or looking at the person with whom one might
he engaged in conversation, is a talent which cannot be immediately
acquired in perfection by new comers. A long study is needed for such
conversations which, without a look, gesture, or movement of the head,
seemed like the conversations of a group of statues. In fact, in the king's
and the queen's grand assemblies, while their majesties were speaking,
and while every one present seemed to be listening with the most pro-
found silence, some of these noiseless conversations took place, in which
adulation was not the prevailing feature. But Raoul was one among
others exceedingly clever in this art, so much a matter of etiquette,
that from the movement of the lips, he was often able to guess the sense
of the words.
" Who is that Montalais? " inquired de Wardes, "and that la Yal-
liere ? What country-town have we had sent here ? "
" Montalais ? " said the chevalier,—" oh, I know her; she is a good
sort of a girl, whom we shall find amusing enough. La Yalliere is a
charming girl, slightly lame."
" Ah! bah!" said de Wardes.
"Do not be absurd, de Wardes, there are some very characteristic
and ingenious Latin axioms upon lame ladies."
" Gentlemen, gentlemen," said de Guiche, looking at Raoul with un-
easiness, " be a little careful, I entreat you."
But the uneasiness of the count, in appearance at least, was not
needed. Raoul had preserved the firmest and most indifferent coun-
tenance, although he had not lost a word that had passed. He seemed
to keep an account of the insolence and licence of the two speakers in
order to settle matters with them at the earliest opportunity.
De Wardes seemed to guess what was passing in his mind, and con-
tinued, " Who are these young ladies* lovers ? "
" Montalais' lover ? " said the chevalier.
" Yes, Montalais first."
" You, I, or de Guiche,—whoever likes, in fact."
" And the other ? "
" Mademoiselle de la Yalliere ? "
"Yes."
" Take care, gentlemen," exclaimed de Guiche, anxious to put a stop
to de Wardes' reply; "take care, Madame is listening to us."
Raoul thrust his hand up to the wrist into his justaucorps coat in
great agitation. But the very malignity which he saw was excited against
these poor girls made him take a serious resolution. " Poor Louise," he
thought, "has come here only with an honourable object in view, and under
honourable protection; and I must learn what that object is which she
has in view, and who it is that protects her." And folio win g Malicorne's
manoeuvre, he made his way towards the group of the maids of honour.
The presentations soon terminated. The king, who had done nothing
but look at and admire Madame, shortly afterwards left the reception-
room, accompanied by the two queens. The chevalier de Lorraine
resumed his place beside Monsieur, and, as he accompanied him, in-
sinuated a few drops of the poison which he had collected during the
406 THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONNE.
last hour, while looking at some of the faces in the court, and suspecting
that some of their hearts might be happy. A few of the persons present
followed the king as he quitted the apartment; but such of the courtiers
as assumed an independence of character, and professed a gallantry of
disposition, began to approach the ladies of the court. The prince paid
his compliments to Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, Buckingham
devoted himself to Madame Chalais and to Mademoiselle de Lafayette,
whom Madame had already distinguished by her notice, and whom she
held in high regard. As for the comte de Guiche, who had abandoned
Monsieur as soon as he could approach Madame alone, he conversed,
with great animation, with Madame de Yalentinois, and with Mesdemoi-
selles de Cregny and de Chatillon.
Amid these varied political and amorous interests, Malicorne was
anxious to gain Montalais' attention; hut the latter preferred talking
with Raoul, even if it were only to amuse herself with his numerous
questions and his surprise. Raoul had gone direct to Mademoiselle de
la Valliere, and had saluted her with the profoundest respect, at which
Louise blushed, and could not say a word. Montalais, however, hurried
to her assistance.
" Well, monsieur le vicomte, here we are, you see."
"I do, indeed, see you," said Raoul, smiling, "and it is exactly because
you are here, that I wish to ask for some explanation."
Malicorne approached the group with his most fascinating smile.
"Go away, Malicorne; really you;are exceedingly indiscreet." At
this remark Malicorne bit his lips and retired a few steps, without
making any reply. His smile, however, changed its expression, and
from its former frankness, became mocking in its expression.
"You wished for an explanation, M. Raoul?" inquired Montalais.
" It is surely worth one, I think; Mademoiselle de la Valliere a maid
of honour to Madame!"
" Why should not she be a maid of honour, as well as myself ? " in-
quired Montalais.
"Pray, accept my compliments, young ladies;" said Raoul, who fan-
cied he perceived they were not disposed to answer him in a direct
manner.
" Your remark was not made in a very complimentary manner,
vicomte."
" Mine ? "
" Certainly; I appeal to Louise."
" M. de Bragelonne probably thinks the position is above my con-
dition," said Louise, hesitatingly.
"Assuredly not," replied Raoul, eagerly ; "you know very well that
such is not my feeling; were you called upon to occupy a queen's
throne, I should not be surprised; how much greater reason, then, such
a position as this ? The only circumstance which amazes me, is, that I
should have learned it to-day, and that only by mere accident."
"That is true," replied Montalais, with her usual giddiness, "you
know nothing about it, and there is no reason why you should. M. de
Bragelonne had written several letters to you, but your mother was the
only person who remained behind at Blois, and it was necessary to pre-
vent these letters falling into her hands; I intercepted them, and
returned them to M. Raoul, so that he believed you were still at Blois
while you were here in Paris, and had no idea whatever, indeed, how
high you had risen in rank."
" Bid you not inform M. Raoul, as I begged you to do ? "
"Why should I ? to give him an opportunity of making some of his
THE SURPRISE OF MADAME DE MONTALAIS. 407
severe remarks and moral reflections, and to undo what we had had so
much trouble in getting done ? "
" Certainly not."
" Am I so very severe, then ? " said Raoul, inquiringly.
" Besides," said Montalais, "it is sufficient to say that it suited me. I was
about setting off for Paris—you were away; Louise was weeping her eyes
out; interpret that as you please; I begged a friend, a protector of
mine, who had obtained the appointment for me, to solicit one for
Louise; the appointment arrived. Louise left in order to get her cos-
tume prepared; as I had my own ready, I remained behind; I received
your letters, and returned them to you, adding a few words, promising
you a surprise. Your surprise is before you, monsieur, and seems to be a
fair one enough; you have nothing more to ask. Come, M. Malicorne,
it is now time to leave these young people together: they have many
things to talk about; give me your hand; I trust that you appreciate
the honour which is conferred upon you, M. Malicorne."
" Forgive me," said Raoul, arresting the giddy girl, and giving to his
voice an intonation the gravity of which contrasted with that of Mon-
talais; " forgive me, but may I inquire the name of the protector you
speak of; for if protection be extended towards you, Mademoiselle Mon-
talais, and for which, indeed, so many reasons exist" added Raoul,
bowing, " I do not see that the same reasons exist why Mademoiselle de
la Valliere should be similarly protected."
" But, M. Raoul," said Louise, innocently, " there is no difference in
the matter, and I do not see why I should not tell it you myself; it was
M. Malicorne who obtained it for me."
Raoul remained for a moment almost stupefied, asking himself if they
were trifling with him; he then turned round to interrogate Malicorne,
but he had been hurried away by Montalais, and was already at some
distance from them. Mademoiselle de la Valliere attempted to follow
her friend, but Raoul, with gentle authority, detained her.
"Louise, one word only, I beg."
" But, M. Raoul," said Louise, blushing, "we are alone. Every one
has left. They will become anxious, and will be looking for us."
"Eear nothing," said the young man, smiling, "we are neither of
sufficient importance for our absence to be remarked."
" But I have my duty to perform, M. Raoul."
" Do not be alarmed, I am acquainted with the usages of the court;
you will not be on duty until to-morrow, a few minutes are at your
disposal, which will enable you to give me the information I am about
to have the honour to ask you."
" How serious you are, M. Raoul!" said Louise.
" Because the circumstance is a serious one. Are you listening ? "
" I am listening; I. would only repeat, monsieur, that we are quite
alone."
" You are right," said Raoul, and, offering her his hand, he led the
young girl into the gallery adjoining the reception-room, the windows
of which looked out upon the court-yard. Every one hurried towards
the middle window, which had a balcony outside, from which all the
details of the slow and formal preparations for departure could be seen.
Raoul opened one of the side windows, and then, being alone with
Louise, said to her: "You know, Louise, that from my childhood I
have regarded you as my sister, as one who has been the confidant of all
my troubles, to whom I have entrusted all my hopes."
" Yes, M. Raoul," she answered, softly; " yes, M. Raoul, I know
that,"
408 THE VICOSITE DETBE1GEIDHHE.
" You used, on your side, to show the same friendship towards me,
and bad the same confidence in me; why have you not, on this occasion,
bepn my friend, and why have you shown a suspicion of me ? "
Mademoiselle de la Yalliere did not answer. "I had thought you
loved me," said Eaoul, whose voice became more and more agitated; " I
had thought that you had consented to all the plans which we had,
together, laid down for our own happiness, at the time when we wan-
dered up and down the large walks of Cour-Cheverny, and under the
avenue of poplar-trees leading to Blois. You do not answer me,
Louise."
" Is it possible," he inquired, breathing with difficulty, " that you no
longer love me ?"
" I did not say so," replied Louise, softly.
" Oh! tell me the truth, I implore you; all my hopes in life are
centred in you, I chose you for your gentle and simple tastes. Do not
suffer yourself to be dazzled, Louise, now that you are in the midst of
a court where all that is pure becomes corrupt—where all that is young
soon grows old. Louise, close your ears, so as not to hear what may be
said; shut your eyes, so as not to see the examples before you; shut
your lips, that you may not inhale the corrupting influences about you.
Without falsehood or subterfuge, Louise, am I to believe what Made-
moiselle de Montalais stated ? Louise, did you come to Paris because I
was no longer at Blois ?"
La Yalliere blushed and concealed her face in her hands.
" Yes, it was so, then," exclaimed Eaoul, delightedly, "that was, then,
your reason for coming here. I love you as I never yet loved you.
Thanks, Louise, for this devotedness; but measures must be taken to
place you beyond all insult, to secure you from every harm; Louise, a
maid of honour, in the court of a young princess in these times of free-
dom of manners and inconstant affections—a maid of honour is placed
as an object of attack without having any means of defence afforded
her; this state of things cannot continue; you must be married in order
to be respected."
" Married P "
" Yes, there is my hand, Louise, will you place your hand within
it?"
" But your father?"
" My father leaves me perfectly free."
"Yet "
" I understand your scruples, Louise, I will consult my father."
"Eeflect, M. Eaoul, wait."
"Wait! it is impossible; reflect, Louise, when you are concerned, it
would be insulting to you; give me your hand, dear Louise, I am my
own master; my father will consent, I know; give me your hand, do
not keep me waiting thus; one word in answer, one word only; if not,
I shall begin to think that, in order to change you for ever, nothing
more was needed than a single step in the palace, a single breath of
favour, a smile from the queen, a single look from the king."
Eaoul had no sooner pronounced this latter word, than la Yalliere
became as pale as death, no doubt from her fear at seeing the young man
excite himself. With a movement as rapid as thought, she placed both
her hands in those of Eaoul, and then fled without adding a syllable;
disappeared without casting a look behind her. Eaoul felt his whole
frame tremble at the contact of her hand; he received the compact as a
solemn compact wrung by affection from her childlike timidity.
the consent op athos.
409
CHAPTER XC.
The Consent of Athos.
Raoul had quitted the Palais Eoyal full of ideas which admitted of
no delay in their execution. He mounted his horse in the courtyard,
and followed the road to Blois, while the marriage festivities of Mon-
sieur and the princess of England were being celebrated with great
animation by the courtiers, but to the great despair of de Guiche and
Buckingham. Raoul lost no time on the road, and in sixteen hours
he arrived at Blois. As he travelled along, he arranged his arguments
in the best manner. Pever also is an argument that cannot be an-
swered, and Raoul had an attack of fever. Athos was in his study,
making some additions to his memoirs, when Raoul entered, accom-
panied by Grimaud. Keen-sighted and penetrating, a mere glance at
his son told him that something extraordinary had befallen him.
" You seem to have come on some matter of great importance," said
he to Raoul, after he had embraced him, and pointing to a seat.
"Yes, monsieur," replied the young man; " and I entreat you to give
me that same kind attention which has never yet failed me."
" Speak, Raoul."
"I present the case to you,monsieur, free from all preface, for that would
be unworthy of you. Mademoiselle de la Valliere is in Paris as one of
Madame's maids of honour. I have pondered deeply on the matter; I
love Mademoiselle de la Yalliere above everything; and it is not proper
to leave her in a position where her reputation, her virtue even, may
be exposed. It is my wish, therefore, to marry her, monsieur, and I
have come to solicit your consent to my marriage."
While this communication was being made to him, Athos had main-
tained the profoundest silence and reserve. Raoul, who had begun his
address with an assumption of self-possession, finished it by allowing a
manifest emotion to escape him at every word. Athos fixed upon
Bragelonne a searching look, overshadowed indeed by a slight sadness.
" You have reflected well upon it ?" he inquired.
" Yes, monsieur."
" I believe you have already been made acquainted with my views
respecting this alliance ?"
"Yes, monsieur," replied Raoul, in a low tone of voice; "but you
added, that if I persisted "
" You do insist, then ?"
Bragelonne stammered out an almost unintelligible assent.
" Your passion," continued Athos, tranquilly, " must, indeed, be very
great, since, notwithstanding my dislike to this union, you persist in
wishing it."
Raoul passed his trembling hand across his forehead to remove the
perspiration which had collected there. Athos looked at him, and his
heart was touched by pity for him. He then rose, and said,—
" It is no matter; my own personal feelings are indifferent, since
yours are concerned; you need my assistance, I am ready to give it;
tell me what you want."
" Your kind indulgence, first of all, monsieur," said Raoul, taking
hold of his hand.
" You have mistaken my feelings, Raoul; I have more than mere
indulgence for you in my heart."
410 THE VICOMTETTETBEIGEIONNE.
Eaoul kissed as devotedly as a lover could have done the hand he held
in his own.
" Come, come," said Athos, " I am quite ready; what do you wish me
to sign?"
" Nothing whatever, monsieur; only it would be very kind if you would
take the trouble to write to the king, to whom I belong, and solicit his
majesty's permission for me to marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere."
" Well thought, Eaoul; after, or rather before myself, you haye a
master to consult, that master being the king; it is loyal in you to sub-
mit yourself voluntarily to this double proof; I will grant your request
without delay, Eaoul."
The count approached the window, and, leaning out, called to Gri-
maud, who showed his head from an arbour covered with jasmine,
which he was occupied in trimming.
" My horses, Grimaud," continued the count.
" Why this order, monsieur ?" inquired Eaoul.
"We shall set off in a few hours."
"Whither?"
" For Paris." _
" Paris, monsieur ? "
" Is not the king at Paris ?"
" Certainly."
" Well, ought we not to go there ?"
" Tet, monsieur," said Eaoul, almost alarmed by this kind condescen-
sion, " I do not ask you to put yourself to such inconvenience, and a
letter merely "
"You mistake my position, Eaoul; it is not respectful that a simple
gentleman, such as I am, should write to his sovereign. I wish to
speak, and I ought to speak, to the king, and I will do so. We will go
together, Eaoul."
" You overpower me with your kindness, monsieur."
" How do you think his majesty is affected ?"
" Towards me, monsieur ?"
"Yes."
" Excellently well disposed."
" You know that to be so P" continued the count.
" The king has himself told me so."
" On what occasion ?"
" Upon the recommendation of M. d'Artagnan, I believe, and on
account of an affair in the Place de Greve, when I had the honour to
draw my sword in the king's service. I have reason to believe that,
vanity apart, I stand well with his majesty."
" So much the better."
"But I entreat you, monsieur," pursued Eaoul, "not to maintain
towards me your present grave and serious manner. Do not make me
bitterly regret having listened to a feeling stronger than anything else."
" That is the second time you have said so, Eaoul; it was quite unne-
cessary; you require my formal consent, and you have it. We need
talk no more on the subject," therefore. Come and see my new planta-
tions, Eaoul."
The young man knew very well, that, after the expression of his
father's wish, no opportunity of discussion was left him. He bowed his
head, and followed his father into the garden. Athos slowly pointed
out to him the grafts, the cuttings, and the avenues he was planting.
This perfect repose of manner disconcerted Eaoul extremely; the
affection with which his own heart was filled seemed so great that the
THE CONSENT OP ATHOS. 411
whole world could hardly contain it. How then could his father's
heart remain void, and closed to its influence ? Bragelonne, there-
upon, collecting all his courage, suddenly exclaimed,—
" It is impossible, monsieur, you can have any reason to reject mademoi-
selle de la Valliere; in Heaven's name, she is so good, so gentle and
pure, that your mind, so perfect in its penetration, ought to appre-
ciate her accordingly. Does any secret repugnance, or any hereditary
dislike, exist between you and her family ?"
" Look, Eaoul, at that beautiful lily of the valley," said Athos; " ob-
serve how the shade and the damp situation suit it, particularly the
shadow which that sycamore-tree casts over it, so that the warmth, and
not the blazing heat of the sun filters through its branches."
Eaoul stopped, bit his lips, and then, with the blood mantling in his
face, he said, courageously,—"One word of explanation, I beg,monsieur.
You cannot forget that your son is a man."
" In that case," replied Athos, drawing himself up with sternness,
"prove to me that you are a man, for you do not show yourself to
be a son. I begged you to wait the opportunity of forming an illus-
trious alliance. I should have obtained a wife for you from the first
ranks of the rich nobility. I wish you to be distinguished by the
splendour which glory and fortune confer, for nobility of descent you
have already."
" Monsieur," exclaimed Eaoul, carried away by a first impulse," I was
reproached the other day for not knowing who my mother was."
Athos turned pale; then, knitting his brows like the greatest of the
heathen deities:—"I am waiting to learn the reply you made," he
demanded, in an imperious manner.
" Forgive me! oh, forgive me!" murmured the young man, sinking
at once from the lofty tone he had assumed.
" What was your reply, monsieur ?" inquired the count, stamping his
foot upon the ground.
" Monsieur, my sword was in my hand immediately, my adversary
placed himself on guard, I struck his sword over the palisade, and
threw him after it."
" Why did you suffer him to live ?"
" The king has prohibited duelling, and, at that moment, I was an
ambassador of the king."
" Yery well," said Athos, " but the greater reason I should see his
majesty."
" What do you intend to ask him ?"
" Authority to draw my sword against the man who has inflicted this
injury upon me."
" If I did not act as I ought to have done, I beg you to forgive me."
"Did I reproach you, Eaoul ?"
" Still, the permission you are going to ask from the king ?"
"I will implore his majesty to sign your marriage-contract, but on
one condition."
" Are conditions necessary with me, monsieur ? Command, and you
shall be obeyed."
" On one condition, I repeat," continued Athos; " that you tell me
the name of the man who spoke of your mother in that way."
" What need is there that you should know his name ; the offence
was directed against myself, and the permission once obtained from
his majesty, to revenge it is my affair."
" Tell me his name, monsieur!"
" I will not allow you to expose yourself."
412 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGBLONNE.
" Do you take me for a Don Diego ? His name, I say."
" You insist upon it ?"
" I demand it."
" The vicomte de "Wardes."
" Very well" said Athos, tranquilly, "I know him. But our horses
are ready, I see; and, instead of delaying our departure for a couple of
hours, we will set off at once. Come, monsieur."
CHAPTER XCI.
Monsieur becomes Jealous of the Duke of Buckingham.
"While the comte de la Fere was proceeding on his way to Paris,
accompanied by Eaoul, the Palais Eoyal was the theatre wherein a
scene of what Moliere would have called excellent comedy, was being
performed. Four days had elapsed since his marriage, and Monsieur,
having breakfasted very hurriedly, passed into his antechamber, frown-
ing and out of temper. The repast had not been over-agreeable.
Madame had had breakfast served in her own apartment, and Monsieur
had breakfasted almost alone; the chevalier de Lorraine and Manicamp
were the only persons present at the meal, which had lasted three-
quarters of an hour without a single syllable having been uttered.
Manicamp, who was less intimate with his royal highness than the
chevalier de Lorraine, vainly endeavoured to detect, from the expression
of the prince's face, what had made him so ill-humoured. The chevalier
ffe Lorraine, who had no occasion to speculate about anything, inasmuch
as he knew all, ate his breakfast with that extraordinary appetite which
the troubles of one's friends afford us, and enjoyed at the same time
both the ill-humour of Monsieur and the vexation of Manicamp. He
seemed delighted, while he went on eating, to detain the prince, who
was very impatient to move, still at table. Monsieur at times repented
the ascendancy which he had permitted the chevalier de Lorraine to
acquire over him, and which exempted the latter from any observance
of etiquette towards'him. Monsieur was now in one of those moods,
but he dreaded as much as he liked the chevalier, and contented himself
by indulging his anger without betraying it. Every now and then
Monsieur raised his eyes to the ceiling, then lowered them towards the
slices of pate which the chevalier was attacking; and finally, not ventur-
ing to betray his anger, he gesticulated in a manner which Harlequin
might have envied. At last, however, Monsieur could control himself
no longer, and at the dessert, rising from the table in excessive wrath,
as we have related, he left the chevalier de Lorraine to finish his break-
fast as he pleased. Seeing Monsieur rise from the table, Manicamp,
napkin in hand, rose also. Monsieur ran, rather than walked, towards
the antechamber, where, noticing an usher in attendance, he gave him
some directions in a low tone of voice. Then, turning back again, but
avoiding passing through the breakfast-apartment, he crossed several
rooms, with the intention of seeking the queen-mother in her oratory,
where she usually remained.
It was about ten o'clock in the morning. Anne of Austria was en-
gaged in writing as Monsieur entered. The queen-mother was extremely
attached to her son, for he was handsome in person and amiable in dis-
position. He was, in fact, more affectionate, and it might be, more
effeminate than the king. He pleased his mother by those trifling
MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOtTS. 413
sympathizing attentions which all women are glad to receive. Anne of
Austria, who would have been rejoiced to have had a daughter, almost
found in this, her favourite son, the attentions, solicitude, and playful
manners of a child of twelve years of age. All the time he passed with
his mother he employed in admiring her arms, in giving his opinion
upon her cosmetics, and receipts for compounding essences, in which
she was very particular; and then, too, he kissed her hands and eyes in
the most endearing and childlike manner, and had always some sweet-
meats to offer her, or some new style of dress to recommend. Anne of
Austria loved the king, or rather the regal power in her eldest son;
Louis XIV. represented legitimacy by divine right. "With the king,
her character was that of the queen-mother, with Philip she was simply
the mother. The latter knew that, of all places of refuge, a mother's
heart is the most compassionate and the surest. "When quite a child,
he always fled there for refuge when he and his brother quarrelled;
often, after having struck him, which constituted the crime of high
treason on his part, after certain engagements with hands and nails, in
which the king and his rebellious subject indulged in their night-dresses
respecting the right to a disputed bed, having their servant Laporte as
umpire,—Philip, the conqueror, but terrified at his victory, used to
flee to his mother to obtain reinforcements from her, or at least the
assurance of a forgiveness, which Louis XIY. granted with difficulty,
and after an interval. Anne, from this habit of peaceable interven-
tion, had succeeded in arranging the different disputes of both her
sons, and in sharing, at the same time, all their secrets. The king,
somewhat jealous of that maternal solicitude which was bestowed par-
ticularly upon his brother, felt disposed to show towards Anne of
Austria more submission and attachment than his character really pos-
sessed. Anne of Austria had adopted this line of conduct especially
towards the young queen. In this manner she ruled with almost
despotic sway over the royal household, and she was already preparing
all her batteries to rule with the same absolute authority over the
household of her second son. Anne experienced almost a feeling of
pride whenever she saw any one enter her apartment with woe-begone
looks, pale cheeks, or red eyes, gathering from appearances that assist-
ance was required either by the weakest or by the most rebellious. She
was writing, we have said, when Monsieur entered her oratory, not with
red eyes or pale cheeks, but restless, out of temper, and annoyed. With-'
an absent air he kissed his mother's arms, and sat himself down before
receiving her permission to do so. Considering the strict rules of
etiquette established at the court of Anne of Austria, this forgetfulness
of customary respect was a sign of preoccupation, especially on Philip's
part, who, of his own accord, observed a respect towards her of a some-
what exaggerated character. If, therefore, he so notoriously failed with
regard to such principles of respect, there must surely be a serious cause
for it. "What is the matter, Philip?" inquired Anne of Austria,
turning towards her son.
"A great many things," murmured the prince, in a doleful tone of
voice.
"You look like a man who has a great deal to do," said the queen,
laying down her pen. Philip frowned, but did not reply. " Among the
various subjects which occupy your mind," said Anne of Austria, " there
must surely be one which occupies it more than others."
" One indeed has occupied me more than any other."
" Well, what is it ? I am listening."
Philip opened his mouth as if to express all the troubles his mind was
414 the vicomte de bkagelonne.
filled with, and which, he seemed to be waiting only for an opportunity to
declare what they were. But he suddenly became silent, and a sigh
alone expressed all that his heart was filled with. " Come, Philip, show
a little firmness," said the queen-mother. " When one has to complain
of anything, it is generally an individual who is the cause of it. Am I
not right?"
" I do not say no, madame."
" Whom do you wish to speak about ? Come, take courage."
" In fact, madame, what I might possibly have to say must be kept a
perfect secret; for when a lady is in the case "
"Ah! you're speaking of Madame, then?" inquired the queen-
mother, with a feeling of the liveliest curiosity.
" Yes."
"Well, then, if you wish to speak of Madame, do not hesitate to do
so. I am your mother, and she is no more than a stranger to me. Yet,
as she is my daughter-in-law, be assured I shall be interested, even
were it for your own sake alone, in hearing all you may have to say
about her."
"Pray tell me, madame, in your turn, whether you have not re-
marked something?"
" Something! Philip ? Your words almost frighten me, from their
want of meaning. What do you mean by something ?"
" Madame is pretty, certainly."
"No doubt of it."
" Yet not altogether beautiful."
" No, but as she grows older, she will probably become very strikingly
beautiful. You must have remarked the change which a few years
have already made in her. Her beauty will improve more and more;
she is now only sixteen years of age. At fifteen 1 was, myself, very thin;
but even as she is at present, Madame is very pretty."
" And consequently others may have remarked it."
" Undoubtedly, for a woman of ordinary rank is remarked, and with
still greater reason a princess."
" She has been well brought up, I suppose ?"
" Madame Henriette, her mother, is a woman somewhat cold in her
manner, slightly pretentious, but full of noble thoughts. The princess's
education may have been neglected, but her principles I believe to be
good. Such at least was the opinion I formed of her when she resided
in Prance; but she afterwards returned to England, and I am ignorant
what may have occurred there."
" What do you mean ?"
" Simply that there are some heads naturally giddy, which are easily
turned by prosperity."
" That is the very word, madame. I think the princess rather giddy."
"We must not exaggerate, Philip; she is clever and witty, and has a
certain amount of coquetry very natural in a young woman; but this
defect is, in persons of high rank and position, a great advantage at a
court. A princess, who is tinged with coquetry, usually forms a brilliant
court around her; her smile stimulates luxury, and arouses wit, and
even courage; the nobles, too, fight better for a prince whose wife is
beautiful."
" Thank you extremely, madame," said Philip, with some temper;
" you really have drawn some very alarming pictures for me."
" In what respect ?" asked the queen, with pretended simplicity.
" You know, madame," said Philip, dolefully, " whether I had or
not a very great dislike to getting married."
MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS. 415
" Now, indeed, you alarm me. You have some serious cause of com-
plaint against Madame."
" I do not precisely say it is serious."
"In that case, then, throw aside your present mournful looks. If
you show yourself to others in your present state, people will take you
for a very unhappy husband."
" The fact is," replied Philip, " I am not altogether satisfied as a hus-
hand, and I shall be glad that others should know it."
" For shame, Philip."
"Well, then, madame, I will tell you frankly that I do not under-
stand the life I am required to lead."
" Explain yourself."
" My wife does not seem to belong to me; she is always leaving me
for some reason or another. In the morning there are visits, corre-
spondences, and toilettes; in the evenings, balls and concerts."
" You are jealous, Philip."
" I! Heaven forbid. Let others act the part of a jealous husband,
not I; but I am annoyed."
" All those things you reproach your wife with are perfectly innocent,
and, so long as you have nothing of greater importance Yet, listen ;
without being very blamable, a woman can excite a good deal of un-
easiness; certain visitors may be received, certain preferences shown,
which expose young women to remark, and which are enough to drive
out of their senses, even those husbands who are least disposed to be
jealous."
" Ah! now we are coming to the real point at last, and not without
some difficulty, too. You speak of frequent visits, and certain prefer-
ences—very good; for the last hour we have been beating about the
bush, and at last you have broached the true question."
"This is more serious than I thought. Is it possible, then, that
Madame can have given you grounds for these complaints against
her?"
" Precisely so."
"What, your wife, married only four days ago, prefer some other
person to yourself! Take care, Philip, you exaggerate your, grievances;
in wishing to prove everything, you prove nothing."
The prince, bewildered by his mother's serious manner, wished to
reply, but he could only stammer out some unintelligible words.
" You draw back, then ?" said Anne of Austria. " I prefer that, as it
is an acknowledgment of your mistake."
" No!" exclaimed Philip, " I do not draw back, and I will prove all I
asserted. I spoke of preference and of visits, did I not? Well, listen
to them."
Anne of Austria prepared herself to listen with that love of gossip
which the best woman living and the best mother, were she a queen
even, always finds in being mixed up with the petty squabbles of a
household.
"Well," said Philip, " tell me one thing."
« What is that?"
" Why does my wife retain an English court about her ?" said Philip,
as he crossed his arms and looked his mother steadily in the face, as if
he were convinced that she could not answer the question.
" For a very simple reason," returned Anne of Austria; " because the
English are her countrymen, because they have expended large sums
in order to accompany her to France, and because it would be hardly
polite—not good policy, certainly—to dismiss abruptly those members of
416 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
the English nobility who have not shrunk from any devotion or from
any sacrifice."
"A wonderful sacrifice, indeed," returned Philip, "to desert a
wretched country to come to a beautiful one, where a greater effect can
be produced for one crown than can be procured elsewhere for four!
Extraordinary devotion, really, to travel a hundred leagues in com-
pany with a woman one is in love with!"
" In love, Philip! think what you are saying. Who is in love with
Madame?"
" The handsome duke of Buckingham. Perhaps you will defend him
as well?"
Anne of Austria blushed and smiled at the same time. The name of
the duke of Buckingham recalled certain recollections to her of a tender
and melancholy nature. " The duke of Buckingham ?" she murmured.
" Yes; one of those feather-bed soldiers "
"The Buckinghams are loyal and brave," said Anne of Austria,
courageously.
" This is too bad; my own mother takes the part of my wife's lover
against me," exclaimed Philip, incensed to such an extent that his weak
organization was affected almost to tears.
" Philip, my son," exclaimed Anne of Austria, "such an expression is
unworthy of you. Your wife has no lover; and, had she one, it would
not be the duke of Buckingham. The members of that family, I repeat,
are loyal and discreet, and the rights of hospitality are sure to be re-
spected by them."
" The duke of Buckingham is an Englishman, madame," said Philip,
" and may I ask if the English so very religiously respect what belongs
to princes of Prance ?"
Anne blushed a second time, and turned aside under the pretext of
taking her pen from her desk again, but really to conceal her blushes
from her son. " Really, Philip," she said, " you seem to discover ex-
pressions for the purpose of embarrassing me, and your anger blinds
you while it alarms me; reflect a little."
" There is no need of reflection, madame, for I see with my own eyes."
" Well, and what do you see ?"
" That Buckingham never quits my wife. He presumes to make
presents to her, and she ventures to accept them. Yesterday she was
talking about sachets a la violette; well, our Prench perfumers, you
know very well, madame, for you have over and over again asked for it
without success—our Prench perfumers, I say, have never been able to
procure this scent. The duke, however, wore about him a sachet a la
molette, and I am sure that the one my wife has came from him."
" Indeed, monsieur," said Anne of Austria, " you build your pyramids
upon needle points; be careful. What harm, 1 ask you, can there be in
a man giving to his countrywoman a receipt for a new essence ? These
strange ideas, I protest, painfully recall your father to me; he who so
frequently and so unjustly made me suffer."
" The duke of Buckingham's father was probably more reserved and
more respectful than his son," said Philip thoughtlessly, not perceiving
how deeply he had wounded his mother's feelings. The queen turned
pale, and pressed her clenched hand upon her bosom; but, recovering
herself immediately, she said, "You came here with some intention or
another, I suppose?"
" Certainly." " What was it ?"
" I came, madame, intending to complain energetically, and to inform,
you that I will not submit to anything from the duke of Buckingham,"
MONSIEUE BECOMES JEALOUS. 417
" What do you intend to do, then?"
" I shall complain to the king."
" And what do you expect the king to reply ?"
" Very well, then," said Monsieur, with an expression of stern deter-
mination on his countenance, which offered a singular contrast to its
usual gentleness. " Very well. I will right myself!"
" What do you call righting yourself?" inquired Anne of Austria, in
alarm.
" I will have the duke of Buckingham quit the princess, I will have
him quit France, and I will see that my wishes are intimated to him."
" Vou will intimate nothing of the kind, Philip," said the queen, "for
if you act in that manner, and violate hospitality to that extent, I will
invoke the severity of the king against you."
"Do you threaten me, madame?" exclaimed Philip, in tears; "do
you threaten me in the midst of my complaints ?"
" I do not threaten you; I do but place an obstacle in the path of your-
hasty anger. 1 maintain, that, to adopt towards the duke of Bucking-
ham, or any other Englishman, any rigorous measure—to take even a
discourteous step towards him, would be to hurry France and England
into the saddest variances. Can it be possible that a prince of the blood,
the brother of the king of France, does not know how to hide an injury,
even did it exist in reality, where political necessity requires it?"
Philip made a movement. "Besides," continued the queen, "the
injury is neither true nor possible, and it is merely a matter of silly
jealousy."
" Madame, I know what I know."
" Whatever you may know, I can only advise you to be patient."
" I am not patient by disposition, madame."
The queen rose, full of severity, and with an icy ceremonious manner.
" Explain what you really require, Monsieur," she said.
" I do not require anything, madame; I simply express what I desire.
If the duke of Buckingham does not, of his own accord, discontinue his
visits to my apartments, 1 shall forbid him an entrance."
" That is a point you will refer to the king," said Anne of Austria,
her heart swelling as she spoke, and her voice trembling with emotion.
" But, madame," exclaimed Philip, striking his hands together, " act
as my mother and not as the queen, since I speak to you as a son; it is
simply a matter of a few minutes' conversation between the duke and
myself."
" It is that conversation that I forbid," said the queen, resuming her
authority, " because it is unworthy of you."
" Be it so: I shall not appear in the matter, but I shall intimate my
will to Madame."
"Oh!" said the queen-mother, with a melancholy arising from re-
flection, " never tyrannize over a wife—never behave too haughtily or
imperiously towards yours. A woman, unwillingly convinced, is uncon-
vinced."
" What is to be done, then ?—I will consult my friends about it."
"Yes, your hypocritical advisers, the chevalier de Lorraine—your
de Wardes. Entrust the conduct of this affair to me. You wish the
duke of Buckingham to leave, do you not?"
" As soon as possible, madame."
" Send the duke to me, then; smile upon your wifebehave to her,
to the king, to every one, as usual. But follow no advice but mine.
Alas! I too well know what a household is which is troubled by
advisers."
2 E
418 THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONNE.
"You shall be obeyed, madame."
" And you will be satisfied at the result. Send the duke to me.
" That will not be difficult."
""Where do you suppose him to be?"
" At my wife's door, whose levee he is probably awaiting."
" Very well," said Anne of Austria, calmly. " He good enough to tell
the duke that I beg him to come and see me."
Philip kissed his mother's hand, and set off to find the duke of Euck-
ingham.
CHAPTER XCII.
For Ever!
The duke of Buckingham, obedient to the queen-mother's invitation,
presented himself in her apartments half an hour after the departure of
the due d'Orleans. When his name was announced by the gentleman-
usher in attendance, the queen, who was sitting with her elbow resting
on a table, and her head buried in her hands, rose, and smilingly re-
ceived the graceful and respectful salutation which the duke addressed
to her. Anne of Austria was still beautiful. It is well known that at
her then somewhat advanced age, her long auburn hair, perfectly
formed hands, and bright ruby lips, were still the admiration of all who
saw her. On the present occasion, abandoned entirely to a remem-
brance which evoked all the past in her heart, she was as beautiful as in
the days of her youth, when her palace was open to the visits of the
duke of Buckingham's father, then a young and impassioned man, as
well as an unfortunate one, who lived but for her alone, and who died
with her name upon his lips. Anne of Austria fixed upon Buckingham
a look so tender in its expression, that it denoted, not alone the indul-
gence of maternal affection, but a gentleness of expression like the
coquetry of a woman who loves.
" Your majesty," said Buckingham, respectfully, " desired to speak to
me."
" Yes, duke," said the queen, in English; " will you be good enough
to sit down?"
The favour which Anne of Austria thus extended to the young man,
and the welcome sound of the language of a country from which the
duke had been estranged since his stay in Prance, deeply affected him.
He immediately conjectured that the queen had a request to make of
him. After having abandoned the few first moments to the irrepres-
sible emotion she experienced, the queen resumed the smiling air with
which she had received him. " What do you think of Prance?" she
said, in French.
" It is a lovely country, madame," replied the duke.
" Had you ever seen it before ?"
" Once only, madame."
" But, like all true Englishmen, you prefer England ?"
" I prefer my own native land to France," replied the duke; " hut if
four majesty were to ask me which of the two cities, London or Paris,
should prefer as a residence, I should reply, Paris."
Anne of Austria observed the ardent manner with which these words
had been pronounced. " I am told, my lord, you have rich possessions
in your own country, and that you live in a splendid and time-honoured
palace,"
FOE ever! 410
" It was my father's residence," replied Buckingham, casting down
his eyes.
" Those are indeed great advantages and souvenirs," replied the queen,
alluding, in spite of herself, to recollections from which it is impossible
voluntarily to detach oneself.
" In fact," said the duke, yielding to the melancholy influence of this
opening conversation, " sensitive persons live as much in the past, or
the future, as in the present."
" That is very true," said the queen, in a low tone of voice. " It fol-
lows, then, my lord," she added, " that you, who are a man of feeling,
will soon quit France in order to shut yourself up with your wealth and
your relics of the past."
Buckingham raised his head and said, " I think not, madame."
" What do you mean ?"
" On the contrary, I think of leaving England in order to take up
my residence in France."
It was now Anne of Austria's turn to exhibit surprise. "Why?"
she said. " Are you not in favour with the new king ?"
" Perfectly so, madame, for his majesty's kindness to me is un-
bounded."
" It cannot," said the queen, "be because your fortune has diminished,
for it is said to be enormous."
" My fortune, madame, has never been more thriving."
" There is some secret cause, then?"
" No, madame," said Buckingham, eagerly, " there is nothing secret
in my reason for this determination. I like the residence in France;
I like a court so distinguished by its refinement and courtesy; I like
the amusements, somewhat serious in their nature, which are not the
amusements of my own country, and which are met with in France."
Anne of Austria smiled shrewdly. " Amusements of a serious na-
ture ?" she said. " Has your grace well reflected on their seriousness ?"
The duke hesitated. " There is no amusement so serious," continued
the queen, " as should prevent a man of your rank "
" Your majesty seems to insist greatly upon that point," interrupted
the duke.
" Do you think so, my lord?"
" If your majesty will forgive me for saying so, it is the second time
you have vaunted the attractions of England at the expense of the
delight which all experience who live in France."
Anne of Austria approached the young man, and placing her beauti-
ful hand upon his shoulder, which trembled at the touch, said, " Believe
me, monsieur, nothing can equal a residence in one's own native coun-
try. I have very frequently had occasion to regret Spain. I have
lived long, my lord, very long for a woman, and 1 confess to you, that
not a year has passed that I have not regretted Spain."
" Not one year, madame?" said the young duke, coldly. " Not one
of those years when you reigned queen of Beauty—as you still are,
indeed ? "
" A truce to flattery, duke, for I am old enough to be your mother."
She emphasized these latter words in a manner, and with a gentleness,
which penetrated Buckingham's heart. " Yes," she said, " I am old
enough to be your mother; and for this reason, I will give you a word
of advice."
" That advice being that I. should return to London ?" he exclaimed.
" Yes. my lord."
The duke clasped his hands with a terrified gesture, which could pot
2 E 2
420 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGEEONNE.
fail of its effect upon the queen, already disposed to softer feelings by
the tenderness of her own recollections, 'ilt must he so," added the
queen.
"What!" he again exclaimed, "am I seriously told that I must
leave,—that I must exile myself,—that I am to flee at once?"
" Exile yourself, did you say ? One would fancy France was your
native country."
" Madame, the country of those who love is the country of those
whom they love."
" Not another word, my lord; you forget whom you are addressing.
Buckingham threw himself on his knees. " Madame, you are the
source of intelligence, of goodness, and of compassion; you are the first
person in this kingdom, not only by your rank, but the first person in
the world on account of your angelic attributes. I have said nothing,
madame. Have I, indeed, said anything for which you could answer
me by such a cruel remark ? Can I have betrayed myself?"
" You have betrayed yourself," said the queen, in a low tone of voice.
" I have said nothing,—I know nothing."
" You forget you have spoken and thought in the presence of a
woman; and besides "
" Besides," said the duke, " no one knows you are listening to me."
" On the contrary, it is known; you have all the defects and all the
qualities of youth."
" I have been betrayed or denounced, then?"
" By whom?"
" By those who, at Havre, had, with infernal perspicacity, read my
heart like an open book."
" I do not know whom you mean."
" M. de Bragelonne, for instance."
" I know the name without being acquainted with the person to
whom it belongs. M. de Bragelonne has said nothing."
" Whom can it be, then ? If any one, madame, had had the boldness
to notice in me that which I do not myself wish to behold "
" What would you do, duke ?"
" There are secrets which kill those who discover them."
" He, then, who has discovered your secret, madman that you are,
still lives; and, what is more, you will not slay him, for he is armed on
all sides,—he is a husband, a jealous man,—he is the second gentleman
in Prance,—he is my son, the due d'Orleans."
The duke turned pale as death. " You are very cruel, madame," he
said.
" You see, Buckingham " said Anne of Austria, sadly, " how you pass
from one extreme to another, and fight with shadows, when it would
seem so easy to remain at peace with yourself."
" If we fight, madame, we die on the field of battle," replied the young
man, gently, abandoning himself to the most gloomy depression.
Anne ran towards him and took him by the hand. " Villiers," she
said, in English, with a vehemence of tone which nothing could resist,
" what is it you ask ? Do you ask a mother to sacrifice her son;—a
ueen to consent to the dishonour of her house ? Child that you are,
o not think of it. What! in order to spare your tears am I to com-
mit these two crimes ? Villiers! you speak of the dead; the dead, at
least, were full of respect and submission; they resigned themselves to
an order of exile; they carried their despair away with them in their
hearts, like a priceless possession, because the despair was caused by the
woman they loved, and because death, thus deceptive, was like a gift or
a favour conferred upon them."
FOE EVEE! 421
Buckingham rose, his features distorted, and his hands pressed
against his heart. " You are right, madame;" he said, " but those of
whom you speak had received their order of exile from the lips of the
one whom they loved; they were not driven away; they were entreated
to leave, and were not laughed at."
" No," murmured Anne of Austria, " they were not forgotten. But
who says you are driven away, or that you are exiled ? Who says that
your devotion will not he remembered? I do not speak on any one's
behalf but my own, when I tell you to leave. Bo me this kindness—
grant me this favour; let me, for this also, be indebted to one of your
name."
" It is for your sake, then, madame ?"
" For mine alone ?"
"No one whom I shall leave behind me will venture to mock,—no
prince even who shall say.' I required it.'"
" Listen to me, duke, and hereupon the dignified features of the
queen assumed a solemn expression. " I swear to you that no one
commands in this matter but myself. I swear to you that, not only
shall no one either laugh or boast in any way, but no one even shall
fail in the respect due to your rank. Rely upon me, duke, as I rely
upon you."
" You do not explain yourself, madame; my heart is full of bitter-
ness, and I am in utter despair; no consolation, however gentle and
affectionate, can afford me relief."
" Do you remember your mother, duke?" replied the queen, with a
winning smile.
" Yery slightly, madame; yet I remember how she used to cover me
with her caresses and her tears whenever I wept."
" Villiers," murmured the queen, passing her arm round the young
man's neck," look upon me as your mother, and believe that no one
shall ever make my son weep."
" I thank you, madame," said the young man, affected and almost
suffocated by his emotion; " I feel there is indeed still room in my
heart for a gentler and nobler sentiment than love."
The queen-mother looked at him and pressed his hand. " Go," she
said.
" When must I leave ? Command me."
" Any time that may suit you, my lord," resumed the queen; " you
will choose your own day of departure. Instead, however, of setting off
to-day, as you would doubtless wish to do, or to-morrow, as others may
have expected, leave the day after to-morrow, in the evening; but an-
nounce to-day that it is your wish to leave."
" My wish ?" murmured the young duke.
" Yes, duke."
" And shall I never return to France ?"
Anne of Austria reflected for a moment, seemingly absorbed in sad
and serious thought. " It would be a consolation for me," she said, " if
you were to return on the day when I shall be carried to my final
resting-place at Saint-Denis, beside the king, my husband."
" Madame, you are goodness itself; the tide of prosperity is setting in
on you; your cup brims over with happiness, and many long years are
yet before you."
" In that case you will not come for some time, then," said the queen,
endeavouring to smile.
" I shall not return," said Buckingham, " young as I am. Death does
not reckon by years; it is impartial; some die young, others live on to
old age."
422 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" I will not allow any sorrowful ideas, duke. Let nle comfort you:
return in two years. I perceive from your face that the very ideas
which sadden you so much now, will have disappeared before six months
shall have passed, and will be all dead and forgotten in the period of
absence I have assigned you."
" I think you judged me better a little while since, madame," replied
the young man, " when you said that time is powerless against members
of the family of Buckingham."
" Silence, said the queen, kissing the duke upon the forehead with
an affection she could not restrain. " Go, go; spare me, and forget
yourself no longer. I am the queen; you are the subject of the king of
England; King Charles awaits your return. Adieu, villiers,—farewell."
" For ever!" replied the young man, and he fled, endeavouring to
master his emotion.
Anne leaned her head upon her hands, and then, looking at herself
in the glass, murmured," It has been truly said, that a woman is always
young, and that the age of twenty years always lies concealed in some
secret corner of the heart."
CHAPTER XCIH.
King Louis XIV. does not think Mademoiselle de la Valliere either rich enough or
pretty enough for a gentleman of the rank of the vicomte de Bragelonne.
Raottl and the comte de la Fere reached Paris the evening of the
same day on which Buckingham had had the conversation with the
queen-mother. The count had scarcely arrived, when, through Raoul,
lie solicited an audience of the king. His majesty had passed a portion
of the morning in looking over, with madame and the ladies of the
court, various goods of Lyons manufacture, of which he had made his
sister-in-law a present. A court dinner had succeeded, then cards, and
afterwards, according to his usual custom, the king, leaving the card-
tables at eight o'clock, passed into his cabinet' in order to work with
M. Colbert and M. Fouquet. Raoul entered the antechamber at the
very moment the two ministers quitted it, and the king, perceiving him
through the half-closed door, said, " What do you want, M. de Brage-
lonne?" '
The young man approached: "An audience, sire," he replied, "for
the comte de la Fere, who has just arrived from Blois, and is most
anxious to have an interview with your majesty."
" I have an hour to spare between cards and my supper," said the
king. " Is the comte de la Fere ready ? "
" He is below, and awaits your majesty's commands."
"Let him come at once," said the king, and five minutes afterwards
Athos entered the presence of Louis XIV. He was received by the
king with that gracious kindness of manner which Louis, with a tact
beyond his years, reserved for the purpose of gaining those who were
not to be conquered by ordinary favours. " Let me hope, comte," said
the king, " that you have come to ask me for something."
"I will not conceal from your majesty," replied the comte, "that I
am indeed come for that purpose."
" That is well, then," said the king, joyously.
" It is not for myself, sire."
"So much the worse; but, at least, I will do for yoviX protege what
you refuse to permit me to do for you,"
THE KING DISAPPBOVES OP THE MATCH. 42S
"Tour majesty encourages me. I have come to speak on behalf of
the vicomte de Bragelonne."
" It is the same as if you spoke on your own behalf, comte."
"Not altogether so, sire. I am desirous of obtaining from your
majesty that which I cannot do for myself. The vicomte thinks of
marrying."
_" He is still very young; but that does not matter. He is an eminently
distinguished man. I will choose a wife for him."
"He has already chosen one, sire, and only awaits your majesty's
consent."
"It is only a question, then, of signing the marriage contract?"
Athos bowed. "Has he chosen a wife whose fortune and position
accord with your own views ? "
Athos hesitated for a moment. " His affianced bride is of good birth,
but has no fortune."
" That is a misfortune which we can remedy."
"You overwhelm me with gratitude, sire; but your majesty will per-
mit me to offer a remark."
" Do so, comte."
"Tour majesty seems to intimate an intention of giving a marriage-
portion to this young girl."
"Certainly." '
" I should regret, sire, if the step I have taken towards your majesty
should be attended by this result."
"No false delicacy, comte; what is the bride's name ?" '
" Mademoiselle Labaume Le Blanc de la Valliere,'*said Athos, coldly.
"I seem to know that name," said the king, as if reflecting; "there
was a marquis de la Yalliere."
" Tes, sire, it is his daughter." ' '
" But he died, and his widow married again M. de St. Eemy, I think,
steward of the dowager Madame's household."
" Tour majesty is correctly informed."
" More than that, the young lady has lately become one of the prin-
cess's maids of honour."
"Your majesty is better acquainted with her history than I am."
The king again reflected, and glancing at the comte's anxious CQun-
tenance, said: " The young lady does not seem to me to be very pretty,
comte."
" I am not quite sure," replied Athos.
" I have seen her, but she did not strike me as being so."
" She seems to be a good and modest girl, but has little beauty, sire."
" Beautiful fair hair, however ? "
"I think so."
" And her blue eyes are tolerably good."
"Yes, sire."
"With regard to beauty, then, the match is but an ordinary one.
Now for the money side of the question."
" Fifteen to twenty thousand francs dowry at the very outside, sire;
the lovers are disinterested enough; for myself, I care little for money."
" For superfluity, you mean; but a needful amount is of importance.
With fifteen thousand francs, without landed property, a woman cannot
live at court. We will make up the deficiency; 1 will do it for de
Bragelonne." The king again remarked the coldness with which Athos
received his remark.
" Let us pass from the question of money to that of rank," said Louis
XIY.; "the daughter of the marquis de la Yalliere, that is well enough;
424 the yicomte de bbagelonne.
but there is that excellent St. Remy, who somewhat damages the credit
of the family; and you, comte, are rather particular, I believe, about
your own family."
" Sire, I no longer hold to anything but my devotion to your majesty.
The king again paused. " A moment, comte. You have surprised me
in no little degree from the beginning of your conversation. You came
to ask me to authorize a marriage, and you seem greatly disturbed in
having to make the request. Nay, pardon me, comte, but I am rarely
deceived, young as I am; for while with some persons I place my
friendship at the disposal of my understanding, with others I call my
distrust to my aid, by which my discernment is increased. I repeat
that you do not prefer your request as though you wished its success."
"Well, sire, that is true."
" I do not understand you, then; refuse."
" Nay, sire; I love de Bragelonne with my whole heart; he is smitten
with Mademoiselle de la Valliere, he weaves dreams of bliss for the
future; I am not one who is willing to destroy the illusions of youth.
This marriage is objectionable to me, but I implore your majesty to
consent to it forthwith, and thus make Raoul happy."
" Tell me, comte, is she in love with him ? "
" If your majesty requires me to speak candidly, I do not believe in
Mademoiselle de la Valliere's affection, the delight at being at court, the
honour of being in the service of Madame, counteract in her head what-
ever affection she may happen to have in her heart; it is a marriage
similar to many others which already exist at court; but de Bragelonne
wishes it, and let it be so."
" And yet you do not resemble those easy-tempered fathers who make
slaves of themselves for their children," said the king.
" I am determined enough against the viciously disposed, but not so
against men of upright character. Raoul is suffering, and is in great
distress of mind; his disposition, naturally light and cheerful, has
become gloomy and melancholy. I do not wish to deprive your majesty
of the services he may be able to render."
" I understand you," said the king; "and what is more, I understand
your heart, too, comte."
" There is no occasion, therefore," replied the comte, " to tell your
majesty, that my object is to make these children, or rather Raoul,
happy."
" And I, too, as mucn as yourself, comte, wish to secure M. de Brage-
lonne's happiness."
" I only await your majesty's signature. Raoul will have the honour
of presenting himself before your majesty to receive your consent."
"You are mistaken, comte," said the king, firmly; " I have just said
that I desire to secure M. de Bragelonne's happiness, and from the
present moment, therefore, I oppose his marriage."
" But, sire," exclaimed Athos, " your majesty has promised!"
" Not so, comte, I did not promise you, for it is opposed to my own
views."
" I appreciate all your majesty's considerate and generous intentions
in my behalf; but I take the liberty of recalling to you that I undertook
to approach your majesty as an ambassador."
"An ambassador, comte, frequently asks, but does not always obtain
what he asks."
" But, sire, it will be such a blow for de Bragelonne."
" My hand shall deal the blow; I will speak to the vicomte."
" Love, sire, is overwhelming in its might."
THE KING DISAPPBOVES OF THE MATCH. 425
" Love can be resisted, comte, I myself can assure you of that.55
"When one has the soul of a king,—your own, for instance, sire."
"Do not make yourself uneasy on the subject. I have certain views
for de Bragelonne; I do not say that he shall not marry Mademoiselle
de la Valliere, but I do not wish him to marry so young; I do not wish
him to marry her, until she has acquired a fortune; and he, on his side,
no less deserves my favour, such as I wish to confer upon him. In a
word, comte, I wish them to wait.5'
" Yet once more, sire."
" Comte, you told me you came to request a favour."
"Assuredly, sire."
" Grant me one, then, instead; let us speak no longer upon this matter.
It is probable that, before long, war may be declared; I require men
about me who are unfettered. I should hesitate to send under fire a
married man, or a father of a family; I should hesitate also, on de
Bragelonne's account, to endow with a fortune, without some sound
reason for it, a young girl, a perfect stranger; such an act would sow
jealousy among my nobility." Athos bowed, and remained silent.
" Is that all you had to ask me ? " added Louis XIY.
"Absolutely all, sire; and I take my leave of your majesty. Is it,
however, necessary that I should inform Raoul ? "
" Spare yourself the trouble and annoyance. Tell the vicomte that
at my levee to-morrow morning I will speak to him: I shall expect you
this evening, comte, to join my card-table."
" I am in travelling-costume, sire."
" A day will come, I hope, when you will leave me no more. Before
long, comte, the monarchy will be established in such a manner as to
enable me to offer a worthy hospitality to all men of your merit."
" Provided, sire, a monarch reigns truly great in the hearts of his
subjects, the palace he inhabits matters little, since he is worshipped in
a temple." With these words Athos left the cabinet, and found de
Bragelonne, who awaited his return.
" Well, monsieur ?" said the young man.
" The king, Raoul, is well disposed towards us both; not, perhaps, in
the sense you suppose, but he is kind, and generously disposed for our
house."
" You have bad news to communicate to me, monsieur," said the young
man, turning very pale.
" The king will himself inform you to-morrow morning that it is not
bad news."
" The king has not signed, however ?"
" The king wishes himself to settle the terms of the contract, and he
desires to make it so grand that he requires time for it. Throw the
blame rather on your own impatience, than on the king's good feeling
towards you."
Raoul, in utter consternation, both on account of his knowledge of
the count's frankness as well of his tact, remained plunged in a dull
heavy stupor.
" Will you not go with me to my lodgings ?" said Athos.
"I beg your pardon, monsieur; I will follow you," he stammered
out, following Athos down the staircase.
"Since I am here," said Athos, suddenly, "cannot I see M. d'Ar-
tagnan?"
" Shall I show you his apartment," said De Bragelonne.
"Do so."
" It is on the other staircase."
426 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
They altered their course, but as they reached the landing of the
grand staircase, Raoul perceived a servant in the comte de Guiche's
livery, who ran towards him as soon as he heard his voice.
" What is it ?" said Raoul.
" This note, monsieur. My master heard of your return, and wrote
to you without delay; I have been seeking you for the last hour."
Raoul approached Athos as he unsealed the letter, saying, "With
your permission, monsieur."
" Certainly."
" Dear Raoul," said the comte de Guiche, " I have an affair in hand
which requires immediate attention; I know you have returned, come
to me as soon as possible."
Hardly had he finished reading it, when a servant in the livery of the
duke of Buckingham, turning out of the gallery, reoognized Raoul, and
approached him respectfully, saying, "From his grace, monsieur."
"Well, Raoul, as I see you are already as busy as a general of an
army, I shall leave you, and will find M. d'Artagnan myself."
" You will excuse me, I trust," said Raoul.
" Yes, yes, I excuse you; adieu, Raoul: you will find me at my apart-
ments until to-morrow; during the day I may set out for Blois, unless
I have orders to the contrary."
" I shall present my respects to you to-morrow, monsieur."
When Athos had left, Raoul opened Buckingham's letter.
"Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the duke, "you are, of all the
Frenchmen I have known, the one with whom I am most pleased; I
am about to put your friendship to the proof. I have received a certain
message, written in very good French. As I am an Englishman, I am
afraid of not comprehending it very clearly. The letter has a good
name attached to it, and that is all I can tell you. Will you be good
enough to come and see me; for I am told you have arrived from Blois.
Your devoted, " Vil liebs, D uke of Buckingham."
"I am going now to see your master," said Raoul to de Guiche's
servant as he dismissed him; and " I shall be with the duke of Bucking-
ham in an hour," he added, dismissing with these words the duke's
messenger.
CHAPTER. XCIY.
Sword-thrusts in the Water.
Raoul, on betaking himself to de Guiche, found him conversing
with de Wardes and Manicamp. De Wardes, since the affair of the
barricade had treated Raoul as a stranger. It might have been ima-
gined that nothing at all had passed between them; only they behaved
as if they were not acquainted. As Raoul entered, de Guiche walked
up to him, and Raoul, as he grasped his friend's hand, glanced rapidly
at his two young companions, hoping to be able to read on their faces
what was passing in their minds. De Wardes was cold and impe-
netrable, and Manicamp seemed absorbed in the contemplation of some
trimming to his dress. De Guiche led Raoul to an adjoining cabinet,
and made him sit down, saying, " How well you look !"
" That is singular," replied Raoul," for 1 am far from being in good
spirits"
SWOED-THEUSTS IN THE WATEE. 427
"It is your case, then, Raoul, as it is my own, that your love affair
does not progress satisfactorily."
" So much the better, comte, as far as you are concerned ; the worst
news, that indeed which would distress me most of all, would be good
news."
" In that case do not distress yourself, for, not only am I very un-
happy, but, what is more, I see others about me who are happy."
" Really, I do not understand you," replied Raoul; " explain your-
self."
"You will soon learn. I have tried, but in vain, to overcome the
feeling which you saw dawn in me, increase in me, and take such entire
possession of my whole being. 1 have summoned, all your advice and
all my own strength to my aid. I have well weighed the unfortunate
affair in which I have embarked; I have sounded its depths; that it is
an abyss, I am well aware, but it matters little, for I shall pursue my
own course."
" This is madness, de Guiche, you cannot advance another step with-
out risking your own ruin to-day, perhaps your life to-morrow."
" Whatever may happen, I have done with reflection: listen."
"And you hope to succeed; you believe that Madame will love
you?"
" Raoul, I believe nothing; I hope, because hope exists in man, and
never abandons him till he dies."
" But, admitting that you obtain the happiness you covet, even then,
you are more certainly lost than if you had failed in obtaining it."
" I beseech you, Raoul, not to interrupt me any more; you could
never convince me, for I tell you beforehand, I do not wish to be con-
vinced; I have gone so far that I cannot recede; I have suffered so
much, that death itself would be a boon. I no longer love to madness,
Raoul, I am in a perfect rage of jealousy."
Raoul struck both his hands together with an expression resembling
anger. " Well ? " said he.
Well or ill, matters little. This is what I claim from you, my
friend, my almost brother. During the last three days, Madame has
been living in a perfect intoxication of gaiety. On the first day, I dared
not look at her; I hated her for not having been as unhappy as my-
self. The next day I could not bear her out of my sight; and she,
Raoul—at least I thought I remarked it—she looked at me, if not with
pity, at least with gentleness. But between her looks and mine, a
shadow intervened: another's smile invited her smile. Beside her
horse another's always gallops, which is not mine; in her ear another's
caressing voice, not mine, unceasingly vibrates. Raoul, for three days
past my brain has been on fire; fire courses through my veins. That
shadow must be driven away, that smile must be quenched; that voice
must be silenced."
"You wish Monsieur's death," exclaimed Raoul..
"No, no, I am not jealous of the husband: I am jealous of the lover."
" Of the lover ?" said Raoul.
" Have you not observed it, you,who were formerly so keen-sighted?"
" Are you jealous of the duke of Buckingham ?"
"To the very death!"
"Again jealous ?"
" This time the affair will be easy to arrange between us; I have
taken the initiative, and have sent him a letter,".
" It was you, then, who wrote to him ?5J
"How do you know that?"
428 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"I know it, because be told me so. Look at this;" and be handed
to de Guiche the letter which he had received nearly at the same
moment as his own. De Guiche read it eagerly, and said, " He is a
brave man, and more than that, a gallant man."
"Most certainly the duke is a gallant man; I need not ask if you
wrote to him in a similar style."
" I will show you my letter when you call on him on my behalf."
" But that is almost out of the question."
" What is ? "
"That I should call on him for that purpose."
"Why so?"
" The duke consults me as you do."
" I suppose you will give me the preference. Listen to me, Raoul, I
wish you to tell his grace—it is a very simple matter—that to-day,
to-morrow, the following day, or any other day he may choose, I wish
to meet him at Yincennes."
" Reflect, de Guiche."
" I thought I had already said that I had reflected."
" The duke is a stranger here; he is on a mission which renders his
person inviolable Yincennes is close to the Bastille."
" The consequences concern me."
" But the motive for this meeting ? What motive do you wish me to
assign?"
" Be perfectly easy on that score, he will not ask any. The duke must
be as sick of me as I am of him. I implore you, therefore, to seek the
duke, and if it is necessary to entreat him to accept ray offer, I will
do so."
" That is useless. The duke has already informed me that he wishes
to speak to me. The duke is now playing cards with the king. Let us
both go there. I will draw him aside in the gallery; you will remain
aloof. Two words will be sufficient."
" That is well arranged. 1 shall take de Wardes to keep me in coun-
tenance."
" Why not Manicamp ? De Wardes can rejoin us at any time; we
can leave him here."
"Yes, that is true."
" He knows nothing ?"
"Positively nothing. You continue still on an unfriendly footing,
then ?"
" Has he not told you anything ?"
" Nothing."
" I do not like the man, and, as I never liked him, the result is, that I
am on no worse terms with him to-day than I was yesterday."
" Let us go, then."
The four descended the stairs. De Guiche's carriage was waiting at
the door, and took them to the Palais Royal. As they were going
along, Raoul was engaged in framing some scheme. The sole deposi-
tary of two secrets, he did not despair of concluding same arrangement
between the two parties. He knew the influence he exercised over
Buckingham, and the ascendancy he had acquired over de Guiche, and
affairs did not look utterly despairing to him. On their arrival in the
gallery, dazzling with the blaze of light, where the most beautiful and
illustrious women of the court moved to and fro, like stars in their
atmosphere of light, Raoul could not prevent himself for a moment for-
getting de Guiche in order to seek out Louise, who, amidst her com-
panions, like a dove completely fascinated, gazed long and fixedly upon
SWORD-THRUSTS IN THE WATER. 429
the royal circle, which glittered with jewels and gold. All the members
of it were standing, the king alone being seated. Raoul perceived
Buckingham, who was standing a few paces from Monsieur, in a group
of French and English, who were admiring his haughty carriage and
the incomparable magnificence of his costume. Some few of the older
courtiers remembered having seen the father, and their remembrance
was in no way prejudicial to the son.
Buckingham was conversing with Fouquet, who was talking with him
aloud of Belle-Isle. " I cannot speak to him at present," said Raoul.
"Wait, then, and choose your opportunity, but finish everything
speedily. I am on thorns."
" See, our deliverer approaches," said Raoul, perceiving d'Artagnan,
who, magnificently dressed in his new uniform of captain of the mus-
queteers, had just made his victorious entry in the gallery; and he
advanced towards d'Artagnan.
" The comte de la Fere has been looking for you, chevalier," said
Raoul.
"Yes," replied d'Artagnan, " I have just left him."
" I thought you would have passed a portion of the evening together."
"We have arranged to meet again."
As he answered Raoul, his absent looks were directed on all sides, as
if seeking some one in the crowd or looking for something in the room.
Suddenly his gaze became fixed, like that of an eagle on its prey.
Raoul followed the direction of his glance, and noticed that de Guiche
and d'Artagnan saluted each other, but he could not distinguish at
whom the captain's inquiring and haughty glance was directed.
" Chevalier," said Raoul, " there is no one here but yourself who can
render me a service."
" What is it, my dear vicomte ?"
" It is simply to go and interrupt the duke of Buckingham, to whom
I wish to say two words, and, as the duke is conversing with M. Fouquet,
you understand that it would not do for me to throw myself into the
middle of the conversation."
" Ah, ah, is M. Fouquet there ?" inquired d'Artagnan.
" Do you not see him ? "
" Yes, now I do. But do you think I have a greater right than you
have?"
" You are a far more important personage."
"Yes, you're right; I am captain of the musketeers; I have had
the post promised me so long, and have enjoyed its dignity for so brief
a period, that I am always forgetting my dignity."
"You will do me this service, will you not?"
" M. Fouquet—the deuce !"
" Are you not on good terms with him ? "
" It is rather he who may not be on good terms with me; however,
since it must be done some day or another "
" Stay; I think he is looking at you; or is it likely that it might
be "
"No, no; don't deceive yourself, it is indeed me for whom this
honour is intended."
" The opportunity is a good one, then."
" Do you think so ? " " Pray go."
" Well, I will."
De Guiche had not removed his eyes from Raoul, who made a sign to
him that all was arranged. D'Artagnan walked straight up to the
group, and civilly saluted M. Fouquet as well as the others.
430 THE VIOC1ITE PS PHi.SPSilxjNE.
"Good evening, M. d'Artagnan; we were speaking of Belle-Isle,"
said Bouquet, with that usage of society, and that perfect knowledge
of the language of looks, which require half a lifetime thoroughly to
acquire, and which some persons, notwithstanding all their study,
never attain.
" Of Belle-Isle-en-Mer! Ah, ah!" said d'Artagnan. " It belongs to
you, I believe, M. Bouquet ? "
" M. Bouquet has just told me that he had presented it to the king,
said Buckingham.
" Do you know Belle-Isle, chevalier ? " inquired Bouquet.
" I have only been there once," replied d'Artagnan, with readiness
and good humour.
" Did you remain there long ? "
" Scarcely a day."
" Did you see much of it while you were there ?"
" All that could be seen in a day."
" A great deal can be seen with observation as keen as yours," said
Bouquet; at which d'Artagnan bowed.
During this Baoul ma.de a sign to Buckingham. "M. Bouquet."
said Buckingham, " I leave the captain with you, he is more learned
than I am in bastions, and scarps, and counter-scarps, and I will join
one of my friends, who has just beckoned to me." Saying this, Buck-
ingham disengaged himself from the group, and advanced towards
Baoul, stopping for a moment at the table where the queen-mother,
the young queen, and the king were playing together. " Now, Baoul,"
said de Guiche, " there he is; be firm and quick."
Buckingham, having made some complimentary remark to Madame,
continued his way towards Baoul, who advanced to meet him, while
de Guiche remained in his place, though he followed him with his
eyes. The manoeuvre was so arranged that the young men met in an
open space which was left vacant, between the group of players and
the gallery, where they walked, stopping now and then for the purpose
of saying a few words to some of the graver courtiers who were walking
there. At the moment when the two lines were about to unite, they
were broken by a third. It was Monsieur who advanced towards the
duke of Buckingham. Monsieur had his most engaging smile on his
red and perfumed lips.
"My dear duke," said he, with the most affectionate politeness; "is
it really true what I have just been told ?"
Buckingham turned round, he had not noticed Monsieur approach,
but had merely heard his voice. He started, in spite of his command
over himself, and a slight pallor overspread his face. " Monseigneur,"
he asked, " what has been told you that surprises you so much ?"
" That which throws me into despair, and will, in truth, be a real
cause of mourning for the whole court."
" Your highness is very kind, for I perceive that you allude to my
departure."
Precisely."
Guiche had overheard the conversation from where he was standing,
and started in his turn. "His departure," he murmured. "What
does he say?"
Philip continued with the same gracious air, "I can easily conceive,
monsieur, why the king of Great Britain recalls you; we all know that
King Charles II., who appreciates true gentlemen, cannot dispense
with you. But it cannot be supposed we can let you go without great
regret; and I beg you to reoeive the expression of my own."
SWORD-THRUSTS IN THE WATER. 431
" Believe me, monseigueur," said the duke, " that if I quit the court
of France "
" It is because you are recalled; but, if you should suppose that the
expression of my own wish on the subject might possibly have some
influence with the king, I will gladly volunteer to entreat his majesty
Charles II. to leave you with us a little while longer."
" 1 am overwhelmed, monseigneur, by so much kindness," replied
Buckingham; " but I have received positive commands. My residence
in France was limited, I have prolonged it at the risk of displeasing my
gracious sovereign. It is only this very day that I recollected I ought
to have set off four days ago."
" Indeed," said Monsieur.
"Yes; but," added Buckingham, raising his voice in such a manner
that the princess could hear him,—"but I resemble that dweller in
the East, who turned mad, and remained so for several days, owing to
a delightful dream that he had had, and who one day awoke, if not
completely cured, in some respects rational at least. The court of
France has its intoxicating properties, which are not unlike this dream,
my lord; but at last I wake and leave it. I shall be unable, therefore,
to prolong my residence-as your highness has so kindly invited me."
" When do you leave ?" inquired Philip, with an expression full of
interest.
" To-morrow, monseigneur. My carriages have been ready for three
days past."
The due d'Orleans made a movement of the head, which seemed to
signify, " Since you are determined, duke, there is nothing to be said."
Buckingham returned the gesture, concealing under a smile a con-
traction of his heart, and then Monsieur moved away in the same
direction by which he had approached. At the same moment, however,
de Guiche advanced from the opposite direction. Baoul feared that
the impatient young man might possibly make the proposition himself,
and hurried forward before him.
"No, no, Baoul, all is useless now," said Guiche, holding both his
hands towards the duke, and leading him himself behind a column.
" Forgive me, duke, for what I wrote to you, I was mad; give me
back my letter."
"It is true," said the duke, "you cannot owe me a grudge any
longer now."
"Forgive me, duke"; my friendship, my lasting friendship is yours."
" There is certainly no reason why you should bear me any ill-will
from the moment I leave her never to see her again."
Baoul heard these words, and comprehending that his presence was
now useless between the two young men, who had now only friendly
words to exchange, withdrew a few paces; a movement which brought
him closer to de Wardes, who was conversing with the chevalier de
Lorraine respecting the departure of Buckingham.. " A wise retreat,"
said de Wardes.
" Why so ? "
" Because the dear duke saves a sword-thrust by it." At which reply
both began to laugh.
Baoul, indignant, turned round frowningly, flushed with anger and
his lip curling with disdain. The chevalier de Lorraine turned away
upon his heel, but de Wardes remained firm and waited. "You will
not break yourself of the habit," said Baoul to de Wardes, " of insult-
ing the absent; yesterday it was M, d'Artagnan, to-day it is the duke
©f Buckingham,"
432 THE VIC03ITE DE BBAGELONNE.
" You know very well, monsieur," returned de Wardes," that I some-
times insult those who are present."
De Wardes touched Eaoul, their shoulders met, their faces were
bent towards each other, as if mutually to inflame each other by the
fire of their breath and of their anger. It could be seen that the one
was at the height of his anger, the other at the end of his patience.
Suddenly a voice was heard behind them full of grace and courtesy,
saying, " I believe I heard my name pronounced."
They turned round and saw d'Artagnan, who, with a smiling eye
and a cheerful face, had just placed his hand on de Wardes' shoulder.
Eaoul stepped back to make room for the musketeer. De Wardes
trembled from head to foot, turned pale, but did not move. D'Artagnan,
still with the same smile, took the place which Eaoul abandoned to.
him. " Thank you, my dear Eaoul," he said. " M. de Wardes, I wish
to talk with you. Do not leave us, Eaoul; every one can hear what I
have to say to M. de Wardes." His smile immediately faded away, and
his glance became cold and sharp as a sword.
"I am at your orders, monsieur," said de Wardes.
" For a very long time," resumed d'Artagnan, " I have sought an
opportunity of conversing with you; to-day is the first time I have
found it. The place is badly chosen, I admit; but you will perhaps
have the goodness to accompany me to my apartments, which are on
the staircase at the end of this gallery."
" I follow you, monsieur." said de Wardes.
" Are you alone here ? " said d'Artagnan.
" No; I have M. Manicamp and M. de Guiche, two of my friends."
"That's well," said d'Artagnan; "but two persons are not sufficient;
you will be able to find a few others, I trust."
"Certainly," said the young man, who did not know the object
d'Artagnan had in view. " As many as you please."
" Are they friends P "
"Yes, monsieur."
"Eeal friends?"
"No doubt of it."
" Very well, get a good supply, then. Do you come too, Eaoul; bring
M. de Guiche and the duke of Buckingham."
" What a disturbance," replied de Wardes, attempting to smile. The
captain slightly signed to him with his hand, as though to recommend
him to be patient, and then led the way to his apartments.
CHAPTER XCV.
Sword-thrusts in the Water (concluded).
D'Artagnan's apartment was not unoccupied; for the comte de la
Fere, seated in the recess of a window, awaited him, "Well," said he
to d'Artagnan, as he saw him enter.
" Well," said the latter, " M. de Wardes has done me the honour to
pay me a visit, in company with some of his own friends, as well as of
ours." In fact, behind the musketeer appeared de Wardes and Mani-
camp, followed by de Guiche and Buckingham, who looked surprised,
not knowing what was expected of them. Eaoul was accompanied by
two or three gentlemen; and, as he entered, glanced round the room,
and perceiving the comte, he went and placed himself by his side.
SWORD-THRUSTS IN THE WATER. 483
D'Artagnan received his visitors with all the courtesy he was capable
of; he preserved his unmoved and unconcerned look. All the persons
present were men of distinction, occupying posts of honour and credit
at the court. After he had apologized to each of them for any incon-
venience he might have put them to, he turned towards de Wardes,
who, in spite of his great self-command, could not prevent his face
betraying some surprise mingled with not a little uneasiness. "Now,
monsieur," said d'Artagnan," since we are no longer within the pre-
cincts of the king's palace, and since we can speak out without failing
in respect to propriety, I will inform you why I have taken the liberty
to request you to visit me here, and why I have invited these gentle-
men to be present at the same time. My friend, the Comte de la Fere,
has acquainted me with the injurious reports you are spreading about
myself. You have stated that you regard me as your mortal enemy,
because I was, so you affirm, that of your father."
" Perfectly true, monsieur, I have said so," replied de "Wardes, whose
pallid face became slightly tinged with colour.
"You accuse me, therefore, of a crime, or a fault, or of some mean
and cowardly act. Have the goodness to state your charge against me
in precise terms."
" In the presence of witnesses ? "
"Most certainly in the presence of witnesses: and you seel have
selected them as being experienced in affairs of honour."
"You do not appreciate my delicacy, monsieur. I have accused you,
it is true; but I have kept the nature of the accusation a perfect
secret. I have not entered into any details; but have rested satisfied
by expressing my hatred in the presence of those on whom a duty was
almost imposed to acquaint you with it. You have not taken the
discreetness I have shown into consideration, although you were in-
terested in remaining silent. I can hardly recognize your habitual
prudence in that, M. d'Artagnan."
D'Artagnan, who was quietly biting the corner of his moustache,
said, " I have already had the honour to beg you to state the particu-
lars of the grievances you say you have against me."
"Aloud?"
" Certainly, aloud."
" In that case, I will speak."
" Speak, monsieur," said d'Artagnan, bowing; " we are all listening
to you."
"Well, monsieur, it is not a question of a personal injury towards
myself, but of one towards my father."
" That you have already stated."
" Yes; but there are certain subjects which are only approached with
great hesitation."
"If that hesitation, in your case, really does exist, I entreat you to
overcome it."
" Even if it refer to a disgraceful action ? "
" Yes in every and any case."
Those who were present at this scene had, at first, looked at each
other with a good deal of uneasiness. They were reassured, however,
when they saw that d'Artagnan manifested no emotion whatever. De
Wardes still maintained the same unbroken silence. "Speak, mon-
sieur," said the musketeer; " you see you are keeping us waiting."
" Listen, thenMy father loved a woman of noble birth, and this
woman loved my father." D'Artagnan and Athos exchanged looks.
De Wardes continued: "M. d'Artagnan found some letters which
2 f
434 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
indicated a rendezvous, substituted himself, under a disguise, for the
person who was expected, and took advantage of the darkness."
" That is perfectly true," said d'Artagnan.
A slight murmur was heard from those present. "Yes, I was guilty
of that dishonourable action. You should have added, monsieur, since
you are so impartial, that, at the period when the circumstance which
you have just related, happened, I was not one-and-twenty years of
age."
"The action is not the less shameful on that account," said de
"Wardes; "and it is quite sufficient for a gentleman to have attained
the age of reason, to avoid committing any act of indelicacy."
A renewed murmur was heard, but this time of astonishment, and
almost of doubt.
" It was a most shameful deception, I admit," said d'Artagnan, " and
I have not waited for M. de Wardes' reproaches to reproach myself for
it, and very bitterly too. Age has, however, made me more reasonable,
and, above all, more upright: and this injury has been atoned for by
a long and lasting regret. But I appeal to you, gentlemen; this affair
took place in 1626, at a period, happily for yourselves, known to you by
tradition only, at a period when love was not over scrupulous, when
consciences did not distil, as in the present day, poison and bitterness.
We were young soldiers, always fighting, or being attacked, our swords
always in our hands, or at least ready to be drawn from their sheaths.
Death then always stared us in the face, war hardened us, and the
cardinal pressed us sorely. I have repented of it, and more than that
—I still repent it, M. de Wardes."
" I can well understand that, monsieur, for the action itself needed
repentance; but you were not the less the cause of that lady's disgrace.
She of whom you have been speaking, covered with shame, borne down
by the affront she had had wrought upon her, fled, quitted France, and
no one ever knew what became of her."
" Stay," said the Comte de la Fere, stretching his hand towards de
Wardes, with a peculiar smile upon his face, " you are mistaken; she
was seen; and there are persons even now present, who, having often
heard her spoken of, will easily recognize her by the description I am
about to give. She was about five-and-twenty years of age, slender in
form, of a pale complexion, and fair-haired; she was married in Eng-
land."
" Married ? " exclaimed de Wardes.
"So, you were not aware she was married? You see we are far
better informed than yourself. Do you happen to know she was usually
styled ' my lady,' without the addition of any name to that descrip-
tion ? "
Yes, I know that."
" Good heavens!" murmured Buckingham.
"Very well, monsieur. That woman, who came from England,returned
to England after having thrice attempted M. d'Artagnan's life. That was
but just, you will say, since M. d'Artagnan had insulted her. But that
which was not just was, that, when in England, this woman, by her
seductions, completely enslaved a young man in the service of Lord
Winter, by name Felton. You change colour, my lord," said Athos,
turning to the duke of Buckingham, " and your eyes kindle with anger
and sorrow. Let your grace finish the recital, then, and tell M. de
Wardes who this woman was who placed the knife in the hand of your
father's murderer."
A cry escaped from the lips of all present. The young duke passed
SWOBD-THRUSTS IN THE WATER. 435
his handkerchief across his forehead, which was covered with perspira-
tion. A dead silence ensued among the spectators. " You see, M. de
Wardes," said d'Artagnan, whom this recital had impressed more and
more, as his own recollection revived as Athos spoke, " you see, that
my crime did not cause the destruction of any one's soul, and that the
soul in question may fairly be considered to have been altogether lost
before my regret. It is, however, an act of conscience on my part.
Now this matter is settled, therefore, it remains for me to ask, with the
greatest humility, your forgiveness for this shameless action, as most
certainly I should have asked it of your father, if he were still alive,
and if I had met him after my return to .France, subsequent to the
death of King Charles I."
" That is too much, M. d'Artagnan," exclaimed many voices, with
animation.
"No, gentlemen," said the captain. "And now, M. de Wardes, I
hope all is finished between us, and that you will have no further
occasion to speak ill of me again. Do you consider it completely
settled ?"
De Wardes bowed, and muttered to himself inarticulately.
" I trust also," said d'Artagnan, approaching the young man closely,
" that you will no longer speak ill of any one, as it seems you have the
unfortunate habit of doing; for a man so puritanically conscientious as
you are, who can reproach an old soldier for a youthful freak five-and-
thirty years after it has happened, will allow me to ask whether you,
who advocate such excessive purity of conscience, will undertake on
your side to do nothing contrary either to conscience or a principle of
honour. And now, listen attentively to what I am going to say, M. de
Wardes, in conclusion. Take care that no tale, with which your name
may be associated, reaches my ear."
"Monsieur," saidde Wardes, "it is useless threatening to no purpose."
" I have not yet finished, M. de Wardes; and you must listen to me
still further." The circle of listeners, full of eager curiosity, drew
closer together. "You spoke just now of the honour of a woman, and
of the honour of your father. We were glad to hear you speak in
that manner ; for it is pleasing to think that such a sentiment of deli-
cacy and rectitude, and which did not exist it seems in our minds, lives
in our children; and it is delightful too, to see a young man, at an age
when men from habit become the destroyers of the honour of women,
respect and defend it."
De Wardes bit his lips and clenched his hands, evidently much dis-
turbed to learn how this discourse, the commencement of which was
announced in so threatening a manner, would terminate.
" How did it happen, then, that you allowed yourself to say to M.
Bragelonne that he did not know who his mother was ?"
Raoul's eye flashed, as, darting forward, he exclaimed,—" Chevalier,
this is a personal affair of my own!" At which exclamation, a smile,
full of malice, passed across de Wardes' face. D'Artagnan put Raoul
aside, saying,—"Do not interrupt me, young man." And looking at
de Wardes in an authoritative manner, he continued:—"I am now
dealing with a matter which cannot be settled by means of the sword,
I discuss it before men of honour, all of whom have more than once
had their swords in their hands in affairs of honour. I selected them
expressly. These gentlemen well know that every secret for which
men fight ceases to be a secret. I again put my question to M. de
Wardes. What was the subject of conversation when you offended
this young man, in offending nis father and mother at the same time ?"
2 f 2
436 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"It seems to me," returned deWardes, "that liberty of speech is
allowed, when it is ready to be supported by every means which a man
of courage has at his disposal."
" Tell me what the means are by which a man of courage can sustain
a slanderous expression."
" The sword."
" You fail, not only in logic, in your argument, hut in religion and hon-
our. You expose the life of many others, without referring to your own,
which seems to be full of hazard. Besides, fashions pass away, monsieur,
and the fashion of duelling has passed away, without referring in any
way to the edicts of his majesty which forbid it. Therefore, in order to
he consistent with your own chivalrous notions, you will at once apolo-
gize to M. de Bragelonne; you will tell him how much you regret
having spoken so lightly, and that the nobility and purity of his race
are inscribed, not in his heart alone, but, still more, in every action of
his life. You will do and say this, M. de Wardes, as I, an old officer,
did and said just now to your boy's moustache."
"And if I refuse ?" inquired de Wardes.
" In that case the result will he "
"That which you think you will prevent," said deWardes, laughing;
" the result will be that your conciliatory address will end in a violation
of the king's prohibition."
"Not so," said the captain, "you are quite mistaken."
" What will be the result, then ?"
" The result will be, that I shall go to the king, with whom I am on
tolerably good terms, to whom I have been happy enough to render
certain services, dating from a period when you were not born, and who,
at my request, has just sent me an order in blank for M. Baisemeaux
de Montlezun, governor of the Bastille; and I shall say to the king,
—' Sire, a man has cowardly insulted M. de Bragelonne in insulting his
mother; I have written this man's name upon the lettre de cachet
which your majesty has been kind enough to give me, so that M. de
Wardes is in the Bastille for three years.'" And d'Artagnan, drawing
the order signed by the king from his pocket, held it towards de Wardes.
Remarking that the young man was not quite convinced, and received
the warning as an idle threat, he shrugged his shoulders, and walked
leisurely towards the table, upon which lay a writing-case and a pen,
the length of which would have terrified the topographical Porthos.
Be Wardes then saw that nothing could well be more seriously in-
tended than the threat in question, for the Bastille, even at that period,
was already held in dread. _ He advanced a step towards Raoul, and, in
an almost unintelligible voice, said,—" I offer my apologies in the terms
which M. d'Artagnan just now dictated, and which I am forced to make
to you."
"One moment, monsieur," said the musketeer, with the greatest tran-
quillity," you mistake the terms of the apology. I did not say,' and which
1 am forced to make;' I said, 'and which my conscience induces me to
make.' This latter expression, believe me, is better than the former;
and it will be far preferable, since it will be the most truthful expression
of your own sentiments."
"I subscribe to it," said deWardes; " but admit, gentlemen, that a
thrust of a sword through the body, as was the custom formerly, was far
better than tyranny like this."
" No, monsieur," replied Buckingham • " for the sword-thrust, when
received, was no indication that a particular person was right or wrong;
it only showed that he was more or less skilful in the use of the'
weapon."
SWORD-THRUSTS IN THE WATER. 43?
" Monsieur!" exclaimed de Wardes.
"There now," interrupted d'Artagnan, "you are going to say some-
thing very rude, and I am rendering you a service in stopping you in
time."
"Is that all, monsieur ?" inquired de Wardes.
"Absolutely everything," replied d'Artagnan; "and these gentlemen,
as well as myself, are quite satisfied with you."
" Believe me, monsieur, that your reconciliations are not successful."
"In what way ?"
"Because, as we are now about to separate, I would wager that M. de
Bragelonne and myself are greater enemies than ever."
"You are deceived, monsieur, as far as I am concerned," returned
Baoul; " for I do not retain the slightest animosity in my heart against
you."
This last blow overwhelmed de Wardes; he cast his eyes around him
like a man utterly bewildered. D'Artagnan saluted most courteously
the gentlemen who had been present at the explanation; and every one,
on leaving the room, shook hands with him; but not one hand was held
out towards de Wardes. " Oh!" exclaimed the young man, abandon-
ing himself to the rage which consumed him, " can I not find some one
on whom to wreak my vengeance ?"
" You can, monsieur, for I am here," whispered a voice full of menace
in his ear.
De Wardes turned round, and saw the duke of Buckingham, who,
having probably remained behind with that intention, had just ap-
proacned him. "You, monsieur ?" exclaimed de Wardes.
"Yes, I! I am no subject of the king of France; I am not going
to remain on the territory, since I am about setting off for England.
I have accumulated in my heart such a mass of despair and rage,
that I too, like yourself, need to revenge myself upon some one. I
approve M. d'Artagnan's principles extremely, but I am not bound to
apply them to you. I am an Englishman, and, in my turn, I propose
to you what you proposed to others to no purpose. Since you, there-
fore, are so terribly incensed, take me as a remedy. In thirty-four
hours' time, I shall be at Calais. Come with me; the journey will
appear shorter if together, than if alone. We will fight, when we get
there, upon the sands which are covered by the rising tide, and which
form part of the French territory during six hours of the day, but
belong to the territory of Heaven during the other six."
"I accept, willingly," said de Wardes.
"I assure you," said the duke, "that if you kill me, you will be ren-
dering me an infinite service."
"I will do my utmost to be agreeable to you, duke," said de Wardes.
" It is agreed, then, that I carry you off with me?"
"I shall be at your commands. I required some real danger and
some mortal risk to run, to tranquillize me."
"In that case, I think you have met with what you are looking
for. Farewell, M. de Wardes; to-morrow morning my valet will tell
you the exact hour of departure; we will travel together like two
excellent friends. I generally travel as fast as I can. Adieu." Buck-
ingham saluted de Wardes, and returned towards the king's apart-
ments; de Wardes, irritated beyond measure, left the Palais Royal, and
hurried through the streets homeward to the house where he lodged.
438
THE VICdMfi™DlT^AGELONlTE.
CHAPTER XCYI.
Baisemeaux de Montleziin.
After the rather severe lesson administered to de Wardes, Athos
and d'Artagnan together descended the staircase which led to the court-
yard of the Palais Royal. "You perceive," said Athos to d'Artagnan,
" that Raoul cannot, sooner or later, avoid a duel with de "Wardes, for
de Wardes is as brave as he is vicious and wicked."
" I know these fellows well," replied d'Artagnan," I have had an
affair with the father. I assure you that, although at that time I had
good muscles and a sort of brute courage, I assure you the father did
me some mischief. But you should have seen how I fought it out with
him. Ah, Athos, such encounters never take place in these times ! I
had a hand which could never remain at rest, a hand like quicksilver,—
you knew its quality, for you have seen me at work. My sword was no
longer a piece of steel, it was a serpent which assumed every form and
every length, seeking where it might thrust its head; in other words,
where it might fix its bite. I advanced half a dozen paces, then three,
and then, body to body, I pressed my antagonist closely, then I darted
back again ten paces. No human power could resist that ferocious
ardour. Well, de Wardes, the father, with the bravery of his race,
with his dogged courage, occupied a good deal of my time; and my
fingers, at the end of the engagement, were, I well remember, tired
enough."
" It is, then, as I said," resumed Athos, " the son will always be look-
ing out for Raoul, and will end by meeting him; and Raoul can easily
be found when he is sought for."
"Agreed; but Raoul calculates well; he bears no grudge against
de Wardes,—he has said so; he will wait until he is provoked, and in
that case his position is a good one. The king will not be able to get
out of temper about the matter; besides we shall know how to pacify
his majesty. But why so full of these fears and anxieties; you don't
easily get alarmed ? "
" 1 will tell you what makes me anxious: Raoul is to see the king
to-morrow, when his majesty will inform him of his wishes respecting a
certain marriage. Raoul, loving as he does, will get out of temper, and
once in an angry mood, if he were to meet de Wardes, the shell will
explode."
"We will prevent the explosion."
"Not I," said Athos, "for I must return to Blois. All this gilded
elegance of the court, all these intrigues, disgust me. I am no longer
a young man who can make his terms with the meannesses of the pre-
sent day. I have read in the great Book of God many things too
beautiful and too comprehensive to take any interest in the little
trifling phrases which these men whisper among themselves when they
wish to deceive others. In one word, I am sick of Paris wherever and
whenever you are not with me; and as I cannot have you always, I
wish to return to Blois."
" How wrong you are, Athos; how you gainsay your origin and the
destiny of your noble nature. Men of your stamp are created to con-
tinue, to the very last moment, in full possession of their great facul-
ties. Look at my sword, a Spanish blade, the one I wore at Rochelle;
it served me for thirty years without fail; one day in the winter it fell
BAISEMEAUX DE MONTLEZUK. 439
upon the marble floor of the Louvre and was broken. I had a hunting-
knife made of it which will last a hundred years yet. You, Athos, with
your loyalty, your frankness, your cool courage, and your sound in-
formation, are the very man kings need to warn and direct them.
Bemain here; Monsieur Fouquet will not last so long as my Spanish
blade."
" Is it possible," said Athos, smilingly, " that my friend d'Artagnan,
who, after having raised me to the skies, making me an object of wor-
ship, casts me down from the top of Olympus, and hurls me to the
ground ? I have more exalted ambition, d'Artagnan. To be a minis-
ter—to be a slave, never ! Am I not still greater? I am nothing. I
remember having heard you occasionally call me ' the great Athos;' I
defy you, therefore, if I were minister, to continue to bestow that
title upon me. No, no ; I do not yield myself in this manner."
"We will not speak of it any more, then;—renounce everything, even
the brotherly feeling which unites us."
" It is almost cruel what you say."
D'Artagnan pressed Athos's hand warmly. "No, no; renounce
everything without fear. Baoul can get on without you; I am at
Paris."
"In that case I shall return to Blois. We will take leave of
each other to-night; to-morrow at daybreak I shall be on my horse
again."
" You cannot return to your hotel alone; why did you not bring
Grimaud with you ? "
" Grimaud takes his rest now; he goes to bed early, for my poor old
servant gets easily fatigued. He came from Blois with me, and I com-
pelled him to remain within doors; for if, in retracing the forty leagues
which separate us from Blois, he needed to draw breath even, he would
die without a murmur. But I don't want to lose Grimaud."
" You shall have one of my musketeers to carry a torch for you.
Hola! some one there," called out d'Artagnan, leaning over the gilded
balustrade—the heads of seven or eight musketeers appeared,—" 1 wish
some gentleman who is so disposed, to escort the Comte de la Fere,"
cried d'Artagnan.
" Thank you for your readiness, gentlemen," said Athos; " I regret
to have occasion to trouble you in this manner."
" I would willingly escort the Comte de la Fere," said some one, " if
I had not to speak to Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Who is that ? " said d'Artagnan, looking into the darkness.
" I, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Heaven forgive me, if that is Monsieur Baisemeaux's voice."
" It is, monsieur."
" What are you doing in the courtyard, my dear Baisemeaux ? " ;
" I am waiting your orders, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"Wretch that I am," thought d'Artagnan; "true, you have been
told, I suppose, that some one was to be arrested, and have come your-
self, instead of sending an officer ? "
" I came because I had occasion to speak to you."
" You did not send to me ? "
" I waited until you were disengaged," said Monsieur Baisemeaux,
timidly.
" I leave you, d'Artagnan," said Athos.
" Not before I have presented Monsieur Baisemeaux de Montlezun,
the governor of the Bastille."
Baisemeaux and Athos saluted each other.
440 the vicohte ee beagelonne.
" Surely you must know each other," added d'Artagnan.
"I have an indistinct recollection of Monsieur Baisemeaux,' said
Athos.
" You remember, my dear Baisemeaux, that king's guardsman with
whom we used formerly to have such delightful meetings in the cardi-
nal's time."
" Perfectly," said Athos, taking leave of him with affability.
" Monsieur le Comte de la Fere, whose nom de guerre was Athos,"
whispered d'Artagnan to Baisemeaux.
"Yes, yes; a brave man, one of the celebrated four."
" Precisely so. But, my dear Baisemeaux, shall we talk now ? "
" If you please."
" In the first place, as for the orders—there are none. The king does
not intend to arrest the person in question."
" So much the worse," said Baisemeaux, with a sigh.
" What do you mean by so much the worse ? " exclaimed d'Artagnan,
laughing.
"No doubt of it," returned the governor, "my prisoners are my
income."
" I beg your pardon, I did not see it in that light."
"And so there are no orders," repeated Baisemeaux, with a sigh.
" What an admirable situation yours is, captain," he continued, after a
pause, " captain-lieutenant of the musketeers."
"Oh, it is good enough; but I don't see why you should envy me;
you, governor of the Bastille, the first castle in France."
" I am well aware of that," said Baisemeaux, in a sorrowful tone of
voice.
" You say that like a man confessing his sins. I would willingly ex-
change my profits for yours."
" Don't speak of profits to me, if you wish to save me the bitterest
anguish of mind."
" Why do you look first on one side and then on the other, as if you
were afraid of being arrested yourself, you whose business it is to arrest
others?"
" I was looking to see whether any one could see or listen to us; it
would be safer to confer more in private, if you would grant me such a
favour."
" Baisemeaux, you seem to forget we are acquaintances of five-and-
thirty years' standing. Don't assume such sanctified airs; make your-
self quite comfortable; I don't eat governors of the Bastille raw."
"Heaven be praised!"
" Come into the courtyard with me; it's a beautiful moonlight night;
we will walk up and down, arm in arm, under the trees, while you tell
me your pitiful tale." He drew the doleful governor into the courtyard,
took him by the arm as he had said, and, in his rough, good-humourea
way, cried" Out with it, rattle away, Baisemeaux; what have you got
to say ?"
" It's a long story."
" You prefer your own lamentations, then; my opinion is, it will be
longer than ever. I'll wager you are making fifty thousand francs out
of your pigeons in the Bastille."
" Would to heaven that were the case, M. d'Artagnan."
"You surprise me, Baisemeaux; just look at yourself, vous faiies
VTiomme contrit. I should like to show you your face in a glass, and
you would see how plump and florid-looking you are, as fat and round
as a cheese, with eyes like lighted coals; and if it were not for that ugly
BAISEMEAUX DE MONTLEZTTX. 44l
wrinkle you try to cultivate on your forehead, you would hardly look
fifty years old, and you are sixty, if I am not mistaken."
" All quite true."
" Of course I knew it was true, as true as the fifty thousand francs
profit you make;" at which remark Baisemeaux stamped on the
ground.
" Well, well," said d'Artagnan, "I will run up your account for you:
you were captain of M. Mazarin's guards; and 12,000 francs a year
would in twelve years amount to 140,000 francs."
" Twelve thousand francs! Are you mad!" cried Baisemeaux; "the
old miser gave me no more than 6,000, and the expenses of the post
amounted to 6,500. M. Colbert, who deducted the other 6,000 francs,
condescended to allow me to take fifty pistoles as a gratification; so
that, if it were not for my little estate at Montlezun, which brings me
in 12,000 francs a year, I could not have met my engagements."
"Well, then, how about the 50,000 francs from the Bastille? There,
I trust, you are boarded and lodged, and get your 6,000 francs salary
besides."
"Admitted!"
" Whether the year be good or bad, there are fifty prisoners, who, on
an average, bring you in a thousand francs a year each."
" I don't deny it."
" Well, there it is at once an income of 50,000 francs; you have held
the post three years, and must have received in that time 150,000
francs."
"You forget one circumstance, dear M. d'Artagnan."
" What is that ?"
"That while you received your appointment as captain from the
king himself, I received mine as governor from Messrs. Tremblay and
Louviere."
" Quite right, and Tremblay was not a man to let you have the post
for nothing."
" Nor was Louviere either; the result was, that I gave 75,000 francs
to Tremblay as his share."
" Very agreeable that! and to Louviere?"
" The same."
" Money down ?"
"No; that would have been impossible. The king did not wish, or
rather M. Mazarin did not wish, to have the appearance of removing
those two gentlemen, who had sprung from the barricades; he per-
mitted them, therefore, to make certain extravagant conditions for
their retirement."
" What were those conditions ? "
" Tremble .... three years' income for the goodwill."
" The deuce! so that the 150,000 francs have passed into their hands."
" Precisely so."
"And beyond that ?"
"A sum of 50,000 francs, or 15,000 pistoles, whichever you please, in
three payments."
" Exorbitant enough."
"Yes, but that is not all."
" What besides ?"
" In default of the fulfilment by me of any one of those conditions,
those gentlemen enter upon their functions again. The king has been
induced to sign that."
"It is enormous, incredible I"
442 THE VICOMTE DE 33EAGELONNE.
" Sucli is the fact, however."
. J" I do indeed pity you, Baisemeaux. But why, in the name of
fortune, did M. Mazarin grant you this pretended favour ? It would
have been far better to have refused you altogether." })
" Certainly, but he was strongly persuaded to do so by my protector.
""Who is he?"
" One of your own friends, indeed; M. d'Herblay."
" M. d'Herblay! Aramis!"
" Just so; he has been very kind towards me."
" Kind! to make you enter into such a bargain."
" Listen! I wished to leave the cardinal's service.. M. d'Herblay
spoke on my behalf to Louviere and Tremblay—they objected; I wished
to have the appointment very much, for I knew what it could be made
to produce; in my distress I confided in M. d'Herblay, and he offered
to become my surety for the different payments."
" You astound me! Aramis become your surety ?"
" Like a man of honour; he procured the signature; Tremblay and
Louviere resigned their appointments; I have paid every year 25,000
francs to these two gentlemen; on the 31st of May, every year,
M. d'Herblay himself comes to the Bastille, and brings me 5,000 pistoles
to distribute between my crocodiles."
" You owe Aramis 150,000 francs, then ?"
" That is the very thing which is the cause of my despair, for I only
owe him 100,000."
" I don't quite understand you."
" He has been only two years. To-day, however, is the 31st of May,
and he has not been yet, and to-morrow, at mid-day, the payment falls
due; if, therefore, I don't pay to-morrow, those gentlemen can, by the
terms of the contract, break off the bargain; I shall be stripped of
everything; I shall have worked for three years, and given 250,000
francs for nothing, absolutely for nothing at all, dear M. d'Artagnan."
" This is very strange," murmured d'Artagnan.
" You can now imagine that I may well have wrinkles on my fore-
head; can you not ?"
"Yes, indeed!"
" And you can imagine, too, that notwithstanding I may be as round
as a cheese, with a complexion like an apple, and my eyes like coals on
fire, I may almost be afraid that I shall not have a cheese or an apple
left me to eat, and that I shall only have my eyes left me to weep
with."
" It is really a very grievous affair."
" I have come to you, M. d'Artagnan, for you are the only one who
can get me out of my trouble."
"In what way?"
" You are acquainted with the Abbd d'Herblay, and you know that
he is somewhat mysterious." "Yes."
" Well, you can, perhaps, give me the address of his presbytery, for I
have been to Noisy-le-Sec, and he is no longer there."
" I should think not, indeed. He is bishop of Vannes."
" What! Yannes in Bretagne ?" " Yes."
The little man began to tear his hair, saying, "How can I get to
Yannes from here by midday to-morrow? I am a lost man."
" Your despair quite distresses me."
" Yannes, Yannes," cried Baisemeaux.
"But, listen; a bishop is not always a resident. M. d'Herblay may
not possibly be so far away as you fear."
THE KING'S card-table. 443
" Pray tell me his address."
" I really don't know it."
" In that case, I am utterly lost. I will go and throw myself at the
king's feet."
" But, Baisemeaux, I can hardly believe what you tell me; besides,
since the Bastille is capable of producing 50,000 francs a year, why have
you not tried to screw 100,000 out of it ?"
"Because I am an honest man, M. d'Artagnan, and because my
prisoners are fed like potentates."
" Well, you're in a fair way to get out of your difficulties; give your-
self a good attack of indigestion with your excellent living, and put
yourself out of the way between this and midday to-morrow."
" How can you be hard-hearted enough to laugh ?"
"Nay, you really afflict me. Come, Baisemeaux, if you can pledge
me your word of honour, do so, that you will not open your lips to
any one about what I am going to say to you."
"Never, never!"
" Tou wish to put your hand on Aramis ?"
" At any cost!"
"Well, go and see where M, Bouquet is."
" Why, what connection can there be "
" How stupid you are. Don't you know tbat Yannes is in the diocese
of Belle-Isle, or Belle-Isle in the diocese of Yannes ? Belle-Isle belongs-
to M. Bouquet, and M. Bouquet nominated M. d'Herblay to that
bishopric!"
" I see, I see; you restore me to life again."
" So much the better. Go and tell M. Bouquet very simply that you
wish to speak to M. d'Herblay."
" Of course, of course," exclaimed Baisemeaux, delightedly.
" But," said d'Artagnan, checking him by a severe look, " your word
of honour?"
" I give you my sacred word of honour," replied the little man, about
to set off running.
" Where are you going ?"
" To M. Bouquet's house."
"It is useless doing that; M. Bouquet is playing at cards with the
king. All you can do is to pay M. Bouquet a visit early to-morrow
morning."
" I will do so. Thank you."
" Good luck attend you," said d'Artagnan. " Thank you."
" This is a strange affair," murmured d'Artagnan, as he slowly
ascended the staircase after he had left Baisemeaux. " What possible
interest can Aramis have in obliging Baisemeaux in this manner?
Well, I suppose, we shall learn some day or another."
CHAPTER XCVII.
The King's Card-Table.
Bouquet was present, as d'Artagnan had said, at the king's card-table.
It seemed as if Buckingham's departure had shed a balm upon all the
ulcerated hearts of the previous evening. Monsieur, radiant with
delight, made a thousand affectionate signs to his mother. The Count
de Guiche could not separate himself from Buckingham, and while
444 THE VldOJWE EE BRAGELONNE.
playing, conversed with him upon the circumstance of his projected
voyage. Buckingham, thoughtful, and kind in his manner, like a man
who has adopted a resolution, listened to the count, and from time to
time cast a look full of regret and hopeless affliction at Madame. The
princess, in the midst of her elation of spirits, divided her attention
between the king, who was playing with her. Monsieur, who quietly
joked her about her enormous winnings, and de Guiche, who exhi-
bited an extravagant delight. Of Buckingham she took but little notice,
for her, this fugitive, this exile, was now simply a remembrance, and no
longer a man. Light hearts are thus constituted, while they them-
selves continue untouched, they roughly break off with every one who
may possibly interfere with their little calculation of selfish comforts.
Madame had received Buckingham's smiles and attentions and sighs,
while he was present; but what was the good of sighing, smiling, and
kneeling at a distance ? Can one tell in what direction the winds in the
Channel, which toss the mighty vessels to and fro. carry such sighs as
these ? The duke could not conceal this change, and his heart was cruelly
hurt at it. Of a sensitive character, proud, and susceptible of deep
attachment, he cursed the day on which the passion had entered his
heart. The looks which he cast, from time to time, at Madame, became
colder by degress at the chilling complexion of his thoughts. He could
hardly yet despair, but he was strong enough to impose silence upon
the tumultuous outcries of his heart. In exact proportion, however,
as Madame suspected this change of feeling, she redoubled her activity
to regain the ray of light which she was about to lose; her timid and
indecisive mind was first displayed in brilliant flashes of wit and
humour. At any cost, she felt that she must be remarked above every-
thing and every one, even above the king himself. And she was so, for
the queens, notwithstanding their dignity, and the king, despite the
respect which etiquette required, were all eclipsed by her. The queens,
stately and ceremonious, were softened, and could not restrain their
laughter. Madame Henriette, the queen-mother, was dazzled by the
brilliancy which cast distinction upon her family, thanks to the wit of
the grand-daughter of Henry IV. The king so jealous, as a young man
and as a monarch, of the superiority of those who surrounded him,
could not resist admitting himself vanquished by that petulance so
thoroughly French in its nature, and whose energy was more than ever
increased by its English humour. Like a child, he was captivated by
her radiant beauty, which her wit made still more so. Madame's eyes
flashed like lightning. Wit and humour escaped from her ruby lips,
like persuasion from the lips of Nestor of old. The whole court, sub-
dued by her enchanting grace, noticed, for the first time, that laughter
could be indulged in before the greatest monarch in the world, like people
who merited their appellation of the wittiest and most polished people
in the world.
Madame, from that evening, achieved and enjoyed a success capable
of bewildering whomsoever it might be, who had not been born in those
elevated regions termed a throne, and which, in spite of their eleva-
tion, are sheltered from similar vertigoes. From that very moment,
Louis XIV. acknowledged Madame as a person who might be recog-
nized. Buckingham regarded her as a coquette deserving the cruellest
tortures, and de Guiche looked upon her as a divinity; the courtiers as
a star whose light might become the focus of all favour and power.
And yet Louis XIV., a few years previously, had not even condescended
to offer his hand to that "ugly girl" for a ballet; and yet Buckingham
had worshipped this coquette in the humblest attitude; and yet
THE KING'S CAED-TABLE. 445
de Guiche had looked upon this divinity as a mere woman; and yet
the courtiers had not dared to extol this star in her upward progress,
fearful to displease the monarch whom this star had formerly dis-
pleased.
Let us see what was taking place during this memorable evening at the
king's card-table. The young queen, although Spanish by birth, and the
niece of Anne of Austria, loved the king, and could not conceal her affec-
tion. Anne of Austria, a keen observer, like all women, and imperious,
like every queen, was sensible of Madame's power, and acquiesced in it
immediately, a circumstance which induced the young queen to raise the
siege and retire to her apartments. The king hardly paid any atten-
tion to her departure, notwithstanding the pretended symptoms of
indisposition- by which it was accompanied. Encouraged by the rules
of etiquette, which he had begun to introduce at the court as an
element of every position and relation of life, Louis XIV. did not dis-
turb himself; he offered his hand to Madame without looking at
Monsieur his brother, and led the young princess to the door of her
apartments. It was remarked, that at the threshold of the door, his
majesty, freed from every restraint, or less strong than the situation,
sighed very deeply. The ladies present—for nothing escapes a woman's
observation—Mademoiselle Montalais. for instance—did not fail to say
to each other, "the king sighed," and Madame sighed too." This had
been indeed the case. Madame had sighed very noiselessly, but with
an acoompaniment very far more dangerous for the king's repose.
Madame had sighed, first closing her beautiful black eyes, next opening
them, and then, laden, as they were, with an indescribable mournful-
ness of expression, she had raised them towards the king, whose face
at that moment had visibly heightened in colour. The consequence of
these blushes, of these interchanged sighs, and of this royal agitation,
was, that Montalais had committed an indiscretion, which had certainly
affected her companion, for Mademoiselle de la Valliere, less clear-
sighted, perhaps, turned pale when the king blushed; and her attend-
ance being required upon Madame, she tremblingly followed the princess
without thinking of taking the gloves, which court etiquette required
her to do. True it is that this young country girl might allege as her
excuse the agitation into which the king seemed to be thrown, for
Mademoiselle de la Valliere, busily engaged in closing the door, had
involuntarily fixed her eyes upon the king, who, as he retired back-
wards, had his face towards it. The king returned to the room where
the card-tables were set out. He wished to speak to the different
persons there, but it could easily be seen that his mind was absent.
He jumbled different accounts together, which was taken advantage of
by some of the noblemen who had retained those habits since the time
of Monsieur Mazarin, he who had memory, hut was a good calculator.
In this way, Monsieur Manicamp, with a thoughtless and absent air,—for
Monsieur Manicamp was the honestest man m the world, appropriated
simply 20,000 francs, which were littering the table, and the ownership
of which did not seem legitimately to belong to any person in particular.
In the same way, Monsieur de Wardes, whose head was doubtless a
little bewildered by the occurrences of the evening, somehow forgot to
leave the sixty double louis which he had won for the duke of Buck-
ingham, and which the duke, incapable, like his father, of soiling his
hands with coin of any sort, had left lying on the table before him.
The king only recovered his attention in some degree at the moment
that Monsieur Colbert, who had been narrowly observant for some
minutes, approached, and, doubtless, with great respect, yet with much
446 the vicomte de beagelonne.
perseverance, whispered a counsel of some sort into the still tingling
ears of the king. The king, at the suggestion, listened with renewed
attention, and immediately'looking around him, said, "Is Monsieur
Fouquet no longer here?"
"Yes, sire, I am here," replied the surintendant, who was engaged
with Buckingham, and approached the king, who advanced a step
towards him with a smiling yet negligent air. "Forgive me," said
Louis, " if I interrupt your conversation; but I claim your attention
wherever I may require your services."
" I am always at the king's service," replied Fouquet.
" And your cash-box too," said the king, laughing with a false smile.
•" My cash-box more than anything else," said Fouquet, coldly.
" The fact is, I wish to give a fete at Fontainebleau, to keep open
house for fifteen days, and I shall require " and he stopped, glancing
at Colbert. Fouquet waited without showing discomposure; and the
king resumed, answering Colbert's cruel smile, " Four millions of
francs."
" Four millions," repeated Fouquet, bowing profoundly. And his
nails, buried in his bosom, were thrust into his flesh, the tranquil ex-
pression of his face remaining unaltered. " When will they be required,
sire ?"
" Take your time,—I mean—no, no; as soon as possible."
" A certain time will be necessary, sire."
" Time !" exclaimed Colbert, triumphantly.
" The time, monsieur," said the surintendant, with the haughtiest
disdain, " simply to count the money; a million only can be drawn and
weighed in a day."
" Four days, then ?" said Colbert.
" My clerks," replied Fouquet, addressing himself to the king, " will
perform wonders for his majesty's service, and the sum shall be ready
m three days."
It was for Colbert now to turn pale. Louis looked at him astonished.
Fouquet withdrew without any parade or weakness, smiling at his
numerous friends, in whose countenances alone he read the sincerity of
their friendship—an interest partaking of compassion. Fouquet, how-
ever, should not be judged by his smile, for, in reality, he felt as if he
had been stricken by death. Drops of blood beneath his coat stained
the fine linen which covered his chast. His dress concealed the blood,
and his smile the rage which devoured him. His domestics perceived,
by the manner in which he approached his carriage, that their master
was not in the best of humours; the result of their discernment was, that
his orders were executed with that exactitude of manoeuvre which is
found on board a man-of-war, commanded during a storm by a passion-
ate captain. The carriage, therelore, did not simply roll along, but flew.
Fouquet had hardly had time to recover himself during the drive; on
his arrival he went at once to Aramis, who had not yet retired for the
night. As for Porthos, he had supped very agreeably from a roast leg
of mutton, two pheasants, and a perfect heap of cray-fish; he then
directed his body to be anointed with perfumed oils, in the manner of
the wrestlers of old; and when the anointment was completed, he was
wrapped in flannels and placed in a warm bed. Aramis, as we have
already said, had not retired. Seated at his ease in a velvet dressing-
gown, he wrote letter after letter in that fine and hurried handwriting,
a page of which contained a quarter of a volume. The door was thrown
hurriedly open, and the surintendant appeared, pale, agitated, and
anxious. Aramis looked up: " Good evening," said he; and his search-
THE KING'S CARD-TABLE. 447
ing look detected his host's sadness and disordered state of mind.
"Was the play good at his majesty's ?" asked Aramis, as a way of be-
ginning the conversation.
Fouquet threw himself upon a couch, and then pointed to the door
to the servant who had followed him; when the servant had left he
said," Excellent."
Aramis, who had followed every movement with his eyes, noticed that
he stretched himself upon the cushions with a sort of feverish impa-
tience. " You have lost as usual?" inquired Aramis, his pen still in
his hand.
" Better than usual," replied Fouquet.
" You know how to support losses."
" Sometimes."
" What, Monsieur Fouquet a had player!"
" There is play and play, Monsieur d'Herblay."
"How much have you lost?" inquired Aiamis, with a slight un-
easiness.
Fouquet collected himself a moment, and then, without the slightest
emotion, said, " The evening has cost me four millions," and a bitter
laugh drowned the last vibration of these words.
Aramis, who did not expect such an amount, dropped his pen. " Four
millions!" he said; " you have lost four millions,—impossible !"
" Monsieur Colbert held my cards for me," replied the surintendant,
with a similar bitter laugh.
" Ah, now I understand; so, so, a new application for funds ?"
" Yes, and from the king's own lips. It is impossible to destroy a
man with a more charming smile. What do you think of it ?"
" It is clear that your ruin is the object in view."
" That is still your opinion ?"
" Still. Besides, there is nothing in it which should astonish you,
for we have foreseen it all along."
"Yes; but I did not expect four millions."
"No doubt the amount is serious; but after all, four millions are not
quite the death of a man, especially when the man in question is Mon-
sieur Fouquet."
" My dear d'Herblay, if you knew the contents of my coffers, you
would be less easy."
" And you promised?"
" What could I do ?"
" That's true."
" The very day when I refuse, Colbert will procure it; whence I
know not, but he will procure the money, and I shall be lost."
" There is no doubt of that. In how many days hence have you pro-
mised these four millions?"
" In three days; the king seemed exceedingly pressed."
" In three days?"
" When I think," resumed Fouquet, " that just now, as I passed
along the streets, the people cried out, ' There is the rich Monsieur
Fouquet,' it is enough to turn my brain."
" Stay, monsieur, the matter is not worth the trouble," said Aramis,
calmly, sprinkling some sand over the letter he had just written.
" Suggest a remedy, then, for this evil without a remedy."
" There is only one remedy for you,—pay."
" But it is very uncertain whether I have the money. Everything
must be exhausted: Belle-Isle is paid for; the pension has been paid;
and money, since the investigation of the accounts of those who farm
448 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
the revenue, is rare. Besides, admitting that I pay this time, how can
I do so on another occasion ? When kings have tasted money, they are
like tigers who have tasted flesh, they devour everything. The day will
arrive—must arrive—when I shall have to say, ' Impossible, sire,' and
on that very day I am a lost man."
Aramis raised his shoulders slightly, saying,' A man in your position,
my lord, is only lost when he wishes to be so."
" A man, whatever his position may be, cannot hope to struggle
against a king."
"Nonsense; when I was young I struggled successfully with the
Cardinal Richelieu, who was king of France,—nay more—cardinal."
" Where are my armies, my troops, my treasures ? I have not even
Belle-Isle."
" Bah ! necessity is the mother of invention, and when you think all
is lost, something will be discovered which shall save everything."
" Who will discover this wonderful something ? "
"Yourself."
" I! I resign my office of inventor."
" Then I will."
" Be it so. But then, set to work without delay."
" Oh! we have time enough !"
" You kill me, d'Herblay, with your calmness," said the surintendant,
passing his handkerchief over his face.
" Do you not remember that I one day told you not to make yourself
uneasy, if you possess but courage. Have you any ? "
" I believe so."
" Then don't make yourself uneasy."
" It is decided then, that, at the last moment, you will come to my
assistance."
" It will only be the repayment of a debt I owe you."
"It is the vocation of financiers to anticipate the wants of men such
as yourself, d'Herblay."
" If obligingness is the vocation of financiers, charity is a virtue of the
clergy. Only, on this occasion, do you act, monsieur. You are not yet
sufficiently reduced, and at the last moment we shall see wrhat is to be
done."
"We shall see then in a very short time."
"Very well. However, permit me to tell you that, personally, I
regret exceedingly that you are at present so short of money, because I
was myself about to ask you for some."
" For yourself ? "
" For myself, or some of my people, for mine or for ours."
" How much do you want ? "
" Be easy on that score; a roundish sum, it is true, but not too ex-
orbitant."
" Tell me the amount."
"Fifty thousand francs."
" Oh! a mere nothing. Of course one has always 50,000 francs. Why
the deuce cannot that knave Colbert be as easily satisfied as you are:
and I should give myself far less trouble than I do. When do you neea
this sum ? "
" To-morrow morning; but you require to know its destination."
'Nay, nay, chevalier, I need no explanation."
" To-morrow is the first of June."
"Well?"
" One of our bonds becomes due."
THE KINO'S CABD-TABLE. 449
" I did not know we had any bonds."
" Certainly, to-morrow we pay our last third instalment."
" What third ? "
" Of the 150,000 to Baisemeaux."
" Baisemeaux—who is he ? "
" The governor of the Bastille."
"Yes, I remember; on what grounds am I to pay 150,000 for that
man ? "
" On account of the appointment which he, or rather we, purchased
from Louviere and Tremblay."
" I have a very vague recollection of the whole matter."
" That is likely enough, for you have so many affairs to attend to.
However, I do not believe you have any affair of greater importance
than this one."
" Tell me, then, why we purchased this appointment."
"Why, in order to render him a service in the first place, and after-
wards ourselves."
" Ourselves, you are joking ? "
" Monseigneur, the time may come when the governor of the Bastille
may prove a very excellent acquaintance."
" I have not the good fortune to understand you, d'Herblay."
" Monseigneur, we have our own poets, our own engineer, our own
architect, our own musicians, our own printer, and our own painters ;
we needed our own governor of the Bastille."
" Do you think so ? "
"Let us not deceive ourselves, monseigneur; we are very much exposed
to paying the Bastille a visit," added the prelate, displaying, beneath his
pale lips, teeth which were still the same beautiful teeth so admired
thirty years previously by Marie Michon.
" And you think it is not too much to pay 150,000 for that ? I assure
you, that you generally put out your money at better interest than
that."
" The day will come when you will admit your mistake."
" My dear d'Herblay, the very day on which a man enters the Bastille,
he is no longer protected by the past."
"Yes, he is, if the bonds are perfectly regular; besides, that good
fellow Baisemeaux has not a courtier's heart. I am certain, my lord,
that he will not remain ungrateful for that money, without taking into
account, I repeat, that I retain the acknowledgments."
" It is a strange affair! usury in a matter of benevolence."
" Do not mix yourself up with it, monseigneur; if there be usury, it is
I who practise it, and both of us reap the advantage from it—that is all."
" Some intrigue, d'Herblay ? "
" I do not deny it."
" And Baisemeaux an accomplice in it ? "
" Why not ? there are worse accomplices than he ? May I depend,
then, upon the 5,000 pistoles to-morrow ? "
" Do you want them this evening ? "
" It would be better, for I wish to start early; poor Baisemeaux will
not be able to imagine what has become of me, and must be upon
thorns."
" You shall have the amount in an hour. Ah, d'Herblay, the interest
of your 150,000 francs will never pay my four millions for me."
" Why not, monseigneur ? "
"Goodnight, I have business to transact with my clerks before I
retire."
2 G
450 the vicomte de bbacelonne-
"A good night's rest, monseigneur" . , „
"B'iferbluy, you wish that which is impossible.
" Shall 1 have my 50,000 francs this evening ? "
"Yes."
" Go to sleep, then, in perfect safety—it is I who tell you to do so
Notwithstanding this assurance, and the tone in which it was give
Fuuquet left the room shaking his head, and heaving a sigh.
CHAPTER XCYIII.
M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun's Accounts.
The clock of St. Paul's was striking seven as Aramis, on horseback,
dressed as a simple citizen, that is to say, in a coloured suit, with no
distinctive mark about him, except a kind of hunting-knife by his siJe
passed before the street du Petit-Musc, and stopped opposite the street
des Tourelles, at the gate of the Bastille. Two sentinels were on duty
at the gate; they raised no difficulty about admitting Aramis, who
entered without dismounting, and they pointed out the way he was to
go by a long passage with buildings on both sides. This passage led to
the drawbridge, or, in other words, to the real entrance. The draw-
bridge was down, and the duty of the day was about being entered upon.
The sentinel on duty at the outer guard-house stopped Aramis's further
progress, asking him, in a rough tone of voice, what had brought him
there. Aramis explained, with his usual politeness, that a wish to speak
to M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun had occasioned his visit. The first
sentinel then summoned a second sentinel, stationed within an iuner
lodge, who showed his face at the grating, and inspected the new arrival
very attentively. Aramis reiterated the expression of his wish to see
the governor, whereupon the sentinel called to an officer of lower grade,
who was walking about iu a tolerably spacious courtyard, and who, in
his turn, on being informed of his object, ran to seek one of the officers
of the governor's staff. The latter, after having listened to Aramis's
request, begged him to wait a moment, then went away a short distance,
hut returned to ask his name. " I cannot tell it you, monsieur," said
Aramis; "I would only mention, that I have matters of such import-
ance to communicate to the governor, that I can only rely beforehand
upon one thing, that M. de Baisemeaux will be delighted to see me;
nay, more than that, when you shall have told him that it is the
person whom he expected on the 1st of June, I am convinced he will
hasten here himself." The officer could not possibly believe that a
man of the governor's importance should put himself out for a man of
so little importance as the citizen-looking person on horseback. "It
happens most fortunately, monsieur," he said, " that the governor is
i* ust going out, and you can perceive his carriage, with the horses already
larnessed, in the courtyard yonder; there will be no occasion for him
to come to meet you, as he will see you as he passes by." Aramis
bowed to signify his assent; he did not wish to inspire others with too
exalted an opinion of himself, and therefore waited patiently and in
silence, leaning upon the saddle-bow of his horse. Ten minutes had
hardly elapsed when the governor's carriage was observed to move.
The governor appeared at the door, got into the carriage, which imme-
diately prepared to start. The same ceremony was observed for the
governor himself, as had been the case with a suspected stranger • the
M. BAISEMEAUX DE MONTLEZUN'S ACCOUNTS. 451
sentinel at the lodge advanced as the carriage was about to pass under
the arch, and the governor opened the carriage-door, himself setting
the example of obedience to orders; so that, in this way, the sentinel
, could convince himself that no one quitted the Bastille improperly.
The carriage rolled along under the archway, but, at the moment the
iron gate was opened, the officer approached the carriage, which had
been again stopped, and said something to the governor, who imme-
diately put his head out of the doorway, and perceived Aramis on
horseback at the end of the drawbridge. He immediately uttered
almost a shout of delight, and got out, or rather darted out of liis
carriage, running towards Aramis, whose hands he seized, making a
thousand apologies. He almost kissed him. " What a difficult matter
to enter the Bastille," said Aramis. " Is it the same for those who are
sent here against their wills, as for those who come of their own
accord?"
"A thousand pardons, my lord. How delighted I am to see your grace."
" Hush ! What are you thinking of, my dear M. Baisemeaux, what
do you suppose would be thought of a bishop in my present costume ?"
" Pray excuse me, I had forgotten. Take this gentleman's horse to
the stables," cried Baisemeaux.
" No, no," said Aramis, " I have 5,000 pistoles in the portmanteau."
The governor's countenance became so radiant, that if the prisoners
had seen him they would have imagined some prince of the blood royal
had arrived. "Yes, you are right, the horse shall be taken to the
government house. "VVill you get into the carriage, my dear M. d'Her-
blay, and it shall takq us back to my house."
" Get into a carriage to cross a courtyard, do you believe I am so
great an invalid ? No, no, we will go on foot."
Baisemeaux then offered his arm as a support, but the prelate did
not accept it. They arrived in this manner at the government house,
Baisemeaux rubbing his hands and glancing at the horse from time
to time, while Aramis was looking at the black and bare walls. A
tolerably handsome vestibule, a straight staircase of white stone
led to the governor's apartments, who crossed the antechamber, the
dining-room, where breakfast was being prepared, opened a small
side door, and closeted himself with his guest in a large cabinet,
the windows of which opened obliquely upon the courtyard and the
stables. Baisemeaux installed the prelate with that obsequious polite-
ness of which a good man, or a grateful man, alone possesses the
secret. An armchair, a footstool, a small table beside him, on which to
rest his hand, everything was prepared by the governor himself. With
his own hands, too, he placed upon the table, with an almost religious
solicitude, the bag containing the gold, which one of the soldiers had
brought up with the most respectful devotion; and the soldier having
left the room, Baisemeaux himself closed the door after him, drew aside
one of the window-curtains, and looked steadfastly at Aramis to see if
the prelate required anything further. "Well, my lord," he said, still
standing up," of all men of their word, you still continue to be the most
punctual."
" In matters of business, dear M. de Baisemeaux, exactitude is not a
virtue only, but a duty as well."
"Yes, in matters of business, certainly; but what you have with me
is not of that character, it is a service you are rendering me."
" Come, confess, dear M. de Baisemeaux, that, notwithstanding this
exactitude, you have not been without a little uneasiness."
" About your health, I certainly have," stammered out Baisemeaux.
2 a 2
452 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" I wished to come here yesterday, but I was not able, as I was too
fatigued," continued Aramis. Baisemeaux anxiously slipped another
cushion behind his guest's back. "But," continued_ Aramis, " I pro-
mised myself to come and pay you a visit to-day, early in the morning.
"You are really very kind, my lord. And it was a good thing lor
me that I was punctual, I think."
" What do you mean ?" .
" Yes, you were going out." At which latter remark Baisemeaux
coloured and said, " Y es, it is true I was going out."
"Then I prevent you," said Aramis; whereupon the embarrassment
of Baisemeaux became visibly greater. " I am putting you to incon-
venience," he continued, fixing a keen glance upon the poor governor;
" If I had known that, I should not have come."
" How can your lordship imagine that you could ever inconvenience
me ?"
" Confess you were going in search of money."
"No," stammered out Baisemeaux, "no! I assure you I was going
to "
"Does the governor still intend to go to M. Bouquet," suddenly called
out the major from below. Baisemeaux ran to the window like a
madman, " No, no," he exclaimed in a state of desperation, "who the.
deuce is speaking of M. Bouquet ? are you drunk below there; why am
I interrupted when I am engaged on business ?"
"You were going to M. Bouquet's," said Aramis, biting his lips, "to
M. Bouquet, the abbe, or the surintendant ?"
Baisemeaux almost made up his mind to tell an untruth, but he
could not summon courage to do so. " To the surintendant," he said.
"It is true, then, that you were in want of money, since you were
going to the person who gives it away ?"
" I assure you, my lord "
"You are suspicious of me."
" My dear lord, it was the uncertainty and ignorance in which I was
as to where you were to be found."
"You would have found the money you require at M. Bouquet's, for
he is a man whose hand is always open."
"I swear that I should never have ventured to ask M. Bouquet for
money. I only wished to ask him for your address."
"To ask M. Bouquet for my address?" exclaimed Aramis, opening
his eyes in real astonishment.
" Yes," said Baisemeaux, greatly disturbed by the glance which the
prelate fixed upon him, " at M. Bouquet's certainly."
" There is no harm in that, dear M. Baisemeaux, only I would ask,
why ask my address of M. Bouquet?"
" That I might write to you."
" I understand," said Aramis smiling," but that is not what I meant;
I do not ask you what you required my address for, I only ask why you
should go to M. Bouquet for it?'
"Oh !" said Baisemeaux, " as Belle-Isle is the property of M. Bouquet,
and as Belle-Isle is in the diocese of Yannes, and as you are bishop of
Yannes "
"But, my dear Baisemeaux, since you knew I was bishop of Yannes,
you had no occasion to ask M. Bouquet for my address."
" Well, monsieur," said Baisemeaux, completely at hay, "if I have
acted indiscreetly, 1 beg your pardon most sincerely."
"Nonsense," observed Aramis, calmly; "how can you possibly have
acted indiscreetly ?" And while he composed his face, and continued
M. BAISEMEAUX DE MONTLEZUN'S ACCOUNTS. 453
to smile cheerfully on the governor, he was considering how Baisemeaux,
who was not aware of his address, knew, however, that Vannes was his
residence. "I will clear all this up," lie said to himself; and then
speaking aloud, added, "Well, my dear governor, shall we now arrange
our little accounts ?"
"I am at your orders, my lord; but tell me beforehand, my lord,
whether you will do me the honour to breakfast with me as usual ?"
"Very willingly indeed."
" That's well," said Baisemeaux, as he struck the bell before him three
times.
" What does that mean ?" inquired Aramis.
" That I have some one to breakfast with me, and that preparations
are to be made accordingly."
" And you rang thrice. Really, my dear governor, I begin to think
you are acting ceremoniously with me."
" No, indeed. Besides, the least I can do is to receive you in the best
way I can."
"But why so?"
" Because not a prince, even, could have done what you have done
for me."
"Nonsense! nonsense!"
"Nay, I assure you "
"Let us speak of other matters," said Aramis. " Or rather, tell me
how your affairs here are getting on ?"
" Not over well."
" The deuce!"
" M. de Mazarin was not hard enough."
" Ves, I see; you require a government full of suspicion—like that of
the old cardinal, for instance."
" Yes; matters went on better under him. The brother of his e grey
eminence' made his fortune in it."
"Believe me, my dear governor," said Aramis, drawing closer to
Baisemeaux, "a young king is well worth an old cardinal. Youth has
its suspicions, its fits of anger, its prejudices, as old age has its hatreds,
its precautions, and its fears. Have you paid your three years' profits
to Louviere and to Tremblay ?"
" Most certainly I have."
" So that you have nothing more to give them than the fifty thousand
francs which I have brought with me?" " Yes."
" Have you not saved anything, then ?"
"My lord, in giving the fifty thousand francs of my own to these
gentlemen, I assure you that I give them everything I gain. I told
M. d'Artagnan so yesterday evening."
" Ah!" said Aramis, whose eyes sparkled for a moment, hut became
immediately afterwards as unmoved as before; " so you have seen my
old friend d'Artagnan; how was he?"
"Wonderfully well."
" And what did you say to him, M. de Baisemeaux ?"
"I told him," continued the governor, not perceiving his own
thoughtlessness; " I told him that I fed my prisoners too well."
"How many have you?" inquired Aramis, in an indifferent tone of
voice. " Sixty."
" Well, that is a tolerably-round number."
" In former times, my lord, there were, during certain years, as many
as two hundred."
" Still a minimum of sixty is not to he grumbled at."
454 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Perhaps not; for, to anybody but myself, each prisoner would bring
in two hundred and fifty pistoles: for instance, for a prince of the blood
I have fifty francs a day."
" Only you have no prince of the blood; at least, I suppose so," said
Aramis, with a slight tremor in his voice.
"No, thank heaven!—I mean, no, unfortunately."
" What do you mean by unfortunately ?"
" Because my appointment would be improved by it. So, fifty francs
per day for a prince of the blood, thirty-six for a marechal of Prance "
" But you have as many marechals of Prance, I suppose, as you have
princes of the blood ?"
"Alas! yes; it is true that lieutenant-generals and brigadiers pay
twenty-six francs, and I have two of them After that, come the coun-
cillors of the parliament, who bring me fifteen francs, and I have six of
them."
" I did not know," said Aramis, " that councillors were so productive."
" Yes; but from fifteen francs I sink at once to ten francs; namely,
for an ordinary judge, and for an ecclesiastic."
"And you have seven, you say: an excellent affair."
" Nay, a bad one, and for this reason. How can I possibly treat these
poor fellows, who are of some good, at all events, otherwise than as a
councillor of the parliament?"
"Yes, you are right; I do not see five francs' difference between
them."
" You understand; if I have a fine fish, I pay four or five francs for
it; if I get a fine fowl, it costs me a franc and a half. I fatten a good
deal of poultry, but I have to buy grain, and you cannot imagine the
multitude of rats which infest this place."
" "Why not get half a dozen cats to deal with them ?"
" Cats indeed; yes, they eat them, but I was obliged to give up the
idea because of the way in which they treated my grain. I have been
obliged to have some terrier dogs sent me from England to kill the rats.
The dogs have tremendous appetites; they eat as much as a prisoner of
the fifth order, without taking into account the rabbits and fowls they
kill." Was Aramis really listening or not? No one could have told;
his downcast eyes showed the attentive man, but the restless hand be-
trayed the man absorbed in thought—Aramis was meditating. "I was
saying," continued Baisemeaux, "that a tolerably-sized fowl costs me a
franc and a half, and that a good-sized fish costs me four or five francs.
Three meals are served at the Bastille, and, as the prisoners, having
nothing to do, are always eating, a ten-franc man costs me seven francs
and a half."
" But did you not say that you treated those at ten francs like those
at fifteen?"
" Yes, certainly."
"Very well! Then you gain seven francs and a half upon those
who pay you fifteen francs."
" I must compensate myself somehow," said Baisemeaux, who saw how
he had been caught.
'' You are quite right, my dear governor; but have you no prisoners
below ten francs ? "
" Oh, yes ! we have citizens and barristers taxed at five francs."
" And do they eat too ?"
"Not a doubt about it; only you understand they do not get fish or
poultry, nor rich wines at every meal; but at all events thrice a week
hey have a good dish at their dinner."
M. BAISEMEAUX DE MONTLEZUN'S ACCOUNTS. 4-55
" Really, you are quite a philanthropist, my dear governor, and you
will ruin yourself."
"No; understand me; when the fifteen francs has not eaten his
fowl, or the ten francs has left his dish unfinished, I send it to the
five-franc prisoner; it is a feast for the poor devil, and one must be
charitable, you know."
" And what do you make out of your five-franc prisoners ? "
" A franc and a half."
" Baisemeaux, you're an honest fellow; in honest truth I say so."
" Thank you, my lord. But I feel most for the small tradesmen and
bailiffs' clerks, who are rated at three francs. Those do not often see
Rhine carp or Channel sturgeon."
"But do not the five-franc gentlemen sometimes leave some scraps?"
" Oh! my lord, do not believe I am so stingy as that; I delight the
heart of some poor little tradesman or clerk by sending him a wing of
a red partridge, a slice of venison, or a slice of a truffled pasty, dishes
which he never tasted except in his dreams; these are the leavings of
the twenty four-franc prisoners; and he eats and drinks, at dessert he
cries ' Long live the king,' and blesses the Bastille; with a couple of
bottles of champagne, which cost me five sous, I make him tipsy every
Sunday. That class of people call down blessings upon me, and are
sorry to leave the prison. Do you know that I have remarked, and it
does me infinite honour, that certain prisoners, who have been set at
liberty, have, almost immediately afterwards, got imprisoned again?
"Why should this be the case, unless it be to enjoy the pleasures of my
kitchen ? It is really the fact." Aramis smiled with an expression of
incredulity.
" Tou smile," said Baisemeaux.
" I do," returned Aramis.
"I tell you that we have names which have been inscribed on our
books thrice in the space of two years."
" I must see it before I believe it," said Aramis. _
" Well, I can show it you, although it is prohibited to communicate
the registers to strangers; and if you really wish to see it with your
own eyes "
" I should be delighted, I confess."
" Very well," said Baisemeaux, and he took out of a cupboard a large
register. Aramis followed him most anxiously with his eyes, and Baise-
meaux returned, placed the register upon the table, turned over the
leaves for a minute, and stayed at the letter M.
" Look here," said he, "Martinier, January, 1659; Martinier, June,
1660; Martinier, March, 1661. Mazarinades, &c.; you understand it
was only a pretext; people were not sent to the Bastille for jokes
against M. Mazarin; the fellow denounced himself in order to get im-
prisoned here."
" And what was his object ? "
" None other than to return to my kitchen at three francs the head."
" Three francs—poor devil!"
" The poet, my lord, belongs to the lowest scale, the same style of
board as the small tradesman and bailiff's clerk ; but I repeat it is to
these people only that I give those little surprises."
Aramis mechanically turned over the leaves of the register, con-
tinuing to read the names, but without appearing to take any interest
in the names he read.
" In 1661 you perceive," said Baisemeaux, " eighty entries; and in
1659, eighty also."
456 the vicomte he beagelonne.
" Ah!" said Aramis. " Seldon; I seem to know that name. Was it
not you who spoke to me about a certain young man ? "
"Yes, a poor devil of a student, who made What do you call
that where two Latin verses rhyme together ? "
" A distich ."
" Yes; that is it."
" Poor fellow; for a distich."
" Do you not know that he made this distich against the Jesuits ?
" That makes no difference; the punishment seems very severe."
"Do not pity him; last year you seemed to interest yourself in him."
"Yes, I did so."
" Well, as your interest is all-powerful here, my lord, I have treated
Tiim since that time as a prisoner at fifteen francs."
" The same as this one, then," said Aramis, who had continued turn-
ing over the leaves, and who had stopped at one of the names which
followed Martinier.
" Yes, the same as that one."
" Is that Marchiali an Italian ?" said Aramis, pointing with his finger
to the name which had attracted his attention.
" Hush !" said Baisemeaux.
" Why hush," said Aramis, involuntarily clenching his white hand.
" I thought 1 had already spoken to you about that Marchiali."
" No; it is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced."
" That may be; but I may have spoken to you about him without
naming him."
" Is he an old offender ? " asked Aramis, attempting to smile.
" On the contrary he is quite young."
" Is his crime, then, very heinous ? "
" Unpardonable."
" Has he assassinated any one ? " " Bah!"
" An incendiary, then ?" " Bah!"
" Has he slandered any one ?"
" No, no! It is he who " and Baisemeaux approached Aramis's
ear, making a sort of ear-trumpet of his hands, and whispered, " It is
he who presumes to resemble the "
" Yes, yes," said Aramis, " I now remember you already spoke about
it last year to me; but the crime appeared to me so slight."
" Slight, do you say ? "
" Or rather, so involuntary."
" My lord, it is not involuntarily that such a resemblance is detected."
"Well, the fact is, I had forgotten it. But, my dear host," said
Aramis, closing the register," if I am not mistaken, we are summoned."
Baisemeaux took the register, hastily restored it to its place in the
closet, which he closed, and put the key in his pocket. " Will it be
agreeable to your lordship to breakfast now ?" said he; " for you are
right in supposing that breakfast was announced."
"Assuredly my dear governor," and they passed into the dining-
room.
the breakfast of m. ide baisemeattx.
457
CHAPTER XCIX.
The Breakfast of Monsieur de Baisemeaux.
Arahis was generally temperate; but, on this occasion, while taking
every care with regard, to himself, he did ample justice to Baisemeaux's
breakfast, which, in every respect, was most excellent. The latter, on
his side, was animated with the wildest gaiety; the sight of the five
thousand pistoles, which he glanced at from time to time, seemed to
open his heart. Every now and then he looked at Aramis with an
expression of the deepest gratitude; while the latter, leaning back in
his chair, sipped a few drops of wine from his glass, with the air of a
connoisseur. " Let me never hear an ill word against the fare of the
Bastille/' said he, half-closing his eyes; " happy are the prisoners who
can get only half a bottle of this Burgundy every day."
" All those at fifteen francs drink it," said Baisemeaux. " It is very
old Volnay."
" Does that poor student, Seldon, drink such good wine ? "
" Oh, no !»
" I thought I heard you say he was boarded at fifteen francs."
" He ! no, indeed; a man who makes districts—distichs I mean—at
fifteen francs. No, no! it is his neighbour who is at fifteen francs."
" Which neighbour ? "
" The other, the second Bertaudiere."
" Excuse me, my dear governor; but you speak a language which
requires an apprenticeship to understand."
" Yery true," said the governor. " Allow me to explain:—the second
Bertaudiere is the person who occupies the second floor of the tower of
the Bertaudiere."
" So that Bertaudiere is the name of one of the towers of the
Bastille ? The fact is, I think I recollect hearing that each tower has
a name of its own. Whereabouts is the one you are speaking of ? "
" Look," said Baisemeaux, going to the window. " It is that tower
to the left—the second one."
"Is the prisoner at fifteen francs there?" "Yes."
" Since when ? "
" Seven or eight years, nearly."
" What do you mean by nearly ? Do you not know the dates more
precisely ? "
" It was not in my time, dear M. d'Herblay."
" But I should have thought that Louviere or Tremblay would have
told you."
" The secrets of the Bastille are never handed over with the keys of
the governorship of it."
" Indeed ! Then the cause of his imprisonment is a mystery—a state
secret."
" Oh, no! I do not suppose it is a state secret, but a secret like every-
thing else that happens at the Bastille."
"But," said Aramis, "why do you speak more freely of Seldon than
of the second Bertaudiere ? "
"Because, in my opinion, the crime of the man who writes a distich
is not so great as that of the man who resembles "
"Yes, yes; I understand you. Still, do not the turnkeys talk with
your prisoners ? "——" Of course."
458 THE vicomte he bragelonne,
" The prisoners, I suppose, tell them they are not guilty ? "
" They are always telling them that; it is a matter of course; the
same song over and over again."
" But does not the resemblance you were speaking about just now
strike the turnkeys ?"
" My dear M. d'Herblay, it is only for men attached to the court, as
you are, to take any trouble about such matters."
" You're right, you're right, my dear M. Baisemeaux. Let me give
you another taste of this Volnay."
" Not a taste merely, a full glass; fill yours, too."
" Nay, nay! You are a musketeer still, to the very tips of your fingers,
while I have become a bishop. A taste for me; a glass for yourself."
" As you please." And Aramis and the governor nodded to each
other, as they drank their wine. "But," said Aramis, looking with
fixed attention at the ruby-coloured wine he had raised to the level of
his eyes, as if he wished to enjoy it with all his senses at the same
moment, " but what you might call a resemblance, another would not,
perhaps, take any notice of."
" Most certainly he would, though, if it were any one who knew the
person he resembles."
" I really think, dear M. de Baisemeaux, that it can be nothing more
than a resemblance of your own creation."
" Upon my honour, it is not so."
" Stay," continued Aramis. " I have seen many persons very like
the one we are speaking of; but, out of respect, no one ever said any-
thing about it."
" Very likely; because there is resemblance and resemblance. This
is a striking one, and, if you were to see him, you would admit it to
be so."
" If I were to see him, indeed," said Aramis, in an indifferent tone;
" but, in all probability, I never shall."
" Why not ? "
" Because if I were even to put my foot inside one of those horrible
dungeons, I should fancy I was buried there for ever."
" No, no; the cells are very good as places to live in."
" I really do not, and cannot, believe it, and that is a fact."
" Pray, don't speak ill of the second Bertaudiere. It is really a good
room, very nicely furnished and carpeted. The young fellow has by
no means been unhappy there; the best lodging the Bastille affords has
been his. There is a chance for you."
" Nay, nay," said Aramis, coldly; "you will never make me believe
there are any good rooms in the Bastille; and, as for your carpets, they
exist only in your own imagination. I should find nothing but spiders,
rats, and perhaps toads, too."
" Toads ? " said Baisemeaux.
" Yes, in the dungeons."
"Ah!" I don't say there are not toads in the dungeons," replied
Baisemeaux. " But will you be convinced by your own eyes ? " he
continued, with sudden impulse.
"No, certainly not."
"Not even to satisfy yourself of the resemblance which you deny, as
you do the carpets ? "
"Some spectral-looking person, a mere shadow; an unhappy, dying
man."
" Nothing of the kind—as brisk and vigorous a young fellow as ever
lived."
THE BREAKFAST OF M. DE BAISEMEAUX. 459
" Melancholy and ill-tempered, then ? "
"Not at all; very gay and lively."
"Nonsense ; you are joking."
"Will you follow me ?" said Baisemeaux.
" What for ? " " To go the round of the Bastille."
"Why?"
"You will then see for yourself—see with your eyes ? "
" But the regulations ? "
"Never mind them. To-day my major has leave of absence; the
lieutenant is visiting the posts on the bastions; we are masters of the
position."
" No, no, my dear governor; why, the very idea of the sound of the
holts makes me shudder. You will only have to forget me in the
second or fourth Bertaudiere, and then "
"You are refusing an opportunity that may never present itself
again. Do you know that, to obtain the favour I propose to you gratis,
some of the princes of the blood have offered me as much as fifty
thousand francs."
" Really! he must be worth seeing, then ?"
" Forbidden fruit, my lord ; forbidden fruit. You who belong to the
church ought to know that."
" Well, if I had any curiosity, it would be to see the poor author of
the distich."
" Yery well, we will see him too; but if I were at all curious, it
would be about the beautiful carpeted room and its lodger."
" Furniture is very commonplace; and a face with no expression in
it offers little or no interest."
" But a boarder at fifteen francs is always interesting."
" By the bye, I forgot to ask you about that. Why fifteen francs for
him, and only three francs for poor Seldon ?"
" The distinction made in that instance was a truly noble act, and
one which displayed the king's goodness of heart to great advantage."
" The king's, you say ? "
" The cardinal's, I mean; this unhappy man," said M. Mazarin, " is
destined to remain in prison for ever."
" Why so?"
" Why it seems that his crime is a lasting one; and, consequently, his
punishment ought to be so too."
"Lasting?"
"No doubt of it; unless he is fortunate enough to catch the small-pox,
and even that is difficult, for we never get any impure air here."
" Nothing can be more ingenious than your train of reasoning, my
dear M. de Baisemeaux. Do you, however, mean to say that this un-
fortunate man must suffer without interruption or termination ? "
"I did not say he was to suffer, my lord; a fifteen-francs boarder does
not suffer."
" He suffers imprisonment, at all events."
"No doubt, there is no help for it; but this suffering is sweetened
for him. You must admit that this young fellow was not born to eat
all the good things he does eat; for instance, such things as we have
on the table now; this pasty that has not been touched, these crawfish
from the river Marne, of which we have hardly taken any, and which
are almost as large as lobsters; all these things will at once be taken to
the second Bertaudiere, with a bottle of that Yolnay which you think
so excellent. After you have seen it, you will believe it, I hope."
" Yes, my dear governor, certainly; but all this time you are thinking
460 THE vicomte de bragelonne.
only of your very happy fifteen-francs prisoner, and you forget poor
Seldon, my protege."
" Well, out of consideration for you, it shall be a gala day for him;
he shall have some biscuits and preserves with this small bottle of
port."
" You are a good-hearted fellow; I have said so already, and I repeat
it, my dear Baisemeaux."
" Well, let us set off, then," said the governor, a little bewildered,
partly from the wine lie had drunk, and partly from Aramis's praises.
" Do not forgot that I only go to oblige you," said the prelate.
" Very well; but you will thank me when you get there."
" Let us go, then."
"Wait until I have summoned the gaoler," said Baisemeaux, as he
struck the bell twice; at which summons a man appeared. " I am going
to visit the towers," said the governor. "No guards, no drums, no
noise at all."
" If I were not to leave my cloak here," said Aramis, pretending to
be alarmed, " I should really think I was going to prison on my own
account." The gaoler preceded the governor, Aramis walking on his
right hand; some of the soldiers who happened to be in the courtyai'd
drew themselves up in line, as stiff as posts, as the governor passed along.
Baisemeaux led the way down several steps which conducted to a sort of
esplanade; thence they arrived at the drawbridge, where the sentinels
on duty received the governor with the proper honours. The governor
turned towards Aramis, and, speaking in such a tone that the sentinels
could not lose a word he said, observed—"I hope you have a good
memory, monsieur ? "
" Why ?" inquired Aramis.
" On account of your plans and your measurements, for you know
that no one is allowed, not architects even, to enter where the prisoners
are, with paper, pens, or pencil."
" Good," said Aramis to himself, " it seems I am an architect, then ?
It sounds like one of d'Artagnan's jokes, who saw me acting as an en-
gineer at Belle-Isle." Then, he added aloud, "Be easy on that score,
monsieur; in our profession, a mere glance and a good memory are
quite sufficient."
Baisemeaux did not change countenance, and the soldiers took Aramis
for what he seemed to be. "Very well; we will first visit la Bertau-
diere," said Baisemeaux, still intending the sentinels to hear him. Then,
turning to the gaoler, he added, "you will take the opportunity of car-
rying to No. 2, the few dainties I pointed out."
"Dear M. de Baisemeaux," said Aramis, "you are always forgetting
No. 3."
" So I am," said the governor; and, upon that, they began to ascend.
The number of bolts, gratings, and locks, for this single courtyard,
would have sufficed for the safety of an entire city. Aramis was
neither an imaginative nor a sensitive man; he had been somewhat of
a poet in his youth, but his heart was hard and indifferent, as the heart
of every man of fifty-five years of age is, who has been frequently and
passionately attached to women in his lifetime, or rather who has been
passionately loved by them. But when he placed his foot upon the
worn stone steps, along which so many unhappy wretches had passed,
when he felt himself impregnated, as it were, with the atmosphere of
those gloomy dungeons, moistened with tears, there could be but little
doubt he was overcome by his feelings, for his head was bowed and his
eyes became dim, as he folio wed Baisemeaux without uttering a syllable.
the second elooe of la beetattdieke.
461
CHAPTER C.
The second floor of la Bertaudiere.
On the second flight of stairs, whether from fatigue or emotion, the
breathing of the visitor began to fail him, and he leaned against the
wall. "Will you begin by this one?" said Baisemeaux; "for since we
are going to both, it matters very little whether we ascend from the
second to the third story, or descend from the third to the second."
"No, no," exclaimed Aramis, eagerly, "higher, if you please; the one
above is the more urgent." They continued their ascent. " Ask the
faoler for the keys ?" whispered Aramis. Baisemeaux did so, took the
eys, and, himself, opened the door of the third room. The gaoler was
the first to enter; he placed upon the table the provisions, which the
kind-hearted governor called dainties, and then left the room. The
prisoner had not stirred; Baisemeaux then entered, while Aramis re-
mained at the threshold, from which place he saw a youth about eighteen
years of age, who, raising his head at the unusual noise, jumped off the
bed, as he perceived the governor, and clasping his hands together,
began to cry out, " My mother, my mother," in tones which betrayed
such deep distress, that Aramis, despite his command over himself, felt
a shudder pass through his frame. " My dear boy," said Baisemeaux,
endeavouring to smile, " I have brought you a diversion and an extra,
—the one for the mind, the other for the body; this gentleman has
come to take your measure, and here are some preserves for your dessert."
" Oh, monsieur," exclaimed the young man, " keep me in solitude for
a year, let me have nothing but bread and water for a year, but tell me
that at the end of a year I shall leave this place, tell me that at the
end of a year I shall then see my mother again."
" But I have heard you say that your mother was very poor, and that
you were very badly lodged when you were living with her, while here
—upon my word !"
" If she were poor, monsieur, the greater reason to restore her only
means of support to her. Badly lodged with her ! oh, monsieur, every
one is always well lodged when he is free."
" At all events, since you yourself admit you have done nothing but
write that unhappy distich "
" But without any intention, I swear. Let me be punished,—cut off
the hand which wrote it, I will work with the other—but restore my
mother to me."
"My boy," said Baisemeaux, "you know very well that it does not
depend upon me; all I can do for you is to increase your rations, give
you a glass of port wine now and then, slip in a biscuit for you be-
tween a couple of plates."
" Great heaven !" exclaimed the young man. falling backward and
rolling on the ground.
Aramis, unable to bear this scene any longer, withdrew as far as the
landing. " Unhappy, wretched man," he murmured.
" Yes, monsieur, he is indeed very wretched," said the gaoler; " but
it is his parents' fault."
" In what way ? "
" No doubt. Why did they let him learn Latin ? Too much know-
ledge, you see; it is that which does harm. Now I, for instance, can't
read or write, and therefore I am not in prison." Aramis looked at the
462 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
man, who seemed to think that being a gaoler in the "Bastille was not
being in prison. As for Baisemeaux, noticing the little effect produced
by his advice and his port wine, he left the dungeon quite upset. " You
have forgotten to close the door," said the gaoler.
" So I have," said Baisemeaux ; " there are the keys, do you do it.
" I will solicit the pardon of that poor boy," said Aramis.
" And if you do not succeed," said Baisemeaux, " at least beg that he
may be transferred to the ten-franc list, by which both he and I shall
be gainers."
" If the other prisoner calls out for his mother in a similar manner,"
said Aramis, " I prefer not to enter at all, but will take my measure
from outside."
"No fear of that, monsieur architect, the one we are now going to
see is as gentle as a lamb, before he could call after his mother he must
open his lips, and lie never says a word."
"Let us go in, then," said Aramis, gloomily.
" Are you the architect of the prisons, monsieur ? " said the gaoler.
" I am."
" It is odd, then, that you are not more accustomed to all this."
Aramis perceived that, to avoid giving rise to any suspicions, he must
summon all his strength of mind to his assistance. Baisemeaux, who
carried the keys, opened the door. " Stay outside," he said to the
gaoler, " and wait for us at the bottom of the steps." The gaoler
obeyed and withdrew.
Baisemeaux entered the first, and opened the second door himself.
By the light which filtered through the iron-barred window, could be
seen a handsome young man, short in stature, with closely-cut hair,
and a beard beginning to grow; he was sitting on a stool, his elbow
resting on an arm-chair, and all the upper part of his body reclining
against it. His dress, thrown upon the bed, was of rich black velvet,
and he inhaled the fresh air which blew in upon his breast through a
shirt of the very finest cambric. As the governor entered, the young,
man turned his head with a look full of indifference; and on recog-
nizing Baisemeaux, he arose and saluted him courteously. But when
his eyes fell upon Aramis, who remained in the background, the latter
trembled, turned pale, and his hat, which he held in his hand, fell upon
the ground, as if all his muscles had become relaxed at once. Baise-
meaux, habituated to the presence of his prisoner, did not seem to
share any of the sensations which Aramis experienced, but, with all
the zeal of a good servant, he busied himself in arranging on the table
the pasty and crawfish he had brought with him. Occupied in_ this
manner, he did not remark how disturbed his guest had become. When
he had finished, however, he turned to the young prisoner and said,
" You are looking very well,—are you so ? "
" Quite well, I thank you, monsieur," replied the young man.
The effect of the voice was such as almost to overpower Aramis, and,
notwithstanding his command over himself, he advanced a few steps
towards him, with his eyes wide open, and his lips trembling. The
movement he made was so marked that Baisemeaux, notwithstanding
his occupation, observed it. " This gentleman is an architect who has
come to examine your chimney," said Baisemeaux; " does it smoke ? "
" Never, monsieur."
"You were saying just now," said the governor, rubbing his hands
together, " that it was not possible for a man to be happy in prison;
here, however, is one who is so. You have nothing to complain of, I
hope?" "Nothing."
THE SECOND FLOOR OF LA BEETAUDIERE. 463
" Do you ever feel wearied ?" said Aramis. " Never."
" Ha, ha," said Baisemeaux, in a low tone of voice; " was I right? "
""Well, my dear governor, it is impossible not to yield to evidence.
Is it allowed to put any questions to him ? "
" As many as you like."
"Very well; be good enough to ask him if he knows why he is
here."
" This gentleman requests me to ask you," said Baisemeaux, " if you
are aware of the cause of your imprisonment ? "
" No, monsieur," said the young man, unaffectedly, " I am not."
" That is hardly possible," said Aramis, carried away by his feelings
in spite of himself; " if you were really ignorant of the cause of your
detention, you would be furious."
" I was so during the earlier days of my imprisonment."
" "Why are you not so now ? "
" Because I have reflected."
" That is strange," said Aramis.
" Is it not odd ? " said Baisemeaux.
"May one venture to ask you, monsieur, on what you have
reflected ? "
" I felt that as I had committed no crime, Heaven could not punish
me."
" What is a prison, then," inquired Aramis, " if it be not a punish-
ment ?"
" Alas ! I cannot tell," said the young man; " all that I can tell you
now is the very opposite of what I felt seven years ago."
" To hear you converse, to witness your resignation, one might almost
believe that you liked your imprisonment ? "
" I endure it."
" In the certainty of recovering your freedom some day, I suppose ? "
" I have no certainty; hope I have, and that is all: and yet I acknow-
ledge that this hope becomes less every day."
" Still, why should you not again be free, since you have already been
so ? "
" That is precisely the reason," replied the young man, " which pre-
vents me expecting liberty; why should I have been imprisoned at all
if it had been intended to release me afterwards ? "
" How old are you ? "
" I do not know."
" What is your name ? "
" I have forgotten the name by which I was called."
" Who are your parents ? "
" I never knew them."
" But those who brought you up ? "
" They did not call me their son."
" Did you ever love any one before coming here ?
" I loved my nurse, and my flowers."
" Was that all ? "
" 1 also loved my valet."
" Do you regret your nurse and your valet ? "
" I wept very much when they died."
" Did they die since you have been here, or before you came ? "
" They died the evening before I was carried off."
" Both at the same time ? "
" Ves, both at the same time."
" In what manner were you carried off? "
464 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELOttNE.
" A man came for me, directed me to get into a carriage, which was
closed and locked, and brought me here."
" "Would you be able to recognize that man again ? "
" He was masked."
" Is not this an extraordinary tale ? " said Baisemeaux, in a low tone
of voice, to Aramis, who could hardly breathe.
" It is indeed extraordinary," he murmured.
" But what is still more extraordinary is, that he has never told me so
much as he has just told you."
" Perhaps the reason may be that you have never questioned him,"
said Aramis.
" It's possible," replied Baisemeaux; " I have no curiosity. Have
you looked at the room; it's a fine one, is it not ? "
"Very much so."
" A carpet " " Beautiful."
" I'll wager he had nothing like it before he came here."
" I think so, too." And then, again turning towards the young man,
he said, " Do you not remember to have been visited at some time or
another by a strange lady or gentleman ? "
" Yes, indeed; thrice by a woman, who each time came to the door
in a carriage, and entered covered with a veil, which she raised when
we were together, and alone."
" Do you remember that woman ? " " Yes."
" What did she say to you ? "
The young man smiled mournfully, and then replied," She inquired,
as you have just done, if I were happy, and if I were getting weary." "
" What did she do on arriving, and on leaving you ? "
" She pressed me in her arms, held me in her embrace, and kissed me."
" Do you remember her ? " " Perfectly."
" Do you recall her features distinctly ? " " Yes."
"You would recognize her, then, if accident brought her before you,
or led you into her presence ? "
" Most certainly."
A flush of fleeting satisfaction passed across Aramis's face. At this
moment Baisemeaux heard the gaoler approaching. ".Shall we leave ? "
he said, hastily, to Aramis.
Aramis, who probably had learnt all that he cared to know, replied,
" When you like."
The young man saw them prepare to leave, and saluted them politely.
Baisemeaux replied merely by a nod of the head, while Aramis, with a
respect, arising perhaps from the sight of such misfortune, saluted the
Srisoner profoundly. They left the room, Baisemeaux closing the door
ehind them.
" Well," said Baisemeaux, as they descended the staircase, "what do
you think of it all ? "
" I have discovered the secret, my dear governor," he said.
" Bah ! what is the secret, then ? "
" A murder was committed in that house."
"Nonsense."
" But, attend; the valet and the nurse died the same day."
"Well."
" And by poison. What do you think ? "
" That it is very likely to be true."
" What! that that young young man is an assassin ? "
" Who said that ? What makes you think that poor young fellow
could he an assassin?" ,
THE SECOND FLOOR OF LA BERTAUDIERE. 465
" The very thing I was saying. A crime was committed in his house,"
said Aramis, " and that was quite sufficient; perhaps he saw the crimi-
rials, and it was feared he might say something."
" The deuce! if I only thought that "
" Well ? "
" I would redouble the surveillance."
" Oh, be does not seem to wish to escape."
" You do not know what prisoners are."
" Has he any books ? "
" None; they are strictly prohibited, and under M. de Mazarin's own
hand."
" Have you the writing still ?"
"Yes, my lord; would you like to look at it as you return to take
your cloak P "
" I should, for I like to look at autographs."
"Well, then, this one is of the most unquestionable authenticity;
there is only one erasure."
" Ah, ah! an erasure; and in what respect ? "
" With respect to a figure. At first there was written:' To be boarded
at 50 francs.' "
" As princes of the blood, in fact ?"
" But the cardinal must have seen his mistake, you understand; for
he cancelled the zero, and has added a 1 before the 5. But, by the
bye "
" What?" " You do not speak of the resemblance."
" I do not speak of it, dear M. de Baisemeaux, for a very simple
reason,—because it does not exist."
" The deuce it doesn't."
" Or, if it does exist, it is only in your own imagination; but, supposing
it were to exist elsewhere, I think it would be better for you not to
speak about it."
" Beally."
" The king, Louis XIV.—you understand—would be excessively
angry with you, if he were to learn that you contributed, in any way,
to spread the report that one of his subjects has the effrontery to re-
semble him."
" It is true, quite true," said Baisemeaux, thoroughly alarmed; "but
I have not spoken of the circumstance to any one but yourself, and you
understand, monseigneur, that I perfectly rely on your being discreet."
" Oh, be easy."
" Do you still wish to see the note?" " Certainly."
While engaged in this manner in conversation, they had returned to
the governor's apartments; Baisemeaux took from the cupboard a pri-
vate register, like the one he had already shown Aramis, but fastened
by a lock, the key which opened it being one of a small bunch of keys
which Baisemeaux always carried with him. Then placing the book
upon the table, he opened it at the letter " M," and showed Aramis the
following note in the column of observations:—" No books at any time,
all linen and clothes of the finest and best quality to be procured; no
exercise; always the same gaoler; no communications with any one.
Musical instruments; every liberty, and every indulgence, which his
welfare may require; to be boarded at fifteen francs. M. de Baisemeaux
can claim more, if the fifteen francs be not sufficient."
" Ah," said Baisemeaux, " now I think of it, I shall claim it."
Aramis shut the book. " Yes," he said, " it is indeed M. de Mazarin's
handwriting; I recognize it well. Now, my dear governor," he-con-
2 H
466 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
tinued, as if this last communication had exhausted his interest, " let
us now turn to our own little affairs."
" Well, what time for payment do you wish me to take? Fix it
yourself."
" There need not he any particular period fixed: give me a simple
acknowledgment for 150,000 francs."
" When to be made payable ?"
" When I require it. But you understand, I shall only wish it when
you yourself do so."
" Oh, I am quite easy on that score," said Baisemeaux, smiling; " but
I have already given you two receipts."
" Which I now destroy," said Aramis; and, after having shown the
two receipts to Baisemeaux, he destroyed them. Overcome by so great
a mark of confidence, Baisemeaux unhesitatingly wrote out an acknow-
ledgment of a debt of 150,000 francs, payable at the pleasure of the
prelate. Aramis, who had, by glancing over the governor's shoulder,
followed the pen as he wrote, put the acknowledgment into his pocket
without seeming to have read it, which made Baisemeaux perfectly
easy. " Now," said Aramis, " you will not be angry with me if I were
to carry off one of your prisoners ?"
" What do you mean ? "
" In obtaining his pardon, of course. Have I not already told you
that I took a great interest in poor Seldon ?"
" Yes, quite true, you did so."
" Well ?"
" That is your affair; do as you think proper. I see you have an
open hand, and an arm that can reach a great way."
" Adieu, adieu." And Aramis left, carrying with him the governor's
blessings.
CHAPTER CI.
The two Friends.
At the very time M. de Baisemeaux was showing Aramis the
prisoners in the Bastille, a carriage drew up at Madame de Belliere's
door, and, at that still early hour, a young woman alighted, her head
muffled in a silk hood. At the moment the servants announced Madame
Vanel to Madame de Belliere, the latter was engaged, or rather was
absorbed, in reading a letter, which she hurriedly concealed. She had
hardly finished her morning toilette, her woman being still in the next
room. At the name—at the footsteps of Marguerite Yanel, Madame de
Belliere ran to meet her. She fancied she could detect in her friend's
eyes a brightness which was neither that of health nor of pleasure.
Marguerite embraced her, pressed her hands, and hardly allowed her
time to speak. " Dearest," she said, " are you forgetting me ? Have
you quite given yourself up to the pleasures of the court ?"
" I have not even seen the marriage fetes."
" What are you doing with yourself, then ?"
" I am getting ready to leave for Belliere."
" For Belliere ?" " Yes."
" You are becoming rustic in your tastes, then; I delight to see you
so disposed. But you are pale."
" No, I am perfectly well."
, THE TWO FRIENDS. 467
" So much the better; I was becoming uneasy about you. You do
not know what I have been told."
" People say so many things."
" Yes, but this is very singular."
" How well you know how to excite curiosity, Marguerite."
" Well, I was afraid of vexing you."
"Never; you have yourself always admired me for my evenness of
temper."
" Well, then, it is said that—no, I shall never be able to tell you."
" Do not let us talk about it then," said Madame de Belliere, who
detected the ill-nature which was concealed by all these prefaces, yet
felt the most anxious curiosity on the subject.
" Well, then, my dear marquise, it is said that, for some time past,
you no longer continue to regret Monsieur de Belliere as you used
to do."
" It is an ill-natured report, Marguerite. I do regret, and shall
always regret, my husband; but it is now two years since he died. I am
only twenty-eight years old, and my grief at his loss ought not always
to control every action and thought of my life. You, Marguerite, who
are the model of a wife, would not believe me if I were to say so."
" Why not ? Your heart is so soft and yielding," she said, spitefully.
" Yours is so too, Marguerite, and yet I did not perceive that you
allowed yourself to be overcome by grief when your heart was wounded."
These words were in direct allusion to Marguerite's rupture with the
surintendant, and were also a veiled but direct reproach made against
her friend's heart.
As if she only awaited this signal to discharge her shaft, Marguerite
exclaimed, " Well, Eliza, it is said you are in love." And she looked
fixedly at Madame de Belliere, who blushed without being able to
prevent it.
" Women never escape slander," replied the marquise, after a mo-
ment's pause.
"No one slanders you, Eliza."
" What!—people say that I am in love, and yet they do not slander
me!"
"In the first place, if it be true, there is no slander, but simply a
scandal-loving report. In the next place—for you did not allow me to
finish what 1 was saying,—the public does not assert that you have
abandoned yourself to this passion. It represents you, on the contrary,
as a virtuous but loving woman, defending herself with claws and teeth,
shutting yourself up in your own house as in a fortress, and in a fortress
in other respects as impenetrable as that of Danae, notwithstanding
Danae's tower was made of brass."
" You are witty, Marguerite," said Madame de Belliere, tremblingly.
" You always flatter me, Eliza. To be brief, however, you are reported
to be incorruptible and unapproachable. You can decide whether
people calumniate you or notbut what is it you are musing about
while I am speaking to you?" " IP"
" Yes; you are blushing and are quite silent."
" I was trying," said the marquise, raising her beautiful eyes
brightened with an indication of approaching anger, "I was trying to
discover to what you could possibly have alluded, you who are so learned
in mythological subjects, in comparing me to Danae."
" You were trying to guess that," said Marguerite, laughing.
"Yes; do you not remember that at the convent, when we were
solying our problems in arithmetic—ah! what I have to tell you is
2 h 2
468 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
learned also, but it is my turn—do you not remember, that if one of
the terms were given, we were to find out the other ? Therefore do you
guess now?"
" I cannot conjecture what you mean."
" And yet nothing is more simple."
" You pretend that I am in love, do you not ?"
" So it is said."
"Very well; it is not said, I suppose, that I am m love with an
abstraction. There must surely be a name mentioned in this report."
" Certainly, a name is mentioned."
" Very well; it is not surprising, then, that I should try to guess this
name, since you do not tell it me."
" My dear marquise, when I saw you blush, I did not think you
would have to spend much time in conjectures."
" It was the word Danae which you used that surprised me. Danae
means a shower of gold, does it not ?"
" That is to say that the Jupiter of Danae changed himself into a
shower of gold for her."
" My lover, then, he whom you assign me "
" I beg your pardon ; I am your friend, and assign you no one."
" That may be; but those who are evilly disposed towards me."
" Do you wish to hear the name ?"
" I ha ve been waiting this half-hour for it."
" Well, then, you shall hear it. Bo not be shocked; he is a man high,
in power."
" Good," said the marquise, as she clenched her hands like a patient
at the approach of the knife.
" He is a very wealthy man," continued Marguerite; "the wealthiest,
it may be. In a word, it is "
The marquise closed her eyes for a moment.
"It is the duke of Buckingham," said Marguerite, bursting into
laughter. The perfidiousness had been calculated with extreme ability;
the name that was pronounced, instead of the name which the mar-
quise awaited, had precisely the same effect upon her as the badly-
sharpened axes, which had hacked, without destroying, Messieurs de
Chalais and de Thou on their scaffolds, had upon them. She recovered
herself, however, and said, " I was perfectly right in saying you were a
witty woman, for you are making the time pass away most agreeably.
The joke is a most amusing one, for I have never seen the duke of
Buckingham."
" Never!" said Marguerite, restraining her laughter.
" I have never even left my own house since the duke has been at
Paris."
" Oh !" resumed Madame Vanel, stretching out her foot towards a
paper which was lying on the carpet near the window; " it is not neces-
sary for people to see each other, since they can write." The marquise
trembled, for this paper was the envelope of the letter she was reading
as her friend had entered, and was sealed with the surintendant's
arms. As she leaned back on the sofa on which she was sitting, Madame
de Belliere covered the paper with the thick folds of her large silk dress,
and so concealed it. " Come, Marguerite, tell me, is it to tell me all
these foolish reports that you have come to see me so early in the day ?"
" No ; I came to see you in the first place, and to remind you of those
habits of our earlier days, so delightful to remember, when we used to
wander about together at Vincennes, and, sitting beneath an oak, or in
some sylvan shade, used to talk of those we loved, and who loved us."
THE TWO FRIENDS. 469
" Bo you propose that we should go out together now ?"
" My carriage is here, and I have three hours at my disposal."
" I am not dressed yet, Marguerite; but if you wish that we should
talk together, we can, without going to the woods of Vincennes, find in
my own garden here, beautiful trees, shady groves, a green sward covered
with daisies and violets, the perfume of which can be perceived from
where we are sitting."
"I regret your refusal, my dear marquise, for I wanted"to pour
out my whole heart into yours."
" I repeat again, Marguerite, my heart is yours just as much in this
room, or beneath the lime-trees in the garden here, as it is under the
oaks in the wood yonder."
" It is not the same thing for me. In approaching nearer to Yin-
cennes, marquise, my ardent aspirations approach nearer to that ob-
ject towards which they have for some days past been directed." The
marquise suddenly raised her head. " Are you surprised, then, that
I am still thinking of St. Mande ?"
" Of St. Mande," exclaimed Madame de Belliere; and the looks of
both women met each other like two swords restless at the first time
their blades were crossed.
" Tou, so proud too !" said the marquise, disdainfully.
"I, so proud!" replied Madame Vanel. " Such is my nature. I do
not forgive neglect,—I cannot endure infidelity. When I leave any one
who weeps at my abandonment, I feel induced still to love him; but
when others forsake me and laugh at their infidelity, I love distractedly."
Madame de Belliere could not restrain an involuntary movement.
" She is jealous," said Marguerite to herself. " Then," continued the
marquise, "you are quite enamoured of the duke of Buckingham.
I mean of M. Bouquet." Eliza felt the allusion, and all her blood
seemed to have flowed towards her heart. " And you wished to go to
Yincennes,—to St. Mande even ? "
" I hardly know what I wished: you would have advised me, perhaps.''
" In what respect ?" ■
"You have often done so."
" Most certainly I should not have done so in the present instance,
for I do not forgive as you do. I am less loving, perhaps; but when my
heart has been once wounded, it remains so always."
" But M. Bouquet has not wounded you," said Marguerite Yanel,
with the most perfect simplicity.
"You perfectly understand what I mean. M. Bouquet has not
wounded me; I do not know him either from any obligation or any
injury received at his hands, but you have reason to complain of him.
You are my friend, and I am afraid I should not advise you as you
would like,"
" Ah! you are prejudging the case."
" The sighs you spoke of just now are more than indications.'
"You overwhelm me," said the young woman suddenly, as if collect-
ing her whole strength, like a wrestler preparing for a last struggle;
" you take only my evil dispositions and my weaknesses into calculation,
and do not speak of the pure and generous feelings which I have. If,
at this moment, I feel instinctively attracted towards the surintendant,
if I even make an advance to him, and which I confess is very probable,
my motive for it is, that M. Bouquet's fate deeply affects me, and because
he is, in my opinion, one of the most unfortunate men living."
" Ah!" said the marquise,.placing her hand upon her heart, " some-
thing new, then, has occurred."
470 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Do you not know it ?"
" I am utterly ignorant of everything about him," said Madame de
Belliere, with that palpitation of anguish which suspends thought and
speech, and even life itself.
" In the first place, then, the king's favour is entirely withdrawn from
M. Fouquet, and conferred on M. Colbert."
" So it is stated."
" It is very clear, since the discovery of the plot at Belle-Isle."
" I was told that the discovery of the fortifications there had turned
out to M. Bouquet's honour."
Marguerite began to laugh in so cruel a manner, that Madame de
Belliere could at that moment have delightedly plunged a dagger in her
bosom. " Dearest," continued Marguerite, " there is no longer any
question of M. Fouquet's honour; his safety is concerned. Before three
days are past the ruin of the surintendant will be complete."
" Stay," said the marquise, in her turn smiling, " that is going a
little too fast."
" I said three days, because I wish to deceive myself with a hope;
hut most certainly the catastrophe will not extend beyond twenty-four
hours."
" Why so ? "
" For the simplest of all reasons, that M. Fouquet has no more
money."
" In matters of finance, my dear Marguerite, some are without
money to-day, who to-morrow can procure millions."
" That might be M. Fouquet's case when he had two wealthy and
clever friends who amassed money for him, and wrung it from every
source; but these friends are dead."
" Money does not die, Marguerite; it may he concealed; but it can
he looked for, bought, and found."
" You see things on the bright side, and so much the better for you.
It is really very unfortunate that you are not the Egeria of M. Fouquet,
you might show him the source whence he could obtain the millions
which the king asked him for yesterday."
" Millions! " said the marquise, in terror.
" Four,—an even number."
" Infamous !" murmured Madame de Belliere, tortured by her friend's
merciless delight.
" M. Fouquet, I should think, must certainly have four millions,"
she replied, courageously.
" If he has those which the king requires to-day," said Marguerite,
" he will not perhaps possess those which the king will require in a
month."
" The king will require money from him again then ? "
"No doubt, and that is my reason for saying that the ruin of this
poor M. Fouquet is inevitable. Pride will induce him to furnish the
money, and when he has no more, he will fall."
" It is true," said the marquise, tremblingly; "the plan is a bold one;
but tell me, does M. Colbert hate M. Fouquet so very much ? "
" I think he does not like him. M. Colbert is powerful; he improves
on close acquaintance; he has gigantic ideas, a strong will, and discre-
tion; he will make great strides."
" He will be surintendant P "
" It is probable. Such is the reason, my dear marquise, why I felt
myself impressed in favour of that poor man, who once loved, nay even
adored, me; and why, when I see him so unfortunate, I forgive his infi-
delity, which I have reason to believe he also regrets: and whv
madame de belliere's plate. 471
over, I should not have been disinclined to afford him some consolation,
or some good advice; he would have understood the step I had taken,
and would have thought kindly of me for it. It is gratifying to be
loved, you know. Men value love highly when they are no longer
blinded by its influence."
The marquise, bewildered, and overcome by these cruel attacks,
which had been calculated with the greatest correctness and precision
of aim, hardly knew what answer to return; she even seemed to have
lost all power of thought. Her perfidious friend's voice had assumed
the most affectionate tone; she spoke as a woman, but concealed the
instincts of a panther. " Well," said Madame de Belliere, who had a
vague hope that Marguerite would cease to overwhelm a vanquished
enemy, " why do you not go and see M. Bouquet ? "
" Decidedly, marquise, you have made me reflect. No, it would be
unbecoming for me to make the first advance. M. Fouquet no doubt
loves me, but he is too proud. I cannot expose myself to an affront
.... besides, I have my husband to consider. You say nothing to me.
Very well, I shall consult M. Colbert on the subject." Marguerite rose
smilingly, as though to take leave, but the marquise had not the
strength to imitate her. Marguerite advanced a few paces, in order that
she might continue to enjoy the humiliating grief in which her rival
was plunged, and then said, suddenly, " You do not accompany me to
the door, then ? " The marquise rose, pale and almost lifeless, with-
out thinking of the envelope, which had occupied her attention so
greatly at the commencement of the conversation, and which was
revealed at the first step she took. She then opened the door of her
oratory, and without even turning her head towards Marguerite Vanel,
entered it, closing the door after her. Marguerite said, or rather mut-
tered, a few words, which Madame de Belliere did not even hear. As
soon, however, as the marquise had disappeared, her envious enemy,
not being able to resist the desire to satisfy herself that her suspicions
were really founded, advanced stealthily towards it like a panther, and
seized the envelope. " Ah!" she said, gnashing her teeth, " it was
indeed a letter from M. Fouquet she was reading when I arrived," and
then darted out of the room. During this interval, the marquise,
having arrived behind the rampart, as it were, of her door, felt that her
strength was failing her ; for a moment she remained rigid, pale, and
motionless as a statue; and then, like a statue shaken on its base by a
storm of wind, she tottered and fell inanimate on the carpet. The
noise of the fall resounded at the same moment as the rolling of Mar-
guerite's carriage leaving the hotel was heard.
CHAPTER CII.
Madame de Belliere's Plate.
The blow had been the more painful on account of its being unex-
pected. It was some time before the marquise recovered herself;
but, once recovered, she began to reflect upon the events which had
been announced to her. She therefore returned, at the risk even of
losing her life in the way, to that train of ideas which her relentless
friend had forced her to pursue. Treason, then—dark menaces con-
cealed under the semblance of public interest—such were Colbert's
manoeuvres. A detestable delight at an approaching downfall, untiring
efforts to attain this object, means of seduction no less wicked than the
472 THE vicomte de beagelonne.
crime itself—such were the means which Marguerite employed. The
crooked atoms of Descartes triumphed; to the man without compas-
sion was united a woman without a heart. The marquise perceived,
with sorrow rather than with indignation, that the king was an accom-
plice in a plot which betrayed the duplicity of Louis XIII., in his ad-
vanced age, and the avarice of Mazarin at a period of life when he had
not had the opportunity of gorging himself with French gold. The
spirit of this courageous woman soon resumed its energy, and was no
longer interrupted by a mere indulgence in compassionate lamenta-
tions. The marquise was not one to weep when action was neces-
sary, nor to waste time in bewailing a misfortune when means still
existed of relieving it. For some minutes, she buried her face in her
icy hands, and then, raising her head, rang for her attendants with a
steady band, and with a gesture betraying a fixed determination of pur-
pose. Her resolution was taken.
" Is everything prepared for my departure ?" she inquired of one of
her female attendants who entered.
"Yes, madame; but it was not expected that your ladyship would
leave for Belliere for the next few days."
" All my jewels and articles of value, then, are locked up ? "
"Yes, madame; but hitherto we have been in the habit of leaving
them in Paris. Your ladyship does not generally take your jewels with
you into the country."
" But they are all in order, you say ? "
"Yes, in your ladyship's own room."
" The gold plate ? " " In the chest."
" And the silver plate ? "
" In the large oaken closet."
The marquise remained silent for a few moments, and then said
calmly, " Let my goldsmith be sent for."
Her attendants quitted the room, to execute the order. The mar-
quise, however, had entered her own room, and inspected her casket
of jewels with the greatest attention. Never, until now, had she be-
stowed so much attention upon riches in which women take so much
pride; never, until now, had she looked at her jewels, except for the
purpose of making a selection according to their settings or their
colours. On this occasion, however, she admired the size of the rubies
and the brilliancy of the diamonds; she grieved over every blemish
and every defect; she thought the gold light, and the stones wretched.
The goldsmith, as he entered, found her thus occupied. " M. Fau-
cheux," she said, "I believe you supplied me with my gold service ?"
" I did, your ladyship."
" I do not now remember the amount of the account."
" Of the new service, madame, or of that which M. de Belliere pre-
sented. you on your marriage ? for I furnished both."
" First of all, the new one ?"
"The covers, the goblets, and the dishes, with their covers, the eau-
epergne, the ice-pails, the dishes for the preserves, and the tea and
coffee urns, cost your ladyship sixty thousand francs."
"No more?"
" Your ladyship thought the account very high."
"Yes, yes; I remember, in fact, that it was dear; but it was the
workmanship, I suppose?"
" Yes, madame; the designs, the chasings, and new patterns."
" What proportion of the cost does the workmanship form ? Do not
hesitate to tell me.",
MADAME DE BELLIERE'S PLATE. 473
A third of its value, madame
" There is the other service, the old one, that which belonged to my
husband?"
"Yes, madame; there is less workmanship in that than in the other.
Its intrinsic value does not exceed thirty thousand francs."
" Thirty thousand," murmured the marquise. " But, M. Faucheux,
there is also the service which belonged to my mother; all that massive
plate which I did not wish to part with, on account of the associations
connected with it."
" Ah! madame, that would indeed be an excellent resource for those
who, unlike your ladyship, might not be in a position to keep their
plate. In working that, one worked in solid metal. But that service
is no longer in fashion. Its weight is its only advantage."
" That is all I care about. How much does it weigh ? "
"Fifty thousand livres at the very least. I do not allude to the
enormous vases for the buffet, which alone weigh five thousand livres,
or ten thousand the two."
"One hundred and thirty," murmured the marquise. "You are
quite sure of your figures, M. Faucheux ? "
" Positive, madame. Besides, there is no difficulty in weighing them."
" The amount is entered in my books."
"Your ladyship is exceedingly methodical, I am aware."
"Let us now turn to another subject," said Madame de Belliere; and
she opened one of her jewel-boxes.
" I recognize these emeralds," said M. Faucheux ; "for it was I who
had the setting of them. They are the most beautiful in the whole
court. No, I am mistaken; Madame de Chatillon has the most beau-
tiful set; she had them from Messieurs de Guise; but your set,
madame, are next."
" What are they worth ? "
" Mounted ? "
" No; supposing I wished to sell them."
" I know very well who would buy them," exclaimed M. Faucheux.
" That is the very thing I ask. They could be purchased, then ? "
" All your jewels could be bought. It is well known that you possess
the most beautiful jewels in Paris. You are not changeable in your
tastes; when you make a purchase, it is of the very best; and what
you purchase you do not part with."
" What could these emeralds be sold for, then ? "
"A hundred and thirty thousand francs."
The marquise wrote down upon her tablets the amount which the
jeweller mentioned. " This ruby necklace ?" she said.
" Are they Balass rubies, madame ? "
" Here they are."
" They are beautiful—magnificent. I did not know that your ladyship
had these stones."
" What is their value ?"
" Two hundred thousand francs. The centre one is alone worth a
hundred."
"I thought so," said the marquise._ "As for diamonds, I have
them in numbers; rings, necklaces, sprigs, ear-rings, clasps. Tell me
their value, M. Faucheux."
The jeweller took his magnifying-glass and scales, weighed and in-
spected them, and then silently made his calculations. " These stones,"
he said, " must have cost your ladyship an income of forty thousand
francs."
474 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Tou value them at eight hundred thousand francs.? "
"Nearly so."
" It is about what I imagined—but the settings are not included."
"No, madame; but if I were called upon to sell or to buy, I should
he satisfied with the gold of the settings alone, as my profit upon the
transaction. I should make a good twenty-five thousand francs."
" An agreeable sum."
" Very so, madame."
"Will you accept that profit, then, on condition of converting the
jewels into money ? "
" But you do not intend to sell your diamonds, I suppose, madame ?"
exclaimed the bewildered jeweller.
" Silence, M. Faucheux, do not disturb yourself about that; give me
an answer simply. You are an honourable man, with whom my family
has dealt for thirty years; you have known my father and mother,
whom your own father and mother had served. I address you as a
friend, will you accept the gold of the settings in return for a sum of
ready money to be placed in my hands ?"
" Eight hundred thousand francs! it is enormous."
" I know it."
" Impossible to find."
"Not so."
" But reflect, madame, upon the effect which will be produced by the
sale of your jewels."
"No one need know it. You can get sets of false jewels made for
me, similar to the real. Do not answer a word; I insist upon it. Sell
them separately, sell the stones only."
" In that way it is easy. Monsieur is looking out for some sets of
jewels as well as single stones for Madame's toilette. There will be a
competition for them. I can easily dispose of 600,000 francs' worth to
Monsieur. I am certain yours are the most beautiful."
" When can you do so ?"
" In less than three days' time."
"Very well, the remainder you will dispose of among private indi-
viduals. For the present, make me out a contract of sale, payment to
be made in four days."
" I entreat you to reflect, madame; for if you force the sale, you will
lose a hundred thousand francs."
" If necessary, I will lose two hundred; I wish everything to be
settled this evening. Do you accept ?"
" I do, your ladyship. I will not conceal from you that I shall make
fifty thousand francs by the transaction."
" So much the better. In what way shall I have the money?"
" Either in gold, or in bills of the bank of Lyons, payable at M.
Colbert's."
" I agree," said the marquise, eagerly; "return home and bring the
sum in question in notes, as soon as possible."
"Yes, madame, but for Heaven's sake "
" Not a word, M. Faucheux. By the bye, I was forgetting the silver
plate. What is the value of that which I have ? "
" Fifty thousand francs, madame."
" That makes a million," said the marquise to herself. " M. Faucheux,
you will take away with you both the gold and silver plate. I can
assign, as a pretext, that I wish it remodelled for patterns more in
accordance with my own taste. Melt it down, and return me its value
in money, at once.".
(the dowry. 475
et It shall "be done, your ladyship."
"You will be good enough to place the money in a chest, and direct
one of your clerks to accompany the chest, and without my servants
seeing him ; and direct him also to wait for me in a carriage."
" In Madame de Faucheux's carriage?" said the jeweller.
" If you will allow it, and I will call for it at your house."
" Certainly, your ladyship."
" I will direct some of my servants to convey the plate to your house."
The marquise rung. " Let the small van he placed at M. Faucheux's
disposal," she said. The jeweller bowed and left the house, directing
that the van should follow him closely, saying aloud, that the mar-
quise was about to have her plate melted down in order to have
other plate manufactured of a more modern style. Three hours after-
wards she went to M. Faucheux's house and received from him eight
hundred thousand francs in gold inclosed in a chest, which one of the
clerks could hardly carry towards Madame Faucheux's carriage—for
Madame Faucheux kept her carriage. As the daughter of a president
of accounts, she had brought a marriage portion of thirty thousand
crowns to her husband, who was syndic of the goldsmiths. These thirty
thousand crowns had become very fruitful during twenty years. The
jeweller, though a millionnaire, was a modest man. He had purchased
a venerable carriage, built in 1648, ten years after the king's birth. This
carriage, or rather house upon wheels, excited the admiration of the
whole quarter in which he resided; it was covered with allegorical
paintings, and clouds scattered over with stars. The marquise en-
tered this somewhat extraordinary vehicle, sitting opposite to the clerk,
who endeavoured to put his knees out of the way, afraid even of touch-
ing the marquise's dress. It was the clerk, too, who told the coach-
man, who was very proud of having a marquise to drive, to take the
road to St. Mande.
CHAPTER CIII.
The Dowry.
Monsieur Faucheux's horses were serviceable animals, with thick
knees, and legs which they had some difficulty in moving. Like the
carriage, they belonged to the earlier part of the century. They were
not as fleet therefore as the English horses of M. Fouquet, and conse-
quently took two hours to get to St. Mande. Their progress, it might
he said, was majestic. Majesty, however, precludes hurry. The mar-
quise stopped the carriage at a door well known to her, although
she had only seen it once, in a circumstance, it will be remembered, no
less painful than that which brought her to it again on the present
occasion. She drew a key from her pocket, and inserted it in the
lock, pushed open the door, which noiselessly yielded to her touch, and
directed the clerk to carry the chest upstairs to the first floor. The
weight of the chest was so great that the clerk was obliged to get the
coachman to assist him with it. They placed it in a small cabinet,
anteroom, or boudoir rather, adjoining the saloon where we once saw
M. Fouquet at the marquise's feet. Madame de Belliere gave the
coachman a louis, smiled gracefully at the clerk, and dismissed them
both. She closed the door after them, and waited in the room, alone
and barricaded. There was no,servant to be seen about the rooms,
hut everything was prepared as though some invisible genius had
476 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELOlfNE.
divined the wishes and desires of the guest who was expected. The
fire was laid, the candles in the candelabra, refreshments upon the
table, books scattered about, fresh-cut flowers in the vases. One might
almost have declared it to be an enchanted house. The marquise
lighted the candles, inhaled the perfume of the flowers, sat down, and was
soon plunged in profound thought. Her deep musings, melancholy
though they were, were not untinged with a certain sweetness. Spread
out before her was a treasure, a million wrung from her fortune, as a
gleaner plucks the blue corn-flower from her crown of flowers. She
conjured up the sweetest dreams. Her principal thought, and one that
took precedence of all others, was to devise means of leaving this money
for M. Fouquet without his possibly learning from whom the gift had
come. This idea, naturally enough, was the first to present itself to
her mind. But although, on reflection, it appeared difficult to carry
out, she did not despair of success. She would ring then to summon
M. Fouquet and make her escape, happier if, instead of having given
a million, she had herself found one. But, being there, and having
seen the boudoir so coquettishly decorated, that it might almost be
said the least particle of dust had but the moment before been re-
moved by the servants; having observed the drawing-room so perfectly
arranged, that it might almost be said her presence there had driven
away the fairies who were its occupants, she asked herself if the
glance or gaze of those whom she had driven away, whether spirits,
fairies, elves, or human creatures, had not already recognized her. To
secure success, it was necessary that some steps should be seriously
taken, and it was necessary also that the surintendant should com-
prehend the serious position ip which he was placed, in order to yield
compliance with the generous fancies of a woman; all the fascinations
of an eloquent friendship would be required to persuade him, and,
should this be insufficient, the maddening influence of a devoted
passion, which, in its resolute determination to carry conviction, would
not be turned aside. Was not the surintendant, indeed, known for his
delicacy and dignity of feeling? Would he allow himself to accept
from any woman that of which she had stripped herself? No! He
would resist, and if any voice in the world could overcome his resist-
ance, it would be the voice of the woman he loved. Another doubt,
and that a cruel one, suggested itself to Madame de Belliere with a
sharp, acute pain, like a dagger-thrust. " Did- he really love her ?
Would that volatile mind, that inconstant heart, be likely to be fixed
for a moment, even were it to gaze upon an angel ? Was it not the
same with Fouquet, notwithstanding his genius and his uprightness of
conduct, as with those conquerors on the field of battle who shed tears
when they have gained a victory ? I must learn if it be so, and must
judge of that for myself," said the marquise. " Who can tell whether
that heart, so coveted, is not common in its impulses, and full of alloy ?
Who can tell if that mind, when the touchstone is applied to it, will
not be found pf a mean and vulgar character ? Come, come," she said,
"this is doubting and hesitating too much—to the proof." She looked
at the timepiece. " It is now seven o'clock," she said, " he must have
arrived; it is the hour for signing his papers." With a feverish im-
patience she rose and walked towards the mirror, in which she smiled
with a resolute smile of devotedness; she touched the spring^nd drew
out the handle of the bell. Then, as if exhausted, beforehand, by the
struggle she had just undergone, she threw herself on her knees in
utter abandonment, before a large couch, in which she buried her lace
in her trembling hands. Ten minutes afterwards she heard the spring
THE DOWEY. 477
of the door sound. The door moved upon invisible hinges, and Fouquet
appeared. He looked pale, and seemed bowed down by the weight of
some bitter reflection. He did not hurry, but simply came at the
summons. The preoccupation of his mind must indeed have been
very great, that a man, so devoted to pleasure, for whom indeed pleasure
was everything, should obey such a summons so listlessly. The previous
night, in fact, fertile in melancholy ideas, had sharpened his features,
generally so noble in their indifference of expression, and had traced
dark lines of anxiety around his eyes. Handsome and noble he still
was, and the melancholy expression of his mouth, a rare expression
with men, gave a new character to his features, by which his youth
seemed to be renewed. Dressed in black, the lace in front of his chest
much disarranged by his feverishly restless hand, the looks of the surin-
tendant, full of dreamy reflection, were fixed upon the threshold of the
room which he had so frequently approached in search of expected
happiness. This gloomy gentleness of manner, this smiling sadness of
expression, which had replaced his former excessive joy, produced an
indescribable effect upon Madame de Belliere, who was regarding him
at a distance. A woman's eye can read the face of the man she loves,
its every feeling of pride, its every expression of suffering; it might
almost be said that Heaven has graciously granted to women, on ac-
count of their very weakness, more than it has accorded to other
creatures. They can conceal their own feelings.from a man, but from
them no man can conceal his. The marquise divined in a single
glance the whole weight of the unhappiness of the surintendant. She
divined a night passed without sleep, a day passed in deceptions. From
that moment she was firm in her own strength, and she felt that she
loved Fouquet beyond everything else. She rose and approached him,
saying, "You wrote to me this morning to say you were beginning to
forget me, and that I, whom you had not seen lately, had no doubt
ceased to think of you. I' have come to undeceive you, monsieur, and
the more completely so, because there is one thing I can read in your
eyes."
" What is that, madame ?" said Fouquet, astonished.
" That you have never loved me so much as at this moment; in the
same manner you can read, in my present step towards you, that I have
not forgotten you."
" Oh ! madame," said Fouquet, whose face was for a moment lighted
up by a sudden gleam of joy, "you are indeed an angel, and no man can
suspect you. All he can do is to humble himself before you, and entreat
forgiveness."
"Your forgiveness is granted, then," said the marquise. Fouquet
was about to throw himself upon his knees. " No, no," she said; "sit
hei'e, by my side. Ah! that is an evil thought which has just crossed
your mind."
" How do you detect it, madame ?"
"By a smile which has just injured the expression of your coun-
tenance. Be' candid, and tell me what your thought was—no secrets
between friends."
" Tell me, then, madame, why have you been so harsh for these three
or four months past?"
"Harsh?"
" Yes; did you not forbid me to visit you ?"
" Alas!" said Madame de Belliere, sighing deeply, " because your
visit to me was the cause of your being visited with a great misfortune;
because my house is watched; because the same eyes which have already
478 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
seen you might see you again; because I think it less dangerous for you
that I should come here than that you should come to my house; and,
lastly, because I know you to be already unhappy enough not to wish
to increase your unhappiness further."
Fouquet started, for these words recalled all the anxieties connected
with his office of surintendant,—he who, for the last few minutes, had
indulged in all the wild aspirations of the lover. "I unhappy?" he
6aid, endeavouring to smile; "indeed, marquise, you will almost
make me believe that I am so, judging from your own sadness. Are
your beautiful eyes raised upon me merely in pity ?—I look for another
expression from them."
" It is not I who am sad, monsieur; look in the mirror, there—it is
you who are so."
"It is true I am somewhat pale, marquise; but it is from over-
work; the king yesterday required a supply of money from me."
" Yes, four millions, I am aware of it."
" You know it ?" exclaimed Fouquet, in a tone of surprise; " how can
you have learnt it ? It was after the departure of the queen, and in
the presence of one person only, that the king "
"You perceive that I do know it; is not that sufficient? "Well, go
on, monsieur, the money the king has required you to supply "
"You understand, marquise, that I have been obliged to procure
it, then to get it counted, afterwards registered,—altogether a long
affair. Since Monsieur de Mazarin's death, financial affairs occasion
some little fatigue and embarrassment. My administration is some-
what over-taxed, and this is the reason why I have not slept during the
past night."
" So that you have the amount?" inquired the marquise, with some
anxiety.
"It would indeed be strange, marquise," replied Fouquet, cheer-
fully, "if a surintendant of finances were not to have a paltry four
millions in his coffers."
" Yes, yes, I believe you either have, or will have, them."
" What do you mean by saying I shall have them ?"
" It is not very long since you were required to furnish two millions."
" On the contrary, to me it seems almost an age; but do not let us
talk of money matters any longer."
" On the contrary, we will continue to speak of them, for that is my
only reason for coming to see you."
" I am at a loss to know your meaning," said the surintendant, whose
eyes began to express an anxious curiosity.
"Tell me, monsieur, is the office of surintendant an irremovable
one?"
" You surprise me, marchioness, for you speak as if you had some
motive or interest in putting the question."
" My reason is simple enough; 1 am desirous of placing some money
in your hands, and naturally I wish to know if you are certain of your
post."
" Really, marquise, I am at a loss what to reply, and I cannot con-
ceive your meaning."
" Seriously then, dear M. Fouquet, I have certain funds which some-
what embarrass me. I am tired of investing my money in land, and am
anxious to intrust a friend to turn it to account."
" Surely it does not press," said M. Fouquet.
" On the contrary, it is very pressing."
" Yery well, we will talk of that by-and-by."
THE DOWRY. 479
" By-and-by will not do, for my money is there," returned the mar-
quise, pointing out the coffer to the surintendant, and showing him,
as she opened it, the bundles of notes and heaps of gold. Fouquet, who
had risen from his seat at the same moment as Madame de Belliere,
remained for a moment plunged in thought; then, suddenly starting
back, he turned pale, and sank down in his chair, concealing his face in
his hands. "Madame, madame," he murmured, "what opinion can
you have of me when you make me such an offer ?"
"Of you!" returned the marquise. "Tell me, rather, what you
yourself think of the step I have taken."
" You bring me this money for myself, and you bring it because you
know me to be embarrassed. Nay, do not deny it, for I am sure of it.
Do I not know your heart ?"
"If you know my heart, then, can you not see that it is my heart
which I offer you."
"I have guessed rightly then," exclaimed Fouquet. "In truth,
madame, I have never yet given you the right to insult me in this
manner."
" Insult you," she said, turning pale, " what singular delicacy of feel-
ing. You tell me you love me; in the name of that affection you
wished me to sacrifice my reputation and my honour, yet, when I offer
you*ioney, which is my own, you refuse me."
" Madame, you were at liberty to preserve what you term your repu-
tation and your honour. Permit me to preserve mine. Leave me to
my ruin, leave me to sink beneath the weight of the hatreds which
surround me, beneath the faults I have committed, beneath the load
even of my remorse; but, for Heaven's sake, madame, do not overwhelm
me under this last infliction."
"A short while since, M. Fouquet, you were wanting in judgment,
now you are wanting in feeling."
Fouquet pressed his clenched hand upon his breast, heaving with
emotion, saying, " Overwhelm me, madame, for I have nothing to reply."
" I offered you my friendship, M. Fouquet."
" Yes, madame, and you limited yourself to that."
" And what I am now doing is the act of a friend."
"No doubt it is."
" And you reject this mark of my friendship ? "
" I do reject it."
" Monsieur Fouquet, look at me," said the marquise, with glistening
eyes, " I now offer you my love."
" Oh! madame," exclaimed Fouquet.
" I have loved you for a long while past; women, like men, have a
false delicacy at times. For a long time past I have loved you, but
would not confess it. Well, then, you have implored this love on your
knees, and I have refused you; I was blind, as you were a little while
since; but as it was my love that you sought, it is my love that I now
offer you."
" Oh! madame, you overwhelm me beneath the weight of my happi-
ness."
" Will you be happy, then, if I am yours—yours entirely ?"
" It will be the supremest happiness for me."
" Take me, then. If, however, for your sake I sacrifice a prejudice,
do you, for mine, sacrifice a scruple."
" Do not tempt me."
" Do not refuse me."
" Think seriously of what you are proposing."
480 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
" Bouquet, but one word. Let it be No, and I open this door," and
she pointed to the door which led into the street, " and you will never
see me again. Let that word be Yes, and I am yours entirely."
" Elise! Elise! But this coffer ?"
" It contains my dowry."
"It is your ruin," exclaimed Bouquet, turning over the gold and
papers, "there must be a million here."
"Yes, my jewels, for which I care no longer if you do not love me,
and for which, equally, I care no longer if you love me as I love you."
" This is too much," exclaimed Bouquet. " I yield, I yield, even were
it only to consecrate so much devotion. I accept the dowry."
" And take the woman with it," said the marquise, throwing herself
into his arms.
CHAPTER CIV.
Le Terrain de Dieu.
Bering the progress of these events, Buckingham and de "Wardes
travelled in excellent companionship, and made the journey from Paris
to Calais in undisturbed harmony together. Buckingham had hfl'rried
his departure, so that the best part of his adieux were very hastily
made. His visit to Monsieur and Madame, to the young queen, and to
the queen-dowager, had been paid collectively—a precaution on the part
of the queen-mother, which saved him the distress of any private con-
versation with Monsieur, and saved him also from the danger of seeing
Madame again. The carriages containing the luggage had already been
sent on beforehand, and, in the evening, he set off in his travelling car-
riage with his attendants.
Be Wardes, irritated at finding himself dragged away, in so abrupt a
manner, by this Englishman, had sought in his subtle mind for some
means of escaping from his fetters; but no one having rendered him
any assistance in this respect, he was absolutely obliged, therefore, to
submit to the burden of his own evil thoughts, and of his own caustic
spirit.
Such of his friends in whom he had been able to confide, had, in their
character of wits, rallied him upon the duke's superiority. Others, less
brilliant, but more sensible, had reminded him of the king's orders
which prohibited duelling. Others, again, and they the larger number,
who, from Christian charity, or national vanity, might have rendered
him assistance, did not care to run the risk of incurring disgrace, and
would, at the best, have informed the ministers of a departure which
might end in a massacre on a small scale. The result was, that, after
having fully deliberated upon the matter, de Wardes packed up his lug-
gage, took a couple of horses, and, followed only by one servant, made
his way towards the barrier, where Buckingham's carriage was to await
him.
The duke received his adversary as he would have done an intimate
acquaintance, made room beside him on the same seat with himself,
offered him refreshments, and spread over his knees the sable cloak
which had been thrown upon the front seat. They then conversed of
the court, without alluding to Madame ; of Monsieur, without speaking
of domestic affairs; of the king, without speaking of his brother's wife;
of the queen-mother, without alluding to her daughter-in-law; of the
king of England, without alluding to his sister-in-law; of the state of
LE TERRAIN EE DIETT. 481
the affections of either of the travellers, without pronouncing any
name that might be dangerous. In this way the journey, which was
performed by short stages, was most agreeable, and Buckingham almost
a Frenchman, from his wit and his education, was delighted at having
so admirably selected his travelling companion. Elegant repasts were
served, of which they partook but lightly; trials of horses in the beau-
tiful meadows which skirted the road; coursing, for Buckingham had
his greyhounds with him; and in such and other various ways did they
ass away the time. The duke somewhat resembled the beautiful river
eine, which incloses France a thousand times in its loving embraces,
before deciding upon joining its waters with the ocean. In quitting
France, it was her recently adopted daughter he had brought to Paris,
whom he chiefly regretted; his every thought was a remembrance of her,
and, consequently, a regret. Therefore, whenever, now and then,
despite his command over himself, he was lost in thought, de Wardes
left him entirely to his musings. This delicacy might have touched
Buckingham, and changed his feelings towards de Wardes, if the latter,
while preserving silence, had shown a glance less full of malice, and a
smile less false. Instinctive dislikes, however, are relentless; nothing
appeases them; a few ashes may sometimes, apparently, extinguish
them; but, beneath those ashes, the smothered flames rage more
furiously. Having exhausted all the means of amusement which the
route offered, they arrived, as we have said, at Calais, towards the end of
the sixth day. The duke's attendants had already, since the previous
evening, been in advance, and had chartered a boat, for the purpose of
joining the yacht, which had been tacking about in sight, or bore broad-
side on, whenever it felt its white wings wearied, within two or three
cannon-shots from the jetty.
The boat was destined for the transport of the duke's equipages, from
the shore to the yacht. The horses had been embarked, having been
hoisted from the boat upon the deck in baskets, expressly made for the
purpose, and wadded in such a manner that their limbs, even in the
most violent fits of terror or impatience, were always protected by the
soft support which the sides afforded, and their coats were not even
turned. Eight of these baskets, placed side by side, filled the ship's
hold. It is well known that, in short voyages, horses refuse to eat, but
remain trembling all the while, with the best of food before them, such
as they would have greatly coveted on land. By degrees, the duke's
entire equipage was transported on board the yacht; he was then in-
formed that every thing was in readiness, and that they only waited for him,
whenever he would be disposed to embark with the French gentleman,
For no one could possibly imagine that the French gentleman would
have any other accounts to settle with his grace than those of friend-
ship. Buckingham desired the captain to be told to hold himself in
readiness, but that, as the sea was beautiful, and as the day promised a
splendid,sunset, he did not intend to go on board until nightfall, and
would avail himself of the evening to enjoy a walk on the strand. He
added also, that, finding himself in such excellent company, he had not
the least desire to hasten his embarkation.
As he said this, he pointed out to those who surrounded him the mag-
nificent spectacle which the sky presented, of a deep purple colour in
the horizon, and an amphitheatre of fleecy clouds ascending from the
sun's disc to the zenith, assuming the appearance of a range of moung
tains, whose summits were heaped one upon another. The whole
amphitheatre was tinged at its base by a kind of blood-like foam, fadini
(away into opal ,and pearl-like tints, in proportion as the gaze was carrie*
2 I
482 THE VICOMTE DE BJSAGELONNE.
from the base to the summit. The sea, too, was tinged with the same
reflection, and, upon the crest of every azure wave, danced a point of
light, like a ruby exposed to the reflection of a lamp. The mildness of
the evening, the sea breezes, so dear to contemplative minds, a stiff
breeze setting in from the east and blowing in harmonious gusts ; then,
in the distance, the black outline of the yacht with its rigging traced
upon the empurpled background of the sky—while, dotting the horizon,
might be seen, here and there, vessels with their trimmed sails, like the
wings of a sea-gull about to plunge. The spectacle, indeed, well merited
admiration. A crowd of curious idlers followed the richly dressed
attendants, amongst whom they mistook the intendant and the secre-
tary, for the master and his friend. As for Buckingham, who dressed
very simply, in a grey satin vest, and doublet of violet-coloured velvet,
wearing his hat thrust over his eyes, and without orders or embroidery,
he was taken no more notice of than de "Wardes, who was dressed in
black like an attorney.
The duke's attendants had received directions to have a boat in
readiness at the jetty-head, and to watch the embarkation of their
master, without approaching him until either he or his friend should
summon them. " Whatever may happen," he had added, laying a
stress upon these words, so that they might not be misunderstood.
Having walked a few paces upon the strand, Buckingham said to de
"Wardes, " I think it is now time to take leave of each other. The tide,
you perceive, is rising; ten minutes hence it will have soaked the sands
where we are now walking in such a manner that we shall not be able
to keep our footing."
" I await your orders, my lord, but "
" But, you mean, we are still upon soil which is part of the king's
territory." " Exactly."
" Well, do you see yonder a kind of little island surrounded by a
circular pool of water; the pool is increasing every minute, and the isle
is gradually disappearing. This island, indeed, belongs to heaven, for it
is situated between two seas, and is not shown on the king's maps. Do
you observe it?"
" Yes; but we cam hardly reach it now, without getting our feet wet."
" Yes; but observe that it forms an eminence tolerably high, and that
the tide rises on every side, leaving the top free. We shall be admirably
placed upon that little theatre. What do you think of it ?"
" I shall be perfectly happy wherever I may have the honour of cross-
ing my sword with your lordship's."
" Very well, then, I am distressed to be the cause of your wetting
your feet. M. de Wardes, but it is most essential you should be able to
say to the king, ' Sire, I did not fight upon your majesty's territory.'
Perhaps the distinction is somewhat subtle, but, since Port-Royal, you
abound in subtleties of expression. Do not let us complain of this,
however, for it makes your wit very brilliant, and of a style peculiarly
our own. If you do not object, we will hurry ourselves, for the sea,
perceive, is rising fast, and night is setting in."
" My reason for not walking faster was, that I did not wish to precede
your grace. Are you still on dry land, my lord ?"
" Yes, at present I am. Look yonder, my servants are afraid we
should be drowned, and have converted the boat into a cruiser. Do you
remark how curiously it dances upon the crests of the waves ? But, as
it makes me feel sea-sick, would you permit me to turn my back towards
them ?"
" You will observe, my lord, that in turning your back to them you
will have the sun full in your face."
IE TERRAIN DE DIETT. 483
" Oh, its rays are very feeble at this hour, and it will soon disappear;
do not be uneasy at that."
" As you please, my lord: it was out of consideration for your lord-
ship that I made the remark." *
" I am aware of that, M. de Wardes, and I fully appreciate your
kindness. Shall we take off our doublets ?"
" As you please, my lord."
" Do not hesitate to tell me, M. de Wardes, if you do not feel com-
fortable upon the wet sand, or if you think yourself a little too close to
the Drench territory. We could fight in England, or else upon my
yacht."
"We are exceedingly well placed here, my lord; only I have the
honour to remark that, as the sea is rising fast, wg have hardly time "
Buckingham made a sign of assent, took off his doublet and threw it
on the ground, a proceeding which de Wardes imitated. Both their
bodies, which seemed like two phantoms to those who were looking at
them from the shore, were thrown strongly into relief by a dark red
violet-coloured shadow with which the sky became overspread.
" Upon my word, your grace," said de Wardes, " we shall hardly have
time to begin. Do you not perceive how our feet are sinking into the
sand?"
" I have sunk up to the ankles," said Buckingham, " without reckon-
ing that the water even is now breaking in upon us."
" It has already reached me. As soon as you please, therefore, your
grace," said de Wardes, who drew his sword, a movement imitated by
the duke.
" M. de Wardes," said Buckingham, " one final word. I am about to
fight you because I do not like you,—because you have wounded me in
ridiculing a certain devotional regard I have entertained, and one
which I acknowledge that, at this moment, I still retain, and for which
I would very willingly die. You are a bad and heartless man, M. de
Wardes, and I will do my utmost to take your life; for I feel assured
that, if you survive this engagement, you will, in the future, work great
mischief towards my friends. That is all I have to remark, M. de
Wardes," continued Buckingham, as he saluted him.
" And I, my lord, have only this to reply to you: I have not disliked
you hitherto, but, since you have divined my character, I bate you, and
will do all I possibly can to kill you;" anddeWardes saluted Buckingham.
Their swords crossed at the same moment, like two flashes of lightning
in a dark night. The swords seemed to seek each other, guessed their
position, and met. Both were practised swordsmen, and the earlier
passes were without any result. The night was fast closing in, and it
was so dark that they attacked and defended themselves almost in-
stinctively. Suddenly de Wardes felt his sword arrested,—he had just
touched Buckingham's shoulder. The duke's sword sunk, as his arm
was lowered.
"You are touched, my lord," said de Wardes, drawing back a step or
two.
" Yes, monsieur, but only slightly."
" Yet you quitted your guard."
" Only from the first effect of the cold steel, but I have recovered."
" Let us go on, if you please." And disengaging his sword with a
sinister clashing of the blade, the duke wounded the marquis in the
breast.
" Touched also," he said.
"No," said de Wardes, not moving from his place.
484 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"I beg your pardon, but observing that your shirt was stained," said
Buckingham.
" Well," said de Wardes furiously, " it is now your turn."
And, with a terrible lunge, he pierced Buckingham's arm through,
the sword passing between the two bones. Buckingham feeling nis
right arm paralysed, stretched out his left arm, seized bis sword, which
was about falling from his nerveless grasp, and before de Wardes could
resume his guard, he thrust him through the breast. Be Wardes
tottered, his knees gave way beneath him, and leaving his sword still
fixed in the duke's arm, he fell into the water, which was soon crim-
soned with a more genuine reflection than that which it had assumed
from the clouds. Be Wardes was not dead; he felt the terrible danger
which menaced him, for the sea rose fast. The duke, too, perceived
the danger, also. With an effort, and an exclamation of pain, he tore
out the blade which remained in his arm, and, turning towards de
Wardes, said, "Are you dead, marquis ?"
"No," replied de Wardes, in a voice choked by the blood which
rushed from his lungs to his throat, " but very near it."
" Well, what is to be done; can you walk?" said Buckingham, sup-
porting him on his knee.
"Impossible," he replied. Then falling down again, said, "Call to
your people, or I shall be drowned."
" Hallo ! boat there! quick, quick !"
The boat flew over the waves, but the sea rose faster than the boat
could approach. Buckingham saw that de Wardes was on the point of
being again covered by a wave; he passed his left arm, safe and
unwounded, round his body, and raised him up. The wave ascended to
his middle, but could not move him. The duke immediately began to
walk towards the shore. He had hardly gone ten paces, when a second
wave, rushing onwards higher, more furious, more menacing than the
former, struck him at the height of his chest, threw him over, and
buried him beneath the water. At the reflux, however, the duke and
de Wardes were discovered lying on the strand. Be Wardes had
fainted. At this moment, four of the duke's sailors, who comprehended
the danger, threw themselves into the sea, and in a moment were close
beside him. Their terror was extreme, when they observed how their
master became covered with blood, in proportion as the water, with
which it was impregnated, flowed towards his knees and feet;—they
wished to carry him away.
" No, no," exclaimed the duke, "take the marquis on shore first."
" Beath to the Frenchman," cried the English sullenly.
" Wretched knaves," exclaimed the duke, drawing himself up with a
haughty gesture, which sprinkled them with blood, "obey directly!—
M. de Wardes on shore! M. de Wardes' safety to be looked to first, or
I will have you all hanged."
The boat had by this time reached them, the secretary and intendant
leapt into the sea, and approached the marquis, who no longer showed
any sign of life.
" I commit him to your care, as you value your lives," said the duke.
"Take M. de Wardes on shore." They took him in their arms, and
carried him to the dry sand, where the tide never rose so high. A few
idlers and five or six fishermen had gathered on the shore, attracted by
the strange spectacle of two men fighting with the water up to their
knees. The fishermen, observing a group of men approaching car-
rying a wounded man, entered the sea until the water was up to
the middle of their bodies. The English transferred the wounded mag
(THEEEFOLD LOVE. 48^
to them, at the very moment the latter began to open his eyes again.
The salt water and the fine sand had got into his wounds, and caused
him the acutest pain. The duke's secretary drew out a purse filled
with gold from his pocket, and handed it to the one among those present
who appeared of most importance, saying:—"Prom my master, his
grace the duke of Buckingham, in order that every conceivable care
may be taken of the marquis de Wardes."
Then, followed by those who had accompanied him, he returned to
the boat, which Buckingham had been enabled to reach with the
freatest difficulty, but only after he had seen de "W ardes out of danger.
!y this time it was high tide: the embroidered coats, and silk
sashes were lost; many hats, too, had been carried away by the waves.
The flow of the tide had borne the duke's and de Wardes' clothes to
the shore, and de Wardes was wrapped in the duke's doublet, under
the belief that it was his own, and they carried him in their arms
towards the town.
CHAPTER CY.
Threefold Love.
As soon as Buckingham had gone, Guiche imagined that the coast
would be perfectly clear for him without any interference. Monsieur,
who no longer retained the slightest feeling of jealousy, and who, besides,
permitted himself to be monopolized by the chevalier de Lorraine,
allowed as much liberty and freedom in his house as the most exacting
persons could desire. The king, on his side, who had conceived a strong
predilection for Madame's society, invented a variety of amusements,
m quick succession to each other, in order to render her residence in
Paris as cheerful as possible, so that, in fact, not a day passed without a
ball at the Palais Royal, or a reception in Monsieur's apartments.
The king had directed that Pontainebleau should be prepared for
the reception of the court, and every one was using his utmost
interest to get invited! Madame led a life of incessant occupation,
neither her voice nor her pen were idle for a moment. The conversa-
tions with de Guiche were gradually assuming a tone of interest which
might unmistakably be recognized as the preludes of a deep-seated
attachment. When eyes look languishingly while the subject under
discussion happens to be the colours of materials for dresses; when a
whole hour is occupied in analyzing the merits and the perfume of a
sachet or a flower; there are words in this style of conversation, which
every one might listen to, but there are gestures or sighs which every one
cannot perceive. After Madame had talked for some time with de
Guiche, she conversed with the king, who paid her a visit regularly
every day. They played, wrote verses, or selected mottoes or emblema-
tical devices; the spring was not only the spring-time of seasons, it
was the youth of an entire people, of which those at court were the
head. The king was handsome, young, and of unequalled gallantry.
All women were passionately loved by him, even the queen his wife.
This great king was, however, more timid and more reserved than any
other person in the kingdom, to such a degree, indeed, that he had not con-
fessed his sentiments even to himself. This timidity of bearing restrained
him within the limits of ordinary politeness, and no woman could boast
of having had any preference shown her beyond that shown to others.
It might be foretold that the day when his real character would be dis-
486 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
layed would be tbe dawn of a new sovereignty; but as yet he had not
eclared himself. M. de Guiche took advantage of this, and constituted
himself the sovereign prince of the whole amorous court. It had been
reported that he was on the best of terms with Mademoiselle de Mon-
talais; that he had been assiduously attentive to Mademoiselle de Cha-
tillon; but now, he was not even barely civil to any of the court beau-
ties. He had eyes and ears but for one person alone. In this
manner; and, as it were, without design, he devoted himself to Monsieur,
who had a great regard for him, and kept him as much as possible in
his own apartments. Unsociable from natural disposition, he estranged
himself too much previous to the arrival of Madame, but, after her
arrival, he did not estrange himself sufficiently. This conduct, which
every one had observed, had been particularly remarked by the evil
genius of the house, the chevalier de Lorraine, for whom Monsieur
exhibited the warmest attachment, because he was of a very cheerful
disposition even in his remarks most full of malice, and because he was
never at a loss how to make the time pass away. The chevalier de
Lorraine, therefore, having noticed that he was threatened with being
supplanted by de Guiche, resorted to strong measures. He disappeared
from the court, leaving Monsieur much embarrassed. The first day
of his disappearance, Monsieur hardly inquired about him, for he had
de Guiche with him, and, except the time devoted to conversation with
Madame, his days and nights were rigorously devoted to the prince.
On the second day, however, Monsieur, finding no one near him,
inquired where the chevalier was. He was told that no one knew.
De Guiche, after having spent the morning in selecting embroideries
and fringes with Madame, went to console the prince. But after din-
ner, as there were tulips and amethysts to look at, de Guiche returned
to Madame's cabinet. Monsieur was left quite to himself during all
the time he devoted to dressing and decorating himself; he felt that he
was the most miserable of men, and again inquired whether there was
any news of the chevalier, in reply to which he was told, that no
one knew where the chevalier was to be found. Monsieur, hardly
knowing in what direction to inflict his weariness, went to Madame's
apartments dressed in his morning-gown. He found a large assemblage
of people there, laughing and whispering in every part of the room; at
one end, a group of women around one of the courtiers talking toge-
ther, amid smothered bursts of laughter; at the other end, Manicamp.
and Malicorne were being pillaged by Montalais and Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente, while two others were standing by, laughing. In
another part were Madame, seated upon some cushions on the floor,
and de Guiche, on his knees beside her, spreading out a handful of
pearls and precious stones, while the princess, with her white and slender
finger, pointed out such among them as pleased her the most. Again,
in another corner of the room, a guitar-player was playing some of the
Spanish sequedillas, to which Madame had taken the greatest fancy ever
since she had heard them sung by the young queen with a melancholy
expression of voice. But the songs which the Spanish princess had sung
with tears in her eyes, the young English woman was humming with a
smile which displayed her beautiful pearl-like teeth. The cabinet pre-
sented, in fact, the most perfect representation of unrestrained pleasure
and amusement. _ As he entered, Monsieur was struck at beholding so
many persons enjoying themselves without him. He was so jealous at
the sight that he could not resist saying, like a child, " What! you are
amusing yourselves here, while I am sick and tired of being alone!"
The sound of his voice was like a clap of thunder which interrupts
tHBEEEOLD LOVE. 487
the warbling of birds under the leafy covert of the trees; a dead silence
ensued. De Guiche was on his feet in a moment. Malicorne tried to
hide himself behind Montalais' dress. Manicamp stood bolt upright,
and assumed a very ceremonious demeanour. The guitar-player thrust
his guitar under a table, covering it with a piece of carpet to conceal it
from the prince's observation. Madame was the only one who did not
move, and, smiling at her husband, said, " Is not this the hour you
usually devote to your toilette ? "
" An hour which others select, it seems, for amusing themselves,"
replied the prince, grumblingly.
This untoward remark was the signal for a general rout; the women
fled like a flight of terrified birds, the guitar-player vanished like a
shadow; Malicorne, still protected by Montalais, who purposely widened
out her dress, glided behind the hanging tapestry. As for Manicamp,
he went to the assistance of de Guiche, who naturally remained near
Madame, and both of them, with the princess herself, courageously
sustained the attack. The comte was too happy to bear malice against
the husband; but Monsieur bore a grudge against his wife. Nothing
was wanting but a quarrel; he sought it, and the hurried departure
of the crowd, which had been so joyous before he arrived, and was so
disturbed by his entrance, furnished him with a pretext.
"Why do they run away at the sight of me?" he inquired, in a
supercilious tone; to which remark Madame replied, " that, whenever
the master of the house made his appearance, the family kept aloof out
of respect." As she said this, she made so funny and so pretty a grimace,
that de Guiche and Manicamp could not control themselves- they
burst into a peal of laughter; Madame followed their example, and even
Monsieur himself could not resist it, and he was obliged to sit down, as
for laughing he could scarcely keep his equilibrium. However, he
very soon left off, but his anger had increased. He was still more
furious from having allowed himself to laugh, than from having seen
others laugh. He looked at Manicamp steadily, not venturing to show
his anger towards de Guiche; but, at a sign which displayed no little
amount of annoyance, Manicamp and de Guiche left the room, so that
Madame, left alone, began sadly to pick up her pearls, no longer laugh-
ing, and speaking still less.
I am very happy," said the duke, " to find myself treated as a stran-
ger here, Madame," and he left the room in a passion. On his way out,
be met Montalais, who was in attendance in the anteroom. "It is
very agreeable to pay you a visit here, but outside the door."
Montalais made a very low obeisance. " I do not quite understand
what your royal highness does me the honour to say."
"I say that when you are all laughing together in Madame's apart-
ment, he is an unwelcome visitor who does not remain outside."
" Your royal highness does not think, and does not speak so, of your-
self."
" On the contrary, it is on my own account that I do speak and think.
I have no reason, certainly, to flatter myself about the receptions I
meet with here at any time. How is it that, on the very day there is
music and a little society in Madame's apartments—in my own apart-
ments, indeed, for they are mine—oh the very day that I wish to amuse
myself a little in my turn, every one runs away ? Are they afraid to
see me, that they all took to flight as soon as I appeared ? Is there
anything wrong, then, going on in my absence?"
" Yet nothing has been done to-day, monseigneur, which is not done
every day."
483 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" What! do they laugh like that every day ?"
" Why, yes, monseigneur."
" The same group of people, and the same scraping, going on every
day?"
" The guitar, monseigneur, was introduced to-day; but when we have
no guitars, we have violins ana flutes; women get wearied without music."
" The deuce!—and the men ?"
"What men, monseigneur?"
" M. de Guiche, M. de Manicamp, and the others."
" They all belong to your highness's household."
"Yes, yes, you're right," said the prince, as he returned to his own
apartments, full of thought. He threw himself into the largest of his
arm-chairs, without looking at himself in the glass. " Where can the
chevalier be ? " said he. One of the prince's attendants happened to be
near him, overheard his remark, and replied,—
"No one knows, your highness."
" Still the same answer. The first one who answers me again,' I do
not know,' I will discharge." Every one at this remark hurried out of
his apartments, in the same manner as the others had fled from
Madame's apartments. The prince then flew into the wildest rage.
He kicked over a chiffonier, which tumbled upon the carpet, broken
into pieces. He next went into the galleries, and with the greatest
coolness threw down, one after another, an enamelled vase, a porphyry
ewer, and a bronze chandelier. The noise summoned every one to the
various doors.
" What is your highness's pleasure?" said the captain of the guards,
timidly.
" I am treating myself to some music," replied the prince, gnashing
his teeth.
The captain of the guards desired his royal highness's physician to be
sent for. But before he came, Malicorne arrived, saying to the prince,
" Monseigneur, the chevalier de Lorraine is here."
The duke looked at Malicorne, and smiled graciously at him, just as
the chevalier entered in fact.
CHAPTER CYT.
M. de Lorraine's Jealousy.
The duo d'Orleans uttered a cry of delight' on perceiving the
chevalier de Lorraine. " This is fortunate, indeed," he said; " by what
happy chance do I see you ? Had you indeed disappeared, as every one
assured me."
" Yes, monseigneur."
"Some caprice?"
" I to venture upon caprices with your highness! The respect "
" Put respect out of the way, for you fail in it every day. I absolve
you; but why did you leave me?"
" Because I felt that I was of no use to you."
" Explain yourself."
" Your highness has people about you who are far more amusing than
I can ever be. I felt that I was not strong enough to enter into a con-
test with them, and I therefore withdrew."
" This extreme diffidence shows a want of common sense. Who are
those with whom you cannot contend ? De Guiche ?"
M. DE LOBBAINE'S JEALOUSY. 489,
"I name no one."
" This is absurd. Does de Guiche annoy you ?"
" I do not say he does; do not force me to speak, however; you know
very well that de Guiche is one of our best friends."
" Who is it, then ?"
" Excuse me, monseigneur, let us say no more about it." The che-
valier knew perfectly well that curiosity is excited in the same way as
thirst—by removing that which quenches it; or, in other words, by
delaying the explanation.
" No, no," said the prince, "I wish to know why you went away."
" In that case, monseigneur, I will tell you; but do not be angry.
I remarked that my presence was disagreeable."
" To whom ?" " To Madame."
" What do you mean ?" said the duke, in astonishment.
" It is simple enough: Madame is very probably jealous of the regard
you are good enough to testify for me."
" Has she shown it to you?"
" Madame never addresses a syllable to me, particularly since a certain
time."
" Since what time ?"
" Since the time when, M. de Guiche having'made himself more agree-
able to her than I could, she receives him at every and any hour."
The duke coloured. " At any hour, chevalier; what do you mean by
that?"
" Tou see, your highness, I have already displeased you; I was quite
sure I should."
" I am not displeased; but you say things a little strong. In what
respect does Madame prefer de Guiche to you ?"
" I shall say no more," said the chevalier, saluting the prince cere-
moniously.
" On the contrary, I require you to speak. If you withdraw on that
account, you must indeed be very jealous."
" One cannot help being jealous, monseigneur, when one loves. Is not
your royal highness jealous of Madame ? Would not your royal high-
ness, if you saw some one always near Madame, and always treated with
great favour, take umbrage at it ? One's friends are as one's lovers.
Your royal highness has sometimes conferred the distinguished honour
upon me of calling me your friend."
" Yes, yes; but you used a phrase which has a very equivocal signifi-
cation; you are unfortunate in your remarks."
" What phrase, monseigneur ?"
"You said, 'treated with great favour.' What do you mean by
favour ? "
"Nothing can be more simple," said the chevalier, with an expres-
sion of great frankness; " for instance, whenever a husband remarks
that his wife summons such and such a man near her—whenever this
man is always to be found by her side, or in attendance at the door of
her carriage; whenever the bouquet of the one is always the same
colour as the ribbons of the other—when music and supper parties are
held in the private apartments—whenever a dead silence takes place
immediately the husband makes his appearance in his wife's rooms—
and when the husband suddenly finds that he has, as a companion, the
most devoted and the kindest of men, who, a week before, was with
him as little as possible; why, then "
"Well, finish."
" Why, then, I say, monseigneur, one possibly may get jealous. But
490 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
all these details hardly apply; for our conversation had nothing to do
with them."
The duke was evidently much agitated, and seemed to struggle within
himself a good deal. "You have not told me," he then remarked,
" why you absented yourself. A little while ago you said it was frpm a
fear of intruding; you added, even, that you had observed a disposition
on Madame's part to encourage de Guiche."
" Pardon me, monseigneur, I did not say that."
"You did, indeed."
"Well, if I did say so, I noticed nothing but what was very inof-
fensive."
" At all events, you remarked something."
"You embarrass me, monseigneur."
. "What does that matter? Answer me. If you speak the truth,
why should you feel embarrassed ? "
" I always speak the truth, monseigneur; but I also always hesitate
when it is a question of repeating what others say."
" Ah ! ah ! you repeat ? It appears that it is talked about, then ? "
"I acknowledge that others have spoken to me on the subject."
" Who ? " said the prince.
The chevalier assumed almost an angry air, as he replied, "Monsei-
gneur, you are subjecting me to the question; you treat me as a
criminal at the bar; and the rumours which idly pass by a gentleman's
ears, do not remain there. Your highness wishes me to magnify the
rumour until it attains the importance of an event."
" However," said the duke, in great displeasure, " the fact remains
that you withdrew on account of this report."
" To speak the truth, others have talked to me of the attentions of
M. de Guiche to Madame, nothing more; perfectly harmless, I repeat,
and more than that, permissable. But do not be unjust, monseigneur,
and do not attach an undue importance to it. It does not concern
you."
"M. de Guiche's attentions to Madame do not concern me?"
" No, monseigneur; and what I say to you I would say to de Guiche
himself, so little do I think of the attentions he pays Madame. Nay,
I would say it even to Madame herself. Only, you understand, what
I am afraid of—I am afraid of being thought jealous of the favour
shown, when I am only jealous as far as friendship is concerned. I
know your disposition ; I know that when you bestow your affections
you become exclusively attached. You love Madame—and who, in-
deed, would not love her? Pollow me attentively, as I proceed:—
Madame has noticed among your friends the handsomest and most
fascinating of them all; she will begin to influence you on his behalf,
in such a way that you will neglect the others. Your indifference
would kill me; it is already bad enough to have to support Madame's
indifference. I have, therefore, made up my mind to give way to the
favourite whose happiness I envy, even while I acknowledge my sincere
friendship and sincere admiration for him. Well, monseigneur, do you
see anything to object to in this reasoning ? Is it not that of a man of
honour ? Is my conduct that of a sincere friend ? Answer me, at
least, after having so closely questioned me."
The duke had seated himself, with his head buried in his hands.
After a silence, long enough to enable the chevalier to judge of the
effect of his oratorical display, the duke rose, saying, "Come, be
candid."
" As I always am."
m. de Lorraine's jealousy. 491
"Very well. You know that we already observed something re-
specting that mad fellow, Buckingham."
" Do not say anything against Madame, monseigneur, or I shall take .
my leave. Is it possible you can be suspicious of Madame ? "
"No, no, chevalier; I do not suspect Madame; but,in fact, I observe
—I compare "
" Buckingham was a madman, monseigneur."
" A madman about whom, however, you opened my eyes thoroughly."
"No, no," said the chevalier, quickly; "It was not I who opened
your eyes. It was de Guiche. Do not confound us, I beg." And he
began to laugh in so harsh a manner that it sounded like the hiss of a
serpent.
"Yes, yes; I remember. You said a few words, but de Guiche
showed the most jealousy."
" I should think so," continued the chevalier, in the same tone. " He
was fighting for home and altar."
" What did you say ? " said the duke, haughtily, thoroughly roused
by this insidious jest.
" Am I not right ? for does not M. de Guiche hold the chief post of
honour in your household P "
"Well," replied the duke, somewhat calmed, "had this passion of
Buckingham been remarked P "
" Certainly."
"Yery well. Do people say that M. de Guiche's is remarked as
much ? "
"Pardon me, monseigneur; you are again mistaken; no one says
that M. de Guiche entertains anything of the sort."
"Yery good."
"You see, monseigneur, that it would have been better, a hundred
times better, to have left me in my retirement, than to have allowed •
you to conjure up. by the aid of any scruples I may have had, suspi-
cions which Madame will regard as crimes, and she will be right, too."
" What would you do ? " " Act reasonably."
" In what way ? "
" I should not pay the slightest attention to the society of these new
Epicurean philosophers; and, in that way, the rumours will cease."
"Well, I shall see; I shall think over it."
" Oh, you have time enough; the danger is not great; and then,
besides, it is not a question either of danger or of passion. It all arose
from a fear I had to see your friendship for me decrease. From the
very moment you restore it me, with so kind an assurance of its exist-
ence, I have no longer any other idea in my head."
The duke shook his head, as if he meant to say: " If you have no
more ideas, I have though." It being now the dinner-hour, the prince
sent to inform Madame of it, who returned a message to the effect that
she could not be present, but would dine in her own apartment.
" That is not my fault," said the duke. " This morning, having taken
them by surprise, in the midst of a musical party, I got jealous; and
so they are in the sulks with me."
"We will dine alone," said the chevalier, with a sigh; "I regret de
Guiche is not here."
" Oh! de Guiche will not remain long in the sulks; he is a very
good-natured fellow."
"Monseigneur," said the chevalier, suddenly, "an excellent idea has
struck me, in our conversation just now. I may have exasperated
your highness, and caused you some dissatisfaction. It is but fitting
492 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
that I should he the mediator. I will go and look for the corate, and
bring him back with me."
" Ah ! chevalier, you are really a very good-natured fellow."
"You say that as if you were surprised."
"Well, you are not so tender-hearted every day."
" That may be; but confess that I know how to repair a wrong I may
have done."
" I confess that."
"Will your highness do me the favour to wait here a few minutes ?"
" Willingly; be off, and I will try on my Fontainebleau costume."
The chevalier left the room, called his different attendants with the
greatest care, as if he was giving them different orders. All went off
in various directions ; but he retained his valet-de-chambre. " Ascer-
tain, and immediately too, if M. de Guiche is not in Madame's apart-
ments. How can one learn it P "
" Very easily, monsieur. I will ask Malicorne, who will learn it from
Mile, de Montalais. I may as well tell you, however, that the inquiry
will be useless: for all M. de Guiche's attendants are gone, and he must
have left with them."
" Try and learn, nevertheless."
Ten minutes had hardly passed, when the valet returned. He
beckoned his master mysteriously towards the servants' staircase, and
showed him into a small room with a window looking out upon the
garden. " What is the matter," said the chevalier; " why so many pre-
cautions ? "
"Look, monsieur," said the valet, "look yonder, under the walnut-
tree."
" Ah!" said the chevalier. " I see Manicamp waiting there. What
is he waiting for P "
" You will see in a moment, monsieur, if you wait patiently. There,
do you see now?"
" I see one, two, four musicians with their instruments, and behind
them, urging them on, de Guiche himself. What is he doing there,
though ? "
" He is waiting until the little door of the staircase, belonging to the
ladies of honour, is opened; by that staircase he will ascend to Madame's
apartments, where some new pieces of music are going to be performed
during dinner."
" That is admirable which you tell me." " Is it not, monsieur ? "
" Was it M. de Malicorne who told you this ?" "Yes, monsieur."
" He likes you, then ? "
" No, monsieur, it is Monsieur whom he likes."
" Why ? " " Because he wishes to belong to his household."
" And most certainly he shall. How much did he give you for that ?"
" The secret which I now dispose of to you, monsieur."
" And which I buy for a hundred pistoles. Take them."
" Thank you, monsieur. Look, look, the little door opens, a woman
admits the musicians."
" It is Montalais."
" Hush, monseigneur; do not call out her name; whoever says Mon-
talais says Malicorne. If you quarrel with the one, you will be on bad
terms with the other."
"Very well j I have seen nothing."
" And I," said the valet, pocketing the purse," have received nothing."
The chevalier, being now certain that Guiche had entered, returned
to the prince, whom he found splendidly dressed and radiant with joy,
monsieub is jealous of quiche. 496
as with, good looks. " I am told," he exclaimed, " that the king has
taken the sun as his device; really, monseigneur, it is you whom this
device would best suit."
" Where is de Guiche ?"
" He cannot be found. He has fled, has evaporated entirely. Your
scolding of this morning terrified him. He could not be found in his
apartments."
" Bah ! the hair-brained fellow is capable of setting off" post-haste to
his own estates. Poor fellow! we will recall him. Come, let us dine
now."
" Monseigneur, to-day is a day of ideas; I have another."
"What is it?"
" Madame is angry with you, and she has reason to be so. You owe
her her revenge; go and dine with her."
" Oh ! that would be acting like a weak husband."
" It is the duty of a good husband to do so. The princess is no doubt
wearied enough; she will be weeping in her plate, and her eyes will get
quite red. A husband who is the cause of his wife's eyes getting red
is an odious creature. Come, monseigneur, come."
" I cannot; for I have directed dinner to be served here."
" Yet see, monseigneur, how dull we shall be; I shall be low-spirited
because I know that Madame will be alone; you, hard and savage as
you wish to appear, will be sighing all the while. Take me with you to
Madame's dinner, and that will be a delightful surprise. I am sure we
shall be very merry ; you were wrong this morning."
" Well, perhaps I was."
" There is no perhaps at all, for it is a fact you were so."
" Chevalier, chevalier, your advice is not good."
"Hay, my advice is good; all the advantages are on your own side.
Your violet-coloured suit, embroidered with gold, becomes you admira-
bly. Madame will be as much vanquished by the man as by the step.
Come, monseigneur."
" You decide me; let us go."
The duke left his room, accompanied by the chevalier, and went
towards Madame's apartments. The chevalier hastily whispered to his
valet, " Be sure that there are some people before the little door, so that
no one can escape in that direction. Bun, run." And he followed the
duke towards the antechambers of Madame's suite of apartments, and
when the ushers were about to announce them, the chevalier said,
laughing, " His highness wishes to surprise Madame."
CHAPTER CVn.
Monsieur is Jealous of Guiche.
Monsieue entered the room abruptly, as those persons do who mean
well and think they confer pleasure, or as those who hope to surprise
some secret, the melancholy reward of jealous people. Madame, almost
out of her senses at the first bars of music, was dancing in the most
unrestrained manner, leaving the dinner, which had been already
begun, unfinished. Her partner was M. de Guiche, who, with his arms
raised and his eyes half closed, was kneeling on one knee, like the
Spanish dancers, with looks full of passion, and gestures of the most
caressing character. The princess was dancing round him with a
494 THE V1C0MTE DE BRAGELONNE.
responsive smile, and the same air of alluring seductiveness. Montalais
stood by admiringly; La Valliere, seated in a corner of the room,
looked on thoughtfully. It is impossible to describe the effect which
the presence of the prince produced upon this happy company, and it
would be just as impossible to describe the effect which the sight of
their happiness produced upon Philip. The comte de Guiche had no
power to move; Madame remained in the middle of one of the figures
and of an attitude, unable to utter a word. The chevalier de Lorraine,
leaning his back against the doorway, smiled like a man in the very
height of the frankest admiration. The pallor of the prince, and the
convulsive trembling of his hand and limbs, were the first symptoms that
struck those present.. A dead silence succeeded the sound of the dance.
The chevalier de Lorraine took advantage of this interval to salute
Madame and de Guiche most respectfully, affecting to join them together
in his reverences as though they were the master and mistress of the
house. Monsieur then approached them, saying, in a hoarse tone of
voice, " I am delighted; I came here expecting to find you ill and low-
spirited, and I find you abandoning yourself to new amusements;
really, it is most fortunate. My house is the merriest in the whole
kingdom." Then turning towards de Guiche, "Comte," he said, "I
did not know you were so good a dancer." And, again addressing his
wife, he said, "Show a little more consideration for me, Madame;
whenever you intend to amuse yourselves here, invite me. I am a
prince, unfortunately, very much neglected."
Guiche had now recovered his self-possession, and with the spirited
boldness which was natural to him, and which so well became him, he
said, "Your highness knows very well that my very life is at your
service, and whenever there is a question of its being needed, I am
ready; but to-day, as it is only a question of dancing to music-, I dance."
"And you are perfectly right," said the prince, coldly. "But,
Madame," he continued, " you do not remark that your ladies deprive
me of my friends; M. de Guiche does not belong to you, Madame, but
to me. If you wish to dine, without me you have your ladies. "When
I dine alone I have my gentlemen; do not strip me of everything."
Madame felt the reproach and the lesson, and the colour rushed to
her face. " Monsieur," she replied, " I was not aware, when I came to
the court of Prance, that princesses of my rank were to be regarded as
the women in Turkey are. I was not aware that we were not allowed
to be seen; but, since such is your desire, I will conform myself to it;
pray do not hesitate, if you should wish it, to have my windows barred,
even."
This repartee, which made Montalais and de Guiche smile, rekindled
the prince's anger, no inconsiderable portion of which had already
evaporated in words.
" Very well," he said, in a concentrated tone of voice," this is the way
in which I am respected in my own house."
" Monseigneur, monseigneur," murmured the chevalier in the duke's
ear in such a manner that every one could observe he was endeavouring
to calm him.
" Come," replied the prince, as his only answer to the remark, hurry-
ing him away, and turning round with so hasty a movement that he
almost ran against Madame. The chevalier followed him to his
own apartment, where the prince had no sooner seated himself than he
gave free rein to his fury. The chevalier raised his eyes towards the
ceiling, joined his hands together, and said not a word. ,
" Give me your opinion," exclaimed the prince.
MONSIEUR IS JEALOUS OF GUICHE. 495
"Upon what?"
" Upon what is taking place here."
" Oh, monseigneur, it is a very serious matter."
" It is abominable! I cannot live in this manner."
"How unhappy all this is," said the chevalier. "We hoped to enjoy
tranquillity, after that madman Buckingham had left."
" And this is worse."
" I do not say that, monseigneur."
" Yes, but I say it, for Buckingham would never have ventured upon
a fourth part of what we have just now seen."
" What do you mean ?"
" To conceal oneself for the purpose of dancing, and to feign indispo-
sition in order to dine tete-a-tete"
" No, no, monseigneur."
"Yes, yes," exclaimed the prince, exciting himself like a self-willed
child; " but I will not endure it any longer, I must learn what is
really going on."
" Oh, monseigneur, an exposure "
" By Heaven, monsieur, am I to put myself out of the way, when
peopl eshow so little consideration for me! Wait for me here, chevalier,
wait for me here." The prince disappeared in the neighbouring apart-
ment, and inquired of the gentlemen in attendance if the queen-
mother had returned from chapel. Anne of Austria felt that her
happiness was now complete; peace restored to her family, a nation
delighted with the presence of a young monarch, who had shown an
aptitude for affairs of great importance; the revenues of the state
increased; external peace assured; everything seemed to promise a
tranquil future for her. Her thoughts recurred, now and then, to that
poor young man whom she had received as a mother, and had driven
away as a hard-hearted step-mother, and she sighed as she thought of
him.
" Suddenly, the due d'Orleans entered her room. " Hear mother," he
exclaimed hurriedly, closing the door," things cannot go on as they now
are."
Anne of Austria raised her beautiful eyes towards him, and with an
unmoved gentleness of manner, said, " What things do you allude to ?"
" 1 wish to speak of Madame."
"Your wife ?"
"Yes, ma dame."
" I suppose that silly fellow Buckingham has been writing a farewell
letter to her."
" Oh! yes, madame, of course, it is a question of Buckingham."
" Of whom else could it be, then ? for that poor fellow was, wrongly
enough, the object of your jealousy, and I thought "
" My wife, madame, has already replaced the auke of Buckingham."
" Philip, what are you saying ? You are speaking very heedlessly."
"No, no.—Madame has so managed matters, that I am still jealous."
"Of whom, in Heaven's name ?"
"Is it possible you have not remarked it? Have you not noticed,
that M. de Guiche is always in her apartments—always with her."
The queen clapped her hands together, and began to laugh. " Philip,"
she said, "your jealousy is not merely a defect, it is a positive disease."
"Whether a defect, or a disease, madame, I am the sufferer from it."
"And do you imagine, that a complaint which exists only in your own
imagination can be cured. You wish it to be said, you are right in
being jealous, when there is no ground whatever for your jealousy."
496 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
" Of course, you will begin to say for this one, what you already said
on behalf of the other."
" Because, Philip," said the queen, drily," what you did for the other,
you are going to do for this one."
The prince bowed, slightly annoyed. " If I were to give you facts,"
he said, "will you believe me?"
" If it regarded anything else but jealousy, I would believe you with-
out your bringing facts forward; but, as jealousy is in the case, I
promise nothing."
" It is just the same as if your majesty were to desire me to hold my
tongue, and sent me away unheard."
" Par from it; as you are my son, I owe you a mother's indulgence."
" Oh, say what you think; you owe me as much indulgence as a
madman deserves."
" Do not exaggerate, Philip, and take care how you represent your
wife to me as a woman of a depraved mind "
"But facts, mother, facts!"
"Well, I am listening."
" This morning, at ten o'clock, they were playing music in Madame's
apartments."
"No harm in that, surely."
" M. de Guiche was talking with her alone Ah! I forgot to tell
you, that, during the last ten days, he has never left her side."
" If they were doing any harm they would hide themselves."
"Very good," exclaimed the duke, " I expected you to say that. Pray
do not forget what you have just said. This morning, I took them by
surprise, and showed my dissatisfaction in a very marked manner."
" Rely upon it, that is quite sufficient, it was, perhaps, even a little too
much. These young women easily take offence. To reproach them for
an error they have not committed is, sometimes, almost the same as
telling them they might do it."
" Yery good, very good; but wait a minute. Do not forget what you
have just this minute said, that this morning's lesson ought to have
been sufficient, and that if they had been doing what was wrong, they
would have concealed themselves."
" Yes, I said so."
"Well, just now, repenting of my hastiness of this morning, and
knowing that Guiche was sulking in his own apartments, I went to pay
Madame a visit. Can you guess what, or whom, I found there ?—Ano-
ther set of musicians; more dancing, and Guiche himself—he was con-
cealed there."
Anne of Austria frowned. " It was imprudent," she said. " What
did Madame say ?"
"Nothing."
"And Guiche?"
"As much—oh, no! he muttered some impertinent remark or
another."
" Well, what is your opinion, Philip?"!
" That I have been made a fool of; that Buckingham was only a pre-
text, and that Guiche is the one who is really guilty."
Anne shrugged her shoulders. " Well," she said, " what else ?"
" I wish de Guiche to be dismissed from mv household, as Bucking-
ham was, and I shall ask the king, unless "
"Unless what?"
" Unless you, my dear mother, who are so clever and so kind, will
execute the commission yourself." .
MONSIEUR IS JEALOUS OF GUICHE. 497
" I shall not do it, Philip."
" What, madame ?"
" Listen, Philip; I am not disposed to pay people ill compliments
every day; 1 have some influence over young people, but I cannot take
advantage of it without running the chance of losing it altogether.
Besides, there is nothing to prove that M. de Guiche is guilty."
" He has displeased me."
" That is your own affair."
"Very well, I know what I shall do," said the prince, impetuously.
Anne looked at him with some uneasiness. " What do you intend
to do?" she said.
" I will have him drowned in my reservoir, the next time I find him
in my apartments again." Having launched this terrible threat, the
prince expected his mother would be frightened out of her senses; but
the queen was unmoved by it.
" Do so," she said.
Philip was as weak as a woman, and began to cry out, " Every one
betrays me,—no one cares for me; my mother even joins my enemies."
" Your mother, Philip, sees further in the matter than you do, and
does not care about advising you, since you do not listen to her."
" I will go to the king."
"I was about to propose that to you. I am now expecting his
majesty; it is the hour he usually pays me a visit; explain the matter to
him yourself."
She had hardly finished when Philip heard the door of the anteroom
open with some noise. He began to feel nervous. At the sound of the
king's footsteps, which could be heard upon the carpet, the duke hurriedly
made his escape out of the room. Anne of Austria could not resist
laughing, and was laughing still when the king entered. He came very
affectionately to inquire after the even now uncertain health of the
queen-mother, and to announce to her that the preparations for the
journey to Eontainebleau were complete. Seeing her laugh, his un-
easiness on her account diminished, and he addressed her in a laughing
tone himself. Anne of Austria took him by the hand, and, in a voice
full of playfulness, said, " Do you know, sire, that I am proud of being
a Spanish woman ?"
" Why, madame?"
" Because Spanish women are worth more than English women at
least."
" Explain yourself."
" Since your marriage, you have not, I believe, had a single reproach
to make against the queen."
" Certainly not."
" And you, too, have been married some time. Your brother, on the
contrary, has been married only a fortnight."
"Well?"
" He is now finding fault with Madame a second time."
" What, Buckingham still ?"
" No, another."
"Who?" "Guiche."
" Beally, Madame is a coquette, then."
" I fear so."
" My poor brother," said the king, laughing.
" You do not mind coquetting, it seems ?"
" In Madame, certainly I do; but Madame is not a coquette at heart."
" That may be, but your brother is excessively angry about it."
2 K
498 THE VICOMTE HE BEAGELONNE.
" "What does he want ?" " He wishes to drown Guiche."
" That is a violent measure to resort to."
"Do not laugh, he is extremely irritated. Think of what can he
done."
" To save Guiche—certainly."
" Oh, if your brother heard you, he would conspire against you as
your uncle Monsieur did against your father."
" No; Philip has too much affection for me for that, and I, on my side,
have too great a regard for him; we shall live together on very good
terms. But what is the substance of his request ?"
" That you will prevent Madame from being a coquette, and Guiche
from being amiable."
" Is that all ? My brother has an exalted idea of sovereign power.
To reform a woman ! not to say a word about reforming a man !"
" How will you set about it ? "
" With a word to Guiche, who is a clever fellow, I will undertake to
convince him."
" But Madame?"
" That is more difficult; a word will not be enough. I will compose
a homily and read it to her."
" There is no time to lose."
" Oh, I will use the utmost diligence. There is a repetition of the
ballet this afternoon."
" Tou will read her a lecture while you are dancing?"
"Yes, madame."
"You promise to convert her ?"
" I will root out the heresy altogether, either by convincing her, or by
extreme measures."
" That is all right, then. Do not mix me up in the affair: Madame
would never forgive me in her life, and, as a mother-in-law, I ought to
try and live on good terms with my daughter-in-law."
" The king, madame, will take all upon himself. But let me reflect."
"What about?"
" It would be better, perhaps, if I were to go and see Madame in her
own apartment."
" Would that not seem a somewhat serious step to take ?"
" Yes; but seriousness is not unbecoming in preachers, and the music
of the ballet would drown one half of my arguments. Besides, the object
is to prevent any violent measures on my brother's part, so that a little
precipitation may be advisable. Is Madame in her own apartment?"
" I believe so."
" What is my statement of grievances to consist of?"
" In a few words, of the following: music uninterruptedly; Guiche's
assiduity; suspicions of treasonable plots and practices."
" And the proofs ? " " There are none."
" Very well; I shall go at once to see Madame." The king turned to
look in the mirrors at his costume, which was very rich, and his face,
which was as radiant and sparkling as diamonds. "I suppose my
brother is kept a little at a distance," said the king.
" Fire and water cannot possibly be more opposite."
" That will do. Permit me, madame, to kiss your hands, the most
beautiful hands in France."
" May you be successful, sire,—be the family peace-maker."
" I do not employ an ambassador," said Louis; " which is as much as
to say that I shall succeed." He laughed as he left the room, and care-
fully dusted his dress as he went along.
THE MEDIATOR.
499
CHAPTER CYIII.
The Mediator.
When the king made his appearance in Madame's apartments, the
courtiers, whom the news of a conjugal misunderstanding had dis-
persed in the various apartments, began to entertain the most serious
apprehensions. A storm, too, was brewing in that direction, the ele-
ments of which the Chevalier de Lorraine, in the midst of the different
groups, was analyzing with delight, contributing to the weaker, and
acting, according to his own wicked designs, in such a manner with
regard to the stronger, as to produce the most disastrous consequences
possible. As Anne of Austria had herself said, the presence of the king
gave a solemn and serious character to the event. Indeed, in the year
1662, the dissatisfaction of Monsieur with Madame, and the king's
intervention in the private affairs of Monsieur, was a matter of no
inconsiderable moment.
The boldest, even, who had been the associates of the Comte de
Guiche, had, from the first moment, held aloof from him, with a sort of
nervous apprehension; and the comte himself, infected by the general
panic, retired to his own apartments alone. The king entered Madame's
private apartments, acknowledging and returning the salutations, as he
was always in the habit of doing. The ladies of honour were ranged in
a line on his passage along the gallery. Although his majesty was very
much preoccupied, he gave the glance of a master at the two rows of
young and beautiful girls, who modestly cast down their eyes, blushing
as they felt the king's gaze upon them. One only of the number, whose
long hair fell in silken masses upon the most beautiful skin imaginable,
was pale, and could hardly sustain herself, notwithstanding the knocks
which her companion gave her with her elbow. It was La Valliere,
whom Montalais supported in that manner, by whispering some of that
courage to her with which she herself was so abundantly provided.
The king could not resist turning round to look at them again. Their
faces, which had already been raised, were again lowered, but the only
fair head among them remained motionless, as if all the strength and
intelligence she had left, had abandoned her. "When he entered
Madame's room, Louis found his sister-in-law reclining upon the
cushions of her cabinet. She rose and made a profound reverence,
murmuring some words of thanks for the honour she was receiving.
She then resumed her seat, overcome by a sudden weakness, which was
no doubt assumed, for a delightful colour animated her cheeks, and her
eyes, still red from the tears she had recently shed, never had more fire
in them. When the king was seated, and as soon as he had remarked,
with that accuracy of observation which characterized him, the disorder
of the apartment, and the no less great disorder of Madame's coun-
tenance, he assumed a playful manner, saying, " My dear sister, at
what hour to-day would you wish the repetition of the ballet to take
place?"
Madame shaking her charming head, slowly and languishingly said:
" Ah ! sire, will you graciously excuse my appearance at the repetition;
I was about to send to inform your majesty that I could not attend
to-day."
" Indeed," said the king in apparent surprise; "are you not well ?"
"No, sire."
2 K 2
500 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
"I will summon your medical attendants, then."
" No, for they can do nothing for my indisposition."
"Youalarm me."
" Sire, I wish to ask your majesty's permission to return to Eng-
land."
The king started. " Eeturn to England," he said, " do you really say
what you mean ? " - __
"I say it reluctantly, sire," replied the granddaughter of Henry IV.,
firmly, her beautiful black eyes flashing. " I regret to have to confide
such matters to your majesty, but I feel myself too unhappy at your
majesty's court; and I wish to return to my own family."
" Madame, madame," exclaimed the king as he approached her.
"Listen to me, sire," continued the young woman, acquiring by
degrees that ascendancy over her interrogator which her beauty and
her nervous nature conferred; " young as I am, I have already suffered
humiliation, and have endured disdain here. Oh! do not contradict
me, sire," she said with a smile. The king coloured.
" Then," she continued, " I have reasoned myself into the belief that
Heaven had called me into existence with that object, I, the daughter of
a powerful monarch; that since my father had been deprived of life,
Heaven could well smite my pride. I have suffered greatly; I have
been the cause, too, of my mother suffering much; but I have sworn
that if Providence had ever placed me in a position of independence,
even were it that of a workwoman of the lower classes, who gains her
bread by her labour, I would never suffer humiliation again. That
day has now arrived; I have been restored to the fortune due to my
rank and to my birth; I have even ascended again the steps of a
throne, and I thought that, in allying myself with a Erench prince, I
should find in him a relation, a friend, an equal; but I perceive I have
found only a master, and I rebel. My mother shall know nothing of it;
you whom I respect, and whom I—love " The king started; never
had any voice so gratified his ear.
"You, sire, who know all, since you have come here; you will,
perhaps, understand me. If you had not come, I should have gone to
you. I wish for permission to pass freely. I leave it to your delicacy
of feeling to exculpate and to protect me."
"My dear sister," murmured the king, overpowered by this bold
attack, "have you reflected upon thh enormous difficulty of the project
you have conceived?"
" Sire, I do not reflect, I feel. Attacked, I instinctively repel the
attack, nothing more."
" Come, tell me what have they done to you ?" said the king.
The princess, it will have been seen, by this peculiarly feminine
manoeuvre, had escaped every reproach, and advanced on her side a far
more serious one; from an accused, she became the accuser. It is an
infallible sign of guilt; but notwithstanding that, all women, even the
least clever of the sex, invariably know how to derive some means of
attaining success. The king had forgotten that he had paid her a
visit, in order to say to her, " What have you done to my brother?"
and that he was reduced to saying to her, " What have they done to
you ?"
"What have they done to me," replied Madame; "one must be a
woman to understand it, sire,—they have made me weep;" and, with
one of her fingers, whose slenderness and perfect whiteness were un-
equalled, she pointed to her brilliant eyes swimming in tears, and again
began to weep.
THE MEDIATOR. 501
"I implore you, my dear sister," said tlie king, advancing to take her
warm and throbbing hand, which she abandoned to him.
"In the first place, sire, I was deprived of the presence of my
brother's friend. The duke of Buckingham was an agreeable, cheerful
visitor, my own countryman, who knew my habits; I will say, almost a
companion, so accustomed had we been to pass our days together, with
our other friends upon the beautiful piece of water at St. James's ?"
" But Yilliers was in love with you."
" A pretext! What does it matter," she said seriously, " whether the
duke was in love with me or not P Is a man in love so very dangerous
for me ? Ah! sire, it is not sufficient for a man to love a woman."
And she smiled so tenderly, and with so much archness, that the king
felt his heart beat and throb within his breast.
" At all events, if my brother were jealous ?" interrupted the king.
"Yery well, I admit that is a reason; and the duke was sent away
accordingly."
" No, not sent away."
" Driven away, expelled, dismissed then, if you prefer it, sire. " One
of the first gentlemen of Europe was obliged to leave the court of the
king of France, of Louis XIY., like a beggar, on account of a glance or
a bouquet. It was little worthy of the most gallant court; but forgive
me, sire, I forgot, that, in speaking thus, I am attacking your sovereign
power."
" I assure you, my dear sister, it was not I who dismissed the duke of
Buckingham; I was very charmed with'him."
"It was not you?" said Madame; "ah! so much the better;" and
she emphasized the "so much the better," as if she had instead said," so
much the worse."
A few minutes' silence'ensued. She then resumed: "The duke of
Buckingham having left, I now know why and by whose means. I
thought I should have recovered my tranquillity ; but, not at all, for
all at once, Monsieur finds another pretext; all at once "
" All at once," said the king playfully, " some one else presents him-
self. It is but natural; you are beautiful, and will always meet with
those who will love you."
"In that case," exclaimed the princess, "I shall create a solitude
around me, which indeed seems to be what is wished, and what is being
prepared for me; but no, I prefer to return to London. There I am
known and appreciated. I shall have friends, without fearing they
may be regarded as my lovers. Shame! it is a disgraceful suspicion,
and unworthy a gentleman. Monsieur has lost everything in my
estimation, since he has shown me he can be the tyrant of a woman."
"Nay, nay, my brother's only fault is that of loving you."
" Love me! Monsieur love me! Ah! sire," and she burst out
laughing. " Monsieur will never love any woman," she said; " Monsieur
loves himself too much; no, unhappily for me, Monsieur's jealousy is of'
the worst kind, he is jealous without love."
"Confess, however," said the king, who began to be excited by this
varied and animated conversation ; " confess that Guiche loves you."
"Ah! sire, I know nothing about that."
"You must have perceived it. A man who loves readily betrays
himself."
" M. de Guiche has not betrayed himself."
" My dear sister, you are defending M. de Guiche."
" I, indeed. Ah, sire, I only needed a suspicion from yourself to
complete my wretchedness,"
502 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
"No, madame, no," returned the king, hurriedly; "do not distress
yourself. Nay, you are weeping. I implore you to calm yourself."
She wept, however, and large tears fell upon her hands; the king
took one of her hands in his, and kissed the tears away. She looked at
him so sadly and with so much tenderness that he felt his heart throb
under her gaze.
" You have no kind of feeling, then, for Guiche ? " he said, more dis-
turbed than became his character of mediator.
" N one—absolutely none."
" Then I can reassure my brother in that respect ? "
"Nothing will satisfy him, sire. Do not believe he is jealous. Mon-
sieur has been badly advised by some one, and he is of an anxious dis-
position."
" He may well be so when you are concerned," said the king.
Madame cast down her eyes, and was silent; the king did so likewise,
still holding her hand all the while. His momentary silence seemed to
last an age. Madame gently withdrew her hand, and, from that moment,
she felt her triumph was certain, and that the field of battle was her own.
" Monsieur complains," said the king, " that you prefer the society of
private individuals to his own conversation and society."
" But Monsieur passes his life in looking at his face in the glass, and
in plotting all sorts of spiteful things against women with the Chevalier
de Lorraine."
" Oh, you are going somewhat too far."
" I only say what is the fact. Do you observe for yourself, sire, and
you will see that I am right."
" I will observe; but, in the mean time, what satisfaction can I give
my brother ? "
" My departure."
"You repeat that word," exclaimed the king, imprudently, as if,
during the last ten minutes, such a change had been produced that
Madame would have had all her ideas on the subject thoroughly
changed.
" Sire, I cannot he happy here any longer," she said. " M. de Guiche
annoys Monsieur. Will he be sent away too ?
" If it be necessary, why not ? " replied the king, smiling.
" Well; and after M. de Guiche—whom, by the bye, I shall regret—
I warn you, sire."
" Ah, you will regret him ? "
" Certainly; he is amiable, he has a great friendship for me, and he
amuses me."
" If Monsieur were only to hear you," said the king, slightly annoyed,
" do you know I would not undertake to make it up again between
you; nay, I would not even attempt it."
" Sire, can you, even now, prevent Monsieur from being jealous of
the first person who may approach ? I know very well that M. de
Guiche is not the first."
"Again: I warn you that as a good brother I shall take a dislike to
de Guiche."
sii*e' ,d° not, I entreat you, adopt either the sympathies or the
dislikes of Monsieur. Remain the king; far better for yourself and
for every one else."
" You jest most charmingly, madame; and I can well understand how
those whom you attack must adore you."
"And is that the reason why you, sire, whom I had regarded as my
defender, are about to join those who persecute me ?" said Madame.
THE MEDIATOE. 503
" I your persecutor! Heaven forbid!"
" Then," she continued, languishingly, " grant me a favour."
" Whatever you wish."
" Let me return to England."
" Never, never! " exclaimed Louis XIY.
"lama prisoner then ? "
" In France, yes."
" What must I do then ? "
" I will tell you. Instead of devoting yourself to friendships which
are somewhat unsuitable, instead of alarming us by your retirement,
remain always in our society, do not leave us, let us live as a united
family. M. de Guiche is certainly very amiable; but if, at least, we do
not possess his wit "
"Ah, sire, you know very well that you are pretending to be
modest."
"No, I swear to you. One may be a king, and yet feel that he
possesses fewer chances of pleasing than many other gentlemen."
"I am sure, sire, that you do not believe a single word you are
saying."
The king looked at Madame tenderly, and said, " Will you promise
me one thing ? "
" What is it ? "
" That you will no longer waste upon strangers, in your own apart-
ments, the time which you owe us. Shall we make an offensive and
defensive alliance against the common enemy ? "
" An alliance with you, sire ? "
" Why not ? Are you not a sovereign power ? "
" But are you, sire, a very faithful aily ? "
" You shall see, madame."
" And when shall this alliance commence ? "
" This very day."
" I will draw up the treaty, and you shall sign it." " Blindly."
" Then, sire, I promise you wonders: you are the star of the court,
and when you make your appearance, everything will be resplendent."
" Oh, madame, madame," said Louis XIY., " you know well that there
is no brilliancy which does not proceed from yourself, and that if I as-
sume the sun as my device, it is only an emblem."
" Sire, you flatter your ally, and you wish to deceive her," said Ma-
dame, threatening the king with her finger raised menacingly.
" What! you believe I am deceiving you, when I assure you of my
affection ?" " Yes."
" What makes you so suspicious ? "
" One thing."
" What is it ? I shall indeed be unhappy if I do not overcome it."
" That one thing in question, sire, is not in your power, not even in
the power of Heaven."
" Tell me what it is."
" The past."
" I do not understand, madame," said the king, precisely because he
had understood her but too well.
The princess took his hand in hers. " Sire," she said, " I have had
the misfortune to displease you for so long a period, that I have almost
the right to ask myself to-day why you were able to accept me as a
sister-in-law."
" Displease me ! You have displeased me ? "
" Nay, do not deny it, for I remember it well."
504 the vicomte de beagelonne.
" Our alliance shall date from to-day," exclaimed the king, with a
warmth that was not assumed.. "You will not think any more of the
past, will you ? I myself am resolved that I will not. I shall always
remember the present; I have it before my eyes: look." And he led
the princess before a mirror, in which she saw herself reflected, blush-
ing and beautiful enough to overcome a saint. '
"It is all the same," she murmured, "it will not be a very worthy
alliance."
" Must I swear ? " inquired the king, intoxicated by the voluptuous
turn the whole conversation had taken.
" Oh, I do not refuse a good oath," said Madame; " it has always the
semblance of security."
The king knelt upon a footstool and took hold of Madame's hand.
She, with a smile that a painter could not succeed in depicting, and
which a poet only could imagine, gave him both her hands, in which he
hid his burning face. Neither of them could utter a syllable. The
king felt Madame withdraw her hands, caressing his face while she did
so. He rose immediately and left the apartment. The courtiers re-
marked his heightened colour, and concluded that the scene had been
a stormy one. The Chevalier de Lorraine, however, hastened to say,
"Nay, be comforted, gentlemen, his majesty is always pale when he is
angry.",
CHAPTER CIX.
The Advisers.
The king left Madame in a state of agitation which it would have
been difficult even for himself to have explained. It is impossible, in
fact, to explain the secret play of those strange sympathies, which sud-
denly, and apparently without any cause, are excited, after many years
passed in the greatest calmness and indifference, by two hearts destined
to love each other. "Why had Louis formerly disdained, almost hated,
Madame P Why did he now find the same woman so beautiful, so cap-
tivating P And why, not only were his thoughts occupied about her,
hut still more, why were they so occupied about her P Why, in fact,
had Madame, whose eyes and mind were sought for in another direction,
shown during the last week towards the king a semblance of favour,
which encouraged the belief of still greater regard. It must not be
supposed that Louis proposed to himself any plan of seduction; the tie
which united Madame to his brother was, or at least seemed, for him
an insuperable barrier; he was even too far removed from that barrier
to perceive its existence. But on the downward path of those passions
in which'the heart rejoices, towards which youth impels us, no one can
decide where to stop, not even he who has in advance calculated all the
chances of his own success or of another's submission. As far as Madame
was concerned, her regard for the king may easily be explained: she was
young, a coquette, and ardently fond of admiration. Hers was one of
those buoyant, impetuous natures, which upon a theatre would leap
over the greatest obstacles to obtain an acknowledgment of applause
from the spectators. It was not surprising, then, that, after having been
adored by Buckingham, by de Guiche, who was superior to Bucking-
ham, even if it were only from that great merit, so much appreciated by
woman, that is to say, novelty—it was not surprising, we say, that, the
THE ADVISEES. 505
princess should raise her ambition to being admired by the king, who,
not only was the first person in the kingdom, but was one of the hand-
somest and wittiest men in it. As for the sudden passion with which
Louis was inspired for his sister-in-law, physiology would perhaps supply
the explanation of it by some hackneyed common-place reasons, and
nature from some of her mysterious affinity of characters. Madame had
the most beautiful black eyes in the world: Louis, eyes as beautiful, but
blue. Madame was laughter-loving and unreserved in her manners:
Louis, melancholy and diffident. Summoned to meet each other, for
the first time, upon the grounds of interest and common curiosity, these
two opposite natures were mutually influenced by the contact of their
reciprocal contradictions of character. Louis, when he returned to his
own rooms, acknowledged to himself that Madame was the most
attractive woman of his court. Madame, left alone, delightedly thought
that she had made a great impression on the king. This feeling with
her must remain passive, whilst the king could not but act with all the
natural vehemence of the heated fancies of a young man, and of a young
man who has but to express a wish, to see his wishes executed.
The first thing the king did was to announce to Monsieur that every-
thing was quietly arranged; that Madame had tthe greatest respect, the
sincerest affection for him; but that she was of a proud, impetuous
character, and that her susceptibilities were so acute as to require a very
careful management.
Monsieur replied in the sour tone of voice he generally adopted with
his brother, that he could not very well understand the susceptibilities
of a woman whose conduct might, in his opinion, expose her to cen-
sorious remarks, and that if any one had a right to feel wounded, it was
he, Monsieur himself. To this the king replied in a quick tone of voice,
which showed the interest he took in his sister-in-law, " Thank heaven
Madame is above censure."
" The censure of others, certainly, I admit," said Monsieur, " but not
above mine, I presume."
" Well," said the king, " all I have to say, Philip, is, that Madame's
conduct does not deserve your censure. She certainly is heedless and
singular, but professes the best feelings. The English character is not
always well understood in Prance, and the liberty of English manners
sometimes surprises those who do not know the extent to which this
liberty is enriched by innocence."
"Ah!" said Monsieur, more and more piqued, " from the very mo-
ment that your majesty absolves my wife, whom I accuse, my wife is
not guilty, and I have nothing more to say."
" Philip," replied the king hastily, for he felt the voice of conscience
murmuring softly in his heart that Monsieur was not altogether wrong,
" what I have done, and what I have said, was only for your happiness.
I was told that you complained of a want of confidence or attention on
Madame's part, and I did not wish your uneasiness to be prolonged any
further. It is part of my duty to watch over your household, as over
that of the humblest of my subjects. I have seen, therefore, with the
sincerest pleasure that your apprehensions have no foundation."
" And," continued Monsieur, in an interrogative tone of voice, and
fixing his eyes upon his brother, " what your majesty has discovered for
Madame—and I bow myself to your majesty's superior judgment—have
you also verified it for those who have been the cause of the scandal of
which I complain?"
" You are right, Philip," said the king: " I will consider that point."
Thfese words comprised an order as well as a consolation; the prince
506 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
felt it to be so, and withdrew. As for Louis, he went to seek his mother,
for he felt that he had need of a more complete absolution than that he
had just received from his brother. Anne of Austria did not entertain
for M. de Guiche the same reasons for indulgence she had had for
Buckingham. She perceived, at the very first words he pronounced,
that Louis was not disposed to be severe, as she was indeed. It was one
of the stratagems of the good queen, in order to succeed in ascertaining
the truth. But Louis was no longer in his apprenticeship; already for
more than a year past he had been king, and during that year he had
learned how to dissemble. Listening to Anne of Austria, in order to
{>ermit her to disclose her own thoughts, testifying his approval only by
ook and by gestures, he became convinced, from certain profound
glances, and from certain skilful insinuations, that the queen, so clear-
sighted in matters of gallantry, had, if not guessed, at least suspected,
his weakness for Madame. Of all his auxiliaries, Anne of Austria would
be the most important to secure: of all his enemies, Anne of Austria
would have been the most dangerous. Louis therefore changed his
manoeuvres. He complained of Madame, absolved Monsieur, listened
to what his mother had to say of de Guiche, as he had previously
listened to what she had had to say of Buckingham, and then, when he
saw that she thought she had gained a complete victory over him, he
left her. The whole of the court, that is to say all the favourites and
more intimate associates, and they were numerous, since there were
already five masters, were assembled in the evening for the repetition
of the ballet. This interval had been occupied by poor de Guiche in
receiving visits. Among the number was one which he hoped and feared
nearly to an equal extent. It was that of the Chevalier de Lorraine.
About three o'clock in the afternoon the chevalier entered de Guiche's
rooms. His looks were of the most assuring character. " Monsieur,"
said he to de Guiche, " was in an excellent humour, and no one could
say that the slightest cloud had passed across the conjugal sky. Besides,
Monsieur was not one to bear ill-feeling."
For a very long time past, during his residence at the court, the
Chevalier de Lorraine had decided, that of Louis the Thirteenth's two
sons, Monsieur was the one who had. inherited the father's character—
an uncertain, irresolute character; impulsively good, evilly disposed at
bottom; but certainly a cipher for his friends. He had especially
cheered de Guiche, by pointing out to him that Madame would, before
long, succeed in governing her husband, and that, consequently, that
man would govern Monsieur who should succeed in influencing.Madame.
To this, de Guiche, full of mistrust and presence of mind, had replied,
" Yes, chevalier; but I believe Madame to be a very dangerous person."
" In what respect ?"
" She has perceived that Monsieur is not very passionately inclined
towards women."
" Quite true," said the Chevalier de Lorraine, laughing.
" In that case, Madame will choose the first one who approaches, in
order to make him the object of her preference, and to bring back her
husband by jealousy."
"Deep ! deep !" exclaimed the chevalier.
" But true," replied de Guiche. But neither the one nor the other
expressed his real thought. De Guiche, at the very moment he thus
attacked Madame's character, mentally asked her forgiveness from the
bottom of his heart. The chevalier, while admiring de Guiche's pene-
tration, led him, blindfolded, to the brink of the precipice. De Guiche
then questioned him more directly upon the effect produced by the
THE ADVISEES. 507
scene of that morning, and upon the still more serious effect produced
by the scene at dinner.
" But I have already told you they are all laughing at it," replied the
Chevalier de Lorraine, "and Monsieur himself at the head of them."
" Yet," hazarded de Guiche, " I have heard that the king paid Madame
a visit."
"Yes, precisely so. Madame was the only one who did not laugh,
and the king went to her in order to make her laugh too."
" So that——"
" So that nothing is altered in the arrangements of the day," said the
chevalier.
" And is there a repetition of the ballet this evening ?" " Certainly."
"Are you sure?"
" Quite so," returned the chevalier.
At this moment of the conversation between the two young men,
Baoul entered, looking full of anxiety. As soon as the chevalier, who
had a secret dislike for him, as for every other noble character, perceived
him enter, he rose from his seat.
"What do you advise me to do, then?" inquired de Guiche of the
chevalier.
" I advise you to go to sleep with perfect tranquillity, my dear comte."
" And my advice, de Guiche," said Baoul, " is the very opposite."
" What is that ?"
" To mount your horse and set off at once for one of your estates; on
your arrival, follow the chevalier's advice, if you like; and, what is more,
you can sleep there as long and as tranquilly as you please."
" What! set off!" exclaimed the chevalier, feigning surprise; " why
should de Guiche set off?"
" Because, and you cannot be ignorant of it—you particularly so—
because every one is talking about the scene which has passed between
Monsieur and de Guiche." De Guiche turned pale.
"Not at all," replied the chevalier, "not at all, and you have been
wrongly informed, M. de Bragelonne."
" I have been perfectly well informed, on the contrary, monsieur,"
replied Baoul, " and the advice I give de Guiche is that of a friend."
During this discussion, de Guiche, somewhat shaken, looked alter-
nately first at one and then at the other of his advisers. He inwardly
felt that a game, important in all its consequences for the rest of his life,
was being played at that moment.
" Is it not the fact," said the chevalier, putting the question to the
comte himself, " is it not the fact, de Guiche, the scene was not so tem-
pestuous as the Yicomte de Bragelonne seems to think, and who, more-
over, was not himself there ?"
" Whether tempestuous or not," persisted Baoul, " it is not precisely
of the scene itself that I am speaking, but of the consequences that may
ensue. I know that Monsieur has threatened, and I know that Madame
has been in tears."
"Madame in tears!" exclaimed de Guiche, imprudently clasping his
hands.
"Ah!" said the chevalier, laughing, "that is indeed a circumstance
I was not acquainted with. You are decidedly better informed than I
am, Monsieur de Bragelonne."
" And it is because I am better informed than yourself, chevalier, that
I insist upon de Guiche leaving."
"No, no; I regret to differ from you, vicomte; but his departure is
unnecessary. Why, indeed, should he leave ? tell us why."
508 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" The king!"
" The king," exclaimed de Guiche.
" Yes; I tell you the king has taken up the affair."
" Bah !" said the chevalier, " the king likes de Guiche, and particu-
larly his father; reflect, that, if the comte were to leave, it would be an
admission that he had done something which merited rebuke."
" Why so ? "
"No doubt of it; when one runs away, it is either from guilt or
from fear."
" Or, because a man is offended; because he is wrongfully accused,"
said Bragelonne. " We will assign as a reason for his departure, that
he feels hurt and injured—nothing will be easier; we will say that we
both did our utmost to keep him, and you, at least, will not be speaking
otherwise than the truth. Come, de Guiche, you are innocent, and,
being so, the scene of to-day must have wounded you. So set off."
" No, de Guiche, remain where you are," said the chevalier; "precisely
as M. de Bragelonne has put it, because you are innocent. Once more,
forgive me, vicomte; but my opinion is the very opposite to your own."
" And you are at perfect liberty to maintain it, monsieur; but be
assured that the exile which de Guiche will voluntarily impose upon
himself will be of short duration. He can terminate it whenever he
pleases, and, returning from his voluntary exile, he will meet with
smiles from all lips; while, on the contrary, the anger of the king
may draw down a storm upon his head, the end of which no one can
foresee."
The chevalier smiled, and murmured to himself, " That is the very
thing I wish." And at the same time he shrugged his shoulders, a
movement which did not escape the comte, who dreaded, if he quitted
the court, to seem to yield to a feeling of fear.
" No, no; I have decided, Bragelonne, I stay."
" I prophesy, then," said Raoul, sadly, " that misfortune will befall
you, de Guiche."
" I, too, am a prophet, but not a prophet of evil; on the contrary,
comte, I say to you, remain."
"Are you sure," inquired de Guiche, "that the repetition of the
ballet still takes place ? "
" Quite sure."
" Well, you see, Raoul," continued de Guiche, endeavouring to smile,
" you see the court is not so very sorrowful, or so readily disposed for
internal dissensions, when dancing is carried on with such assiduity.
Come, acknowledge that," said the comte to Raoul, who shook his head,
saying, " I have nothing to add."
" But," inquired the chevalier, curious to learn whence Raoul had
obtained his information, the exactitude of which he was inwardly
forced to admit, " since you say you are well informed, vicomte, how
can you be better informed than myself, who am one of the prince's
most intimate companions ?"
"To such a declaration I submit. You certainly ought to be per-
fectly well informed, I admit; and, as a man of honour is incapable of
saying anything but what he knows to be true, or of speaking other-
wise than what he thinks, I shall say no more, but confess myself
defeated, and leave you in possession of the field of battle."
Whereupon Raoul, who now seemed only to care to be left quiet,
threw himself upon a large couch, whilst the comte summoned his
servants to aid Him in dressing. The chevalier, finding that time was
passing away, wished to leave; but he feared, too, that Raoul, left alone
THE ADVISEES. 509
with de Guiche, might yet influence him to change his resolution. He
therefore made use of his last resource.
"Madame," he said, "will be brilliant; she appears to-day in her
costume of Pomona."
" Yes, that is so," exclaimed the comte.
"And she has just given directions in consequence," continued the
chevalier. "You know, Monsieur de Brageionne, that the king is to
appear as Spring."
" It will be admirable," said de Guiche; " and that is a better reason
for me to remain than any you have yet given, because I am to appear
as Autumn, and shall have to dance with Madame. I cannot absent
myself without the king's orders, since my departure would interrupt
the ballet."
" J," said the chevalier, "am to be only a simple jEgypan; true it is,
I am a bad dancer, and my legs are not well made. Gentlemen, adieu.
Do not forget the basket of fruit, which you are to offer to Pomona,
comte."
" Be assured," said de Guiche, delightedly, " I shall forget nothing."
"I am now quite certain that he will remain," murmured the
Chevalier de Lorraine to himself.
Raoul, when the chevalier had left, did not even attempt to dissuade
his friend, for he felt that it would be trouble thrown away; he merely
observed to the comte, in his melancholy and melodious voice, "You
are embarking in a most dangerous enterprise. I know you well; you
go to extremes in everything, and she whom you love does so too.
Admitting for an instant that she should at last love you "
" Oh, never!" exclaimed de Guiche.
" Why do you say never ? "
" Because it would be a great misfortune for both of us."
" In that case, instead of regarding you as simply imprudent, I cannot
but consider you as absolutely mad." " Why?"
" Are you perfectly sure, mind, answer me frankly, that you do not
wish her whom you love to make any sacrifice for you ?"
" Yes, yes; quite sure."
" Love her then at a distance."
" What! at a distance!"
" Certainly; what matters being present or absent, since you expect
nothing from her. Love a portrait, a remembrance." " Raoul!"
" Love a shadow, an illusion, a chimera; be devoted to the affection
itself, in giving a name to your ideality." " Ah!"
" You turn away; your servants approach; I shall say no more. In
good or bad fortune, de Guiche, depend upon me."
" Indeed I shall do so."
" Very well; that is all I had to say to you. Spare no pains in your
person, de Guiche, and look your very best. Adieu."
" You will not be present then at the repetition, vicomte ? "
" No; I shall have a visit to pay in town. Pare well, de Guiche."
The reception was to take place in the king's apartments. In the
first place, there were the queens, then Madame, and a few ladies of the
court, who had been selected. A great number of courtiers, also care-
fully selected, occupied the time, before the_ dancing commenced, in
conversing, as people knew how to converse in those times. None of
the ladies who had received invitations appeared in the costumes of the
fete, as the Chevalier de Lorraine had predicted, but many conversations
took place about the rich and ingenious toilettes designed by different
painters for the ballet of " The Demi-Gods," for thus were termed
510 THE VICOffTI DE BEAGELONNE.
the kings and queens, of which Eontainebleau was about to becomb
the Pantheon. Monsieur arrived, holding in his hand a drawing re-
presenting his character; he looked somewhat anxious; he bowed
courteously to the young queen and his mother, but saluted Madame
almost cavalierly. His notice of her and his coldness of manner were
observed by all. M. de Guicbe indemnified the princess by a look of
passionate devotion, and it must be admitted that Madame, as she
raised her eyes, returned it to him with usury. It is unquestionable
that de Guiche had never looked so handsome, for Madame's glance had
had the effect of lighting up the features of the son of the Marshal de
Grammont. The king's sister-in-law felt a storm mustering above her
head; she felt, too, that, during the whole of the day, so fruitful in future
events, she had acted unjustly, if not treasonably, towards one who loved
her with such a depth of devotion. In her eyes the moment seemed to
have arrived for an acknowledgment to the poor victim of the injustice
of the morning. Her heart spoke, and murmured the name of de
Guiche; the comte was sincerely pitied, and accordingly gained the
victory over all others. Neither Monsieur, nor the king, nor the duke
of Buckingham, was any longer thought of; and de Guiche at that
moment reigned without a rival. But although Monsieur also looked
very handsome, still he could not be compared to the comte. It is well
known—indeed all women say so—that a very wide difference invariably
exists between the good looks of a lover and those of a husband.
Besides, in the present case, after Monsieur had left, and after the
courteous and affectionate recognition of the young queen and of the
queen-mother, and the careless and indifferent notice of Madame, which
all the courtiers had remarked; all these motives gave the lover the
advantage over the husband. Monsieur was too great a personage to
notice these details. Nothing is so certain as a well settled idea of
superiority to prove the inferiority of the man who has that opinion of
himself. _ The king arrived. Every one looked for what might possibly
happen, in the glance, which began to bestir the world, like the brow of
Jupiter Tonans. Louis had none of his brother's gloominess, but was
perfectly radiant. Having examined a greater part of the drawings
which were displayed for his inspection on every side, he gave his
opinion or made his remarks upon them, and in this manner rendered
some happy, and others unhappy by a single word. Suddenly, his
glance, which was smilingly directed towards Madame, detected the
silent correspondence which was established between the princess and
the comte. He bit his lip, but when he opened them again to utter a
few common-place remarks, he said, advancing towards the queens:—
" I have just been informed that everything is now prepared at Eon-
tainebleau, in accordance with my directions." A murmur of satisfac-
tion arose from the different groups, and the king perceived on every
face the greatest anxiety to receive an invitation for the fetes. " I shall
leave to-morrow," he added. Whereupon the profoundest silence im-
mediately ensued. " And I invite," said the king, finishing, " all those
who are now present to get ready to accompany me."
Smiling faces were now everywhere visible, with the exception of
Monsieur, who seemed to retain his ill-humour. The different noble-
men and ladies of the court thereupon defiled before the king, one after
the other, in order to thank his majesty for the great honour which had
been conferred upon them by the invitation. When it came to de
Guiche's turn, the king said, " Ah ! M. de Guiche, I did not see you."
The comte bowed, and Madame turned pale. De Guiche was about
to open his lips to express his thanks, when the king said, " Comte, this
FONTAINEBLEATT. 511
is the season for farming purposes in the country; I am sure your
tenants in Normandy will be glad to see you."
The king, after this severe attack, turned his back to the poor comte,
whose turn it was now to become pale; he advanced a few steps towards
the king, forgetting that the king is never spoken to except in reply
to questions addressed. " I have perhaps misunderstood your majesty,"
he stammered out. The king turned his head slightly, and with a cold
and stern glance, which plunged like a sword relentlessly into the
hearts of those under disgrace, repeated, " I said retire to your estates,"
and allowing every syllable to fall slowly one by one. A cold perspira-
tion bedewed the comte's face, his hands convulsively opened, and his
hat, which he held between his trembling fingers, fell to the ground.
Louis sought his mother's glance, as though to show her that he was
master ; he sought his brother's triumphant look, as if to ask him if he
were satisfied with the vengeance taken; and lastly, his eyes fell upon
Madame; but the princess was laughing and smiling with Madame de
Noailles. She had heard nothing, or rather had pretended not to hear
at all. The Chevalier de Lorraine looked on also, with one of those
looks of settled hostility, which seemed to give to a man's glance
the power of a lever when it raises an obstacle, wrests it away, and casts
it to a distance. M. de Guiche was left alone in the king's cabinet, the
whole of the company having departed. Shadows seemed to dance
before his eyes. He suddenly broke through the fixed despair which
overwhelmed him, and flew to hide himself in his own rooms, where
Eaoul awaited him, confident in his own sad presentiments.
""Well ?" he murmured, seeing his friend enter, bareheaded, with a
wild gaze and tottering gait.
"Yes, yes, it is true," saidde Guiche, unable to utter more, and falling
exhausted upon the couch.
"And she?" inquired Eaoul.
" She," exclaimed his unhappy friend, as he raised his hand, clenched
in anger towards heaven. " She! "
"What did she say and do ?"
" She said that her dress suited her admirably, and then she laughed."
A fit of hysteric laughter seemed to shatter his nerves, for he fell back-
wards, completely overcome.
CHAPTER CX.
Fontainebleau.
For four days, every kind of enchantment brought together in the
magnificent gardens of Fontainebleau, had converted this spot into a
place of the most perfect enjoyment. M. Colbert seemed gifted with
ubiquity. In the morning, there were the accounts of the previous
night's expenses to settle; during the day, programmes, essays, enlist-
ments, payments. M. Colbert had amassed four millions of francs, and-
dispersed them with a prudent economy. He was horrified at the
expenses which mythology involved; every wood-nymph, every dryad,
did not cost less than a hundred francs a day. The dress alone amounted
to three hundred francs. The expense of powder and sulphur for fire-
works amounted, every night, to a hundred thousand francs. In addition
to these, the illuminations on the borders of the sheet of water cost
thirty thousand francs every evening. The fetes had been magnificent;
612 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
and Colbert could not restrain his delight. Prom time to time, hi
noticed Madame and the king setting forth on hunting expeditions, oi
preparing for the reception of different fantastic personages, solemi
ceremonials, which had been extemporized a fortnight before, and ii
which Madame's sparkling wit and the king's magnificence were equally
displayed.
For Madame, the heroine of the fite, replied to the addresses o
the deputations from unknown races—Garamanths, Scythians, Hyper
boreans, Caucasians, and Patagonians, who seemed to issue from th<
ground for the purpose of approaching her with their congratulations
and upon every representative of these races the king bestowed £
diamond, or some other article of great value. Then the deputies, ir
verses more or less amusing, compared the king to the sun, Madame tc
Phoebe, the sun's sister, and the queen and Monsieur were no mon
spoken of than if the king had married Madame Henrietta of England,
and not Maria Theresa of Austria. The happy pair, hand in hand, im-
perceptibly pressing each other's fingers, drank in deep draughts the
sweet beverage of adulation, by which the attractions of youth, beauty,
power, and love, are enhanced. Every one at Pontainebleau was amazed
at the extent of the influence which Madame had so rapidly acquired
over the king, and whispered among themselves, that Madame was, in
point of fact, the true queen; and, in effect, the king himself pro-
claimed its truth by his every thought, word, and look. He formed his
wishes, he drew his inspirations from Madame's eyes, and his delight
was unbounded when Madame deigned to smile upon him. And was
Madame, on her side, intoxicated with the power she wielded, as she
beheld every one at her feet ?—This was a question she herself could
hardly answer; but what she did know was, that she could frame no
wish, and that she felt herself to be perfectly happy. The result of all
these changes, the source of which emanated from the royal will, was
that Monsieur, instead of being the second person in the kingdom, had,
in reality, become the third. And it was now far worse than in the
time when de Guiche's guitars were heard in Madame's apartments; for,
then, at least, Monsieur had the satisfaction of frightening those who
annoyed him. Since the departure, however, of the enemy, who had
been driven away by means of his alliance with the king, Monsieur had
to submit to a burden, heavier, but in a very different sense, to his
former one. Every evening, Madame returned home quite exhausted.
Horse-riding, bathing in the Seine, spectacles, dinners under the leafy
covert of the trees, balls on the banks of the grand canal, concerts,
&c. &c.; all this would have been sufficient to have killed, not a slight
and delicate woman, but the strongest porter in the chateau. It is per-
fectly true, that, with regard to dancing, concerts, and promenades, and
such matters, a woman is far stronger than the most robust porter oi
the chateau. But, however great a woman's strength may be, there is
a limit to it, and she cannot hold out long under such a system. As for
Monsieur, he had not even the satisfaction of witnessing Madame's
abdication of her royalty in the evening, for she lived in the royal
pavilion with the young queen and the queen-mother. As a matter oi
course, the Chevalier de Lorraine did not quit Monsieur, and did not
fail to distil his drops of gall into every wound the latter received. The
result was, that Monsieur—who had, at first, been in the highest spirits,
and completely restored since Guiche's departure—subsided into his
melancholy state, three days after the court was installed at Fontaine-
bleau. It happened, however, that, one day, about two o'clock in the
afternoon, Monsieur, who had risen late, and had bestowed upon his
EONTAINEBLEATT. 513
toilette more than his usual attention, it happened, we repeat, that
Monsieur, who had not heard of any plans having been arranged for the
day, formed the project of collecting his own court, and of carrying
Madame off with him to Moret, wb|re he possessed a charming country
house. He, accordingly, went to tne queen's pavilion, and was asto-
nished, on entering, to find none of the royal servants in attendance.
Quite alone, therefore, he entered the rooms, a door on the left opening
to Madame's apartment, the one on the right to the young queen's.
In his wife's apartment, Monsieur was informed, by a sempstress who
was working there, that every one had left at eleven o'clock, for the pur-
pose of bathing in the Seine, that a grand fete was to be made of the
expedition, that all the carriages had been placed at the park gates, and
that they had all set out more than an hour ago.
"Very good," said Monsieur, " the idea is a good one; the heat is very
oppressive, and I have no objection to bathe too."
He summoned his servants, but no one came. He summoned those
in attendance on Madame, but everybody had gone out. He then went
to the stables, where he was informed by a groom that there were no
carriages of any description. He then desired that a couple of horses
should be saddled, one for himself, and the other for his valet. The
groom told him that all the horses had been sent away. Monsieur,
pal9 with anger, again ascended towards the queen's apartments, and
penetrated as far as Anne of Austria's oratory, where he perceived,
through the half-opened tapestry-hangings, his young and beautiful
sister on her knees before the queen-mother, who appeared weeping
bitterly. He had not been either seen or heard. He cautiously ap-
proached the opening, and listened—the sight of so much grief having
aroused his curiosity. Not only was the young queen weeping, but she
was complaining also. " Yes," she said, " the king neglects me, the king
devotes himself to pleasures and amusements only, in which I have no
share."
" Patience, patience, my daughter," said Anne of Austria, in Spanish;
and then, also in Spanish, added some words of advice, which Monsieur
did not understand. The queen replied by accusations, mingled with
sighs and sobs, among which Monsieur often distinguished the word
ianos, which Maria Theresa accentuated with spiteful anger.
" The baths," said Monsieur to himself, " it seems it is the baths that
have put her out." And he endeavoured to put together the discon-
nected phrases which he had been able to understand. It was easy to
guess that the queen complained bitterly, and that, if Anne of Austria
did not console her, she at least endeavoured to do so. Monsieur was
afraid to be detected listening at the door, and he therefore made up
his mind to cough; the two queens turned round at the sound, and.
Monsieur entered. At the sight of the prince, the young queen rose
precipitately, and dried her tears. Monsieur, however, knew the people
he had to deal with too well, and was naturally too polite to remain
silent, and he accordingly saluted them. The queen-mother smiled
pleasantly at him, saying, "What do you want, Philip ?"
"I ?—nothing," stammered Monsieur. " I was looking for "
"Whom?"
" I was looking for Madame."
" Madame is at the baths."
"And the king?" said Monsieur, in a tone which made the queen
.tremble.
"The king also, and the whole court as well," replied Anne of Austria.
"Except you, madame," said Monsieur.
2 L
514 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"Oh! I," said the young queen, "I seem to terrify all those who
amuse themselves." Anne of Austria made a sign to her daughter-in-
aw, who withdrew, weeping.
Monsieur's brows contracted, as he remarked aloud," What a cheer-
less house. What do you think of it, mother ? "
"Why; no—everybody here is pleasure-hunting."
"Yes, indeed, that is the very thing that makes those dull who do
not care for pleasure."
" In what a tone you say that, Philip."
" Upon my word, madame, I speak as I think."
"Explain yourself; what is the matter ?"
"Ask my sister-in-law, rather, who, just now, was detailing all her
grievances to you."
" Her grievances, what "
"Yes, I was listening; accidentally, I confess, hut still I listened—
so that I heard only too well my sister complain of those famous baths
of Madame "
"What folly!"
"No, no, no; people are not always foolish when they weep. The
queen said banos, which means baths."
"I repeat, Philip," said Anne of Austria, "that your sister is most
childishly jealous."
"In that case, madame," replied the prince, "I, too, must, with great
humility, accuse myself of possessing the same defect as she has."
"You also, Philip ?" "Certainly."
" Are you really jealous of these baths ?"
"And why not, madame, when the king goes to the baths with my
wife, and does not take the queen ? Why not, when Madame goes to
the baths with the king, and does not do me the honour to tell me of
it ? And you require my sister-in-law to be satisfied, and require me to
he satisfied, too."
" You are raving, my dear Philip," said Anne of Austria; "you have
driven the duke of Buckingham away; you have been the cause of
Monsieur de Guiche's exile; do you now wish to send the king away
from Pontainebleau ?"
" I do not pretend to anything of the kind, madame," said Monsieur,
bitterly; " but, at least, I can withdraw, and I shall do so."
" Jealous of the king,—jealous of your brother ?"
"Yes, madame, I am jealous of the king—of my own brother, and
very jealous too."
" Really, Monsieur," exclaimed Anne of Austria, affecting to be in-
dignant and angry," I begin to believe you are mad, and a sworn enemy
to my repose. I therefore abandon the place to you, for I have no
means of defending myself against such wild conceptions."
She arose and left Monsieur a prey to the most extravagant transport
of passion. He remained for a moment completely bewildered; then,
recovering himself, he again went to the stables, found the groom, once
more asked him for a carriage or a horse, and upon his replying that
there was neither the one nor the other, Monsieur snatched a long
whip from the hand of a stable-boy, and began to pursue the poor devil
of a groom all round the servants' courtyard, whipping him all the
while, in spite of his cries and his excuses; then, quite out of breath,
covered with perspiration, and trembling in every limb, he returned to
his own apartments, broke in pieces some beautiful specimens of porce-
lain, and then got into bed, booted and spurred as he was, crying out
for some one to come to him.
THE BATH.
515
CHAPTER CXI.
The Bath.
At Yalvins, beneath the unpenetrable shade of flowering osiers and
willows, which, as they bent down their green heads, dipped the ex-
tremities of their branches in the blue waters, a long and flat-bottomed
boat, with ladders covered with long blue curtains, served as a refuge
for the bathing Dianas, who, as they left, the water, were watched by
twenty plumed Acteons, who, eagerly, and full of desire, galloped up
and down the moss-grown ana perfumed banks of the river. But Diana
herself, even the chaste Diana, clothed in her long chlamys, was less
beautiful—less impenetrable, than Madame, as young and beautiful
as that goddess herself. Por, notwithstanding the fine tunic of the
huntress, her round and delicate knee can be seen; and notwithstand-
ing the sonorous quiver, her brown shoulders can be defected • whereas,
in Madame's case, a long white veil enveloped her, wrapping her round
and round a hundred times, as she resigned herself into the hands of
her female attendants, and thus was rendered inaccessible to the most
indiscreet, as well as to the most penetrating gaze. When she ascended
the ladder, the poets who were present—and all were poets when
Madame was the subject of discussion—the twenty poets who were
galloping about, stopped, and with one voice exclaimed, that pearls, and
not drops of water, were falling from her person, to be lost again in the
happy river. The king, the centre of these effusions, and of this respect-
ful homage, imposed silence upon those expatiators, for whom it seemed
impossible to exhaust their raptures, and he rode away, from fear of
offending, even under the silken curtains, the modesty of the woman
and the dignity of the princess. A great blank thereupon ensued in
the scene, and a perfect silence in the boat. Prom the movements on
board,—from the flutterings and agitations of the curtains,—the goings
to and fro of the female attendants engaged in their duties, could be
guessed.
The king smilingly listened to the conversation of the courtiers
around him, but it could be easily perceived that he gave but little, if
any, attention to their remarks. In fact, hardly had the sound of the
rings drawn along the curtain-rods announced that Madame was dressed,
and that the goddess was about to make her appearance, than the king,
returning to his former post immediately, and running quite close to
the river-bank, gave the signal for all those to approach whose attend-
ance or pleasure summoned them to Madame's side. The pages
hurried forward, conducting the led horses; the carriages, which had
remained sheltered under the trees, advanced towards the tent, followed
by a crowd of servants, bearers, and female attendants, who, while their
masters had been bathing, had mutually exchanged their own observa-
tions, their critical remarks, and the discussion of matters personal to
themselves,—the fugitive journal of that period, of which no record is
preserved, not even by the waters, the mirror of individuals, echoes of
conversations, witnesses whom Heaven has hurried into immensity, as he
has hurried the actors themselves into eternity. A crowd of people
swarming upon the banks of the river, without reckoning the groups of
peasants drawn together by their anxiety to see the king and the prin-
cess, was, for many minutes, the most disorderly, but the most agreeable,
pell-mell imaginable. The king dismounted from his horse, a move-
516 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONHE.
merit which was imitated by all the courtiers, and offered his hand to
Madame, whose rich riding-habit displayed her fine figure, which was
set off to great advantage by that garment, made of fine woollen cloth
embroidered with silver. Her hair, still damp and blacker than jet, hung
in heavy masses upon her white and delicate neck. Joy and health
sparkled in her beautiful eyes; composed, and yet full of energy, she
inhaled the air in deep draughts, under the embroidered parasol, which
was borne by one of her pages. Nothing could be more charming,
more graceful, more poetical, than these two figures buried under the
rose-coloured shade of the parasol; the king, whose white teeth were
displayed in continual smiles, and Madame, whose black eyes sparkled
like two carbuncles in the glittering reflection of the changing hues of
the silk. When Madame had approached her horse, a magnificent
animal of Andalusian breed, of spotless white, somewhat heavy, perhaps,
but with a spirited and slender head, in which the mixture so hap-
pilv combined of Arabian and Spanish blood could be readily traced,
and whose long tail swept the ground; and as the princess affected
difficulty in mounting, the king took her in his arms in such a manner
that Madame's arm was clasped like a circlet of fire around the king's
neck; Louis, as he withdrew, involuntarily touched with his lips
the arm, which was not withheld, and the princess, having thanked her
royal equerry, every one sprang to his saddle at the same moment.
The king and Madame drew aside to allow the carriages, the outriders,
and runners, to pass by. A fair proportion of the cavaliers, released
from the restraint which etiquette had imposed upon them, gave the
rein to their horses, and darted after the carriages which bore the
maids of honour, as blooming as so many Oreades around Diana, and
the whirlwind, laughing, chattering, and noisy, passed onward.
The king and Madame, however, kept their horses in hand at a foot-
pace. Behind his majesty and his sister-in-law, certain of the courtiers—
those, at least, who were seriously disposed, or were anxious to be within
reach, or under the eyes, of the king—followed at a respectful distance,
restraining their impatient horses, regulating their pace by that of the
king and Madame, and abandoned themselves to all the delight and
gratification which is to be found in the conversation of clever people,
who can, with perfect courtesy, make a thousand of the most atrocious
remarks about their neighbours. In their stifled laughter, and in the
little reticences of their sardonic humour, Monsieur, the poor absentee,
was not spared. But they pitied, and bewailed greatly, the fate of
de Guiche; and it must be confessed that their compassion, as far as he
was concerned, was not misplaced. The king and Madame having
breathed their horses, and repeated a hundred times over such remarks
as the courtiers, who made them talk, had suggested to them, set off at
a hand-gallop, and the shady coverts of the forest resounded to the
heavy footfall of the mounted party. To the conversations beneath the
shade of trees,—to the remarks made in the shape of confidential com-
munications, and to the observations which had been mysteriously
exchanged, succeeded the noisiest bursts of laughter;—from the very
outriders to royalty itself, merriment seemed to spread. Every one
began to laugh and to cry out. The magpies and the jays flew away,
uttering their guttural cries, beneath the waving avenues of the oaks;
the cuckoo stayed his monotonous cry in the recesses of the forest; the
chaffinch and tomtit flew away in clouds; while the terrified fawn, and
other deer, bounded forwards from the midst of the thickets. This
crowd, spreading wildly joy, confusion, and light wherever it passed,
was preceded, it may be said, to the chateau by its own clamour. As
the butterfly-chase. 517
the king and Madame entered the village, they were both received by
the general acclamations of the crowd. Madame hastened to look for
Monsieur, for she instinctively understood that he had been far too
long kept from sharing in this joy. The king went to rejoin the
queens; he knew he owed them—one especially—a compensation for
his long absence. But Madame was not admitted to Monsieur's apart-
ments, and she was informed that Monsieur was asleep. The king,
instead of being met by Maria Theresa smiling, as was usual with her,
found Anne of Austria in the gallery, watching for his return, who
advanced to meet him, and, taking him by the hand, led him to her own
apartment. No one ever knew what was the nature of the conversation
which took place between them, or rather what it was that the queen-
mother had said to Louis XIV.; but it certainly might easily be guessed
from the annoyed expression of the king's face as he left her after the
interview.
But we, whose mission it is to interpret all things, as it is also to
communicate our interpretations to our readers,—we should fail in
our duty, if we were to leave them in ignorance of the result of this
interview. It will be found sufficiently detailed, at least we hope so,
in the following chapter.
CHAPTER CXII.
The Butterfly-chase.
The king, on retiring to his apartments to give some directions and
to arrange his ideas, found on his toilette-glass a small note, the hand-
writing of which seemed disguised. He opened it and read—" Come
quickly, I have a thousand things to say to you." The king and
Madame had not been separated a sufficiently long time for these thou-
sand things to be the result of the three thousand which they had been
saying to each other during the route which separated Valvins from
Fontainebleau. The confused and hurried character of the note gave
the king a great deal to reflect upon. He occupied himself but slightly
with his toilette, and set off to pay his visit to Madame. The princess,
who did not wish to have the appearance of expecting him, had gone
into the gardens with the ladies of her suite. "When the king was
informed that Madame had left her apartments, and had gone for a walk
in the gardens, he collected all the gentlemen he could find, and invited
them to follow him. He found Madame engaged in chasing butterflies,
on a large lawn bordered with heliotrope and flowering broom. She
was looking on, as the most adventurous and youngest of her ladies ran
to and fro, and with her back turned to a high hedge, very impatiently
awaited the arrival of the king, to whom she had given the rendezvous.
The sound of many feet upon the gravel-wallc made her turn round.
Louis XIV. was bareheaded; he had struck down with his cane a
peacock butterfly, which Monsieur de Saint-Aignan had picked up from
the ground quite stunned.
" You see, Madame," said the king, as he approached her, " that I,
too, am hunting for you;" and, then, turning towards those who had
accompanied him, said, " Gentlemen, see if each of you cannot obtain
as much for these ladies," a remark which was a signal for all to
retire. And thereupon a curious spectacle might be observed; old and
corpulent courtiers were seen running after butterflies, losing their
518 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
hats as they ran, and with their raised canes, cutting down the myrtles
and the furze, as they would have done the Spaniards.
The king offered Madame his hand, and they both selected, as the
centre of observation, a bench with a roofing of moss, a kind of hut
roughly designed by the modest genius of one of the gardeners who
had inaugurated the picturesque and the fanciful amid the formal
style of gardening of that period. This sheltered retreat, covered
with nasturtiums and climbing roses, screened a bench, as it were,
so that the spectators, insulated in the middle of the lawn, saw and
were seen on every side, but could not be heard, without perceiving
those who might approach for the purpose of listening. Seated thus, the
king made a sign of encouragement to those who were running about;
and then, as if he were engaged with Madame in a dissertation upon
the butterfly, which he had thrust through with a gold pin and fastened
on his hat, said to her, " How admirably we are placed here for con-
versation."
" Yes, sire, for I wished to be heard by you alone, and yet to be seen
by every one."
" And I, also," said Louis.
" My note surprised you ?"
" Terrified me, rather. But what I have to tell you is more im-
portant."
" It cannot be, sire. Do you know that Monsieur refuses to receive
me ? "
" Why so ? " " Can you not guess why ? "
" Ah, Madame! in that case we have both the same thing to say to
each other."
" What has happened to you, then ? "
" You wish me to begin ? " " Yes, for I have told you all." _
" Well, then, as soon as I returned, I found my mother waiting for
me, and she led me away to her own apartments."
" The queen-mother?" said Madame, with some anxiety,"thematter
is serious, then."
" Indeed it is, for she told me ... . but, in the first place, allow me
to preface what I have to say with one remark. Has Monsieur ever
spoken to you about me ? " " Often."
" Has he ever spoken to you about his jealousy ? "
" More frequently still."
" Of his jealousy of me ? "
" No, but of the duke of Buckingham and de Guiche."
" Well, Madame, Monsieur's present idea is a jealousy of myself."
" Beally," replied the princess, smiling archly.
^" And it really seems to me," continued the king, " that we have never
given any ground "
" Never ! at least I have not. But who told you that Monsieur was
jealous ? "
" My mother represented to me that Monsieur entered her apart-
ments like a madman, that he had uttered a thousand complaints
against you, and—forgive me for saying it—against your coquetry. It
appears that Monsieur indulges in injustice, too."
' You are very kind, sire."
" My mother reassured him; but he pretended that people reassure
him too often, and that he had had quite enough of it."
" Would it not be better for him not to make himself uneasy in
any way ? "
" The very thing I said."
THE BUTTERFLY-CHASE. 519
" Confess, sire, that the world is very wicked. Is it possible that a
brother and sister cannot converse together, or take pleasure in each
other's society, without giving rise to remarks and suspitions ? For,
indeed, sire, we are doing no harm, and have no intention of doing
any." And. she looked at the king with that_ proud and provoking
glance which kindles desire in the coldest and wisest of men.
" No! " sighed the king, " that is true."
" You know very well, sire, that if it were to continue, I should be
obliged to make a disturbance. Do you decide upon our conduct, and
say whether it has, or has not, been perfectly correct."
" Oh certainly, perfectly correct."
" Often alone together,—for we delight in the same things, we might
possibly be led away into error, but have we done so ? I regard you as
a brother, and nothing more." The king frowned. She continued:—
" Your hand, which often meets my own, does not excite in me that
agitation and emotion which is the case with those who love each other,
for instance "
" Enough," said the king, " enough, I entreat you. You have no
pity—you are killing me."
" What is the matter ? "
" In fact, then, you distinctly say you experience nothing when near
me."
" Oh, sire! I do not say that my affection "
" Enough, Henrietta, I again entreat you. If you believe me to be
marble, as you are, undeceive yourself."
" I do not understand you, sire."
tC Yery well," sighed the king, casting down his eyes. "Andsce-nr
meetings, the pressure of each other's hand, the looks we have exchanged
Yes, yes; you are right, and I understand your meaning," and he
buried his face in his hands.
" Take care, sire," said Madame, hurriedly, " Monsieur de Saint-
Agnan is looking at you."
" Of course," said Louis, angrily;" never even the shadow of liberty!
never any sincerity in my intercourse with any one ! I imagine I have
found a friend, who is nothing but a spya dearer friend, who is only
a—sister !"
Madame was silent, and cast down her eyes. " My husband is jealous,"
she murmured in a tone of which nothing could equal its sweetness and
its charm.
" You are right," exclaimed the king, suddenly,
"You see," she said, looking at him in a manner that set his heart
on fire, " you are free, you are not suspected, the peace of your house
is not disturbed."
" Alas!" said the king, " as yet you know nothing, for the queen
is jealous."
" Maria Theresa!"
" Perfectly mad with jealousy! Monsieur's jealousy arises from hers;
she was weeping and complaining to my mother, and was reproaching
us for those bathing parties, which have made me so happy."
"And me too," answered Madame by a look.
" When, suddenly," continued the king, "Monsieur, who was listen-
ing, heard the word ' ianos,' which the queen pronounced with some
degree of bitterness, that awakened his attention; he entered the room,
looking quite wild, broke into the conversation, and began to quarrel
with my mother so bitterly, that she was obliged to leave him; so that,
while you have a jealous husband to deal with, I shall have perpetually
520 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
present before me a spectre of jealousy with swollen eyes, a cadaverous
face, and sinister looks."
" Poor king," murmured Madame, as she lightly touched the king's
hand. He retained her hand in his, and, in order to pas3 it without
exciting suspicion in the spectators, who were not so much taken up
with the butterflies that they could not occupy themselves about other
matters, and who perceived clearly enough that there was some mystery
in the king's and Madame's conversation, Louis placed the dying but-
terfly before his sister-in-law, and both bent over it as if to count the
thousand eyes of its wings, or the particles of golden dust which covered
it. Neither of them spoke; however, their hair mingled, their breath
united, and their hands feverishly throbbed in each other's grasp. Five
minutes passed by in this manner.
CHAPTER CXIII.
What was caught in the hand after the Butterflies.
The two young people remained for a moment with their heads bent
down, bowed, as it were, beneath the double thought of the love which
was springing up in their hearts, and which gives birth to so many
happy fancies in the imaginations of twenty years of age. Madame
Henrietta gave a side glance, from time to time, at the king. Hers
was one of those finely organized natures capable of looking inwardly
at itself, as well as at others at the same moment. She perceived love
lying at the bottom of Louis' heart, as a skilful diver sees a pearl at
the bottom of the sea. She knew Louis was hesitating, if not in doubt,
and that his indolent or timid heart required aid and encouragement.
"Consequently?" she said, interrogatively, breaking the silence.
" What do you mean ? " inquired Louis, after a moment's pause.
" I mean, that I shall be obliged to return to the resolution I had
formed."
" To what resolution ? "
" To that which I have already submitted to your majesty."
" When ? "
" On the very day we had a certain explanation about Monsieur's
jealousies."
"What did you say to me then?" inquired Louis, with some
anxiety.
" Do you not remember, sire ? "
"Alas! if it be another cause of unhappiness, I shall recollect it
soon enough."
" A cause of unhappiness for myself alone, sire," replied Madame
Henrietta ; " but as it is necessary, I must submit to it."
" At least, tell me what it is," said the king. " Absence."
" Still that unkind resolve ? "
"Believe me, sire, I have not formed it without a violent struggle
with myself; it is absolutely necessary I should return to England."
"Never, never will I permit you to leave France," exclaimed the
king.
" And yet, sire," said Madame, affecting a gentle yet sorrowful deter-
mination,' nothing is more urgently necessary; nay, more than that,
I am persuaded it is your mother's desire I should do so."
"Desire!" exclaimed the king; "that is a very strange expression to
use to me."
WHAT WAS CAUGHT AFTER THE BUTTERFLIES. 521
"Still" replied Madame Henrietta, smilingly, "are you not happy in
submitting to the wishes of so good a mother ? "
" Enough, I implore you; you rend my very soul."
"I ? " " Yes ; for you speak of your departure with tranquillity."
" I was not born for happiness, sire," replied the princess, dejectedly ;
"and I acquired, in very early life, the habit of seeing my dearest
thoughts disappointed."
"Do you speak truly?" said the king. "Would your departure
gainsay any one of your cherished thoughts ? "
"If I were to say 'yes,' would you begin to take your misfortune
patiently ? "
" How cruel you are ! "
" Take care, sire; some one is coming."
The king looked all round him, and said," No, there is no one,"
and then continued : " Come, Henrietta, instead of trying to contend
against Monsieur's jealousy, by a departure which would kill me "
Henrietta slightly shrugged her shoulders, like a woman unconvinced.
" Yes," repeated Louis, " which would kill me, I say. Instead of fixing
your mind on this departure, does not your imagination—or rather,
does not your heart—suggest some expedient ? "
"What is it you wish my heart to suggest ?"
"Tell me, how can one prove to another that it is wrong to be
jealous ?"
" In the first place, sire, by giving no motive for jealousy; in other
words, in loving no one but the one in question."
" Oh! I expected better than that."
" What did you expect ?"
" That you would simply tell me that jealous people are pacified by
concealing the affection which is entertained for the object of their
jealousy."
" Dissimulation is difficult, sire."
"Yet, it is only by means of conquering difficulties, that any happi-
ness is attained. As far as I am concerned, I swear I will give the lie
to those who are jealous of me, by pretending to treat you like any
other woman."
" A bad, as well as an unsafe means," said the young princess, shaking
her pretty head.
" You seem to" think everything bad, dear Henrietta," said Louis,
discontentedly. " You destroy everything I propose. Suggest, at least,
something else in its stead. Come, try and think. I trust implicitly
to a woman's invention. Do you invent, in your turn."
" Well, sire, I have hit upon something. Will you listen to it ? "
"Can you ask me ? You speak of a matter of life or death to me,
and then ask if I will listen."
"Well, I judge of it by my own case. If my husband intended to
put me on the wrong scent with regard to another woman, one thing
would reassure me more than anything else."
" What would that be ? "
" In the first place, to see that he never took any notice of the woman
in question."
" Exactly. That is precisely what I said just now."
"Yery well; but in order to be perfectly reassured on the subject,
I should like to see him occupy himself with some one else."
" Ah! 1 understand you," replied Louis, smiling. " But confess, dear
Henrietta, if the means is at least ingenious, it is hardly charitable."
"Why so?"
522 THE vicomte de bbagelonne.
"In curing the dread of a wound in a jealous person's mind, you
inflict one upon his heart. His fear ceases, it is true; but the evil still
exists; and that seems to me to be far worse."
"Agreed; but he does not detect, he does not suspect the real
enemy; he does no prejudice to love itself he concentrates, all his
strength on the side where his strength will uo no injury to anything or
any one. In a word, sire, my plan, which I confess I am surprised to find
you dispute, is mischievous to jealous people, it is true; but to lovers it is
full of advantage. Besides, let me ask, sire, who, except yourself, has
ever thought of pitying jealous people ? Are they not a melancholy
set of creatures, always equally unhappy, whether with or without a
cause ? You may remove that cause, but you do not remove their
sufferings. It is a disease which lies in the imagination, and, like all
imaginary disorders, it is incurable. By the bye, I remember an apho-
rism upon this subject, of poor Dr. Dawley, a clever and amusing man,
who, had it not been for my brother, who could not do without him, I
should have with me now. He used to say,' Whenever you are likely
to suffer from two affections, choose that which will give you the least
trouble, and I will allow you to retain it; for it is positive,' he said,
' that that very one is of the greatest service to me, in order to enable
me to get rid of the other.'"
"Well and judiciously remarked, dear Henrietta," replied the king,
smiling.
" Oh! we have some clever people in London, sire."
" And those clever people produce adorable pupils. I will grant this
Daley, Darley, Dawley, or whatever you call him, a pension for his
aphorism; but I entreat you, Henrietta, to begin by choosing the least
of your evils. You do not answer—you smile. I guess that the least
of your evils is your stay in France. I will allow you to retain this
misfortune; and, in order to begin with the cure of the other, I will
this very day begin to look out for a subject which shall divert the
attention of the jealous members of either sex who persecute us both."
" Hush! this time some one is really coming," said Madame; and
she stooped down to gather a flower from the thick grass at her feet.
Some one, in fact, was approaching; for, suddenly, a bevy of young
girls ran down from the top of the little hillock, following the cavaliers
—the cause of this irruption being a magnificent hawk-moth, with
wings like rose-leaves. The prey in question had fallen into the net of
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente,who displayed it with some pride to
her less successful rivals. The queen of the chase had seated herself
some twenty paces from the bank on which Louis and Madame Hen-
rietta were reclining; and leaned her back against a magnificent oak-
tree entwined with ivy, and stuck the butterfly on the long cane she
carried in her hand. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente was very
beautiful, and the gentlemen, accordingly, deserted her companions,
and, under the pretext of complimenting her upon her success, pressed
in a circle around her. The king and the princess looked gloomily at
this scene,^ as spectators of maturer age look on at the games of little
children. " They seem to be amusing themselves, there," said the king.
" Greatly, sire; I have always found that people are amused wherever
youth and beauty are to be found."
" What do you think of Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, Hen-
rietta ? " inquired the king.
" I think she is rather fair in complexion," replied Madame, fixing
in a moment upon the only fault it was possible to find in the almost
perfect beauty of the future Madame de Montespan.
•WHAT WAS CAUGHT AFTER THE BUTTERFLIES. 523
" Rather fair, yes; but beautiful, I think, in spite of that."
" Is that your opinion, sire ? " " Yes, really."
"Very well; and. it is mine, too."
" And she seems to be much sought after, too."
" Oh, that is a matter of course. Lovers flutter from one to another.
If we had hunted for lovers instead of butterflies, you can see, from
those who surround her, what successful sport we should have had."
" Tell me, Henrietta, what would be said if the king were to make
himself one of those lovers, and let his glance fall in that direction ?
"Would some one else be jealous, in such a case?"
" Oh ! sire, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is a very efficacious
remedy," said Madame, with ateigh. " She would cure a jealous man,
certainly; but she might possibly make a woman jealous, too."
"Henrietta," exclaimed Louis, "you fill my heart with joy. Yes,
yes; Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is far too beautiful to serve as
a cloak."
"A king's cloak," said Madame Henrietta, smiling, "ought to he
beautiful."
" Do you advise me to do it, then ? " inquired Louis.
" I! what should I say, sire, except that to give such an advice would
be to supply arms against myself. It would be folly or pride to advise
you to take, for the heroine of an assumed affection, a woman more
beautiful than the one for whom you pretend to feel real regard."
The king tried to take Madame's hand in his own; his eyes sought
hers; and then he murmured a few words so full of tenderness, but
pronounced in so low a tone, that the historian, who ought to hear
everything, could not hear them. Then, speaking aloud, he said, " Do
you yourself choose for me the one who is to cure our jealous friend.
To her, then, all my devotion, all my attention, all the time that I can
spare from my occupations, shall be devoted. For her shall be the
flower that I may pluck for you, the fond thoughts with which you
have inspired me. Towards her, the glance that I dare not bestow upon
you, and which ought to be able to arouse you from your indifference.
But, be careful in your selection, lest, in offering her the rose which I
may have plucked, I should find myself conquered by yourself; and
lest my looks, my hand, my lips, should not turn immediately towards
you, even were the whole world to guess my secret."
while these words escaped from the king's lips, in a stream of wild
affection, Madame blushed, breathless, happy, proud, almost intoxicated
with delight. She could find nothing to say in reply; her pride and
her thirst for homage were satisfied. "I shall fail," she said, raising
her beautiful black eyes, " but not as you beg me, for all this incense
which you wish to burn on the altar of another divinity. Ah! sire, I
too shall he jealous of it, and want it to be restored to me; and would
not wish that a particle of it should be lost in the way. Therefore, sire,
with your royal permission, I will choose one who shall appear to me
the least likely to distract your attention, and who will leave my image
pure and unsullied in your heart." -
"Happily for me," said the king, "your heart is not hard and un-
feeling. If it were so, I should be alarmed at the threat you hold out;
our precautions have been taken on this point, and around you, as
around myself, it would be difficult to meet with a disagreeable-looking
face."
Whilst the king was speaking, Madame had risen from her seat,
looked around the green sward, and after a careful and silent examina-
tion, she called the king to her side, and said, " See yonder, sire, upon
524 THE VICOM.TE HE BRAGELONNE.
the declivity of that little hill, near that group of Guelder roses, that
beautiful girl walking alone, her head down, her arms hanging by her
side, with her eyes fixed upon the flowers which she crushes beneath her
feet, like one who is lost in thought."
" Mademoiselle de Valliere, do you mean ?" remarked the king.
"Yes." " Oh !"
" Will she not suit you, sire ? "
" Why, look how thin the poor child is. She has hardly any flesh
upon her bones."
" Nay; am I stout, then ? "
" She is so melancholy."
" The greater contrast to myself, who am accused of being too lively."
" She is lame."
" Do you think so ? "
"No doubt of it. Look; she has allowed every one to pass by her,
from the fear of her defect being remarked."
" Well, she will not run so fast as Daphne, and will not he able to
escape Apollo."
" Henrietta," said the king, out of temper; " of all your maids of
honour, you have really selected for me the one most full of defects."
" Still, she is one of my maids of honour."
" Of course; but what do you mean ? "
" I mean that, in order to visit this new divinity, you will not be able
to do so without paying a visit to my apartments, and that, as propriety
will forbid your conversing with her in private, you will be compelled
to see her in my circle, to speak to me while speaking to her. I mean,
in fact, that those who may be jealous, will be wrong if they suppose
you come to my apartments for my sake, since you will come there for
Mademoiselle de la Valliere."
" Who happens to be lame."
" Hardly that."
"Who never opens her lips."
"But who, when she does open them, displays.a beautiful set of
teeth."
" Who may serve as a model for an osteologist."
" Your favour will change her appearance."
"Henrietta!"
" At all events you have allowed me to be the mistress."
" Alas! yes."
"Well, my choice is made; I impose her upon you, and you must
submit."
" Oh! I would accept one of the furies, if you were to insist upon it."
"La Valliere is as gentle as a lamb; do not fear she will ever con-
tradict you when you tell her you love her," said Madame, laughing.
" You are not afraid, are you, that I shall say too much to her ?"
" It would be for my sake."
"The treaty is agreed to, then ?"
" And signed."
"You will continue to show me the friendship of a brother, the
• attention of a brother, the gallantry of a monarch, will you not r"
" I will preserve for you a heart which has already become accustomed
to beat only at your command."
"Very well, do you not see how we have guaranteed the future by
this means ?"
" I hope so."
" Will your mother cease to regard me as an enemy ? " " Yes."
WHAT WAS CAUGHT AFTER THE BUTTERFLIES. 525
" "Will Maria Theresa leave off speaking in Spanish before Monsieur,
who has a horror of conversations held in foreign languages, because he
always thinks he is being ill spoken of? and lastly," continued the
princess, "will people persist in attributing a wrongful affection to the
king, when the truth is, we can be nothing to each other, except such
as may arise from sympathy, free from all mental reservation ?"
"Yes, yes," said the king, hesitatingly. "But yet other things may
still be said of us."
"What can be said, sire ? shall we never be left in tranquillity ?"
" People will say I am deficient, in taste; but what is my self-respect
in comparison with your tranquillity ?"
" In comparison with my honour, sire, and that of our family, you
mean. Besides, believe me, do not be so hastily prejudiced against La
Valliere. She is lame, it is true, but she is not deficient in good sense.
Moreover, all that the king touches is converted into gold."
"Well, Madame, be assured of one thing, namely, that I am still
grateful to you; you might even yet make me pay dearer for your stay
in Prance."
" Sire, some one approaches."
"Well!"
" One last word."
" Say it."
"You are prudent and judicious, sire; but in the present instance
you will be obliged to summon to your aid all your prudence, and all
your judgment."
"Oh!" exclaimed Louis,'laughing, "from this very evening I shall
begin to act my part, and you shall see whether I am not quite fit to
represent the character of a tender swain. After luncheon, there will
be a promenade in the forest, and then there is supper and the ballet
at ten o'clock."
" I know it."
"The ardour of my passion shall blaze more brilliantly than the
fireworks, shall shine more steadily than the lamps of our friend
Colbert; it shall shine so dazzlingly that the queens and Monsieur .
shall be almost blinded by it."
" Take care, sire, take care."
" In heaven's name what have I done, then ? "
" I shall begin to recall the compliments I paid you just now. You
prudent! you wise! did I say? why you begin by the most reckless
inconsistencies ? Can a passion be kindled in this manner, like a torch,
in a moment ? Can a monarch, such as you are, without any prepara-
tion, fall at the feet of a girl like La Valliere ?"
"Ah! Henrietta, now I understand you. We have not yet begun
the campaign, and you are plundering me already."
"No, I am only recalling you to common-sense ideas. Let your
passion be kindled gradually, instead of allowing it to burst forth so
suddenly. Jove's thunders and lightnings are heard and seen before
the palace is set on fire. _ Everything has its commencement. If you
are so easily excited, no one will believe you are really captivated, and
every one will think you out of your senses—unless, indeed, the truth
itself be not guessed. People are not always so foolish as they seem."
The king was obliged to admit that Madame was an angel for sense,
and the very reverse for cleverness. He bowed, and said: "Agreed,
madame, I will think over my plan of attack; great military men—my
cousin de Conde for instance—grow pale in meditation upon their
strategical plans, before they move one of pawns, which people call
526 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
armies; I therefore wish to draw up a complete plan of attack, for, you
know, that the tender passion is subdivided in a variety of ways. W ell,
then, I shall stop at the village of Little Attentions, at the hamlet of
Love-Letters, before I follow the road of Yisible Affection; the way is
clear enough you know, and poor Madame de Seudery would never
forgive me for passing through a halting-place without stopping."
" Oh! now we have returned to our proper senses, shall we say adieu,
sire ?"
"Alas ! it must be so, for, see, we are interrupted."
"Yes, indeed," said Madame Henrietta, "they are bringing Made-
moiselle de Tonnay-Charente and her sphinx butterfly in grand pro-
cession this way."
" It is perfectly well understood, then, that" this evening during the
promenade, I am to make my escape into the forest, and finding La
Valliere without you."
" I will take care to send her away."
"Very well! I will speak to her when she is with her companions,
and I will then discharge my first arrow at her."
" Be skilful," said Madame, laughing, " and do not miss the heart."
And the princess took leave of the king, and went forward to meet
the merry troop, which was advancing with much ceremony, and a
great many pretended flourishes of trumpets, which they imitated
with their mouths. -
CHAPTER CXIV.
The Ballet of the Seasons.
At the conclusion of the banquet, which had been served at five
o'clock, the king entered his cabinet, where his tailors were awaiting
him, for the purpose of trying on the celebrated costume representing
Spring, which was the result of so much imagination, and had cost so
many efforts of thought to the designers and ornament-workers of the
court. As for the ballet itself, every person knew the part he had to
take in it, and how to perform that part. The king had resolved to
make it a matter of surprise. Hardly, therefore, had he finished his
conference, and entered his own apartment, than he desired his two
masters of the ceremonies, Villeroy and Saint-Aignan to be sent for.
Both replied that they only awaited his orders, and that everything was
ready to begin, but that it was necessary to ensure fine weather and a
favourable night before those orders could be carried out. The king
opened his window; the golden hues of evening could be seen in the
horizon through the vistas of the wood, and the moon, white as snow,
was 'already visible in the heavens. Not a ripple could be noticed on
the surface of the green waters; the swans themselves even, reposing
with folded wings like ships at anchor, seemed penetrated by the
warmth of the air, the freshness of the water, and the silence of the
beautiful evening. The king, having observed all these things, and
contemplated the magnificent picture before him, gave the order which
de Villeroy and de Saint-Aignan awaited: but, with the view of ensuring
the execution of this order in a royal manner, one last question was
necessary, and Louis XIV. put it to the two gentlemen, in the following
manner:—" Have you any money ?"
"Sire," replied Saint-Aignan, "we have arranged everything with
M. Colbert." p
THE BALLET OE THE SEASONS. 527
"Ah! very well!"
"Yes, sire, and. M. Colbert said he would wait upon your majesty, as
soon as your majesty should manifest an intention of carrying out the
fetes] of which he has furnished the programme."
"Let him come in, then," said the king; and as if Colbert had been
listening at the door for the purpose of keeping himself au courant of
the conversation, he entered as soon as the king had pronounced his
name before the two courtiers.
"Ah! M. Colbert," said the king. "Gentlemen, to your posts;"
whereupon Saint-Aignan and Yilleroy took their leave. The king
seated himself in an easy chair near the window, saying: " The ballet
will take place this evening, M. Colbert."
" In that case, sire, I settle the accounts to-morrow."
" Why so ?"
" I promised the tradespeople to pay their bills the following day to
that on which the ballet should take place."
"Very well, M. Colbert, pay them, since you have promised to do so."
" Certainly, sire; but I must have money to do that."
"What! have not the four millions, which M. Fouquet promised,
been sent ? I had forgotten to ask you about it."
" Sire, they were sent at the hour promised."
" Well?"
"Well, sire, the coloured lamps, the fireworks, the musicians, and the
cooks, have swallowed up four millions in eight days."
" Entirely?"
" To the last penny. Every time your majesty directed the banks of
the grand canal to be illuminated, as much oil was consumed as there
was water in the basins."
"Well, well, M. Colbert; the fact is, then, you have no more
money?"
"I have no more, sire, but M. Fouquet has," Colbert replied, his
face darkening with a sinister expression of pleasure.
" What do you mean ?" inquired Louis.
"We have already made M. Fouquet advance six millions. He has
given them with too much grace, not to have others still to give, if they
are required, which is the case at the present moment. It is necessary,
therefore, that he should comply." '
The king frowned. " M. Colbert," said he, accentuating the finan-
cier's name, " that is not the way I understood the matter; I do not
wish to make use, against any of my servants, of a means of pressure
which may oppress him and fetter his services. In eight days, M. Fou-
quet has furnished six millions, that is a good sum."
Colbert turned pale. " And yet," he said, " your majesty did not use
this language some time ago, when the news about Belle-Isle arrived,
for instance."
" You are right, M. Colbert."
"Nothing, however, has changed since then: on the contrary, in-
deed."
In my thoughts, monsieur, everything is changed."
Does your majesty, then, no longer believe the attempts ? "
My own affairs concern me alone, monsieur; and 1 have already
told you I transact them myself."
"Then, I perceive," said Colbert, trembling from anger and from
fear, " that I have had the misfortune to fall into disgrace with your
majesty."
"Not at all; you are, on the contrary, most agreeable to me."
528 the yicomte de bragelonne.
"Yet, sire," said the minister, with a certain affected bluntness, so
successful when it was a question of flattering Louis' self-esteem,
" what use is there in being agreeable to your majesty, if one can no
longer be of any to you ? " .
" I reserve your services for a better occasion; and, believe me, they
will only be the better appreciated."
" Your majesty's plan, then, in this affair, is "
" You want money, M. Colbert ? "
" Seven hundred thousand francs, sire."
" You will take them from my private treasure." Colbert bowed.
" And," added Louis, " as it seems a difficult matter for you, notwith-
standing your economy, to defray, with so limited a sum, the expenses
which I intend to incur, I will at once sign an order for three mil-
lions."
The king took a pen and signed an order immediately, then handed
it to Colbert. " Be satisfied, M. Colbert, the plan I have adopted is one
worthy of a king," said Louis XIV., who pronounced these words with
all the majesty he knew how to assume in such circumstances; and
he dismissed Colbert for the purpose of giving an audience to his
tailors.
The order issued by the king was known in the whole of Fontaine-
bleau; it was already known, too, that the king was trying on his cos-
tume, and that the ballet would be danced in the evening. The news
circulated with the rapidity of lightning; during its progress it kin-
died every variety of coquetry, desire, and wild ambition. At the same
moment, and as if by enchantment, every one who knew how to hold a
needle, every one who could distinguish a coat from a pair of trousers,
was summoned to the assistance of those who had received invitation.
The king had completed his toilette at nine o'clock; he appeared in
an open carriage decor'ated with branches of trees and flowers. The
queens had taken their seats upon a magnificent dais or platform,
erected upon the borders of the lake, in a theatre of wonderful elegance
of construction. In the space of five hours the carpenters had put
together all the different parts connected with the theatre; the uphol-
sterers had laid down the carpets, erected the seats; and, as if at the
signal of an enchanter's wand, a thousand arms, aiding, instead of in-
terfering with each other, had constructed the building on this spot
amidst the sound of music; whilst, at the same time, other workmen
illuminated the theatre and the shores of the lake with an incalculable
number of lamps. As the heavens, set with stars, were perfectly un-
clouded, as not even a breath of air could be heard in the woods, and as
if Nature herself had yielded complacently to the king's fancies, the
back of the theatre had been left open ; so that, behind the foreground
of the scenes, could be seen as a background the beautiful sky, glitter-
ing with stars; the sheet of water, illumined by the lights which were
reflected in it; and the bluish outline of the grand masses of woods,
with their rounded tops. When the king made his appearance, the
whole theatre was full, and presented to the view one vast group,
dazzling with gold and precious stones; in which, however, at the first
glance, no one single face could be distinguished. By degrees, as the
sight became accustomed to so much brilliancy, the rarest beauties
appeared to the view, as in the evening sky the stars appear one by one
to him who closes his eyes and then opens them again.
The theatre represented a grove of trees: a few fauns lifting up their
cloven feet were jumping about; a dryad made her appearance on the
scene, and was immediately pursued by them; others gathered round
THE BALLET OF THE SEASONS. 529
her for her defence, and they quarrelled as they danced. Suddenly, for
the purpose of restoring peace and order, Spring, accompanied by his
whole court, made his appearance. The Elements, the subaltern
powers of mythology, together with their attributes, precipitated them-
selves upon the trace of their gracious sovereign. The Seasons, the
allies of Spring, followed him closely to form a quadrille, which, after
many words of more or less flattering import, was the commencement of
the dance. The music, hautboys, flutes, and viols, were descriptive of the
rural delights. The king had already made his appearance, amid thun-
ders of applause. He was dressed in a tunic of flowers, which set off
his easy and well-formed figure to advantage. His legs, the best-shaped
at the court, were also displayed to great advantage in flesh-coloured
silken hose, of silk so fine and so transparent that it seemed almost like
flesh itself. The most beautiful pale-lilac satin shoes, with bows of
flowers and leaves, imprisoned his small feet. The bust of the figure
was in harmonious keeping with the base; the waving hair was floating
on his shoulders, the freshness of his complexion was enhanced by the
brilliancy of his beautiful blue eyes, which softly kindled all hearts ; a
mouth with tempting lips, which deigned to open in smiles—Such was
the prince of the period, who had that evening been justly named " The
King of all the Loves." There was something in his carriage which
resembled the buoyant movements of an immortal, and he did not dance
so much as seem to soar along. His entrance had produced, therefore,
the most brilliant effect. Suddenly the Comte de Saint Aignan was
observed, endeavouring to approach either the king or Madame.
The princess—who was clothed in a long dress, diaphanous and light
as the finest network tissue from the hands of the skilful Mechlin
workers, her knee occasionally revealed beneath the folds of the tunic,
and her little feet encased in silken shoes—advanced, radiant with
beauty, accompanied by her cortege of Bacchantes, and had already
reached the spot which had been assigned to her in the dance. The
applause continued so long that the comte had ample leisure to join
the king.
" What is the matter, Saint Aignan ?" said Spring.
"Nothing whatever," replied the courtier, as pale as death; "but
your majesty has not thought of the Eruits."
" Yes; it is suppressed."
" Ear from it, sire; your majesty having given no directions about it,
the musicians have retained it."
" How excessively annoying," said the king. " This figure cannot be
performed, since M. de Guiche is absent. It must be suppressed."
" Oh, sire, a quarter of an hour's music without any dancing will
produce an effect so chilling as to ruin the success of the ballet."
" But, comte, since "
"Oh, sire, that is not the greatest misfortune; for, after all, the
orchestra could still just as well cut it out, if it were necessary; but——"
"But what?"
" Why, M. de Guiche is here."
" Here ? " replied the king, frowning, " here ? Are you sure ? "
" Yes, sire; and ready-dressed for the ballet."
The king felt himself colour deeply, and said, "You are probably
mistaken."
" So little is that the case, sire, that if your majesty will look to the
right, you will see that the comte is waiting."
Louis turned hastily towards the side, and in fact, on his right, bril-
liant in his character of Autumn, de Guiche awaited until the king
2 M
530 THE VICOMTE I)E BEAGELONNE.
should look at him, in order that he might address him. To describe
the stupefaction of the king, that of Monsieur, who was moving about
restlessly in his box,—to describe also the agitated movement of the
heads in the theatre, and the strange emotion of Madame, at the sight
of her partner,—is a task we must leave to more able hands. The king
stood almost gaping with astonishment as he looked at the comte, who,
bowing lowly, approached his majesty with the profoundest respect.
" Sire," he said, " your majesty's most devoted servant approaches to
perform a service on this occasion with similar zeal to that he has
already shown on the field of battle. Your majesty, in omitting the
dance of the Fruits, would be losing the most beautiful scene in the
ballet. I did not wish to be the cause of so great a prejudice to your
majesty's elegance, skill, and graceful address ; and I have left my
tenants in order to place my services at your majesty's commands."
Every word fell distinctly, in perfect harmony and eloquence upon
Louis XIY.'s ears. Their flattery pleased, as much as de Guicne's
courage had astonished him, and he simply replied, " I did not tell you
to return, comte."
" Certainly not, sire, but your majesty did not tell me to remain." |
The king perceived that time was passing away, that if the scenei
were prolonged it might complicate everything, and that a single cloud
upon the picture would effectually spoil the whole. Besides, the king's
heart was filled with two or three new ideas: he had just derived fresh
inspiration irom the eloquent glances of Madame. Her look had said
to him, " Since they are jealous of you, divide their suspicions, for the
man who distrusts two rivals does not distrust either in particular."
So that Madame, by this clever diversion, decided him. The king
smiled upon de Guiche, who did not comprehend a word of Madame's
dumb language, but only remarked that she pretended not to look at
him; and he attributed the pardon which had been conferred upon
him to the princess's kindness of heart. The king seemed pleased with
every one present. Monsieur was the only one who did not under-
stand anything about the matter. The ballet began; the effect was
more than beautiful. When the music, by its bursts of melody, car-
ried away these illustrious dancers, when the simple, untutored panto-
mime of that period, far more so on account of the very indifferent
acting of the august actors, had reached its culminating point of
triumph, the theatre almost shook with the tumultuous applause.
Be Guiche shone like a sun, but like a courtly sun, which is resigned
to fill a subordinate part. Bisdainful of a success of which Madame
showed no acknowledgment, he thought of nothing but of boldly re-
gaining the marked preference of the princess. She, however, did not
bestow a single glance upon him. By degrees all his happiness, all his
brilliancy subsided into regret and uneasiness; so that his limbs lost
their power, his arms hung heavily by his side, and his head seemed
stupefied. The king, who had from this moment become in reality the
principal dancer in the quadrille, cast a look upon his vanquished rival.
Be Guiche soon ceased to sustain even the character of the courtier;
without applause, he danced indifferently, and very soon could not dance
at all, by which means the triumph of the king and of Madame was
assured.
THE NYMPHS OF THE PARK OF FONTAINEBLEAtT.
531
CHAPTER CXV.
The Nymphs of the Park of Fontainebleau.
The king remained for a moment to enjoy a triumph which was as
complete as it could possibly be. He then turned towards Madame, for
the purpose of admiring her also, a little, in her turn. Young persons
love with more vivacity, perhaps with greater ardour and deeper passion,
than others more advanced in years; but all the other feelings are at
the same time developed in proportion to their youth and vigour; so
that vanity being with them almost always the equivalent of love, the
latter feeling, according to the laws of equipoise, never attains that
degree of perfection which it acquires in men and women from thirty
to five-and-thirty years of age. Louis thought of Madame, but only
after he had carefully thought of himself; and Madame carefully thought
of herself, without bestowing a single thought upon the king. The
victim, however, of all these royal affections and vanities, was poor
de Guiche. Every one could observe his agitation and prostration—a
prostration which was, indeed? the more remarkable since people were
not accustomed to see him with his arms hanging listlessly by his side,
his head bewildered, and his eyes with their bright intelligence gone.
It rarely happened that any uneasiness was excited on his account,
whenever a question of elegance or taste was under discussion, and
de Guiche's defeat was accordingly attributed by the greater number
present to his courtier-like tact and ability. But there were others
—keen-sighted observers are always to be met with at court—who re-
marked his paleness and his altered looks, which he could neither feign
nor conceal, and their conclusion was, that de Guiche was not acting
the part of a flatterer. All these sufferings, successes, and remarks,
were blended, confounded, and lost in the uproar of applause. When,
however, the queens had expressed their satisfaction and the spectators
their enthusiasm, when the king had retired to his dressing-room to
change his costume, and whilst Monsieur, dressed as a woman, as he
delighted to be, was, in his turn, dancing about, de Guiche, who had
now recovered himself, approached Madame, who, seated at the back of
the theatre, was waiting for the second part, and had quitted the others
for the purpose of creating a sort of solitude for herself in the midst of
the crowd, to meditate, as it were, beforehand, upon choregraphic effects;
and it will be perfectly understood that, absorbed in deep meditation,
she did not see, or rather she pretended not to see, anything that was
passing around her. Be Guiche, observing that she was alone, near a
thicket constructed of painted cloth, approached her. Two of her maids
of honour, dressed as hamadryads, seeing de Guiche advance, drew back
out of respect, whereupon de Guiche proceeded towhrds the middle of
the circle and saluted her royal highness; but, whether she did
or did not observe his salutation, the princess did not even turn her
head. A cold shiver passed through poor de Guiche; he was unpre-
pared for so utter an indifference, for he had neither seen nor been told
of anything that had taken place, and consequently could guess nothing.
Remarking, therefore, that his oheisance obtained him no acknowledg-
ment, he advanced one step further, and in a voice which he tried,
though uselessly, to render calm, said, " I have the honour to present
my most humble respects to your royal highness."
2 m 2
532 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Upon this Madame deigned to turn her eyes languishingly towards
the comte, observing, " Ah ! M. de Guiche, is that you; good day !"
The comte's patience almost forsook him, as he continued,—" Your
royal highness danced just now most charmingly."
" Do you think so ?" she replied with indifference.
" Yes; the character which your royal highness assumed is in perfect
harmony with your own."
Madame again turned round, and, looking de Guiche full in the face
with a bright and steady gaze, said,—" Why so ?"
" Oh ! there can be no doubt of it."
"Explain yourself ?"
"You represent a divinity, beautiful, disdainful, and inconstant."
" You mean Pomona, comte ?"
" I allude to the goddess you represent."
Madame remained silent for a moment, with her lips compressed, and
then observed,—" But, comte, you, too, are an excellent dancer."
" Nay, madame, I am only one of those who are never noticed, or who
are soon forgotten if they ever happen to be noticed."
With this remark, accompanied by one of those deep sighs which
affect the remotest fibres of one's being, his heart burdened with sorrow
and throbbing fast, his head on fire, and his gaze wandering, he bowed
breathlessly, and withdrew behind the thicket. The only reply Madame
condescended to make was by slightly raising her shoulders, and, as her
ladies of honour had discreetly retired while the conversation lasted,
she recalled them by a look. The ladies were Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Charente and Mademoiselle de Montalais.
"Did you hear what the Comte de Guiche said ? " the princess inquired,
" No."
" It really is very singular," she continued, in a compassionate tone,
"how exile has affected poor M. de Guiche's wit." And then, in a
louder voice, fearful lest her unhappy victim might lose a syllable, she
said,—" In the first place he danced badly, and then afterwards his re-
marks were very silly."
She then rose, humming the air to which she was presently going to
dance. De Guiche had overheard everything. The arrow had pierced
his heart and wounded him mortally. Then, at the risk of interrupting
the progress of the fete by his annoyance, he fled from the scene, tearing
his beautiful costume of Autumn in pieces, and scattering, as he went
along, the branches of vines, mulberry and almond trees, with all the
other artificial attributes of his divinity. A quarter of an hour after-
wards he had returned to the theatre; but it will be readily believed
that it was only a powerful effort of reason over his great excitement
that had enabled him to return: or perhaps, for the heart is so con-
stituted, he found it impossible even to remain much longer separated
from the presence of one who had broken that heart. Madame was
finishing her figure. She saw, but did not look at, de Guiche, who,
irritated and furious, turned his back upon her as she passed him,
escorted by her nymphs, and followed by a hundred flatterers. During
this time, at the other end of the theatre, near the lake, a young woman
was seated, with her eyes fixed upon one of the windows of the theatre,
from which were issuing streams of light, the window in question being
that of the royal box. As de Guiche quitted the theatre for the purpose
of getting into the fresh air he so much needed, he passed close to this
figure and saluted lier. When she perceived the voung man, she rose,
like a woman surprise;: in the midst of ideas she was desirous of con-
cealing from herself. De Guiche stopped as he recognized her, and said
THE NYMPHS OF THE PAKE OF FONTAINEBLEAU. 53S
hurriedly,—" Good evening, Mademoiselle de la Yalliere; I am indeed
fortunate in meeting you."
" I, also, M. de Guiche, am glad of this accidental meeting," said the
young girl, as she was about to withdraw.
" Pray do not leave me," said de Guiche, stretching out his hand
towards her, " for you would be contradicting the kind words you have
just pronounced. Remain, I implore you: the evening is most lovely.
You wish to escape from this tumult, and prefer your own society.
"Well, I can understand it; all women who are possessed of any feeling
do, and you will never find them dull or lonely when removed from
the giddy vortex of these exciting amusements. Oh! Heavens!" he
exclaimed suddenly.
"What is the matter, monsieur le comte?" inquired La Yalliere,
with some anxiety. " You seem agitated."
" I! oh, no !"
" Will you allow me, M. de Guiche, to return you the thanks I had
proposed to offer you on the very first opportunity. It is to your re-
commendation, I am aware, that I owe my admission among the num-
ber of Madame's maids of honour."
" Indeed! Ah! I remember now, and I congratulate myself. Do
you love any one ?"
"I !" exclaimed La Yalliere.
" Forgive me, I hardly know what I am saying; a thousand times
forgive me; Madame was right, quite right, this brutal exile has com-
pletely turned my brain."
" And yet it seemed to me that the king received you with kindness."
" Do you think so ? Received me with kindness—perhaps so—yes—"
" There cannot be a doubt he received you kindly, for, in fact, you
have returned without his permission."
" Quite true, and I believe you are right. But have you not seen M.
de Bragelonne here ?"
La Yalliere started at the name. " Why do you ask ? " she inquired.
" Have I offended you again ?" said de Guiche. " In that case I am
indeed unhappy, and greatly to be pitied."
" Yes, very unhappy, and very much to be pitied, Monsieur de Guiche,
for you seem to'be suffering terribly."
" Oh! mademoiselle, why have I not a devoted sister, or a true friend,
such as yourself ? "
"You have friends, Monsieur de Guiche, and the Yicomte de Brage-
lonne, of whom you spoke just now, is, I believe, one of them."
"Yes, yes, you are right, he is one of my best friends. Farewell,
Mademoiselle de la Yalliere, farewell." And he fled, like one possessed,
along the banks of the lake. His dark shadow glided, lengthening, as it
disappeared among the illumined yews and glittering undulations of the
water. La Yalliere looked after him, saying,—"Yes, yes; he, too, is
suffering, and I begin to understand why."
She had hardly finished when her companions, Mademoiselle de
Montalais and Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, ran forward. They
were released from their attendance, and had changed their costumes of
nymphs; delighted with the beautiful night, and the success of the
evening, they returned to look after their companion.
"What, already here!" they said to her. "We thought we should
be the first at the rendezvous."
" I have been here this quarter of an hour," replied La Yalliere.
" Did not the dancing amuse you ?"—No,"
" But surely the whole spectacle ?"
534 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" No more than the dancing. As far as a spectacle is concerned, I
much prefer that which these dark woods present, in whose depths can.
be seen, now in one direction and again in another, a light passing by,
as though it were an eye, bright red in colour, sometimes open at others
closed."
" La Valliere is quite a poet," said Tonnay-Charente.
"In other words," said Montalais, "she is insupportable. "Whenever
there is a question of laughing a little, or of amusing ourselves with
anything, La Valliere begins to cry; whenever we girls have reason to
cry, because, perhaps, we have mislaid our dresses, or because our vanity
has been wounded, or our costume fails to produce any effect, La Val-
here laughs."
" As far as 1 am concerned, that is not my character," said Made-
moiselle de Tonnay-Charente. " I am a woman, there are few like me;
whoever loves me, flatters me; whoever flatters me, pleases me; and
whoever pleases "
" Well!" said Montalais, " you do not finish."
"It is too difficult," replied Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente,
laughing loudly. " Do you, who are so clever, finish for me."
" And you, Louise?" said Montalais, "does any one please you ?"
" That is a matter which concerns no one but myself," replied the
young girl, rising from the mossy bank on which she had been reclining
during the whole time the ballet had lasted. " Now, mesdemoiselles,
we have agreed to amuse ourselves to-night without any one to overlook
us, and without any escort. We are three in number, we like one
another, and the night is lovely; look yonder, do you not see the moon
slowly rising, silvering the topmost branches of the chestnuts and the
oaks. Oh ! beautiful walk ! dear liberty! the beautiful soft turf of the
woods, the happiness which your friendship confers upon me! let us
walk arm-in-arm towards those large trees. Out yonder all are at
this moment seated at table and fully occupied, or preparing to adorn
themselves for a set and formal promenade; horses are being saddled,
or harnessed to the carriages—the queen's mules or Madame's four
white ponies. As for ourselves, we shall soon reach some retired spot
where no eye can see us and no step follow ours. Do you not remember,
Montalais, the woods of Chaverney and of Chambord, the numberless
poplars of Blois, where we exchanged some of our mutual hopes ?"
" And many confidences also ?" " Yes."
" Well," said Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente," I also think a good
deal; but I take care—-"
"To say nothing," said Montalais, "so that what Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente thinks, Athenais is the only one who knows it."
"Hush!" said Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, "I hear steps
approaching from this side."
"Quick, quick, then, among the high reed-grass," said Montalais;
" stoop Athenais, you are so tall."
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente stooped as she was told, and,
almost at the same moment, they saw two gentlemen approaching,
their heads bent down, walking, arm-in-arm, on the fine gravel-walk
running parallel with the bank. The young girls had, indeed, made
themselves small, for nothing was to be seen of them.
" It is Monsieur de Guiche," whispered Montalais in Mademoiselle
de Tonnay-Charente's ear.
" It is Monsieur de Bragelonne," whispered the latter to La Valliere.
The two young men approached still closer, conversing in animated
THE NYMPHS OF THE PAKE OF FONTAINEBLEAU. 535
voices. " She was here just now," said the count. " If I had only seen
her, I should have declared it to be a vision, hut I spoke to her."
" You are positive, then ?"
" Yes; but perhaps I frightened her."
"In what way?"
"Oh! I was still half mad, at what you know, so that she could
hardly have understood what I was saying, and must have become
alarmed."
"Oh!" said Bragelonne, "do not make yourself uneasy: she is all
kindness, and will excuse you; she is clear-sighted, and will under-
stand."
" Yes, but if she should have understood, and understood too well,
she may talk."
"You do not know Louise, count," said Raoul. "Louise possesses
every virtue, and has not a single fault." And the two young men
passed on, and, as they proceeded, their voices were soon lost in the
distance.
"How is it, La Valliere," said Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente,
" that the Yicomte de Bragelonne spoke of you as Louise."
"We were brought up together," replied Louise, blushing; "M. de
Bragelonne has honoured me by asking my hand in marriage, but "
"Well?"
" It seems the king will not consent to the marriage."
"Eh! Why the king? and what has the king to do with it?" ex-
claimed Aure sharply. "Good gracious! has the king the right to
interfere in matters of that kind. Politics are politics, as M. de Mazarin
used to say; but love is love. If, therefore, you love M, de Bragelonne,
marry him, I give my consent."
Athenais began to laugh.
" Oh ! I speak seriously," replied Montalais, " and my opinion in this
case is quite as good as the king's, I suppose; is it not, Louise ?"
" Come," said La Valliere, "those gentlemen have passed; let us take
advantage of our being alone to cross the open ground, and so take
refuge in the wood."
" So much the better," said Athenais," because I see the torches
setting out from the chateau and the theatre, which seem as if they
were preceding some persons of distinction."
" Let us run, then," said all three. And, gracefully lifting up the
long skirts of their silk dresses, they lightly ran across the open space
between the lake and the thickest covert of the park. Montalais agile
as a deer, Athenais eager as a young wolf, bounded through the dry
grass, and, now and then, some bold Acteon, might, by the aid of the
faint light, have perceived their straight and well-formed limbs some-
what displayed beneath the heavy folds of their satin petticoats. La
Valliere, more refined and less bashful, allowed her dress to flow around
her; retarded also by the lameness of her foot, it was not long before
she called out to her companions to halt, and, left behind, she obliged
them both to wait for her. At this moment, a man, concealed in a dry
ditch full of young willow saplings, scrambled quickly up its shelving side,
and ran off" in the direction ol the chateau. The three young girls, on
their side, reached the outskirts of the park, every path of which they
well knew. The ditches were bordered by high hedges full of flowers,
which on that side protected the foot-passengers from being intruded
upon by the horses and carriages. In fact, the sound of Madame's and
of the queen's carriages could be heard in the distance upon the hard
536 the ticomte de bragelonne.
dry ground of the roads, followed by the mounted cavaliers. Distant
music was heard in response, and when the soft notes died away, the
nightingale, with his song full of pride, poured forth his melodious
chants, and his most complicated, learned, and sweetest compositions,
to those who he perceived had met beneath the thick covert of the
woods. Near the songster, in the dark background of the large trees,
could he seen the glistening eyes of an owl, attracted by the harmony.
In this way, the fete for the whole court was a fete also for the mys-
terious inhabitants of the forest; for certainly the deer from the brake,
the pheasant on the branch, the fox in its hole, were all listening. One
could realize the life led by this nocturnal and invisible population from
the restless movements which suddenly took place among the leaves.
Our sylvan nymphs uttered a slight cry, but, reassured immediately
afterwards, they laughed, and resumed their walk. In this manner
they reached the royal oak, the venerable relic of an oak which in its
earlier days had listened to the sighs of Henry the Second for the
beautiful Diana of Poictiers, and later still to those of Henry the Fourth
for the lovely Gabrielle d'Estrees. Beneath this oak the gardeners had
piled up the moss and turf in such a manner that never had a seat
more luxuriously reposed the wearied limbs of any monarch. The
trunk of the tree, somewhat rough to recline against, was sufficiently
large to accommodate the three young girls, whose voices were lost
among the branches, which stretched downwards towards the trunk.
CHAPTER CXYI.
What was said under the Royal Oak.
The softness of the air, the stillness of the foliage, tacitly imposed
upon these young girls an engagement to change immediately their
giddy conversation for one of a more serious character. She, indeed,
whose disposition was the most lively,—Montalais, for instance,—was
the first to yield to its influence; and she began by heaving a deep sigh,
and saying" What happiness to be here alone, and at liberty, with
every right to be frank, especially towards each other."
" Yes," said Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente; " for the court,
however brilliant it may be, has always some falsehood concealed be-
neath the folds of its velvet robes, or beneath the blaze of its diamonds."
" I," replied La Yalliere, " I never tell a falsehood; when I cannot
speak the truth, I remain silent."
"You will not remain long in favour," said Montalais; "it is not
here, as it was at Blois, where we told the dowager Madame all our
little annoyances, and all our longings. There were certain days when
Madame remembered that she herself had been young, and, on those
days, whoever talked with her found in her a sincere friend. She re-
lated to us her flirtations with Monsieur, and we told her of the flirta-
tions she had had with others, or, at least, the rumours of them which
had been spread abroad. Poor woman, so simple-minded! she laughed
at them, as we did. Where is she now ?"
"Ah, Montalais,—laughter-loving Montalais!" cried La Yalliere;
you see you are sighing again; the woods inspire you, and you are
almost reasonable this evening."
" You ought not, either of you," said Athenais, "to regret the court
at Blois so much, unless you do not feel happy with us. A court is a
WHAT WAS SAID TTNDEJJ THE EOYAL OAK. 537
place where men and women resort to talk of matter which mothers,
guardians, and especially confessors, so severely denounce."
" Oh, Atlienais !" said Louise, blushing.
" Athenais is frank to-night." said Montalais; " let us avail ourselves
of it."
" Yes, let us take advantage of it, for this evening I could divulge the
dearest secrets of my heart."
" Ah, if M. de Montespan were here!" said Montalais.
"Do you think that I care for M. de Montespan?" murmured the
beautiful young girl.
" He is handsome, I believe ?"
" Yes. And that is no small advantage in my eyes."
" There now, you see "
" I will go further, and say, that of all the men whom one sees here,
he is the handsomest, and the most •"
"What was that?" said La Valliere, starting suddenly from the
mossy bank.
" A deer which hurried by, perhaps."
" I am only afraid of men," said Athenais.
" When they do not resemble M. de Montespan."
" A truce to this raillery. M. de Montespan is attentive to me, but
that does not commit me in any way. Is not M. de Guiche here, he
who is so devoted to Madame ?"
" Poor fellow!" said La "Valliere.
" Why poor ? Madame is sufficiently beautiful, and of sufficiently
high rank, I suppose."
La Valliere snook her head sorrowfully, saying, "When one loves, it
is neither beauty nor rankwhen one loves, it should be the heart, or
the eyes only, of him, or of her, whom one loves."
Montalais began to laugh loudly. " Heart, eyes," she said; " oh, sugar-
plums!"
" I speak for myself," replied La Valliere.
" Noble sentiments," said Athenais, with an air of protection, but
with indifference.
" Are they not your own ?" said Louise.
" Perfectly so; but to continue: how can one pity a man who bestows
his attentions upon such a woman as Madame ? If any disproportion
exists, it is on the count's side."
" Oh! no, no," returned La Valliere; " it is on Madame's side."
" Explain yourself."
" I will. Madame has not even a wish to know what love is. She
diverts herself with the feeling, as children do with fireworks, of which
a spark might set a palace on fire. It makes a display, and that is all
she cares about. Besides, pleasure and love form the tissue of which
she wishes her life to be woven. M. de Guiche will love this illustrious
personage, but she will never love him."
Athenais laughed disdainfully. "Do people really love?" she said.
" Where are the noble sentiments you just now uttered ? Does not a
woman's virtue consist in the courageous refusal of every intrigue which
might compromise her ? A properly regulated woman, endowed with
a generous heart, ought to look at men, make herself loved—adored,
even, by them, and say, at the very utmost, but once in her life,' I begin
to think that I ought not to have been what I am,—I should have
detested this one less than others.'"
" Therefore," exclaimed La Valliere, "that is what M. de Montespan
has to expect."
538 the yicomte de bbagelonne.
" Certainly; he, as well as every one else. What! have I not said
that I admit he possesses a certain superiority, and would not that be
enough ? My dear child, a woman is a queen during the whole period
nature permits her to enjoy sovereign power,—from fifteen to thirty-
five years of age. After that, we are free to have a heart, when we only
have that left "
" Oh, oh!" murmured La Valliere.
" Excellent," cried Montalais; " a wife and mistress combined in one.
Athenais, you will make your way in the world."
" Do you not approve of what I say ?"
" Completely," replied her laughing companion.
" You are not serious, Montalais ?" said Louise.
"Yes, yes; I approve everything Athenais has just said; only "
" Only what?"
" Well, I cannot carry it out. I have the firmest principles; I form
resolutions beside which the laws of the Stadtholder and of the king of
Spain are child's play; but, when the moment arrives to put them into
execution, nothing comes of them."
" Your courage fails," said Athenais, scornfully.
" Miserably so."
" Great weakness of nature," returned Athenais. " But at least you
make a choice."
" Why, no. It pleases fate to disappoint me in everything; I dream
of emperors, and I find only "
"Aure, Aure!" exclaimed La Valliere, "for pity's sake, do not, for
the pleasure of saying something witty, sacrifice those who love you
with such devoted affection."
" Oh, I do not trouble myself much about that; those who love me
are sufficiently happy that I do not dismiss them altogether. So much
the worse for myself if I have a weakness for any one, but so much the
worse for others if I revenge myself upon them for it."
" You are right," said Athenais, " and, perhaps, you too will reach the
same goal. In other words, young ladies, that is termed being a coquette.
Men, who are very silly in most things, are particularly so in confound-
ing, under the term coquetry, a woman's pride, and her variableness.
I, for instance, am proud; that is to say, impregnable. I treat my
admirers harshly, but -without any pretension to retain them. Men call
me a coquette, because they are vain enough to think I care for them.
Other women—Montalais, for instance—have allowed themselves to be
influenced by flattery; they would be lost were it not for that most
fortunate principle of instinct which urges them to change suddenly,
and punish the man whose devotion they had so recently accepted."
" A very learned dissertation," said Montalais, in the tone of thorough
enjoyment.
" It is odious!" murmured Louise.
" Thanks to this sort of coquetry, for, indeed, that is genuine co-
quetry," continued Mademoiselle Tonnay-Charente; "the lover who,
a little while since, was puffed up with pride, in a minute afterwards
is suffering at every pore of his vanity and self-esteem.. He was, per-
haps, already beginning to assume the airs of a conqueror, but now he
recedes; he was about to assume an air of protection towards us, but he
is obliged to prostrate himself once more. The result of all which is,
that, instead of having a husband who is jealous and troublesome, from
restraint in his conduct towards us, we have a lover always trembling
in our presence, always fascinated by our attractions, and always sub-
missive; and for this simple reason, that he finds the same woman never
WHAT WAS SAID UNDER THE ROYAL OAK. 539
the same. Be convinced, therefore, of the advantage of coquetry. Pos-
sessing that, one reigns a queen among women in cases where providence
has withheld that precious faculty of holding one's heart and mind in
check."
" How clever you are," said Montalais," and how well you understand
the duty women owe themselves."
" I am only settling a case of individual happiness," said Athenais,
modestly; " and defend myself, like all weak, loving dispositions, against
the oppression of the stronger." La Valliere did not say a word.
" Does she not approve of what we are saying ?"
"Nay; only I do not understand it," said Louise. "You talk like
those who would not be called upon to live in this world of ours."
" And very pretty your world is," said Montalais.
" A world," returned Athenais, " in which men worship a woman
until she has fallen,—or insult her when she has fallen."
" Who spoke to you of falling ?" said Louise.
" Yours is a new theory, then; will you tell us how you intend to
resist yielding to temptation, if you allow yourself to be hurried away
by feelings of affection ?"
" Oh!" exclaimed the young girl, raising towards the dark heavens
her beautiful eyes filled with tears, " if you did but know what a heart
was, I would explain, and would convince you; a loving heart is stronger
than all your coquetry, and more powerful than all your pride. A
woman is never truly loved, I believe; a man never loves with idolatry,
except he feel himself loved in return. Let old men, whom we read
of in comedies, fancy themselves adored by coquettes. A young man is
conscious of, and knows, them; if he has a fancy, or a strong desire, or
an absorbing passion, for a coquette, he cannot mistake her; a coquette
may drive him out of his senses, but will never make him fall in love.
Love, such as I conceive it to be, is an incessant, complete, and perfect
sacrifice; but it is not the sacrifice of one only of the two persons who
are united. It is the perfect abnegation of two who are desirous of
blending their beings into one. If I ever love, I shall implore my
lover to leave me free and pure; I will tell him, what he will under-
stand, that my heart was torn by my refusal, and he, in his love for me,
aware of the magnitude of my sacrifice,—he, in his turn, I say, will
show his devotion for me,—will respect me, and will not seek my ruin,
to insult me when I shall have fallen, as you said just now, when
uttering your blasphemies against love, such as I understand it. That
is my idea of love. And now you will tell me, perhaps, that my lover
will despise me; I defy him to do so, unless he be the vilest of men,
and my heart assures me that it is not such a man I should choose.
A look from me will repay him for the sacrifices he makes, or it will
inspire him with virtues which he would never think he possessed."
" But, Louise," exclaimed Montalais, " you tell us this, and do not
carry it into practice."
" What do you mean ?"
" You are adored by Eaoul de Bragelonne, who worships you on both
his knees. The poor fellow is made the victim of your virtue, just as
he would be—nay, more than he would be even, of my coquetry, or
of Athenais's pride."
" This is simply a different shade of coquetry," said Athenais; " and
Louise, I perceive, is a coquette without knowing it."
" Oh!" said La Valliere.
" Yes, you may call it instinct, if you please, keenest sensibility, ex-
quisite refinement of feeling, perpetual display of unrestrained outbreaks
640 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
of affection which end in nothing. It is very artful too, and very
effective. I should even, now that I reflect on it, have preferred this
system of tactics to my own pride, for waging war with members of
the other sex, because it offers the advantage sometimes of thoroughly
convincing them; but, at the present moment, without utterly con-
demning myself, I declare it to be superior to the simple coquetry of
Montalais." And the two young girls began to laugh.
La Valliere alone preserved a silence, and quietly shook her head.
Then, a moment after, she added, " If you were to tell me, in the pre-
sence of a man, but a fourth part of what you have just said, or even if
I were assured that you think it, I should die of shame and grief where
I am now."
" Very well; die, poor tender little darling," replied Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente; " for, if there are no men here, there are at least two
women, your own friends, who declare you to be attainted and con-
victed of being a coquette from instinct; in other words, the most
dangerous kind of coquette which the world possesses."
" Oh! mesdemoiselles," replied La Valliere, blushing, and almost ready
to weep. Her two companions again burst out laughing.
" Very well! I shall ask Bragelonne to tell me."
" Bragelonne ? " said Athenais.
"Yes! Bragelonne, who is as courageous as Caesar, and as clever and
witty as M. Bouquet. Poor fellow! for twelve years he has known
you, loved you, and yet—one can hardly believe it—he has never even
kissed the tips of your fingers."
"Tell us the reason of this cruelty, you who are all heart," said
Athenais to La Valliere.
" I will explain it by a single word—virtue. You will perhaps deny
the existence of virtue ? "
" Come, Louise, tell us the truth," said Aure, taking her by the hand.
" What do you wish me to tell you ? " cried La Valliere.
" Whatever you like; but it will be useless for you to say anything,
for I persist in my opinion of you. A coquette from instinct; in other
words, as I have already said, and I say it again, the most dangerous of
all coquettes."
" Oh! no, no; for pity's sake do not believe that!"
" What! twelve years of extreme severity."
" How can that be, since twelve years ago I was only five years old.
The freedom of the child cannot surely be added to the young girl's
account."
"Well! you are now seventeen; three years instead of twelve.
During those three years you have remained constantly and unchange-
ably cruel. Against you are arrayed the silent shades of Blois, the meet-
ings when you diligently conned the stars together, the evening wan-
derings beneath the plaintain-trees.his impassioned twentyyears speaking
to your fourteen summers, the fire of his glances addressed to yourself."
" Yes, yes; but so it is!" " Impossible!"
" But why impossible ? "
" Tell us something credible, and we will believe you."
"Yet, if you were to suppose one thing."
" What is that."
" Suppose that I thought I was in love, and that I am not."
"What! not in love !"
" If I have acted in a different manner to what others do when they
are in love, it is because I do not love; and because my hour has not
yet come."
WHAT WAS SAID UNDEE THE BOYAL OAK. 541
" Louise, Louise," said Montalais, " take care, or I will remind you
of the remark you made just now. Jtaoul is not here; do not over-
whelm him while he is absent; be charitable, and if, on closer inspec-
tion, you think you do not love him, tell him so, poor fellow!" and she
began to laugh.
"Louise pitied M. de Guiche just now," said Athenais; "would it be
possible to detect the explanation of the indifference for the one in this
compassion for the other."
" Say what you please," said La Yalliere, sadly; " upbraid me as you
like, since you do not understand me."
" Oh! oh !" replied Montalais, " temper, sorrow, and tears; we are
laughing, Louise, and are not, 1 assure you, quite the monsters you
suppose. Look at the proud Athenais, as she is called; she does not
love M. de Montespan it is true, but she would be in despair if M. de
Montespan were not to love her. Look at me; I laugh at M. Malicorne,
but the poor fellow whom I laugh at knows very well when he may be
permitted to press his lips upon my hand. And. yet the eldest of us is
not twenty yet. What a future before us!" ,
" Silly, silly girls !" murmured Louise.
" You are quite right," said Montalais; " and you alone have spoken
words of wisdom."
" Certainly."
" I do not dispute it," replied Athenais. " And so it is positive you
do not love poor M. de Bragelonne ?"
"Perhaps she does," said Montalais; "she is not yet quite sure of it.
But, in any case, listen, Athenais: if M. de Bragelonne becomes free, I
will give you a little friendly advice."
; "What is that?" *
" To look at him well before you decide in favour of M. de Mon-
tespan."
" Oh! in that way of considering the subject, M. de Bragelonne is
not the only one whom one could look at with pleasure; M. de Guiche
for instance has his value also."
" He did not distinguish himself this evening," said Montalais ; " and
I know from very good authority that Madame thought him un-
bearable."
" M. de Saint-Aignan produced a most brilliant effect, and I am sure
that more than one person who saw him dance this evening, will not
soon forget him. Do you not think so, La Yalliere ?"
" Why do you ask me ? I did not see him, nor do I know him."
" What! you did not see M. de Saint-Aignan ? You do not know
him?" " No."
" Come, come, do not affect a virtue more extravagantly excessive
that our Jiertes; you have eyes, I suppose." "Excellent."
" Then you must have seen all those who danced this evening."
" Yes, nearly all."
" That is a very impertinent 'nearly all' for some."
" You must take it for what it is worth."
" Yery well; now, among all those gentlemen whom you saw, which
do you prefer."
" Yes," said Montalais, " is it M. de Saint-Aignan, or M. de Guiche,
or M. "
" I prefer no one; I thought them all about the same."
" Do you mean, then, that among that brilliant assembly, the first
court in "the world, no one pleased you."
" I do not say that."
542 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Tell us, then, who your ideal is ?"
" It is not an ideal being."
" He exists, then ?"
"In very truth," exclaimed La Yalliere, aroused and excited, "I
cannot understand you at all. What! you who have a heart as I have,
eyes as I have, and yet you speak of M. de Guiche, of M. de Saint-
Aignan, when the king was there." These words, uttered in a pre-
cipitate manner, and in an agitated, fervid tone of voice, made her two
companions, between whom she was seated, exclaim in a manner which
terrified her, " The king!"
La Yalliere buried her face in her hands, "Yes," she murmured;
" the king! the king ! Have you ever seen any one to be compared to
the king ? "
"You were right just now in saying you had excellent eyes, Louise,
for you see a great distance; too far indeed. Alas! the king is not one
upon whom our poor eyes have a right to be fixed."
" That is too true," cried La Valliere; " it is not the privilege of all
eyes to gaze upon the sun; but I will look upon him, even were I to be
blinded in doing so." At this moment, and as though caused by the
words which had just escaped La Yalliere's lips, a rustling of leaves,
and of that which sounded like some silken material, was heard behind
the adjoining bush. The young girls hastily rose, almost terrified put
of their senses. They distinctly saw the leaves move, without observing
what it was that stirred them.
"It is a wolf or a wild boar," cried Montalais; "fly! fly!" The
three girls, in the very extremity of terror, fled by the first path which
presented itself, and did not stop until they had reached the verge of
the wood. There, breathless, leaning against each other, feeling their
hearts throb wildly, they endeavoured to collect their senses, but could
only succeed in doing so after the lapse of some minutes. Perceiving
at last the lights from the windows of the chateau, they decided to walk
towards them. La Yalliere was exhausted with fatigue, and Aure and
Athenais were obliged to support her.
" We have escaped well," said Montalais.
"I am greatly afraid," said La Yalliere, "that it was something worse
than a wolf. For my part, and I speak as I think, I should have pre-
ferred to have run the risk of being devoured alive by some wild animal
than to have been listened to and overheard. Fool, fool, that I am!
How could I have thought, how could I have said what I did." And
saying this her head bowed like the head of a reed; she felt her limbs
fail, and, all her strength abandoning her, she glided almost inanimate
from the arms of her companions, and sank down upon the grass.
CHAPTER CXYII.
The King's uneasiness.
Let us leave poor La Yalliere, who had fainted in the arms of her
two companions, and return to the precincts of the royal oak. The
young girls had hardly run twenty paces, when the sound which had
so much alarmed them was renewed among the branches. A man's
figure might indistinctly be perceived, and putting the branches of the
bushes aside, he appeared upon the verge of the wood, and perceiving
that the place was empty, burst out into a peal of laughter. It is use-
THE KING'S UNEASINESS. 543
less to say that the form in question was that of a young and handsome
man, who immediately made a sign to another, who thereupon made
his appearance.
"Well, sire," said the second figure, advancing timidly, "has your
majesty put our young sentimentalists to flight."
" It seems so," said the king, " and you can show yourself without
fear."
" Take care, sire; you will be recognized."
" But I tell you they have gone."
" This is a most fortunate meeting, sire; and, if I dared offer an
opinion to your majesty, we ought to follow them."
" They are far away by this time."
" They would easily allow themselves to be overtaken, especially if
they knew who were following them."
" What do you mean by that, coxcomb that you are."
" Why, one of them seems to have taken a fancy to me, and another
compared you to the sun."
" The greater reason why we should not show ourselves, Saint-Aignan.
The sun does not show himself in the night-time."
" Upon my word, sire, your majesty seems to have very little curiosity.
In your place, I should like to know who are the two nymphs, the two
dryads, the two hamadryads, who have so good an opinion of us."
" I shall know them again very well, I assure you, without running
after them."
" By what means?"
" By their voices, of course. They belong to the court, and the one
who spoke of me had a very sweet voice."
" Ah! your majesty permits yourself to be influenced by flattery."
"No one will ever say it is a means you make use of."
" Forgive my stupidity, sire."
" Come; let us go and look where I told you."
" Is the passion, then, which your majesty confided to me, already
forgotten ? "
" Oh! no, indeed. How is it possible to forget such beautiful eyes as
Mademoiselle de la Valliere has ?"
" Yet the other had so sweet a voice."
" Which one ?" " She who has fallen in love with the sun."
"M. de Saint-Aignan !"
" Forgive me, sire."
"Well, I am not sorry you should believe me to be an admirer of
sweet voices, as well as of beautiful eyes. I know you to be a terrible
talker, and to-morrow I shall have to pay for the confidence I have
shown you."
" What do you mean, sire ?"
" That to-morrow every one will know that I have designs upon this
little La Valliere; but be careful, Saint-Aignan, I have confided my
secret to no one but you, and, if any one should speak to me about it,
I shall know who has betrayed my secret."
" You are angry, sire."
" No; but you understand I do not wish to compromise the poor girl."
" Do not be afraid, sire."
" You promise me, then ?"
" I give you my word of honour."
" Excellent," thought the king, laughing to himself; "now every one
will know to-morrow that I have been running about after La Valliere
to-night."
544 THE VlCOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Then, endeavouring to see wliere lie was, he said, " Why, we have
lost ourselves."
"Not quite so bad as that, sire."
"Where does that gate lead to ?"
" To the great Road-Point, sire."
" Where we were going when we heard the sound of women's voices."
"Yes, sire, and the termination of a conversation in which I had the
honour of hearing my own name pronounced by the side of your ma-
jesty's."
" You return to that subject very frequently, Saint-Aignan."
"Your majesty will forgive me, but I am delighted to know that a
woman exists, whose thoughts are occupied about me, without my
knowledge, and without having done anything to deserve it. Your ma-
jesty cannot comprehend this satisfaction, for your rank and merit
attract attention, and compel regard."
" No, no, Saint-Aignan, believe me, or not, as you like," said the king,
leaning familiarly upon Saint-Aignan's arm, and taking the path which
he thought would lead him to the chateau; but this candid confession,
this perfectly disinterested preference of one who will, perhaps, never
attract my attention—in one' word, the mystery of this adventure
excites me, and the truth is, that if I were not so taken up with La
Yalliere "
" Do not let that interfere with your majesty's intentions, you have
time enough before you."
" What do you mean ?"
"La Valliere is said to be very strict in her ideas."
"You excite my curiosity, and I am anxious to find her again. Come,
let us walk on."
The king spoke untruly, for nothing, on the contrary, could make him
less anxious, but he had a part to play, and so he walked on hurriedly.
Saint-Aignan followed him at a short distance. Suddenly the king
stopped, the courtier followed his example.
" Saint-Aignan," he said," do you not hear some one moaning ?"
" Yes, sire, and crying, too, it seems."
" It is in this direction," said the king, " It sounds like the tears and
sobs of a woman."
" Run," said the king; and, following a bye-path, they ran across the
grass. As they approached, the cries were more distinctly heard.
"Help, help," exclaimed two voices. The king and his companion
redoubled their speed, and, as they approached nearer, the sighs they
had heard were changed into loud sobs. The cry of " Help! help!" was
again repeated; at the sound of which, the king and Saint-Aignan
increased the rapidity of their pace. Suddenly, at the other side of a
ditch, under the branches of a willow, they perceived a woman on
her knees, holding another in her arms, who seemed to have fainted.
A few paces from them, a third, standing in the middle of the path, was
calling for assistance. Perceiving two gentlemen, whose rank she could
not tell, her cries for assistance were redoubled. The king, who was in
advance of his companion, leaped across the ditch, and reached the
group at the very moment, when, from the end of the path which led
to the chateau, a dozen persons were approaching, who had been drawn
to the spot by the same cries which had attracted the attention of the
king and M. de Saint-Aignan.
" What is the matter, young ladies ?" said Louis.
" The king!" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Montalais, in her astonish-
ment, letting La Valliere's head fall upon the ground.
THE KING'S UNEASINESS. 645
"Yes, it is the king; but that is no reason why you should abandon
your companion. Who is she ?"
" It is Mademoiselle de la Valliere, sire."
"Mademoiselle de la Yalliere!"
"Yes, sire, she has just fainted."
" Poor child !" said the king. " Quick, quick, fetch a surgeon." But,
however great the anxiety with which the king had pronounced these
words may have seemed to others, he had not so carefully watched
over himself, that they appeared, as well as the gesture which accom-
panied them, somewhat cold to Saint-Aignan, to whom the king had
confided the great affection with which she had inspired him.
" Saint-Aignan," continued the king, " watch over Mademoiselle de
la Yalliere, I beg. Send for a surgeon. I will hasten forward and
inform Madame of the accident which has befallen one of her maids of
honour." And, in fact, while M. de Saint-Aignan was busily engaged in
making preparations for carrying Mademoiselle de la Yalliere to the
chateau, the king hurried forward, happy to have an opportunity of
approaching Madame, and of speaking to her under some colourable
pretext. Fortunately, a carriage was passing ; the coachman was told
to stop, and the persons who were inside, having been informed of the
accident, eagerly gave up their seats to Mademoiselle de la Yalliere.
The current of fresh air produced by the rapid motion of the carriage,
soon recalled her to her senses. Having reached the chateau, she was
able, though very weak, to alight from the carriage; and, with the
assistance of Athena'is, and of Montalais, to reach the inner apart-
ments. They made her sit down in one of the rooms on the ground-
floor. After a while, as the accident had not produced much effect upon
those who had been walking, the promenade was resumed. During this
time, the king had found Madame beneath a tree with over-hanging
branches, and had seated himself by her side.
"Take care, sire," said Henrietta to him, in a low tone, "you do not
show yourself as indifferent as you should be."
"Alas !" replied the king, in the same tone, "I much fear we have
entered into an agreement above our strength to keep." He then added
aloud, " You have heard of the accident, I suppose ?"
"What accident?"
" Oh! in seeing you, I forgot that I had come expressly to tell you
of it. I am, however, painfully affected by it; one of your maids of
honour, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, has just fainted."
" Indeed ! poor girl," said the princess, quietly, " what was the cause
of it?"
She then added, in an under-tone, " You forget, sire, that you wish
others to believe in your passion for this girl, and yet you remain here
while she is almost dying, perhaps, elsewhere."
"Ah ! madame," said the king, sighing," how much more perfect you
are in your part than I am, and how well you think of everything."
He then rose, saying loud enough for every one to hear him, " Permit
me to leave you, madame; my uneasiness is very great, and I wish to
be quite certain, myself, that proper attention has been given to Made-
moiselle de la Yalliere." And the king left again to return to La
Valliere, whilst those who had been present commented upon the king's
remark:—" My uneasiness is very great."
2 N
646
THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
CHAPTER CXVI1I.
The King's Secret.
On his way, Louis met the Comte de Saint-Aignan. ""Well, Saint-
Aignan," he inquired, with affected interest, "how is the invalid ?"
" Really, sire," stammered Saint-Aignan, " to my shame, I confess I
do not know."
" What! you do not know ? " said the king, pretending to take in a
serious manner this want of attention for the object of his predilection.
"Will your majesty pardon me; but I have just met one of our
three loquacious wood-nymphs, and I confess that my attention has
been taken away from other matters."
"Ah!" said the king,eagerly, "you have found, then "
" The one who deigned to speak of me in such advantageous terms;
and, having found mine, I was searching for yours, sire, when 1 had
the happiness to meet your majesty."
"Very well; but Mademoiselle de la Valliere before everything
else," said the king, faithful to the character he had assumed.
" Oh ! our charming invalid !" said Saint-Aignan; " how fortunately
her fainting came on, since your majesty had already occupied yourself
about her."
" What is the name of your fair lady, Saint-Aignan ? Is it a secret ? "
" It ought to be a secret, and a very great one, even; but your
majesty is well aware that no secret can possibly exist for you."
"Well, what is her name?" "Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Cha-
rente."
" Is she pretty ? "
" Exceedingly so, sire; and I recognized the voice which pronounced
my name in such tender accents. I then accosted her, questioned her
as well as I was able to do, in the midst of the crowd; and she told me,
without suspecting anything, that a little while ago she was under the
great oak, with her two friends, when the appearance of a wolf or a
robber had terrified them, and made them run away."
" But," inquired the king, anxiously, " what are the names of these
two friends ? "
" Sire," said Saint-Aignan, "will your majesty send me forthwith to
the Bastille?"
"What for?"
" Because I am, an egotist and a fool. My surprise was so great at
such a conquest, and at so fortunate a discovery, that I went no further
in my inquiries. Besides, I did not think that your majesty would
attach any very great importance to what you heard, knowing how
much your attention was taken up by Mademoiselle de la Valliere;
and then, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente left me precipitately, to
return to Mademoiselle de la Valliere."
" Let us hope, then, that I shall be as fortunate as yourself. Come,
Saint-Aignan."
'" Your majesty is ambitious, I perceive, and does not wish to allow
any conquest to escape you. Well, I assure you that I will conscien-
tiously set about my inquiries; and, moreover, from one of the three
Graces we shall learn the names of the others, and, by the name, the
secret."
" I, too," said the king, " only require to hear her voice to know it
THE KING'S SECEET. 547
again. Come, let us say no more about it, but show me where poor
La Yalliere is."
"Well," thought Saint-Aignan, "the king's regard is beginning to
display itself, and for that girl, too. It is extraordinary; I should
never have believed it." And with this thought passing through his
mind, he showed the king the room where La Yalliere had been taken;
the king entered, followed by Saint-Aignan. In a low room, near a
large window looking out upon the gardens, La Yalliere, reclining in
a large arm-chair, inhaled in deep draughts the perfumed evening
breeze. From the loosened body of her dress, the lace fell in tumbled
folds, mingling with the tresses of her beautiful fair hair, which lay
scattered upon her shoulders. Her languishing eyes were filled with
tears; she seemed as lifeless as those beautiful visions of our dreams,
which pass before the closed eyes of the sleeper, half-opening their
wings without moving them, unclosing their lips without a sound es-
caping them. The pearl-like pallor of La Yalliere possessed a charm
which it would be impossible to describe. Mental and bodily suffering
had produced upon her features a soft and noble expression of grief;
from the perfect passiveness of her arms and bust, she more resembled
one whose soul had passed away, than a living being; she seemed not
to hear either the whisperings of her companions, or the distant mur-
murs which arose from the neighbourhood. She seemed to be com-
muning within herself; and her beautiful, slender, and delicate hands
trembled from time to time, as though from the contact of some in-
visible touch. She was so completely absorbed in her reverie, that the
king entered without her perceiving him. At a distance he gazed
upon her lovely face, upon which the moon shed its pure silvery light.
" Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, with a terror he could not control,
" she is dead."
" No, sire," said Montalais, in a low voice; " on the contrary, she is
better. Are you not better, Louise ? "
But Louise did not answer. " Louise," continued Montalais, " the
king has deigned to express his uneasiness on your account."
" The king !" exclaimed Louise, starting up abruptly, as if a stream
of fire had darted through her frame to her heart; " the king uneasy
about me ? " " Yes," said Montalais.
"The king is here, then?" said La Yalliere, not venturing to look
round her.
" That voice! that voice !" whispered Louis, eagerly, to Saint-Aignan.
"Yes, it is so," replied Saint-Aignan; "your majesty is right; it is
she who declared her love for the sun."
" Hush!" said the king. And then approaching La Yalli&re, he
said, "You are not well, Mademoiselle de la Yalliere? Just now, indeed,
in the park, I saw that you had fainted. How were you attacked ? "
" Sire," stammered out the poor child, pale and trembling, " I really
do not know."
" You have been walking too much," said the king; " and fatigue,
perhaps "
"No, sire," said Montalais, eagerly, answering for her friend, "it
could not be from fatigue, for we passed part of the evening seated
beneath the royal oak."
"Under the royal oak?" returned the king, starting. "I was not
deceived; it is as I thought." And he directed a look of intelligence
at the comte.
"Yes," said Saint-Aignan, "under the royal oak, with Mademoiselle
de Tonnay-Charente."
2 N 2
543 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
" How do you know that ?" inquired Montalais.
"In a very simple way. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente told
me so."
" In that case, she probably told you the cause of Mademoiselle de
la Yalliere fainting ? "
" Why, yes; she told me something about a wolf or a robber. 1
forget precisely which." La Valliere listened, her eyes fixed, ber bosom
heaving, as if, gifted with an acuteness of perception, she foresaw a
portion of the truth. Louis imagined this attitude and agitation to be
the consequences of a terror but partially removed. "Nay, fear no-
thing," he said, with a rising emotion which he could not conceal;
" the wolf which terrified you so much was simply a wolf with two
legs."
" It was a man, then," said Louise; " it was a man who was list-
ening."
" Suppose it were, mademoiselle, what great evil was there in his
having listened ? Is it likely that, even in your own opinion, you
would have said anything which could not have been listened to?"
La Valliere wrung her hands, and hid her face in them, as if to hide
her blushes. " In Heaven's name," she said, " who was concealed
there ? who was listening ? "
The king advanced towards her, to take hold of one of her hands.
" It was I," he said, bowing with marked respect. "Is it likely I could
have frightened you ? " La Yalliere uttered a loud cry; for the second
time her strength forsook her; and, cold, moaning, and in utter de-
spair, she again fell apparently lifeless in her chair. The king had just
time to hold out his arm ; so that she was partially supported by him.
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente and Montalais, who stood a few
paces from the king and La Valliere, motionless and almost petrified
at the recollection of their conversation with La Valliere, did not
think even of offering their assistance to her, feeling restrained by the
presence of the king, who, with one knee on the ground, held La
Valliere ^ound the waist with his arm.
" You heard, sire ? " murmured Athenais. But the king did not reply;
he remained with his eyes fixed upon La Valliere's half-closed eyes, and
held her drooping hand in his own.
" Of course," replied Saint-Aignan, who, on his side, hoping that
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente would faint, advanced towards her,
holding his arms extended, "of course; we did not even lose a word."
But the haughty Athenais was not a woman to faint easily; she darted
a terrible look at Saint-Aignan, and fled. Montalais, with more courage,
advanced hurriedly towards Louise, and received her from the king's
hands, who was already fast losing his presence of mind, as he felt
his face covered by the perfumed tresses of the seemingly dying girl.
"Excellent," said Saint-Aignan. " This is indeed an adventure; and it
will be my own fault if I am not the first to relate it."
_ The king approached him, and, with a trembling voice and a pas-
sionate gesture, said, " Not a syllable, comte."
. The poor king forgot that, only an hour before, he had given him a
similar recommendation, but with the very opposite intention; namely,
that the comte should be indiscreet. It was a matter of course, that
the latter recommendation was quite as unnecessary as the former.
Half an hour afterwards, everybody in Fontainebleau knew that Ma-
demoiselle de la Yalliere had had a conversation under the royal oak
with Montalais and Tonnay-Charente, and that in this conversation
she had confessed her affection for the king. It was known, also, that
THE KING'S SECfiET. 549
the king, after having manifested the uneasiness with which Mademoi-
selle de la Valliere's health had inspired him, had turned pale, and
trembled very much as he received the beautiful girl fainting in his
arms; so that it was quite agreed among the courtiers, that the greatest
event of the period had just been revealed; that his majesty loved
Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and that, consequently, Monsieur could
now sleep in perfect tranquillity. It was this, even, that the queen-
mother, as surprised as the others by this sudden change, hastened to
tell the young queen and Philippe d'Orleans. Only she set to work in a
different manner, by attacking them in the following way:—To her
daughter-in-law she said, " See, now, Therese, how very wrong you
were to accuse the king; now it is said he is devoted to some other
person; why should there be any greater truth in the report of to-day
than in that of yesterday, or in that of yesterday than in that of to-
day ?" To Monsieur, in relating to him the adventure of the royal
oak, she said, "Are you not very absurd in your jealousies, my dear
Philip? It is asserted that the king is madly in love with that
little La Valliere. Say nothing of it to your wife; for the queen will
know all about it very soon." This latter confidential communication
had an immediate result. Monsieur, who had regained his composure,
went triumphantly to look after his wife, and, as it was not yet mid-
night, and the fete was to continue until two in the morning, he offered
her his hand for a promenade. At the end of a few paces, however,
the first thing he did was to disobey his mother's injunctions.
" Do not go and tell any one, the queen least of all," he said mysteri-
ously, " what people say about the king."
" "What do they say about him ?" inquired Madame.
" That my brother has fallen suddenly in love."
"With whom?"
" With Mademoiselle de la Valliere." As it was dark, Madame could
smile at her ease.
" Ah !" she said, " and how long is it since this has been the case ?"
"Por some days, so it seems. But that was nothing but pure non-
sense; but it is only this evening that he has revealed his passion."
" The king shows his good taste," said Madame; " and in my opinion
she is a very charming girl."
" I verily believe you are jesting."
" I! in what way P" "
" In any case this passion will make some one very happy, even if it
be only La Valliere herself."
" Beally," continued the princess, " you speak as if you had read into
the inmost recesses of La Valliere's heart. "Who has told you that she
Agrees to return the king's affection ?"
" And who has told you that she will not return it ?"
" She loves the Vicointe de Bragelonne."
" You think so."
" She is even affianced to him."
" She was so."
" What do you mean ?"
" When they went to ask the king's permission to arrange the mar-
riage, he refused his permission."
" Refused ?"
" Yes, although the request was preferred by the Comte de la Fere
himself, for whom the king has the greatest tegard, on account of the
part he took in your brother's restoration, and in other events, also,
which happened a long time ago."
550 THE VICOJITl! EE EHAGELONNE.
" Well! the poor lovers must wait until the king is pleased to change
his opinion; they are young, and there is time enough."
" But, dear me," said Philip, laughing, " I perceive that you do not
know the best part of the affair." " No!"
" That by which the king was most deeply touched."
" The king, do you say, has been deeply touched ?"
" To the very heart."
" But how ?—in what manner ?—tell me directly." '
" By an adventure, the romance of which cannot be equalled."
"You know how I love such adventures, and yet you keep me wait-
ing," said the princess, impatiently.
Well, then " and Monsieur paused.
" T am listening."
" Under the royal oak—you know where the royal oak is ?"
" What can that matter ? Under the royal oak, you were saying."
" Well! Mademoiselle de la Valliere, fancying herself alone with her
two friends, revealed to them her affection for the king."
" Ah!" said Madame, beginning to be uneasy, "her affection for the
king ?" "Yes."
" When was this ?" " About an hour ago."
Madame started, and then said, "And no one knew of this affection ?"
"No one."
" Not even his majesty ?"
" Not even his majesty. The little creature kept her secret most
strictly to herself, when suddenly it proved stronger than herself, and
so escaped her."
" And from whom did you get this absurd tale ?"
" Why, as everybody else did, from La Valliere herself, who confessed
her love to Montalais and Tonnay-Charente, who were her companions."
Madame stopped suddenly, and by a hasty movement let go her
husband's hand.
" Did you say it was an hour ago she made this confession ?" Madame
inquired.
" About that time."
" Is the king aware of it ?"
" Why, that is the very thing which constitutes the whole romance
of the affair, for the king was behind the royal oak with Saint-Aignan,
and he heard the whole of the interesting conversation without losing
a single word of it."
Madame felt struck to the heart, saying incautiously, " But I have
seen the king since, and he never told me a word about it."
"Of course," said Monsieur; "he took care not to speak of it to you
himself, since he recommended every one not to say a word about it to
you."
What do you mean ?" said Madame, irritated.
" I mean that they wished to keep you in ignorance of the affair
altogether."
But why should they wish to conceal it from me ?"
^ "Prom the fear that your friendship for the young queen might
induce you to say something about it to her, nothing more."
Madame hung down her head; her feelings were grievously wounded.
She could not enjoy a moment's repose until she had met the king. As
a king is, most naturally, the very last person in his kingdom who
knows what is said about him, in the same way that a lover is the only
one who is kept in ignorance of what is said about his mistress, there-
fore, when the king perceived Madame, who was looking for him, he
THE KING'S SECRET. 551
approached her somewhat disturbed, but still gracious arid attentive iu
his manner. Madame waited for him to speak about La Valhere first;
but as he did not speak of her, she said, " And the poor girl ?"
" What poor girl ?" said the king.
" La Yalliere. Did you not tell me, sire, that she had fainted P "
" She is still very ill," said the king, affecting the greatest indifference.
"But surely that will prejudicially affect the rumour you were going
to spread, sire ?"
" What rumour?"
"That your attention was taken up by her."
"Oh!" said the king, carelessly, "I trust it will be reported all the
same."
Madame still waited; she wished to know if the king would speak to
her of the adventure of the royal oak. But the king did not say a word
about it. Madame, on her side, did not open her. lips about the adven-
ture, so that the king took leave of her without having reposed the
slightest confidence in her. Hardly had she seen the king move away,
than she set out in search of Saint-Aignan. Saint-Aignan was never
very difficult to find; he was like the smaller vessels which always follow
in the wake of, and as tenders to, the larger ships. Saint-Aignan was
the very man whom Madame needed in her then state of mind. And
as for him, he only looked for worthier ears than others he had found,
to have an opportunity of recounting the event with all its details.
And therefore he did not spare Madame a single word of the whole
affair. When he had finished, Madame said to him, " Confess, now,
that it is all a charming invention."
" Invention, no; a true story, yes."
" Confess, whether invention or true story, that it was told to you as
you have told it to me, but that you were not there." -
" Upon my honour, Madame, I was there."
" And you think that these confessions may have made an impression
upon the king?"
" Certainly, as those of Mademoiselle Tonnay-Charente did upon me,"
replied Saint-Aignan; " do not forget, Madame, that Mademoiselle de
la Yalliere compared the king to the sun; that was flattering enough."
" The king does not permit himself to be influenced by such flatteries."
"Madame, the king is just as much man as sun, and I saw that plain
enough just now when La Yalliere fell into his arms."
" La Yalliere fell into the king's arms !"
" Oh! it was the most graceful picture possible; just imagine, La
Yalliere had fallen back fainting, and "
" Well! what did you see ?—tell me—speak!"
" I saw, what ten other people saw at the same time as myself; I saw
that when La Yalliere fell into his arms, the king almost fainted him-
self."
Madame uttered a subdued cry, the only indication of her smothered
anger. " Thank you," she said, laughing in a convulsive manner, " you
relate stories delightfully, M. de Saint-Aignan." And she hurried away,
alone and almost suffocated by her feelings, towards the chateau.
552
Tilli VICOMTETIK JJUAGELONNE.
CHAPTER CXIX.
Courses de Nuit.
Monsieur had quitted the princess in the best possible humour, and
feeling very fatigued, had retired to his apartments, leaving every one
to finish the night as he chose. When in his room, Monsieur began to
dress for the night with a careful attention, which displayed itself from
time to time in paroxysms of satisfaction. While his attendants were
engaged in dressing him, he sang the principal airs of the ballet which
the violins had played and to which the king had danced. He then
summoned his tailors, inspected his costumes for the next day, and, in
token of his extreme satisfaction, distributed various presents among
them. As, however, the Chevalier de Lorraine, who had seen the prince
return to the chateau, entered the room, Monsieur overwhelmed him
with kindness. The former, after having saluted the prince, remained
silent lor a moment, like a sharp-shooter who deliberates before deciding
in what direction he will renew his fire; then, seeming to make up his
mind, he said, " Have you remarked a very singular circumstance, mon-
seigneur?"
"No; what is it?"
" The bad reception which his majesty, in appearance, gave the Comte
de Guiche."
"In appearance?"
"Yes, certainly; since, in reality, he has restored him to favour."
" I did not notice it," said the prince.
" What! did you not remark, that, instead of ordering him to return
to his exile, as would have been natural, he encouraged him in his
opposition by permitting him to resume his place in the ballet."
" And you think the king was wrong, chevalier ?" said the prince.
" Are not you of my opinion, prince ? "
"Not altogether so, my dear chevalier; and I think the king was
quite right not to have made a disturbance against a poor fellow whose
want of judgment is more to be complained of than his intention."
" Really," said the chevalier, " as far as I am concerned, I confess that
this magnanimity astonishes me to the highest degree."
"Why so?" inquired Philip.
" Because I should have thought the king had been more jealous,"
replied the chevalier, spitefully. Luring the last few minutes Monsieur
had fel t there was something of an irritating nature concealed under his
favourite's remarks; this last word, however, had ignited the powder.
"Jealous!" exclaimed the prince. " Jealous!—what do you mean ?
Jealous of what, if you please—or jealous of whom?"
The chevalier perceived that he had allowed one of those mischievous
remarks to escape him, as he was sometimes in the habit of doing. He
endeavoured, therefore, to recall it it while it was still possible to do so.
"Jealous of his authority," he said, with an assumed frankness; "of
what else would you have the king be jealous ?"
" Ah !" said the prince, " that's very proper."
"Lid your royal highness," continued the chevalier, "solicit dear
de Guiche s pardon ?"
" No, indeed," said Monsieur. " Le Guiche is an excellent fellow, and
full of courage; but as I do not approve of his conduct with Madame, I
wish him neither harm nor good."
COUBSES DE NUIT. 553
The chevalier had assumed a bitterness with regard to de Guiche, as
he had attempted to do with the king; hut he thought that he perceived
that the time for indulgence, and even for the utmost indifference, had
arrived, and that, in order to throw some light on the question, it might
be necessary for him to put the lamp, as the saying is, under the hus-
hand's nose even.
" Very well, very well," said the chevalier to himself, " I shall wait
for de Wardes ; he will do more in one day than I in a month; for I
verily believe that he is still more jealous than I am. Then, again, it
is not de Wardes even whom I require, so much as that some event or
another should happen; and in the whole of this affair I see none.
That de Guiche returned after he had been sent away is certainly
serious enough, but all its seriousness disappears when 1 learn that
de Guiche has returned at the very moment Madame troubles herself
no longer about him. Madame, in fact, is occupied with the king, that
is clear ; but she will not be so much longer if, as it is asserted, the king
has ceased to occupy himself about her. The result of the whole mat-
ter is, to remain perfectly quiet, and await the arrival of some new
caprice, and let that decide the whole affair." And the chevalier there-
upon settled himself resignedly in the arm-chair in which Monsieur
permitted him to seat himself in his presence; and, having no more
spiteful or malicious remarks to make, the consequence was that the
chevalier's wit seemed to have deserted him. Most fortunately Mon-
sieur was endowed with great good humour, and he had enough for
two, until the time arrived for dismissing his servants and gentlemen of
the chamber, and he passed into his sleeping apartment. As he with-
drew, he desired the chevalier to present his compliments to Madame,
and say that, as the night was cool, Monsieur, who was afraid of the
toothache, would not venture out again into the park during the
remainder of the evening. The chevalier entered the princess's apart-
ments at the very moment she entered them herself. He acquitted
himself faithfully of the commission which had been intrusted to him,
and, in the first place, remarked the indifference and annoyance with
which Madame received her husband's communication—a circumstance
which appeared to him fraught with something quite fresh. If Madame
had been about to leave her apartments with that strangeness of man-
ner about her, he would have followed her; but Madame was returning
to them; there was nothing to be done, therefore he turned upon his heel
like an unemployed heron, seemed to question earth, air, and water,
about it, shook his head, and walked away mechanically in the direction
of the gardens. He had hardly gone a hundred paces when he met two
young men,.walking arm-in-arm, with their heads bent down, and idly
kicking the small stones out of their path as they walked on, plunged
in thought. It was de Guiche and de Bragelonne, the sight of whom,
as it always did, produced upon the chevalier, instinctively, a feeling of
great repugnance. He did not, however, the less, on that account,
salute them with a very low bow, and which they returned with
interest. Then, observing that the park was becoming thinner, that
the illuminations began to burn out, and that the morning breeze was
setting in, he turned to the left, and entered the chateau again, by one
of the smaller courtyards. The others turned aside to the right, and
continued on their way towards the large park. As the chevalier was
ascending the side staircase, which led to the private entrance, lie saw
a woman, followed by another, make her appearance under the arcade
which led from the small to the large courtyard. The two women
walked so fast that the rustling of their dresses could be distinguished
554 the vicomte he beagelonne.
in the damness of the night. The style of their mantelets, their graee-
ful figures, a mysterious yet haughty carriage which distinguished them
both, especially the one who walked first, struck the chevalier.
" 1 certainly know those two persons," said he to himself, pausing
upon the top step of the small staircase. Then, as with the instinct of
a bloodhound he was about to follow them, one of his servants who had
been running after him arrested his attention.
" Monsieur," he said, " the courier has arrived."
" Yery well," said the chevalier, " there is time enough; to-morrow
will do."
"There are some urgent letters which you would be glad to see,
perhaps."
" Where from ? " inquired the chevalier.
" One from England, and the other from Calais; the latter arrived
by express, and seems of great importance."
"Erom Calais! Who the deuce can have to write to me from
Calais ? "
" I think I can recognize the handwriting of your friend the Comte
de Wardes."
" Oh!" cried the chevalier, forgetting his intention of acting the spy,
" in that case I will come up at once." This he did, while the two un-
known ladies disappeared at the end of the court opposite to the one by
which they had just entered. We shall now follow them, and leave the
chevalier undisturbed to his correspondence. When they had arrived
at the grove of trees, the foremost of the two halted, somewhat out of
breath, and, cautiously raising her hood, said, " Are we still far from
the tree ? "
" Yes, madame, more than five hundred paces; but pray rest awhile,
you will not be able to walk much longer at this pace."
" You are right," said the princess, for it was she; and she leaned
against a tree. " And now," she resumed, after having recovered her
breath, " tell me the whole truth, and conceal nothing from me."
" Oh, madame," said the young girl," you are already angry with me."
"No, my dear Athenais; reassure yourself, I am in no way angry
with you. After all, these things do not concern me personally. You
are anxious about what you may have said under the oak: you are
afraid of having offended the king, and I wish to tranquillize you by
ascertaining myself if it were possible you could have been overheard."
" Oh yes, madame, the king was so close to us."
" Still, you were not speaking so loud that some of your remarks
may not have been lost."
"We thought we were quite alone, madame."
" There were three of you, you say ? "
"Yes; La Yalliere, Montalais, and myself."
"And you, individually, spoke in a light manner of the king ?"
" I am afraid so. Should such be the case, will your highness have
the kindness to make my peace with his majesty ? "
"If there should be any oocasion for it, I promise you to do so.
However, as I have already told you, it will be better not to antici-
pate evil, and to be quite sure that evil has been committed. The
night is now very dark, and the darkness is still greater under those
large trees. It is not likely you were recognized by the king. To in-
form him of it, by being the first to speak, is to denounce yourself."
" Oh, madame, madame! if Mademoiselle de la Yalliere were recog-
nized, I must have been recognized also. Besides, M. de Saint-Aignan
did not leave a doubt on the subject."
COTJKSES DE NUIT. 555
"Did you, then, say anything very disrespectful of the "king ? "
"Not at all so: it was one of the others who made some very flatter-
ing remarks about the king; and my remarks will have been so much
in contrast with hers."
" That Montalais is such a giddy girl," said Madame.
" It was not Montalais. Montalais said nothing; it was La Valliere."
Madame started as if she had not known it perfectly already. " No,
no," she said, " the king cannot have heard. Besides, we will now try
the experiment for which we came out. Show me the oak. Do you
know where it is ?" she continued.
" Alas! madame, yes."
" And you can find it again ? " " With my eyes shut."
"Very well; sit down on the bank where you were, where La Val-
liere was, and speak in the tone and to the same effect as you did
before; I will conceal myself in the thicket, and if I can hear you, I
will tell you so."
" Yes, madame."
" If, therefore, you really spoke sufficiently loud for the king to have
heard you, in that case "
Athenais seemed to await the conclusion of the phrase with some
anxiety.
" In that case," said Madame, in a suffocated voice, arising doubtless
from her hurried progress; "in that case, I forbid you " And
Madame again, increased her pace. Suddenly, however, she stopped.
" An idea occurs to me," she said.
" A good idea, no doubt, madame," replied Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Charente.
" Montalais must be as much embarrassed as La Valliere and your-
self."
" Less so, for she is less compromised, having said less."
" That does not matter; she wilL help you, I dare say, by deviating a
little from the exact truth."
" Especially if she knows that your highness is kind enough to inter-
est yourself about me."
" Very well; I think I have discovered what we want."
" How delightful."
"You will say that all three of you were perfectly well aware that
the king was behind the tree, or behind the thicket, whichever it
might have been; and that you knew M. de Saint-Aignan was there
too."
" Yes, madame."
" Eor you cannot disguise it from yourself, Athena'is, Saint-Aignan
takes advantage of some very flattering remarks which you made about
him."
" Well, madame, you see very well that one can be overheard," cried
Athenais, " since M. de Saint-Aignan overheard us."
Madame bit her lips, for she had thoughtlessly committed herself.
" Oh, you know Saint-Aignan's character very well," she said; " the
favour the king shows him almost turns his brain, and he talks at ran-
dom; not only that, he very often invents. That is not the question;
the fact remains, Did or did not the king overhear ? "
" Oh yes, madame, he did hear," said Athenais, in despair.
" In that case, do what I said : maintain boldly that all three of you
knew—mind, all three of you, for if there is a doubt about any one of
you, there will be a doubt about all,—persist, I say, that you all three
knew that the king and M. de Saint-Aignan were there, and that
556 THE VICOaiTE DE EEA.GELONNB.
}rou wished to amuse yourselves at the expense of those who were
istening."
" Oh, madame, at the king's expense; we never dare say that!"
" It is a simple jest; an innocent deception readily permitted in
young girls whom men wish to take by surprise. In this manner
everything is explained. What Montalais said of Malicorne, a mere
jest; what you said of M. de Saint-Aignan, a mere jest too; and what
La Valliere might have said of "
" And which she would have given anything to have recalled."
" Are you sure of that ? " " Perfectly so."
"Very well, an additional reason, therefore. Say the whole affair
was a mere joke. M. de Malicorne will have no occasion to get out of
temper; M. de Saint-Aignan will be completely put out of conntenance,
he will be laughed at instead of you; and, lastly, the king will be pun-
ished for a curiosity which was unworthy of his rank. Let people
laugh a little at the king in this affair, and I do not think he will com-
plain of it."
" Oh, madame, you are indeed an angel of goodness and sense!"
" It is to my own advantage."
" In what way ?"
" Do you ask me why it is to my advantage to spare my maids of
honour the remarks, annoyances, and perhaps even calumnies, which
might follow ? Alas! you well know that the court has no indulgence
for this sort of peccadilloes. But we have now been walking for some
time, shall we be long before we reach it ?"
" About fifty or sixty paces further; turn to the left, madame, if you
please."
" And so you are sure of Montalais ?" said madame.
" Oh, certainly."
" Will she do what you ask her ?"
" Everything. She will be delighted."
" As for La Valliere " ventured the princess.
" Ah, there will be some difficulty with her, madame; she would
scorn to tell a falsehood."
" Yet, when it is her interest to do so "
" I am afraid that that would not make the slightest difference in
her ideas."
" Yes, yes," said Madame, " I have been already told that; she is one
of those over-nice and affectedly-particular persons, who place heaven
in the foreground to conceal themselves behind it. But if she refuse
to tell a falsehood—as she will expose herself to the jestingsof the whole
court,—as she will have annoyed the king by a confession as ridiculous
as it was immodest,—Mademoiselle Labaume Leblano de la Valliere
will think it but proper that I should send her back again to her
pigeons in the country, in order that, in Touraine yonder, or in le
Blaisois—I know not where it may be, she may at her ease study senti-
ment and a pastoral life together." These words were uttered with a
vehemence and harshness which terrified Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Cliarente; and the consequence was, that, as far as she was concerned,
she promised to tell as many falsehoods as might be necessary. It was
in this amiable frame of mind, respectively, that Madame and her com-
panion reached the precincts of the royal oak.
" Here we are," said Tonnay-Charente.
" We shall soon learn if one can overhear," replied Madame.
" Hush!" said the young girl, holding Madame back with a hurried
gesture, entirely forgetful of her companion's rank. Madame stopped.
listeners can hear what is said. 557
" You see that you can hear," said Athenais.
" How ?" " Listen."
Madame held her breath, and, in fact, the following words, pro-
nounced by a gentle and melancholy voice, floated towards them
" I tell you, vicomte, I tell you I love her madly; I tell you I love
her to distraction."
Madame started at the voice, and, beneath her hood, a bright joyous
smile illumined her features. It was she who now stayed her com-
panion, and with a light footstep leading her some twenty paces back,
that is to say, out of the reach of the voice, she said, " Remain there,
my dear Athenais, and let no one surprise us. I think it may be you
they are conversing about."
" Me, madame?"
"Yes, you; or rather your adventure. I will go and listen; if we were
both there, we should be discovered. Go and fetch Montalais, and then
return and wait for me with her at the entrance of the forest." And
then, as Athenais hesitated, she again said " Go!" in a voice which did
not admit of reply. Athenais thereupon arranged her dress so as to
prevent its rustling being heard, and, by a path which crossed the group
of trees, she regained the flower-garden. As for Madame, she concealed
herself in the thicket, leaning her back against a gigantic chestnut-tree,
one of the branches of which had been cut in a manner to form a seat,
and waited there full of anxiety and apprehension. " Now," she said,
" since one can hear from this place, let us listen to what M. de Brage-
lonne and that other madly-in-love fool, the Comte de Guiche, have to
say about me."
CHAPTER CXX.
In which Madame acquires a proof that listeners can hear what is said
There was a moment's silence, as if all the mysterious sounds of
night were hushed to listen, at the same time as Madame, to the youth-
ful and passionate disclosure of de Guiche.
It was Raoul who was about to speak. He leaned indolently against
the trunk of the large oak, and replied in his sweet and musical voice,
" Alas, my dear Guiche, it is a great misfortune."
" Yes," cried the latter, " great indeed."
"You do not understand me, Guiche. I say that it is a great mis-
fortune for you, not that of loving, but that of not knowing how to
conceal your love."
" "What do you mean ?" said Guiche.
" Yes, you do not perceive one thing; namely, that it is no longer to
the only friend you have,—in other words,—to a man who would rather
die than betray you; you do not perceive, I say, that it is no longer to
your only friend that you confide your passion, but to the first one who
approaches you."
" Are you mad, Bragelonne," exclaimed Guiche, " to say such a thing
to me?"
" The fact is so, however."
" Impossible! How, in what manner could I have become indiscreet
to such an extent?"
" I mean, that your eyes, your looks, your sighs, speak, in spite of
vourself; that every exaggerated feeling leads and hurries a man beyond
his own control. In such a case he ceases to be master of himself; he
558 THE VICOMTE BE BBAGELONNE.
is a prey to a mad passion, which makes him confide his grief to the
trees, or to the air, from the very moment he has no longer any living
being within reach of his voice. Besides, remember this: it very rarely
happens that there is not always some one present to hear, especially
those very things which ought not to be heard." Guiche uttered a deep
sigh. "Nay," continued Bragelonne, "you distress me; since your
return here, you have a thousand times, and in a thousand different
ways, confessed your love for her; and yet, had you not said anything,
your return would alone have been a terrible indiscretion. I persist,
then, in drawing this conclusion; that if you do not place a greater
watch over yourself than you have hitherto done, one day or another
something will happen which will cause an explosion. Who will save
you then? Answer me? Who will save her? for, innocent as she
will be of your affection, your affection will be an accusation against her
in the hands of her enemies."
"Alas!" murmured Guiche; and a deep sigh accompanied the ex-
clamation.
" That is not answering me, Guiche." " Tes, yes."
" Well, what reply have you to make ?"
" This, that when that day arrives I shall not be less a living being
than I feel myself to be now."
" I do not understand you."
" So many vicissitudes have worn me out. At present, I am no more
a thinking, acting being; at present, the most worthless of men is better
than I am; therefore, my remaining strength is now exhausted, my
latest-formed resolutions have vanished, and I abandon myself to my
fate. When a man is out campaigning, as we have been together, and
he sets off alone and unaccompanied for a skirmish, it sometimes happens
that he may meet with a party of five or six foragers, and although
alone, he defends himself; afterwards, five or six others arrive' unex-
pectedly, his anger is aroused and he persists; but if six, eight, or
ten others should still be met with, he either sets spurs to his horse,
if he should still happen to retain it, or lets himself be slain to save an
ignominious flight. Such, indeed, is my own case; first, I had to
struggle against myself; afterwards, against Buckingham; now, since
the king is in the field, I will not contend against the king, nor even, I
wish you to understand, will the king retire; nor even against the nature
of that woman. Still I do not deceive myself; having devoted myself
to the service of that affection, I will lose my life in it."
" It is not her you ought to reproach," replied Raoul; " it is your-
self."
"Why so?"
"You know the princess's character,—somewhat giddy, easily capti-
vated by novelty, susceptible to flattery, whether it come from a blind
person or a child, and yet you allow your passion for her to eat your
very life away. Look at her,—love her, if you wiil,—for no one whose
heart is not engaged elsewhere can see her without loving her. Yet,
while you love her, respect, in the first place, her husband's rank, then
himself, and, lastly, your own safety."
" Thanks, Raoul."
" Lor what ?"
" Because, seeing how much I suffer from this woman, you endeavour
to console me, because you tell me all the good of her you think, and
perhaps even that which you do not think."
" Oh," said Raoul, " there you are wrong, Guiche; what I think I do
not always say, but in that case I say nothing; but when I speak I
LISTENERS CAN HEAR WHAT IS SAID. 550
know not either how to feign or to deceive; and whoever listens to me
may believe me."
During this conversation, Madame, her head stretched forward with
eager ear and dilated glance, endeavouring to penetrate the obscurity,
thirstily drank in the faintest sound of their voices.
"Oh, I know her better than you do, then!" exclaimed Guiche.
" She is not giddy, but frivolous; she is not attracted by novelty, she is
utterly oblivious, and is without faith; she is not simply susceptible to
flattery, she is a practised and cruel coquette. A thorough coquette!
yes, yes, I am sure of it. Believe me, Bragelonne, I am suffering all
the torments of hell; brave, passionately fond of danger, I meet a danger
greater than my strength and my courage. But, believe me, Raoul, I
reserve for myself a victory which shall cost her floods of tears."
" A victory," he asked, " of what kind ?"
" Of what kind, you ask ?" " Yes."
" One day I will accost her, and will address her thus: c I was young
—madly in love; I possessed, however, sufficient respect to throw my-
self at your feet, and to prostrate myself with my forehead buried in the
dust, if your looks had not raised me to your hand. I fancied I under-
stood, your looks, I arose, and then, without having done anything
towards you than love you yet more devotedly, if that were possible—
you, a woman without heart, faith, or love, in very wantonness of dis-
position, dashed me down again from mere caprice. You are unworthy,
princess of royal blood though you may be, of the loVe of a man of
honour; I offer my life as a sacrifice for having loved you too tenderly,
and I die hating you.'"
" Oh!" cried Raoul, terrified at the accents of profound truth which
Guiche's words betrayed, " I was right in saying you were mad,
Guiche."
" Yes, yes," exclaimed de Guiche, following out his own idea; "since
there are no wars here now, I will flee yonder, to the north, seek service
in the Empire, where some Hungarian, or Croat, or Turk, will perhaps
kindly put me out of my misery at once." De Guiche did not finish,
or rather as he finished, a sound made him start, and at the same
moment made Raoul leap to his feet. As for de Guiche, buried in his
own thoughts, he remained seated, with his head tightly pressed between
his hands. The branches of the trees were pushed aside, and a woman,
pale and much agitated, appeared before the two young men. "With
one hand she held back the branches, which would have struck her
face, and, with the other, she raised the hood of the mantle which
covered her shoulders. By her clear and lustrous glance, by her lofty
carriage, by her haughty attitude, and, move than all, by the throbbing
of his own heart, de Guiche recognized Madame, and, uttering a loud
cry, he removed his hands from his temples, and covered his eyes with
them. Raoul, trembling and out of countenance, merely muttered a
few formal words of respect.
" Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the princess, " have the goodness, I
beg, to see if my attendants are not somewhere yonder, either in the
walks or in the groves; and you, M. de Guiche, remain here; I am
tired, and you will perhaps give me your arm."
Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of the unhappy young man, he
would have been less terrified than by her cold and severe toue. How-
ever, as he himself had just said, he was brave; and as in the depths
of his own heart he had just decisively made up his mind, de Guiche
arose, and, observing Bragelonne's hesitation, he turned towards him a
glance full of resignation and of grateful acknowledgment. Instead of
560 THE VICOMTE EE BEAGELONNE.
immediately answering Madame, lie even advanced a step towards the
vicomte, and holding out towards him the hand which the princess had
just desired him to give her, he pressed his friend's hand in his own
with a sigh, in which he seemed to give to friendship all life that was
left in the depths of his heart. Madame, who in her pride had never
known what it was to wait, now waited until this mute colloquy was
ended. Her royal hand remained suspended in the air, and, when
Eaoul had left, it sank without anger, but not without emotion, in that
of de Guiche. They were alone in the depths of the dark and silent
forest, and nothing could be heard but Raoul's hastily retreating foot-
steps along the obscure paths. Over their heads was extended the
thick and fragrant vault of branches, through the occasional openings
of which the stars could be seen glittering in their beauty. Madame
softly drew de Guiche about a hundred paces away from that indiscreet
tree which had heard, and had allowed so many things to be heard
during that evening, and, leading him to a neighbouring glade, so that
they could see a certain distance around them, she said in a trembling
voice, "I have brought you here, because yonder where you were,
everything can be overheard."
" Everything can be overheard, did you say, madame ? " replied the
young man mechanically. " Yes."
" Which means " murmured de Guiche.
" Which means that I have heard every syllable you have said."
" Oh, Heaven ! this only was wanting to destroy me," stammered de
Guiche; and he bent down his head, like an exhausted swimmer beneath
the wave which engulfs him.
" And so," she said, "you judge me as you have said." Guiche grew
pale, turned his head aside, and was silent; he felt almost on the point
of fainting.
" I do not complain," continued the princess in a tone of voice full of
gentleness; " I prefer a frankness which wounds me to flattery which
would deceive me. And so, according to your opinion, M. de Guiche,
I am a coquette and a worthless creature."
" Worthless," cried the young man; " you worthless! No, no; most
certainly I did not say, I could not have said that that which was the
most precious object in life for me could be worthless. No, no; I did
not say that."
" A woman who sees a man perish, consumed by the fire she has
kindled, and who does not allay that fire, is, in my opinion, a worthless
woman."
"What can it matter to you what I said?" returned the comte.
" What am I compared to you, and why should you even trouble your-
self to knpw whether I exist or not ? "
" Monsieur de Guiche, both you and I are human beings, and, know-
ing you as I do, I do not wish you to risk your life; with you I will
change my conduct and character. I will be, not frank, for I am always
so, but truthful. I implore you, therefore, to love me no more, and to
forget utterly that I have ever addressed a word or a glance towards
you."
De Guiche turned round, bending a look full of passionate devotion
upon her. " You," he said; " you excuse yourself; you implore me!"
" Certainly; since I have done the evil, I ought to repair the evil I
have done. And so, comte, this is what we have agreed to. You will
forgive my frivolity and my coquetry. Nay, do not interrupt me. I
will forgive you for having said I was frivolous and a coquette, or
something worse perhaps; and you will renounce your idea of dying,
LISTENERS CAN HEAR ,WHAT IS SAID. 561
and will preserve for your family, for the king, and for our sex, a cava-
lier whom every one esteems, and whom many hold dear." Madame
pronounced this last word in such an accent of frankness, and even of
tenderness, that poor de Guiche's heart felt almost bursting.
" Oh! madame, madame!" he stammered out.
"Nay, listen further," she continued. "When you shall have re-
nounced all thought of me for ever, from necessity in the first place,
and, afterwards, because you will yield to my entreaty, then you will
judge me more favourably, and I am convinced you will replace this
love—forgive the folly of the expression—by a sincere friendship, which
you will be ready to offer me, and which, I promise you, shall be
cordially accepted."
De Guiche, his forehead bedewed with perspiration, a feeling of
death in his heart, and a trembling agitation through his whole frame,
bit his lip, stamped his foot on the ground, and, in a word, devoured
the bitterness of his grief. " Madame," he said, " what you offer is
impossible, and I cannot accept such conditions."
What!" said Madame, " do you refuse my friendship, then ?"
"No, no! I need not your friendship, madame; I prefer to die
from love, than to live for friendship.5'
" Comte!"
" Oh! madame," cried de Guiche, " the present is a moment for me,
in which no other consideration and no other respect exist, than the con-
sideration and respect of a man of honour towards the woman he
worships. Drive me away, curse me, denounce me, you will be per-
fectly right; I have uttered complaints against you, but their bitter-
ness has been owing to my passion for you ; I have said that I would
die, and die I shall. If I lived, you would forget me; but dead, you
would never forget me, I am sure."
And yet she, who was standing buried in thought, and as agitated as
de Guiche himself, turned aside her head as he but a minute before
had turned aside his. Then, after a moment's pause, she said, " And
you love me, then, very much ?"
" Madly ; madly enough to die from it, whether you drive me from
you, or whether you listen to me still."
" It is, therefore, a hopeless case," she said, in a playful manner; " a
case which must be treated with soothing applications. Give me your
hand. It is as cold as ice." De Guiche knelt down, and pressed to his
lip^, not one, but both of Madame's hands.
" Love me, then," said the princess, " since it cannot be otherwise."
And almost imperceptibly she pressed his fingers, raising him thus,
partly in the manner of a queen, and partly as a fond and affectionate
woman would have done. De Guiche trembled throughout, from
head to foot, and Madame, who felt how passion coursed through every
fibre of his being, knew that he indeed loved truly. " Give me your
arm, comte," she said, "and let us return."
" Ah! madame," said the comte, trembling and bewildered; " you
have discovered a third way of killing me."
" But, happily, it is the longest, is it not ?" she replied, as she led him
towards the grove of trees she had left.
20
562
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
CHAPTER CXXI.
Aramis's Correspondence.
Whilst de Guiclie's affairs, which had been suddenly set to rights
without his having been able to guess the cause of their improvement,
assumed that unexpected change which we have seen, Raoul, in obe-
dience to the request of H. R. H., had withdrawn in order not to
interrupt an explanation, the results of which he was far from guessing,
and he had joined the ladies of honour who were walking about in the
flower-gardens. During this time, the Chevalier de Lorraine, who had
returned to his own room, read de Wardes' letter with surprise, for it
informed him, by the hand of his valet, of the sword-thrust received at
Calais, and of all the details of the adventure, and invited him to com-
municate to de Guiche and to Monsieur, whatever there might be in
the affair likely to he most disagreeable to both of. them. De Wardes
particularly endeavoured to prove to the chevalier the violence
of Madame's affection for Buckingham, and he finished his letter by
declaring that he thought this feeling was returned. The chevalier
shrugged his shoulders at the latter paragraph, and, in fact, de Wardes
was very much behindhand, as may have been seen. De Wardes was
still only at Buckingham's affair. The chevalier threw the letter over
his shoulder upon an adjoining table, and said in a disdainful tone:
"It is really incredible; and yet poor de Wardes is not deficient in
ability; but the truth is, it is not very apparent, so easy is it to grow
rusty in the country. The deuce take the simpleton, who ought to
have written to me about matters of importance, and who writes such
silly stuff as that. If it had not been for that miserable letter, which
has no meaning at all in it, I should have detected in the grove yonder
a charming little intrigue, which would have compromised a woman,
would have perhaps been as good as a sword-thrust for a man, and have
diverted Monsieur for some days to come."
He looked at his watch. " It is now too late," he said. " One o'clock
in the morning; every one must have returned to the king's apart-
ments, where the night is to be finished; well, the scent is lost, and,
unless some extraordinary chance " And, thus saying, as if to
appeal to his good star, the chevalier, much out of temper, approached
the window, which looked out upon a somewhat solitary part of the
garden. Immediately, and as if some evil genius had been at his
orders, he perceived returning towards the chateau, accompanied by a
man, a silk mantle of a dark colour, and recognized the figure which
had struck his attention half an hour previously.
" Admirable !" he thought, striking his hands together, " this is my
mysterious affair." And he started out precipitately, along the stair-
case, hoping to reach the courtyard in time to recognize the woman in
the mantle, and her companion. But, as he arrived at the door in the
little court, he nearly knocked against Madame, whose radiant face
seemed full of charming revelations beneath the mantle which pro-
tectea without concealing her. Unfortunately, Madame was alone.
The chevalier knew that since he had seen her, not five minutes before,
with a gentleman, the gentleman in question could not be far off.
Consequently, he hardly took time to salute the princess as he drew up,
to allow her to pass; then when she had advanced a few steps, with the
rapidity of a woman who fears recognition; and when the chevalier per-
AEAMIS'S COEBESPONDENCE. 563
ceived that she was too much occupied with her own thoughts to trouble
herself about him, he darted into the garden, looked hastily round on
every side, and embraced within his glance as much of the horizon as .
he possibly could. He was just in time; the gentleman who had
accompanied Madame was still in sight; only he was rapidly hurrying
towards one of the wings of the chateau, behind which he was just on
the point of disappearing. There was not a minute to lose; the chevalier
darted in pursuit of him, prepared to slacken his pace as he approached
the unknown; but, ins pite of the diligence he used, the unknown had
disappeared behind the flight of steps before he approached.
It was evident, however, that as he whom the chevalier pursued was
walking quietly, in a very pensive manner-, with his head bent down,
either beneath the weight of grief or of happiness; when once the angle ,
was passed, unless, indeed, he were to enter by some door or another, the1
chevalier could not fail to overtake him. And this, certainly, woU$l
have happened, if, at the very moment he turned the angle, the chevalier
had not run against two persons, who were themselves turning it in the
opposite direction. The chevalier was quite ready to seek a quarrel
with these two troublesome intruders, when looking up he recognized
the surintendant. Fouquet was accompanied by a person whom the
chevalier now saw for the first time. _ This stranger was his grace the
bishop of Valines. Checked by the important character of the indi-
vidual, and obliged from politeness to make his own excuses when he
expected to receive them, the chevalier stepped back a few paces; and
as Monsieur Fouquet possessed, if not the friendship, at least the respect
of every one; as the king himself, although he was rather his enemy
than his friend, treated M. Fouquet as a man of great consideration,
the chevalier did, what the king would have done, namely, he bowed to
M. Fouquet, who returned his salutation with kindly politeness, per-
ceiving that the gentleman had run against him by mistake and without
any intention of being rude. Then, almost immediately afterwards,
having recognized the Chevalier de Lorraine he made a few civil
remarks, to which the chevalier was obliged to reply. Brief as the
conversation was, the Chevalier de Lorraine, saw, with the most un-
feigned displeasure, the figure of his unknown becoming less and less
in the distance, and fast disappearing in the darkness. The chevalier
resigned himself, and, once resigned, gave his entire attention to
Fouquet:—"You arrive late, monsieur," he said. " Your absence has
occasioned great surprise, and I heard Monsieur express himself as much
astonished, that, having been invited by the king, you had not come."
" It was impossible for me to do so; but I came as soon as I was
free."
" Is Paris quiet ? "
" Perfectly so. Paris has received the last tax very well."
" Ah! I understand, you wished to assure yourself of this good
feeling before you came to participate in our fetes."
" I have arrived, however, somewhat late to enjoy them. I will ask
you, therefore, to inform me if the king is within the chuteau or not,
if I shall be able to see him this evening, or if I am to wait until
to-morrow."
" We have lost sight of his majesty during the last half-hour nearly,"
said the chevalier.
" Perhaps he is in Madame's apartments," inquired Fouquet.
"Not in Madame's apartments, I should think, for I have just met
Madame as she was entering by the small staircase; and unless the
gentleman whom you just now passed was the king himself "
564 THE "VTCOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
and the chevalier paused, hoping that, in this manner, he might learn
who it was he had been hurrying after. But Bouquet, whether he
had or had not recognized de Guiche, simply replied, " No, monsieur,
it was not he."
The chevalier, disappointed in his expectation, saluted them; but as
he did so, casting a parting glance around him, and perceiving M. Col-
bert in the centre of a group, he said to the surintendant: " Stay,
monsieur; there is some one under the trees yonder, who will be able to
inform you better than myself."
"Who ?" asked Bouquet, whose nearsightedness prevented his seeing
through the darkness.
" M. Colbert" returned the chevalier.
" Indeed.! That person, then, who is speaking yonder to those men
with torches in their hands, is M. Colbert ?"
" M. Colbert himself. _ He is giving his orders personally to the
workmen who are arranging the lamps for the illuminations."
" Thank you," said Bouquet, with an inclination of the head, which
indicated that he had obtained all the information he wished. The
chevalier, on his side, having, on the contrary, learnt nothing at all,
withdrew with a profound salutation.
He had scarcely left, when Bouquet, knitting his brows, fell into a
deep reverie. Aramis looked at him for a moment with a mingled
feeling of compassion and sadness. "What!" he said to him, "that
man's name alone seems to affect you. Is it possible, that, full of
triumph and delight as you were just now, the sight merely of that
man is capable of dispiriting you ? Tell me, have you faith in your good
star ?" " No," replied Bouquet, dejectedly.
"Why not?"
" Because I am too full of happiness at this present moment," he
replied, in a trembling voice. "You, my dear d'Herblay, who are so
learned, will remember the history of a certain tyrant of Samos. What
can I throw into the sea to avert approaching evil? Yes! I repeat it
once more, I am too full of happiness ! so happy that I wish for nothing
beyond what I have I have risen so high You know my
motto: ' Quo 11011 ascendam ?' I have risen so high that nothing is left
me but to descend from my elevation. I cannot believe in the progress
of a success which is already more than human."
I Aramis smiled as he fixed his kind and penetrating glance upon him.
" If I were aware of the cause of your happiness," he said, " I should
probably fear for your disgrace; but you regard me in the light of a
true friend ; I mean, you turn to me in misfortune, nothing more.
Even that is an immense and precious boon, I know; but the truth is,
1 have a just right to beg you to confide in me, from time to time, any
fortunate circumstances which may befall you, and in which I should
rejoice, you know, more than if they had befallen myself."
"My dear prelate," said Bouquet, laughing, "my secrets are of too
profane a character to confide them to a bishop, however great a world-
ling he may be."
" Bah ! in confession."
" Oh! I should blush too much if you were my confessor." And
Bouquet began to sigh. Aramis again looked at him without any other
betrayal of his thoughts than a quiet smile.
"Well," he said, " discretion is a great virtue."
" Silence," said Bouquet, " that venomous beast has recognized ns,
and is coming this way."
"Colbert?"
ABAMIS'S COEBEsEONDENCE. 565
" Yes; leave me, d'Herblay; I do not wish that fellow to see you with
me, or he will take an aversion to you."
Aramis pressed his hand, saying, " What need have I of his friend-
ship, while you are here ?"
" Yes, but I may not be always here," replied Bouquet, dejectedly.
" On that day, then, if that day should ever come," said Aramis,
tranquilly, "we will think over a means of dispensing with the friend-
ship, or of braving the dislike, of M. Colbert. But tell me, my dear
Bouquet, instead of conversing with this fellow, as you did. him the
honour to style him, a conversation the utility of which I do not
perceive, why do you not pay a visit, if not to the king, at least to
Madame ? "
"To Madame!" said the surintendant, his mind occupied by his
souvenirs. "Yes, certainly, to Madame."
" You remember," continued Aramis, "that we have been told that
Madame stands high in favour during the last two or three days. It
enters into your policy, and forms part of our plans, that you should
assiduously devote yourself to his majesty's friends. It is a means of
counteracting the growing influence of M. Colbert. Present yourself,
therefore, as soon as possible to Madame, and, for our sakes, treat this
ally with consideration."
" But," said Bouquet, " are you quite sure that it is upon her the
king has his eyes fixed at the present moment?"
" If the needle has turned, it must be since the morning. You know
I have my police."
" Yery well! I go there at once, and, at all events, I shall have a
means of introduction, in the shape of a magnificent pair of antique
cameos set round with diamonds."
" I have seen them, and nothing could be more costly and regal."
At this moment they were interrupted by a servant followed by a
courier. " Bor you, monseigneur," said the courier aloud, presenting a
letter to Bouquet.
" Bor your grace," said the lacquey in a low tone, handing Aramis a
letter. And as the lacquey carried a torch in his hand, he placed him-
self between the surintendant and the bishop of Yannes, so that both
of them could read at the same time. As Bouquet looked at the
fine and delicate writing on the envelope, he started with delight; they
who love, or who are beloved, will understand his anxiety in the first
place, and his happiness in the next. He hastily tore open the letter,
which, however, contained only these words: " It is but an hour since
I quitted you, it is an age since I told you that I love you." And that
was all. Madame de Belliere had, in fact, left Bouquet about an hour
previously, after having passed two days with him; and, apprehensive
lest his remembrance of her might not be effaced for too long a period
from the heart she regretted, she despatched a courier to him as the
bearer of this important communication. Bouquet kissed the letter,
and rewarded the bearer with a handful of gold. As for Aramis, he, on
his side, was engaged in reading, but with more coolness and reflection,
the following letter:—
" The king has this evening been struck with a strange fancy; a
woman loves him. He learnt it accidentally, as he was listening to
the conversation of this young girl with her companions; and his
majesty has entirely abandoned himself to this new caprice. The girl's
name is Mademoiselle de la Yalliere, and she is sufficiently pretty to
warrant this caprice becoming a strong attachment. Beware of Ma-
demoiselle de la Valliere."
566 THE YICOMTE EE BEAGELONNE.
There was not a word about Madame. Aramis slowly folded the
letter and put it in his pocket. Fouquet was still engaged in inhaling
the perfume of his epistle.
" Monseigneur," said Aramis, touching Fouquet's arm.
" Yes; what is it ?" he asked.
" An idea has just occurred to me. Are you acquainted with a young
girl of the name of La Valliere ?"
" Not at all."
" Reflect a little."
" Ah ! yes, I believe so, one of Madame's maids of honour."
" That must be the one."
" Well, what then ?"
" Well, monseigneur, it is to that young girl that you must pay your
visit this evening."
"Bah! why so?"
"Nay, more than that, it is to her you must present your cameos."
" Nonsense."
"You know, monseigneur, that my advice is not to be regarded
lightly."
" Yet this unforeseen "
" That is my affair. Pay your court in due form, and without loss of
time, to Mademoiselle de la Valliere. I will be your guarantee with
Madame de Belliere that your devotion is altogether politic."
" What do you mean, my dear d'Herblay, and whose name have you
just pronounced ?"
" A name which ought to convince you that, as I am so well informed
about yourself, I may possibly be as well informed about others. Pay
your court, therefore, to La Valliere."
" I will pay my court to whomsoever you like," replied Fouquet, his
heart filled with happiness.
" Come, come, descend again to the earth, traveller of the seventh
heaven," said Aramis, " M. de Colbert is approaching. He has been
recruiting while we were reading; see, how he is surrounded, praised,
congratulated; he is decidedly becoming powerful." In fact, Colbert
was advancing, escorted by all the courtiers who remained in the
gardens, every one of whom complimented him upon the arrangements
of the fete, and which so puffed him up that he could hardly contain
himself.
"If La Fontaine were here," said Fouquet, smiling, "what an
admirable opportunity for him to recite his fable of ' The Frog that
wished to make itself as big as the Ox.3"
Colbert arrived, in the centre of a circle blazing with light; Fouquet
awaited his approach, unmoved, and with a slightly mocking smile.
Colbert smiled too; he had been observing his enemy during the last
quarter of an hour, and had been approaching him gradually. Colbert's
smile was a presage of hostility.
" Oh! oh!" said Aramis, in a low tone to the surintendant; " the
scoundrel is going to ask you again for a few more millions to pay for
his fireworks and his coloured lamps." Colbert was the first to salute
them, and with an air which he endeavoured to render respectful.
Fouquet hardly moved his head.
" AV ell, monseigneur, what do your eyes say ? Have we shown our
good taste?"
" Perfect taste," replied Fouquet, without permitting the slightest
tone of raillery to be remarked in his words.
"Oh!" said Colbert, maliciously, "you are treating us with indul-
THE ORDERLY CLERK. 567
gence. "We are poor, we other servants of the king, and Eontainebleau
is no way to be compared as a residence with Vaux."
" Quite true," replied Fouquet, coolly.
" But what can we do, monseigneur ?" continued Colbert; " we have
done our best with our slender resources." Bouquet made a gesture of
assent.
" But," pursued Colbert, " it would be only a proper display of your
magnificence, monseigneur, if you were to offer to his majesty a fete in
your wonderful gardens—in those gardens which have cost you sixty
millions of francs."
" Seventy-two," said Bouquet.
" An additional reason," returned Colbert; " it would, indeed, be
truly magnificent."
" But do you suppose, monsieur, that his majesty would deign to
accept my invitation ?"
" I have no doubt whatever of it," cried Colbert, hastily; " I will
guarantee that he does."
"You are exceedingly kind," said Bouquet. "I may depend on it
then?"
" Yes, monseigneur; yes, certainly."
" Then I will consider of it," said Bouquet.
" Accept, accept," whispered Aramis, eagerly.
" You will consider of it ? " repeated Colbert.
" Yes," replied Bouquet; " in order to know what day I shall submit
my invitation to the king."
" This very evening, monseigneur, this very evening."
" Agreed," said the surintendant. " Gentlemen, I should wish to
issue my invitations; but you knpw, that, wherever the king goes, the
king is in his own palace; it is by his majesty, therefore, that you must
be invited." A murmur of delight immediately arose. Bouquet bowed
and left.
" Proud and haughty man," said Colbert, " you accept and you know
it will cost you ten millions."
" You have ruined me," said Bouquet, in a low tone to Aramis.
" I have saved you," replied the latter, whilst Bouquet ascended the
flight of steps and inquired whether the king was still visible.
CHAPTER CXXII.
The Orderly Clerk.
The king, anxious to be again quite alone, in order to reflect well
upon what was passing in his heart, had withdrawn to his own apart-
ments, where M. de Saint-Aignan had, after his conversation with
Madame, gone to meet him. This conversation has already been
related. The favourite, vain <5f his twofold importance, and feeling
that he had become, during the last two hours, the confidant of the
king, began to treat the affairs of the court in a somewhat indifferent
manner; and, from the position in which he had placed himself, or
rather, where chance had placed him, he saw nothing but love and gar-
lands of flowers around him. The king's love for Madame, that of
Madame for the king, that of Guiche for Madame, that of La Valliere
for the king, that of Malicorne for Montalais, that of Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente for himself, was not all this, truly, more than enough
to turn the head of any courtier ? Besides, Saint-Aignan was the model
568 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
of all courtiers, past, present, and future; and, moreover, Saint-Aignan
showed himself such an excellent narrator, and so discerningly appre-
ciative, that the king listened to him with an appearance of great
interest, particularly when he described the excited manner with which
Madame had sought for him to converse about the affair of Made-
moiselle de la Vailiere. When the king no longer experienced for
Madame any remains of the passion he had once felt for her, there
was, in this same eagerness of Madame to procure information about
him, such a gratification for his vanity, from which he could not free
himself. He experienced this gratification, then, but nothing more;
and his heart was not, for a single moment, alarmed at what Madame
might, or might not, think of this adventure. When, however, Saint-
Aignan had finished, the king, while preparing to retire to rest, asked,
"Now, Saint-Aignan, you know what Mademoiselle de la "Vailiere is,
do you not ? "
"Not only what she is, hut what she will be."
" What do you mean ?"
" I mean, that she is everything that a woman can wish to be, that is
to say, beloved by your majesty ; I mean, that she will be everything
your majesty may wish her to be."
" That is not what I am asking. I do not wish to know what she is
to-day, or what she will be to-morrow; as you have remarked, that is
my affair. But tell me what others say of her."
" They say she is well-conducted."
" Oh!" said the king, smiling, " that is but report."
" But rare enough, at court, sire, to believe it when it is spread."
" Perhaps you are right. Is she well-born ?"
"Excellently so; the daughter of the Marquis de la Vailiere, and
step-daughter of that good M. de Saint-Remy."
"Ah ! yes, my aunt's major-domo; I remember it; and I remember
now, that I saw her as I passed through Blois. She was presented to
the queens. I have even to reproach myself, that I did not, on that
occasion, pay her all the attention she deserved."
" Oh! sire, I trust that your majesty will repair the time you have
lost."
"And the report—you tell me—is, that Mademoiselle de la Vailiere
never had a lover."
" In any case, I do not think your majesty would be much alarmed at
the rivalry."
"Yet, stay," said the king, in a very serious tone of voice.
"Your majesty ?"
"I remember." "Ah!"
" If she has no lover, she has, at least, a betrothed."
"A betrothed!"
I'What! count, do not you know that?" "No."
^ You, the man who knows all the news?"
, maJesty will excuse me. Your majesty knows this betrothed,
then?"
" Assuredly! his father came to ask me to sign the marriage contract;
«1S—7~ -I*1 e king was about to pronounce the vicomte de Brage-
lonne s name, when he stopped, and knitted his brows.
" It is , repeated Saint-Aignan, inquiringly.
"I don't remember now," replied Louis XIV., endeavouring to con-
ceal an annoyance which he had some trouble to disguise.
"Can I put your majesty in the way ?" inquired the comte de Saint-
Aignan.,
THE ORDERLY CLERK. 569
" No; for I no longer remember to whom I intended to refer; indeed,
I only remember very indistinctly, that one of the maids of honour,
was to marry , the name, however, has escaped me."
"Was it Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente he was going to marry ?"
inquired Saint-Aignan.
Very likely," said the king.
" In that case, the intended was M. de Montespan: but Mademoiselle
de Tonnay-Charente did not speak of it, it seemed to me, in such a
manner as would frighten suitors away."
"At all events," said the king, " I know nothing, or almost nothing,
about Mademoiselle de la Valliere. Saint-Aignan, I rely upon you to
procure me some information about her."
" Yes, sire, and when shall I have the honour of seeing your majesty
again, to give you the information?"
" Whenever you shall have procured it."
" I shall obtain it speedily, then, if the information can be as quickly
obtained as my wish to see your majesty again."
"Well said, count! By the bye, has Madame displayed any ill-feel-
ing against this poor girl?" "None, sire."
Madame did not get angry, then ?"
" I do not know; I only know that she laughed continually."
" That's well; but I think I hear voices in the anterooms—no doubt a
courier has just arrived. Inquire, Saint-Aignan." The count ran to
the door and exchanged a few words with the usher; he returned to the
king, saying, " Sire, it is M. Bouquet who has this moment arrived, by
your majesty's orders, he says. He presented himself, but, because
of the advanced hour, he does not press for an audience this evening,
and is satisfied to have his presence here formally announced."
" M. Bouquet; I wrote to him at three o'clock, inviting him to be at
Bontainebleau the following morning, and he arrives at Bontainebleau
at two o'clock. This is, indeed, zeal!" exclaimed the king, delighted to
see himself so promptly obeyed. " On the contrary, M. Bouquet shall
have his audience. I summoned him, and will receive him. Let him be
introduced. As for you, count, pursue your inquiries, and be here to-
morrow."
The king placed his finger on his lips; and Saint-Aignan, his heart
brimful of happiness, hastily withdrew, telling the usher to introduce
M. Bouquet, who, thereupon, entered the king's apartment. Louis rose
to receive him.
" Good evening, M. Bouquet," he said, smiling graciously; " I con-
gratulate you on your punctuality; and yet my message must have
reached you late?"
" At nine in the evening, sire."
"You have been working very hard, lately, M. Bouquet, for I have
been informed that you have not left your rooms at Saint-Mande
during the last three or four days."
" It is perfectly true, your majesty, that I have kept myself shut up
for the past three days," replied Bouquet.
"Do you know, M. Bouquet, that I had a great many things to say to
you ?" continued the king, with a most gracious air.
"Your majesty overwhelms me, and since you are so graciously dis-
posed towards me, will your majesty permit me to remind you of the
promise your majesty made to grant me an audience ?"
" Ah ! yes; some church dignitary, who thinks he has to thank me for
something, is it not ?"
" Precisely so, sire. The hour is, perhaps, badly chosen; but the time
670 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
of the companion "whom I have brought with me is valuable, and as
Fontainebleau is on the way to his diocese."
"Who is it, then?"
" The last bishop of Vannes, whose appointment your majesty, at my
recommendation, deigned, three months since, to sign."
" That is very possible," said the king, who had signed without read-
ing; "and is he here?"
"Yes, sire; Vannes is an important diocese; the flock belonging to
this pastor need his religious consolation; they are savages, whom it is
necessary to polish, at the same time that he instructs them, and M.
d'Herblay is unequalled in such kind of missions."
" M. d'Herblay !" said the king musingly, as if his name, heard long
since, was not, however, unknown to him.
" Oh !" said Fouquet promptly," your majesty is not acquainted with
the obscure name of one of your most faithful and most valuable ser-
vants ? "
" No, I confess I am not. And so he wishes to set off again ?"
" He has this very day received letters which will, perhaps, compel
him to leave; so that, before setting off for that unknown region called
Bretagne, he is desirous of paying his respects to your majesty."
"Is he waiting?" "He is here, sire."
" Let him enter."
Fouquet made a sign to the usher in attendance, who was waiting
behind the tapestry. The door opened, and Aramis entered. The king
allowed him to finish the compliments which he addressed to him, and
fixed a long look upon a countenance which no one could forget, after
having once beheld it.
• "Vannes !" he said: "you are bishop of Vannes, I believe?"
"Yes, sire."
" Vannes is in Bretagne, I think ?" Aramis bowed.
"Near the coast?" Aramis again bowed.
" A few leagues from Belle-Isle, is it not ? "
"Yes, sire," replied Aramis; "six leagues, I believe."
" Six leagues; a mere step, then," said Louis XIV.
"Not for us poor Bretons, sire," replied Aramis; "six leagues, on the
contrary, is a great distance, if it be six leagues on land; and an im-
mense distance, if it be leagues on the sea. Besides, I have the honour
to mention to your majesty that there are six leagues of sea from the
river to Belle-Isle."
"It is said that M. Fouquet has a very beautiful house there?" in-
quired the king.
" Yes, it is said so," replied Aramis, looking quietly at Fouquet.
" What do you mean by ' it is said so ?'" exclaimed the king.
" He has, sire."
" Beally, M. Fouquet, I must confess that one circumstance surprises
me."
" What may that be, sire ?"
" That you should have at the head of your parishes a man like
M. d'Herblay, and yet should not have shown him Belle-Isle?"
"Oh, sire," replied the bishop, without giving Fouquet time to
answer, " we poor Breton prelates seldom leave our residences."
"M. de Vannes," said the king, "I will punish M. Fouquet for his
indifference."
"In what way, sire ?" " I will change your bishopric."
Fouquet bit his lips, but Aramis only smiled.
" What income does Vannes bring'you in ?" continued the king.
THE OBDEBLY CLEBK. 571
" Sixty thousand livres, sire," said Aramis.
"So trifling an amount as that; but you possess other property,
Monsieur de Yannes ?"
" I have nothing else, sire; only M. Pouquet pays me one thousand
two hundred livres a year for his pew in the church."
" Well, M. d'Herblay, I promise you something better than that."
" Sire " " I will not forget you."
Aramis bowed, and the king also bowed to him in a respectful man-
ner, as he was always accustomed to do towards women and members of
the Church. Aramis gathered that his audience was at an end; he took
his leave of the king in the simple unpretending language of a country
pastor, and disappeared.
" His is, indeed, a remarkable face," said the king, following him with
his eyes as long as he could see him, and even to a certain degree when
he was no longer to be seen.
" Sire," replied Pouquet, "if that bishop had been educated early in
life, no prelate in the kingdom would deserve the highest distinctions
better than he."
" His learning is not extensive, then ?"
" He changed the sword for the priest's garments, and that rather
late in life. But it matters little, if your majesty will permit me to
speak of M. de Yannes again on another occasion "
" I beg you to do so. But, before speaking of him, let us speak of
yourself, M. Pouquet."
"Of me, sire?"
" Yes, I have to pay you a thousand compliments."
" I cannot express to your majesty the delight with which you over-
whelm me."
" I understand you, M. Pouquet. I confess, however, to have had
certain prejudices against you."
" In that case, I was indeed unhappy, sire."
" But they exist no longer. Bid you not perceive "
" I did, indeed, sire; but I awaited with resignation the day when
truth would prevail; and it seems that that day has now arrived."
"Ah! you knew, then, you were in disgrace with me?"
" Alas ! sire, I perceived it."
" And do you know the reason ? "
"Perfectly well; your majesty thought that I had been wastefully
lavish in expenditure."
" Not so • far from that."
" Or, ratner, an indifferent administrator. In a word, your majesty
thought that, as the people had no money, there would be none for
your majesty either."
" Yes, I thought so; but I was deceived." Pouquet bowed.
" And no disturbances, no complaints?"
" And money enough," said Pouquet.
" The fact is, that you have been profuse with it during the last
month."
" I have more still, not only for all your majesty's requirements, but
for all your caprices."
"I thank you, Monsieur Pouquet," replied the king seriously. "I
will not put you to the proof. Por the next two months I do not
intend to ask you for anything."
" I will avail myself of the interval to amass five or-six millions which
will be serviceable as money in hand in case of war."
" Pive or six millions!"
572 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" For the expenses of your majesty's household only, be it understood."
" You think war is probable, M. Fouquet ?"
" I think that if Heaven has bestowed on the eagle a beak and claws,
it is to enable him to show his royal character." The king blushed
with pleasure.
"we have spent a great deal of money these few days past, Monsieur
Fouquet; will you not scold me for it ? "
" Sire, your majesty has still twenty years of youth to enjoy, and a
thousand millions of francs to spend in those twenty years."
" That is a great deal of money, M. Fouquet," said the king.
" I will economise, sire. Besides, your majesty has two valuable men
in M. Colbert and myself. The one will encourage you to be prodigal
with your treasures—and this shall be myself, if my services should con-
tinue to be agreeable to your majesty; and the other, will economize
money for you, and this will be M. Colbert's province."
" M. Colbert ?" returned the king, astonished.
" Certainly, sire; M. Colbert is an excellent accountant."
At this commendation, bestowed by the enemy on the enemy himself,
the king felt himself penetrated with confidence and admiration. There
was not, moreover, either in Fouquet's voice or look, anything which
injuriously affected a single syllable of the remark he had made; he
did not pass one eulogium, as it were, in order to acquire the right of
making two reproaches. The king comprehended him, and yielding
to so much generosity and address, he said, " You praise M. Colbert,
then?"
"Yes, sire, I praise him; for, besides being a man of merit, I believe
him to be very devoted to your majesty's interests."
" Is that because he has often interfered with your own views ? " said
the king smiling. " Exactly, sire."
" Explain yourself."
" It is simple enough. I am the man who is needed to make the
money come in; he the man who is needed to prevent it leaving."
"Nay, nay, monsieur le surintendant, you will presently say some-
thing which will correct this good opinion ?"
" Bo you mean as far as administrative abilities are concerned, sire ?"
"Yes."
"Not in the slightest." "Beally."
" Upon my honour, sire, I do not know throughout France a better
clerk than M. Colbert."
This word " clerk " did not possess, in 1661, the somewhat subservient
signification which is attached to it in the present day; but, as spoken
by Fouquet, whom the king had addressed as the surintendant, it
seemed to acquire an insignificant and petty character, which served
admirably to restore Fouquet to his place, and Colbert to his own.
" And yet," said Louis XIV., " it was he, however, who, notwith-
standing his economy, had the arrangement of my fetes here at Fon-
tainebleau ; and I assure you. Monsieur Fouquet, that in no way has
he interfered with the expenditure of money." Fouquet bowed, but
did not reply.
" Is it not your opinion too ?" said the king.
" I think, sire," he replied, " that M. Colbert has done what he had
to do in an exceedingly orderly manner, and that he deserves, in this
respect, all the praise your majesty may bestow upon him."
The word "orderly" was a proper accompaniment for the word
"clerk." The king possessed that extreme sensitiveness of organiza-
tion, that delicacy of perception, which pierced through and detected
EONTAINEBLEATJ AT TWO O'CLOCK. 673
the regular order of feelings and sensations, before the actual sensations
themselves, and he therefore comprehended that the clerk had, in.
Pouquet's opinion, been too full of method and order in his arrangements;
in other words, that the magnificent fetes of Pontainebleau might have
been rendered more magnificent still. The king consequently felt that
there was something in the amusements he had provided with which
some person or another might be able to find fault; he experienced a
little of the annoyance felt by a person coming from the provinces to
Paris, dressed out in the very best clothes which his wardrobe can
furnish, and finds that the fashionably-dressed man there looks at him
either too much or not enough. This part of the conversation, which
Pouquet had carried on with so much moderation, yet with such ex-
treme tact, inspired the king with the highest esteem for the charac-
ter of the man and the capacity of the minister. Pouquet took his
leave at two o'clock in the morning, and the king went to bed a little
uneasy and confused at the indirect lesson he had just received; and
two good quarters of an hour were employed by him in going over
again in his memory the embroideries, the tapestries, the bills of fare
of the various bouquets, the architecture of the triumphal arches, the
arrangements for the illuminations and fireworks, all the offspring of
the "clerk Colbert's" invention. The result was, that the king passed
in review before him everything that had taken place during the last
eight days, and decided that faults could be found in his fetes. But
Pouquet, by his politeness, his thoughtful consideration, and his gene-
rosity, had injured Colbert more deeply than the latter by his artifice,
his ill-will, and his persevering hatred, had ever succeeded in injuring
Pouquet.
CHAPTER CXXIII.
Fontainebleau at Two o'clock in the Morning.
As we have seen, Saint-Aignan had quitted the king's apartment at
the very moment the surintendant entered it. Saint-Aignan was
charged with a mission which required despatch, and he was going to
do his utmost to turn his time to the best possible advantage. He
whom we have introduced as the king's friend was indeed an uncommon
personage; he was one of those valuable courtiers whose vigilance and
acuteness of perception threw all past and future favourites into the
shade, and counterbalanced, by his close attention, the servility of
Dangeau, who was not the favourite, but the toady of the king. M. de
Saint-Aignan began to think what was to be done in the present posi-
tion of affairs. He reflected that his first information ought to come
from de Guiche. He therefore set out in search of him, but de Guiche,
whom we saw disappear behind one of the wings of the chateau, and
who seemed to have returned to his own apartments, had not entered
the chateau. Saint-Aignan therefore went in quest of him, and after
having turned, and twisted, and searched in every direction, he perceived
something like a human form leaning against a tree. This figure was
as motionless as a statue, and seemed deeply engaged in looking at a
window, although its curtains were closely drawn. As this window
happened to be Madame's, Saint-Aignan concluded that the form in
question must be that of de Guiche. He advanced cautiously, and
found that he was not mistaken. De Guiche had, after his conversation
with Madame, carried away such a weight of happiness, that all his
574 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONHE.
strength bf mind was hardly sufficient to enable him to support it.
On his side, Saint-Aignan knew that de Guiche had had something to
do with La Valliere's introduction to Madame's household, for a courtier
knows eyerything and forgets nothing; but he had never learned under
what title or conditions de Guiche had conferred his protection upon
La Valliere. But, as in asking a great many questions it is singular if
a man does not learn something, Saint-Aignan reckoned upon learning
much or little, as it might be, if he were to question de Guiche with
that extreme tact, and, at the same time, with that persistance in
attaining an object of which he was capable. Saint-Aignan's plan was
the followingif the information obtained was satisfactory, he would
inform the king, with effusion, that he had alighted upon a pearl, and
claim the privilege of setting the pearl in question in the royal crown.
If the information were unsatisfactory, which after all might be possible,
he would examine how far the king cared about La Valliere, and make
use of his information in such a manner as to get rid of the girl alto-
gether, and thereby obtain all the merit of her banishment with all those
ladies of the court who might have any pretensions upon the king's
heart, beginning with Madame and finishing with the queen. In case
the king should show himself obstinate in his fancy, then he would not
produce the damaging information he had obtained, but would let La
Valliere know that this damaging information was carefully preserved
in a secret drawer of her confidant's memory; in this manner he would
be able to display his generosity before the poor girl's eyes, and so keep
her in constant suspense between gratitude and apprehension, to such
an extent as to make her a friend at court, interested, as an accomplice,
in making her accomplice's fortune, while she was making her own.
As far as concerned the day when the bomb-shell of the past should
burst, if ever there should be any occasion for its bursting, Saint-
Aignan promised himself that he would by that time have taken all
possible precautions, and would pretend an entire ignorance of the
matter to the king; while, with regard to La Valliere, he would still,
even on that day, have an opportunity of being considered the personi-
fication of generosity. It was with such ideas as these, which the fire
of covetousness had caused to dawn into being in half an hour, that
Saint-Aignan, the best son in the world, as La Fontaine would have
said, determined to get de Guiche into conversation ; in other words,
to trouble him in his happiness—a happiness of which Saint-Aignan was
quite ignorant. It was one o'clock in the morning when Saint-Aignan
perceived de Guiche, standing, motionless, leaning against the trunk of
a tree, with his eyes fastened upon the lighted window. One o'clock in
the morning, that is, the softest hour of night-time, that which painters
crown with myrtles and budding poppies, the hour when eyes are
neavy, hearts are throbbing, and heads feel dull and languid—an hour
which casts upon the day which has passed away a look of regret, which
addresses a loving greeting to the dawning light. For de Guiche it
was the dawn of unutterable happiness; he would have bestowed a
treasure upon a beggar, had he stood before him, to secure him an
uninterrupted indulgence in his dreams. It was precisely at this hour
that Saint-Aignan, badly advised,—selfishness always counsels badly,—
came and struck him on the shoulder, at the very moment he was mur-
muring a word or rather a name.
" Ah!" he cried loudly, "I was looking for you."
" For me ?" said de Guiche, starting.
"Yes; and I find you seemingly moon-struck. Is it likely, my dear
comte, you have been attacked by a poetical malady, and are making
verses?"
FONTAINEBLEAU AT TWO O'CLOCK. 573
The young man forced a smile upon his lips, while a thousand con-
flicting sensations were muttering against Saint-Aignan in the deep
recesses of his heart. "Perhaps," he said. "But by what happy
chance "
" Ah! your remark shows that you did not hear what I said."
"How so?" "Why, I began by telling you I was looking for you."
" You were looking for me ?"
" Yes; and I find you now in the very act."
" Of doing what, I should like to know ?"
" Of singing the praises of Phillis."
" Well, I do not deny it," said de Guiche, laughing. " Tes, my dear
comte, I was celebrating Phillis' praises."
" And you have acquired the right to do so."
" I ?" " You; no doubt of it. You; the intrepid protector of every
beautiful and clever woman."
" In the name of goodness, what story have you got hold of now ?"
" Acknowledged truths, I am well aware. But stay a moment; I am
in love."
" You ?" " Yes."
" So much the better, my dear comte; tell me all about it." And de
Guiche, afraid that Samt-Aignan might perhaps presently observe the
window where the light was still burning, took the comte's arm, and
endeavoured to lead him away.
" Oh!" said the latter, resisting, " do not , take me towards those dark
woods, it is too damp there. Let us stay in the moonlight." And while
he yielded to the pressure of de Guiche's arm, he remained in the
flower-garden adjoining the chateau.
" Well," said de Guiche, resigning himself, " lead me where you like,
and ask me what you please."
"It is impossible to be more agreeable than you are." And then,
after a moment's silence, Saint-Aignan continued, "I wish you to tell
me something about a certain person in whom you have interested
yourself."
^ And with whom you are in love ?"
" I will neither admit nor deny it. You understand that a man does
not very readily place his heart where there is no hope of return, and
that it is most essential he should take measures of security in advance."
" You are right," said de Guiche, with a sigh; "a heart is a precious
gift."
" Mine particularly is very tender, and in that light I present it to
you."
"Oh! you are well known, comte. Well?"
" It is simply a question of Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente."
" Why, my dear Saint-Aignan, you are losing your senses, I should
think."
" Why so ?" " I have never shown or taken any interest in Made-
inoiselle de Tonnay-Charente."
" Bah!" " Never."
" Did you not obtain admission for Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente
into Madame's household ? "
"Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente—and you ought to know it
better than any one else, my dear comte—is of a sufficiently good family
to make her presence here desirable, and a greater reason therefore to
render her admittance very easy."
" You are jesting."
" No; and upon my honour I do not know what you mean."
"And you had nothing, then, to do with her admission ?" "No."
576
THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Tou do not know her."
" I saw her for the first time the day she was presented to Madame.
Therefore, as I have never taken any interest in her, as I do not know
her, I am not able to give you the information you require." And
de Guiche made a movement as though he were about to leave his
questioner.
"Nay, nay, one moment, my dear comte," said Saint-Aignan; "you
shall not escape me in this manner."
" Why, really, it seems to me that it is now time to return to our
apartments."
" And yet you were not going in when I—did not meet, but, found
you."
" Therefore, my dear comte," said de Guiche, " as long as you have
anything to say to me, I place myself entirely at your service."
" And you are quite right in doing so. What matters half an hour
more or less ? Will you swear that you have no injurious communica-
tions to make to me about her, and that any injurious communications
you might possibly have to make are not the cause of your silence ?
" Oh! I believe the poor child to be as pure as crystal."
"Tou overwhelm me with joy. And yet I do not wish to have
towards you the appearance of a man so badly informed as I seem. It
is quite certain that you supplied the princess's household with the
ladies of honour. Nay, a song even has been written about it."
" You know that songs are written about everything."
" Do you know it ?"
" No; sing it to me and I shall make its acquaintance."
" I cannot tell you how its begins; I only remember how it ends."
" Yery well, at all events that is something."
" The idea is weak, and the rhyme poor," said de Guiche.
" What can you expect, my dear fellow, it is not Racine or Moliere,
but La Peuillade's; and a great lord cannot rhyme like a beggarly poet."
" It is very unfortunate, though, that you only remember the ter-
mination."
" Stay, stay; I have just recollected the beginning of the second
" And La Yalliere," exclaimed Guiche, impatiently, and completely
ignorant besides of St. Aignan's object.
" Yes, yes, you have it. You have hit upon the word La Yalliere."
" A grand discovery, indeed."
" Montalais and La Valliere, these then are the two young girls in
whom you interested yourself," said Saint-Aignan, laughing.
" And so, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente's name is not to be met
with in the song." " No, indeed."
" And you are satisfied, then ? "
" Perfectly; but I find Montalais there," said Saint-Aignan, still
laughing.
" Oh! you will find her everywhere. She is a most active young
" Indirectly. She was the protegee of a man named Malicorne, who is a
protege of Mamcamp's; Manicamp asked me to get the situation of ,
" ' Guiche is the furnisher
Of the maids of honour.' "
couplet.
" ' He has stock'd the birdcage;
Montalais and '"
FONTAINEBLEAU AT TWO O'CLOCK. 577
of honour for Montalais in Madame's household, and a situation for
Malicorne, as an officer in Monsieur's household. Well, I asked for
the appointments, and you know very well that I have a weakness for
that droll fellow Manicamp."
" And you obtained what you sought ? "
" For Montalais, yes; for Malicorne, yes and no; for as yet he is only
tolerated there; do you wish to know anything else ? "
" The last word of the couplet still remains, La Valliere," said Saint-
Aignan, resuming the smile which had so tormented Guiche.
" Well," said the latter, " it is true that I obtained admission for
her in Madame's household."
" Ah, ah! " said Saint-Aignan.
" But," continued Guiche, assuming a great coldness of manner,
,£ you will oblige me, comte, not to jest about that name. Mademoiselle
Labaume Leblanc de la "Valliere is a young lady perfectly well-
conducted."
" Perfectly well-conducted, do you say ?" " Yes."
" Then you have not heard the last rumour ?" exclaimed Saint-
Aignan.
'r No, and you will do me a service? my dear comte, in keeping this
report to yourself and to those who circulate it."
" Ah! bah ! you take the matter up very seriously."
" Yes; Mademoiselle de Valliere is beloved by one of my best friends."
Saint-Aignan started.
" Oh, oh !" he said.
" Yes, comte," continued Guiche ; " and consequently, you, the most
distinguished man in Prance for his polished courtesy of manner, will
understand that I cannot allow my friend to be placed in a ridiculous
position."
Saint-Aignan began to bite his nails, partially from vexation, and
partially from disappointed curiosity. Guiche made him a very pro-
found bow.
" You send me away," said Saint-Aignan, who was dying to learn
the name of the friend.
" I do not send you away, my dear fellow.—I am going to finish my
lines to Phillis."
" And those lines "
" Are a quatrain. You understand, I trust, that a quatrain is a
serious affair ?" " Of course."
" And as, of these four lines, of which it is naturally composed, I
have yet three and a half to make, I need my undivided attention."
" I quite understand. Adieu! comte. By the bye "
"What?"
" Are you quick at making verses ? " " Wonderfully so."
" Will you quite have finished the three lines and a half to-morrow
morning ? " " I hope so."
" Adieu, then, until to-morrow." " Adieu, adieu !"
Saint-Aignan was obliged to accept the notice to quit; he accordingly
did so, and disappeared behind the hedge. Their conversation had led
Guiche and Saint-Aignan a good distance from the chateau.
Every mathematician, every poet, and every dreamer has his means
of diverting his attention; Saint-Aignan, then, on leaving Guiche,
found himself at the extremity of the grove,—at the very spot where
the outbuildings for the servants begin, and where, behind thickets of
acacias and chestnut-trees interlacing their branches, which were hidden
by masses of clematis and young vines, the wall which separated the
- 2 p
578 the vicomte de bragelonne.
woods from the courtyard of these outbuildings, was erected. Saint-
Aignan, alone, took the path which led towards these buildings; Guiche
going off in the very opposite direction. The one proceeded towards the
flower-garden, while the other bent his steps towards the walls. Saint-
Aignan walked on between rows of the mountain-ash,lilac,and hawthorn,
which formed an almost impenetrable roof above his head; his feet
were buried in the soft gravel and in the thick moss. He was delibe-
rating over a means of taking his revenge, which it seemed difficult for
him to carry out, and was vexed with himself for not having learnt
more about La Valliere, notwithstanding the ingenious measures he
had resorted to in order to acquire some information about her, when
suddenly the murmur of a human voice attracted his attention. He
heard, whispers, the complaining tones of a woman's voice mingled with
entreaties, smothered laughter, sighs, and half-stifled exclamations of
surprise; but above tbem all, the woman's voice prevailed. Saint-,
Aignan stopped to look about him; he perceived with the greatest
surprise that the voices proceeded, not from the ground but from the
branches of the trees. As he glided along under the covered walk, he
raised his head, and observed at the top of the wall a woman perched
upon a ladder, in eager conversation with a man seated on a branch of
a chestnut-tree, whose head alone could be seen, the rest of his body
being concealed in the thick covert of the chestnut. The woman was
on the near side of the wall, the man on the other side of it.
CHAPTER CXXIY.
The Labyrinth.
Saint-Aignan, who had only been seeking for information, had met
with an adventure. This was indeed a piece of good luck. Curious to
learn why, and particularly about what, this man and woman were
conversing at such an hour and in such a singular position, Saint-
Aignan made himself as small as he possibly could, and approached
almost under the rounds of the ladder. And taking measures to make
himself as comfortable as possible, he leaned his back against a tree
and listened, and heard the following conversation. The woman was
the first to speak.
" Really, Monsieur Manicamp," she said, in a voice which, notwith-
standing the reproaches she addressed to him, preserved a marked tone
of coquetry, " really your indiscreetness is of a very dangerous cha-
racter. We cannot talk long in this manner without being observed."
" That is very probable," said the man, in the calmest and coolest of
tones.
" In that case, then, what would people say ? Oh ! if any one were
to see me, I declare I should die from very shame."
" Oh! that would be very silly, and I do not believe you capable of it."
" It might have been different if there had been anything between
us; but to do an injury to myself gratuitously, is really very foolish of
me; so, adieu, Monsieur Manicamp."
" So far so good.; I know the man, and now let me see who the woman
is," said Saint-Aignan, watching the rounds of the ladder, on which
were standing two pretty little feet covered with blue satin shoes.
" Nay, nay, for pity's sake, my dear Montalais," cried Manicamp,
THE LABYEINTH. 579
"deuce take it, do not go away; I have a great many things to say to
you, of the very greatest importance, still."
" Montalais," said Saint-Aignan to himself, " one of the three. Each
of the three gossips had her adventure, only I had thought that the
hero of this one's adventure was Malicorne and not Manicamp."
At her companion's appeal, Montalais stopped in the middle of her
descent, and Saint-Aignan could observe the unfortunate Manicamp
climb from one branch of the chestnut-tree to another, either to im-
prove his situation or to overcome the fatigue consequent upon his
indifferent position.
" Now, listen to me," said he; " you quite understand, I hope, that
my intentions are perfectly innocent."
" Of course. But why did you write me a letter stimulating my
gratitude towards you ? Why did you ask me for an interview at such
an hour and in such a place as this ? "
" I stimulated your gratitude in reminding you that it was I who
had been the means of your becoming attached to Madame's household;
because most anxiously desirous of obtaining the interview which you
have been kind enough to grant me, I employed the means which
appeared to me the most certain to insure it. And my reason for
soliciting it, at such an hour and in such a locality, was, that the hour
seemed to me to be the most prudent and the locality the least open to
observation. Moreover, I had occasion to speak to you upon certain
subjects which require both prudence and solitude."
" Monsieur Manicamp !"
" But everything in the most perfect honour, I assure you."
" I think, Monsieur Manicamp, that it will be more becoming in me
to talce my leave."
c: Nay, listen to me, or I shall jump from my perch here to yours, and
be careful how you set me at defiance; for a branch of this chestnut-tree
causes me a good deal of annoyance, and may provoke me to extreme
measures. Do not follow the example of this branch, then, but listen
to me."
"Iam listening, and I will agree to do so; but be as brief as possible,
for if you have a branch of the chestnut-tree which annoys you, I wish
you to understand that one of the rounds of the ladder is hurting the
soles of my feet, and my shoes are being cut through."
" Do me the kindness to give me your hand." " Why ?"
" Will you have the goodness to do so ?"
" There is my hand, then; but what are you going to do ? "
" To draw you towards me."
" What for ? Tou surely do not wish me to join you in the tree ? "
" No; but I wish you to sit down upon the wall; there, that will do;
there is quite room enough, and I would give a great deal to be allowed
to sit down beside you."
" No, no; you are very well where you are; we should be seen."
*' Do you really think so ?" said Manicamp, in an insinuating voice ?
" I am sure of it."
"Very well, I remain in my tree, then, although I cannot be worse
placed."
" Monsieur Manicamp, we are wandering away from the subject
" You're right, we are so."
" You wrote me a letter ?" " I did."
" Why did you write ? "
" Fancy, that at two o'clock to-day, de Guiche left."
" What then?"
2 p 2
580 the vicomte he bragelonne.
" Seeing bim set off, I followed him, as I usually do."
" Of course, I see that, since you are here now."
" Don't be in a hurry. You are aware I suppose, tliat de Guiche is
up to his very neck in disgrace?" "Alas! yes."
" It was the very height of imprudence on his part, then, to como
to Pontainebleau to seek those who had at Paris sent him away into
exile, and particularly those from whom he had been separated."
" Monsieur Manicamp, you reason like Pythagoras of old."
" Moreover, de Guiche is as obstinate as a man in love can be, and he
refused to listen to any of my remonstrances. I begged, I implored
him, but he would not listen to anything. Oh! the deuce!"
" What's the matter ?"
" I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Montalais, but this confounded
branch, about which I have already had the honour of speaking to you,
has just torn a certain portion of my dress."
" It is quite dark," replied Montalais, laughing; " so, pray continue,
M. Manicamp."
" De Guiche set off on horseback as hard as he could, I following him,
at a slower pace. You quite understand that to throw oneself into the
water, for instance, with a friend with the same headlong speed as he
himself would do it, would be the act either of a fool or a madman.
I therefore allowed de Guiche to get in advance, and I proceeded on
my way with a commendable slowness of pace, feeling quite sure that my
unfortunate friend would not be received, or, if he had been, that he
would ride off again at the very first cross, disagreeable answer; and that
1 should see him returning much faster than he had gone, without
having, myself, gone farther than Bis or Melun—and that even was a
good distance you will admit, for it is eleven leagues to get there and as
many to return." Montalais shrugged her shoulders.
"Laugh as much as you like; but if, instead of being comfortably
seated on the top of the wall as you are, you were sitting on this branch,
as if you were on horseback, you would, like Augustus, aspire to
descend."
" Be patient, my dear M. Manicamp, a few minutes will soon pass away;
you were saying, I think, that you had gone beyond Eis and Melun."
" Yes; I went through Eis and Melun, and I continued to go on,
more and more surprised that I did not see him returning; and here I am
at Pontainebleau; I look for, and inquire after de Guiche everywhere,
but no one has seen him, no-one in the town has spoken to him; he
arrived riding at full gallop, he entered the chateau} where he has
disappeared. I have been here at Fontainebleau since eight o'clock this
evening, inquiring for de Guiche in every direction, but no deGuichecan
be found. I am dying from uneasiness. You understand that I have
not been running my head into the lion's den, in entering the chateau,
as my imprudent friend has done; I came at once to the servants
offices, and I succeeded in getting a letter conveyed to you; and now,
for Heaven's sake, my dear young lady, relieve me from my anxiety."
" There will be no difficulty in that, my dear M. Manicamp; your
friend de Guiche has been admirably received." "Bah!"
" The king made quite a fuss with him."
" The king who exiled him!"
" Madame smiled upon him, and Monsieur appears to like him better
than ever."
" Ah! ah!" said Manicamp, " that explains to me, then, why and
how he has remained. And did he not say anything about me ?"
" Not a word."
THE LABYRINTH. 581
" That is very unkind. What is he doing now ?"
" In all probability he is asleep, or, if not asleep, he is dreaming."
" And what have they been doing all the evening ?" " Dancing."
" The famous ballet ? How did de Guiche look ?" " Superb."
" Dear fellow ! And now, pray forgive me, Mademoiselle Montalais;
but all that I now have to do is to pass from where I now am to your
apartment."
" What do you mean ?"
" I cannot suppose that the door of the chateau will be opened for me
at this hour; and as for spending the night upon this branch, I possibly
might not object to do so, but I declare it is impossible for any other
animal than a papegai to do it."
" But, M. Manicamp, I cannot introduce a man over the wall in that
manner."
" Two, if you please," said a second voice, but in so timid a tone that
it seemed as if its owner felt the utter impropriety of such a request.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Montalais, who is that speaking to
me?" Malicorne, Mademoiselle Montalais."
And, as Malicorne spoke, he raised himself from the ground to the
lowest branches, and thence to the height of the wall.
" Monsieur Malicorne! why, you are both mad!"
" How do you do, Mademoiselle Montalais ? " inquired Malicorne.
5 " I needed but this !" said Montalais, in despair.
" Oh! Mademoiselle Montalais," murmured Malicorne; " do not be
so severe, I beseech you."
" In fact," said Manicamp, " we are your friends, and you cannot
possibly wish your friends to lose their lives; and to leave us to pass the
night where we are, is, in fact, condemning us both to death."
"Oh!" said Montalais, "Monsieur Malicorne is so robust that a
night passed in the open air with the beautiful stars above him will
not do him any harm, and it will be a just punishment for the trick he
has played me."
" Be it so, then; let Malicorne arrange matters with you in the
best way he can; I pass over," said Manicamp. And bending down the
famous branch against which he had directed such bitter complaints,
he succeeded, by the assistance of his hands and feet, in seating himself
side by side with Montalais, who tried to push him back, while he
endeavoured to maintain his position and in which, moreover, he
succeeded. Having taken possession of the ladder, he stepped on it,
and then gallantly offered his hand to his fair antagonist. While
this was going on, Malicorne had installed himself in the chestnut-tree,
in the very place Manicamp had just left, determining within himself
to succeed him in the one which he now occupied. Manicamp and
Montalais descended a few rounds of the ladder, Manicamp insisting,
and Montalais laughing and objecting.
Suddenly Malicorne's voice was heard in tones of entreaty:—
" I entreat you, Mademoiselle Montalais, not to leave me here.
My position is very insecure, and some accident will be sure to befall
me, if I attempt unaided to reach the other side of the wall; it does
not matter if Manicamp tear his clothes, for he can make use of M. de
Guiche's wardrobe; but I shall not be able to use even those belonging
to M. Manicamp, for they will be torn."
" My opinion," said Manicamp, without taking any notice of Mali-
corne's lamentations, " is that the best thing to be done is to go and
look for de Guiche without delay, for, by and bye, perhaps, I may not
be able to get to his apartments."
582 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" That is my own opinion too," replied Montalais; " so, go at once,
Monsieur Manicamp." .
" A thousand thanks. Adieu, Mademoiselle Montalais," said Manx-
camp, jumping to the ground, " your kindness cannot possibly be ex-
ceeded."
" Farewell, M. Manicamp; I am now going to get rid of M. Mali-
corne."
Malicorne sighed. Manicamp went away a few paces, but returning
to the foot of the ladder, he said, " By the bye, which is the way to M.
de Guiche's apartments P "
" Nothing is easier. You go along by the hedge until you reach a
place where the paths cross." " Yes."
" You will see four paths." " Exactly."
" One of which you will take."
" Which of them ?" " That to the right"
" To the right ?" " No, to the left."
" The deuce !" " No, no, wait a minute "
" You do not seem to be quite sure. Think again, I beg.'*
" You take the middle path-" " But there are four."
" So there are. All that -I know is, that one of the four paths leads
straight to Madame's apartments; and that one I am well acquainted
with."
" But M. de Guiche is not in Madame's apartments, I suppose ?"
" No, indeed."
" Well, then the path which leads to Madame's apartments is of
no use to me, and I would willingly exchange it for the one that leads
to where M. de Guiche is lodging,"
" Of course, and I know that as well; but as for indicating from
where we are, is quite impossible."
" Well, let us suppose that I have succeeded in finding that fortunate
path."
" In that case, you are almost there, for you have nothing else to do
but to cross the labyrinth."
"Nothing more than that? The deuce! so there is a labyrinth as
well?"
" Yes, and complicated enough too; even in daylight, one may some-
times be deceived,—there are turnings and windings without end; in
the first place, you must turn three times to the right, then twice to
the left, then turn once—stay, is it once or twice, though ? at all events,
when you get clear of the labyrinth, you will see an avenue of syca-
mores, and this avenue leads straight to the pavilion in which M. de
Guiche is lodging."
" Nothing could be more clearly indicated," said Manicamp; " and I
have not the slightest doubt in the world that if I were to follow your
directions, I should lose my way immediately. I have, therefore, a
slight service to ask of you."
" What may that be ?"
" That you will offer me your arm and guide me yourself, like another
—like another—I used to know mythology, but other important matters
have made me forget it; pray come with me, then ?"
" And am I to be abandoned, then ?" cried. Malicorne.
"It is quite impossible, monsieur," said Montalais to Manicamp; "if
I were to be seen with you at such an hour, what would be said of
me?"
" Your own conscience would acquit you," said Manicamp, senten-
tiously.
malicorne turned out of the hotel. 583
" Impossible, monsieur, impossible."
" In that case, let me assist Malicorne to get down; he is a very intel-
ligent fellow, and possesses a very keen scent; he will guide me, and if
we lose ourselves, both of us will be lost, and the one will save the
other. If we are together, and should be met by any one, we shall look
as if we had some matter of business in hand; whilst alone I should
have the appearance either of a lover or a robber. Come, Malicorne,
here is the ladder."
Malicorne had already stretched out one of his legs towards the top
of the wall, when Manicamp said, in a whisper, " Hush!"
" What's the matter ?" inquired Montalais.
" I hear footsteps." " Good heavens!"
In fact, the fancied footsteps soon became a reality; the foliage was
pushed aside, and Saint-Aignan appeared, with a smile on his lips, and
his hand stretched out towards them, taking every one by surprise; that
is to say, Malicorne upon the tree with his head stretched out, Montalais
upon the rounds of the ladder and clinging to it tightly, and Manicamp
on the ground with his foot advanced ready to set off. " Good evening,
Manicamp," said the comte, " I am glad to see you, my dear fellow; we
missed you this evening, and a good many inquiries have been made
about you. Mademoiselle de Montalais, your most obedient servant."
Montalais blushed. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, hiding her
face in both her hands.
" Pray reassure yourself; I know how perfectly innocent you are,
and I shall give a good account of you. Manicamp, do you follow me:
the hedge, the cross-paths, and labyrinth, I am well acquainted with
them all; I will be your Ariadne. There now, your my thological name
is found at last." " Perfectly true, comte."
"And take M. Malicorne away with you at the same time," said
Montalais.
"No, indeed," said Malicorne; "M. Manicamp has conversed with
you as long as he liked, and now it is my turn, if you please; I have a
multitude of things to tell you about our future prospects."
" You hear," said the comte, laughing; " stay with him, Mademoiselle
Montalais. This is, indeed, a night for secrets." And, taking Mani-
camp's arm, the comte led him rapidly away in the direction of the
road which Montalais knew so well, ana indicated so badly. Montalais
followed them with her eyes as long as she could perceive them.
CHAPTER CXXY.
How Malicorne had been turned out of the Hotel of the "Beau Paon."
"While Montalais was engaged in looking after the comte and Mani-
camp, Malicorne had taken advantage of the young girl's attention
being drawn away to render his position somewhat more tolerable, and
when she turned round, she immediately noticed the change which had
taken place; for he had seated himself, like a monkey, upon the wall,
with his feet resting upon the top rounds of the ladder. The foliage of
the wild vine and honeysuckle curled round his head like a Paun,
while the twisted ivy branches represented tolerably enough his cloven
feet. Montalais required nothing to make her resemblance to a Dryad
as complete as possible. " Well," she said, ascending another round of
584 THE VICOUTE DE BEAGELONNE.
the ladder, " are you resolved to render me unhappy ? Have you not
persecuted me enough, tyrant that you are ?"
" I a tyrant ?" said Malicorne.
"Yes, you are always compromising me, Monsieur Malicorne; you
are a perfect monster of wickedness." " I ?"
" What have you to do with Fontainebleau ? Is not Orleans your
place of residence ?"
" Ho you ask me what I have to do here ? I wanted to see you."
" Ah, great need of that."
" Not as far as concerns yourself, perhaps, but as far as I am concerned,
Mademoiselle Montalais, you know very well that I have left my home,
and that, for the future, I have no other place of residence than that
which you may happen to have. As you, therefore, are staying at
Fontainebleau at the present moment, I have come to Fontainebleau."
Montalais shrugged her shoulders. " You wished to see me, did you
not?" she said. " Of course."
" Very well, you have seen me,—you are satisfied; so now go away."
" Oh, no," said Malicorne; " I came to talk with you as well as to
see you."
"Very well, we will talk by-and-by, and in another place than this."
" By-and-by! heaven only knows if I shall meet you by-and-by in
another place. We shall never find a more favourable one than this."
" But I cannot this evening, nor at the present moment."
" Why not?"
" Because a thousand things have happened to-night."
" Well, then, my affair will make a thousand and one."
" No, no; Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is waiting for me in our
room to communicate something of the very greatest importance."
" How long has she been waiting ?" " For an hour at least."
"In that case," said Malicorne, tranquilly, "she will wait a few
minutes longer."
" Monsieur Malicorne," said Montalais," you are forgetting yourself."
" Y ou should rather say that it is you who are forgetting me, and
that I am getting impatient at the part you make me play here, indeed!
For the last week I have been prowling about among the company here,
and you have not deigned once to notice my presence here."
" Have you been prowling about here for a week, M. Malicorne ?"
" Like a wolf; sometimes I have been burnt1 by the fireworks, which
have singed two of my wigs; at others, I have been completely drenched
in the osiers by the evening damps, or the spray from the fountains,—
always half-famished, always fatigued to death, with the view of a wall
always before me, and the prospect of having to scale it perhaps. Upon
my word, this is not the sort of life for any one to lead, who is neither
a squirrel, nor a salamander, nor an otter; and, since you drive your
inhumanity so far as to wish to make me renounce my condition as a
man, I declare it openly. A man I am, indeed, and a man I will re-
main, unless by superior orders."
"Well, then, tell me, what do you wish,—what do you require,—
what do you insist upon ?" said Montalais, in a submissive tone.
" Do you mean to tell me that you did not know I was at Fontaine-
bleau?" "1!"
" Nay, be frank." " I suspected so."
" W ell, then, could you not have contrived during the last week to
have seen me once a day, at least ?"
" I have always been prevented, M. Malicorne." " Fiddlestick!"
" Ask my companion, if you do not believe me."
MALICORNE TURNED OUT OF THE HOTEL. 585
" I shall ask no one to explain matters which I know better than
any one."
" Compose yourself, M. Malicorne; things will change."
" They must indeed."
"You know that, whether I see you or not, I am thinking of you,"
said Montalais, in a coaxing tone of voice.
" Oh, you are thinking of me, are you! well, and is there anything
new ?" " What about ?"
" About my post in Monsieur's household."
" Ah, my dear Monsieur Malicorne, no one has ventured lately to
approach his royal highness."
" Well, but now?"
"Now, it is quite a different thing; since yesterday he has left off
being jealous."
" Bah! how has his jealousy subsided ?"
" It has been diverted into another channel."
" Tell me all about it."
"A report was spread that the king had fallen in love with some one
else, and Monsieur was tranquillized immediately."
" And who spread the report ?"
Montalais lowered her voice. "Between ourselves," she said, "I
think that Madame and the king have come to an understanding
about it."
"Ah, ah!" said Malicorne; "that was the only way to manage it.
But what about poor M. de Guiche ?"
" Oh, as for him, he is completely turned off."
" Have they been writing to each other ?"
"No, certainly not; I have not seen a pen in either of their hands
for the last week."
" On what terms are you with Madame ?" " The very best."
" And with the king ?"
" The king always smiles at me whenever I pass him."
" Good. Now tell me whom have the two lovers selected to serve for
their screen ? " " La Yalliere."
" Oh, oh, poor girl! We must prevent that."
"Why?"
" Because, if M. Raoul de Bragelonne were to suspect it, he would
either kill her or kill himself."
" Raoul, poor fellow! do you think so ?"
" Women pretend to have a knowledge of the state of people's affec-
tions," said Malicorne, " and they do not even know how to read the
thoughts of their own minds and hearts. Well, I can tell you, that
M. de Bragelonne loves La Yalliere to such a degree that, if she pre-
tended to deceive him, he would, I repeat, either kill himself or kill her."
" But the king is there to defend her," said Montalais.
"Theking!" exclaimed Malicorne; "Raoul would kill the king as
he would a common thief."
" Good heavens!" said Montalais; " you are mad, M. Malicorne."
"Not in the least. Everything I have told you is, on the contrary,
perfectly serious; and, for my own part, I know one thing."
" What is that ? "
" That I shall quietly tell Raoul of the trick."
" Hush!" said Montalais, ascending another round of the ladder,
so as to approach Malicorne more closely, " do not open your lips to
poor Raoul."
" Why not ? Because, as yet you know nothing at all."
586 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE.
"What is the matter then?" . . n„ ...... „
" Why, this evening—but no one is listening, I hope ? No.
"This evening, then, beneath the royal oak, La Valliere said aloud,
and innocently enough,' I cannot conceive that when one has once seen
the king, one can ever love another man.5"
Malicorne almost jumped off the wall. "Unhappy girl! did she
really say that ? " "Word for word."
" And she thinks so ? "
"La Yalliere always thinks what she says."
" That positively cries aloud for vengeance. Why, women are the
veriest serpents,55 said Malicorne.
" Compose yourself, my dear Malicorne, compose yourself."
"No, no; let us take the evil in time, on the contrary. There is
time enough yet to tell Raoul of it."
" Blunderer, on the contrary, it is too late," replied Montalais.
"How so?55
"La Yalliere's remark, which was intended for the king, reached its
destination."
" The king knows it then ? The king was told of it, I suppose ? "
" The king heard it."
" Ohime! as the cardinal used to say.55
" The king was hidden in the thicket close to the royal oak."
"It follows, then55 said Malicorne, " that, for the future, the plan
which the king and Madame have arranged, will go as easily as if it
were on wheels, and will pass over poor Bragelonne's body."
"Precisely so."
"Well," said Malicorne, after a moment's reflection, "do not let us
interpose our poor selves between a large oak tree and a great king, for
we should certainly be ground to pieces."
" The very thing I was going to say to you."
"Let us think of ourselves, then."
" My own idea."
" Open your beautiful eyes, then."
" And you your large ears."
" Approach your little mouth for a kiss."
" Here," said Montalais, who paid the debt immediately in ringing
coin.
"Now, let us consider. First, we have M. de Guiche, who is in love
with Madame; then La Yalliere, who is in love with the king; next,
the king, who is in love both with Madame and La Yalliere; lastly,
Monsieur, who loves no one but himself. Among all these loves, a
noodle would make his fortune; a greater reason, therefore, for sensible
people like ourselves to do so."
" There you are with your dreams again."
"Nay, rather with realities. Let me lead you, darling. I do not
think you have been very badly off hitherto." " No."
"Well, the future is guaranteed by the past. Only since all here
think of themselves before anything else, let us do so too."
" Perfectly right."
" But of ourselves only." " Be it so."
" An offensive and defensive alliance." " I am ready to swear it."
" Put out your hand, then, and say,' All for Malicorne.5 55
"All for Malicorne."
"And I, 'All for Montalais,5" replied Malicorne, stretching out his
hand, in his turn.
" And now, what is to be done ? "
MALICOBNE TUENED OUT OF THE HOTEL. 587
" Keep your eyes and ears constantly open ; collect every means of
attack which may be serviceable against others; never let anything lie
about which can be used against ourselves."
" Agreed." " Decided."
" Sworn to. And now, the agreement is entered into, good bye."
" What do you mean by ' good bye' ? "
" Of course, you can now return to your inn."
" To my inn ? "
" Yes; are you not lodging at the sign of the c Beau Paon' ?"
" Montalais, Montalais, you now see that you were aware of my being
at Fontainebleau."
" Well; and what does that prove, except that I occupied myself
about you more than you deserve ? "
" Hum! " " Go back, then, to the ' Beau Paon.'"
" That is now quite out of the question."
" Have you not a room there ? " " I had, but have it no longer."
" Who has taken it from you, then ? "
" I will tell you. Some little time ago I was returning there, after I
had been running about after you; and having reached my hotel quite
out of breath, I perceived a litter, upon which four peasants were car-
rying a sick monk."
" A monk ? "
" Yes, an old grey-bearded Franciscan. As I was looking at the monk,
they entered the hotel; and as they were carrying him up the stair-
case, I followed; and as I reached the top of the staircase, I observed
that they took him into my room."
" Into your room ? "
" Yes, into my own apartment. Supposing it to be a mistake, I sum-
moned the landlord, who says that the room which had been let to me
for the past eight days, was let to the Franciscan for the ninth."
" Oh, oh!"
" That was exactly what I said; nay, I did even more, for I was in-
clined to get out of temper. I went up stairs again. I spoke to the
Franciscan himself, and wished to prove to him the impropriety of the
step; when this monk, dying though he seemed to be, raised himself
upon his arm, fixed a pair of blazing eyes upon me, and, in a voice
which was admirably suited for commanding a charge of cavalry, said,
' Turn this fellow out of doorswhich was done immediately by the
landlord and the four porters, who made me descend the staircase some-
what faster than was agreeable. This is how it happens, dearest, that I
have no lodging."
" Who can this Franciscan be ? " said Montalais. " Is he a general ? "
" That is exactly the very title that one of the bearers of the litter
gave him as he spoke to him in a low tone."
" So that " said Montalais.
"So that I have no room, no hotel, no lodging; and that I am as
determined as my friend Manicamp was just now, not to pass the night
in the open air."
" What is to be done, then P " said Montalais.
" Nothing easier," said a third voice; whereupon Montalais and Ma-
licorne uttered a simultaneous cry, and Saint-Aignan appeared. " Dear
Monsieur Malicorne," said Saint-Aignan, " a very lucky accident has
brought me back to extricate you from your embarrassment. Come, I
can offer you a room in my own apartments, which, I can assure you
no Franciscan will deprive you of. As for you, my dear young lady, be
easy. I already knew Mademoiselle de la Yalli&re's secret, and that of
588 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente; your own you have just been kind
enough to confide to me; for which I thank you. I can keep three quite
as well as one only." Malicorne and Montalais looked at each other,
like two children detected in a theft; but as Malicorne saw a great
advantage in the proposition which had been made to him, he gave
Montalais a sign of resignation, which she returned. Malicorne then
descended the ladder, round by round, reflecting at every step upon the
means of obtaining piecemeal from M. de Saint-Aignan all he might pos-
sibly know about the famous secret. Montalais had already darted away as
fleet as a deer, and neither cross-road nor labyrinth was able to deceive
her. As for Saint-Aignan, he carried off Malicorne with him to his
apartments, showing him a thousand attentions, enchanted to have
close at hand the very two men who, supposing that de Guiche were to
remain silent, could give him the best information about the maids of
honour.
CHAPTER CXXVI.
What actually did occur at the Inn called the " Beau Paon."
In the first place, let us supply our readers with a few details about
the inn called the " Beau Paon." It owed its name to its sign,
which represented a peacock spreading out its tail. But, in imitation
of some painters who had bestowed the face of a handsome young man
upon the serpent which tempted Eve, the painter of this sign had con-
ferred upon the peacock the features of a woman. This inn, a living
epigram against that half of the human race which renders existence
delightful, was situated at Eontainebleau, in the first turning on the
left-hand side, which divides on the road from Paris, that large artery
which constitutes in itself alone the entire town of Eontainebleau.
The side street in question was then known as the Rue de Lyon, doubt-
less because, geographically, it advanced in the direction of the second
capital of the kingdom. The street itself was composed of two houses
occupied by persons of the class of tradespeople, the houses being
separated by two large gardens bordered with hedges running round
them. Apparently, however, there seemed to be three houses in the
street. Let us explain, notwithstanding appearances, how there were
only two. The inn of the "Beau Paon" had its principal front
towards the main street; but upon the Rue de Lyon there were two
ranges of buildings divided by courtyards, which comprised sets of
apartments for the reception of all classes of travellers, whether on
foot or on horseback, or even with their own carriages; and in which
could be supplied, not cnly board and lodging, but also accommodation
for exercise, or opportunities of solitude for even the wealthiest cour-
tiers, whenever, after having received some check at the court, they
wished to shut themselves up with their own society, either to devour
an affront, or to brood over their revenge. Erom the windows of this
part of the building, the travellers could perceive, in the first place, the
street with the grass growing between the stones, which were being
gradually loosened by it; next, the beautiful hedges of elder and thorn,
which embraced, as though within two green and flowering arms, the
houses of which we have spoken; and then, in the spaces between
those houses, forming the groundwork of the picture, and appearing
like an almost impassable barrier, a line of thick trees, the advanced
sentinels of the vast forest which extends itself in front of Eontaine-
WHAT OCCUBliED AT THE INN. 589
bleau. It was therefore easy, provided one secured an apartment at
the angle of the building, to obtain, by the main street from Paris, a
view of, as well as to hear, the passers-by and the fetes; and, by the
Rue de Lyon, to look upon and to enjoy the calm of the country. And
this without reckoning that, in cases of urgent necessity, at the very
moment people might be knocking at the principal door in the Rue de
Paris, one could make one's escape by the little door in the Rue de
Lyon, and, creeping along the gardens of the private houses, attain the
outskirts of the forest. Malicorne, who, it will be remembered, was
the first to speak about this inn, by way of deploring his being turned
out of it, having been absorbed in his own affairs, had not told Monta-
lais all that could be said about this curious inn; and we will try to
repair Malicorne's grievous omission. With the exception of the few
words he had said about the Pranciscan friar, he had. not given any
particulars about the travellers who were staying in the inn. The
manner in which they had arrived, the manner in which they lived, the
difficulty which existed for every one but certain privileged travellers,
in entering the hotel without a pass-word, and to live there without
certain preparatory precautions, must have struck Malicorne; and, we
will venture to say, really did so. But Malicorne, as we have already
said, had some personal matters of his own to occupy his attention,
which prevented him from paying much attention to others. In fact,
all the apartments of the hotel were engaged and retained by certain
strangers, who never stirred out, who were incommunicative in their
address, with countenances full of thoughtful occupation, and not one
of whom was known to Malicorne. Every one of these travellers had
arrived at the hotel after his own arrival there; each man had entered
after having given a kind of pass-word, which had at first attracted
Malicorne's attention; but having inquired, in an indirect manner,
about it, he had been informed that the host had given as a reason for
this extreme vigilance, that, as the town was so full of wealthy noble-
men, it must also be as full of clever and zealous pickpockets. The
reputation of an honest inn like that of the "Beau Paon" was
concerned in not allowing its visitors to be robbed. It occasionally
happened that Malicorne asked himself, as he thought matters carefully
over in his mind, and reflected upon his own position in the inn, how it
was that they had. allowed him to become an inmate of the hotel, whilst
he had observed, since his residence there, admission refused to so
many. He asked himself, too, how it was that Manicamp, who, in his
opinion, must be a man to be looked upon with veneration by every-
body, having wished to bait his horse at the "Beau Paon," on
arriving there, both horse and rider had been incontinently led away
with a nescio vos of the most positive character. All this for Malicorne,
whose mind being fully occupied by his own love affair and his personal
ambition, was a problem he had not applied himself to solve. Had he
wished to do so, we should hardly venture, notwithstanding the intel-
ligence we have accorded as his due, to say he would have succeeded.
A few words will prove to the reader that nothing less than CEdipus in
person could have solved the enigma in question. During the week,
seven travellers had taken up their abode in the inn, all of them having
arrived there the day after the fortunate day on which Malicorne
had fixed his choice on the "Beau Paon." These seven persons,
accompanied by a suitable retinue, were the followingEirst of all,
a brigadier in the German army, his secretary, physician, three servants,
and seven horses. The brigadier's name was the Comte de Wostpur.—
A Spanish cardinal, with two nephews, two secretaries, an officer of his
590 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
household, and twelve horses. The cardinal's name was Monseigneur
Herrebia.—A rich merchant of Bremen, with his man-servant and two
horses. This merchant's name was Meinheer Bonstett.—A Venetian
senator, with his wife and daughter, both extremely beautiful. The
senator's name was Signor Marini.—A Scotch laird, with seven High-
landers of his clan, all on foot. The laird's name was Mac Cumnor.—
An Austrian from Vienna, without title or coat of arms, who had
arrived in a carriage; a good deal of the priest, and something of the
soldier. He was called the Councillor.—And, finally, a Flemish lady,
with a man-servant, a lady's-maid, and a female companion, a large
retinue of servants, great display, and immense horses. She was called
the Flemish lady,
All these travellers had arrived on the same day, and yet their arrival
had occasioned no confusion in the inn, no stoppage in the street; their
apartments had been fixed upon beforehand, by their couriers or their
secretaries, who had arrived the previous evening or the same morning.
Malicorne, who had arrived the previous day, and riding an ill-con-
ditioned horse, with a slender valise, had announced himself at the hotel
of the " Beau Paon" as the friend of a nobleman desirous of wit-
nessing the fetes, and who would himself arrive almost immediately.
The landlord, on hearing these words, had smiled as if he was perfectly
well acquainted either with Malicorne or his friend the nobleman, ana
had said to him,Since you are the first arrival, monsieur, choose what
apartment you please." And this was said with that obsequiousness of
manners, so full of meaning with landlords, which means, " Make your-
self perfectly easy, monsieur; we know with whom we have to do, and
you will be treated accordingly." These words, and their accompanying
gesture, Malicorne had thought very friendly, but rather obscure. How-
ever, as he did not wish to be very extravagant in his expenses, and as
he thought that if he were to ask for a small apartment he would doubt-
less have been refused, on account of his want of consequence, he hastened
to close at once with the innkeeper's remark, and deceive him with a
cunning equal to his own. So, smiling as a man would do for whom
whatever might be done was but simply his due, he said, " My dear host,
I shall take the best and the gayest room in the house."
" With a stable ?" " 1 es, with a stable."
" And when will you take it ?" " Immediately, if it be possible."
" Quite so."
" But," said Malicorne, " I shall leave the large room unoccupied for
the present."
" Very good!" said the landlord, with an air of intelligence.
/ " Certain reasons, which you will understand by-and-by, oblige me to
take, at my own cost, this small room only."
" Yes, yes," said the host.
" When my friend arrives, he will occupy the large apartment; and,
as a matter of course, as this larger apartment will be his own affair, he
will settle for it himself."
" Certainly," said the landlord, " certainly; let it be understood in
that manner."
" It is agreed, then, that such shall be the terms?"
" Word for word."
" It is extraordinary," said Malicorne to himself. " You quite under-
stand, then ? " " Yes."
" There is nothing more to be said. Since, then, you understand—
for you do clearly understand, do you not ?" " Perfectly."
" Very well; and now show me to my room."
WHAT OCCURRED AT THE INN. 591
The landlord, cap in hand, preceded Malicorne, who installed him-
self in his room, and became more and more surprised to observe that
the landlord, at every ascent or descent, looked and winked at him in a
manner which indicated the best possible intelligence between them,
" There is some mistake here," said Malicorne to himself; " but until it
is cleared up, I shall take advantage of it, which is the best thing I can
possibly do." And he darted out of his room, like a hunting-dog fol-
lowing up a scent, in search of all the news and curiosities of the court,
getting himself burnt in one place and drowned in another, as he had
told Mademoiselle de Montalais. The day after he had been installed
in his room, he had noticed the seven travellers arrive successively,
who speedily filled the whole hotel. When he saw all this number
of people, of carriages, and retinue, Malicorne rubbed his hands delight-
edly, thinking that, one day later, he should not have found a bed to lie
upon after his return from his exploring expeditions. When all the
travellers were lodged, the landlord entered Malicorne's room, and with
his accustomed courteousness-, said to him, " You are aware, my dear
monsieur, that the large room in the third detached building is still
reserved for you ?"
" Of course I am aware of it."
" I am really making you a present of it." " Thank you."
" So that when your friend comes " " Well!"
" He will be satisfied with me, I hope; or, if he be not, he will be very
difficult to please."
" Excuse me, but will you allow me to say a few words about my
friend?"
" Of course, for you have a perfect right to do so."
" He intended to come, as you know."——"And he does so still."
" He may possibly have changed his opinion." " No."
"You are quite sure, then?" " Quite sure."
" But in case you should have some doubt." "Well!"
" I can only say that I do not positively assure you that he will come."
" Yet he told you "
_" He certainly did tell me; but you know that man proposes and God
disposes,—verba volant, scripta manent."
" Which is as much as to say "
" That what is spoken flies away, and what is written remains; and,
as he did not write to me, but contented himself by saying to me,' I will
authorize you, yet without specially inviting you,' you must feel that it
places me in a very embarrassing position."
" What do you authorize me to do, then ?"
" Why, to let your rooms if you find a good tenant for them."
" I ?" " Yes, you."
"Never will I do such a thing, monsieur. If he has not written to
you, he has written to me."
" Ah! ah! what does he say ? Let us see if his letter agrees with his
words."
" These are almost his very words. ' To the landlord of the " Beau
Paon" Hotel,—You will have been informed of the meeting arranged
to take place in your inn between some people of importance; I shall
be one of those who will meet the others at Pontainebleau. Keep for
me, then, a small room for a friend who will arrive either before or
after me ' and you are the friend I suppose," said the landlord, in-
terrupting his reading of the letter. Malicorne bowed modestly. The
landlord continued:—'"And a large apartment for myself. The large
apartment is my own affair, but I wish the price of the smaller room to
692 THE VICdMTE DlTBElSEtOlTNE.
be moderate, as it is destined for a fellow who is deucedly poor.' It is
still you he is speaking: of, is it not ?" said the host.
" Oh, certainly," said Malicorne.
" Then we are agreed; your friend will settle for his apartment, and
you for your own."
"May I be broken alive upon the wheel" said Malicorne to himself,
"if I understand anything at all about it," and then he said aloud,
" Well, then, are you satisfied with the name?" " With what name?"
" With the name at the end of the letter. Does it give you the
guarantee you require?" "I was going to ask you the name."
" What! was not the letter signed ?"
" No," said the landlord, opening his eyes very wide, full of mystery
and curiosity.
" In that case," replied Malicorne, imitating his gesture and his mys-
terious look, " if he has not given you his name, you understand, he
must have his reasons for it." " Oh, of course."
" And, therefore, that I, his friend, his confidant, must not betray him."
"You are perfectly right, monsieur," said the landlord, "and there-
fore I do not insist upon it."
" I appreciate your delicacy. As for myself, as my friend told you,
my room is a separate affair, so let us come to terms about it. Short
accounts make good friends. How much is it ?"
" There is no hurry."
" Never mind, let us reckon it up all the same. Room, my own board,
a place in the stable for my horse, and his feed. How much per day ?"
" Four livres, monsieur."
" Which will make twelve livres for the three days I have been here ?"
" Yes, monsieur."
" Here are your twelve livres, then."
" But why settle now ?"
" Because," said Malicorne, lowering his voice, and resorting to his
former air of mystery, because he saw that the mysterious had sue-
ceeded, " because if I had to set off suddenly, to decamp at any moment,
my account would be already settled."
" You are right, monsieur." 1
" I may consider myself at home, then ?" " Perfectly."
" So far so well. Adieu!" And the landlord withdrew. Malicorne,
left alone, reasoned with himself in the following manner" No one
but de Guiche or Manicamp could have written to this fellow; de Guiche,
because he wishes to secure a lodging for himself beyond the precincts
of the court, in the event of his success or failure, as the case might be;
Manicamp, because de Guiche must have intrusted him with this com-
mission. And de Guiche or Manicamp will have argued in this manner.
The large apartment in which one could receive, in a befitting manner,
a lady very thickly veiled, reserving to the lady in question a double
means of exit, either in a street somewhat deserted, or closely adjoining
the forest. The smaller room, either to shelter Manicamp for a time,
who is de Guiche's confidant, and would be the vigilant keeper of the
door, or for de Guiche himself, acting, for greater safety, the part of
master and of confidant at the same time. Yet," he continued, " how
about this meeting which is to take place, and which indeed has actually
taken place, in this hotel ? No doubt they are persons who are going
to be presented to the king. And the 'poor devil,' for whom the smaller
room is destined, is a trick, in order the better to conceal de Guiche or
Manicamp. If this be the case, as very likely it is, there is only half the
mischief done, for there is simply the length of one's purse-strings be-
WHAT OCCUBRED AT THE INN. 593
tween Manicamp and Malicorne." After he had thus reasoned the
matter out, Malicorne had slept soundly, leaving the seven travellers to
occupy, and in every sense of the word to walk up and down, their
several lodgings in the hotel. "Whenever there was nothing at court to
put him out, when he had wearied himself with his excursions and in-
vestigations, tired of writing letters which he could never find an oppor-
tunity of delivering to whom they were intended, he then returned
home to his comfortable little room, and leaning upon the balcony,
which was filled with nasturtiums and white pinks, he began to think
over these strange travellers, for whom Fontainebleau seemed to possess
no attractions in its illuminations, or amusements, or fetes. Things
went on in this manner until the seventh day, a day of which we have
given such full details, with its night also, in the preceding chapters.
On that night Malicorne was enjoying the fresh air, seated at his win-
dow, towards one o'clock in the morning, when Manicamp appeared on
horseback, with a thoughtful and listless air.
" Good!" said Malicorne to himself, recognizing him at the first glance;
" there's my friend, who is come to take possession of his apartment,
that is to say, of my room." And he called to Manicamp, who looked
up and immediately recognized Malicorne.
"Ah! by Jove!" said the former, his countenance clearing up,
" glad to see you, Malicorne. I have been wandering about Fontaine-
bleau, looking for three things I cannot find: de Guiche, a room, and a
stable."
" Of M. de Guiche I cannot give you either good or bad news, for I
have not seen him; but as far as concerns your room and a stable, that's
another matter, for they have been retained here for you."
" Detained—and by whom ?" " By yourself, I suppose."
"By me?"
" Do you mean to say you have not taken lodgings here ?"
" By no means," said Manicamp.
At this moment the landlord appeared on the threshold of the door.
" I require a room," said Manicamp.
" Have you engaged one, monsieur ?" " No."
" Then I have no rooms to let."
" In that case, I have engaged a room," said Manicamp.
"A room simply, or lodgings ?" "Anything you please."
" By letter ?" inquired the landlord. Malicorne nodded affirmatively
to Manicamp. .
" Of course by letter," said Manicamp. " Did you not receive a letter
from me."
"What was the date of the letter?" inquired the host, in whom
Manicamp's hesitation had aroused suspicion. Manicamp rubbed his
ear, and looked up at Malicorne's window; but Malicorne had left his
window and was coming down the stairs to his friend's assistance. At
the very same moment, a traveller, wrapped up in a large Spanish cloak,
appeared at the porch, near enough to hear the conversation.
" I ask you what was the date of the letter you wrote to me to retain
apartments here ?" repeated the landlord, again pressing his question.
"Last Wednesday was the date," said the mysterious stranger, in a
soft and polished tone of voice, touching the landlord on the shoulder.
Manicamp drew back, and it was now Malicorne's turn, who appeared
on the threshold, to scratch his ear. The landlord saluted the new
arrival as a man who recognizes his true guest. " Monsieur," he said to
him, with civility, " your apartment is ready for you, and the stables too,
only " He looked round him, and inquired, "Your horses ?"
2 o
594 tee yicomTe de bragelonne.
" My horses may or may not arrive. That, however, matters but
little to you, provided you are paid for what has been engaged." The
landlord bowed still lower.
" You have," continued the unknown traveller, " kept for me, besides,
the small room I asked for."
" Oh!" said Malicorne, endeavouring to hide himself.
" Your friend has occupied it during the last week," said the landlord,
pointing to Malicorne, who was trying to make himself as small as pos-
sible. The traveller, drawing his cloak round him so as to cover the
lower part of his face, cast a rapid glance at Malicorne, and said, " This
gentleman is no friend of mine."
The landlord almost started off his feet.
" I am not acquainted with this gentleman," continued the traveller.
" What!" exclaimed the host, turning to Malicorne, " are you not
this gentleman's friend, then ? "
" What does it matter whether I am or not, provided you are paid ? "
said Malicorne, parodying the stranger's remark in a very majestic
manner.
" It matters so far as this," said the landlord, who began to perceive
that one person had been taken for another, " that I beg you, monsieur,
to leave the rooms, which had been engaged beforehand, and by some
one else instead of you."
" Still," said Malicorne, " this gentleman cannot require at the same
time a room on the first floor and an apartment on the second. If this
gentleman will take the room, I will take the apartment; if he prefers
the apartment I will be satisfied with the room."
" I am exceedingly distressed, monsieur," said the traveller, in his
soft voice, " but I need both the room and the apartment."
" At least, tell me for whom ? " inquired Malicorne.
" The apartment I require for myself."
" Very well; but the room ? "
"Look," said the traveller, pointing towards a sort of procession
which was approaching.
Malicorne looked in the direction indicated, and observed, borne
upon a litter, the arrival of the Franciscan, whose installation in his
apartment he had, with a few details of his own, related to Montalais,
and whom he had so uselessly endeavoured to convert to humbler
views. The result of the arrival of the stranger, and of the sick Fran-
ciscan, was Malicorne's expulsion, without any consideration for his
feelings, from the inn, by the landlord and the peasants who had car-
ried the Franciscan. The details have already been given of what
followed this expulsion; of Manicamp's conversation with Montalais:
how Manicamp, with greater cleverness than Malicorne had shown, had
succeeded in obtaining news of de Guiche; of the subsequent conver-
sation of Montalais with Malicorne; and, finally, of the billets with
which the Comte de Saint Aignan had furnished Manicamp and Mali-
corne. It remains for us to inform our readers who were the traveller
with the cloak—the principal tenant of the double apartment of which
Malicorne had only occupied a portion,—and the Franciscan, quite as
mysterious a personage, whose arrival, together with that of the
stranger with the cloak, had been unfortunate enough to upset the two
friends' plans.
A JESUIT? OF THE ELEVENTH YEAR.
595
CHAPTER CXXYII.
A Jesuit of the Eleventh Year.
In the first place, in order not to weary the reader's patience, we will
hasten to answer the first question. The traveller with the cloak held
over his face, was Aramis, who, after he had left Fouquet, and had
taken from a portmanteau, which his servant had opened, a cavalier's
complete costume, had quitted the chateau and had gone to the
hotel of the Beau-Paon, where, by letters, seven or eight days pre-
viously, he had, as the landlord had stated, directed a room and an
apartment to be retained for him. Immediately Malicorne and Mani-
camp had been turned out, Aramis approached the Franciscan, and
asked him whether he would prefer the apartment or the room. The
Franciscan inquired where they were both situated. He was told that
the room was on the first, and the apartment on the second floor.
" The room, then," he said.
Aramis did not contradict him, hut, with great suhmissiveness, said
to the landlord: "The room." And bowing with respect, he with-
drew into the apartment, and the Franciscan was accordingly car-
ried at once into the room. Now, is it not extraordinary that this
respect should be shown by a prelate of the church for a simple monk,
for one, too, belonging to a mendicant order; to whom was given up,
without a request for it even, a room which so many travellers were
desirous of obtaining ? How, too, explain the unexpected arrival of
Aramis at the hotel—he who had entered the chateau with M. Fouquet,
and could have remained at the chateau with M. Fouquet if he had
liked ? The Franciscan supported his removal up the staircase without
uttering a complaint, although it was evident he suffered very much,
and that every time the litter was knocked against the wall or against
the railing of the staircase, he experienced a terrible shock throughout
his frame. And finally, when he had arrived in the room, he said to
those who carried him: " Help me to place myself on that arm-chair."
The bearers of the litter placed it on the ground, and, lifting the sick
man up as gently as possible, they carried him to the chair he had
indicated, and which was situated at the head of the bed. " Now," he
added, with a marked benignity of gesture and tone, " desire the land-
lord to come."
They obeyed, and five minutes afterwards the landlord appeared at
the door.
" Be kind enough," said the Franciscan to him, " to send these excel-
lent fellows away; they are vassals of the Comte de Melun. They
found me when I had fainted on the road overcome by the heat, and
without thinking whether they would be paid for their trouble, they
wished to carry me to their own homes. But I know at what cost to
themselves is the hospitality which the poor extend to a sick man, and
I preferred this hotel, where, moreover, I was expected."
The landlord looked at the Franciscan in amazement, but the latter,
with his thumb, made the sign of the cross in a peculiar manner upon
his breast. The host replied by making a similar sign on his left
shoulder. "Yes, indeed," he said, "we did expect you, but we hoped
that you would arrive in a better state of health." And as the pea-
sants were looking at the innkeeper, usually so supercilious, and saw how
respectful he had become in the presence of a poor monk, the Fran-
2 Q 2
596 THE VICOMTE HE BttAGEEONNE.
ciscan drew from a deep pocket three or four pieces of gold, which he
held out.
" My friends," said he, "here is something to repay you for the care
you have taken of me. So make yourselves perfectly easy, and do not
he afraid of leaving me here. The order to which I belong, and for
which I am travelling, does not require me to beg; only as the attention
you have shown me deserves to be rewarded, take these two louis and
depart in peace." . , ,, ,
The peasants did not dare to take them; the landlord took the two
louis out of the monk's hand and placed them in that of one of the
peasants, the whole four of whom withdrew, opening their eyes wider
than ever. The door was then closed; and, while the innkeeper stood
respectfully near it, the Franciscan collected himself for a moment.
He then passed across his sallow face a hand which seemed dried up by
fever, and rubbed his nervous and agitated fingers across his beard.
His large eyes, hollowed by sickness and inquietude, seemed to pursue
in the vague distance a mournful and fixed idea.
" What physicians have you at Fontainebleau ? " he inquired, after a
long pause.
" We have three, my father."
" What are their names ? " " Luiniguet, first."
" The next one ? "
" A brother of the Carmelite order, named Brother Hubert."
" The next ? " " A secular member, named Grisart."
" Ah ! Grisart ? " murmured the monk. " Send for M. Grisart im-
mediately."
The landlord moved in prompt obedience to the direction.
" Tell me what priests are there here ? " " What priests ? "
" Yes; belonging to what orders ? "
"There are Jesuits, Augustines, and Cordeliers; but the Jesuits are
the closest at hand. Shall I send for a confessor belonging to the order
of J esuits P " " Yes, immediately."
It will be imagined that at the sign of the cross which they had ex-
changed, the landlord and the invalid-monk had recognized each other
as two affiliated members of the well-known society of Jesus. Left to
himself, the Franciscan drew from his pocket a bundle of papers, some
of which he read over with the most careful attention. The violence
of his disorder, however, overcame his courage; his eyes rolled in their
sockets, a cold sweat poured down his face, and he nearly fainted, and
lay with his head thrown backwards and his arms hanging down on
both sides of his chair. For more than five minutes he remained with-
out any movement, when the landlord returned, bringing with him the
physician, whom he had hardly allowed time to dress himself. The
noise they made in entering the room, the current of air which the
opening of the door had occasioned, restored the Franciscan to his
senses. He hurriedly seized hold of the papers which were lying about,
and with his long and bony hand concealed them under the cushions of
the chair. The landlord went out of the room, leaving patient and
physician together.
" Come here, Monsieur Grisart," said the Franciscan to the doctor;
" approach closer, for there is no time to lose. Try, by touch and sound,
and consider and pronounce your sentence."
" The landlord," replied the doctor, " told me that I had the honour
of attending an affiliated brother."
"Yes," replied the Franciscan, "it is so. Tell me the truth, then:
I feel very ill, and think I am about to die."
A JESUIT OE THE ELEVENTH YEAE. 597
The physician took the monk's hand and felt his pulse. " Oh, oh,"
he said, " a dangerous fever."
" What do you call a dangerous fever ? " inquired the Franciscan,
with an imperious look.
" To an affiliated member of the first or second year," replied the
physician, looking inquiringly at the monk, " I should say—a fever that
may be cured."
" But to me ? " said the Franciscan. The physician hesitated.
"Look at my grey hair, and my forehead, full of anxious thought,"
he continued, " look at the lines in my face, by which I reckon up the
trials I have undergone, I am a Jesuit of the eleventh year, Monsieur
Grisart." The physician started, for, in fact, a Jesuit of the eleventh
year was one of those men who had been initiated in all the secrets of
the order, one of those for whom the science has no more secrets, the
society no further barriers to present—temporal obedience, no more
trammels.
"In that case," said Grisart, saluting him with respect, " I am in the
presence of a master ?" "Yes; act, therefore, accordingly."
"And you wish to know ?" " My real state."
"Well!" said the physician, "it is a brain fever, which has reached
its highest degree of intensity."
" There is no hope, then ?" inquired the Franciscan, in a quick tone
of voice.
"I do not say that," replied the doctor; "yet, considering the dis-
ordered state of the brain, the hurried respiration, the rapidity of the
pulse, and the burning nature of the fever which is devouring you "
" And which has thrice prostrated me, since this morning," said the
monk.
" Therefore, I should call it a terrible attack. But why did you not
stop on your road?"
" I was expected here, and I was obliged to come."
"Even at the risk of your life ?"
"Yes, at the risk of dying !"
"Very well! considering all the symptoms of your case, I must tell
you that your condition is desperate." The Franciscan smiled in a
strange manner.
" What you have just told me is, perhaps, sufficient for what is due
to an affiliated member, even of the eleventh hour; but for what is due
to me, Monsieur Grisart, it is too little, and I have a right to demand
more. Come, then, let us be more candid still, and as frank as if you
were making your own confession to Heaven. Besides, I have already
sent for a confessor."
" Oh! I hope, however," murmured the doctor.
" Answer me," said the sick man, displaying with a dignified gesture
a golden ring, the stone of which had, until that moment, been turned
inside, and which bore engraved thereon.the distinguishing mark of the
Society of Jesus.
Grisart uttered a loud exclamation. " The general!" he cried.
" Silence," said the Franciscan, " you now understand that the truth
is everything."
" Monseigneur, monseigneur," murmured Grisart, " send for the con-
fessor, for in two hours, at the next seizure, you will be attacked by
delirium, and will pass away in the course of it."
"Very well;" said the patient, for a moment contracting his eye-
brows, "I have still two hours to live then?"
"Jes; particularly if you take the potion I shall send you presently."
598 the yicomte de beagelonne.
"And that will give me two hours more ? " " Two hours."
" I would take it, were it poison, for those two hours are necessary,
not only for myself, but for the glory of the order."
"What a loss, what a catastrophe for us all !" murmured the phy-
sician.
" It is the loss of one man, and nothing more," replied the "Franciscan,
" and Heaven will enable the poor monk, who is about to leave you,
to find a worthy successor. Adieu, Monsieur Grisart; already even,
through the goodness of Heaven, I have met with you. A physician
who had not been one of our holy order, would have left me in igno-
ranee of my condition ; and, relying that my existence might have been
prolonged a few days further, I should not have taken the necessary
precautions. You are a learned man, Monsieur Grisart, and that con-
fers an honour upon us all; it would have been repugnant to my feel-
ings to have found, one of our order of little standing m his profession.
Adieu, Monsieur Grisart; send me the cordial immediately."
" Give me your blessing, at least, mqnseigneur."
" In my mind, I do; go, goin my mind, I do so, I tell you-—
ammo, Maitre Grisart, viribus impossible. And he again fell back on
the arm-chair, in an almost senseless state. M. Grisart hesitated,
whether he should give him immediate assistance, or should run to pre-
pare the cordial he had promised. He, doubtless, decided in favour of
the cordial, for he darted out of the room and disappeared down the
staircase.
CHAPTER CXXYIII.
The State Secret.
A few moments after the doctor's departure, the confessor arrived.
He had hardly crossed the threshold of the door when the Franciscan
fixed a penetrating look upon him, and, shaking his head, murmured—
"A weak mind, I see; may Heaven forgive me for dying without the
help of this living piece of human infirmity." The confessor, on his
side, regarded the dying man with astonishment, almost with terror.
He had never beheld eyes so burningly bright at the very moment they
were about to close, nor looks so terrible at the moment they were
about to be quenched in death. The Franciscan made a rapid and im-
perious movement of his hand. " Sit down, there, my father," he said,
" and listen to me." The Jesuit confessor, a good priest, a recent member
of the order, who had merely witnessed the initiation into its mysteries,
yielded to the superiority assumed by the penitent.
" There are several persons staying in this hotel," continued the
Franciscan.
"But," inquired the Jesuit, "I thought I had been summoned to
receive confession. Is your remark, then, a confession ?"
" Why do you ask me ?"
" In order to know whether I am to keep your words secret."
"My remarks are part of my confession; I confide them to you
in your character of a confessor."
"Very well," said the priest, seating himself on the chair which the
Franciscan had, with great difficulty, just left, to lie down on the bed.
The Franciscan continued.—"I repeat, there are several persons
staying in this inn." "So I have heard."
" They ought to be eight in number."
The Jesuit made a si;-n that be understood him. " The first tn whom
THE STATE SECKET. 599
I wish to speak," said the dying man," is a German from Vienna, whose
name is the baron de Wostpur. Be kind enough, to go to him, and tell
him, that the person he expected has arrived." The confessor, astounded,
looked at his penitent; the confession seemed a singular one.
" Obey," said the Franciscan, in a tone of command impossible to
resist. The good Jesuit, completely subdued, rose and left the room.
As soon as he had gone, the Franciscan again took up the papers which
a crisis of the fever had already, once before, obliged him to put aside.
" The baron de Wostpur ? Good!" he said; " ambitious, a fool, and
straitened in his means."
He folded up the papers, which he thrust under his pillow. Rapid
footsteps were heard at the end of the corridor. The confessor returned,
followed by the baron de Wostpur, who walked along with his head
raised, as if he were discussing with himself the propriety of touching
the ceiling with the feather in his hat. Therefore, at the appearance of
the Franciscan, at his melancholy look, and at the plainness of the
room, he stopped, and inquired—"Who summoned me?"
"I," said the Franciscan, who turned towards the confessor, saying,
"My good father, leave us for a moment together; when this gentle-
man leaves, you will return here." The Jesuit left the room, and,
doubtless, availed himself of this momentary exile from the presence of
the dying man to ask the host for some explanation about this strange
penitent, who treated his confessor no better than he would a man-
servant. The baron approached the bed, and wished to speak, but the
hand of the Franciscan imposed silence upon him.
"Every moment is precious," said the latter, hurriedly. " You have
come here for the competition, have you not?" "Yes, my father."
"You hope to be elected general of the order ?" " I hope so."
"You know on what conditions only you can possibly attain this high
position, which makes one man the master of monarchs, the equal of
Popes?"
" Who are you," inquired the baron, " to subject me to these inter-
rogatories." " I am he whom you expected."
" The elector-general ?" " I am the elected."
" You are "
The Franciscan did not give him time to reply: he extended his
shrunken hand, on which glittered the ring of the general of the order.
The baron drew back in surprise; and then, immediately afterwards,
bowing with the profoundest respect, he exclaimed—" Is it possible, that
you are here, monseigneur; you, in this wretched room; you, upon this
miserable bed; you, in search of and selecting the future general, that
is, your own successor!"
"Do not distress yourself about that, monsieur, but fulfil immediately
the principal condition, of furnishing the order with a secret of im-
portance, such as one of the greatest courts of Europe can, by your
instrumentality for ever confer upon the order. Well! do you possess
the secret which you promised, in your request, addressed to the grand
council?"
" Monseigneur "
"Let us proceed, however, in due order," said the monk. " You are
the baron de Wostpur ?" " Yes, monseigneur."
, "And this letter is from you ?"
The general of the Jesuits drew a paper from his bundle, and pre-
sented it to the baron, who glanced at it, and made a sign in the affirm-
ative, saying, "Yes, monseigneur, this letter is mine."
"Can you show me the reply which the secretary of the grand
council returned to you."
600 THE VICOMTE EE BEAGELONNE.
" This is it," said the baron, holding towards the Franciscan a letter,
hearing simply the address, " To his excellency the baron de AVostpur,"
and containing only this phrase, " From the 15th to the 22nd May,
Fontaiuebleau, the hotel of the 13eau-Paon.—A.M.D.G."*
"Eight!" said the Franciscan, "and now speak."
" I have a body of troops, composed of 50,000 men; all the officers
are gained. I am encamped on the Danube. In four days I can over-
throw the emperor, who is, as you are aware, opposed to the progress of
our order, and can replace him by whichever of the princes of his family
the order may determine upon." The Franciscan listened, unmoved.
" Is that all ? " he said.
"A revolution throughout Europe is included in my plan," said the
baron.
"Very well, Monsieur de AVostpur, you will receive a reply; return
to your room, and leave Fontainebleau within a quarter of an hour."
The baron withdrew backwards, just as obsequiously as if he were taking
leave of the emperor he was ready to betray.
" There is no secret there," murmured the Franciscan, " it is a plot.
Besides," he added, after a moment's reflection, "the future of Europe
is no longer in the House of Austria."
And with a pencil which he held in his hand, he struck the baron
de Wostpur's name from the list.
"Now, for the cardinal," he said; "we ought to get something more
serious from the side of Spain."
Eaising his head, he perceived the confessor, who was awaiting his
orders as submissively as a school-boy.
" Ah, ah!" he said, noticing his submissive air, " you haye been talk-
ing with the landlord."
Yes, monseigneur; and to the physician."
" To Grisart?" "Yes."
"He is here, then ?"
" He is waiting with the potion he promised."
"Very well; if I require him, I will call; you now understand the
great importance of my confession, do you not ? "
"Yes, monseigneur."
" Then go and fetch me the Spanish Cardinal Herrebia. Make haste.
Only, as you now understand the matter in hand, you will remain near
me, for I begin to feel faint." _
" Shall I summon the physician ?"
"Not yet, not yet . . . the Spanish cardinal ... no one else. Fly."
Five minutes afterwards, the cardinal, pale and disturbed, entered
the little room.
"f I am informed, monseigneur " stammered out the cardinal.
To the point," said the Franciscan, in a faint voice, showing the
cardinal a letter which he had written to the Grand Council. "Is that
your handwriting?"
" Yes, but "
"And your summons here ?"
The cardinal hesitated to answer. His purple revolted against the
mean garb of the poor Franciscan, who stretched out his hand and
displayed the ring, which produced its effect, greater in proportion as
the greatness of the person increased over whom the Franciscan exer-
cised his influence.
"Quick, the secret, the secret!" said the dying man,leaning upon
his confessor.
* Ad majorem Dei gloriam.
THE STATE SECBET. 601
" Coram isto ?" inquired the Spanish cardinal.
" Speak in Spanish," said the Franciscan, showing the liveliest
attention.
"You are aware, monseigneur," said the cardinal, continuing the
conversation in the Castilian dialect, " that the condition of the mar-
riage of the Infanta with the king of France is the absolute renun-
ciation of the rights of the said Infanta, as well as of King Louis XIY.,
to all claim to the crown of Spain." The Franciscan made a sign in
the affirmative.
" The consequence is," continued the cardinal, " that the peace and
alliance between the two kingdoms, depend upon the observance of
that clause of the contract." A similar sign from the Franciscan.
"Not only France and Spain," continued the cardinal, "Jrnt the whole
of Europe even, would be violently rent asunder by the faithlessness of
either party." Another movement of the dying man's head.
" It further results," continued the speaker, " that the man who might
be able to foresee events, and to render certain that which is no more
than a vague idea floating in the mind of man; that is to say, the idea
of future good or evil, would preserve the world from a great cata-
strophe; and the event, which has no fixed certainty even in the brain
of him who originated it, could be turned to the advantage of our
order."
"Pronto, pronto !" murmured the Franciscan, who suddenly became
paler, and leaned upon the priest. The cardinal approached the ear of
the dying man, and said,—"Well, monseigneur, I know that the king
of France has determined that, at the first pretext, a death for instance,
either that of the king of Spain or that of a brother of the Infanta,
France will, arms in hand, claim the inheritance, and I have in my
possession already prepared the plan of policy agreed upon by Louis XIV.
for this occasion."
" And this plan ?" said the Franciscan.
" Here it is," returned the cardinal.
" In whose handwriting is it ? " " In my own."
".Have you anything further to say to me ?"
" I think I have said a good deal, my lord," replied the cardinal.
"Yes, you have rendered the order a great service. But how did
you procure the details, by the aid of which you have constructed your
plan?"
" I have the under servants of the king of France in my pay, and I
obtain from them all the waste papers, which have been saved from
being burnt."
" Very ingenious," murmured the Franciscan, endeavouring to smile;
" you will leave this hotel, cardinal, in a quarter of an hour, and a reply
shall be sent you." The cardinal withdrew.
" Call Grisart, and desire the Venetian Marini to come," said the
sick man.
While the confessor obeyed, the Franciscan, instead of striking out
the cardinal's name, as he had done the baron's, made a cross at the side
of it. Then, exhausted by the effort, he fell back on Ms bed, mur-
muring the name of Doctor Grisart. When he returned to his senses,
he had drunk about half of the potion, of which the remainder was left
in the glass, and he found himself supported by the physician, while
the Venetian and the confessor were standing close to the door. The
Venetian submitted to the same formalities as his two predecessors,
hesitated as they had done at the sight of the two strangers, but his
confidence restored by the order of the general, he revealed, that the
602 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
pope, terrified at the power of the order, was weaving a plot for the
general expulsion of the Jesuits, and was tampering with the different
courts of Europe, in order to obtain their assistance. He described the
JiontifFs auxiliaries, his means of action, and indicated the particular
ocality in the Archipelago, where, by a sudden surprise, two cardinals,
adepts of the eleventh year, and, consequently, high in authority, were
to be transported, together with thirty-two of the principal affiliated
members of Rome. The Franciscan thanked the Signor Marini. It
was by no means a slight service he had rendered the society by
denouncing this pontifical project. The Venetian thereupon received
directions to set off in a quarter of an hour, and left as radiant as if he
already possessed the ring, the sign of supreme authority of the society.
As, however, he was departing, the Franciscan murmured to himself
" All these men are either spies, or a sort of police, not one of them a
feneral; they have all discovered a plot, but not one of them a secret.
t is not by means of ruin, or war, or force, that the Society of Jesus is
to be governed, but by that mysterious influence which a moral
superiority confers. No, the man is not yet found, and, to complete
the misfortune, Heaven strikes me down, and I am dying. Oh! must
the society indeed fall with me for want of a column to support it ?
Must death, which is waiting for me, swallow up with me the future
of the order? That future which ten years more of my own life
would have rendered eternal; for that future, with the reign of the
new king, is opening radiant and full of splendour." These words,
which had been half-reflected, half-pronounced aloud, were listened to
by the Jesuit confessor with a terror similar to that with which one
listens to the wanderings of a person attacked by fever, whilst Grisart,
with a mind of a higher order, devoured them as the revelations of
an unknown world, in which his looks were plunged without ability to
attain them. Suddenly the Franciscan recovered himself.
"Let us finish this," he said, "death is approaching. Oh! just now
I was dying resignedly, for I hoped . . . while now I sink in despair,
unless those who remain . . . Grisart, Grisart, make me live but an
hour longer." .
Grisart approached the dying monk, and made him swallow a few
drops, not of the potion which was still left in the glass, but of the
contents of a small bottle he had upon his person.
"Call the Scotchman!" exclaimed the Franciscan ; "call the Bremen
merchant. Call, call, quickly. I am dying. I am suffocated."
The confessor darted forward to seek 'for assistance, as if there had
been any human strength which could hold back the hand of death,
which was weighing down the sick man ; but, at the threshold of the
door, he found Aramis, who, with his finger on his lips, like the statue
of Harpoorates, the god of silence, by a look motioned him back to the
end of the apartment. The physician and the confessor after having
consulted each other by their looks, made a movement, however, as if
to push Aramis aside, who, however, with two signs of the cross, each
made in a different manner, transfixed them both in their places.
"A chief!" they both murmured.
Aramis slowly advanced into the room where the dying man was
struggling against the first attack of the agony which had seized him.
As for the Franciscan, whether owing to the effect of the elixir, or
whether the appearance of Aramis had restored his strength, he made
a movement, and his eyes glaring, his mouth half open, and his hair
damp with sweat, sat up upon the bed. Aramis felt that the air of the
room was stiffing; the windows were closed; the fire was burning upon
THE STATE SECRET. 603
the hearth; a pair of candles of yellow wax were guttering down in the
copper candlesticks, and still further increased, by their thick smoke,
the temperature of the room. Aramis opened the window, and fixing
upon the dying man a look full of intelligence and respect, said to him:
"Monseigneur, pray forgive my coming in this manner, before you
summoned me, but your state alarms me, and I thought you might
possibly die before you had seen me, for I am only the sixth on your list."
The dying man started and looked at the list.
" You are, therefore, he who was formerly called Aramis, and since,
the Chevalier d'Herblay ? You are the bishop of Yannes, then ?"
"Yes, my lord."
" I know you, I have seen you."
" At the last jubilee, we were with the Holy Father together."
"Yes, yes, I remember; and you place yourself on the list of can-
didates."
" Monseigneur, I have heard it said that the order required to become
possessed of a great state secret, and knowing that from modesty you
had in anticipation resigned your functions in favour of the person
who should be the depositary of this secret, I wrote to say that I was
ready to compete, possessing alone a secret which I believe to be
important."
Speak," said the Franciscan, " I am ready to listen to you, and to
judge of the importance of the secret."
" A secret of the value of that which I have the honour to confide to
you, cannot be communicated by word of mouth. Any idea which,
when once expressed, has thereby lost its safeguard, and has become
vulgarized by any manifestation or communication of it whatever, no
longer is the property of him who gave it birth. My words may be
overheard by some listener, or perhaps by an enemy; one ought not
therefore to speak at random, for, in such a case, the secret would cease
to be one."
"How do you propose, then, to convey your secret?" inquired the
dying monk.
"With one hand Aramis signed to the physician and the confessor to
withdraw, and with the other he handed to the Franciscan a paper
enclosed in a double envelope. " Is not writing more dangerous still
than language ?"
" No, my lord." said Aramis, " for you will find within this envelope,
characters which you and I can alone understand." The Franciscan
looked at Aramis with an astonishment which momentarily increased.
" It is a cipher," continued the latter, " which you used in 1655, and
which your secretary, Ivan Injan, who is dead, could alone decipher, if
he were to be restored to life."
" You knew this cipher, then ? "
" It was I who taught it him," said Aramis, bowing with a graceful-
ness full of respect, and advancing towards the door as if to leave the
room; but a gesture of the Franciscan, accompanied by a cry for him
to remain, retained him.
" JEcce homo !" he exclaimed; then reading the paper a second time,
he called out, " Approach, approach quickly ! "
Aramis returned to the side of the Franciscan, with the same calm coun-
tenance and the same respectful manner, unchanged. The Franciscan,
extending his arm, burnt by the flame of the candle, the paper which
Aramis had handed him. Then, taking hold of Aramis's hand, he drew
him towards him, and inquired: — " In what manner and by whose
means could you possibly become acquainted with such a secret."
604 THE VICOHTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Through Madame de Cbevreuse, the intimate friend and confidante
of the queen."
" And Madame de Chevreuse " " Is dead."
" Mid any others know it ? "
" A man and woman only, and they of the lower classes.
" Who were they ? " " Persons who had brought him up."
" What have become of them ? "
" Mead also. This secret burns like fire."
" And you have survived ? "
"No one is aware that I know it."
" And for what length of time have you possessed this secret ? "
" Por the last fifteen years."
" And you have kept it ? " " I wished to live."
" And you give it to the order without ambition, without acknow-
ledgment ? "
" I give it to the order with ambition and with a hope of return,"
said Aramis; " for if you live, my lord, you will make of me, now you
know me, what I can and ought to be."
" And as I am dying," exclaimed the Pranciscan, " I constitute you
my successor .... Thus." And drawing off the ring, he passed it on
Aramis' finger. Then, turning towards the two spectators of this scene,
he said : " Be ye witnesses of this, and testify, if need be, that, sick in
body, but sound in mind, I have freely and voluntarily bestowed this
ring, the token of supreme authority, upon Monseigneur d'Herblay,
bishop of Yannes, whom I nominate my successor, and before whom I,
an humble sinner, about to appear before Heaven, prostrate myself the
first, as an example for all to follow." And the Pranciscan bowed lowly
and submissively, whilst the physician and the Jesuit fell on their knees.
Aramis, even while he became paler than the dying man himself, bent
his looks successively upon all the actors of this scene. His gratified
ambition flowed with his blood towards his heart.
"We must lose no time," said the Pranciscan ; " what I had to do
here is urgent. I shall never succeed in carrying it out."
" I will do it," said Aramis.
" That's well," said the Pranciscan, and then turning towards the
Jesuit and the doctor, he added, " Leave us alone," a direction which
they instantly obeyed.
" With this sign," he said, " you are the man needed to shake the
world from one end to the other; with this sign you will overthrow;
with this sign you will edify; in hoc signo vinces J "
" Close the door," continued the Pranciscan, after a pause. Aramis
shut and bolted the door, and returned to the side of the Pranciscan.
" The pope has conspired against the order," said the monk, " the
pope must die."
' He shall die," said Aramis, quietly.
" Seven hundred thousand livres are owing to a Bremen merchant of
the name of Monstett, who came here to get the guarantee of my
signature."
" He shall be paid," said Aramis.
" Six knights of Malta, whose names are written here, have disco-
vered, by the indiscreetness of one of the affiliated of the eleventh year,
the three mysteries; it must be ascertained what these men have done
with the secret, to get it back again and crush it."
" It shall be done."
" Three dangerous affiliated members must be sent away into Thibet,
to perish there; they are condemned, Here are their names."
mission. 605
" I will see that the sentence be carried out."
" Lastly, there is a lady at Anvers, grand-niece of Eavaillac; she holds
certain papers in her hands which compromise the order. There has
been payable to the family during the last fifty-one years a*pension of
fifty-thousand livres. The pension is a heavy one, and the order is not
wealthy. Eedeem the papers for a sum of money paid down, or in case
of refusal, stop the pension—but without risk."
" I will think about what is best to be done," said Aramis.
" A vessel chartered from Lima will have entered the port of Lisbon
last week; ostensibly it is laden with chocolate, in reality with gold.
Every ingot is concealed by a coating of chocolate. The vessel belongs
to the order; it is worth seventeen millions of livres, you will see that
claim is laid to it; here are the bills of lading."
tc To what port shall I direct it to be taken ? "
" To Bayonne."
" Before three weeks are over it shall be there, wind and weather
permitting. Is that all ? " The Franciscan made a sign in the afiirma-
tive, for he could no longer speak; the blood rushed to his throat and
his head, and gushed from his mouth, his nostrils, and his eyes. The
dying man had barely time to press Aramis's hand, when he fell in con-
vulsions from his bed upon the floor. Aramis placed his hand upon the
Franciscan's heart, but it had ceased to beat. As he stooped down,
Aramis observed that a fragment of the paper he had given the Fran-
ciscan had escaped being burnt. He picked it up, and burnt it to the
last atom. Then, summoning the confessor and the physician, he said
to the former" Your penitent is in heaven ; he needs nothing more
than prayers and the burial bestowed on the dead. Go and prepare
what is necessary for a simple interment, such as a poor monk only
would require. Go."
The Jesuit left the room. Then, turning towards the physician, and
observing his pale and anxious face, he said, in a low tone of voice
" Monsieur Grisart, empty and clean this glass; there is too much left
in it of what the grand council desired you to put in." Grisart, amazed,
overcome, completely astounded, almost fell backwards in his extreme
terror. Aramis shrugged his shoulders in sign of pity, took the glass
and poured out the contents among the ashes of the hearth. He then
left the room, carrying the papers of the dead man with him.
CHAPTER CXXIX.
Mission.
The next day, or rather the same day (for the events we have just
described had been concluded only at three o'clock in the morning),
before breakfast was served, and as the king was preparing to go to
mass with the two queens; as Monsieur, with the Chevalier de Lor-
raine, and a few other intimate companions, was mounting his horse to
set off for the river, to take one of those celebrated baths about which
the ladies of the court were almost mad; as, in fact, no one remained in
the chateau, with the exception of Madame, who, under the pretext of
indisposition, would not leave her room; Montalais was seen, or rather
was not seen, to glide stealthily out of the room appropriated to the
maids of honour, leading La Valliere after her, who tried to conceal
herself as much as possible, and both of them, hurrying secretly through
606 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGELONNE.
the gardens, succeeded, looking round them at every step they took, in
reaching the thicket. The weather was cloudy, a hot air bowed the
flowers and the shrubs before its blast; the burning dust, swept along in
clouds by the wind, was whirled in eddies towards the trees. Monta-
lais, who, during their progress, had discharged the functions of a clever
scout, advanced a few steps further, and, turning round again, to be
quite sure that no one was either listening or approaching, said to her
companion, Thank goodness, we are quite alone! Since yesterday
every one spies us here, and a circle seems to be drawn round us, as if
we were plague-stricken." La Valliere bent down her head and sighed.
"It is positively unheard of," continued Montalais; "from M. Mali-
corne to M. de Saint-Aignan, every one wishes to get hold of our secret.
Come, Louise, let us concert a little together, in order that I may know
what to do."
La Valliere lifted up towards her companion her beautiful eye^
pure and deep as the azure of a spring-time sky, " And I," she said, "I
will ask you why have we been summoned to Madame's own apart-
ment ? Why have we slept close to her apartment, instead of sleeping
as usual in our own ? Why did you return so late, and whence are
these measures of strict supervision which have been adopted since this
morning, with respect to us both?"
" My dear Louise, you answer my question by another, or rather, by
ten others, which is not answering me at all. I will tell you all you
want to know later, and, as they are matters of secondary importance,
you can wait. What I ask you—for everything will depend upon that
—is, whether there is or is not any secret?"
"I do not know if there is any secret," said La Valliere; "but I
do know, for my own part at least, that there has been great impru-
dence committed. Since the foolish remark I made, and my still more
silly fainting yesterday, every one here is making remarks about us."
" Speak for yourself," said Montalais, laughing, " speak for yourself
and for Tonnay-Charente; for both of you made your declarations of
love to the skies, and which unfortunately were intercepted."
La Valliere hung down her head. " Really you overwhelm me," she
said.
" I ?" " Yes, you kill me with your jests."
"Listen to me, Louise. These are no jests, for nothing is more
serious; on the contrary, I did not drag you out of the chateau; I did
not miss attending mass; I did not pretend to have a cold, as Madame
did, and which she has as much as I have; and, lastly, I did not display
ten times more diplomacy than M. Colbert inherited from M. de
Mazarin, and makes use of with respect to M. Eouquet, in order to
find means of confiding my perplexities to you, for the sole end and
purpose that when, at last, we are alone, and no one can listen to us,
fou are to deal hypocritically with me. No, no; believe me,that when
ask you any questions, it is not from curiosity alone, but really be-
cause the position is a critical one. What you said yesterday is now
known,—it is a text on which every one is discoursing. Every one
embellishes it to the utmost, and does so according to his own fancy;
you had the honour last night, and you have it still to-day, of occupying
the whole court, my dear Louise; and the number of tender and witty
remarks which have been ascribed to you, would make Mademoiselle
de Scudery and her brother burst from very spite, if they were faithfully
reported to them."
" But, dearest Montalais," said the poor girl, " you know better than
any one what I did say, since you were present when I said it."
mission. 607
" Yes, I know. But that is not the question. I have even not for-
gotten a single syllable you said; but did you think what you were
saying?"
Louise became confused. " What," she exclaimed, " more questions
still! Oh, heavens! when I would give the whole world to forget what
I did say, how does it happen that every one does all he possibly can
to remind me of it ? Ob, this is indeed terrible!"
" What is ?"
" To have a friend who ought to spare me, who might advise me and
help me to save myself, and yet who is destroying—is killing me."
" There, there, that will do," said Montalais; " after having said too
little, you now say too much. No one thinks of killing you, nor even
of robbing you, even of your secret; I wish to have it voluntarily, and
in no other way; for the question does not concern your own affairs
only, but ours also; and Tonnay-Charente would tell you as I do, if she
were here. For, the fact is, that last evening she wished to have some
private conversation in our room, and I was going there after the
Manicampian and Malicornian colloquies had terminated, when I
learnt, on my return, rather late it is true, that Madame had seques-
trated her maids of honour, and that we are to sleep in her apartments,
instead of our own room. Moreover, Madame has sequestrated her
maids of honour in order that they should not have the time to concert
any measures together, and this morning she was closeted with Tonnay-
Charente with the same object. Tell me, then, to what extent Athenais
and I can rely upon you, as we will tell you in what way you can rely
upon us ?"
" I do not clearly understand the question you have put," said Louise,
much agitated.
" Hum! and yet, on the contrary, you seem to understand me very
well. However, I will put my questions in a more precise manner, in
order that you may not be able, in the slightest degree, to evade them.
Listen to me: Do you love M. de Bragelonne ? That is plain enough,
is it not?"
At this question, which fell like the first projectile of a besieging
army into a besieged town, Louise started. "You ask me," she ex-
claimed, " if I love Eaoul, the friend of my childhood,—my brother
almost?"
"No, no, no! Again you evade me, or rather, you wish to escape
me. I do not ask you if you love Eaoul, your childhood's friend,—your
brother; but I ask if you love the Vicomte de Bragelonne, your
affianced husband ?"
" Good heavens! my dear Montalais," said Louise, " how severe your
tone is!"
" You deserve no indulgence,—I am neither more nor less severe than
usual. I put a question to you, so answer it."
" You certainly do not," said Louise, in a choking voice, " speak to
me like a friend; but I will answer you as a true friend."
" "Well, do so."
"Very well; my heart is full of scruples and silly feelings of pride,
with respect to everything that a woman ought to keep secret, and in
this respect no one has ever read into the bottom of my soul."
" That I know very well. If I had read it, I should not interrogate
you as I have done; I should simply say,—' My good Louise, you have
the happiness of an acquaintance with M. de Bragelonne, who is an ex-
cellent young man, and an advantageous match for a girl without any
fortune. M. de la Fere will leave something like fifteen thousand livres
608 the vicohte de bragelonne.
a year to his son. At a future day, then, you, as this son's wife, will
have fifteen thousand livres a year; which is not bad. Turn, then,
neither to the right hand nor to the left, but go frankly to M. de
Bragelonne; that is to say, to the aliar to which he will lead you.
Afterwards, why—afterwards, according to his disposition, you will
be emancipated or enslaved; in other words, you will have a right to
commit any piece of folly which people commit who have either too
much liberty or too little.' That is, my dear Louise, what I should
have told you at first, if I had been able to read your heart."
" And I should have thanked you," stammered out Louise, " although
the advice does not appear to me to be altogether good."
" Wait, wait. But immediately after having given you that advice, I
should add:—' Louise, it is very dangerous to pass whole days with your
head reclining on your bosom, your hands unoccupied, your eyes rest-
less and full of thought; it is dangerous to prefer the least frequented
paths, and no longer to be amused with such diversions as gladden young
girls' hearts; it is dangerous, Louise, to write with the point of your
foot, as you do, upon the gravel, certain letters which it is useless for
you to efface, but which appear again under your heel, particularly
when those letters rather resemble the letter L, than the letter B;
and, lastly, it is dangerous to allow the mind to dwell on a thousand
wild fancies, the fruits of solitude and headaches; these fancies, while
they sink into a young girl's mind, make her cheeks sink in also, so
that it is not unusual, on these occasions, to find the most delightful
persons in the world become the most disagreeable, and the wittiest to
become the dullest."
"I thank you, dearest Aure," replied La Yalliere, gently; "it is like
you to speak to me in this manner, and I thank you for it."
" It was only for the benefit of wild dreamers, such as I described,
that I spoke; do not take any of my words, then, to yourself except such
as you think you deserve. Stay, I hardly know what story recurs to
my memory of some silly or melancholy young, girl, who was gradually
pining away because she fancied that the prince, or the king, or the em-
peror, whoever it was—and it does not much matter which—had fallen
completely in love with her; while, on the contrary, the prince, or the
king, or the emperor, whichever you please, was plainly in love with
some one else, and—a singular circumstance, one, indeed, which she
could not perceive, although every one around and about her perceived
it clearly enough—made use of her as a screen for his own love affair.
You laugh as I do, at this poor silly girl do you not, Louise?"
" I laugh of course," stammered out Louise, pale as death.
" And you are right, too, for the thing is amusing enough. The story,
whether true or false, amused me, and so I have remembered it and told
it to you. Just imagine, then, my good Louise, the mischief that such
a melancholy would create in your brain,—a melancholy, I mean, of that
kind. For my own part, I resolved to tell you the story; for, if such a
thing were to happen to either of us, it would be most essential to be
assured of its truth; to-day it is a snare, to-morrow it will become a
jest and mockery, the next day it will be death itself." La Valliere
started again, and became, if possible, still paler.
" Whenever a king takes notice of us," continued Montalais, " he lets
us see it easily enough, and, if we happen to be the object he covets, he
knows very well how to gain his object. You see. then, Louise, that, in
such circumstances, between young girls exposed to such a danger as
the one in question, the most perlect confidence should exist, in order
Hissiotf, 609
that those hearts which are not disposed towards melancholy, may watch
over those who are likely to become so."
" Silence, silence!" said La Valliere; " some one approaches."
" Some one is approaching, in fact," said Montalais; " but who can
it possibly be ? Everybody is away, either at mass with the king, or
bathing with Monsieur."
At the end of the walk the young girls perceived almost immediately,,
beneath the arching trees, the graceful carriage and noble height of a
young man, who, with his sword under his arm and a cloak thrown
across his shoulders, and booted and spurred besides, saluted them from
the distance with a gentle smile. " Raoul!" exclaimed Montalais.
" M. de Bragelonne !" murmured Louise.
" A very proper judge to decide upon our difference of opinion," said
Montalais.
" Oh ! Montalais, Montalais, for pity's sake," exclaimed La Valliere,
" after having been so cruel, show me a little mercy." These words,
uttered with all the fervour of a prayer, effaced all trace of irony, if not
from Montalais's heart, at least from her face.
" Why, you are as handsome as Amadis, Monsieur de Bragelonne,"
she cried to Raoul, " and armed and booted like him."
" A thousand compliments, young ladies," replied Raoul, bowing.
" But why, I ask, are you booted in this manner?" repeated Monta-
lais, whilst La Valliere, although she looked at Raoul with a surprise
equal to that of her companion, nevertheless uttered not a word.
" Why ?" inquired Raoul.
"Yes!" ventured Louise.
" Because I am about to set off," said Bragelonne, looking at Louise.
The young girl seemed as though smitten by some superstitious feel-
ing of terror, and tottered. " You are going away, Raoul!" she cried;
" and where are you going ?"
" Dearest Louise," he replied, with that quiet composed manner which
was natural to him, " I am going to England."
" What are you going to do in England ?"
" The king has sent me there."
" The king!" exclaimed Louise and Aure together, involuntarily ex-
changing glances, the conversation which had just been interrupted
recurring to them both. Raoul intercepted the glance, but he could
not understand its meaning, and, naturally enough, attributed it to the
interest which both the young girls took in him.
" Lis majesty," he said, "has been good enough to remember that the
Comte de la Fere is high in favour with King Charles II. This morn-
ing, then, as he was on his way to attend mass, the king, seeing me as he
passed, signed to me to approach, which I accordingly did. ' Monsieur
de Bragelonne,' he said to me,' you will call upon M. Fouquet, who has
received from me letters for the king of Great Britain ; you will be the
bearer of them.' I bowed. ' Ah !' his majesty added,' before you leave,
you will be good enough to take any commissions which Madame may
have for the king her brother.'"
" Gracious Heaven!" murmured Louise, much agitated, and yet full
of thought at the same time.
" So quickly! You are desired to set off in such haste!" said Montalais,
almost paralyzed by this unforeseen event.
" Properly to obey those whom we respect," said Raoul, " it is neces-
sary to obey quickly. Within ten minutes after I had received the
order, I was ready. Madame, already informed, is writing the letter
which she is good enough to do me the honour of intrusting to me. In
2 B
610 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
the mean time, learning from Mademoiselle dc Tonnay-Charente that
it was likely you would be in this direction, I came here, and am happy
to find you both." .
" And both of us very suffering, as you see," said Montalais, going to
Louise's assistance, whose countenance was visibly altered.
"Suffering?" repeated Raoul, pressing Louise's hand with a tender
curiosity. " Tour hand is like ice." " It is nothing."
" This coldness does not reach your heart, Louise, does it ?" inquired
the young man, with a tender smile. Louise raised her head hastily, as
if this question had been inspired by some suspicion, and had aroused a
feeling of remorse.
" Oh! you know," she said, with an effort, "that my heart will' never
be cold towards a friend like yourself, Monsieur de Bragelonne."
" Thank you, Louise. I know both your heart and your mind, and it
is not by the touch of the hand that one can judge of an affection like
yours. You know, Louise, how devotedly I love you, with what perfect
and unreserved confidence I have resigned my life to you; will you not
forgive me, then, for speaking to you with something like the frankness
of a child?"
" Speak, Monsieur Raoul," said Louise, trembling very much, "I am
listening."
" I cannot part from you, carrying away with me a thought which
torments me; absurd I know it to be, and yet one which rends my very
heart."
"Are you going away, then, for any length of time?" inquired La
Valliere, with a thickened utterance, while Montalais turned her head
aside.
"No; and probably I shall not be absent more than a fortnight."
La Valliere pressed her hand upon her heart, which felt as though it
were breaking.
" It is strange," pursued Raoul, looking at the young girl with a
melancholy expression; "I have often left you when setting off on
adventures fraught with danger. Then I started joyously enough—my
heart free, my mind intoxicated by the thought of happiness in store for
me, of hopes of which the future was full; and yet, at that time, I was
about to face the Spanish cannon, or the halberds of the Walloons. To-
day, without the existence of any danger or uneasiness, and by the
easiest manner in the world, I am going in search of a glorious recom-
pense, which this mark of the king's favour seems to indicate, for I am,
perhaps, going to win you, Louise; what other favour, more precious
than yourself, could the king confer upon me ? Yet, Louise, in very
truth I know not how or why, but this happiness and this future seem
to vanish from my eyes like smoke—like an idle dream; and I feel here,
here, at the very bottom of my heart, a deep-seated grief, a dejection
which I cannot overcome; something heavy, passionless, death-like,—
resembling a corpse. Oh! Louise, too well do I know why; it is be-
cause I have never loved you so truly as now. God help me!"
At this last exclamation, which issued as it were from a broken heart,
Louise burst into tears, and threw herself into Montalais's arms. The
latter, although she was not very easily impressed, felt the tears rush
to her eyes. Raoul saw only the tears which Louise shed; his look,
however, did not penetrate—nay, sought not to penetrate—beyond those
tears. He bent his knee before her, and tenderly kissed her hand; and
it was evident that in that kiss he poured out his whole heart before her.
" Rise, rise," said Montalais to him, herself ready to cry, " for Athenaii
is coming."
Happy as A prince. 611
Raoul rose, brushed his knee with the hack of his hand, smiled again
upon Louise, whose eyes were fixed on the ground, and, having pressed
Montalais's hand gratefully, he turned round to salute Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente, the sound of whose silken robe was already heard
upon the gravel walk. " Has Madame finished her letter ? " he inquired,
when the young girl came within reach of his voice.
" Yes, the letter is finished, sealed, and her royal highness is ready to
receive you."
Raoul, at this remark, hardly gave himself time to salute Athenais,
cast one last look at Louise, bowed to Montalais, and withdrew in the
direction of the chateau. As he withdrew he again turned round, but
at last, at the end of the grand walk, it was useless to do so again, as he
could no longer see them. The three young girls, on their side, had,
with very different feelings, watched him disappear.
" At last," said Athenais, the first to interrupt the silence, " at last we
are alone, free to talk of yesterday's great affair, and to come to an un-
derstanding upon the conduct it is advisable for us to pursue. Besides,
if you will listen to me," she continued, looking round on all sides, " I
will explain to you, as briefly as possible, in the first place, our own duty,
such as I imagine it to be, and, if you do not understand a hint, what is
Madame's desire on the subject." And Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Charente pronounced these words in such a tone, as to leave no doubt,
in her companion's minds, upon the official character with which she
was invested.
" Madame's desire !" exclaimed Montalais and La Valliere together.
" Her ultimatum," replied Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, diplo-
matically.
" But," murmured La Valliere, "does Madame know, then, "
"Madame knows more about the matter than we said, even," said
Athenais, in a formal, precise manner. " Therefore, let us come to a
proper understanding."
"Yes, indeed," said Montalais, "and I am listening in breathless
attention."
"Gracious Heaven!" murmured Louise, trembling, "shall I ever
survive this cruel evening P"
" Oh ! do not frighten yourself in that manner," said Athenais; " we
have found a remedy for it." So, seating herself between her two com-
panions, and taking each of them by the hand, which she held in her
own, she began. The first words were hardly spoken, when they heard
a horse galloping away over the stones of the public high-road, outside
the gates of the chateau.
CHAPTER CXXX.
Happy as a Prince,
At the very moment he was about entering the cMteau, Bragelonne
had met de Guiche. But before having been met by Raoul, de Guiche
had met Manicamp, who had met Malicorne. How was it that Mali-
corne had met Manicamp ? Nothing more simple, for he had awaited
his return from mass, where he had accompanied M. de Saint-Aignan.
"When they had met, they congratulated each other upon their good
fortune, and Manicamp had availed himself of the circumstance to ask
his friend if he had not a few crowns still remaining at the bottom of
his pocket. The latter, without expressing any surprise at the question,
612 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
and which The expected perhaps, had answered that every pocket, which
is always being drawn upon without anything ever being put in it,
greatly resembles those wells which can supply water during the winter,
but which the gardeners render useless by exhausting them during the
summer; that his, Malicorne's pocket, certainly was deep, and that
there would be a pleasure in drawing on it in times of plenty, but that,
unhappily, abuse had produced barrenness. To this remark Manicamp,
deep in thought, had replied, " Quite true!"
" The question, then, is how to fill it ?w Malicorne had added,
" Of course; but in what way ?"
" Nothing easier, my dear Monsieur Manicamp."
" So much the better. How?"
" A post in Monsieur's household, and the pocket is full again."
"You have the post?"
" That is, I have the promise of being nominated."
" Well ?" " Yes; but the promise of nomination, without the post
itself, is the purse without money,"
" Quite true," Manicamp had replied a second time.
" Let us try for the post, then," the candidate had persisted.
" My dear fellow," sighed Manicamp, " an appointment in his royal
highness's household is one of the gravest difficulties of our position."
"Oh! oh!"
" There is no question that, at the present moment, we cannot ask
Monsieur for anything."
" Why so ?" " Because we are not on good terms with him."
" A great absurdity, too," said Malicorne promptly.
" Bah! and if we were to show Madame any attention," said Mani-
camp, " frankly speaking, do you think we should please Monsieur ?"
" Precisely; if we show Madame any attention, and do so adroitly,
Monsieur ought to adore us." " Hum!"
" Either that, or we are great fools; make haste, therefore, M. Mani-
camp, you who are so able a politician, to make M. de Guiche and his
royal highness friendly again."
" Tell me, what did M. de Saint-Aignan tell you, Malicorne ?"
" Tell me, nothing; he asked me several questions, and that was alL"
"Well, he was less discreet, then, with me."
"What did he tell you ?"
"That the king is passionately in love with Mademoiselle de la
Valliere."
" We knew that already," replied Malicorne, ironically ; " and every-
body talks about it loud enough for every one to know it; but in the
mean time, do what I advise you; speak to M. de Guiche, and endea-
your to get him to make an advance towards Monsieur. Deuce take
it! he owes his royal highness that, at least."
" But we must see de Guiche, then ?"
" There does not seem to be any great difficulty in that; try to see
him in the same way I tried to see you; wait for him, you know that
he is naturally very fond of walking."
" Yes; but whereabouts does he walk ?"
" What a question to ask! Do you not know that he is in love with
Madame ? " " So it is said."
"Very well; you will find him walking about on the side of the
chateau where her apartments are."
" Stay, my dear Malicorne, you were not mistaken, for here he is
coming."
" Wny should I be mistaken. Have you ever noticed that I am in
HAPPY AS A PKINCE. 613
the habit of making a mistake ? Come, we only need to understand
each other. Are you in want of money ?33
" Ah!33 exclaimed Manicamp, mournfully.
"Well, I want my appointment. Let Malicorne have the appoint-
ment, and Manicamp shall have the money. There is no greater diffi-
culty in the way than that.33
" Very well: in that case make yourself easy. I will do my best.33
"Do so.33
De Guiche approached, Malicorne stepped aside, and Manicamp
caught hold of de Guiche, who was thoughtful and melancholy, " Tell
me, my dear comte, what rhyme you were trying to find,33 said Mani-
camp. " I have an excellent one to match yours, particularly if yours
ends in ame"
De Guiche shook his head, and recognizing a friend, he took him by
the arm. " My dear Manicamp," he said, " I am in search of some-
thing very different from a rhyme."
" What is it you are looking for ?"
" You will help me to find what I am in search of,33 continued the
comte; " you who are such an idle fellow, in other words, a man with a
mind full of ingenious devices."
" I am getting my ingenuity ready, then, my dear comte."
" This is the state of the case, then: I wish to approach to a particular
house, where I have some business.33
" You must get near to the house, then," said Manicamp.
"Very good; but in this house dwells a husband who happens to be
jealous."
" Is he more jealous than the dog Cerberus ?"
" Not more, but quite as much so."
" Has he three mouths, as that obdurate guardian of the infernal
regions had ? Do not shrug your shoulders, my dear comte; I put
the question to you with a perfect reason for doing so, since poets
pretend that, in order to soften Monsieur Cerberus, the visitor must
take something enticing with him—a cake, for instance. Therefore, I,
who view the matter in a prosaic light, that is to say, in the light of
reality, I say: one cake is very little for three mouths. If your jealous
husband has three mouths, comte, get three cakes."
" Manicamp, I can get such advice as that from M. de Beautru."
"In order to get better advice,33 said Manicamp, with a comical
seriousness of expression, " you will be obliged to adopt a more precise
formula than you have used towards me."
" If Raoul were here,33 said de Guiche, " he would be sure to under-
stand me."
" So I think, particularly if you said to him: ' I should very much
like to see Madame a little nearer, but I fear Monsieur, because he is
jealous.3"
"Manicamp!" cried the comte, angrily, and endeavouring to over-
whelm his tormenter by a look, who did not, however, appear to be in
the slightest degree disturbed by it.
" What is the matter now, my dear comte ?" inquired Manicamp.
" What! is it thus that you blaspheme the most sacred of names!"
"What names?"
" Monsieur! Madame ! the highest names in the kingdom."
" You are very strangely mistaken, my dear comte, I never mentioned
the highest names in the kingdom. I merely answered you in reference
to the subject of a jealous husband, whose name you did not tell me,
and who, as a matter of course, has a wife. I therefore, I repeat,
614 the vicomte YE beagelonne.
replied to you. In order to see Madame, you must get a little more
intimate with Monsieur." „ ,, , , ,
" Jester, that you are," said the comte, smiling; " was that what you
said ?" " Nothing else."
"Very good; what then?"
" Now," added Manicamp, "let the question be regarding the Duchess
or the Duke ; very well, I shall say: Let us get into the
house in some way or another; for that is a tactic which cannot in
any case be unfavourable to your love-affair."
" Ah! Manicamp, if you could find me a pretext, a good pretext."
" A pretext; I can find you a hundred, nay, a thousand. If Malicorne
were here, he would have already hit upon fifty thousand excellent
pretexts."
"Who is Malicorne?" replied de Guiche, half-shutting his eyes like
a person reflecting, " I seem to know that name."
" Know him! I should think so; you owe his father thirty thousand
crowns."
" Ah, indeed! so it's that worthy fellow from Orleans."
"Whom you promised an appointment in Monsieur's household;
not the jealous husband, but the other."
" Well, then, since your friend Malicorne is such an inventive genius,
let him find me a means of being adored by Monsieur, and a pretext to
make my peace with him."
" Very good; I'll talk to him about it."
" But who is that coming ?" " The Vicomte de Bragelonne."
" Eaoul! yes, it is he," said de Guiche, as he hastened forward to
meet him. " You here, Eaoul!" said de Guiche.
" Yes; I was looking for you to say farewell," replied Eaoul, warmly
pressing the comte's hand. " How do you do, Monsieur Manicamp ?"
" How is this, vicomte; you are leaving us ?"
" Yes; a mission from the king."
" Where are you going?"
" To London. On leaving you, I am going to Madame; she has a
letter to give me for his majesty Charles II."
" You will find her alone, for Monsieur has gone out; gone to bathe
in fact." '
" In that case, you, who are one of Monsieur's gentlemen in waiting,
will undertake to make my excuses to him. I should have waited in
order to receive any directions he might have to give me, if the desire
for my immediate departure had not been intimated to me by M.
Bouquet on behalf of his majesty."
Manicamp touched de Guiche's elbow, saying, " There's a pretext
for you."
" What ?" " M. de Bragelonne's excuses."
" A weak pretext," said de Guiche.
" An excellent one, if Monsieur is not angry with you; but a paltry
one if he bears you ill-will."
"You are right, Manicamp; a pretext, whatever it may be, is all I
require. And so a pleasant journey to you, Eaoul." And the two
friends thereupon took a warm leave of each other. Live minutes
afterwards Eaoul entered Madame's apartments, as Mademoiselle de
Montalais had begged him to do. Madame was still seated at the table
where she had written her letter. Before her was still burning the
rose-coloured taper which she had used to seal it. Only in her deep
reflection, for Madame seemed to be buried in thought, she had for-
gotten to extinguish the taper, Bragelonne was expected, and was
HAPPY AS A PBINCE. 6X5
announced, therefore, as soon as he appeared. Bragelonne was a very
model of elegance in every way; it was impossible to see him once with-
out always remembering him; and, not only had Madame seen him
once, but it will not be forgotten he was one of the very first who had
gone to meet her, and had accompanied her from Havre to Paris.
Madame had preserved therefore an excellent recollection of him.
" Ah! M. de Bragelonne," she said to him, "you are going to see my
brother, who will be delighted to pay to the son a portion of the debt of
gratitude he has contracted with the father."
" The Comte de la Fere, madame, has been abundantly recompensed
for the little service he had the happiness to render the king, by the
kindness which the king manifested towards him, and it is I who will
have to convey to his majesty the assurance of the respect, devotion,
and gratitude of father and son."
" Do you know my brother ?"
"No, your highness; I shall have the honour of seeing his majesty
for the first time."
" You require no recommendation to him. At all events, however,
if you have any doubt about your personal merit, take me unhesi-
tatingly for your surety."
" Your royal highness overwhelms me with your kindness."
"No! M. de Bragelonne, I well remember that we were-fellow-r
travellers once, and that I remarked your extreme prudence in the
midst of the extravagant absurdities committed, on both sides, by two
of the greatest simpletons in the world, M. de Guiche and the duke of
Buckingham. Let us not speak of them, however; but of yourself.
Are you going to England to remain there permanently ? Forgive my
inquiry, but it is not curiosity, but a desire to be of service to you in
anything that I can do."
"No, Madame; I am going to England to fulfil a mission which his
majesty has been kind enough to confide to me—nothing more."
"And you propose to return to France ?"
" As soon as I shall have accomplished my mission; unless, indeed,
his majesty King Charles II. should have other orders for me."
" He will beg you, at the very least, I am sure, to remain near him as
long as possible."
" In that case, as I shall not know how to refuse, I will now before-
hand entreat your royal highness to have the goodness to remind the
king of France that one of his devoted servants is far away from him."
" Take care that at the time you are recalled, you do not consider his
command as an abuse of power."
" I do not understand you, Madame."
" The court of France is not easily matched I am aware; but yet we
have some pretty women at the court of England also." Raoul smiled.
"Oh!" said Madame, "yours is a smile which portends no good to
my countrywomen. It is as though you were telling them, Monsieur
de Bragelonne: ' I visit you, but I leave my heart on the other side of
the Channel.' Did not your smile indicate that?"
" Your highness is gifted with the power of reading the inmost depths
of the soul, and you will understand, therefore, why, at present, any
prolonged residence at the court of England would be a matter of the
deepest regret for me."
"And I need not inquire if so gallant a knight is recompensed in
return ?"
" I have been brought up, Madame, with her whom. I love, and I
believe that our affection is mutual."
616 THE yicOmte de beagelonne.
" In that case, do not delay your departure, Monsieur de Bragelonne,
and delay not your return, for on your return we shall see two persons
happy; for I hope no obstacle exists to your felicity."
" There is a great obstacle, Madame."
" Indeed! what is it ?" " The king's wishes on the subject.
"The king opposes your marriage?"
" He postpones it at least. I solicited his majesty's consent through
the Comte de la Fere, and, without absolutely refusing it, he at least
positively said it must be deferred."
" Is the young lady whom you love unworthy of you, then ?"
" She is worthy of a king's affection, Madame."
" I mean, she is not, perhaps, of birth equal to your own."
" Her family is excellent."
"Is she young, beautiful?"
" She is seventeen, and, in my opinion, exceedingly beautiful."
" Is she in the country? or at Paris ?"
" She is here, at Fontamebleau, madam."
" At the court." " Yes."
"Do I know her?"
" She has the honour to form one of your highness's household."
"Her name?" inquired the princess, anxiously; "if, indeed," she
added hastily, " her name is not a secret."
"No, Madame, my affection is too pure for me to make a secret of it
for any one, and with still greater reason for your royal highness, whose
kindness towards me has been so extreme. It is Mademoiselle Louise
de la Valliere."
Madame could not restrain an exclamation, in which a feeling stronger
than surprise might have been detected. " Ah!" she said," La Valliere
she who yesterday " she paused, and then continued, " she who
was taken ill, I believe."
" Yes, Madame; it was only this morning that I heard of the accident
which had befallen her."
" Did you see her before you came to me?"
" I had the honour of taking leave of her."
" And you say," resumed Madame, making a powerful effort over her-
self," that the king has deferred your marriage with thisyoung girl."
" Yes, Madame, deferred it."
"Did he assign any reason for this postponement?" "None."
" How long is it since the Comte de la Fere preferred his request to
the king?" " More than a month, Madame."
" It is very singular," said the princess, as something like a cloud
passed across her eyes. " A month ?" she repeated.
" About a month."
"You are right, vicomte," said the princess with a smile, in which
de Bragelonne might have remarked a kind of restraint, "my brother
must not keep you too long in England; set off at once, and in the first
letter I write to England, I will claim you in the king's name." And
Madame rose to place her letter in Bragelonne's hands. Raoul under-
stood that his audience was at an end; he took the letter, bowed lowly
to the princess, and left the room.
"A month!" murmured the princess; "could I have been blind,
then, to so great an extent, and could he have loved her for the last
month ?' And as Madame had nothing to do, she sat down to begin
a letter to her brother, the postscript of which was a summons for
Bragelonne to return.
The Comte de Guiche, as we have seen, had yielded to the press-
HAPPY AS A PRINCE. 617
ing persuasions of Manicamp, and allowed himself to be led to the
stables, where they desired their horses to be got ready for them; then,
by one of the side paths, a description of which has already been given,
they advanced to meet Monsieur, who, having just finished bathing,
was returning towards the chateau, wearing a woman's veil to protect
his face from getting burnt by the sun, which was already very powerful.
Monsieur was in one of those fits of good humour which inspired him
sometimes with an admiration of his own good looks. As he was bathing
he had been able to compare the whiteness of his body with that of his
courtiers, and, thanks to the care which his royal highness took of
himself, no one, not even the Chevalier de Lorraine, could bear the
comparison. Monsieur, moreover, had been tolerably successful in
swimming, and his muscles having been exercised by the healthy
immersion in the cool water, he was in a light and cheerful state of
mind and body. So that, at the sight of Guiche, who advanced to meet
him at a hand gallop, mounted upon a magnificent white horse, the
prince could not restrain an exclamation of delight.
" I think matters look well," said Manicamp, who fancied he could
read this friendly disposition upon his royal highness's countenance.
" Good day, de Guiche, good day," exclaimed the prince.
"Long life to your royal highness!" replied de Guiche, encouraged
by the tone of Philip's voice; "health, joy, happiness, and prosperity to
your highness."
" Welcome, de Guiche, come on my right side, but keep your horse in
hand, for I wish to return at a walking pace, under the cool shade of
these trees."
" As you please, monseigneur," said de Guiche, taking his place on the
prince's right, as he had just been invited to do.
" Now, my dear de Guiche," said the prince, " give me a little news of
that de Guiche whom I used to know formerly, and who used to pay
attentions to my wife."
Guiche blushed to the very whites of his eyes, while Monsieur burst
out laughing, as though he had made the wittiest remark in the world.
The few privileged courtiers who surrounded Monsieur thought it
their duty to follow his example, although they had not heard the
remark, and a noisy burst of laughter immediately followed, beginning
with the first courtier, passing on through the whole company, and
only terminating with the last. De Guiche, although blushing ex-
tremely, put a good countenance on the matter: Manicamp looked
at him.
" Ah! monseigneur," replied de Guiche, " show a little charity to-
wards such a miserable fellow as I am; do not hold me up to the ridicule
of the Chevalier de Lorraine."
" How do you mean ?"
" If he hears you ridicule me, he will go beyond your highness, and
will show no pity."
"About your passion and the princess, do you mean?"
"Por mercy's sake, monseigneur."
" Come, come, de Guiche, confess that you did get a little sweet upon
Madame."
" I will never confess such a thing, monseigneur."
"Out of respect for me, I suppose; but I release you from your
respect, de Guiche. Confess, as if it were simply a question about
Mademoiselle de Chalais and Mademoiselle de la Yalliere."
Then breaking off, he said, beginning to laugh again, " Come, that is
very good—a remark like a sword which cuts two ways at once. I hit
618 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGEIONNE.
you and my brother at the same time, Chalais and La Valli&re, your
affianced bride and his future lady-love ." .
" Beally, monseigneur," said the comte, you are in a most brilliant
humour to-day."
" The fact is, I feel well, and then X am pleased to see you again. But
you were angry with me, were you not ?"
" I, monseigneur ? Why should I have been so ?"
"Because I interfered with your sarabands and your other Spanish
amusements. Nay, do not deny it. On that day you left the princess's
apartments with your eyes full of fury; that brought you ill-luck, for
you danced in the ballet yesterday in a most miserable manner. Now,
don't get sulky, de Guiche, for it does you no good, but makes you look
as surly as a bear. If the princess did look at you attentively yesterday,
I am quite sure of one thing."
" What is that, monseigneur ? Tour highness alarms me."
" She has quite forsworn you now," said the prince, with a burst of
loud laughter.
"Decidedly," thought Manicamp, "rank has nothing to do with it,
and all men are alike."
The prince continued:—"At all events, you are now returned, and it
is to be hoped that the chevalier will become amiable again."
" How so, monseigneur; and by what miracle can I exercise such an
influence over M. de Lorraine?"
" The matter is very simple, he is jealous of you."
" Bah! it is not possible."
" It is the case, though."
" He does me too much honour, then."
" The fact is, that when you are here he is full of kindness and at-
tention, but when you are gone he makes me suffer a perfect martyr-
dom. I am like a see-saw. Besides, you do not know the idea which
has struck me ?"
" I do not even suspect it."
" Well, then; when you were in exile, for you really were exiled, my
poor de Guiche "
" I should think so, indeed; but whose fault was it ?" said de Guiche,
pretending to speak in an angry tone.
"Not mine, certainly, my dear comte," replied his royal highness,
" upon my honour, I did not ask the king to exile you."
"No, not you, monseigneur, I am well aware; but "
"But Madame; well, as far as that goes, I do not say it is not the
case. Why, what the deuce did you do or say to Madame ? "
" Eeally, monseigneur "
"Women, I know, have their grudges, and my wife is not free from
caprices of that nature. But if she were the cause of your being exiled,
I bear you no ill-will."
" In that case, monseigneur," said de Guiche, " I am not unhappy
altogether."
Manicamp, who was following closely behind de Guiche, and who did
not lose a word of what the prince was saying, bent down to his very
shoulders over his horse's neck, in order to conceal the laughter he could
not repress.
" Besides, your exile started a project in my head." " Good."
" When the chevalier—finding you were no longer here, and sure
of reigning undisturbed—began to bully me, I, observing that my wife,
in the most perfect contrast to him, was most kind and amiable towards
me who had neglected her so much, the idea occurred to me of be-
HAPPY AS A PBINCE. 619
ooming a model husband—a rarity, a curiosity, at the court ; and I had
an idea of getting very fond of my wife."
De Guiche looked at the prince with a stupified expression of coun-
tenance, which was not assumed.
"Oh! monseigneur," de Guiche stammered out,tremblingly; "surely,
that idea did not seriously occur to you."
" Indeed, it did. I have some property that my brother gave me on
my marriage; she has some money of her own, and not a little, either,
for she gets money from her brother and brother-in-law of England and
Erance at the same time. Well! we should have left the court. I
should have retired to my chateau at Villers-Cotterets, situated in the
middle of a forest, in which we should have led a most sentimental life
in the very same spot where my grandfather, Henry IV., did with La
belle Gabrielle. What do you think of that idea, de Guiche ?"
" Why, it is enough to make one shudder, monseigneur," replied de
Guiche, who shuddered in reality.
"Ah! I see you would never be able to endure being exiled a second
time." " I, monseigneur ?"
" I will not carry you off with us, as I had at first intended."
"What, with you, monseigneur?"
" Yes; if the idea should occur to me again of taking a dislike to the
court."
" Oh! do not let that make any difference, monseigneur; I would
follow your highness to the end of the world."
" Clumsy fellow, that you are !" said Manicamp, grumblingly, pushing
his horse towards de Guiche, so as almost to unseat him, and then, as
he passed close to him, as if he had lost his command over the horse, he
whispered, " For goodness5 sake, think what you are saying "
"Well, it is agreed, then," said the prince; "since you are so devoted
to me, I shall take you with me."
"Anywhere, everywhere, monseigneur," replied de Guiche in a
joyous tone, " whenever you like, and at once, too. Are you ready ?"
And de Guiche, laughingly, gave his horse the rein, and galloped for-
ward a few yards.
" One moment," said the prince. " Let us go to the chateau first."
" What for ?"—Why to take my wife, of course ?"
"What for?" asked de Guiche.
" Why, since I tell you, that it is a project of conjugal affection, it is
necessary I shall take my wife with me.55
" In that case, monseigneur," replied the comte, " I am greatly con-
cerned, but no de Guiche for you." " Bah!"
"Yes.—Why do you take Madame with you?"
" Because I begin to see that I love her,55 said the prince.
De Guiche turned slightly pale, but endeavoured to preserve his
seeming cheerfulness.
" If you love Madame, monseigneur," he said," that ought to be quite
enough for you, and you have no further need of your friends."
" Not bad, not bad,55 murmured Manicamp.
" There, your fear of Madame has begun again," replied the prince.
" Why, monseigneur, I have experienced that to my cost; a woman
who was the cause of my being exiled."
" What a horrible disposition you have, de Guiche; how terribly you
bear malice."
" I should like the case to be your own, monseigneur."
" Decidedly, then, that was the reason why you danced so badly yes-
terday; you wished to revenge yourself, I suppose, by trying to make
C20 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
Madame make a mistake in her dancing; ah ! that is very paltry, de
Guiche, and I will tell Madame of it."
" You can tell her whatever you please, monseigneur, for her highness
cannot hate me more than she does."
"Isonsense, you are exaggerating; and this because, merely, of the
fortnight's sojourn in the country she imposed on you."
" Monseigneur, a fortnight is a fortnight; and when the time was
passed in getting sick and tired of everything, a fortnight is an eternity."
" So that you will not forgive her ? " " IS ever!"
" Come, come, de Guiche, be a better disposed fellow than that, I wish
to make your peace with her; you will find, in conversing with her,
that she has no malice or unkindness in her nature, and that she is very
talented." " Monseigneur "
" You will see, that she can receive her friends like a princess, and
laugh like a citizen's wife; you will see that, when she pleases, she can
make the hours pass away like minutes. Come, de Guiche, you must
really make up your differences with my wife."
" Upon my word," said Manicamp, to himself, "the prince is a hus-
hand, whose wife's name will bring him ill-luck, and king Candaules,
of old, was a complete tiger beside his royal highness."
" At all events," added the prince, " I am sure you will make it up
with my wife; I guarantee you will do so. Only, I must show you the
way now. There is nothing common-place about her, and it is not
every one who takes her fancy." " Monseigneur "
"No resistance, de Guiche, or I shall get out of temper," replied the
prince.
"Well, since he will have it so," murmured Manicamp, in Guiche's
ear, " do as he wants you to do."
" Well, monseigneur," said the comte, "I obey."
"And to begin," resumed the prince, " there will be cards, this even-
ing, in Madame's apartment, you will dine with me, and I will take you
there with me.
" Oh ! as for that, monseigneur," objected de Guiche, " you will allow
me to object." _
" What, again ! this is positive rebellion."
" Madame received me too indifferently, yesterday, before the whole
court."
" Really!" said the prince, laughing.
" Nay, so much so, indeed, that she did not even answer me, when I
addressed her; it may be a good thing to have no self-respect at all, but
to have too little is not enough, as the saying is."
" Comte ! after dinner, you will go to your own apartments, and dress
yourself, and then you will come to fetch me. I shall wait for you."
" Since your highness absolutely commands it." " Positively."
" He'll not let go his hold," said Manicamp; these are the sort of
things which husbands cling most obstinately to.—Ah ! what a pity M.
Moliere could not have heard this man, he would have turned him into
verse, if he had."
The prince and his court, chatting in this manner, returned to the
coolest apartments of the chateau.
" By the bye," said de Guiche, as they were standing by the door, "I
had a commission for your royal highness."
" Execute it, then."
" M. de Bragelonne has, by the king's order, set off for London, and
he charged me with his respects for you, monseigneur."
" A pleasant journey to the vicomte, whom I like very much. Go and
HAPPY AS A PBINCE. 621
dress yourself, de Guiche, and come back for me. If you don't come
back "
" What will happen then, monseigneur ?"
" I will get you sent to the Bastille."
"Well," said de Guiche, laughing, "his royal highness, monseigneur,
is decidedly the counterpart of her royal highness, Madame. Madame
gets me sent into exile, because she does not care for me sufficiently;
and Monseigneur gets me imprisoned, because he cares for me too
much. I thank Monseigneur, and I thank Madame,"
" Come, come," said the prince, "you are a delightful companion, and
you know that I cannot do without you. Return, as soon as you can."
" Very well; but I am in the humour to prove myself difficult to be
pleased in my turn, monseigneur." " Bah !"
" So, I will not return to your royal highness, except upon one con-
dition."
"Name it."
" I want to oblige the friend of one of my friends."
" What's his name ? "
" Malicorne." " An ugly name."
" But very well borne, monseigneur."
" That may be. Well ? "
" Well, I owe M. Malicorne a place in your household, monseigneur."
" What kind of place P "
"Any kind of place; a supervision of some sort or another, for
instance."
" That happens very fortunately, for yesterday I dismissed my chief
usher of the apartments."
" That will do admirably. What are his duties ? "
"Nothing, except to look about and make his report."
" A sort of interior police ? " " Exactly."
" Ah, how excellently that will suit Malicorne," Manicamp ventured
to say."
" You know the person we are speaking of, M. Manicamp ? " inquired
the prince.
" Intimately, monseigneur. I am the friend in question."
" And your opinion is ? "
" That your highness could never get such an usher of the apartments
as he will make."
" How much does the appointment bring in ? " inquired the comte of
the prince.
" I don't know at all, only I have always been told that he could
make as much as he pleased when he was thoroughly employed."
" What do you call being thoroughly occupied, prince P "
" It means, of course, when the functionary in question is a man with
his wits about him."
" In that case I think your highness will be content, for Malicorne is
as sharp as the devil himself."
" Good! the appointment will be an expensive one for me, in that
case," replied the prince, laughing. "You are making me a positive
present, comte."
" I believe so, monseigneur."
"Well, go and announce to your M. Mdlicorne-—"
" Malicorne, monseigneur."
" I shall never get hold of that name."
" You say Manicamp very well, monseigneur."
" Oh, I ought to say Malicorne very well, too, Custom will help me."
622 THE VICO^tTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Say what you like, monseigneur, I can promise you that your in-
spector of apartments will not be annoyed; he is the very happiest dis-
position that can be met with." , . „ , . .
"Well, then, my dear de Guiche, inform him of his nomination.
But, stay "
" What is it, monseigneur ? " .
"I wish to see him beforehand; if he bo as ugly as his name, I
retract what I have said."
"Your highness knows him, for you have already seen him at the
Palais-Royal; nay, indeed, it was I who presented him to you."
"Ah, I remember now—not a bad-looking fellow."
" I knew you must have noticed him, monseigneur."
" Yes, yes', yes. You see, de Guiche, I do not wish that either my
wife or myself should have ugly faces before our eyes. My wife will
have all her maids of honour pretty; I, all the gentlemen about me
good-looking. In this way, de Guiche, you see, that any children we
may have will run a good chance of being pretty, if my wife and myself
have handsome models before us."
"Most powerfully argued, monseigneur," said Manicamp, showing
his approval by look and voice at the same time.
_ As for de Guiche, he very probably did not find the argument so con-
vincing, for he merely signified his opinion by a gesture, which, more-
over, exhibited in a marked manner great indecision of mind on the
subject. Manicamp went off to inform Malicorne of the good news he
had just learnt. De Guiche seemed very unwillingly to take his de-
parture for the purpose of dressing himself. Monsieur, singing, laugh-
ing, and admiring himself, passed away the time until the dinner-hour,
in a frame of mind which would have justified the proverb of " Happy
as a prince."
CHAPTER CXXXI.
Story of a Dryad and of a Naiad.
Eveey one had partaken of the banquet at the chateau, and had
afterwards assumed their full court dresses. The usual hour for the
repast was five o'clock. If we say, then, that the repast occupied an
hour and the toilette two hours, everybody was ready about eight
o'clock in the evening. Towards eight o'clock, therefore, the guests
began to arrive at Madame's, for we have already intimated it was
Madame who " received" that evening. And at Madame's soirees no
one failed to be present.; for the evenings passed in her apartments had
always that perfect charm about them which the queen, that pious and
excellent princess, had not been able to confer upon her reunions. For,
unfortunately, one of the advantages of goodness of disposition is, that
it is far less amusing than wit of an ill-natured character. And yet, let
us hasten to add, that such a style of wit could not be applied to Ma-
dame, for her disposition of mind, naturally of the very highest order,
comprised too much true generosity, too many noble impulses and
high-souled thoughts, to warrant her wit being termed ill-natured. But
Madame was endowed with a spirit of resistance—a gift very frequently
fatal to its possessor, for it breaks where another would have bent; the
result was that blows did not become deadened upon her as upon what
might be termed the wadded feelings of Maria-Theresa. Her heart
rebounded at each attack, and, therefore, whenever she was attacked,
STOEY OF A DBYAD AND OF A NAIAD. 623
even in a manner almost to stun her, she returned blow for blow to any
one who might be imprudent enough to venture to tilt against her.
Was this really maliciousness of disposition or simply waywardness of
character ? We regard those rich and powerful natures as like the tree
of knowledge, producing good and evil at the same time; a double
branch, always blooming and fruitful, of which those who wish to eat
know how to detect the good fruit, and from which the worthless and
frivolous die who have eaten of it—a circumstance which is by no
means to be regarded as a great misfortune. Madame, therefore, who
had a well-digested plan in her mind of constituting herself the second,
if not even the principal, queen of the court, rendered her receptions
delightful to all, from the conversation, the opportunities of meeting,
and the perfect liberty which she allowed to every one of making any
remark he pleased, on the condition, however, that the remark was
amusing or sensible. And it will hardly be believed, that, by that
means, there was less talking among the society Madame assembled
together than elsewhere. Madame hated people who talked much, and
took a very cruel revenge upon them, for she allowed them to talk.
She disliked pretension, too, and never overlooked that defect, even in
the king himself. It was more than a weakness of Monsieur, and the
princess had undertaken the amazing task of curing him of it. As for
the rest, poets, wits, beautiful women, all were received by her, with
the air of a mistress superior to her slaves. Sufficiently meditative in
her liveliest humours to make even poets meditate; sufficiently pretty
to dazzle by her attractions, even among the prettiest; sufficiently witty
for the most distinguished persons who were present, to listen to her
with pleasure—it will easily be believed that the reunions which were
held in Madame's apartments must naturally have proved very attrac-
tive. All who were young flocked there, and when the king himself
happens to be young, everybody at court is so too. And so, the older
ladies of the court, the strong-minded women of the regency, or of the
last reign, pouted and sulked at their ease; but others only laughed at
the fits of sulkiness in which these venerable individuals indulged, who
had carried the love of authority so far as even to have taken the com-
mand of bodies of soldiers in the war of the Fronde, in order, as Ma-
dame asserted, not to lose their influence over men altogether. As
eight o'clock struck, her royal highness entered the great drawing-
room, accompanied by her ladies in attendance, and found several
gentlemen belonging to the court already there, having been waiting
for some minutes. Among those who had arrived before the hour fixed
for the reception she looked around for the one who, she thought,
ought to have been the first in attendance, but he was not there. How-
ever, almost at the very moment she had completed her investigation,
Monsieur was announced. Monsieur looked splendid. All the preoious
stones and jewels of Cardinal Mazarin, those of course which that
minister could not do otherwise than leave; all the queen-mother's
jewels as well as a few others belonging to his wife—Monsieur wore
them all, and he was as dazzling as the sun. Behind him followed
de Guiche, with hesitating steps and with an air of contrition admir-
ably assumed; de Guiche wore a costume of French-grey velvet, em-
broidered witn silver, and trimmed with blue ribbons; he wore also
Mechlin lace, as rare and beautiful of its sort as were the jewels of
Monsieur of theirs. The plume in his hat was red. Madame, too, wore
several colours, and preferred red for hangings, grey for dresses, and
blue for flowers. M. de Guiche, dressed as we have described, looked so
handsome that he excited every one's observation. An interesting pal*.
624 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
lor of complexion, a languid expression of the eyes, his white hands
seen through the masses of lace which covered them, the melancholy
expression of his mouth—it was only neqpssary, indeed, to see M. de
Guiche to admit that few men at the court of France could equal him.
The consequence was that Monsieur, who was pretentious enough to
fancy he could eclipse a star even, if a star had adorned itself in a simi-
lar manner to himself, was, on the contrary, completely eclipsed in all
imaginations, which are very silent judges certainly, but very positive
and high in their judgment. Madame had looked at de Guiche
slightly, but slight as her look had been, it had brought a delightful
colour to his face. In fact, Madame had found de Guiche so hand-
some and so admirably dressed, that she almost ceased regretting
the royal conquest which she felt was on the point of escaping her.
Her heart, therefore, sent the blood to her face. Monsieur ap-
proached her. He had not noticed the princess blush, or if he had
seen it he was far from attributing it to its true cause.
"Madame," he said, kissing his wife's hand, "there is some one
present here, who has fallen into disgrace, an unhappy exile whom I
would venture to recommend to your kindness. Do not forget, I beg
that he is one of my best friends, and that your kind reception of
him will please me greatly.
" What exile ? what disgraced person are you speaking of ? " inquired
Madame looking all round, ana not permitting her glance to rest
more on the count than on the others.
This was the moment to present de Guiche, and the prince drew
aside and let de Guiche pass him, who, with a tolerably well assumed
awkwardness of manner, approached Madame and made his reverence
to her.
"What!" exclaimed Madame, as if she were greatly surprised, "is
M. de Guiche the disgraced individual you speak of, the exile in
question ?" " Yes, certainly! " returned the duke.
" Indeed," said Madame, " he is almost the only person we see here."
" You are unjust, Madame," said the prince.
" I ?" " Certainly. Come, forgive the poor fellow."
" Forgive him what ? What have I to forgive M. de Guiche P"
" Come, explain yourself, de Guiche ? What do you wish to be
forgiven ?," inquired the prince.
" Alas! her royal highness knows very well what it is," replied the
latter, in a hypocritical tone.
" Come, come, give him your hand, Madame," said Philip.
" If it will give you any pleasure,_ Monsieurand, with a movement
of her eyes and shoulders, which it would be impossible to describe,
Madame extended towards the young man her beautiful and perfumed
hand, upon which he pressed his lips. It was evident that he did so
for some little time, and that Madame did not withdraw her hand
too quickly, for the duke added:—
" l)e Guiche is not wickedly disposed, Madame; so do not be afraid, he
will not bite you."
A pretext was given in the gallery by the duke's remark, which was not
perhaps very laughable, for every one to laugh excessively. Thesitua-
tion was odd. enough, and some kindly disposed persons had observed it.
Monsieur was still enjoying the effect of his remark, when the king was
announced. The appearance of the room at this moment was as
follows:—in the centre, before the fire-place which was filled with
flowers, Madame was standing up, with her maids of honour formed
in two wings, on either side of her, and around whom the butter-
STORY or A DRYAD AND OF A NAIAD. 625
flies of the court were fluttering. Several other groups were formed
in the recesses of the windows, like soldiers stationed in their diffe-
rent towers who belong to the same garrison. Prom their respective
places they could pick up the remarks which fell from the principal
group. Prom one of these groups, the nearest to the fire-place,
Malicorne, who had been at once raised to the dignity, through
Manicamp and de Guiche, of the post of master of the apartments,
and whose official costume had been ready for the last two months,
was brilliant with gold lace, and shone upon Montalais, standing on
Madame's extreme left, with all the fire of his eyes and all the
splendour of his velvet. Madame was conversing with Mademoiselle
de Chatillon and Mademoiselle de Cregny, who were next to her, and
addressed a few words to Monsieur, who drew aside as soon as the king
was announced. Mademoiselle de la Valliere, like Montalais, was on
Madame's left hand, and the last but one on the line, Mademoiselle
de Tonnay-Charente being on her right. She was stationed as cer-
tain bodies of troops are, whose weakness is suspected, and who
are placed between two experienced regiments. Guarded in this
manner by her two companions who had shared her adventure, La
Valliere, whether from regret at Raoul's departure, or still suffering
from the emotion caused by recent events, which had begun to render
her name familiar on the lips of the courtiers, La Valliere, we repeat,
hid her eyes, red with weeping, behind her fan, and seemed to give
the greatest attention to the remarks which Montalais and Athenais,
alternately, whispered to her from time to time. As soon as the king's
name was announced a general movement took place in the apartment.
Madame, in her character as hostess, rose to receive the royal visitor;
but as she rose, notwithstanding her pre-occupation of mind, she
glanced hastily towards her right; her glance, which the presumptuous
de Guiche regarded as intended for himself, rested, as it swept over the
whole circle, upon La Valliere, whose warm blush and restless emotion
it immediately perceived.
The king advanced to the middle of the group, which had now
become a general one, by a movement which took place from the cir-
cumference to the centre. Every head bowed low before his majesty,
the ladies bending like frail and magnificent lilies before the king
Aquilo. There was nothing very severe, we will even say, nothing very
royal that evening about the king, except however his youth and good
looks. He wore an air of animated joyousness and good humour which
set all imaginations at work, and, thereupon, all present promised them-
selves a delightful evening, for no other reason than from having re-
marked the desire which his majesty had to amuse himself in Madame's
apartments. If there was any one in particular whose high spirits and
good humour could equal the king's, it was M. de Saint-Aignan, who
was dressed in a rose-coloured costume, with face and ribbons of the same
colour, and, in addition, particularly rose-coloured in his ideas, for that
evening M. de Saint-Aignan was prolific in ideas. The circumstance
which had given a new expansion to the numerous ideas germinating in
his fertile brain was, that he had just perceived that Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente was, like himself, dressed in rose-colour. We would
not wish to say, however, that the wily courtier had not known
beforehand that the beautiful Athenais was to wear that particular
colour; for he very well knew the art of unlocking the lips of a
dressmaker or ladies'-maid as to her mistress's intentions. He cast as
many assassinating glances at Mademoiselle Athenais as he had bows of
ribbon on his stockings and his doublet; in other words, he discharged
626 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
an immense number. The king having paid Madame the customary
compliments, and Madame having requested him to be seated, the circle
was immediately formed. Louis inquired of Monsieur the particulars
of the day's bathing; and stated, looking at the ladies present while he
spoke, that certain poets were engaged turning into verse the enchanting
diversion of the baths of Yalvins, and that one of them particularly,
M. Loret, seemed to have been entrusted with the confidence of some
water-nymph, as he had in his verses recounted many circumstances
that were actually true—at which remark more than one lady present
felt herself bound to blush. The king at this moment took the oppor-
tunity of looking round him more leisurely; Montalais was the only
one who did not blush sufficiently to prevent her looking at the king,
and she saw him fix his eyes most devouringly upon Mademoiselle de la
Yalliere. This undaunted maid of honour, Mademoiselle de Montalais,
be it understood, forced the king to lower his gaze, and so saved Louise
de laValliere from a sympathetic warmth of feeling which this gaze
might possibly have conveyed. Louis was appropriated by Madame,
who overwhelmed him with inquiries, and no one in the world knew
how to ask questions better than she did. He tried, however, to render
the conversation general, and, with the view of effecting this, he
redoubled his attention and devotion to her. Madame coveted com-
plimentary remarks, and, determined to procure them at any cost,
she addressed herself to the king, saying:—
" Sire, your majesty, who is aware of everything which occurs in
your kingdom, ought to know beforehand the verses confided to M.
Loret by this nymph; will your majesty kindly communicate them
to us?"
"Madame," replied the king, with perfect grace of manner, " I dare
not you, personally, might be in no little degree confused at having
to listen to certain details but Saint-Aignan tells a story well, and
has a perfect recollection of the verses; if he does not remember them,
he will invent. I can certify him to be almost a poet himself."
Saint-Aignan, thus brought prominently forward, was compelled to
introduce himself as advantageously as possible. Unfortunately, how-
ever, for Madame, he thought of his own personal affairs only; in
other words, instead of paying Madame the compliments she so much
desired and relished, his mind was fixed upon making as much display
as possible of his own good fortune. Again glancing, therefore, for
the hundredth time, at the beautiful Athenais. who thoroughly carried
into practice her previous evening's theory of hot even deigning to look
at her adorer, he said:—
"Your majesty will perhaps pardon me for having too indifferently
remembered the verses which the nymph dictated to Loret; but, if the
king has not retained any recollection of them, what could I possibly
remember ? "
Madame did not receive this shortcoming of the courtier very
favourably.
" Ah ! madame," added Saint-Aignan, " at present it is no longer a
question what the water-nymphs have to say; and one would almost be
tempted to believe that nothing of any interest now occurs in those
liquid realms. It is upon the earth, madame, where important events
happen. Ah! madame, upon the earth how many tales are there full
of "
" Well," said Madame, " and what is taking place upon the earth ?"
"That question must be asked of the Dryads," replied the comtQ;
"the Dryads inhabit the forests, as your royal highness is aware."
STORY OF A DRYAD AND OF A NAIAD. 627
" I am aware, also, that they are naturally very talkative, Monsieur
de Saint-Aignan."
" Such is the case, madame; hut when they say such delightful
things, it would be ungracious to accuse them of being too talkative."
" Do they talk so delightfully, then ? " inquired the princess, indif-
ferently. " Really, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan, you excite my curiosity;
and, if I were the king, I would require you immediately to tell us
what the delightful things are which these Dryads have been saying,
since you alone seem to understaud their language."
"I am perfectly at his majesty's orders, madame, in that respect,"
replied the comte, quickly.
What a fortunate fellow this Saint-Aignan is, to understand the
language of the Dryads," said Monsieur.
" I understand it perfectly, monseigneur, as I do my own language."
" Tell us all about them, then." said Madame.
The king felt embarrassed; for his confidant was, in all probability,
about to embark in a difficult matter. He felt that it would be so, from the
general attention excited by Saint-Aignan's preamble, and aroused too
by Madame's peculiar manner. The most reserved of those who were
present seemed ready to devour every syllable the comte was about to
pronounce. They coughed, drew closer together, looked curiously at
some of the maids of honour, who, in order to support with greater
propriety, or with more steadiness, the fixity of the inquisitorial looks
bent upon them, adjusted their fans accordingly, and assumed the
bearing of a duellist who is about to be exposed to his adversary's fire.
At this epoch, the fashion of ingeniously-constructed conversations,
and hazardously-dangerous recitals, so prevailed, that, where, in modern
times, a whole company assembled in a drawing-room would begin to
suspect some scandal, or disclosure, or tragic event, and would hurry
away in dismay, Madame's guests quietly settled themselves in their
places, in order not to lose a word or gesture of the comedy composed
by Monsieur de Saint-Aignan for their benefit, and the termination of
which, whatever the style and the plot might be, must, as a matter of
course, be marked by the most perfect propriety. The comte was
known as a man of extreme refinement, and an admirable narrator.
He courageously began, then, amidst a profound silence, which would
have been formidable for any one but himself'" Madame, by the
king's permission, I address myself, in the first place, to your royal
highness, since you admit yourself to be the person present possessing
the greatest curiosity. I have the honour, therefore, to inform your
royal highness that the Dryad more particularly inhabits the hollows of
oaks; and, as Dryads are mythological creatures of great beauty, they
inhabit the most beautiful trees, in other words, the largest to be found."
At this exordium, which recalled, under a transparent veil, the cele-
brated story of the royal oak, which had played so important a part in
the last evening, so many hearts began to beat, both from joy and un-
easiness, that, if Saint-Aignan had not had a good and sonorous voice,
their throbbings might have been heard above the sound of his voice.
" There must surely be Dryads at Pontainebleau, then," said Madame,
in a perfectly calm voice; " for I have never, in all my life, seen finer
oaks than in the royal park." And as she spoke, she directed towards
de Guiche a look of which he had no reason to complain, as he had of
the one that preceded it; and which, as we have already mentioned, had
reserved a certain amount of indefiniteness most painful for so loving
a heart as his.
"Precisely, madame, it is of Pontainebleau that I was about to speak
3 s 2
628 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
to your royal highness " said Saint-Aignan; " for the Dryad whose story
is engaging our attention, lives in the park belonging to the chutecm of
his majesty." The affair was fairly embarked on; the action was
begun, and it was no longer possible for auditory or narrator to draw
back.
"It will be worth listening to," said Madame; "for the story not
only appears to me to have all the interest of a national incident, but
still more, seems to be a circumstance of very recent occurrence."
" I ought to begin by the beginning," said the comte. " In the first
place, then, there lived at Fontainebleau, in a cottage of modest and
unassuming appearance, two shepherds. The one was the shepherd
Tyrcis, the owner of extensive domains transmitted to hiin from his
parents, by right of inheritance. Tyrcis was young and handsome,
and, from his many qualifications, he might be pronounced to be the
first and foremost among the shepherds in the whole country; one
might even boldly say he was the king of them." A subdued murmur of
approbation encouraged the narrator, who continued" His strength
equals his courage; no one displays greater address in hunting wild
beasts, nor greater wisdom in matters where judgment is required.
Whenever he mounts and exercises his horse in the beautiful plains of
his inheritance, or whenever he joins with the shepherds who owe him
allegiance, in different games of skill and strength, one might say that
it is the god Mars darting his lance in the plains of Thrace, or, even
better, that it was Apollo himself, the god of day, radiant upon earth,
bearing his flaming darts in his hand." Every one understood that this
allegorical portrait of the king was not the worst exordium that the
narrator could have chosen; and it, consequently, did not fail to pro-
duce its effect, either upon those who, from duty or inclination, ap-
plauded it to the very echo, or upon the king himself, to whom flattery
was very agreeable when delicately conveyed, and whom, indeed, it did
not always displease, even when it was a little too broad. Saint-Aignan
then continued" It is not in games of glory only, ladies, that the shep-
herd Tyrcis had acquired that reputation by which he was regarded
as the king of shepherds."
"Of the shepherds of Fontainebleau," said the king, smilingly, to
Madame.
" Oh!" exclaimed Madame," Fontainebleau is selected arbitrarily by
the poet; but I should say, of the shepherds of the whole world." The
king forgot his part of a passive auditor, and bowed.
"It was," pursued Saint-Aignan, amidst a flattering murmur of
applause, " it was with ladies fair especially that the qualities of this
king of the shepherds were most prominently displayed. He was a
shepherd with a mind as refined as his heart was pure; he can pay a
compliment with a charm of manner whose fascination it is impossible
to resist; and in his attachments he is so discreet, that his beautiful
and happy conquests may regard their lot as more than enviable.
FJ ever a syllable of disclosure, never a moment's forgetfulness. "Whoever
has seen and heard Tyrcis must love him; whoever loves and is beloved
by him, has indeed found happiness." Saint-Aignan here paused; he
was enjoying the pleasure of his own compliments; and the portrait
he had drawn, however grotesquely inflated it might be, had found
favour in certain ears, for whom the perfections of the shepherd did
not seem to have been exaggerated. Madame begged the orator to
continue. "Tyrcis," said the comte, "had a faithful companion, or
rather a devoted servant, whose name was Amyntas,"
8$ofiY Of A DRYAD AND OF A NAIAD. 629
"Ah!" said Madame, archly, "now for the portrait of Amyntas; you
are such an excellent painter, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan."
" Madame "
" Oh! comte, do not, X entreat you, sacrifice poor Amyntas; I should
never forgive you."
" Madame, Amyntas is of too humble a position, particularly beside
Tyrcis, for his person to be honoured by a parallel. There are certain
friends who resemble those followers of ancient times, who caused
themselves to be buried alive at their masters' feet. Amyntas's place,
too, is at the feet of Tyrcis; he cares for no other ; and if, sometimes,
the illustrious hero "
" Illustrious shepherd, do you mean ? " said Madame, pretending to
correct M. de Saint-Aignan.
_ " Your royal highness is right; I was mistaken," returned the cour-
tier; "if, I say, the shepherd Tyrcis deigns occasionally to call Amyn-
tas his friend, and to open his heart to him, it is an unparalleled favour,
which the latter regards as the most unbounded felicity."
" All that you say," interrupted Madame, " establishes the extreme
devotion of Amyntas to Tyrcis, but does not furnish us with the por-
trait of Amyntas. Comte, do not flatter him, if you like; but describe
him to us. I will have Amyntas's portrait." Saint-Aignan obeyed,
after having bowed profoundly towards his majesty's sister-in-law.
" Amyntas," he said, "is somewhat older than Tyrcis; he is not an
ill-favoured shepherd; it is even said that the muses condescended to
smile upon him at his birth, even as Hebe smiled upon youth. He is
not ambitious of display, but he is ambitious of being loved; and he
might not, perhaps, be found unworthy of it, if he were only suffi-
ciently well known."
This latter paragraph, strengthened by a very killing glance, was
directed straight to Mademoiselle de Tonn ay-Char en te, who received
them both unmoved. But the modesty and tact of the allusion had
produced a good effect; Amyntas reaped the benefit of it in the applause
bestowed on him: Tyrcis's head had even given the signal for it by a
consenting bow, full of good feeling.
" One evening," continued Saint-Aignan, " Tyrcis and Amyntas were
walking together in the forest, talking of their love-disappointments.
Do not forget, ladies, that the story of the Dryad is now beginning,
otherwise it would be easy to tell you what Tyrcis and Amyntas, the two
most discreet shepherds of the whole earth, were talking about. They
reached the thickest part of the forest, for the purpose of being quite
alone, and of confiding their troubles more freely to each other, when
suddenly the sound of voices struck upon their ears."
" Ah, ah!" said those who surrounded the narrator. " Nothing can
he more interesting than this."
At this point, Madame, like a vigilant general inspecting his army,
glanced at Montalais and Tonnay-Charente, who could not help wincing
at it as they drew themselves up.
" These harmonious voices," resumed Saint-Aignan, " were those of
certain shepherdesses, who had been likewise desirous of enjoying the
coolness of the shade, and who, knowing the isolated and almost un-
approachable situation of the place, had betaken themselves there to
interchange their ideas upon " A loud burst of laughter occasioned
by this remark of Saint-Aignan, and an imperceptible smile of the king,
as he looked at Tonnay-Charente, followed this sally.
" The Dryad affirms positively," continued Saint-Aignan, " that the
630 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
shepherdesses were three in number, and that all three were young and
beautiful."
" What were their names ?" said Madame, quietly. -
"Their names!" said Saint-Aignan, who hesitated from the fear of
committing an indiscretion.
" Of course; you called your shepherds Tyrcis and Amyntas, give your
shepherdesses names in a similar manner."
" Oh! Madame, I am not an inventor; I relate simply what took
place as the Dryad. related it to me."
" What did your Dryad, then, call these shepherdesses ? You have a
very treacherous memory, I fear. This Dryad must have fallen out with
the goddess Mnemosyne."
" These shepherdesses, Madame. Pray remember that it is a crime
to betray a woman's name." %
" Prom which a woman absolves you, comte, on condition that you
will reveal the names of the shepherdesses."
" Their names were Phillis, Amaryllis, and Galatea."
"Very well; they have not lost by the delay," said Madame, "and
now we have three charming names. But now for their portraits."
Saint-Aignan again made a slight movement.
"Nay, comte, let us proceed in due order," returned Madame.
" Ought we not, sire, to have the portraits of the shepherdesses ?"
The king, who expected this determined perseverance, and who began
to feel some uneasiness, did not think it safe to provoke so dangerous an
interrogator. He thought, too, that Saint-Aignan, in drawing the por-
traits, would find a means of insinuating some flattering allusions which
would, be agreeable to the ears of one whom his majesty was interested
in pleasing. It was with this hope and with this fear that Louis author-
ized Saint-Aignan to sketch the portraits of the shepherdesses, Phillis,
Amaryllis, and Galatea.
" Yery well, then, be it so," said Saint-Aignan, like a man who has
made up his mind, and he began.
CHAPTER CXXXII.
Conclusion of the Story of a Naiad and of a Dryad.
" Phillis," said Saint-Aignan, with a glance of defiance at Montalais,
just as a fencing-master would give who invites an antagonist worthy of
him to place himself on his guard, " Phillis is neither fair nor dark,
neither tall nor short, neither too grave nor too gay; though but a
shepherdess, she is as witty as a princess, and as coquettish as the most
finished coquette that ever lived. Nothing can equal her excellent
vision. Her heart yearns for everything her gaze embraces. She is
like a bird, which, always warbling, at one moment skims along the
ground, at the next rises fluttering in pursuit of a butterfly, then rests
itself upon the topmost branch of a tree where it defies the bird-catchers
either to come and seize it or to entrap it in their nets." The portrait
bore such a strong resemblance to Montalais, that all eyes were directed
towards her; she, however, with her head raised, and with a steady un-
moved look, listened to Saint-Aignan, as if he were speaking of some
one who was a complete stranger to her.
" Is that all, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan ?" inquired the princess.
STORY OR A NAlAD AND OR A DRYAD. 6S1
" Oil! your royal highness, the portrait is a mere sketch, and many
more additions could be made, but I fear wearying your royal highness's
patience, or offending the modesty of the shepherdess, and I shall there-
fore pass on to her companion, Amaryllis."
" "Very well," said Madame, " pass on to Amaryllis, Monsieur de Saint-
Aignan, we are all attention."
Amaryllis is the eldest of the three, and yet," Saint-Aignan hastened
to add, " this advanced age does not reach twenty years."
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, who had slightly knitted her brows
at the commencement of the description, unbent them with a smile.
" She is tall, with an immense quantity of hair, which she fastens in
the manner of the Grecian statues; her walk is full of majesty, her
attitude haughty; she has the air, therefore, rather of a goddess than of
a mere mortal, and, among the goddesses, she most resembles Diana the
huntress; with this sole difference, however, that the cruel shepherdess,
having stolen the quiver of young love, while poor Cupid was sleeping
in a thicket of roses, instead of directing her arrows against the inhabi-
tants of the forest, discharges them most pitilessly against all the poor
shepherds who pass within reach of her bow and of her eyes."
" Oh! what a wicked shepherdess!" said Madame. " She may some
day wound herself with one of those arrows she discharges, as you say,
so mercilessly on all sides."
" It is the hope of all the shepherds in general," said Saint-Aignan.
" And that of the shepherd Amyntas in particular, I suppose ?" said
Madame.
" The shepherd Amyntas is so timid," said Saint-Aignan, with the
most modest air he could assume, " that if he cherishes such a hope as
that, no one has ever known anything about it, for he conceals it in the
very depths of his heart." A flattering murmur of applause greeted the
narrator's profession of faith on the part of the shepherd.
" And Galatea ?" inquired Madame. " I am impatient to see a hand
so skilful as yours continue the portrait where "Virgil left it, and finish
it before our eyes."
" Madame," said Saint-Aignan, " I am indeed but a very poor poet
beside the great Yirgil. Still, encouraged by your desire, 1 will do my
best."
Saint-Aignan extended his foot and his hand, and thus began:—
" "White as milk, she casts upon the breeze the perfume of her fair hair
tinged with golden hues, as are the ears of corn. One is tempted to
inquire if she is not the beautiful Europa, who inspired Jupiter with a
tender passion as she played with her companions in the flower-
bespangled meadows. From her beautiful eyes, blue as the azure
heavens in the brightest summer day, emanates a tender light, which
reverie nurtures, and which love dispenses. "When she frowns, or bends
her looks towards the ground, the sun is veiled in token of mourning.
"When she smiles, on the contrary, nature resumes her joyousness, and
the birds, which had for a moment been silenced, recommence their
songs amid the leafy covert of the trees. Galatea," said Saint-Aignan,
in conclusion, " is worthy of the admiration of the whole world; and if
she should ever bestow her heart upon another, happy will that man be
to whom she consecrates her first affections."
Madame, who had attentively listened to the portrait Saint-Aignan
had drawn, as indeed, had all the others too, contented herself by mark-
ing her approbation of the most poetic passages by occasional inclinations
of her head ; but it was impossible to say if these marks of assent had
been accorded to the ability of the narrator or to the resemblance of the
632 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
portrait. The consequence, therefore, was, that as Madame did. not
openly exhibit any approbation, no one felt authorized to applaud, not
even Monsieur, who secretly thought that Saint-Aignan dwelt too much
upon the portraits of the shepherdesses, and had somewhat slightingly
passed over the portraits of the shepherds. The whole assembly seemed
suddenly chilled. Saint-Aignan, who had exhausted his rhetorical skill
and his artist's brush in sketching the portrait of Galatea, and who, after
the favour with which his other descriptions had been received, already
imagined he could hear the loud applause for this last one, was himself
more disappointed than the king and the rest of the company. A
moment's silence followed, which was at last broken by Madame.
"Well, sire," she inquired, "what is your majesty's opinion of these
three portraits?" , J
The king, who wished to relieve Saint-Aignan's embarrassment with-
out compromising himself, replied, " Why, Amaryllis, in my opinion, is
beautiful."
" For my part," said Monsieur, "I prefer Phillis; she is a capital girl,
or rather a good-sort-of-fellow of a nymph."
A general laugh followed, and this time the looks were so direct, that
Montalais felt herself blushing almost scarlet.
" Well," resumed Madame, " what were those shepherdesses saying to
each other?"
Saint-Aignan, however, whose vanity had been wounded, did not feel
himself in a position to sustain an attack of new and refreshed troops,
and merely said, "Madame, the shepherdesses were confiding to one
another their little preferences."
" Nay, nay ! Monsieur de Saint-Aignan, you are a perfect stream of
pastoral poesy," said Madame, with an amiable smile, which somewhat
comforted the narrator.
" They confessed that love is a great peril, but that the absence of love
is the heart's sentence of death."
" What was the conclusion they came to ? " inquired Madame.
" They came to the conclusion that love was necessary."
" Yery good ! Fid they lay down any conditions ? "
" That of choice, simply," said Saint-Aignan. " I ought even to add,
remember it is the Dryad who is speaking, that one of the shepherd-
esses, Amaryllis, I believe, was completely opposed to the necessity of
loving, and yet she did not positively deny that she had allowed the
image of a certain shepherd to take refuge in her heart."
" Was it Amyntas or Tyrcis ? "
" Amyntas, Madame," said Saint-Aignan, modestly. " But Galatea,
the gentle and soft-eyed Galatea, immediately replied, that neither
Amyntas, nor Alphesiboeus, nor, Tityrus, nor indeed any of the hand-
somest shepherds of the country, were to he compared to Tyrcis; that
Tyrcis was as superior to all other men, as the oak to all other trees, as
the lily in its majesty to all other flowers. She drew even such a por-
trait of Tyrcis, that Tyrcis himself, who was listening, must have felt
truly flattered at it, notwithstanding his rank and position. Thus Tyrcis
and Amyntas had been distinguished by Phillis and Galatea; and thus
had the secrets of two hearts been revealed beneath the shades of evening,
and amid the recesses of the woods. Such, Madame, is what the Dryad
related to me; she who knows all that takes place in the hollows of oaks
and in grassy dells; she who knows the loves of the birds, and all
they wish to convey by their songs; she who understands, in fact, the
language of the wind among the branches, the humming of the insects
with their golden and emerald wings in the corolla of the wild
STOEY OP A NAIAD AND OF A DEYAD. 633
flowers; it was she who related the particulars to me, and I have
repeated them."
And now you have finished, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan, have you
not ? " said Madame, with a smile which made the king tremble.
" Quite finished," replied Saint-Aignan, " and only but too happy if
I have been able to amuse your royal highness for a few moments."
" Moments which have been too brief," replied the princess, " for
you have related most admirably all you know; but my dear Monsieur
de Saint-Aignan, you have been unfortunate enough to obtain your
information from one Dryad only, I believe ? "
" Yes, Madame, only from one, I confess."
" The fact was, that you passed by a little Naiad, who pretended to
know nothing at all, and yet knew a great deal more than your Dryad,
my dear comte."
"A Naiad!" repeated several voices, who began to suspect that the
story had a continuation.
" Of course; close beside the oak you are speaking of, which, if I
am not mistaken, is called the royal oak is it not so, Monsieur de
Saint-Aignan ?" Saint-Aignan and the king exchanged glances.
" Yes, Madame," the former replied.
" Well, close beside the oak there is a pretty little spring, which runs
murmuringly on over the pebbles, amidst the forget-me-nots and
daisies."
" I believe you are correct," said the king, with some uneasiness, and
listening with some anxiety to his sister-in-law's narrative.
" Oh ! there is one, I can assure you," said Madame; " and the proof
of it is, that the Naiad who resides in that little stream, stopped me as
I was about to cross."
"Bah!" said Saint-Aignan.
" Yes, indeed," continued the princess, "and she did so in order to
communicate to me many particulars which Monsieur de Saint-Aignan
omitted in his recital."
" Pray relate them yourself," said Monsieur, " you can relate stories
in such a charming manner." The princess bowed at the conjugal com-
pliment paid her.
" I do not possess the poetical powers of the comte, nor his ability to
bring out all the details."
" You will not be listened to with less interest on that account," said
the king, who already perceived that something hostile was intended in
his sister-in-law's story.
" I speak, too," continued Madame, " in the name of that poor little
Naiad, who is indeed the most charming creature I ever met. More-
over, she laughed so heartily while she was telling me her story, that,
in pursuance of that medical axiom that laughter is contagious, I ask
permission to laugh a little myself when I recollect her words."
The king and Saint-Aignan, who noticed spreading over many of the
faces present a commencement of the laughter which Madame an-
nounced, finished by looking at each other, as if asking themselves
whether there was not some little conspiracy concealed beneath her
words. But Madame was determined to turn the knife in the wound
over and over again; she therefore resumed with an air of the most
perfect innocence, in other words, with the most dangerous of all her
airs: —" Well, then, I passed that way," she said, " and as I found
beneath my steps many fresh flowers newly blown, no doubt Phillis,
Amaryllis, Galatea, and all your shepherdesses had passed the same way
before me."
634 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
The king bit his lips, for the recital was becoming more and more
threatening. " My little Naiad," continued Madame, was murmuring
her little song in the bed of her rivulet; as I perceived that she accosted
me by touching the bottom of my dress, I did not think of receiving her
advances ungraciously, and more particularly so, since, after all, a divi-
nity, even though she be of a second grade, is always of greater import-
ance than a mortal, though a princess. I, thereupon, accosted the
Naiad ; bursting into laughter, this is what she said to me —
" ' Fancy, princess . . . You understand, sire, it is the Naiad who
is speaking."
The king bowed assentingly; and Madame continued " ' Fancy,
princess, the banks of my little stream have just witnessed a most
amusing scene. Two shepherds, full of curiosity, even indiscreetly so,
have allowed themselves to be mystified in a most amusing manner by
three nymphs, or three shepherdesses.' I beg your pardon, but I do not
now remember if it were a nymph or a shepherdess, she said; but it
does not much matter, so we will continue."
The king, at this opening, coloured visibly, and Saint-Aignan, com-
pletely losing countenance, began to open his eyes in the greatest possible
anxiety.
"' The two shepherds,' pursued my nymph, still laughing, ' followed
in the wake of the three young ladies,—no, 1 mean, of the three nymphs;
forgive me, I ought to say, of the three shepherdesses.' It is not always
wise to do that, for it may be awkward for those who are followed. ; I
appeal to all the ladies present, and not one of them, I am sure, will
contradict me."
The king, who was much disturbed by what he suspected was about
to follow, signified his assent by a gesture.
"' But-,' continued the Naiad,' the shepherdesses had noticed Tyrcis
and Amyntas gliding into the wood, and, by the light of the moon, they
had recognized them through the grove of trees.' Ah, you laugh!"
interrupted Madame; " wait, wait, you are not yet at the end."
The king turned pale; Saint-Aignan wiped his forehead, which was
bedewed with perspiration. Among the groups of ladies present could
be heard smothered laughter and stealthy whispers.
"' The shepherdesses, I was saying, noticing how indiscreet the two
shepherds were, proceeded to sit down at the foot of the royal oak; and,
when they perceived that their indiscreet listeners were sufficiently
near, so that not a syllable of what they might say could be lost, they
addressed towards them very innocently, in the most innocent manner
in the world indeed, a passionate declaration, which from the vanity
natural to all men, and even to the most sentimental of shepherds,
seemed to the two listeners as sweet as honey.' "
The king, at these words, which the assembly was unable to hear
without laughing, ceuld not restrain a flash of anger darting from his
eyes. As for Saint-Aignan, he let his head fall upon his hreast, and
concealed, under a bitter laugh, the extreme annoyance he felt.
" Oh," said the king, drawing himself up to his full height, " upon my
word, that is a most amusing jest certainly; but, really and truly, are
you sure you quite understood the language of the Naiads?"
" The comte, sire, pretends to have perfectly understood that of the
Dryads," retorted Madame, eagerly.
"No doubt," said the king; "but you know the comte has the weak-
ness to aspire to become a member of the Academy, so that, with this
object in view, he has learnt all sorts of things of which very happily
you are ignorant; and it might possibly happen that the language of the
STORY OP A NAIAD AND OF A DRYAD. 635
Nymph of the Waters might be among the number of things which you
have not studied."
" Of course, sire," replied Madame, " for facts of'that nature one does
not altogether rely upon oneself alone; a woman's ear is not infallible,
so says Saint Augustin; and I, therefore, wished to satisfy myself by
other opinions besides my own, and as my Naiad, who, in her character
of a goddess, is polyglot,—is not that the expression, M. de Saint-
Aignan?"
" Yes," said the latter, quite out of countenance..
" Well," continued the princess, " as my Naiad, who, in her character
of a goddess, had, at first, spoken to me in English, I feared, as you
suggest, that I might have misunderstood her, and I requested Made-
moiselle de Montaiais, de Tonnay-Charente, and de la Yalliere, to come
to me, begging my Naiad to repeat to me in the French language the
recital she had already communicated to me in English."
" And did she do so ?" inquired the king.
" Oh, she is the most polite divinity that exists ! Yes, sire, she did
so; so that no doubt whatever remains on the subject. Is it not so,
young ladies ?" said the princess, turning towards the left of her army;
did not the Naiad say precisely what I have related, and have I, in
any one particular, exceeded the truth, Phillis ? I beg your pardon,
I mean Mademoiselle Aure de Montaiais?"
" Precisely as you have stated, Madame," articulated Mademoiselle de
Montaiais, very distinctly.
" Is it true, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente?"
" The perfect truth," replied Athena'is, in a voice quite as firm, but
yet not so distinct.
" And you, La Yalliere ?" asked Madame.
The poor girl felt the king's ardent look fixed upon her,—she dared
not deny it, she dared not tell a falsehood, and bowed her head simply
in token of assent. Her head, however, was not raised again, half-chilled
as she was by a coldness more bitter than that of death. This triple
testimony overwhelmed the king. As for Saint-Aignan, he did not
even attempt to dissemble his despair, and, hardly knowing what he
said, he stammered out, "An excellent jest! admirably played !"
"A just punishment for curiosity," said the king, in a hoarse voice.
" Oh! who would think, after the chastisement that Tyrcis and Amyntas
had suffered, of endeavouring to surprise what is passing in the heart of
shepherdesses ? Assuredly I shall not for one; and you, gentlemen ?"
" Nor I! nor I!" repeated, in a chorus, the group of courtiers.
Madame was filled with triumph at the king's annoyance; and was
full of delight, thinking that her story had been, or was to be, the
termination of the whole matter. As for Monsieur, who had laughed
at the two stories without comprehending anything about them, he
turned towards de Guiche, and said to him, "Well, comte, you say
nothing; can you not find something to say? Do you pity M. Tyrcis
and M. Amyntas, for instance ?"
" I pity them with all my soul," replied de Guiche; " for in very
truth, love is so sweet,a fancy, that to lose it, fancy though it may
be, is to lose more than life itself. If, therefore, these two shepherds
thought themselves beloved,—if they were happy in that idea, and if,
instead of that happiness, they meet with not only that empty void
which resembles death, but jeers and jests at that love, which is worse
than a thousand deaths,—in that case, I say that Tyrcis and Amyntas
are the two most unhappy men I know."
"And you are right, too, Monsieur de Guiche," said the king; " for,
636 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
in fact, the death we speak of is a very hard return for a little
curiosity."
" That is as much as to say, then, that the story of my Naiad has
displeased the king?" asked Madame, innocently.
Nay, Madame, undeceive yourself," said Louis, taking the princess
by the hand; "your Naiad, on the contrary, has pleased me, and the
more so, because she has been more truthful, and because her tale, I
ought to add, is confirmed by the testimony of unimpeachable wit-
nesses."
These words fell upon La Yalliere accompanied by a look that no one,
from Socrates to Montaigne, could have exactly defined. The look and
the king's remark succeeded in overpowering the unhappy girl, who,
with her head upon Montalais's shoulder, seemed to have fainted away.
The king rose, without remarking this circumstance, of which no one,
moreover, took any notice, and, contrary to his usual custom, for gener-
ally he remained late in Madame's apartments, he took his leave, and
retired to his own side of the palace. Saint-Aignan followed him,
leaving the rooms in as great a state of despair as he had entered thexn
in a state of delight. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, less sensitive
than La Yalliere, was not much frightened, and did not faint. How-
ever, the last look of Saint-Aignan had hardly been so majestic as the
last look of the king.
CHAPTER CXXX1II.
Royal Psychology.
The king returned to his apartments with hurried steps. The
reason he walked as fast as he did, was probably to avoid tottering i#
his gait. He seemed to leave behind him as he went along a trace
of a mysterious sorrow. This gaiety of manner, which every one had
remarked in him on his arrival, and which they had been delighted to
perceive, had not perhaps been understood in its true sense; but his
stormy departure, his disordered countenance, all knew, or at least
thought they could tell the reason of. Madame's levity of manner,
her somewhat bitter jests,—bitter for persons of a sensitive disposition,
and particularly for one of the king's character: the great resemblance
which naturally existed between the king and an ordinary mortal,
were among the reasons assigned for the precipitate and unexpected
departure of his majesty. Madame, keen-sighted enough in other
respects, did not, however, at first see anything extraordinary in it.
It was quite sufficient for her to have inflicted some slight wound
upon the vanity or self-esteem of one, who, so soon forgetting the
engagements he had contracted, seemed to have undertaken to dis-
dain, without cause, the noblest and highest prizes. It was not an
unimportant matter for Madame, in the present position of affairs,
to let the king perceive the difference which existed between the
bestowal of his affections on one in a high station, and the running
after some passing fancy, like a youth fresh from the provinces. With
regard to those higher placed affections, recognizing their dignity apd
their unlimited influence, acknowledging in some respects a certain
etiquette and display—a monarch, not only did not act in a manner
derogatory to his high position, but found even a repose, security,
mystery, and general respect therein. On the contrary, in the debase-
ment of a common or humble attachment, he would encounter, even
BOYAli PSYCHOLOGY. 637
among his meanest subjects, carping and sarcastic remarks; he would
forfeit his character of infallibility and inviolability. Having descended
to the region of petty human miseries, he would be subjected to its
paltry contentions. In one word, to convert the royal divinity into a
mere mortal by striking at his heart, or rather even at his face, like
the meanest of his subjects, was to inflict a terrible blow upon the
pride of that generous nature; Louis was more easily captivated by
vanity than by affection. Madame had wisely calculated her vengeance,
and, it has been seen, also in what manner she carried it out. Let it
not be supposed, however, that Madame possessed such terrible passions
as the heroines of the middle ages possessed, or that she regarded things
in a sombre point of view; on the contrary, Madame, young, amiable,
of cultivated intellect, coquettish, loving in her nature, but rather from
fancy, or imagination, or ambition, than from her heart—Madame, we
say, on the contrary, inaugurated that epoch of light and fleeting
amusements, which distinguished the hundred and twenty years which
intervened between the half of the seventeenth century, and the three-
fourths of the eighteenth. Madame saw, therefore, or rather fancied
she saw, things under their true aspect; she knew that the king, her
august brother-in-law, had been the first to ridicule the humble La
Valliere, and that, in accordance with his usual custom, it was hardly
probable he would ever love the person who had excited his laughter,
even had it been only for a moment. Moreover, was not her vanity
present, that evil influence which plays so important a part in that
comedy of dramatic incidents called the life of a woman; did not her
vanity tell her, aloud, in a subdued voice, in a whisper, in every variety
of tone, that she could not, in reality, she a princess, young, beautiful,
and rich, be compared to the poor La Valliere, as youthful as herself it
is true, but far less pretty certainly, and utterly poor ? And surprise
need not be excited with respect to Madame; for it is known that the
greatest characters are those who flatter themselves the most in the
comparison they draw between themselves and others, between others
and themselves. It may perhaps be asked what was Madame's motive
for an attack which had been so skilfully combined ? "Why was there
such a display of forces, if it were not seriously the intention to dislodge
the king from a heart that had never been occupied before, in which
he seemed disposed to take refuge ? Was there any necessity, then,
for Madame to attach so great an importance to La Valliere, if she did
not fear her. Yet, Madame did not fear La Valliere, in that point of
view in which an historian, who knows everything, sees into the future,
or rather the past; Madame was neither a prophetess nor a sibyl; nor
could she, any more than another, read what was written in that
terrible and fatal book of the future, which records in its most secret
pages the most serious events. No, Madame desired simply to punish
the king for having availed himself of secret means altogether feminine
in their nature; she wished to prove to him, that if he made use of offen-
sive weapons of that nature, she, a woman of ready wit and high descent,
would assuredly discover in the arsenal of her imagination, defensive
weapons proof even against the thrusts of a monarch. Moreover, she
wished him to learn, that, in a warfare of that description, kings are
held of no account, or, at all events, that kings who fight on their own
behalf, like ordinary individuals, may witness the fall of their crown
in the first encounter; and that, in fact, if he had expected to be
adored by all the ladies of the court from the very first, from a
confident reliance Oh his mere appearance, it was a pretension which
Was most preposterous and insulting eten, for certain persons Who
638 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
filled a higher position than others, and that a lesson being taught in
season to this royal personage, who assumed too high ana haughty a
carriage, would be rendering him a great service. Such, indeed, were
Madame's reflections with respect to the king. The event itself was
not thought of. And in this manner, it will have been seen that she
had exercised her influence over the minds of her maids of honour, and
with all its accompanying details, had arranged the comedy which had
just been acted. The king was completely bewildered by it; for the
first time since he had escaped from the trammels of M. de Mazarin, he
found himself treated as a man. A similar severity from any of his
subjects would have been at once resisted by him. Lespouvoirs croissent
dans la lutte. But to attack women, to be attacked by them, to have
been imposed upon by mere girls from the country, who had come
from-Blois expressly for that purpose; it was the depth of dishonour
for a young sovereign full of that pride which his personal advantages
and his royal power inspired him with. There was nothing he could
do, neither reproaches, nor exile, nor even could he show the annoy-
ance he felt. To show any vexation would have been to admit that he
had been touched, like Hamlet, by a sword from which the button had
been removed—the sword of ridicule. To show vexation towards
women, what humiliation ! especially when these women in question
have laughter on their side, as a means of vengeance. Oh! if, instead
of leaving all the responsibility of the affair to these women, one of the
courtiers had had anything to do with the intrigue, how delightedly
would Louis have seized the opportunity of turning the Bastille to a
profitable account. But there, again, the king's anger paused, checked
by reason. To be the master of armies, of prisons, of an almost divine
authority, and to exert that almost almighty power in the service of a
petty grudge, would be unworthy not only of a monarch, but even of a
man. It was necessary, therefore, simply to swallow the affront in
silence, and to wear his usual gentleness and graciousness of expression.
It was essential to treat Madame as a friend. As a friend! . . . Well,
and why not ? Either Madame had been the instigator of the affair,
or the affair itself had found her passive. If she had been the instigator
of it, it certainly was a bold measure on her part, but at all events, it
wras but natural in her. Who was it that had sought her in the earliest
moments of her married life to whisper words of love in her ear?
Who was it that had dared to calculate the possibility of committing a
crime against the marriage vow—a crime, too, still more deplorable on
account of the relationship between them ? Who was it, who, shielded
behind his royal authority, had said to this young creature: be not
afraid, love but the king of France, who is above all, and a movement
of whose sceptered hand will protect you against all attacks, even from
your own remorse ? And she had listened to and obeyed the royal
voice, had been influenced by his ensnaring tones; and now that she
had, morally speaking, sacrificed her honour in listening to him, she
saw herself repaid for her sacrifice by an infidelity the more humilia-
ting, since it was occasioned by a woman far beneath her own station in
the world.
Had Madame, therefore, been the instigator of the revenge, she would
have been right. If, on the contrary, she had remained passive in the
whole affair, wha,t grounds had the king to be angry with her on that
account ? Was it for her to restrain, or rather could she restrain, the
chattering of a few country girls ? and was it for her, by an excess of
zeal which might have been misinterpreted, to check, at the risk of
increasing it, the impertinence of their conduct ? All these various
ROYAL PSYCHOLOGY. 639
reasonings were like so many actual stings to the king's pride; but
when he had carefully, in his own mind, gone over all the various causes
of complaint, Louis was surprised, upon due reflection—in other words,
after the wound had been dressed—to find that there were other causes
of suffering, secret, unendurable, and unrevealed. There was one cir-
cumstance which he dared not confess, even to himself; namely, that
the acute pain from which he was suffering had its seat in his heart.
The fact is, he had permitted his heart to be gratified by La Valliere's
innocent confession. He had dreamed of a pure affection—of an affec-
tion for Louis the man, and not the sovereign—of an affection free
from all self-interest; and his heart, more youthful and more simple than
he had imagined it to be, had bounded forward to meet that other heart
which had just revealed itself to him by its aspirations. The com-
monest thing in the complicated history of love, is the double inocula-
tion of love to which any two hearts are subjected; the one loves
nearly always before the other, in the same way that the latter finishes
nearly always by loving after the other. In this way, the electric
current is established, in proportion to the intensity of the passion
which is first kindled. The more Mademoiselle de la Valiiere had
shown her affection, the more the king's affection had increased. And
it was precisely that which had surprised his majesty. For it had
been fairly demonstrated to him, that no sympathetic current had been
the means of hurrying his heart away in its course, because there bad
been no confession of love in the case—because the confession was, in
fact, an insult towards the man and towards the sovereign; and finally,
because—and the word, too, burnt like a hot iron—because, in fact, it
was nothing but a mystification after all. This girl, therefore, who,
in strictness, could not lay .claim to beauty, or birth, or great intelli-
gence—who had been selected by Madame herself, on account of her
unpretending position, had not only aroused the king's regard, but had,
moreover, treated him with disdain—he, the king, a man who, like an
eastern potentate, had but to bestow a glance, to indicate with his
finger, to throw his handkerchief. And, since the previous evening, his
mind had been so absorbed with this girl that he could think and
dream of nothing but her. Since the previous evening his imagination
had been occupied by clothing her image with all those charms to which
she could not lay claim. In very truth, he whom such vast interests
summoned, and whom so many women smiled upon invitingly, had,
since the previous evening, consecrated every moment of his time,
every throb of his heart, to this sole dream. It was, indeed, either too
much, or not sufficient. The indignation of the king, making him
forget everything, and, among others, that Saint-Aignan was present,
was poured out in the most violent imprecations. True it is, that
Saint-Aignan had taken refuge in a corner of the room; and from his
corner, regarded the tempest passing over. His own personal disap-
pointment seemed contemptible, in comparison with the anger of the
king. He compared with his own petty vanity the prodigious pride of
offended majesty; and, being well read in the hearts of kings in general,
and in those of powerful kings in particular, he began to ask himself if
this weight of anger, as yet held in suspense, would not soon terminate
by falling upon his own bead, for the very reason that others were
guilty, and he innocent. In point of fact, the king, all at once, did
arrest his hurried pace; and, fixing a look full of anger upon Saint-
Aignan, suddenly cried out: " And you, Saint-Aignan ? "
Saint-Aignan made a sign, which was intended to signify, " "Well,
Sire?"
€40 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
"Yes; you have been as silly as myself, I think."
" Sire," stammered out Saint-Aignan.
"You permitted yourself to be deceived by this shameful trick."
" Sire," said Saint-Aignan, whose agitation was such as to make him
tremble in every limb, "let me entreat your majesty not to exasperate
yourself. "Women, you know, are creatures full of imperfections,
created for the misfortune of others; to expect anything good from
them is to require them to do impossibilities."
The king, who had the greatest consideration for himself, and who
had begun to acquire over his emotions that command which he pre-
served over them all his life, perceived that he was doing an outrage to
his own dignity in displaying so much animation about so trifling an
object. "No," he said, hastily; "you are mistaken, Saint-Aignan; I
am not angry; I can only wonder that we should have been turned
into ridicule so cleverly and with such boldness, by these two young
girls. I am particularly surprised that, although we might have in-
formed ourselves accurately on the subject, we were silly enough to
leave" the matter for our own hearts to decide upon."
" The heart, sire, is an organ which requires positively to be reduced
to its physical functions, but which must be deprived of all its moral
functions. For my own part, I confess, that when I saw that your
maiesty's heart was so taken up by this little "
My heart taken up ! I!—my mind might, perhaps, have been so;
but as for my heart, it was " Louis again perceived that, in order
to conceal one blank, he was about to disclose another. " Besides," he
added, " I have no fault to find with the girl. I was quite aware that
she was in love with some one else."
" The Vicomte de Bragelonne. I informed your majesty of the cir-
cumstance."
" You did so; but you were not the first who told me. The Comte
de la Fere had solicited from me Mademoiselle de la Valliere's hand for
his son. And, on his return from England, the marriage shall be cele-
brated, since they love each other."
" I recognize your majesty's generosity of disposition in that act."
"So, Saint-Aignan, we will cease to occupy ourselves with these
matters any longer," said Louis.
"Yes, we will digest the affront, sire," replied the courtier, with re-
signation.
"Besides, it will be a very easy matter to do so," said the king,
checking a sigh.
" And, by way of a beginning, I will set about the composition of an
epigram upon all three of them. I will call it' The Naiad and Dryad,'
which will please Madame."
" Do so, Saint-Aignan, do so," said the king, indifferently. " You shall
read me your verses; they will amuse me. Ah! it does not signify,
Saint-Aignan," added the king, like a man breathing with difficulty,
"the blow requires more than human strength to support in a digni-
fied manner." As the king thus spoke, assuming an air of the most
angelic patience, one of the servants in attendance knocked gently at
the door. Saint-Aignan drew aside, out of respect.
" Come in," said the king. The servant partially opened the door.
" "What is it ? " inquired Louis.
The servant held out a letter of a triangular shape. "For your
majesty," he said.
"From whom?"
" I do not know. One of the officers on duty gave it me.M
EOYAL psychology. 641
The valet, in obddience to a gesture of the king, handed him the
letter. The king advanced towards the candles, opened the note, read
the signature, and uttered a loud cry. Saint-Aignan was sufficiently
respectful not to look on; but, without looking on, he saw and heard
all, and ran towards the king, who with a gesture, dismissed the servant.
" Oh, Heavens!" said the king, as he read the note.
" Is your majesty unwell ? " inquired Saint-Aignan, stretching for-
ward his arms.
" No, no, Saint-Aignan—read!" and he handed him the note.
Saint-Aignan's eyes fell upon the signature. "La Valliere!" he ex-
claimed. " Oh, sire !"
"Read, read !"
And Saint-Aignan read" Forgive my importunity, sire; and for-
give, also, the absence of the formalities which may be wanting in this
letter. A note seems to me more speedy and more urgent than a
despatch. I venture, therefore, to address this note to your majesty.
I have returned to my own room, overcome with grief and fatigue,
sire; and I implore your majesty to grant me the favour of an audience
which will enable me to confess the truth to my sovereign.
" Signed, Louise de la Yallieee."
" Well ?" asked the king, taking the letter from Saint-Aignan's
hands, who was completely bewildered by what he had just read.
"Well!" repeated Saint-Aignan.
" What do you think of it P" I hardly know."
" Still, what is your opinion ?"
" Sire, the young lady must have heard the muttering of the thunder,
and has got frightened."
" Frightened at what ?" asked Louis with dignity.
" Why, your majesty has a thousand reasons to be angry with the
author or authors of so hazardous a joke; and, if your majesty's
memory were to be awakened in a disagreeable sense, it would be a per-
petual menace hanging over the head of this imprudent girl."
" Saint-Aignan, i do not think as you do."
" Your majesty doubtless sees more clearly than myself."
"Well! I see affliction and restraint in these lines, and more par-
ticularly since I recollect some of the details of the scene which took
place this evening in Madame's apartments " The king suddenly
stopped, leaving his meaning unexpressed.
" In fact," resumed Saint-Aignan, " your majesty will grant an
audience; nothing is clearer than that in the whole affair."
" I will do better still, Saint-Aignan."
" What is that, sire ?" " Put on your cloak."
" But, sire "
" You know the room where Madame's maids of honour are lodged ?"
" Certainly."
" You know some means of obtaining an entrance there."
" As far as that is concerned, I do not."
" At all events, you must be acquainted with some one there."
" Really, your majesty is the source of every good idea."
" You do know some one, then. Who is it ?"
" I know a certain gentleman, who is on very good terms with a
certain young lady there."
" One of the maids of honour?" " Yes, sire."
"With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, I suppose?" said the
king, laughing.
2, L
642 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGEIONNE.
" Unfortunately, no, sire; with Montalais."
" What is his name?" " Malicorne."
" And you can depend on him ? "
" 1 believe so, sire. He ought to have a key of some sort in his pos-
session; and if he should happen to have one, as I have done him a
service, why, he will return it."
"Nothing could he better. Let us setoff, then." The king threw
his own cloak over Saint-Aignan's shoulders, asked him for his, and then
both went out into the vestibule.
CHAPTER CXXXIV.
Showing what neither the Naiad nor Dryad had anticipated.
Saint-Aignan stopped at the foot of the staircase which led to the
entresol, where the maids of honour were lodged, and to the first floor,
where Madame's apartments were situated. Then, by means of one or
the servants who was passing, he sent to apprise Malicorne, who was
still with Monsieur. After having waited ten minutes, Malicorne
arrived, looking full of suspicion and importance. The king drew back
towards the darkest part of the vestibule. Saint-Aignan, on the con-
trary, advanced to meet him, but at the first words, indicating his wish,
Malicorne drew back abruptly.
" Oh! oh!" he said, " you want me to introduce you into the rooms
of the maids of honour,"— " Yea."
" You know very well that I cannot do anything of the kind, with-
out being made acquainted with your object."
" Unfortunately, my dear Monsieur Malicorne, it is quite impossible
for me to give you any explanation; you must therefore confide in me
as in a friend who got you out of a great difficulty yesterday, and who
now begs you to draw him out of one to-day."
" Yet I told you, monsieur, what my object was; that my object was,
not to sleep out in the open air, and any man might express the same
wish, whilst you, however, admit nothing."
" Believe me, my dear Monsieur Malicorne," Saint-Aignan persisted,
" that if I were permitted to explain myself, I would do so."
" In that case, my dear monsieur, it is impossible for me to allow
you to enter Mademoiselle de Montalais's apartment."
"Why so?"
" You know why, better than any one else, since you caught me on
the wall paying my addresses to Mademoiselle de Montalais; it would,
therefore, be an excess of kindness on my part, you will admit, since I
am paying my attentions to her, to open the door of her room to you."
" But who told you it was on her account I asked you for the key ?"
"For whom, then?"
" She does not lodge there alone, I suppose ?"
"No, certainly; for Mademoiselle de la Valliere shares her rooms
with her; but, really, you have nothing more to do with Mademoiselle
de la Valliere than with Mademoiselle de Montalais, and there are
only two men to whom I would give this key; to M. de Bragelonne,
if he begged me to give it him, and to the king, if he ordered me to
do so."
" In that case, give me the key, monsieur, I order you to do so," said
the king, advancing from the obscurity, and partially opening his cloak.
WHAT NEITHER NAIAD NOR DRYAD ANTICIPATED. 643
" Mademoiselle de Montalais will step down to talk with you, while we
go upstairs to Mademoiselle de la Valliere, for, in fact, it is she only
whom we require."
" The king!" exclaimed Malicorne, bowing down to the very ground.
"Yes, the king," said Louis, smiling; "the king, who is as pleased
with your resistance as with your capitulation. Rise, monsieur, and
render us the service we request of you." ■-
" I obey your majesty," said Malicorne, leading the way up the stair-
case.
" Get Mademoiselle de Montalais to come down," said the king, " and
do not breathe a word to her of my visit."
Malicorne bowed in sign of obedience, and proceeded up the stair-
case. But the king, after a hasty reflection, followed him, and that,
too, with such rapidity, that, although Malicorne was already more
than half-way up the staircase, the king reached the room at the same
moment he did. He then observed, by the door which remained half-
opened behind Malicorne, La Valliere, sitting in an arm-chair with her
head thrown back, and in the opposite corner Montalais, who, in her
dressing-gown, was standing before a looking-glass, engaged in arranging
her hair, and parleying all the while with Malicorne. The king hur-
riedly opened the door and entered the room. Montalais called out at
the noise made by the opening of the door, and, recognizing the king,
made her escape. La Yalliere rose from her seat, like a dead person
who had been galvanized, and then fell back again in her arm-chair.
The king advanced slowly towards her.
" You wished for an audience, I believe," he said coldly; " I am ready
to hear you. Speak."
Saint-Aignan, faithful to his character of being deaf, blind, and dumb,
had stationed himself in a corner of the door, upon a stool which he
fortuitously found there. Concealed by the tapestry which covered the
door-way, and leaning his back against the wall, he could in this way
listen without being seen; resigning .himself to the post of a good
watch-dog, who patiently waits and watches without ever getting in his
master's way.
La Yalliere, terror-stricken at the king's irritated aspect, again rose a
second time, and assuming a posture full of humility and entreaty,
murmured, " Forgive me, sire."
" What need is there for my forgiveness ?" asked Louis.
" Sire, I have been guilty of a great fault; nay, more than a great
fault, a great crime."
" You ?" " Sire, I have offended your majesty."
" Not the slightest degree in the world," replied Louis XIV.
"I implore you, sire, not to maintain towards me that terrible
seriousness of manner which reveals your majesty's just anger. I feel
I have offended you, sire; but I wish to explain to you how it was
that I have not offended you of my own accord."
" In the first place," said the king, " in what way can you possibly
have offended me ? I cannot perceive how. Surely not on account of
a young girl's harmless and very innocent jest? You turned the
credulity of a young man into ridicule—it was very natural to do so;
any other woman in your place would have done the same."
" Oh ! your majesty overwhelms me by your remark."
"Why so?" "Because, if I had been the author of the jest, it
would not have been innocent."
" Well! is that all you had to say to me in soliciting an audience ?"
said the king, as though about to turn away.
2x2
644 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Thereupon, La Valliere, in an abrupt and broken voice, her eyes
dried up by the fire of her tears, made a step towards the king, and
said, "Did your majesty hear everything?"
" Everything, what ?"
" Everything I said beneath the royal oak."
" I did not lose a syllable." ,,
" And when your majesty heard me, you were able to think I had
abused your credulity."
" Credulity; yes/ indeed, you have selected the very word."
"And. your majesty did not suppose that a poor girl like myself
might possibly be compelled to submit to the will of others ? "
"Eorgive me," returned the king; "but I shall never be able to
understand that she, who of her own free will could express herself so
unreservedly beneath the royal oak, would allow herself to be influenced
to such an extent by the direction of others."
" But the threat held out against me, sire."
" Threat! who threatened you—who dared to threaten you ?"
" They who have the right to do so, sire."
" I do not recognize any one as possessing the right to threaten in
my kingdom."
"Eorgive me, sire, but near your majesty even, there are persons
sufficiently high in position to have, or to believe that they possess, the
right of injuring a young girl, without fortune, and possessing only
her reputation."
" In what way injure her ?"
" In depriving her of her reputation, by disgracefully expelling her
from the court."
" Oh! Mademoiselle de la Valliere," said the king, bitterly, "I prefer
those persons who exculpate themselves without incriminating others."
" Sire!"
"Yes; and I confess that I greatly regret to perceive, that an easy
justification, as your own might be, should have been complicated in
my presence by a tissue of reproaches and imputations against others."
" And which you do not believe ?" exclaimed La Valliere. The king
remained silent.
" Nay, but tell me!" repeated La Valliere, vehemently.
" I regret to confess it," repeated the king, bowing coldly.
The young girl uttered a deep groan, striking her hands together in
despair. " You do not believe me, then," she said to the king, who still
remained silent, while poor La Valliere's features became visibly changed
at his continued silence. " Therefore, you believe," she said, "that I
settled this ridiculous, this infamous plot, of trifling, in so shameless
a manner, with your majesty."
"Nay," said the king, "it is neither ridiculous nor infamous, it is
not even a plot; it is merely a jest, more or less amusing, and nothing
more."
" Oh!" murmured the young girl, " the king does not, and will not,
believe me, then ? "
No, indeed, I will not believe you," said the king. "Besides, in
point of fact, what can be more natural ? The king, you argue, follows
me, listens to me, watches me; the king wishes perhaps to amuse him-
self at my expense, I will amuse myself at his, and as the king is very
tender-hearted I will take his heart by storm."
La Valliere hid her face in her hands, as she stifled her sobs. The
king continued most pitilessly, he revenged himself upon the poor victim
before him for all that he had himself suffered.
WHAT NEITHER NAIAD NOR DRYAD ANTICIPATED. 645
" Let us invent, then, this story of my loving him and preferring him
to others. The king is so simple and so conceited that he will believe
me; and then we can go and tell others how credulous the king is, and
can enjoy a laugh at his expense."
" Oh!" exclaimed La Valliere, " to think that, to believe that! it is
frightful." {
'r And," pursued the king, " that is not all; if this self-conceited prince
should take our jest seriously, if he should he imprudent enough to
exhibit before others anything like delight at it, well, in that case, the
king will be humiliated before the whole court; and what a delightful
story it will be, too, for him to whom I am really attached, a part of my
dowry for my husband, to have the adventure to relate of the king who
was so amusingly deceived by a young girl."
" Sire !" exclaimed La Valliere, her mind bewildered, almost wander-
ing, indeed, " not another word, I implore you; do you not see that you
are killing me ?"
" A jest, nothing but a jest," murmured the king, who, however, began
to be somewhat affected.
La Valliere fell upon her knees, and that so violently, that their sound
could be heard upon the hard floor. " Sire," she said, "I prefer shame
" What do you mean ?" inquired the king, without moving a step to
raise the young girl from her knees.
" Sire, when I shall have sacrificed my honour and my reason both to
you, you will perhaps believe in my loyalty. The tale which was related
to you in Madame's apartments, and by Madame herself, is utterly false;
and that which I said beneath the great oak " " Well 1"
" That only is the truth."
"What!" exclaimed the king.
" Sire," exclaimed La Valliere, hurried away by the violence of her
emotions, " were I to die of shame on the very spot where my knees are
fixed, I would repeat it until my latest breath; I said that I loved you,
and it is true; I do love you." " You!"
" I have loved you, sire, from the very day I first saw you; from the
moment when at Blois, where I was pining away my existence, your
royal looks, full of light and life, were first bent upon me. I love you
still, sire; it is a crime of high treason, I know, that a poor girl like
myself should love her sovereign and should presume to tell him so.
Punish me for my audacity, despise me for my shameless immodesty;
but do not ever say, do not ever think, that I have jested with or de-
ceived you. I belong to a family whose loyalty has been proved, sire;
and I, too, love my king."
Suddenly her strength, voice, and respiration ceased, and she fell for-
ward, like the flower Virgil alludes to, which the scythe of the reaper
touched as it passed over. The king, at these words, at this vehement
entreaty, no longer retained either ill-will or doubt in his mind; his
whole heart seemed to expand at the glowing breath of an affection
which proclaimed itself in such a noble and courageous language.
When, therefore, he heard the passionate confession of that young girl's
affection, his strength seemed to fail him, and he hid bis face in his
hands. But when he felt La Valliere's hands clinging to his own, when
their warm pressure fired his blood, he bent forward, and passing his arm
round La Valliere's waist, he raised her from the ground and pressed
her against his heart. But she, her drooping head fallen forward on her
bosom, seemed to have ceased to live. The king, terrified, called out for
Saint-Aignan. Saint-Aignan, who had carried his discretion so far as
646 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE.
to remain without stirring in his corner, pretending to wipe away a
tear, ran forward at the king's summons. He then assisted Louis to
seat the young girl upon a couch, slapped her hands, sprinkled some
Hungary water over her face, calling out all the while, " Come, come, it
is all over; the king believes you, and forgives you. There, there now!
take care, or you will agitate his majesty too much; his majesty is so
sensitive, so tender-hearted. Now, really, Mademoiselle de la Valliere,
you must pay attention, for the king is very pale."
The fact was, the king was visibly losing colour. But La Valliere did
not move.
" Do pray recover," continued Saint-Aignan, " I beg, I implore you;
it is really time you should; think only of one thing, that if the king
should become unwell, I should be obliged to summon his physician.
What a state of things that would be ! So do pray rouse yourself; make
an effort, pray do, and do it at once, too."
It was difficult to display more persuasive eloquence than Saint-
Aignan Hid, but something still more powerful and of a more energetic
nature than this eloquence, aroused La Valliere. The king, who was
kneeling before her, covered the palms of her hands with those burning
kisses which are to the hands what a kiss upon the lips is to the face.
La Valliere's senses returned to her; she languidly opened her eyes,
and, with a dying look, murmured, " Oh! sire, has your majesty
pardoned me, then ?"
The king did not reply, for he was still too much overcome. Saint-
Aignan thought it his duty again to retire, for he observed the passionate
devotion which was displayed in the king's gaze. La Valliere rose.
"And now, sire, that I have justified myself, at least I trust so, in
your majesty's eyes, grant me leave to retire into a convent. I shall
bless your majesty all my life, and I shall die there thanking and loving
Heaven for having granted me one day of perfect happiness."
" No, no," replied the king, " you will live here blessing Heaven, on
the contrary, but loving Louis, who will make your existence one of
perfect felicity—Louis who loves you—Louis who swears it."
" Oh! sire, sire !"
And upon this doubt of La Valliere, the king's kisses became so warm
that Saint-Aignan thought it his duty to retire behind the tapestry.
These kisses, however, which she had not had the strength at first to
resist, began to intimidate the young girl.
" Oh! sire," she exclaimed, do not make me repent my loyalty, for
it would show me that your majesty despises me still."
" Mademoiselle de la Valliere," said the king suddenly, drawing back
with an air full of respect, " there is nothing in the world I love and
honour more than yourself, and nothing in my court, I call Heaven to
witness, shall be so highly regarded as you shall be henceforward. I
entreat your forgiveness for my transport; it arose from an excess of
affection, but I can prove to you that I shall love still more thaxl ever
by respecting you as much as you can possibly desire." Then bending
before her, and taking her by the hand, he said to her, " Will you honour
me by accepting the kiss I press upon your hand ?" And the king's lips
were pressed respectfully and lightly upon the young girl's trembling
hand. " Henceforth," added Louis, rising and bending his glance upon
La Valliere, " henceforth you are under my safeguard. Do not speak
to any one of the injury I have done you, forgive others that which they
may have been able to do you. Lor the future, you shall be so far above
all those, that, far from inspiring you with fear, they shall be even be-
neath your pity." And he bowed as reverently as though he were
THE NEW GENERAL OF THE JESUITS. 647
leaving a place of worship. Then calling to Saint-Aignan, who ap-
proaclied with great humility, he said," I hope, comte, that Mademoiselle
de la Yalliere will kindly confer a little of her friendship upon you, in
return for that which I have vowed to her eternally,"
Saint-Aignan bent his knee before La Yalliere, saying, "How happy,
indeed, would such an honour make me!"
" I shall send your companion back to you," said the king. " Fare-
well! or, rather, adieu till we meet again; do not forget me in your
prayers, I entreat."
" Oh! sire," said La Yalliere, " be assured that you and Heaven are
in my heart together."
These words of Louise elated the king, who, full of happiness, hurried
Saint-Aignan down the stairs. Madame had not anticipated this ter-
mination, and neither the Naiad nor the Dryad had said a word about it.
CHAPTER CXXXY.
The new General of the Jesuits.
While La Valliere and the king were mingling together, in their
first confession of love, all the bitterness of the past, all the happiness of
the present, and all the hopes of the future, Fouquet had retired to the
apartments which had been assigned to him in the chateau, and was
conversing with Aramis precisely upon the very subjects which the king
at that moment was forgetting.
"Now tell me," began Fouquet, after having installed his guest in an
arm-chair, and seated himself by his side, " tell me, Monsieur d'Herblay,
what is our position with regard to the Belle-Isle affair, and whether
you have received any news about it."
" Everything is going on in that direction as we wish," replied Aramis;
" the expenses have been paid, and nothing has transpired of our designs."
" But what about the soldiers whom the king wished to send there ? "
"I have received news this morning that they had arrived there
fifteen days ago."
"And how have they been treated?"
" In the best manner possible."
" What has become of the former garrison ?"
" The soldiers were landed at Sarzeau, and were sent off at once towards
Quimper."
"And the new garrison?" "Belong to us from this very moment."
"Are you sure of what you say, my dear Monsieur de Yannes ?"
" Quite sure, and, moreover, you will see by-and-by how matters have
turned out."
" Still you are very well aware that, of all the garrison towns, Belle-
Isle is precisely the very worst."
" I know it, and have acted accordingly; no space to move about, no
communications, no cheerful society, no gambling permitted; well, it is
a great pity," added Aramis, with one of those smiles so peculiar to him,
"to see how much young people at the present day seek amusement,
and how much, consequently, they incline towards the man who pro-
cures and pays for such amusements for them."
" But if they amuse themselves at Belle-Isle ?"
" If they amuse themselves through the king's means, they will attach
themselves to the king; but if they get bored to death through the
648 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
king's means, and amuse themselves through M. Fouquet, they will
attach themselves to M. Fouquet."
" And you informed my intendant, of course, so that immediately on
their arrival "
" By no means; they were left alone a whole week, to weary them-
selves at their ease; hut, at the end of the week, they cried out, saying
that the last officers amused themselves more than they did. Where-
upon they were told that the old officers had been able to make a friend
of M. Fouquet, and that M. Fouquet, knowing them to be friends of
his, had from that moment done all he possibly could to prevent their
getting wearied or bored upon his estates. Upon this they began to
reflect. Immediately afterwards, however, the intendant added, that
without anticipating M. Fouquet's orders, he knew his master suf-
ciently well to be aware that he took an interest in every gentleman in
the king's service, and that, although he did not know the new comers,
he would do as much for them as he had done for the others."
" Excellent! and I trust that the promises were followed up; I desire,
as you know, that no promise should ever be made in my name without
being kept."
" Without a moment's loss of time, our two privateers, and your own
horses, were placed at the disposal of the officers; the keys of the prin-
cipal mansion were handed over to them, so that they make up hunting-
parties, and walking-excursions with such ladies, as are to be found in
Belle-Isle; and such others, as they are able to enlist from the neigh-
bourhood, who have no fear of sea-sickness."
" And there is a fair sprinkling to be met with at Sarzeau and Vannes,
I believe, your eminence ? "
" Yes; all along the coast," said Aramis, quietly.
" And now, for the soldiers ? "
" Everything is precisely the same, in a relative degree, you under-
stand; the soldiers have plenty of wine, excellent provisions, and good
pay."
" Very good; so that ? "
" So that this garrison can be depended upon, and it is a better one
than the last." " Good."
" The result is, if Fortune favours us, so that the garrisons are changed
in this manner, only every two months, that, at the end of every three
years, the whole army will, in its turn, have been there; and, therefore,
instead of having one regiment in our favour, we shall have fifty
thousand men."
"Yes, yes; I knew perfectly well," said Fouquet, "that no friend
could be more incomparable and invaluable than yourself, my dear
Monsieur d'Herblay; but," he added, laughing, " all this time, we are
forgetting our friend, Du Vallon; what has become of him? During
the three days I have spent at Saint-Mande, I confess I have forgotten
him completely."
"I do not forget him, however," returned Aramis. "Porthos is at
Saint-Mande; all his joints are kept well greased, the greatest care is
being taken of him, with regard to the food he eats, and to the wines
he drinks; I advise him to take daily airings in the small park, which
you have kept for your own use, and he makes use of it accordingly.
He begins to walk again, he exercises his muscular powers by bending
down young elm trees, or making the old oaks fly into splinters, as
Milo of Crotona used to do; and, as there are no lions in the park,
it is not unlikely we shall find him alive. Porthos is a brave
fellow."
THE NEW GENERAL OF THE JESUITS. 649
" Yes, but in the meantime he will get wearied to death."
" He never does that."
"He will be asking questions ?" "He sees no one."
"At all events, he is looking or hoping for something or another ? "
" I have inspired him a hope which we will realize some fine morning,
and he subsists on that." <
" What is it ?" " That of being presented to the king."
" Oh! oh! in what character ?"
"As the engineer of Belle-Isle, of course."
" Is it possible ?" " Quite true."
"Shall we not be obliged then, to send him back to Belle-Isle ?"
" Most certainly; I am even thinking of sending him back as soon as
possible. Porthos is very fond of display; he is a man whose weak-
nesses d'Artagnan, Athos, and myself are alone acquainted with; he
never commits himself in anyway; he is dignity itself; to the officers there,
he would seem like a Paladin of the time of the Crusades. He would
make the whole staff drunk, without getting so himself, and every one
will regard him as an object of admiration and sympathy; if, therefore,
it should happen, that we should have any orders requiring to be carried
out, Porthos is an incarnation of the order itself, and whatever he chose
to do, others would find themselves obliged to submit to."
" Send him back then."
" That is what I intend to do; but in a few days only, for I must not
omit to tell you one thing."
"What is it?"
" I begin to suspect d'Artagnan. He is not at Pontainebleau, as you
may have noticed, and d'Artagnan is never absent, or apparently idle,
without some object in view. And now that my own affairs are settled,
I am going to try and ascertain what the affairs are which d'Artagnan
is engaged in."
" Your own affairs are settled, you say ?" " Yes."
"You are very fortunate, in that case, then, and I should like to be
able to say the same."
" I hope you do not make yourself uneasy." " Hum!"
"Nothing could be better than the king's reception of you." " True."
" And Colbert lets you be quiet." " Almost so."
" In that case," said Aramis, with that connection of ideas which
marked him, " in that case, then, we can bestow a thought upon the
young girl I was speaking to you about yesterday."
" Whom do you mean ?"
" What, have you forgotten already ? I mean La Valliere."
" Ah! of course, of course."
" Do you object, then, to try and make a conquest of her ?"
" In one respect only, my heart is engaged in another direction; and
I positively do not care about the girl in the least."
"Oh! oh!" said Aramis, "your heart is engaged, you say. The
deuce ! we must take care of that!"
"Why?"
" Because it is terrible to have the heart occupied, when others, beside
yourself, have so much need of the head."
" You're right. So, you see, at your first summons, I left every-
thing. But to return to this girl. What good do you see in my
troubling myself about her ?"
" This.—The king, it is said, has taken a fancy to her; at least, so it is
supposed."
" But you, who know everything, know very differently."
650 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" I know that the king has changed with great rapidity; that the
day before yesterday, he was mad about Madame; that a lew days ago,
Monsieur complained of it, even to the queen-mother; and that some
conjugal misunderstandings and maternal scoldings were the conse-
quence."
" How do you know all that ?"
"I do know it; at all events, since these misunderstandings and
scoldings, the king has not addressed a word, has not paid the slightest
attention, to her royal highness."
" Well, what next?"
" Since then, he has been taken up with Mademoiselle de la Valliere.
Now, Mademoiselle de la Valliere is one of Madame's maids of honour.
You happen to know, I suppose, what is called a chaperon in matters
of love. Well, then, Mademoiselle de la Valliere is Madame's chaperon.
It is for you, therefore, to take advantage of this state of things. You
have no occasion for me to tell you that. But, at all events, wounded
vanity will render the conquest an easier one; the girl will get hold of
the king, and Madame's secret, and you can hardly tell what a man of
intelligence can do with a secret."
" But how to get at her ?"
"Nay, you, of all men, to ask me such a question?" said Aramis.
" Very true. I shall not have any time to take any notice of her."
" She is poor and unassuming, you will create a position for her, and,
whether she becomes the king's master, as his mistress; or whether she
only becomes his confidant, you will only have made a new proficient."
" Very good," said Bouquet. " What is to be done then, with regard
to this girl ?"
" Whenever you have taken a fancy to any lady, Monsieur Bouquet,
what steps have you taken ?"
" I have written to her, protesting my devotion to her. I have added,
how happy I should be to render her any service in my power, and
have signed c Bouquet,' at the end of the letter."
"And has any one offered any resistance ?"
" One person only," replied Bouquet. " But, four days ago, she yielded,
as the others had done."
" Will you take the trouble to write?" said Aramis, holding a pen
towards him, which Bouquet took, saying:—
" I will write at your dictation. My head is so taken up in another
direction, that I should not be able to write a couple of lines."
" Very well," said Aramis, " write."
And he dictated, as follows" I have seen, and you will not be sur-
prised to learn, how beautiful I have found you. But, for want of the
position you merit at the court, your presence there is waste of time.
The devotion of a man of honour, should ambition of any kind inspire
you, might possibly serve as a means of display for your talents and
beauty. I place my devotion at your feet; but, as an affection, how-
ever reserved and unpresuming it may be, might, possibly, compromise
the object of its worship, it would ill become a person of your merit
running the risk of being compromised, without her future being
insured. If you would deign to accept, and reply to my affection my
affection shall prove its gratitude to you in making you free and inde-
pendent for ever." Having finished writing, Bouquet looked at Aramis.
" Sign it," said the latter.
"Is it absolutely necessary ?"
"Your signature at the foot of that letter, is worth a million; you
forget that." Bouquet signed.
THE NEW GENERAL OF THE JESUITS. 651
"Now, by whom do you intend to send the letter?" asked Aramis.
" By an excellent servant of mine."
" Can you rely on him ?"
" He is a man who has been with me all my life."
" Very well. Besides, in this case, we are not playing for very heavy
stakes."
" How so ? For if what you say be true of the accommodating dis-
position of this girl for the king and Madame, the king will give her
all the money she can ask for."
" The king has money then ? " asked Aramis.
" I suppose so, for he has not asked me for any more."
" Be easy, he will ask for some, soon."
"Nay, more than that, I had thought he would have spoken to me
about the fete at Vaux, but he never said a word about it."
" He will be sure to do so, though."
" You must think the king's disposition a very cruel one, Monsieur
d'Herblay."
" It is not he who is so."
" He is young, and therefore his disposition is a kind one."
" He is young, and either he is weak, or his passions are strong; and
Monsieur Colbert holds his weaknesses and his passions in his villanous
grasp."
" You admit that you fear him ?" " I do not deny it."
" In that case I am lost."
" Why so ? "
" My only influence with the king has been through the money I
commanded, and now I am a ruined man." " Not so."
" What do you mean by 'not so ?' Do you know my affairs better
than myself?" " That is not unlikely."
" If he were to request this fete to be given ?"
" You will give it, of course."
" But where is the money to come from ?"
" Have you ever been in want of any ?"
" Oh! if you only knew at what a cost I procured the last supply ?"
" The next shall cost you nothing."
" But who will give it me ?" I will."
" What, give me six millions ?"——" Ten, if necessary."
" Upon my word, d'Herblay," said Bouquet, "your confidence alarms
me more than the king's displeasure. Who can you possibly be
after all?"
" You know me well enough, I should think."
" Of course; but what is it you are aiming at ?"
" I wish to see upon the throne of France a king devoted to Mon-
sieur Fouquet, and I wish Monsieur Fouquet to be devoted to me."
"Oh!" exclaimed Fouquet, pressing his hand, "as for belonging to
you, I am yours entirely; but believe me, my dear d'Herblay, you are
deceiving yourself."
"In what respect?"
" The king will never become devoted to me."
" I do not remember to have said that the king would he devoted
to you."
" Why, on the contrary, you have this moment said so."
" I did not say the king; I said a king."
" Is it not all the same ?"
" No, on the contrary, it is quite different."
" I do not understand you."
652 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" You will do so, shortly, then; suppose, for instance, the king in ques-
tion were to be a very different person to Louis XIV."
" Another person."
" Yes, who is indebted for everything to you." " Impossible."
" His very throne, even."
" You are mad, d'Herblay. There is no man living besides Louis XIV.
who can sit on the throne of France. I see none, not one."
" But I see one."
"Unless it be Monsieur," said Fouquet, looking at Aramis uneasily;
" yet Monsieur "
" It is not Monsieur."
" But how can it be, that a prince not of the royal line, that a prince
without any right "
" My king, or rather your king, will be everything that is necessary,
be assured of that."
"Be careful, Monsieur d'Herblay, you make my blood run cold, and
my head swim."
Aramis smiled. " There is but little occasion for that," he replied.
" Again, I repeat, you terrify me," said Fouquet. Aramis smiled.
" You laugh," said Fouquet.
" The day will come when you will laugh too; only at the present
moment I must laugh alone."
" But explain yourself."
" When the proper day shall have arrived, I will explain all, fear
nothing. Have faith in me, and doubt nothing."
" The fact is, I cannot but doubt, because I do not see clearly, or at
all even."
" That is because of your blindness; but a day will come when you
will be enlightened."
" Oh!" said Fouquet, "how willingly would I believe."
"You, without belief! you, who, through my means, have ten times
crossed the abyss yawning at your feet, and in which, had you been
alone, you would have been irretrievably swallowed up; you, without
belief; you, who from procureur-general attained the rank of intendant,
from the rank of intendant that of first minister of the crown, and who
from the rank of first minister will pass to that of mayor of the palace.
But no," he said, with the same unaltered smile, " no, no, you cannot
see, and consequently cannot believe that." And Aramis rose to with-
draw.
" One word more," said Fouquet, "you have never yet spoken to me
in this manner, you have never yet shown yourself so confident, I
should rather say so daring."
" Because it is necessary in order to speak confidently to have the
lips unfettered."
" And that is now your case ?" " Yes."
" Since a very short time, then P"
" Since yesterday, only."
" Oh! Monsieur d'Herblay, take care, your confidence is becoming
audacity."
" One can well be audacious when one is powerful."
" And you are powerful ? "
" I have already offered you ten millions, I offer them again to you.
Fouquet rose much agitated and disturbed.
"Come," he said, "Come; you spoke of overthrowing kings and re-
placing them by others. If, indeed, I am not really out of my senses,
is or is not that what you said just now ?"
the stobm. 653
" You are by no means out of your senses, for it is perfectly true I
did say all that just now."
" And why did you say so ? "
" Because it is easy to speak in this manner of thrones being cast
down, and kings being raised up, when one is, oneself, far above all
kings and thrones, of this world at least."
" Your power is infinite, then ?" cried Bouquet.
"I have told you so already, and I repeat it," replied Aramis, with
glistening eyes and trembling lips.
Bouquet threw himself back in his chair, and buried his face in his
hands. Aramis looked at him for a moment, as the angel of human
destinies might have looked upon a simple mortal being.
" Adieu," he said to him, " sleep undisturbed, and send your letter to
La Valliere. To-morrow we shall see each other again."
" Yes, to-morrow," said Bouquet, shaking his hand like a man re-
turning to his senses. " But where shall we see each other ?"
" At the king's promenade, if you like."
" Agreed." And they separated.
CHAPTER CXXXVI.
The Storm.
The dawn of the following day was dark and gloomy, and as every
one knew that the promenade was set down in the royal programme,
every one's gaze, as his eyes were opened, was directed towards the sky.
Just above the tops of the trees a thick, suffocating vapour seemed to
remain suspended, with hardly sufficient power to rise thirty feet above
the ground under the influence of the sun's rays, which could barely be
seen through the veil of a heavy and thick mist. No dew had fallen in
the morning; the turf was dried up for want of moisture, the flowers
were withered. The birds sang less inspiritingly than usual amid the
boughs, which remained as motionless as death. The strange confused
and animated murmurs, which seemed born of, and to exist by the
sun, that respiration of nature which is unceasingly heard amidst all
other sounds, could not be heard now, and never had the silence
been so profound. The king had noticed the cheerless aspect of the
heavens as he approached the window immediately after rising. But as all
the necessary directions had been given respecting the promenade, and
every preparation had been made accordingly, and as, which was far
more imperious than everything else, Louis relied upon this prome-
nadeto satisfy the cravings of his imagination, and we will even already
say, the clamorous desires of his heart—the king unhesitatingly
decided that the appearance of the heavens had nothing whatever to do
with the matter; that the promenade was arranged, and that, whatever
the state of the weather might be, the promenade should take place.
Besides there are certain terrestrial sovereigns who seem to have
accorded them privileged existences, and there are certain times when
it might almost be supposed that the expressed wish of an earthly
monarch has its influence over the Divine will. It was Yirgil who
observed of Augustus : Nocte placet tota redeunt spedacula mane.
Louis attended mass as usual, but it was evident that his attention
was somewhat distracted from the presence of the Creator by the
654 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
remembrance of the creature. His mind was occupied during the
service in reckoning more than once the number of minutes, then of
seconds, which separated him from the blissful moment when the pro-
menade would begin, that is to say, the moment when Madame would
set out with her maids of honour. Besides, as a matter of course,
everybody at the chateau was ignorant of the interview which had
taken place between La Valliere and the king. Montalais, perhaps,
with her usual chattering propensity, might have been disposed
to talk about it; but Montalais on this occasion was held in check by
Malicorne, who had placed upon her lips the padlock of mutual,
interest. As for Louis XIV., his happiness was so extreme that he had
forgiven Madame, or nearly so, her little piece of ill-nature of the
previous evening. In fact, he had occasion to congratulate himself
about it rather than to complain of it. Had it not been for her ill-
natured action, he would not have received the letter from La Valliere;
had it not been for the letter, he would have had no interview;
and had it not been for the interview he would have remained unde-
cided. His heart was filled with too much happiness for any ill-
feeling to remain in it, at that moment at least. Instead, therefore, of
knitting1 his brows into a frown when he perceived his sister-in-law,
Louis resolved to receive her in a more friendly and gracious manner
than usual. But on one condition only, that she would be ready to set
out early. Such was the nature of Louis's thoughts during mass, and
which made him, during the ceremony, forget matters, which, in his
character of Most Christian King and of the eldest son of the Church,
ought to have occupied his attention. He returned to the chateau, ana
as the promenade was fixed for mid-day only, and it was at present
just ten o'clock, he set to work most desperately with Colbert and
Lyonne. But even while he worked Louis went from the table to
the window, inasmuch as the window looked out upon Madame's
pavilion; he could see M. Bouquet in the court-yard, to whom the cour-
tiers, since the favour shown towards him on the previous evening,
paid greater attention than ever. The king, instinctively, on noticing
Fouquet, turned towards Colbert, who was smiling, and seemed full of
benevolence and delight, a state of feeling which had arisen from the
very moment one of his secretaries had entered and handed him a
pocket-book, which he had putunopened into his pocket. But, as there
was always something sinister at the bottom of any delight expressed by
Colbert, Louis preferred, of the smiles of the two men, that of Fouquet.
He beckoned to the surintendant to come up, and then turning
towards Lyonne and Colbert, he said" Finish this matter, place it on
my desk, and I will read it at my leisure." And he left the room. At
the sign the king had made to him, Fouquet had hastened up the stair-
case, while Aramis, who was with the surintendant, quietly retired
among the group of courtiers, and disappeared without having been
even observed by the king. The king and Fouquet met at the top of
the staircase.
"Sire," said Fouquet, remarking the gracious manner in which
Louis was about to receive him, "your majesty has overwhelmed me
with kindness during the last few days. , It is not a youthful monarch,
but a being of a higher order, who reigns over France, one whom plea-
sure, happiness, and love acknowledge as their master." The king
coloured. The compliment, although flattering, was not the less
somewhat direct. Louis conducted Fouquet to a small room which
separated his study from his sleeping apartment.
THE STOBM. 655
"Do you know why I summoned you?" said the king, as he seated
himself upon the edge of the window, so as not to lose anything that
might be passing in the gardens which fronted the opposite entrance to
Madame's pavilion.
" No, sire," replied Fouquet, "but I am sure for something agree-
able, if 1 am to judge from your majesty's gracious smile."
"You are mistaken, then." "I, sire?"
" For I summoned you, on the contrary, to pick a quarrel with you."
" With me, sire ?"
"Yes; and that a serious one."
" Your majesty alarms me and yet I wait most confident in your
justice and goodness."
" Do you know I am told, Monsieur Fouquet, that you are preparing
a grand fete at Vaux."
Fouquet smiled, as a sick man would do at the first shiver of a fever
which has left him but returns again.
" And that you have not invited me!" continued the king.
"Sire," replied Fouquet, "I have not even thought of the fete you
speak of, and it was only yesterday evening that one of my friends"
Fouquet laid a stress upon the word, " was kind enough to make me
think of it."
"Yet I saw you yesterday evening, Monsieur Fouquet, and you said
nothing to me about it."
" How dared I hope that your majesty would so greatly descend
from your own exalted station as to honour my dwelling with your
royal presence ? "
"Excuse me, Monsieur Fouquet, you did not speak to me about
your fete."
" I did not allude to the fete to your majesty, I repeat, in the first
place, because nothing had been decided with regard to it, and,
secondly, because I feared a refusal."
" And something made you fear a refusal, Monsieur Fouquet ? You
see I am determined to push you hard."
" The profound wish I had that your majesty should accept my invi-
tation "
" Well, Monsieur Fouquet, nothing is easier, I perceive, than our
coming to an understanding. Your wish is to invite me to your fete,
my own is to be present at it; invite me, and I will go."
" Is it possible that your majesty will deign to accept ?" murmured
the surintendant.
" Why really, monsieur," said the king, laughing; " I think I do
more than accept; I think I invite myself."
" Your majesty overwhelms me with honour and delight!" e'x-
claimed Fouquet, "but I shall be obliged to repeat what M. de
Yieuville said to your ancestor Henry the Fourth, Domine, non sum
dignusf
" To which I reply, Monsieur Fouquet, that if you give a fete, I will
go, whether I am invited or not."
" I thank your majesty deeply," said Fouquet, as he raised his head
beneath this favour, which he was convinced would be his ruin.
" But how could your majesty have been informed of it ?"
" By public rumour, Monsieur Fouquet, which says such wonderful
things of yourself and of the marvels of your house. Would you
become proud, Monsieur Fouquet, if the king were to be jealous of you ? "
" I should be the happiest man in the world, sire, since the very day
656 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
on which your majesty were to be jealous of Vaux, I should possess
something worthy of being offered to you."
" Very well, Monsieur Fouquet, prepare your fete, and open the doors
of your house as wide as possible."
" It is for your majesty to fix the day."
" This day month, then."
" Has your majesty any further commands ?"
" Nothing, Monsieur Fouquet, except from the present moment until
then to have you near me as much as possible."
"I have the honour to form one of your majesty's party for the
promenade."
" Very good; I am now going out indeed, for there are the ladies, I
see, who are going to start."
With this remark, the king, with all the eagerness, not only of a
young man, but of a young man in love, withdrew from the window, in
order to take his gloves and cane, which his valet held ready for him. The
neighing of the horses and the rumbling of the wheels on the gravel of
the courtyard could be distinctly heard. The king descended the stairs,
and at the moment he made his appearance upon the flight of steps,
every one stopped. The king walked straight up to the young queen.
The queen-mother, who was still suffering more than ever from the
illness with which she was afflicted, did not wish to go out. Maria
Theresa accompanied Madame in her carriage, and asked the king in
what direction he wished the promenade to take place. The king, who
had just seen La Valliere, still pale from the events of the previous
evening, get into a carriage with three of her companions, told the
queen that he had no preference, and wherever she would wish to go,
there would he be with her. The queen then desired that the outriders
should proceed in the direction of Apremont. The outriders set
off accordingly before the others. The king rode on horseback, and for
a few minutes accompanied the carriage of the queen and Madame,
with his hand resting upon the door. The weather had cleared up a
little; but a kind of veil of dust, like a thick gauze, was still spread over
the surface of the heavens, and the sun made every glittering atom of
dust glisten again within the circuit of its rays. The heat was stifling;
but, as the king did not seem to pay any attention to the appearance
of the heavens, no one made himself uneasy about it, and the
promenade, in obedience to the orders which had been given by the
queen, took its course in the direction of Apremont. The courtiers
who followed were merry and full of spirits; it was very evident that
every one tried to forget, and to make others forget, the bitter discus-
sions of the previous evening. Madame, particularly, was delightful.
In fact, seeing the king at the door of her carriage, as she did not sup-
pose he would be there for the queen's sake, she hoped that her prince
had returned to her. Hardly, however, had they proceeded a quarter
of a mile on the road, when the king, with a gracious smile, saluted
them and drew up his horse, leaving the queen's carriage to pass on,
then that of the principal ladies of honour, and then all the others in
succession, who, seeing the king stop, wished in their turn to stop too;
but the king made a sign to them to continue their progress. "When
La Valliere's carriage passed the king approached it, saluted the ladies
who were inside, and was preparing to accompany the carriage con-
taining the maids of honour, in the same way he had followed that in
which Madame was, when suddenly the whole file of carriages stopped.
It was probable that Madame, uneasy at the king having left her, had
just given directions for the performance of this manoeuvre, the direction
THE STOEM. 657
in which the promenade was to take place having been left to her. The
king having sent to inquire what her object was in stopping the car-
riages, was informed in reply, that she wished to walk. She very likely
hoped that the king, who was following the carriages of the maids of
honour on horseback, would not venture to follow the maids of honour
themselves on foot. They had arrived in the middle of the forest. The
promenade, in fact, was not ill-timed, especially for those who were
dreamers or lovers. From the little open space where the halt had
taken place, three beautiful long walks, shady and undulating, stretched
out before them. These walks were covered with moss, with leaves
lying scattered idly about; and each walk had its horizon in the distance,
consisting of about a handbreadth of sky, apparent through the inter-
lacing of the branches of the trees. At the end of the walks, evidently
in great tribulation and uneasiness, the startled deer were seen hurrying
to and fro, first stopping for a moment in the middle of the path, and
then raising their heads they fled with the speed of an arrow or bounded
into the depths of the forest, where they disappeared from view; now
and then a rabbit, of philosophical mien, could be noticed quietly sitting
upright, rubbing his muzzle with his fore paws, and looking about in-
quiringly, as though wondering whether all these people, who were
approaching in his direction, and who had just disturbed him in his
meditations and his meal, were not followed by their dogs, or had not
their guns under their arms. All alighted from their carriages as soon,
as they observed that the queen was doing so. Maria Theresa took the
arm of one of her ladies of honour, and, with a side-glance towards the
king, who did not perceive that he was in the slightest degree the object
of the queen's attention, entered the forest by the first path before her.
Two of the outriders preceded her majesty with long poles, which they
used for the purpose of putting the branches of the trees aside, or
removing the bushes which might impede her progress. As soon as
Madame alighted, she found the Comte de Guiche at her side, who bowed
and placed himself at her disposal. Monsieur, delighted with his bath
of the two previous days, had announced his preference for the river,
and, having given de Guiche leave of absence, remained at the chateau
with the Chevalier de Lorraine and Manicamp. He was not in the
slightest degree jealous. He had been looked for to no purpose among
those present; but as Monsieur was a man who thought a great deal of
himself, and usually added very little to the general pleasure, his absence
had rather been a subject of satisfaction than of regret. Every one had
followed the example which the queen and Madame had set, doing just
as they pleased, according as chance or fancy influenced them. The
king, we have already observed, remained near La Yalliere, and, throw-
ing himself off his horse at the moment the door of her carriage was
opened, he offered her his hand to alight. . Montalais and Tonnay-
Charente immediately drew back and kept at a distance; the former
from calculated, the latter from prudent, motives. There was this
difference, however, between the two, that the one had withdrawn from
a wish to please the king, the other for a very opposite reason. During
the last half hour the weather also had undergone a change; the veiL
which had been spread over the sky, as if driven by a blast of heated
air, had become massed together in the western part of the heavens;
and afterwards, as if driven back by a current, of air from the opposite
direction, was now advancing slowly and heavily towards them. The
approach of the storm could be felt, but as the king did not perceive it,
no one thought it was right to do so. The promenade was therefore
continued; some of the company, with minds ill at ease on the subject,
658 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGELONNE.
raised their eyes from time to time towards the shy; others, even more
timid still, walked about without wandering too far from the carriages,
where they relied upon taking shelter in case the storm burst. The
greater number of these, however, observing that the king fearlessly
entered the wood with La Yalliere, followed his majesty. The king
noticing this, took La Yalliere's hand, and led her away by a side-path,
where no one this time ventured to follow him.
CHAPTEB CXXXYII.
The Shower of Rain.
At this moment, and in the same direction, too, that the king and
La Valliere were proceeding, except that they were walking in the
wood itself instead of following the path—two men were walking to-
gether, utterly indifferent to the appearance of the heavens. Their
heads were bent down in the manner of people occupied with matters
of great moment. They had not observed either de Guiche or Ma-
dame, or the king or La Yalliere. Suddenly something passed through
the air like a stream of fire, followed by a loud but distant rumbling
noise.
"Ah !" said one of them, raising his head, " here is the storm. Let
us reach our carriages, my dear d'Herblay."
Aramis looked inquiringly at the heavens. " There is no occasion to
hurry yet," he said; and then resuming the conversation where it had
doubtlessly been interrupted, he said, " You were observing that the
letter we wrote last evening must by this time have reached its desti-
nation ? "
" I was saying that she certainly has it."
" Whom did you send it by ? "
" By my own servant, as I have already told you."
" Did he bring back an answer ? "
" I have not seen him since; the young girl was probably in attend-
ance on Madame, or was in her own room dressing, and he may have
had to wait. Our time for leaving arrived, and we set off, of course :
I cannot, therefore, know what is going on yonder."
"Did you see the king before leaving ? " " Yes."
" How did he seem ? "
"Nothing could be better, or worse; according as he be sincere or
hypocritical."
" And the fete ?"
" Will take place in a month."
" He invited himself, you say ? "
"With a pertinacity in which I detected Colbert's influence. But
has not last night removed your illusions ? "
" What illusions ? "
" With respect to the assistance you may be able to give me in this
circumstance."
" No; I have passed the night writing, and all my orders are«given."
" Do not conceal it from yourself, d'Herblay, but the fete will cost
some millions. _
" I will give six, do you on your side get two or three."
" You are a wonderful man, my dear d'Herblay." Aramis smiled.
" But," inquired Bouquet, with some remaining uneasiness, " how is
THE SHOWER OF RAIN. 65$
it that while now you are squandering millions in this manner, a few
days ago you did not pay the fifty thousand francs to Baisemeaux out
of your own pocket ? "
" Because a few days ago I was as poor as Job."
" And to-day ? "
" To-day I am wealthier than the king himself."
" Very well," said Bouquet; " I understand men pretty well; I know
you are incapable of forfeiting your word; I do not wish to wrest your
secret from you, and so let us talk no more about it."
At this moment a dull, heavy rumbling was heard, which suddenly
hurst forth in a violent clap of thunder.
" Oh, oh !" said Bouquet, " I was quite right in what I said."
" Come," said Aramis, " let us rejoin the carriages."
" We shall not have time," said Bouquet, " for here comes the rain."
In fact, as he spoke, and as if the heavens were opened, a shower
of large drops of rain was suddenly heard falling on the trees about
them.
"We shall have time," said Aramis, " to reach the carriages before
the foliage becomes saturated."
" It will be better," said Bouquet, " to take shelter somewhere—in a
grotto, for instance."
" Yes, but where are we to find a grotto ? " inquired Aramis.
"I know one," said Bouquet, smiling, "not ten paces from here.
Then looking round about him, he added: " Yes, we are quite right."
"You are very fortunate to have so good a memory," said Aramis,
smiling in his turn; " but are you not afraid that your coachman, find-
ing we do not return, will suppose we have taken another road back,
and that he will not follow the carriages belonging to the court ? "
" Oh, there is no fear of that," said Bouquet; " whenever I place my
coachman and my carriage in any particular spot, nothing but an
express order from the king could stir them ; and more than that, too,
it seems that we are not the only ones who have come so far, for I hear
footsteps and the sound of voices."
As he spoke. Bouquet turned round, opened with his cane a mass of
foliage which hid the path from his view. Aramis's glance as well as
his own plunged at the same moment through the opening he had
made.
" A woman," said Aramis.
" And a man," said Bouquet.
" It is La Valliere and the king," they both exclaimed together.
" Oh, oh !" said Aramis, " is his majesty aware of your cavern as well ?
I should not be astonished if he were, for he seems to be on very good
terms with the nymphs of Bontainebleau."
" It matters little," said Bouquet; " let us get there; if he is not
aware of it we shall see what he will do; if he should know it, as it has
two entrances, whilst he enters by one, we can leave by the other."
" Is it far ? " asked Aramis, " for the rain is beginning to penetrate."
" We are there now," said Bouquet, as he put aside a few branches,
and an excavation of the rock could be observed, which had been en-
tirely concealed by heaths, ivy, and a thick covert of small shrubs.
Bouquet led the way, followed by Aramis; but as the latter entered
the grotto, he turned round, saying: "Yes, they are now entering the
wood; and, see, they are bending their steps this way."
" Very well; let us make room for them," said Bouquet, smiling and
pulling Aramis by his cloak; " but I do not think the king knows of
my grotto."
2 U 2
G60 THE VICOMTE HE BBAG-ELONNE.
" Yes," said Aramis, " they are looking about them, but it is only for
a thicker tree."
Aramis was not mistaken, the king's looks were directed upwards,
and not around him. He held-La Valliere's arm within his own, and
held her hand in his. La Valliere's feet began to slip on the damp
grass. Louis again looked round him vyith greater attention than
before, and perceiving an enormous oak with wide-spreading branches,
he hurriedly drew La Valliere beneath its protecting shelter. The poor
girl looked round her on all sides, and seemed half afraid, half desirous,
of being followed. The king made her lean her back against the trunk
of the tree, whose vast circumference, protected by the thickness of the
foliage, was as dry as if at that moment the rain had not been falling
in torrents. He himself remained standing before her with his head
uncovered. After a few minutes, however, some drops of rain pene-
trated through the branches of the tree and fell on the king's forehead,
who did not pay any attention to it.
" Oh, sire ! " murmured La Valliere, pushing the king's hat towards
him. But the king simply bowed, and determinedly refused to cover
his head.
" Now or never is the time to offer your place," said Fouquet in
Aramis's ear.
" Now or never is the time to listen, and not lose a syllable of what
they may have to say to each other," replied Aramis in Fouquet's ear.
In fact they both remained perfectly silent, and the king's voice
reached them where they were.
" Believe me." said the king," I perceive, or rather I can imagine your
uneasiness; believe how sincerely I regret to have isolated you from
the rest of the company, and to have brought you, also, to a spot where
you will be inconvenienced by the rain. You are wet already, and per-
haps are cold too ? " " No, sire."
" And yet you tremble ? "
" I am afraid, sire, that my absence may be misinterpreted; at a mo-
ment, too, when all the others are re-united."
" I would not hesitate to propose returning to the carriages, Made-
moiselle de la Valliere, but pray look and listen, and tell me if it be
possible to attempt to make the slightest progress at the present ? "
In fact the thunder was still rolling, and the rain continued to fall in
torrents.
" Besides," continued the king, " no possible interpretation can be
made which would be to your discredit. Are you not with the king of
France; in other words, with the first gentleman of the kingdom?"
" Certainly, sire," replied La Valliere, " and it is a very distinguished
honour for me; it is not, therefore, for myself that I fear the interpre-
tations that may be made."
" For whom, then ? " " For yourself, sire."
,! For me ? " said the king, smiling, " I do not understand you."
"Has your majesty already forgotten what took place yesterday eve-
ning in her royal highness's apartments ? "
" Oh ! forget that, I beg, or allow me to remember it for no other
purp<pse than to thank you once more for your letter, and "
"Sire," interrupted La Valliere, "the rain is falling, and your majesty's
head is uncovered."
" I intreat you not to think of anything but yourself."
" Oh! I," said La Valliere, smiling, "I am a country girl, accustomed
to roaming through the meadows of the Loire and the gardens of Blois,
whatever the weather may be. And, as for my clothes," she added,
THE SHOWER OF RAIN. 661
looking at her simple muslin dress, " your majesty sees they do not run
much risk."
" Indeed, I have already noticed, more than once, that you owed
nearly everything to yourself and nothing to your toilette. Your free-
dom from coquetry is one of your greatest charms in my eyes."
" Sire, do not make me out better than I am, and say merely, c You
cannot be a coquette.5"
" "Why so ? "
" Because," said La Yalliere, smiling, " I am not rich."
" You admit, then," said the king, quickly, " that you have a love for
beautiful things."
" Sire, I only regard those things as beautiful which are within my
reach. Everything which is too highly placed for me "
" You are indifferent to ?55
" Is foreign to me, as being prohibited."
"And I," said the king, " do not find that you are at my court on
the footing you should be. The services of your family have not
been sufficiently brought under my notice. The advancement of your
family has been cruelly neglected by my uncle."
" On the contrary, sire. His royal highness, the duke of Or-
leans, had always been exceedingly kind towards M. de Saint-Remy,
my father-in-law. The services rendered were humble, and, properly
speaking, our services have been adequately recognized. It is not every
one who is happy enough to find opportunities of serving his sovereign
with distinction. I have no doubt at all, that, if ever opportunities had
been met with, my family's actions would; but that happiness has never
been ours."
" In that case Mademoiselle de la Yalliere, it belongs to kings to
repair the want of opportunity, and most delightedly do I undertake
to repair, in your instance, and with the least possible delay, the wrongs
of fortune towards you."
" Nay, sire," cried La Yalliere, eagerly; " leave things, 1 beg, as they
now are."
" Is it possible! you refuse what I ought, and what I wish to do
for you ? "
" All I desired has been granted me, when the honour was conferred
upon me of forming one of Madame's household."
" But if you refuse for yourself, at least accept for your family."
" Your generous intention, sire, bewilders and makes me apprehen-
sive, for, in doing for my family what your kindness urges you to do,
your majesty will raise up enemies for us, and enemies for yourself, too:
Leave me in my mediocrity, sire; of all the feelings and sentiments I
experience, leave me to enjoy that pleasing delicacy of disinterestedness."
" The sentiments you express," said the king," are indeed admirable."
" Quite true," murmured Aramis in Bouquet's ear, " and he cannot
be accustomed to them."
" But," replied Bouquet, " suppose she were to make a similar reply
to my letter."
" True!" said Aramis, " let us not anticipate, but wait the con-
elusion."
"And then, dear Monsieur d'Herblay," added the surintendant,
hardly able to appreciate the sentiments which La Yalliere had just
expressed, " it is very often a sound calculation to seem disinterested
with monarchs."
" Exactly what I was thinking this very minute," said Aramis. " Let
us listen."
662 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
The king approached nearer to La Valliere, and as the rain dripped
more and more through the foliage of the oak, he held his hat over the
head of the young girl, who raised her beautiful blue eyes towards the
royal hat which sheltered her, and shook her head, sighing deeply as
she did so.
" What melancholy thought," said the king, " can possibly reach
your heart when I place mine as a rampart before it?"
" I will tell you, sire. I had already once before broached this ques-
tion, which is so difficult for a young girl of my age to discuss, but your
majesty imposed silence on me. Your majesty belongs not to yourself
alone, you are married; and every sentiment which would separate
your majesty from the queen, in leading your majesty to take notice
of me, will be a source of the profoundest sorrow for the queen." The
king endeavoured to interrupt the young girl, but she continued with
a suppliant gesture. " The Queen Maria, with an attachment which
can be so well understood, follows with her eyes every step of your
majesty which separates you from her. Happy enough in having had
her fate united to your own, she weepingly implores Heaven to preserve
you to her, and is jealous of the faintest throb of your heart bestowed
elsewhere." The king again seemed anxious to speak, but again did La
Valliere venture to prevent him.—" Would it not, therefore, be a most
blameable action," she continued, " if your majesty, a witness of this
anxious and disinterested affection, gave the queen any cause for her
jealousy ? Forgive me, sire, for the expression I have used. I well
know it is impossible, or rather that it would be impossible, that the
greatest queen of the whole world could be jealous of a poor girl like
myself. But, though a queen, she is still a woman, and her heart, like
that of any of her sex, cannot close itself against the suspicious which
such as are evilly disposed insinuate. For heaven's sake, sire, think no
more of me, I am unworthy of your regard."
" Do you not know that in speaking as you have done, you change my
esteem for you into admiration ? "
" Sire, you assume my words to be contrary to the truth; you sup-
pose me to be better than I really am, and attach a greater merit to me
than God ever intended should be the case. Spare me, sire; for, did I
not know that your majesty was the most generous man in your king-
dom, I should believe you were jesting."
" You do not, I know, fear such a thing; I am quite sure of that,"
exclaimed Louis.
" I shall be obliged to believe it, if your majesty continues to hold
such language towards me."
"I am most unhappy, then," said the king, in a tone of -regret which
was not assumed; "lam the unhappiest prince in the whole Christian
world, since I am powerless to induce belief in my words, in one whom
I love the best in the wide world, and who almost breaks my heart by
refusing to credit my regard for her."
" Oh, sire !" said La V alliere, gently putting the king aside, who had
approached nearer to her, " I think the storm has passed away now,
and the rain has ceased." At the very moment, however, as the
poor girl, fleeing, as it were, from her own heart, which doubtlessly
throbbed too much in unison with the king's, uttered these words, the
storm undertook to contradict her. A bluish flash of lightning illu-
mined the forest with a wild weird-like glare, and a peal of thunder
like a discharge of artillery, burst over their very heads, as if the height
of the oak which sheltered them had attracted the storm. The young
THE SHOWER OF RAIN. 663
firl could not repress a cry of terror. The king with one hand drew
er towards his heart, and stretched the other above her head, as
though to shield her from the lightning. A moment's silence ensued,
as thje group, delightful as everything young and loving is delightful,
remained motionless, while Fouquet and Aramis contemplated it in
attitudes as motionless as La Valliere and the king. " Oh, sire, sire!"
murmured La Valliere, "do you hear?" and her head fell upon hi*
shoulder.
" Yes," said the king. " You see, the storm has not passed away."
" It is a warning, sire." The king smiled. " Sire, it is the voice of
Heaven in anger."
" Be it so," said the king. " I agree to accept that peal of thunder
as a warning, and even as a menace, if, in five minutes from the present
moment, it is renewed with equal violence; but if not, permit me to
think that the storm is a storm simply, and nothing more." And the
king, at the same moment, raised his head, as if to interrogate the
heavens. But, as if the remark had been heard and accepted, during
the five minutes which elapsed after the burst of thunder which had
alarmed them, no renewed peal was heard; and, when the thunder
was again heard, it was passing away in so audible a manner, as if,
during those same five minutes, the storm, put to flight, had tra-
versed the heavens with the speed of the wings of the wind. "Well,
Louise," said the king, in a low tone of voice, " will you still threaten
me with the anger of Heaven ? and, since you wished to regard the
storm as a presentiment, will you still believe that presentiment to be
one of misfortune ? "
The young girl looked up, and saw that while they had been talking,
the rain had penetrated the foliage above them, and was trickling down
the king's face. " Oh, sire, sire !" she exclaimed, in accents of eager
apprehension, which greatly agitated the king. "Is it for me," she
murmured, " that the king remains thus uncovered, and exposed to the
rain ? What am I, then ? "
"You are, you perceive," said the king, "the divinity who dissipates
the storm, and brings back fine weather." In fact, a ray of sunlight
streamed through the forest, and caused the rain-drops which rested
upon the leaves, or fell vertically among the openings in the branches
of the trees, to glisten like diamonds.
"Sire," said La Valliere, almost overcome, but making a powerful
effort over herself, " think of the anxieties your majesty will have to
submit to on my account. At this very moment, they are seeking you
in every direction. The queen must be full of uneasiness; and Ma-
dame—oh, Madame!" the young girl exclaimed, with an expression
which almost resembled terror.
This name had a certain effect upon the king. He started, and dis-
engaged himself from La Valliere, whom he had, till that moment,
held pressed against his heart. He then advanced towards the path, in
order to look round, and returned, somewhat thoughtfully, to La
Valliere. " Madame, did you say ? " he remarked.
" Yes, Madame; she, too, is jealous," said La Valliere, with a marked
tone of voice; and her eyes, so, timorous in their expression, and so
modestly fugitive in their glance, for a moment ventured to look in-
quiringly in the king's eyes.
"Still," returned Louis, making an effort over himself, "it seems to
me that Madame has no reason, no right to be jealous of me."
" Alas!" murmured La Valliere.'
664 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Are you, too," said the king, almost in a tone of reproach, " are you
among those who think the sister has a right to be jealous of the
brother ? "
"It is not for me, sire, to penetrate your majesty's secrets."
" You do believe it, then ? " exclaimed the king.
"I do believe Madame is jealous, sire," La Valliere replied, firmly.
"Is it possible," said the king, with some anxiety, " that you have
perceived it, then, from her conduct towards you ? Have her manners
in any way, been such towards you, that you can attribute them to the
jealousy you speak of?"
" Not at all, sire; I am of so little importance."
" Oh! if it were really the case " exclaimed Louis, violently.
" Sire," interrupted the young girl, " it has ceased raining; some one
is coming, I think." And, forgetful of all etiquette, she had seized the
king by the arm.
" Well," replied the king, "let them come. Who is there who would
venture to think I had done wrong in remaining alone with Mademoi-
selle de la Valliere?"
"For pity's sake, sire! they will think it strange to see you wet
through, in this manner, and that you should have run such risk for
me."
"I have simply done my duty as a gentleman," said Louis; "and
woe to him who may fail in his, in criticising his sovereign's conduct."
In fact, at this moment, a few eager and curious faces were seen in the
walk, as if engaged in a search, and who, observing the king and La
Valliere, seemed to have found what they were seeking. They were
some of the courtiers who had been sent by the queen and Madame,
and who immediately uncovered themselves, in token of having per-
ceived his majesty. But Louis, notwithstanding LaValliere's confu-
sion, did not quit his respectful and tender attitude. Then, when all
the courtiers were assembled in the walk—when every one had been
able to perceive the mark of deference with which he had treated the
young girl, by remaining standing and bare-headed during the storm—
he offered her his arm, led her towards the group who were waiting,
recognized by an inclination of the head the respectful salutations
which were paid him on all sides; and, still holding his hat in his
hand, he conducted her to her carriage. And, as the rain still con-
tinued to fall—a last adieu of the disappearing storm—the other ladies,
whom respect had prevented getting into their carriages before the
king, remained, and altogether unprotected by hood and cloak, exposed
to the rain from which the king with his hat over her, was protecting,
as much as he was able, the humblest among them. The queen and
Madame must, like the others, have witnessed this exaggerated cour-
tesy of the king. Madame was so disconcerted at it, that she touched
the queen with her elbow, saying, at the same time, " Look there, look
there."
The queen closed her eyes as if she had been suddenly seized with a
fainting attack. She lifted her hand to her face and entered her carriage,
Madame following her. The king again mounted his horse, and without
showing a preference for any particular carriage door, he returned to
Fontainebleau, the reins hanging over his horse's neck, absorbed in
thought. As soon as the crowd had disappeared, and the sound of the
horses and carriages grew fainter in the distance, and when they were
certain, in fact, that no one could see them, Aramis and Fouquet came
out of their grotto, and both of them in silence passed slowly on towards
the walk. Aramis looked most narrowly not only at the whole extent
TOBY. 665
of the open space stretching out before and behind him, but even into
the very depth of the wood.
" Monsieur Fouquet," he said, when he had quite satisfied himself
that they wfere alone, " we must get back, at any cost, the letter you
wrote to La Yalliere."
" That will be easy enough," said Fouquet, " if my servant has not
given it to her."
" In any case it must be done, do you understand ?"
" Yes; the king is in love with this girl, you mean ?"
" Exceedingly so, and what is worse is, that on her side, the girl is
passionately attached to the king."
" As much as to say that we must change our tactics, I suppose ?"
"Not a doubt of it; you have no time to lose. You must see La
Valliere, and, without thinking any more of becoming her lover, which
is out of the question, must declare yourself her dearest friend and her
most humble servant."
"I will do so," replied Fouquet, "and without the slightest feeling of
disinclination, for she seems a good-hearted girl."
"Or a clever one," said Aramis; "but in that case the greater reason."
Then he added, after a moment's pause, " If I am not mistaken, that
girl will become the strongest passion of the king. Let us return to our
carriage, and, as fast as possible, to the chateau"
CHAPTER CXXXYIII.
Toby.
Two hours after the surintendant's carriage had set off by Aramis's
directions, conveying them both towards Fontainebleau with the fleet-
ness of the clouds which the last breath of the tempest was hurrying
across the face of the heavens, La Yalliere was closeted in her own
apartment, with a simple muslin wrapper round her, having just finished
a slight repast, which was placed upon a small marble table. Suddenly
the door was opened, and a servant entered to announce M. Fouquet,
who had called to request permission to pay his respects to her. She
made him repeat the message twice over, for the poor girl only knew
M. Fouquet by name, and could not conceive what she could possibly
have to do with a surintendant of finances. However, as he might pos-
sibly come from the king—and, after the conversation we have recorded
it was very likely—she glanced at her mirror, drew out still more the
long ringlets of her hair, and desired him to be admitted. La Yalliere
could not, however, refrain from a certain feeling of uneasiness. A visit
from the surintendant was not an ordinary event in the life of any
woman attached to the court. Fouquet, so notorious for his generosity,
his gallantry, and his sensitive delicacy of feeling with regard to women
generally, had received more invitations than he had requested audiences.
In many houses, the presence of the surintendant had been significant
of fortune; in many hearts, of love. Fouquet entered the apartment
with a manner full of respect, presenting himself with that ease and
gracefulness of manner which was the distinctive characteristic of the
men of eminence of that period, and which at the present day seems no
longer to be understood, even in the portraits of the period in which
the painter has endeavoured to recall them into being. La Yalliere
acknowledged the ceremonious salutation which Fouquet addressed to
€66 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
her by a gentle inclination of the head, and motioned him to a seat.
But Bouquet, with a bow, said, " I will not sit down until you have
pardoned me."
" I ?" asked La Yalliere, " pardoned what ?"
Bouquet fixed a most piercing look upon the young girl, and fancied
he could perceive in her face nothing but the most unaffected surprise.
" I observe," he said, " that you have as much generosity as intelligence,
and I read in your eyes the forgiveness I solicit. A pardon pronounced
by your lips is insufficient for me, and I need the forgiveness of your
heart and mind."
"Upon my honour, monsieur," said La Valliere, "I assure you most
positively I do not understand your meaning."
" Again, that is a delicacy on your part which charms me," replied
Bouquet, " and I see you do not wish me to blush before you."
"Blush! blush before me! "Why should you blush ?"
" Can I have deceived myself," said Bouquet; " and can I have been
happy enough not to have offended you by my conduct towards you ?"
Really, monsieur," said La Yalliere, shrugging her shoulders, "you
speak in enigmas, and I suppose I am too ignorant to understand you."
" Be it so," said Bouquet; " I will not insist. Tell me, only, I entreat
you, that I may rely upon your full and complete forgiveness."
" I have but one reply to make to you, monsieur," said La Yalliere,
somewhat impatiently, " and I hope that will satisfy you. If I knew
the wrong you have done me, I would forgive you, and I would do so
with still greater reason since I am ignorant of the wrong you allude to."
Bouquet bit his lips, as Aramis would have done. " In that case," he
said, " I may hope, that, notwithstanding what has happened, our good
understanding will remain undisturbed, and that you will kindly confer
the favour upon me of believing in my respectful friendship."
La Yalliere fancied that she now began to understand, and said to
herself, " I should not have believed M. Bouquet so eager to seek the
source of a favour so very recent," and then added aloud, "Your friend-
ship, monsieur! you offer me your friendship. The honour, on the
contrary, is mine, and I feel overpowered by it."
" I am aware," replied Bouquet, " that the friendship of the master
may appear more brilliant and desirable than that of the servant, but I
assure you the latter will be quite as devoted, quite as faithful, and
altogether disinterested."
La Yalliere bowed, for, in fact, the voice of the surintendant seemed
to convey both conviction and real devotion in its tone, and she held
out her hand to him, saying, " I believe you."
Bouquet eagerly took hold of the young girl's hand. " You see no
difficulty, therefore," he added, "in restoring me that unhappy letter."
" What letter ?" inquired La Yalliere.
Bouquet interrogated her with his most searching gaze, as he had
already done before, but the same innocent expression, the same candid
look met his. " I am obliged to confess," he said, after this denial,
"that your system is the most delicate in the world, and I should not
feel I was a man of honour and uprightness if I were to suspect any-
thing from a woman so generous as yourself."
" Really, Monsieur Bouquet," replied La Yalliere, " it is with profound
regret I am obliged to repeat that I absolutely understand nothing of
what you refer to."
" In fact, then, upon your honour, mademoiselle, you have not re-
ceived any letter from me?"
" Upon my honour, none," replied La Yalli&re, firmly.
TOBY. 667
" Yery well, that is quite sufficient; permit me, then, to renew the
assurance of my utmost esteem and respect," said Fouquet. Then,
bowing, he left the room to seek Aramis, who was waiting for him in
his own apartment, and leaving La Yalliere to ask herself whether the
surintendant had not lost his senses.
"Well!" inquired Aramis, who was impatiently waiting Fouquet's
return, " are you satisfied with the favourite?"
"Enchanted," replied Fouquet; " she is a woman full of intelligence
and fine feeling."
" She did not get angry, then ?"
" Far from that, she did not even seem to understand."
" To understand what ?"
" To understand that I had written to her."
"She must, however, have understood you sufficiently to give the
letter back to you, for I presume she returned it." " Not at all,"
" At least, you satisfied yourself that she had burnt it."
" My dear Monsieur d'Herblay, I have been playing at cros's pur-
poses for more than an hour, and, however amusing it may be, I begin
to have had enough of this game. So understand me thoroughly: the
girl pretended not to understand what I was saying to her; she denied
having received any letter; therefore, having positively denied its
receipt, she was unable either to return, or burn, it."
" Oh! oh!" said Aramis, with uneasiness, " what is that you say ?"
" I say that she swore most positively she had not received any letter."
" That is too much. And you not insist ?"
" On the contrary, I did insist, almost impertinently so, even."
" And she persisted in her denial ?" " Unhesitatingly."
" And she did not contradict herself once ?" " Not once."
" But, in that case, then, you have left our letter in her hands ?"
" How could I do otherwise."
" Oh! it was a great mistake."
" What the deuce would you have done in my place ?"
" One could not force her, certainly, but it is very embarrassing; such
a letter ought not to remain in existence against us."
" Oh! the young girl's disposition is generosity itself; I looked at her
eyes, and I can read eyes well."
" You think she can be relied upon ?" " From my heart I do."
" Well, I think we are mistaken."
" In what way ?"
" I think that, in point of fact, as she herself told you, she did not
receive the letter."
" What! do you suppose " "
" I suppose that, from some motive, of which we know nothing, your
man did. not deliver the letter to her."
Fouquet rang the bell. A servant appeared. " Send Toby here," he
said. A moment afterwards a man made his appearance, with an anxious
restless look, shrewd expression of the mouth, with short arms, and. his
back somewhat bent. Aramis fixed a penetrating look upon him.
" Will you allow me to interrogate him myself?" inquired Aramis.
" Do so," said Fouquet.
Aramis was about to say something to the lacquey, when he paused.
" No," he said; "he would see that we attach too much importance to
his answer, question him yourself; I will pretend to write." Aramis
accordingly placed himself at a table, his back turned towards the old
attendant, whose every gesture and look he watched in a looking-glass
opposite to him.
668 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" Come here, Toby," said Fouquet to the valet, who approached with
a tolerably firm step. "How did you execute my commission?" in-
quired Fouquet.
" In the usual way, monseigneur," replied the man.
" But how, tell me ? "
" I succeeded in penetrating as far as Mademoiselle de la Valliere's
apartment; but she was at mass, and, so I placed the note on her
toilette-table. Is not that what you told me to do ?"
" Precisely; and is that all ?"
" Absolutely all, monseigneur."
" No one was there ?"-—" No one."
" Hid you conceal yourself as I told you ?"—-—" Yes."
"And she returned?" " Ten minutes afterwards."
" And no one could have taken the letter?"
"No one; for no one had entered the room."
" From the outside, but from the interior ?"
" From the place where I was secreted, I could see to the very end of
the room."
"Now listen to me," said Fouquet, looking fixedly at the lacquey;
" if this letter did not reach its proper destination, confess it; for, if a
mistake has been made, your head shall be the forfeit."
Toby started, but immediately recovered himself. "Monseigneur,"
he said, " I placed the letter on the very place I told you; and I ask
only half an hour to prove to you that the letter is in Mademoiselle de
la Valliere's hands, or to bring you back the letter itself."
Aramis looked at the valet scrutinizingly. Fouquet was ready in
placing confidence in people, and for twenty years this man had served
him faithfully. " Go," he said; " but bring me the proof you speak of."
The lacquey quitted the room.
" "Well, what do you think of it ?" inquired Fouquet of Aramis.
" I think that you must, by some means or another, assure yourself of
the truth, either that the letter has or has not reached La Valliere; that,
in the first case, La Valliere must return it to you, or satisfy you by
burning it in your presence; that, in the second, you must have the
letter back again, even were it to cost you a million. Come, is not
that your opinion?"
"Yes; but still, my dear bishop, I believe you are exaggerating the
position of the affair."
" Blind, how blind you are !" murmured Aramis.
" La Valliere," returned Fouquet, " whom we assume to be a politician
of the greatest ability, is simply nothing more than a coquette, who
hopes that I shall pay my court to her, because I have already done
so, and who, now that she has received a confirmation of the king's
regard, hopes to keep me in leading strings with the letter. It is
natural enough." Aramis shook his head.
" Is not that your opinion ?" said Fouquet.
| She is not a coquette," he replied.
|| Allow me to tell you "
"Oh! I am well enough acquainted with women who are coquettes,"
said Aramis.
" My dear friend!"
"It is a long time ago since I finished my studies, you mean. But
women do not change."
"True; but men change, and you at the present day are far more
suspicious thun you formerly were." And then, beginning to laugh,
he added Come, if La Valliere is willing to love me only to the
TOBY. 669
extent of a third, and the king two-thirds, do you think the condition
acceptable ?"
Aramis rose impatiently. "La Valliere," he said, " has never loved,
and will never love any one but the king."
" At all events," said Fouquet, " what would you do ?"
" Ask me rather what I would have done ?"
" Well! what would you have done ?"
" In the first place, 1 should not have allowed that man to go."
" Toby!"
" Yes; Toby is a traitor. Nay, I am sure of it, and I would not have
let him go until he had told me the truth."
" There is still time. I will recall him, and do you question him in
your turn." " Agreed."
" But I assure you it is quite useless. He has been with me for the
last twenty years, and has never made the slightest mistake, and yet,"
added Fouquet, laughing, " it has been easy enough."
" Still, call him back. This morning I fancy I saw that face in earnest
conversation with one of M. Colbert's men."
" Where was that ?" " Opposite the stables."
" Bah! all my people are at daggers drawn with that fellow."
"I saw him, I tell you, and his face, which I ought not to have
recognized when he entered just now, struck me in a disagreeable
manner."
" Why did you not say something, then, while he was here ?"
" Because it is only at this very minute that my memory is clear upon
the subject."
"Eeally," said Fouquet, "you alarm me." And he again rang the
hell.
" Provided that it is not already too late," said Aramis.
Fouquet once more rang impatiently. The valet usually in attend-
ance appeared. " Toby!" said Fouquet," send Toby." The valet again
shut the door.
" You leave me at perfect liberty, I suppose ?" " Entirely so."
" I may employ all means, then, to ascertain the truth." " All."
"Intimidation, even?"
" I constitute you public prosecutor in my place."
They waited ten minutes longer,but uselessly, and Fouquet, thoroughly
out of patience, again rang loudly. " Toby ?" he exclaimed.
" Monseigneur," said the valet, " they are looking for him."
" He cannot be far distant, I have not given him any commission to
execute."
" I will go and see, monseigneur," replied the valet, as he closed the
door. Aramis, during this interval, walked impatiently but . silently,
up and down the cabinet. Again they waited another ten minutes.
Fouquet rang in a manner to awaken the very dead. The valet again
presented himself, trembling in a way to induce a belief that he was
the bearer of bad news.
"Monseigneur is mistaken," he said, before even Fouquet could
interrogate him, "you must have given Toby some commission, for he
has been to the stables and taken your lordship's swiftest horse, and
saddled it himself."
" Well ?" "And he has gone off?"
"Gone!" exclaimed Fouquet. "Let him be pursued, let him be
captured."
. ' Nay, nay," said Aramis, taking him by the hand, " be calm, the evil
is done now."
670 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
" The evil is done, yon say ?"
"No doubt; I was sure of it. And now, let us give no cause for
suspicion; we must calculate the result of the blow and ward it off, if
possible."
" After all," said Bouquet, " the evil is not great."
" Tou think so ?" said Aramis.
"Of course. Surely a man is allowed to write a love-letter to a
woman."
" A man, certainly; a subject, no: especially, too, when the woman
in question is one with whom the king is in love."
" But the king was not in love with La Valliere a week ago ! he was
not in love with her yesterday, and the letter is dated yesterday; I
could not guess the king was in love, when the king's affection was not
even yet in existence."
" As you please," replied Aramis; " but unfortunately the letter is
not dated, and it is that circumstance particularly which annoys me.
If it had only been dated yesterday, I should not have the slightest
shadow of uneasiness on your account." Bouquet shrugged his shoul-
ders.
" Am I not my own master," he said, " and is the king, then, king of
my brain and of my flesh ?"
" Tou are right," replied Aramis," do not let us give more importance
to matters than is necessary; and besides ... "Well! if we are menaced,
we have means of defence."
"Oh! menaced!" said Bouquet, "you do not place this gnat bite,
as it were, among the number of menaces which may compromise my
fortune and my life, do you ?"
"Do not forget Monsieur Bouquet, that the bite of an insect can kill
a giant, if the insect be venomous."
" But has this sovereign power you were speaking of, already
vanished?"
" I am all-powerful, it is true, but I am not immortal."
"Come, then, the most pressing matter is to find Toby again, I sup-
pose. Is not that your opinion ?"
" Oh ! as for that, you will not find him again," said Aramis," and
if he were of any great value to you, you must give him up for lost."
"At all events he is somewhere or another in the world," said
Bouquet.
" You're right, let me act," replied Aramis.
CHAPTER CXXXIX.
Madame's Four Chances.
Anne of Austria had begged the young queen to pay her a visit.
Bor some time past suffering most acutely, and losing both her youth
and beauty with that rapidity which signalizes the decline of women for
whom life has been a long contest, Anne of Austria had, in addition to
her physical sufferings, to experience the bitterness of being no longer
held in any esteem, except as a living remembrance of the past, amidst
the youthful beauties, wits, and influences of her court. Her phy-
sician's opinions, her mirror also, grieved her far less than the inex-
orahle warnings which the society of the courtiers afforded, who, like
the rats in a ship, abandon the hold in which the water is on the point
MADAME'S FOUR CHANCES. 671
of penetrating, owing to the ravages of decay. Anne of Austria did not
feel satisfied with the time her eldest son devoted to her. The king, a
good son, more from affectation than from affection, had at first been
in the habit of passing an hour in the morning and one in the evening
with his mother ; but, since he had himself undertaken the conduct of
state affairs, the duration of the morning and evening's visit had been
reduced to half; and then, by degrees, the morning visit had been
suppressed altogether. They met at mass; the evening visit was
replaced by a meeting, either at the king's assembly, or at Madame's,
which the queen attended obligingly enough, out of regard to her two
sons. The result was, that Madame had acquired an immense in-
fluence over the court, which made her apartments the true royal
place of meeting. This, Anne of Austria had perceived; feeling herself
to be suffering, and condemned by her sufferings to frequent retirement,
she was distressed at the idea that the greater part of her future days
and evenings would pass away solitary, useless, and in despondency.
She recalled with terror the isolation in which Cardinal Richelieu had
formerly left her, those dreaded and insupportable evenings, during
which, however, she had her youth and beauty, which are always
accompanied by hope, to console her. She next formed the project of
transporting the court to her own apartments, and of attracting
Madame, with her brilliant escort, to her gloomy and already sorrowful
abode, where the widow of a king of France, and the mother of a king
of France, was reduced to console, in her anticipated widowhood, the
always weeping wife of a king of France.
Anne began to reflect. She had intrigued a good deal in her life. In
the good times past, when her youthful mind nursed projects which were .
invariably successful, she then had by her side, to stimulate her am-
bition and her love, a friend of her own sex, more eager, more ambitious,.
than herself,—a friend who had loved her, a rare circumstance at court,
and whom some petty considerations had removed from her for ever.
But for many years past—except Madame de Motteville, and except
La Molena, her Spanish nurse, a confidante in her character of coun-
trywoman and woman too—who could boast of having given good
advice to the queen ? Who, too, among all the youthful heads there,
could recall the past for her,—that past in which alone she lived ? Anne
of Austria remembered Madame de Chevreuse, in the first place exiled
rather by her wish than the king's, and then dying in exile, the wife of
a gentleman of obscure birth and position. She asked herself what
Madame de Chevreuse would formerly have advised her in a similar
circumstance, in their mutual difficulties arising from their intrigues;
and after serious reflection, it seemed as if the clever, subtle mind of her
friend, full of experience and sound judgment, answered her in her:
ironical tone of voice: "All these insignificant young people are poor and
greedy of gain. They require gold and incomes to keep alive their
means of amusements; it is by interest you must gain them over."
And Anne of Austria adopted this plan. Her purse was well filled, and
she had at her disposal a considerable sum of money, which had been
amassed by Mazarin for her, and lodged in a place of safety. She pos-
sessed the most magnificent jewels in France, and especially pearls of a
size so large, that they made the king sigh every time he saw them,
because the pearls of his crown were like millet-seed compared to them.
Anne of Austria had neither beauty nor charms any longer at heSr
disposal. She gave out, therefore, that her wealth was great, and as an
inducement for others to visit her apartments she let it be known that
there were good gold crowns to be won at play, or that handsome pre-
672 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
sents were likely to be made on days when all went well with her; or
windfalls, in the shape of annuities which she had wrung from the
king by entreaty, ana which she determined to do to maintain her
credit. And, in the first place, she tried these means upon Madame,
because, to gain her consent was of more importance than anything
else. Madame, notwithstanding the bold confidence with which her
wit and beauty inspired her, blindly ran head foremost into the net
which had been stretched out to catch her. Enriched by degrees by
these presents and transfers of property, she took a fancy to these
inheritances by anticipation. Anne of Austria adopted the same means
towards Monsieur, and even towards the king himself. She instituted
lotteries in her apartments. The day on which the present chapter
opens, invitations had been issued for a late supper in the queen-
mother's apartments, as she intended that two beautiful diamond
' bracelets of exquisite workmanship should be put into lottery. The
medallions were antique cameos of the greatest value; the diamonds,
in point of intrinsic value, did not represent a very considerable amount,
but the originality and rarity of the workmanship were such, that every
one at court not only wished to possess tbe bracelets, but even to see
the queen herself wear them; for, on the days she wore them, it was
considered as a favour to be admitted to admire them in kissing her
hands. The courtiers had, even.with regard to this subject, adopted
various expressions of gallantry to establish the aphorism, that the
bracelets would have been priceless in value if they had not been un-
fortunate enough to be placed in contact with arms as beautiful as the
queen's. This compliment had been honoured by a translation into all
the languages of Europe, and numerous were the verses in Latin and
Erench which had been circulated on the subject. The day that Anne
of Austria had selected for the lottery was a decisive moment; the king
had not been near his mother for a couple of days; Madame, after the
great sceneof the Dryads and Naiads,was sulking byherself. The king's
fit of sulkiness was over, but his mind was absorbingly occupied by a
circumstance which raised him above the stormy disputes and the
giddy pleasures of the court.
Anne of Austria effected a diversion by the announcement of the
famous lottery to take place in her apartments on the following
evening. With this object in view she saw the young queen, whom,
as we have already seen, she had invited to pay her a visit in the
morning. "I have good news to tell you," she said to her; "the
king has been saying the most tender things about you. He is
young, you know, and easily drawn away; but so long as you keep near
me, he will not venture to keep away from you, to whom, besides, he is
most warmly and affectionately attached. I intend to have a lottery
this evening, and shall expect to see you."
" I have heard," said the young queen, with a sort of timid reproach,
" that your majesty intends .to put in lottery those beautiful bracelets
whose rarity is so great that we ought not to allow them to pass out of
the custody of the crown, even were there no other reason than that
they had once belonged to you."
" My daughter," said Anne of Austria, who read the young queen's
thoughts, and wished to console her for not having received the brace-
lets as a present, "it is positively necessary that I should induce
Madame to pass her time always in my apartments."
" Madame!" said the young queeu, blushing.
" Of course; would you not prefer to have a rival near you, whom
you could watch and rule over, than to know that the king is with her,
MADAME'S FOUR CHANCES. 673
always as ready to flirt with, as to be flirted with by her. The lottery
I have proposed is my means of attraction for that purpose; do you
blame me?"
" Oh, no!" returned Maria-Theresa, clapping her hands with a child-
like expression of delight.
"And you no longer regret, then, that I did not give you these
bracelets, as I had at first intended to do ?" " Oh, no no!"
"Very well; make yourself look as beautiful as possible, that our
supper may be very brilliant; the gayer you seem, the more charming
you appear, and you will eclipse all the ladies present as much by your
brilliancy as by your rank."
Maria-Theresa left full of delight. An hour afterwards, Anne of
Austria received a visit from Madame, whom she covered with caresses,
saying, " Excellent news! the king is charmed with my lottery."
" But I," replied Madame, " am not quite so charmed; to see such
beautiful bracelets on any one's arms but yours or mine, is what I
cannot reconcile myself to."
" Well, well," said Anne of Austria, concealing by a smile a violent
pang which she had just experienced, " do not alarm yourself, young
lady, and do not look at things in the worst light immediately."
" Ah, madame, fortune is blind, and I am told there are two hundred
tickets."
" Quite as many as that; but you cannot surely forget that there can
only be one winner."
" No doubt. But who will that be ? Can you tell ?" said Madame,
in despair.
" You remind me that I had a dream last night; my dreams are
always good,—I sleep so little."
" What was your dream ?—But are you suffering?"
" No," said the queen, stifling with wonderful command the torture
of a renewed attack of shooting pains in her bosom; " I dreamt that the
king won the bracelets."
"The king?"
" You are going to ask me, I think, what the king could possibly do
with the bracelets ?" " Yes."
" And you will not add, perhaps, that it would be very fortunate if
the king were really to win, for he would be obliged to give the bracelets
to some one else." " To restore them to you, for instance."
" In which case I should immediately give them away; for you do
not think, I suppose," said the queen, laughing, " that I have put these
bracelets up to a lottery from necessity. My object was to give them
without arousing any one's jealousy; but if fortune will not get me out
of my difficulty—well, I will teach fortune a lesson—and I know very
well to whom I intend to offer the bracelets." These words were accom-
panied by so expressive a smile, that Madame could not resist paying
her by a grateful kiss.
" But," added Anne of Austria, " do you not know, as well as I do,
that if the king were to win the bracelets, he would not restore them
to me ? "
" You mean, he would give them to the queen ?"
"No; and for the very same reason, that he would not give them
back again to me; since, if I had wished to make the queen a present of
them, I had no need of him for that purpose."
Madame cast a side-glance upon the bracelets, which, in their casket,
were dazzlingly exposed to view upon a table close beside her.
"How beautiful they are," she said, sighing. "But stay," Madame
2 x
674 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
continued, "we are quite forgetting that your majesty's dream is nothing
but a dream."
" I should be very much surprised," returned Anne of Austria," if my
dream were to deceive me; that has happened to me very seldom."
" We may look upon you as a prophetess, then."
"I have already said, that I dream but very rarely: but the coinci-
dence of my dream about this matter, with my own ideas, is extraor-
dinary ! it agrees so wonderfully with my own views and arrangements."
"What arrangements do you allude to?"
" That you will win the bracelets, for instance."
" In that case, it will not be the king."
" Oh !" said Anne of Austria, " there is not such a very great distance
between his majesty's heart and your own; for, are not you his sister,
for whom he has a great regard ? There is not, I repeat, so very wide a
distance, that my dream can be pronounced false on that account.
Come, let us reckon up the chances in its favour."
" I will count them."
" In the first place, we will begin with the dream. If the king wins,
he is sure to give you the bracelets."
" I admit that is one."
" If you win them, they are yours."
"Naturally; that may be admitted also."
" Lastly;—if Monsieur were to win them!"
" Oh !" said Madame, laughing heartily, "he would give them to the
chevalier de Lorraine."
Anne of Austria laughed as heartily as her daughter-in-law; so much
so, indeed, that her sufferings again returned, and made her turn sud-
denly pale in the very midst of her enjoyment.
" What is the matter?" inquired Madame, almost terrified.
"Nothing, nothing; a pain in my side. I have been laughing too
much. We were at the fourth chance, I think."
" I cannot see a fourth."
" I beg your pardon; I am not excluded from the chance of winning,
and if I be the winner, you are sure of me."
" Oh ! thank you, thank you!" exclaimed Madame.
" I hope you look upon yourself as one whose chances are good, and
that my dream now begins to assume the solid form of reality."
" Yes, indeed; you give me both hope and confidence," said Madame,
"and the bracelets, won in this manner, will be a hundred times more
precious to me."
" Well! then, good bye, until this evening." And the two princesses
separated. Anne of Austria, after her daughter-in-law had left her,
said to herself, as she examined the bracelets, " They are, indeed, pre-
cious; since, by their means, this evening, I shall have won over a heart
to my side, and, at the same time, shall have guessed a secret."
Then, turning towards the deserted recess in her room, she said,
addressing vacancy—"Is it not thus, that you would have acted, my
poor Chevreuse ? Yes, yes; I know it is."
And, like a perfume of days gone by, her youth, her imagination,
and her happiness, seemed to return to her with the echo of this invo-
cation.
the lottery.
675
CHAPTER CXL.
The Lottery.
At eight o'clock in the evening, every one had assembled in the queen-
mother's apartments. Anne of Austria, in full dress, beautiful still, from
former loveliness, and from all the resources which ooquetry can com-
mand at the hands of clever assistants, concealed, or rather pretended to
conceal, from the crowd of young courtiers who surrounded her, and who
still admired her, thanks to the combination of circumstances which we.
have indicated in the preceding chapter, the ravages, which were already
visible, of the acute suffering to which she finally yielded a few years
later. Madame, almost as great a coquette as Anne of Austria, and the
queen, simple and natural as usual, were seated beside her, each con-
tending for her good graces. The ladies of honour, united in a body, in
order to resist with greater effect, and consequently with more success,
the witty and lively conversations which the young men held about
them, were enabled, like a battalion formed in square, to offer each
other the means of attack and defence which were thus at their com-
mand. Montalais, learned in that species of warfare which consists of
a skirmishing Character, protected the whole line by the sort of rolling
fire which she directed against the enemy. Saint-Aignan, in utter
despair at the rigour, which became insulting almost, from the very
fact of her persisting in it, which Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente
displayed, tried to turn his back upon her; but, overcome by the irre-
sistible brilliancy of her large eyes, he, every moment, returned to con-
secrate his defeat by new submissions, to which Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente did not fail to reply by fresh acts of impertinence.
Saint-Aignan did not know which way to turn. La Yalliere had about
her, not exactly a court, but sprinklings of courtiers. Saint-Aignan,
hoping by this manoeuvre to attract Athenais's attention towards him,
had approached the young girl, and saluted her with a respect which
induced some to believe that he wished to balance Athenais by Louise.
But these were persons who had neither been witnesses of the scene
during the shower, nor had heard it spoken of. But, as the majority
was already informed, and well informed too, on the matter, the ac-
knowledged favour with which she was regarded, had attracted to her
side some of the most astute, as well as the least sensible, members of
the court. The former, because they said with Montaigne," What can
we tell ? " and the latter, who said with Rabelais, " It is likely. The
greatest number had followed in the wake of the latter, just as in
hunting five or six of the best hounds alone follow the scent of the
animal hunted, whilst the remainder of the pack follow only the scent
of the hounds. The two queens and Madame examined with parti-
cular attention the toilettes of their ladies and maids of honour; and.
they condescended to forget they were queens in recollecting that they
were women. In other words, they pitilessly tore in pieces every
person there who wore a petticoat. The looks of both princesses
simultaneously fell upon La Yalliere, who, as we have just said, was
completely surrounded at that moment. Madame knew not what jnty
was, and said to the queen-mother, as she turned towards her, If
fortune were just, she would favour that poor La Valliere."
" That is not possible," said the queen-mother, smiling.
"Why not?"
676 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" There are only two hundred tickets, so that it was not possible to
inscribe every one's name on the list."
"And hers is not there, then ?" " No !"
" "What a pity ! she might have won them, and then sold them."
" Sold them!" exclaimed the queen.
"Yes; it would have been a do wry for her, and she would not have been
obliged to marry without her trousseau, as will probably be the case."
" Eeally," answered the queen-mother, " poor little thing, has she
no dresses, then ?"
And she pronounced these words like a woman who has never been
able to understand the inconveniences of a slenderly-tilled purse.
" Stay, look at her. Heaven forgive me, if she is not wearing the
very same petticoat this evening that she had on this morning during
the promenade, and which she managed to keep clean, thanks to the
care the king took of her, in sheltering her from the rain."
At the very moment Madame uttered these words the king entered
the room. The two queens would not perhaps have observed his
arrival, so completely were they occupied in their ill-natured remarks,
had not Madame noticed that, all at once, La Valliere, who was standing
up facing the gallery, exhibited certain signs of confusion, and then saia
a few words to the courtiers who surrounded her, who immediately dis-
persed. This movement induced Madame to look towards the door,
and at that moment, the captain of the guards announced the king.
At this moment, La Valliere, who had hitherto kept her eyes fixed
upon the gallery, suddenly cast them down as the king entered. His
majesty was dressed magnificently and in the most perfect taste; he
was conversing with Monsieur and the due de Eoquelaure, Monsieur
on his right and the due de Eoquelaure on his left. The king advanced,
in the first place, towards the queens, to whom he bowed with an air
full of graceful respect. He took his mother's hand and kissed it,
addressed a few compliments to Madame upon the beauty of her
toilette, and then began to make the round of the assembly. La Valliere
was saluted in the same manner as the others, but with neither more
nor less attention. His majesty then returned to his mother and his
wife. When the courtiers noticed that the king had only addressed some
ordinary remark to the young girl who had been so particularly noticed
in the morning, they immediately drew their own conclusion to account
for this coldness of manner; this conclusion being, that although the
king may have taken a sudden fancy to her, that fancy had already
disappeared. One thing, however, must be remarked, that close beside
La Valliere, among the number of the courtiers, M. Fouquet was to be
seen; and his respectfully attentive manner served to sustain the young
girl in the midst of the varied emotions which visibly agitated her.
M. Fouquet was just on the point, moreover, of speaking in a more
friendly manner with Mademoiselle de la Valliere, when M. de Colbert
approached, and after having bowed to Fouquet with a formality which
the rules of the most respectful politeness could require, he seemed
to take up a post beside La Valliere, for the purpose of entering into
conversation with her. Fouquet immediately quitted his place. These
proceedings were eagerly devoured by the eyes of Montalais and Mali-
come, who mutually exchanged their several observations on the sub-
ject. De Guiche, standing within the embrasure of one of the windows,
saw no one but Madame. But as Madame, on her side, frequently
glanced at La^i alliere, de Guiche's eyes following Madame's, were from
time to time cast upon the young girl. La Valliere instinctively felt
herself sinking beneath the weight or all the different looks, inspired,
THE IOTTEET. 677
some by interest, others by envy. She had nothing to compensate her
for her sufferings, not a kind word from her companions, nor a look of
affection from the king. No one could possibly express the misery the
poor girl was suffering. The queen-mother next directed the small
table to be brought forward, on which the lottery-tickets were placed,
two hundred in number, and begged Madame de Motteville to read the
list of the names. It was a matter of course that this list had been
drawn out in strict accordance with the laws of etiquette; the king's
name was first on the list, next the queen-motlier, then the queen,
Monsieur, Madame, and so on. All hearts throbbed anxiously as the
list was read out; more than three hundred persons had been invited,
and each of them was anxious to learn whether his or her name was
likely to be found among the number of privileged names. The king
listened with as much attention as the others, and when the last name
had been pronounced, he noticed that La Valliere had been omitted
from the list. Every one, of course, could remark this omission. The
king flushed as if he had been much annoyed; but La Valliere, gentle
and resigned, as usual, exhibited nothing of the sort. While the list
was being read, the king had not taken his eyes off the young girl, who
seemed to expand, as it were, beneath the happy influence she felt was
shed around her, and who was delighted and too pure in spirit for any
other thought than that of love to find an entrance either in her mind
or her heart. Acknowledging this touching self-denial by the fixed-
ness of his attention, the king showed La Valliere how much he appre-
ciated its delicacy. When the list was finished, the different faces of
those who had been omitted or forgotten, fully expressed their disap-
pointment. Malicorne also was forgotten among the number of men;
and the grimace he made plainly said to Montalais, who was also for-
gotten, " Cannot we contrive to arrange matters with fortune in such
a manner that she shall not forget us ? " to which a smile full of intel-
ligence from Mademoiselle Aure, replied: " Certainly we can."
The tickets were distributed to each person according to the number
held. The king received his first, next the queen-mother, then Mon-
sieur, then the queen and Madame, and so on. After this, Anne of
Austria opened a small Spanish leather bag, containing two hundred
numbers engraved upon small balls of mother-of-pearl, and presented
the open sack to the youngest of her maids of honour, for the purpose
of taking one of the balls out of it. The eager expectation t amidst all
these tediously slow preparations, was rather that of avidity than of
curiosity. Saint-Aignan bent towards Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Charente to whisper to her, " Since we have each a number, let us
unite our two chances. The bracelet shall be yours if I win, and if
you are successful, deign to give me but one look of your beautiful eyes."
" No," said Athenais, " if you win the bracelet, keep it; every one for
himself."
" You are without any pity," said Saint-Aignan, " and I will punish
you by a quatrain:—
" ' Beautiful Iris, to my vows
You are too opposed ' "
" Silence," said Athenais, " you will prevent me hearing the winning
number.
" Number one," said the young girl who had drawn the mother-of-
pearl from the Spanish leather bag.
" The king!" exclaimed the queen-mother.
" The king has won," repeated the queen, delightedly.
678 THE YICOMTE DE BEA.GELONNE.
" Oh! the king! your dream!" said Madame, joyously, in the ear of
Anne of Austria.
The king was the only one who did not exhibit any satisfaction. He
merely thanked fortune for what she had done for him, in addressing
a slight salutation to the young girl who hud been chosen as her proxy.
Then, receiving from the hands of Anne of Austria, amid the eager
desire of the whole assembly, the casket inclosing the bracelets, he said,
" Are these bracelets really beautiful, then ? "
" Look at them," said Anne of Austria," and judge for yourself."
The king looked at them, and said, " Yes, indeed, an admirable me-
dallion. What perfect finish!"
" What perfect finish!" repeated Madame.
Queen Maria-Theresa easily saw, and that, too, at the very first glance,
that the king would not offer the bracelets to her; but, as he did not
seem either the least degree in the world disposed to offer them to
Madame, she felt almost satisfied, or nearly so. The king sat down.
The most intimate among the courtiers approached, one by one, for the
purpose of admiring more closely the beautiful piece of workmanship,
which soon, with the king's permission, was handed about from person
to person. Immediately, every one, connoisseurs or not, uttered various
exclamations of surprise, and overwhelmed the king with congratula-
tions. There was, in fact, something for everybody to admire—the
brilliants for some, and the cutting for others. The ladies present
visibly displayed their impatience to see such a treasure monopolized by
the gentlemen.
" Gentlemen, gentlemen," said the king, whom nothing escaped," one
would almost think that you wore bracelets as the Sabines used to do;
hand them for a little while for the inspection of the ladies, who seem
to me to have, and with far greater right, some excuse for understand-
ing such matters better than you."
These words appeared to Madame the commencement of a decision
she expected. Slie gathered, besides, this happy belief from the glances
of the queen-mother. The courtier who held them at the moment the
king made this remark, amidst the general agitation, hastened to place
the bracelets in the hands of the queen, Maria Theresa, who, knowing
toowell, poor woman, that they were not destined for her, hardly looked at
them, and almost immediately passed them on to Madame. The latter,
and—even more minutely than herself—Monsieur, gave the bracelets a
long look of anxious and almost covetous desire. She then handed the
jewels to those ladies who were near her, pronouncing this single word,
but with an accent which was worth a long phrase, " Magnificent."
The ladies who had received the bracelets from Madame's hands
looked at them as long as they chose to examine them, and then made
them circulate by passing them on towards the right. During this time
the king was tranquilly conversing with de Guiche and Fouquet, rather
letting them talk than himself listening. Accustomed to the set form of
ordinary phrases, his ear, like that of all men who exercise an incontest-
able superiority over others, merely selected from the conversations held
in various directions, the indispensable word which requires reply. His
attention, however, was now elsewhere, for it wandered as his eyes did.
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente was the last of the ladies in-
scribed for tickets; and, as if she had ranked according to her name
upon the list, she only had Montalais and La Valliere after her. When
the bracelets reached these two latter, no one appeared to take any fur-
ther notice of them. The humble hands which for a moment touched
these jewels, deprived them of all their importance—a circumstance
THE LOTTERY. 679
■which did not, however, prevent Montalais from starting with joy,
envy, and covetous desire, at the sight of the beautiful stones still more
than at their magnificent workmanship. It is evident that if she were
compelled to decide between the pecuniary value and the artistic
beauty, Montalais would unhesitatingly have preferred diamonds to
cameos, and her disinclination, therefore, to pass them to her compa-
nion, La Yalliere, was very great. La Yalliere fixed a look almost of
indifference upon the jewels.
" Oh, how beautiful, how magnificent these bracelets are!" exclaimed
Montalais; " and yet you do not go into ecstasies about them, Louise!
You are no true woman, I am sure."
" Yes, I am indeed," replied the young girl, with an accent of the most
charming melancholy; " but why desire that which cannot be ours ? "
The king, his head bent forward, listened to what the young girl was
saying. Hardly had the vibration of her voice reached his ear than he
rose radiant with delight, and passing across the whole assembly, from
the place where he stood, to La Valliere, " You are mistaken, made-
moiselle," he said; " you are a woman, and every woman has a right to
wear jewels, which are a woman's property."
"Oh, sire!" said La Yalliere, "your majesty will not absolutely
believe my modesty ?"
" I believe you possess every virtue, mademoiselle; frankness as well
as every other; I entreat you, therefore,"to say frankly what you think
of these bracelets ?"
" That they are beautiful, sire, and cannot be offered to any other
than a queen."
" I am delighted that such is your opinion, mademoiselle; the brace-
lets are yours, and the king begs your acceptance of them."
And as, with a movement almost resembling terror, La Yalliere
eagerly held out the casket to the king, the king gently pushed back
La Valliere's trembling hand. A silence of astonishment, more pro-
found than that of death, reigned in the assembly. And yet, from the
side where the queens were, no one had heard what he had said, nor
understood what he had done. A charitable friend, however, took upon
herself to spread the news; it was Tonnay-Charente, to whom Madame
had made a sign to approach.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Tonnay-Charente, "how happy that
La Yalliere is ! the king has just given her the bracelets."
Madame bit her lips to such a degree that the blood appeared upon
the surface of the skin. The young queen looked first at La Yalliere and
then at Madame, and began to laugn. Anne of Austria rested her chin
upon her beautiful white hand, and remained for a long time absorbed
by a suspicion which distui-bed her mind, and by a terrible pang which
stung her heart. De Guiche, observing Madame turn pale, and guessing
the cause of her change of colour, abruptly quitted the assembly ana
disappeared. Malicorne was then able to approach Montalais very
quietly, and under cover of the general din of conversation, said to her:
" Aure, you have our fortune and our future close beside you."
"Yes," was her reply, as she tenderly embraced La Yalliere, whom,
inwardly, she was tempted to strangle.
PRINTED BY COX AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LONDON.
RAILWAY AND HOME READING.
MISS M'lOTOSH'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, boards,
Charms and Counter-Charms. 1 Grace and Isabel.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, boards, or in cloth, 2s.
Lowly and the Lofty (The). | Violet; or, Found at Last.
" Miss M'lntosh's style reminds the reader forcibly of Miss Edgeworth and Mrs.
Opie; all her books inculcate high moral principles, and exalt what is honourable
in purpose and deep in affection."
W. CARLETON'S TRAITS AND STORIES.
AND NOVELS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, or in cloth, 2s.
Three Tasks, Shane Fadh's
Wedding, &c. (The).
Phil Purcell, The Geography
of an Irish Oath, &c.
Fardarougha the Miser.
Phelim O'Toole's Courtship, &c.
Poor Scholar, Wildgoose Lodge,
&c. (The).
Tithe Proctor (The).
Emigrants (The).
" Unless another master-hand like Carleton's should appear, it is to his pages,
and his alone, that future generations must look for the truest and fullest picture
of the Irish peasantry, who will ere long have passed away from the troubled
land and the records of history."—Edinburgh Review.
HEHUY W. LONGFELLOW'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, boards, or in cloth, Is. Cd.
Hyperion. | Song of Hiawatha (The).
Evangeline, Voices of the Night, &c., &c.
LADY CATHARINE LONG'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Two S illings each, boards, or in cloth, gilt, 2s. 6d.
Sir Roland Ashton. | The First Lieutenant's Story.
ALEXANDRE DUMAS' WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Two Shillings each, boards, or in cloth, gilt, 2s. Cd.
Three Musketeers (The). I Twenty Years After.
Marguerite de Valois. | Count de Braggelone (The). 2 vols.
MISS EDWARDS' WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, boards, or in cloth, 2s.
My Brother's Wife. | Ladder of Life (The).
MRS. GREV'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, boards, or in cloth, Is. Cd.
Little Wife (The). | Young Prima Donna (The).
W. H. MAXWELL'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, boards, or in cloth, 2s.
The Stories of Waterloo. | Wild Sports and adventures.
In fcap. 8vo, price Two Shillings each, boards, or in cloth, gilt, 2s. Cd.
Luck is Everything. I Hector O'Halloran.
Bivouac (The). | Captain Blake; or, My Life.
RAILWAY AMD HOME READING.
GBHSTASCSEF.'S WORKS,
In fcap. !ivo, price One Shilling and Sixpence each, boards, or in cloth, 2?.
Wild Sports of the FaS West (The), | Pirates of tiie Mississippi (The).
Price Two Shillings, boards, Price One Shilling, boards,
Two Convicts (The). | Haunted House (The).
" Gerstaecker's books abound in adventure and scenes of excitement; and'are
fully equal, in that respect, to the stories either of Marryat, Cooper, or Dana,"
MRS. KAILLAllB'S WCRES.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence boards, or in cloth, 2.9.,
Zingra SHE Gypsy. | Adrien (a sequel to Zingra the Gypsy).
And price One Shilling, boards,
The Compulsory Marriage.
TE233 S2ISSSS WARSJSR'S WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, price Eightcenpence each, boards, or in cloth, 2s.
Speculation. | Wide, Wide World (The.)
Hills of the Shatemuc (The).
Price Two Shillings, boards, Price One Shilling, boards,
Queeciiy. | My Brother's Keeper.
MRS. E-2. B. STCWE'S WORKS.
In fcap. flvo, price One Shilling, boards, or in cloth, Is. fid.
Uncle Tom's Cabin. | The May Flower.
And price Eightcenpence, or in cloth, 2s.
Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands
AX.P2E3 CIIOWQUILL'S WORKS.
In fcap. Ovo, price One Shilling, boards, or in cloth, Is. fid.
A Bundle of Crowouills. | Fun, with Illustrations.
EALPE WALBO EMESSOK'S WORKS.
In fcap. (ivo, price One Shilling, boards, or in cloth, Is. fid.
Representative Men. | English Traits.
2?.7ISIG'S WORKS.
In i'cap. bvo, price One Shilling each, boards, or in cloth, Is. fid.
Oliver Goldsmith. I Salmagundi.
Fife of Maiio.met 'The). | Knickerbocker's New York.
Lives of Mahomet's Successors (The), j Woolfert's Roost.
1*2 UK'S WORKS.
In fcap. Svo, price One Shilling each, boards, or in c'.otii, D. fid.
Rutii Hall. J Rose Clark.
RAILWAY AND HONjfe READING.
MISS AHSTElff^WORKS.
In fcap. 8vo, One Shilling each, boards,
Sense and Sensibility. . | Pride and Prejudice.
And in fcap. 8vo, price Eighteenpence each, boards,
Mansfield Park. I Persuasion, and
Emma. I Northan(3ER Abbey. '
' Miss Ausfen has a talent for describing the involvements, and feelings, and
iracters of every-day life, which is to me the most wohjierful X ever met with."
iir Walter Scott.
MRS. BRUUTOFS WORKS.
fcap, 8vo, price One Shilling, boards, I In fcap. 8vo, price 1». Gd. boards,
Discipline.. | Self-Control.
' Mrs. Brunton surrounds her stories, as it were, with an atmosphere of moral
ht and beauty, and melts into something like consistency and unity the dis-
,'dant materials of the tale." r
TUB MISSES PORTER'S WORKS.
tn fcap. 8vo, price 2s. each, boards, In fcap. 8vo, price Is. Gd. each, boards,
ottish Chiefs (The). I Recluse of Norway,
stor's Fireside (The). Knioht of Saint John (The).
I Thaddeus of Warsaw.
" Miss Porter's works are popular in every sense of the word ; they are read now
th as much pleasure and avidity as when they were originally published."
The Author of ee Rockingham."
In fcap. 8vo, price Is. Gd. each, board3, Price One Shilling, boards,
ockingham; or, Younger Brother. I Love and Ambition,
lectua. A Tale of Modern Life. J
" All the works of this author bear the imprint of a master-hand, and are by no
eans to be confounded with the daubs thrown together in the circulating library."
Times.
The Author of Whitefriars."
In fcap. 8vo, price Two Shillings each, boards, or in cloth giit, 2s. Gd.
Whitefriars; or, the Days of I Whitehall; or, the Days of
Charles II. Charles I.
'he Maid of Orleans. I Caesar. Borgia.
'wen Tudor. |
"The author of ' Whitefriars' has won for himself a world-wide fame; his
ooks are eagerly sought after; they will also bear reading a second and third time
-an ordeal that so few books are able to stand."
BOOKS FOR THE COUIffTRT".
In fcap. 8vo, price One Shilling each, cloth limj
ngling and WhEKB to Go. By
It. Blakey.
igeons aiJd Rabbits. By E. S.
Delamer.
itchen Garden (The). Ditto.
lower Garden ( The;. Ditto.
oultry Yard (The). By Miss E.
Watts.
mall Farms. By Martin Doyle.
Reader, have you ever seen any of this Series ? If not, they are Practical and
seful Books, published for universal circulation at One Shilling per volume, each
tmprising a complete subject, excellently illustrated with wood-cuts by our best
tists, and well written by competent authorities.
Cage and Singing Birds. By II.
G. Adams.
Horse (The). By Cecil and Youatt.
Shooting. By R. Blakey.
Bees. By Rev. J. G. Wood.
Pig (The). By Martin and Colman.
Sheep. By W. C. L. Martin.
Cattle. By Martin and Colman.
•migmONS NOW HEADY.
I." :A"
> 'b>. Vols, Pnne"2s. 6'i. : I"h.
HE. BRAaEUWSE, 3R TEfi YEfcRS LATER,;
BY A DUMA S.
- s .
m- "- .M Also, i-n ' :>s, each.
IE IfPE MB'SJKTEiBS, TWENTY YEARS AFTER";
*** The " Viconite <le B fa we! on le" coirs phtes this series of Tales, illus
tr&iing.-ths Reigns of LOT.'IS X|M. ik XT".' They are juath -onsit'ierec|
the Best Works of thK J?6pulftr A -.tUor,
Ahy 9 pc''''haaro.s:'.; I
•. Th '«"aKw. Bv A. Duw.v.s
vT T-'- . . * /"--A
";i H £ I N'B U fi r - 0 r i ON IN I N O I A?'
B.v
in imrr,). Hie, f /"it -Iflf Oct hoard,
I N D I Or'
'I WiOCQUKLER.
j-iiit of the Origin, Vroirress. (una
A utv. Itevjseil Kfii'T::, wic.it a />•
I Developmentof the MUT!Nv IN ,'KK Br-xo.vt, ARM V : AnP Mines'
j Wens o* to cite future Governon'oi. of India. Also its Hist', "v. Climate
,T .lAucrions, and Field-sports; wita Notices of Kuroj>e.V:i 'Life unc]
saanncr>C atni of tin- vari; .'US Ti'SU'viiW Routes.
'•v.. H. M f
i;
* , ,,
..a?, v - v
~ V . -.
SUS
t-m fm
; ' * NO * DVENTUBF&
5 W W w
m
Y THING',
- •-.m -T\,p
" Mu.v.vdS i- (jivl ■>{ t • r-'. -'
Ilis * oOr.H, tri*h all iuv U U-.b-
u; and vol! nye Hi
•w.
i: " U'OEr.l -I * X
! w ;i Lvt r nau f . -ars.
■ • S|
-DON- G. 1101/TJ.UDGU & CO.. T ! AKKIXG&OX STB Li ;W
-N -SliraasSiM®
"""" —
Kdnimid'; Tviitp. en A .-FrhM«-Tr
■B