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The  works 


OF 


A12EXANDRE  BanAS 


THE    VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE 

OR 

TEN    YEARS    LATER 

BEING    THE    COMPLETION    OF 

"THE    THREE    MUSKETEERS "  AND    "TWENTY   YEARS   AFTER 

PART  I 


Copiously  Illustrated   ivith    elegant   Pen   and  Ink  and   Wood  Engravings, 
specially  drawn  for  this  edition  by  e^ninent  French 
and  American  Artists 


COMPLETE    IN    NLNE    VOLUMES 

VOLUME   THREE 


New  York 

PETER    FENELON    COLLIER,    PUBLISHER 

1893 


CONTENTS 


THE     VICOMTE     DE     BRAGELONNE. 
(PART    I.) 


I. 

II. 

HI. 

IV. 
V. 


VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 


IX. 


X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 


XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 

XVIII. 


XIX. 
XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 
XXIII. 


XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 


XXX. 


XXXI. 
XXXII. 


The  Letter 

The  Messenger  .... 

Tlie  Interview        .... 

Father  and  Son 

In  which  something  will  be  said 
of  Cropoli — of  Cropoli  and  of  a 
Great  Unknown  Painter. 

The  Unknown    .... 

Parry       ...... 

What  his  Majestj'  King-  Louis 
XIV.  was  at  the  age  of  Twenty- 
two 

In  which  the  Unknown  of  the 
Hostelry  of  •'  Les  Medici  " 
loses   his    Incognito  . 

The  Arithmetic  of  M.  de  Mazarin 

Mazarin's  Policy 

The  King  and  the  Lieutenant 

Mary  de  Mancini 

In  which  the  King  and  the  Lieu- 
tenant each  give  Proofs  of 
Mem  or  J'      ..... 

Tlie  Proscribed   .... 

"  Remember  !  "       . 

In  which  Aramis  is  sought  for. 
and  only  Bazin  found   . 

In  which  D'Artagnan  seeks  for 
Porthos,  and  only  finds  Mous- 
queton         ..... 

What  D'Artagnan  went  to  do  in 
Paris       .  .... 

Of  the  Society  which  was  formed 
in  the  Rue  des  Lombards,  at 
the  sign  of  the  "  Pilon  d'Or," 
to  carry  out  the  idfea  of  M. 
D'Artagnan         .... 

In  which  D'Artagnan  prepares  to 
Travel  for  the  House  of  Plan- 
chet  &  Co.      .... 

D'Artagnan  Travels  for  the  house 
of  Plauchet  &  Co.       . 

In  which  the  Author,  verj'^  un- 
willingl}',  is  forced  to  do  a 
little  History. 

The  Treasure.         .... 

The  March 

Heart  and  Mind     .... 

The  Next  Day    .... 

Smuggling      ..... 

In  which  D'Artagnan  begins  to 
Fear  he  has  placed  his  Money 
and  that  of  Planchet  in  the 
Sinking  Fund 

The  Shares  of  the  Company  of 
Planchet  &  Co.  rise  again  to 
Par 

Monk  reveals. himself 

Athos  and  D'Artagnan  meet 
once  more  at  the  Hostelry  of 
the   "Corne  du  Cerf" 


5 

XXXIII 

9 

XXXIV 

11 

XXXV. 

17 

XXXVI 

20 

XXXVII 

23 

27 

XXXVIII. 

30 

XXXIX 

35 

XL 

41 

XLI. 

4G 

XLII. 

50 

53 

XLIII 

XLIV 

XLV 

56 

XLVI 

61 

XLVII. 

64 

69 

XLV  III. 

XLLX. 

74 

L. 

78 

LI. 

LII. 

LIII. 

LIV. 

80 

LV. 

LVI. 

LVII. 

86 

LVIII. 

LIX. 

90 

LX. 

LXI. 

93 

LXII. 

100 

LXIII. 

104 

108 

113 

LXIV. 

117 

120 


124 
128 


130 


LXV. 

LXVI. 
LXVII. 


LXVIII. 


The  Audience      .... 

Of  the  Embarra-ssment  of  Riches 

Upon  the  Canal     .... 

How  D'Artagnan  drew,  as  a  Fairy 
would  have  done,  a  Country 
Seat  from  a  Deal  Box    . 

How  D'Artagnan  regulated  the 
Passive  of  the  Company  before 
he  established  its  Active     . 

In  which  it  is  seen  that  the 
French  Grocer  had  already 
been  established  in  the  Seven- 
teenth Century 

Mazarin's  Gaming  Part}'  . 

An  Affair  of  State 

The  Recital         .... 

In  which  Mazarin  becomes  Prodi- 
gal        

Guenaud      ..... 

Colbert 

Confession   of    a  Man  of  Wealth 

The  Donation     .... 

How  Anne  of  Austria  gave  one 
Piece  of  Advice  to  Louis  XIV., 
and  how  M.  Fouquet  gave  him 
Another      ..... 

Agony 

The  First  Appearance  of  Col- 
bert      

The  First  Day  of  the  Rovaltv  of 
Louis  XIV":         .         .    '    .  "^      . 

A  Passion 

D'Artagnan's  Lesson     . 

The  King 

The  Houses  of  M.  Fouquet  . 

The  Abbe  Fouquet 

The  Wine  of  M.  de  la  Fontaine     . 

The  Gallery  of  Saint-Mande      . 

The  Epicureans      .... 

A  Quarter  of  an  Hour's  Delav  . 

Plan  of  Battle         .         .         .'        . 

The  Cabaret  of  the  "Image  de 
Xoti'e-Dame ''  .         .         . 

Vive  Colbert  !        .         .         .         . 

How  the  Diamond  of  M.  d'Ey- 
meris  passed  into  the  Hands 
of  M.  d'Artagnan   . 

Of  the  Notable  Difference  D'Ar- 
tagnan finds  between  Mon- 
sieur the  Intendant  and 
Monsieur  the   Surintendant     . 

Philosophy  of  '  the  Heart  and 
Mind 

The  Journey  ..... 

How  D'Artagnan  became  ac- 
quainted with  a  Poet  who  had 
turni'd  Printer  for  the  sake  of 
Printing  his  own  V^rsf^s 

D'Artagnan  continues  his  Investi- 
gations         

(■•>) 


136 

140 
143 


147 
152 


155 
159 
161 
164 

167 
1G9 
171 
173 
176 


179 
183 

188 

192 
194 
198 
201 
210 
216 
220 
222 
224 
227 
230 

233 
237 


^40 


245 


24S 
250 


253 
257 


CONTENTS. 


LXIX 


LXX, 


LXXI. 
LXXII. 

LXXIII, 


LXXIV 


LXXV. 
I.XXVI, 


LXXVII. 
LXXVIII. 


LXXIX. 

LXXX. 

LXXXI, 

LXXXII. 

LXXXIII. 

LXXXIV. 

LXXXV. 

LXXXVI, 

LXXXVII. 

LXXXVIII, 


LXXXIX. 

xc. 

XCl, 

XCIl. 
XCIII. 


XCIV 

xcv, 


In  which  the  Reader,  no  doubt, 
will  be  as  astonished  as  D'Ar- 
tagnan  was  to  meet  with  an 
old  Acquaintance  . 

Wherein  the  Ideas  of  D'Artag-- 
nan,  at  first  very  troubled,  be- 
gin to  clear  up  a  little 

A  Procession  at  Vannes  . 

The  Grandeur  of  the  Bishop  of 
Vannes 

In  wiiich  Porthos  begins  to  bo 
sorry  for    having    come  with 

.   D'Artagnan  .... 

In  whicli  D'Artagnan  makes  all 
Speed,  Porthos  Snores,  and 
Aramis  Counsels 

In  which  M.  Fonquet  Acts 

In  which  D'Artagnan  finishes  by 
at  length  placing  his  Hand  up- 
on his  Captain's  Commission  . 

A  Lover  and  a  Mistress   . 

In  which  we  at  length  see  the 
true  Heroine  of  this  History 
appear.  .         .         .         . 

Malicorne  and  Manicamp 

Manicanip  and  Malicorne  . 

The  Courtyard  of  the  Hotel 
Grammont    .... 

The  Portrait  of  Madame     . 

Havre        ..... 

At  Sea ...... 

The  Tents  .... 

Night 

From  Havre  to  Paris 

An  Account  of  what  the  Chev- 
alier de  Lorraine  tiiouglit  of 
Madame     .... 

The     Surprise    of     Madame 
Montalais 

The  Consent  of  Athos 

Monsieur    becomes    Jealoi'.s 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham  . 

Forever  .         .         .         .         . 

King  Louis  XIV.  does  not  think 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere 
either  rich  enough  or  pretty 
enough  for  a  Gentleman  of  the 
rank  of  tlie  Vicomte  de  Brage- 
lonne      ..... 

Sword-Thrusts  in  the  "Water     . 

Sword-Thrusts  in  the  Water 
(concluded)    .... 


de 


of 


262 

265 
269 

273 

278 


284 
288 


292 
296 


299 

304 
306 

310 
315 
318 
321 
325 
331 
334 


339 

344 
349 

352 
357 


360 

364 

369 


XCVI.  Baisemeaux  de  Montlezun. 
XCVII.  The  King's  Card-Table    . 
XCVIII.  M.  Baisemeaux   de  Motitlezun's 
Accounts  ..... 
XCIX.  The   Breakfast  of  Monsieur  de 
Baisemeaux  .... 
C.  The  Second  Floor  of  La  Bertau- 

diere  

CI.  The  Two  Friends      . 
CII.  Madame  de  Belliere's  Plate 
CHI.  The  Dowry       .... 
CIV.  Le  Terrain  de  Dieu       . 
CV.  Threefold  Love 
CVI.  M.  de  Lorraine's  Jealousy  . 
CVII.  Monsieur  is  Jealous   of   Guiche 
CVIII.  The  Mediator  .... 
CIX.  The  Advisers       .... 
ex.  Fontainebleau  .... 

CXI.  The  Bath 

CXII.  The  Butterfly-Chase 
CXIII.  What  was  Caught  in  the  Hand 

after  the  Butterflies 
CXIV.  The  Ballet  of  the  Seasons 
CXV.  The    Nymphs   of    the    Park   of 
Fontainebleau  .... 
CXVI.  What  was  said  imder  the  Royal 

Oak 

CXVII.  Tiie  King's  Uneasiness 
CXVIII.  The  King's  Secret    . 
CXIX.  Courses  de  Nuit  .... 
CXX.  In   which    Madame    acquires    a 
Proof  that  Listeners  can  hear 
what  is  said  .... 
CXXI.  Aramis'  Correspondence 
CXXII.  The  Orderly  Clerk     . 
CXXIII.  Fontainebleau  at  Two  O'clock  in 
the  Morning      .... 
CXXIV.  The  Labyrinth .... 
CXXV.  How  Malicorne  had  been  turned 
out  of  the  Hotel  of  the  "  Beau 

Paon '" 

CXXVI.  What  actually  did  occur  at  the 
Inn  called  the  "Beau  Paon" 
CXXVII.  A  Jesuit  of  the  Eleventh  Year 
CXXVIII.  The  State  Secret     . 

CXXIX.  Mission 

CXXX.  Happy  as  a  Prince   . 
CXXXI.  Story    of    a    Dryad    and    of    a 
Naiad         ..... 
CXXXII.  Conclusion   of    the   Story   of    a 
Naiad    and  of  a   Dryad 
CXXXIII.  Royal  Psychology       . "       . 


873 

378 

383 

389 

392 
397 
401 
404 
408 
413 
416 
420 
424 
429 
435 
438 
440 

443 

448 

452 

456 

462 
464 
469 


474 
478 
483 

488 
492 


496 

500 
506 
509 
516 
531 

530 

536 
540 


List 


OF 


LLUSTRATIONS, 


I. — Frontispiece. — "What  is  all  this  about?"  then  demanded  D'Artagnan  of  the  assembly. 
II. — Louis  XIV.  and  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini. 
III. — 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. 
IV. — D'Artagnan,  therefore,  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. 
V. — "  Tell  me,  my  dear  host,  if  you  do  not  remember  this  gentleman  ?" 
VI. — D'Artagnan   spread    upon  the   floor  a  large    cover,   and    emptied  the   first   sacoche   into  it. 

Planchet  did  the  same  with  the  second. 
VII. — "  Menneville   spitted  the  joker,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  the  spectators,  and  said  to  the 
cook  :  '  Take  this  goose,  my  friend,  it  is  fatter  than  your  fowl.'  " 
VIII. — D'Artagnan  had  struck  up  Menneville's  ai-m  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and   passed  the  blade 
through  his  body. 
IX. — He  was  struggling  with  an  awfully  large  conger,  etc. 
X. — '•  Oh,  monsieur,  tell  me  that  at  the  end  of  a  year  I  shall  then  see  my  mother  again." 
XI. — Their  swords  crossed  at  the  same  moment,  like  two  flashes  of  lightning  in  a  dark  night. 
Xn. — Mon.sieur  snatched  a  long  whip  from  the  hand  of  a  st.tble  boy,  and  began  to  pursue  the  groom 
all  round  the  servants'  courtyard. 


THE 


VICOIMTE     DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   LETTER. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  month  of 
May,  in  the  year  16G0,  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning-,  when  the  sun,  already  hig-h 
in  the  heavens,  was  fast  absorbing-  the 
(knv  from  the  ravenelles  of  the  castle  of 
Blois,  a  little  cavalcade,  composed  of  three 
men  and  tw6  pages,  re-entered  the  city  by 
the  bridge,  without  producing  any  other 
etiect  upon  the  passeng-ers  of  the  quay  be- 
yond a  first  movement  of  the  hand  to  the 
iK'Lid,  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  w^as  all. 

While,  however,  the  horses  were  climb- 
ing the  steep  acclivity  which  leads  from 
the  river  to  the  castle,  several  shopboys 
approached  the  last  horse,  from  w^hose 
saddle-bow  a  number  of  birds  were  sus- 
pended by  the  beak. 

At  seeing  this,  the  inquisitive  youths 
manifested  with  rustic  freedom  their  con- 
tempt 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  g-reat  revenues, 
had  it  in  his  power  to  amuse  himself  so 
much  better,  could  be  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  g-esture  which  said   as 


clear  as  day:  ''In  that  case  I  would  rather 
be  plain  Jack  than  a  prince."  And  all  re- 
sumed their  labors. 

In  the  meanwhile.  Monsieur  continued 
his  route  with  an  air  at  once  so  melancholy 
and  so  majestic,  that  he  certainly  would 
have  attracted  the  attention  o^  spectators, 
if  spectators  there  had  been  ;  but  the  g-ood 
citizens  of  Blois  could  not  pardon  Mon- 
sieur for  having  chosen  their  g-ay  city  for 
an  abode  in  which  to  indulge  melancholy 
at  his  ease,  and  as  often  as  they  caug-ht  a 
glimpse  of  the  illustrious  ennuye,  they 
stole  away  g-aping,  or  drew  back  their 
heads  into  the  interior  of  their  dwellings, 
to  escape  the  soporific  influence  of  that 
long  pale  face,  of  those  watery  ej'es,  and 
that  lang-uid  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  of  disrespect,  for 
Monsieur  was,  after  the  king — nay,  even, 
perhaps,  before  the  king  —  the  g-reatcst 
noble  of  the  king-dom.  In  fact,  God,  who 
had  granted  to  Louis  XTV.,  then  reigning, 
the  honor  of  being-  son  of  Louis  XIII.,  had 
g-ranted  to  Monsieur  the  honor  of  being- 
son  of  Henry  IV.  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  g-reat 
prince  to  excite  the  attention  and  ad- 
miration of  the  public  in  a  verj^  modified 
degree  wherever  he  might  be.  Monsieur 
had  fallen  into  this  situation  bv  habit. 

(5) 


6 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


It  was  not,  perhaps,  this  which  g-ave 
him  that  air  of  hstlessness.  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 
without  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 
suflfered  from  it. 

The  life  of  the  poor  prince  was  then 
very  dull.  After  his  little  morning  hawk- 
ing- part\'  on  the  banks  of  the  Beuvion,  or 
in  the  woods  of  Chiverny,  Monsieur  crossed 
the  Loire,  went  to  breakfast  at  Chambord, 
with  or  without  an  appetite,  and  the  city 
of  Blois  heard  no  more  of  its  sovereig-n 
lord  and  master  till  the  next  hawking-- 
day. 

So  much  for  the  ennui  extra  muros  j,  of 
the  ennui  of  the  interior  we  will  give  the 
reader  an  idea  if  he  will  with  us  follow 
the  calvacade  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 
color ;  Monsieur's  pourpoint  of  crimson 
velvet  corresponded  with  the  cloak  of  the 
same  shade  and  the  horse's  equipment, 
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  g-reen.  He 
on  the  left,  in  violet,  was  his  equerry ;  he 
on  the  right,  in  g-reen,  was  the  grand 
veneiir. 

One  of  the  pages  carried  two  g-erfalcons 
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,  eig-ht  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  calvacade  to  the 
castle,  after  pointing  out  the  suspended 
birds  to  each  other,  dispersed  with  com- 


ments upon  what  they  saw  :  and,  when 
they  were  g'one,  the  street,  the  place,  and 
the  court,  ail  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  respect- 
ing breakfast.  Monsieur  stretched  himself 
upon  a  chaise  longue,  and  was  soon  as 
fast  asleep  as  if  it  had  been  eleven  o'clock 
at  nig-ht. 

V 

The  eight  guards-,  who  concluded  their 
service  for  the  day  was  over,  laid  them- 
selves down  A^ery  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  gilli- 
flowers,  it  might  have  been  thought  that 
the  whole  castle  was  as  soundly  asleep  as 
Monsieur  was. 

All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  this  delicious 
silence,  there  resounded  a  clear  ringing 
laug-h,  which  caused  several  of  the  hal- 
berdiers in  the  enjojanent  of  their  siesta 
to  open  at  least  one  eye. 

This  burst  of  laughter  proceeded  from  a 
window  of  the  castle,  visited  at  this  mo- 
ment 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  fur- 
nished with  a  pot  of  red  gilliflowers,  an- 
other pot  of  primroses,  and  an  earl^^  rose- 
tree,  the  foliage  of  which,  beautifull3' 
green,  was  variegated  with  numerous  red 
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 
center  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  j^oung  people 
was  singular  ;  the3^  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE     BRAGELONNE. 


paper ;  the  othei',  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  Avas  leaning-  in  the  chair — 
that  is  to  say,  the  joyous,  the  laughing- 
one — w^as  a  beautiful  girl  of  from  eig-hteen 
to  twenty,  with  brown  complexion  and 
brown  hair,  splendid,  from  eyes  which 
sparkled  beneath  strong-ly  marked  brows, 
and  particularly''  from  her  teeth,  which 
seemed  to  shine  like  pearls  between  her 
red  coral  lips.  Her  ever3'^  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  w^hite  shoul- 
ders in  a  poetical  and  mild  manner,  but 
they  w^ere  wanting  in  that  rich  fullness  of 
mold  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  I  You  will  not  only  draw  the 
attention  of  messieurs  the  guards,  but  you 
will  not  hear  Madame's  bell  when  Mad- 
ame ring's." 

This  admonition  neither  made  the  young- 
girl  called  Montalais  cease  to  laugh  nor 
gesticulate.     She  only  replied  : 

"  Louise,  you  do  not  speak  as  you  think, 
my  dear ;  you  know  that  messieurs  the 
guards,  as  you  call  them,  have  only  just 


commenced  their  sleep,  and  that  a  (•aiiiiou 
would  not  waken  them ;  you  know  that 
Madame's  bell  can  be  heard  at  the  bridge 
of  Blois,  and  that  consequentl}^  I  shall 
hear  it  wiien  m}'  services  are  required  by 
Madame.  What  annoys  you,  my  child,  is 
that  I  laugh  while  you  are  writing  ;  and 
what  you  are  afraid  of  is  that  Madame  de 
Saint-Remy,  your  mother,  should  come  up 
here,  as  she  does  sometimes  when  we  laugh 
too  loud  ;  that  she  should  surprise  us,  and 
that  she  should  see  that  enormous  sheet 
of  jjaper  upon  which,  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  you  have  only  traced  the  words 
Monsieur  Baoul.  Now,  you  are  right, 
nry  dear  Louise,  because  after  these  words, 
'Monsieur  Raoul,'  others  maybe  i^ut  so 
significant  and  so  incendiary  as  to  cause 
Madame  de  Saint-Rem3'  to  burst  out  into 
fire  and  flames  !  Hei7i !  is  not  that  true 
now  ? — say." 

And  Montalais  redoubled  her  laughter 
and  noisj''  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  angr^' !  Don't  be  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,  partic- 
ularly 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  bru- 
nette, still  laughing.  "  Come,  come  !  let 
us  tr3^  another  sheet  of  paper,  and  finish 
our  dispatch  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  honor  this 
morning." 

A  bell,  in  fact,  did  ring;  it  announced 
that  Madame  had  finished  her  toilet,  and 
waited  for  Monsieur  to  give  her  his  hand. 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDER    DUMAS. 


and  conduct  her  from  the  salon  to  the 
refectory. 

This  formahty  being-  accomphshed  with 
great  ceremony,  the  husband  and  wife 
breakfasted,  and  then  separated  till  the 
hour  of  dinner,  invariably  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 
criiotel,  followed  hj  eight  scullions  bear- 
ing- a  kind  of  hand-barrow  loaded  with 
dishes  under  silver  covers. 

One  of  the  maitres  cfhotel,  the  first  in 
rank,  touched  one  of  the  g-uards,  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  refector^'^,  preceded  by 
a  page  and  the  two  maitres  d'hotel. 

Wherever  the  viande  passed,  the  sol- 
diers ported  arms. 

Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  and  her  com- 
panion had  watched  from  their  window 
the  details  of  this  ceremony,  to  which,  by- 
the-by,  they  must  have  been  pretty  well 
accustomed.  But  they  did  not  look  so 
much  from  curiosit}^  as  to  be  assured  they 
should  not  be  disturbed.  So  guards,  scul- 
lions, maitres  dliotel,  and  pages  having 
passed,  the^^  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  gilli- 
flowers,  primroses,  and  rose-tree. 

"Bah!"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais, taking  her  place  ag-ain  ;  "  Madame 
will  breakfast  very  well  without  me  ! ' ' 

"  Oh  !  Montalais,  you  will  be  punished  !" 
replied  the  other,  sitting  down  quietly  in 
hers. 

"  Punished,  indeed  ! — that  is  to  saj^,  de- 
prived of  a  ride  !  That  is  just  the  way  in 
which  I  wish  to  be  punished.  To  go  out 
in  the  grand  coach,  perched  upon  a  door- 
step ;  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  toward 


the  wing-  of  the  castle  in  which  is  the  win- 
dow 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  Avindow — forty-seven 
feet  high  ?  The  mother  of  two  princes  and 
three  princesses  ! '  If  you  call  that  relax- 
ation, Louise,  all  I  ask  is  to  be  punished 
every  day ;  particularly  when  m}^  punish- 
ment is  to  remaih  with  3^ou  and  write  such 
interesting  lette)-s  as  we  write  !  " 

"  Montalais  !  Montalais  !  there  are  da- 
ties  to  be  performed." 

"  You  talk  of  them  vevy  much  at  3^our 
ease,  my  little  heart ! — ^j'^ou,  who  are  left 
quite  free  amid  this  tedious  court.  You 
are  the  only  person  that  reaps  the  ad- 
vantages of  them  without  incurring  the 
trouble — you,  who  are  really  more  one  of 
Madame's  maids  of  honor  than  I  am,  be- 
cause 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  per- 
form, or  the  least  annoj^ance  to  undergo. 
And  you  talk  to  me  of  duties  to  be  per- 
formed !  In  sooth,  my  prettj^  idler,  what 
are  your  own  proper  duties,  unless  to 
write  to  the  handsome  Raoul  ?  And  even 
that  3'ou  don't  do ;  so  that  it  looks  to  me 
as  if  3'ou  likewise  were  rather  negligent  of 
your  duties  !  " 

Louise  assumed  a  serious  air,  leaned  her 
chin  upon  her  hand,  and,  in  a  tone  full  of 
candid  remonstrance,  ''And  do  3^ou  re- 
proach me  with  m}'-  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  w^ill  see  splendid  fetes  ;  you  will  see 
the  king,  who  they  say  is  so  handsome,  so 
agreeable  !  " 

"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 
prettj^  dear  !  Come,  begin  again,  with 
that  famous  '  Monsieur  Raoul  '  which  fig- 
ures at  the  top  of  the  poor  torn  sheet." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


She  tlien  held  the  pen  toward  her,  and 
with  a  charming'  smile  encouraged  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  3"ou  quite  sure  I  think  of  an^^- 
thing?"' 

"  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  per- 
fidious :  your  eyes  are  as  deep  as  the  azure 
yonder — look  ! — over  our  heads  !  " 

"Well,  sinc3  you  can  read  so  well  in  my 
e3''es,  tell  me  Avhat  I  am  thinking  about, 
Montalais." 

"In  the  first  place,  3'ou  don't  thfnk. 
Monsieur  Raoul  j  you  think  My  dear 
Raoiil." 

"Oh!—"' 

' '  Never  blush  for  such  a  trifle  as  that  ! 
'My  dear  Raoul,' we  will  say — 'you  im- 
plore me  to  write  to  you  at  Paris,  where 
you  are  detained  by  your  attendance  on 
M.  le  Prince.  As  j'ou  must  be  very  dull 
there,  to  seek  for  amusement  in  the  re- 
membrance of  Sb  provincial e — '  " 

Louise  rose  up  suddenly.  "No,  Mon- 
talais," said  she,  with  a  smile  ;  "  I  don" J} 
think  a  word  of  that.  Look,  this  is  what 
I  think  ;  "  and  she  seized  the  pen  boldly, 
and  traced,  with  a  firm  hand^  the  follow- 
ing 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  de- 
lightfully flew  b}^,  that  no  others  will 
ever  replace  the  charm  of  them  in  my 
heart."' 

Montalais,  who  watched  the  flying  pen, 
and  read,  the  wrong  way  upward,  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  line 
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  con- 
tinued as  follows :  "  You  often  think  of 
me,  3-ou  saj',  Monsieur  Raoul :  I  thanlc 
yoii ;  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  replj^  when  the 
gallop  of  a  horse  resounded  under  the 
porch  of  the  castle. 

"What  is  that?"  said  Montalais,  ap- 
proaching the  window.  "A  handsome 
cavalier,  by  m^^  faith  !  " 

"  Oh  ! — Raoul !  "  exclaimed  Louise,  who 
had  made  the  same  movement  as  her 
friend,  and,  becoming  j^ale  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  has  come  here  for." 


CHAPTER  n. 

THE     MESSENGER. 

Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  was 
right :  the  young  cavalier  was  goodly  to 
look  upon. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  from  twentj^- 
four  to  twenty-five  3'ears  of  age,  tall  and 
slender,  wearing  gracefully  the  pictur- 
esque military  costume  of  the  period.  His 
large  boots  contained  a  foot  which  Made- 
moiselle de  Montalais  might  not  have  dis- 
owned if  she  had  been  transformed  into  a 
man.  With  one  of  his  delicate  but  ner- 
vous hands  he  checked  his  horse  in  the 
middle  of  the  court,  and  with  the  other 
raised  his  hat,  whose  long  plumes  shaded 


10 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


his  at  once  serious  and  in.ij;enuous  counte- 
nance. 

The  g-uards,  roused  by  the  steps  of  the 
horse,  awoke,  and  were  on  foot  in  a  min- 
ute. The  young-  man  waited  till  one  of 
them  was  close  to  his  saddle-bow :  then, 
stooping-  toward  liim,  in  a  clear,  distinct 
voice,  which  was  perfectly  audible  at  the 
window  where  the  two  girls  were  con- 
cealed, '^A  message  for  his  royal  high- 
ness," he  said. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  "  cried  the  soldier.  "  Officer, 
a  messenger  !  '' 

But  this  brave  g-uard  knew  xery  well 
that  no  officer  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,  mon- 
sieur, is  on  his  rounds  ;  but,  in  his  absence, 
M.  de  Saint-Remy,  the  mattre  cVhotel, 
shall  be  informed." 

"  M.  de   Saint-Remy?"    repeated  the 
cavalier,  slightly  blushing-. 
"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 
''  Why,  yes  ;    but   request  him,  if  3'ou 
please,  that  my  visit  be  announced  to  his 
royal  hig-hness  as  soon  as  possible." 

'*  It  appears  to  be  pressing,"  said  the 
guard,  as  if  speaking-  to  himself,  but  realh' 
in  the  hope  of  obtaining-  an  answer. 

The  messenger  made  an  afhr-mative  sign 
with  his  head. 

''In  that  case,"  said  the  guard,  "  I  will 
go  and  seek  the  maitre  dliotel  myself." 
The  young-  man,  in  the  meantime,  dis- 
mounted ;  and  while  the  others  were  mak- 
ing their  remarks  upon  the  fine  horse  the 
cavaher  rode,  the  soldier  returned. 

"  You  pardon,  young  g-entleman ;  but 
your  name,  if  3^ou  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  conqueror  of  Rocroy 
and  Sens  had  g-iven  him  wing-s,  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  ca- 


pacious stomach  with  one  hand,  while  with 
the  other  he  cut  the  air  as  a  fisherman 
cleaves  the  waves  with  his  oar. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte !  You  at 
Blois  !  "  cried  he.  "Well,  that  is  a  won- 
der !  Good  day  to  you — g-ood  day.  Mon- 
sieur Raoul." 

"  I  olfer  you  a  thousand  respects,  M.  de 
Saint-Remy." 

•-  How  Madame  de  la  Vail — I  mean,  how 
delig-hted  Madame  .de  Saint-Remy  will  be 
to  see  you !  But  come  in.  His  royal 
highness  is  at  breakfast — must  he  be 
intermitted  ?     Is  the  matter  serious?" 

''  Yes,  and  no.  Monsieur  de  Saint-Remy. 
A  moment's  delay,  however,  would  be 
disagreeable  to  his  ro^^al   hig-hness." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  we  will  force  the 
consigne,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte.  Come  in. 
Besides,  Monsieur  is  in  an  excellent  humor 
to-day.  And  then,  you  bring- news,  do  you 
not?" 

"Trreat  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  folloAved  him,  hat  in  hand,  and  a 
little  disconcerted  at  the  noise  made  by 
his  spurs  in  these  immense  saloris. 

As  soon  as  he  had  disappeared  in  the 
interior  of  the  palace,  the  window  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  be- 
hind the  balcony,  concealed  by  the  flow- 
ers, watching  attentively  through  'the 
branches  the  perron  by  which  M.  de 
Brag-elonne  had  entered  the  castle. 

In  the  meantime  the  object  of  so-  much 
laudable  curiosity  continued  his  route, 
following-  the  steps  of  the  maitre  d'hotel. 
The  noise  of  quick  steps,  an  odor  of  wine 
and  viands,  a  clinking  of  crystals  and 
plates,  warned  them  that  they  AA^ere  com- 
ing to  the  end  of  their  course. 

The  pages,  valets,  and  officers,  assem- 
blea  in   the   offices  which    preceded    the 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE, 


11 


refectory,  welcomed  the  new-comer  with 
the  proverbial  pohteness  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  pag-e  who  was  pouring-  out  wine 
for  his  royal  hig-hness,  on  hearing-  the 
jingling-  of  spurs  in  the  next  cham'ber, 
turned  round  like  a  child,  vrithout  perceiv- 
ing- that  he  ^vas  continuing'  to  pour  out, 
not  into  the  glass,  hut  upon  the  table- 
cloth. 

Madame,  who  was  not  so  preoccupied  as 
her  glorious  spouse  was,  remarked  this 
distraction  of  the  page.  "  Well !  "  ex- 
claimed she. 

"  Well !  "  repeated  Monsieur  ;  "  what  is 
going  on  then  ?" 

M.  de  Saint-Remy,  who  had  just  intro- 
duced his  head  through  the  doorway,  took 
advantage  of  the  momeut. 

'*Wh3^  am  I  to  be  disturbed?"  said 
Gaston,  helping  himsi'lf  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  I 
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 
maitre  d'hotel  promptly. 

Every  one  knows  that  the  Prince  de 
Conde  was  so  called. 

''A  messenger  from  M.  le  Prince!" 
said  Gaston,  v/ith  an  inquietude  that  es- 
caped none  of  the  assistants,  and  conse- 
quently 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  ever}^  letter  might  con- 
tain a  state  secret — in  which  every  mess- 
age was  connected  with  a  dark  and  com- 
plicated intrigue.  Perhaps,  likewise,  that 
great  name  of  M.  le  Prince  expanded  itself, 
beneath  the  roofs  of  Blois,  into  the  propor- 
tions 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.  Apro- 
pos, who  is  he  ?  ' ' 

•'  A  gentleman  of  this  country,  M.  le 
Vicomte  de  Bragelonne." 

"Ah,  very  well  I  Introduce  him,  Saint- 
Remy — inti'oduce  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  toward  the 
second  chamber  a  retreat  as  rapid  as  it 
was  disorderly. 

This  little  army  had  dispersed  in  two 
flies  when  Raoul  de  Bragelonne,  preceded 
hy  M.  de  Saint-Remy,  entered  the  refec- 
tory. 

The  short  moment  of  solitude  in  which 
this  retreat  had  left  him,  permitted  Mon- 
sieur the  time  to  assume  a  diplomatic 
countenance.  He  did  not  turn  round,  but 
waited  till  the  ?waiYrc  d'hotel  should  bring 
the  messenger  face  to  face  with  him. 

Raoul  stopped  even  with  the  low^er  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,  draw- 
ing himself  up  into  military  pose,  he  waited 
for  Monsieur  to  address  him. 

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  bsing  closed.  Monsieur  raised 
his  eyes  toward  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,  mon- 
seigneur." 

"And  my  sister-in-law  ?  " 

"Her  majesty   the   queen-mother  still 


12 


IF6>/i'7t.S'     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


suffers  from  the  complaint  in  her  hmg-s, 
hut  for  the  last  month  she  has  heen  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 
charg"ed  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  mj^stery,  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  countenance,  he  turned  round. 

Madame  followed,  with  an  anxiety  al- 
most equal  to  that  of  the  prince,  every 
maneuver  of  her  august  husband. 

Raoul,  impassible,  and  a  little  disen- 
gaged by  the  attention  of  his  hosts,  looked 
from  his  place  through  the  open  window 
at  the  gardens  and  the  statues  which  peo- 
pled them. 

"Well!"  cried  Monsieur,  all  at  once, 
with  a  cheerful  smile,  "here  is  an  agree- 
able surprise,  and  a  charming  letter  from 
M.  le  Prince.     Look,  Madame  !  " 

The  table  was  too  large  to  allow  tlie 
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  verbally,  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  con- 
cluded upon.  The  king  has  done  me  the 
honor  to  appoint  me  his  iitareclial-des- 
logis  for  this  journey,  and  as  I  knew  with 
what  joy  his  majesty  would  puss  a  day 
at  Blois,  I  venture  to  ask  your  royal  high- 
ness's  permission  to  mark  the  house  you 
inhabit  as  our  quarters.  If,  however,  the 
suddenness  of  this  request  should  create 
to  your  YOywX  highness  any  embarrass- 
ment, I  entreat  you  to  say  so  by  the  mes- 
senger I  send,  a  gentleman  of  my  suite, 
M.  le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne.  My  itin- 
erary will  depend  upon  your  royal  high- 
ness's  determination,  and,  instead  of 
passing  through  Blois,  we  shall  come 
through  Vendome  and  Romorantin.  I 
venture  to  hope  that  3-our  ro^'^al  highness 
will  be  pleased  with  my  arrangement,  it 
being  the  expression  of  my  boundless  de- 
sire to  make  myself  agreeable  to  3^ou." 

"Nothing  can  be  more  gracious  toward 
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  neces- 
sary to  preserve  secrecy. 

"Monsieur,"  said  his  ro^'al  highness  in 
his  turn,  "you  will  offer  my  thanks  to  M. 
le  Prince  de  Conde,  and  express  to  him 
my  gratitude  for  the  pleasure  he  has  done 
me."     Raoul  bowed. 

"  On  what  d^y  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  immediately  with  counter-orders 
to  M.  le  Prince." 

"  His  majesty  is  at  Orleans,  then?  " 

"Much  nearer,  monseigneur ;  his  maj- 
esty must  by  this  time  have  arrived  at 
Meung." 

"Does  the  court  accompany  him?  " 

"Yes,  monsiegneur . " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELOXNE. 


13 


"Apropos,  I  forgot  to  ask  you  after 
M.  le  Cardinal." 

"  His  eminence  appears  to  enjo^'  good 
health,  monseigneur. " 

"  His  nieces  accompanj^  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  Man- 
cini quit  the  court  in  that  manner?" 
asked  Monsieur,  his  reserve  beginning  to 
diminish. 

"  Mademoiselle  Mary  de  Mancini  in  par- 
ticular," replied  Raoul,  discreetly. 

A  fugitive  smile,  an  imperceptible  ves- 
tige 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  commis- 
sion with  which  I  would  charge  you,  and 
that  is,  that  his  messenger  has  been  very 
agreeable  to  me  :  but  1  will  tell  him  so 
myself." 

Raoul  bowed  his  thanks  to  Monsieur  for 
the  honor  he  had  done  him. 

Monsieur  made  a  sign  to  Madame,  who 
struck  a  bell  which  was  placed  at  her  right 
hand  ;  M.  de  Saint-Remy  entered,  and  the 
room  was  soon  filled  with  people. 

"Messieurs,"  said  the  prince,  "his  maj- 
esty is  about  to  pay  me  the  honor  of  pass- 
ing a  day  at  Blois;  I  depend  upon  the 
king",  ni3^  nephew,  not  having-  to  repent  of 
the  favor  he  does  my  house." 

"Vive  le  Roi!"  cried  all  the  officers 
of  the  household  with  frantic  enthusiasm, 
and  M.  de  Saint-Remy  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  Roi!  "  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  bril- 
liant royalty-  rose  up  before  him,  like  a  new 
and  a  more  painful  provocation. 

Madame  perfectly  understood  the  suffer- 
ings of  that  timid,  gloomy  heart ;  she  rose 
from  the  table,  Monsieur  imitated  her  me- 


chanically, and  all  the  domestics,  with  a 
buzzing  like  that  of  several  bee-hives,  sur- 
rounded Raoul  for  the  purpose  of  ques- 
tioning 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  Raoul, 
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  refresh- 
ment 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  3'ou  know  how  anxious  I 
must  be  to  pay  mj^  duty  to  M.  le  Corate, 
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  wa3^.  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  I  "  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  \\v.- 
known  to  him. 


CHAPTER  in. 

THE     INTERVIEW. 

Raoul  made  one  step  toward  the  girl 
who  thus  called  him. 

"  But  my  horse,  madame  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh  !  you  are  terribly  embarrassed  I 
Go  out  that  way — there  is  a  shed  in  the 
outer  court ;  fasten  your  horse,  and  re- 
turn quickly. 

"I  obe3%  madame." 

Raoul  was  not  four  minutes  in  perform- 
ing what  he  had  been  directed  to  do  ;  he 
returnf'd  to  the  little  door,  where,  in  dark- 
ness, he  found  his  mvsterious  conductress 


14 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


waiting"  for  liiiu,  on  the  first  steps  of  a 
winding"  staii'case. 

"  Are  you  brave  enough  to  follow  me, 
monsieur  knig-ht-errant  ?  "  asked  the  girl, 
laughing"  at  the  momenta  I'v  hesitation 
Raoul  had  manifested. 

The  latter  replied  by  springing  up  the 
dark  staircase  after  her.  Tliey  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  hold  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 
3"ou  are  very  much  perplexed,  ver3"  tired, 
and  very 'uneasy.  But  be  of  g"ood  cheer, 
monsieur;  here.. we  are,  arrived." 

The  g"irl  threw  open  a  door,  which  im- 
mediately, without  any  transition,  filled 
with  a  flood  of  light  the  landing  of  the 
staircase,  at  the  top  of  which  Raoul  ap- 
peared, holding  fast  by  the  balustrade. 

The  g"irl  continued  to  walk  on — he  fol- 
lowed lier ;  she  entered  a  cliamber — he  did 
the  same. 

As  soon  as  he  was  faii-ly  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  g"irl  with  blue  eyes  and 
white  shoulders,  who,  recog"nizing"  hirri, 
had  called  him  Raoul. 

He  saw  her,  and  divined  at  once  so 
much  love  and  so  much  joy  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  countenance  that  he  sank 
on  his  knees  in  the  middle  of  the  cham- 
ber, 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  j^ou  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  3^ou 
wrote  him?  " 


And  she  pointed  with  her  finger  to  the 
letter  which  was  still  upon  •  the  table. 
Raoul  made  a  step  to  take  it ;  Louise, 
more  rapid,  although  she  had  sprung" 
forward  with  a  sufficientlj"  remarkable 
phjsical  hesitation,  reached  out  her  hand 
to  stop  him.  Raoul  came  in  contact  with 
tliat  trembling'  hand,  took  it  within  his 
own,  and  carried  it  so  respectfully  to  his 
lips,  that  he  might  be  said  to  have  de- 
posited a  sigh  upon  it  rather  than  a  kiss. 

In  the  meantime.  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais had  taken  the  letter,  folded  it  care- 
fully, 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  \A\e  defunct  king-  Louis 
XIII.  ventured  to  take  billets  from  the 
corsag-e  of   Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort." 

Raoul  blushed  at  seeing"  the  smile  of  the 
two  g"irls :  and  he  did  not  remark  that 
the  hand  of  Louise  remained  in  his. 

"There!"  said  Montalais,  "you  have 
pardoned  me,  Louise,  for  having  broug-ht 
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  Brag'elonne." 

"Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  said  Louise, 
with  her  quiet  g"race  and  ingenuous  smile, 
"  I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you 
Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais,  maid 
of  honor  to  her  royal  highness  Madame, 
and  moreover  n\j  friend — my  excellent 
friend." 

Raoul  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  Mon- 
talais laug"h  and  Raoul  sigh  with  happi- 
ness, for  he  interpreted  it  thus :  "  She 
Jaioivs  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  long"er  a  secret; 
the  king",  on  his  way  to  Poitiers,  will  stop 
at  Blois,  to  visit  his  royal  highness." 

"  The  king  here  !"  exclaimed  Montalais, 


// 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


15 


clappin.s:  >ts  hands.  "  What  I  are  we 
g-oing-  to  see  the  court  ?  Only  think, 
Louise — the  real  court  from  Paris  !  Oh, 
g'ood  lieavens !  But  when  will  this  hap- 
pen, monsieur  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  this  evening-,  mademoiselle  ; 
at  latest,  to-morrow." 

Montalais  lifted  her  shoulders  in  sign 
of  vexation. 

"  No  time  to  get  ready  I  No  time  to 
prepare  a  single  dress  !  We  are  as  far 
behind  the  fashions  as  the  Poles.  We 
shall  look  like  portraits  of  the  times  of 
Henry  IV.  Ah,  monsieur  I  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,  be- 
cause the  fashion  will  have  forgotten  us. 
Alas  !  ridiculous  I  I  shall  be  thought 
ridiculous — I  I  " 

"And  by  whom  ?  "  said  Louise,  inno- 
cently. 

"By  whom?  You  are  a  strange  girl, 
my  dear.  Is  that  a  question  to  put  to 
me  ?  I  mean  everybod}^ ;  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,  philosophi- 
cally. 

"  They  will  be  very  difficult  to  please," 
replied  Raoul,  faithful  to  his  regular  sys- 
tem of  g'allantry. 

"  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,  certainlv  not." 


"But  as  the  king,  it  is  said,  cannot  do 
without  Mademoiselle  Mary  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle,  the  king  must  do  with- 
out her.  M.  le  Cardinal  will  have  it  so. 
He  has  exiled  his  nieces  to  Brouage." 

"  He  ! — the  hypocrite  I  " 

"  Hush  I  "  said  Louise,  pressing  a  finger 
on  her  friend's  i-osy  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  maj- 
esty 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  arti- 
cles of  the  marriage  contract  are  agreed 
upon  b,y  Don  Luis  de  Haro  and  his  emi- 
nence, 3'ou  must  plainly  perceive  that  it  is 
not  child's  play." 

"  All  very  fine  1  but  the  king  is  king,  I 
suppo.se?  " 

"  No  doubt,  mademoiselle ;  but  the  car- 
dinal is  the  cardinal." 

"  The  king  is  not  a  man,  then  !  And  he 
4oes  not  love  Marj^  Mancini  ?  " 

"He  adores  her." 

"Well,  he  Avill  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  prodi- 
gies of  valor  in  their  encounters  with  the 
proud  Castilians,  and  many  of  them  will 
return  crowned  with  laurels,  to  be  re- 
crowned  by  us  with  myrtles.  Now,  that 
is  my  view  of  politics." 

"  Montalai.s,  you  are  wild!"  said  Lou- 
ise, "  and  every  exaggeration  attracts  you 
as  light  does  a  moth." 

"Louise,  you  are  so  extremely  reason- 
able, 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  dis- 
obey his  mother  ?     Is  it  for  a  royal  heart 


16 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE     DUMAS. 


like  his  to  set  such  a  had  example  ?  When 
parents  forbid  love,  love  must  be  ban- 
ished.'' 

And  Louise  sighed  :  Raoul  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. 

"1^0,  mademoiselle,"  replied  Raoul,  •'I 
have  not  ^^et  paid  1113'  respects  to  my  father; 
I  was  going  to  his  house  when  Mademoi- 
selle de  Montalais  so  kindly  stopped  me.  I 
hope  the  comte  is  well.  You  have  heard 
nothing  to  the  contrary,  have  you  ?  " 

''No,  M.  Raoul— nothing,  thank  God  !  " 

Here,  for  several  instants,  ensued  a 
silence,  during  which  two  spii-its,  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 
\evy  indiscreet,"  stammered  Raoul,  very 
ill  at  case. 

"It  isa  heavy  step,"  said  Louise. 

"  Ah  !  if  it  is  only  M.  Malicorne,"  added 
Montalais,  "do  not  disturb  yourselves." 

Louise  and  Raoul  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  Raoul. 

"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-Remy !  Where 
shall  I  hide  myself?"  exclaimed  Raoul, 
catching  at  the  dress  of  Montalais,  who 
looked  quite  bewildered. 

"Yes,"  said  she;  "yes,  I  know  the 
clicking  of  those  pattens !      It  is  our  ex- 


cellent mother.  M.  le  Vicomte,  what  a 
pity  it  is  th(;  window  looks  upon  a  stone 
pavement,  and  that  fifty  paces  below  it !  " 

Raoul  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-Remy  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-Reniy, 
"  you  are  here,  are  you,  Louise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,"  replied  she,  more  pale 
than  if  she  had  committed  a  great  crime. 

"Well,  well!" 

"  Pray  be  seated,  madame,"  said  Monta- 
lais, offering  her  a  chair,  which  she  placed 
so  that  the  back  was  toward  the  closet. 

"Thank  you.  Mademoiselle  Aure — thank 
3'ou.     Come,  my  child,  be  quick," 

"  Where  do  j^ou  wish  me  to  go,  mad- 
ame ?  ' ' 

"Why,  home,  to  be  sure;  have  you  not 
to  prepare  your  toilet  ?  " 

"  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-Rem3^ 

"What  news,  madame,  is  it  possil)le 
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  fire!"  cried 
Montalais,  who,  terrified  at  seeing  Lonise 
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  bi-ick 
wall.  Louise  directed  her  attention  to  a 
hat — Raoul 's  unlucky  hat,  which  was  set 
out  in  all  its  feathery  splendor  upon  the 
table. 

Montalais  sprang  toward  it,  and,  seiz- 
ing it  with  her  left  hand,  passed  it  behind 
her  into  the  right,  concealing  it  as  she 
was  sneaking. 


THE     VICOMTK    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


17 


"Well,"  said  Madame  de  Saint-Remy, 
"a  courier  has  arrived  announcing-  the 
approach  of  the  king-.  There,  mesde- 
nioiselles ;  there  is  something*  to  make 
you  put  on  3'our  best  looks." 

"  Quick,  quick!"  cried  Montalais.  "  Fol- 
low mudame  3'our  mother,  Louise  ;  and 
leave  me  to  g-et  readj^  my  dress  of  cere- 
mony." 

Louise  arose  ;  her  mother  took  her  hj 
the  hand,  and  led  her  out  on  to  the  land- 
ing. 

"  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  saAv  a  man's  hat,  I  tell  you — the  hat 
of  that  fellow,  that  g"ood-for-nothing-  !  " 

"Madame  !  "  repeated  Louise. 

"Of  that  do-nothing  De  Malicorne  !  A 
maid  of  honor  to  have  such  companj''— 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  throug'h  a  tunnel.  She 
shrug-g-ed  her  shoulders  on  seeing"  Raoul, 
who  had  listened  likeAvise,  issue  from  the 
closet. 

"Poor  Montalais  !  "  said  she,  "the  vic- 
tim of  friendship  !  Poor  Malicorne,  the 
victim  of  love  !  " 

She  stopped  on  viewing  the  trag-i-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 
da.y,"  said  she.  "For  the  present,  be- 
g-one,  M.  de  Bragelonne,  for  Madame  de 
Saint-Remy  is  not  over-indulg-ent ;  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  XL 
knew  very  well  wiiat  he  was  about  when 
he  invented  the  post." 


"  Alas  !  "  sighed  Raoul. 

"  And  am  I  not  here — I,  who  am  worth 
all  the  posts  in  the  kingdom  ?  Quick,  I 
say,  to  horse !  so  that  if  Madame  de 
Saint-Remy  should  return  for  the  pur- 
pose of  preaching-  me  a  lesson  on  moral- 
ity, she  may  not  find  you  here." 

"  She  would  tell  my  father,  would  she 
not  ?  "  nuirmured  Raoul. 

"And  3'ou  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 
that,  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  g-lided  swiftly"  down  to  the  porch,  re- 
gained his  horse,  mounted,  and  set  off  as 
if  he  had  had  Monsieur's  guards  at  his 
heels. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

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,  per- 
haps, has  been  with  us  there  before,  and 
knows  it.  Only,  since  our  last  journey 
thither,  the  w^alls  had  taken  a  grayer 
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  lux- 
uriant, cast  around,  beneath  boug-hs 
swollen  with  sap,  a  thick  shade  of  flowers 
or  fruit  for  the  benefit  of  the  traveler. 

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,  seem- 
ingly 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   g-rated  under  the 


18 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


weig-ht  of  the  massy  pails;  he  also  faii- 
ch'd  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  com- 
motions 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  ad- 
vantages of  the  most  dazzling  kind  for  a 
young  man.  The  Comte  de  la  Fere,  still 
faithful  to  his  principles  of  loj^alty  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.  Tiien,  when  M.  de 
Turenne,  in  his  turn,  had  appeared  to 
abandon  the  royal  cause,  he  had  qiatted 
M.  de  Turenne,  as  he  had  quitted  M.  de 
Conde.  It  resulted  from  this  invariable 
line  of  conduct,  that,  as  Conde  and  Tu- 
renne had  never  been  conquerors  of  each 
other  but  under  the  standard  of  the  king, 
Raoul,  however  young,  had  ten  victories 
inscribed  on  his  list  of  services,  and  not 
one  defeat  from  which  his  bravery  or 
conscience  had  to  suffer. 

Raoul,  therefore,  had,  in  compliance 
with  the  wish  of  his  father,  served  ob- 
stinatel}''  and  passively  the  fortunes  of 
Louis  XIV.,  in  spite  of  the  tergiversa- 
tions which  were  endemic,  and,  it  might 
be  said,  inevitable,  at  that  period. 

M.  de  Conde,  on  being  restored  to  favor, 
had  at  once  availed  himself  of  all  the  priv- 
ileges of  the  amnesty,   to  ask  for  many 


things  back  again  which  had  been  granted 
him  before,  and  among  others,  Raoul.  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 
Raoul  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  tempt- 
ing" demons,  Raoul,  after  delivering  his 
message,  would  have  galloped  off  toward 
his  father's  house,  turning  his  head  round, 
perhaps,  but  without  stopping-  for  a  sing-le 
instant,  even  if  Louise  had  held  out  her 
arms  to  him. 

So  the  first  part  of  the  distance  was 
given  by  Raoul  to  regretting  the  past 
which  he  had  been  forced  to  quit  so 
quickl}^  that  is  to  say,  his  ladj'-love : 
and  the  other  part  to  the  friend  he  was 
about  to  join,  so  mucli  too  slowly-  for  his 
wishes. 

Raoul  found  the  garden-gate  open,  and 
rode  straight  in,  without  regarding-  the 
long  arms,  raised  in  anger,  of  an  old  man 
dressed  in  a  jacket  of  violet-colored  wool, 
and  a  larg-e  cap  of  old  faded  velvet. 

The  old  man,  who  was  weeding  with  his 
hands  a  bed  of  dwarf  roses  and  marguer- 
ites, was  indignant  at  seeing  a  horse  thus 
traversing  his  sanded  and  niceh^-raked 
walks.  He  even  ventured  a.  vig-orous 
"Humph!"  which  made  the  cavalier 
turn  round.  Then  there  was  a  change 
of  scene ;  for  no  sooner  had  he  caught 
sight  of  Raoul's  face,  than  the  old  man 
sprang-  up  and  set  off  in  the  direction  of 
the  house,  amid  interrupted  growlings, 
which  he  meant  to  be  paroxysms  of  wild 
delight. 

When  arrived  at  the  stables,  Raoul 
gave  his  horse  to  a  little  lackej^,  and 
sprang-  up  the  perron  with  an  ardor  that 
would  have  delighted  the  heart  of  his 
father. 

He  crossed  the  antechamber,  the  dining- 
room,  and  the  salon,  without  meeting  with 
any  one ;  at  length,  on  reaching*  the  door 
of  M.  de  la  Fere's  apartment,  he  rapped 


THE     VI  CO  Mr E    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


19 


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  : 
lie  w^as  still  the  noble,  handsome  g-entle- 
man  of  former  daj^s,  but  time  had  g-iven 
to  this  nobleness  and  beauty  a  more  sol- 
emn and  distinct  character.  A  brow  wiiite 
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  mustache,  fine,  but 
slightlj'^  g-rizzled,  waved  o^•er  lij)s  of  a 
pure  and  delicate  model,  as  if  they  had 
never  been  curled  \)j  mortal  passions  ;  a 
shape  straight  and  supple  ;  an  irreproach- 
able but  thin  hand  ; — this  was  what  re- 
mained of  the  illustrious  g-antleman  whom 
so  many  illustrious  mouths  had  praised 
under  the  name  of  Athos.  He  was  en- 
g-aged  in  correcting  the  pages  of  a  manu- 
script book,  entirely  filled  by  his  own 
hand. 

Raoul  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  streng-th  nor  time  to 
disengag-e  himself,  of  to  overcome  his  pa- 
ternal 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  g-oing-  to  be  married,  as  I  had  the  honor 
of  informing  you  in  my  last  letter,  and, 
on  his  Avay  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  lodg- 
ings ready." 

"You  have  seen  Monsieur  !  "  asked  the 
vicomte  eagerh'. 

"I  have  had  that  honoi-." 


"At  the  castle?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  Raoul,  cast- 
ing- 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  htM-  roynl  highness 
Madame." 

"'  That's  very  well ;  but  it  is  not  Mad- 
ame that  I  mean." 

Raoul  colored  deeply,  but  made  no  re- 
ply. 

"You  do  not  appear  to  understand  me, 
Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  persisted  M.  de  la 
Fere,  without  accenting  his  words  more 
strongly,  but  with  a  rather  severer  look. 

"I  understand  you  quite  plainly,  mon- 
sieur," 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  under- 
standing- you  well ;  and,  if  I  have  under- 
stood you,  you  will  take  m^-  first  words 
in  ill  i)art.  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  ig-norant,  when  I  en. 
tered  the  castle,  that  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere  was  there  :  it  was  only  on  my 
return,  after  I  had  performed  \nj  mis- 
sion, that  chance  brought  us  together.  I 
have  had  the  honor  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,  mon- 
sieur." 

"And  who  is  Mademoiselle  do  Monta- 
lais ?  " 


20 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"A  young-  lady  I  did  not  know  before, 
whom  I  had  never  seen.  She  is  maid  of 
honor  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  VaUiere,  and  not  to  see  her  without 
my  permission.  Oh  !  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;  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  ac- 
cord with  my  wish." 
"Is  the  king  well?" 
"Perfectly." 

"And  Monsieur  le  Prince  also  ?  " 
"As  usual,  monsieur." 
The    comte    forg-ot    to    inquire     after 
Mazarin;  that  was  an  old  habit. 

"Well,  Raoul,  since  you  are  entirely 
mine,  I  will  g-ive  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  dur- 
ing your  leave  of  absence  ;  and ,  while  ex- 
amining 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  melan- 
choly air  as  the  young  man  passed  out ; 
observing  that  his  head  nearly  touched 
the  traverse  of  the  doorwaj^,  stroking  his 
white  royale,  he  allowed  the  single  word 
"  Grown  !  "  to  escape  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  WHICH  SOMETHING  WILL  BE  SAID  OF 
CROPOLI, — OF  CROPOLI  AND  OF  A  GREAT 
UNKNOWN  PAINTER. 

While  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  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  unaccus- 
tomed activity  which  pervades  that  city. 

It  was  in  the  hotels  that  the  surprise  of 
the  news  brought  by  Raoul  was  most  sen- 
sibly felt. 

In  fact,  the  king  and  the  court  at  Blois, 
that  is  to  sa,y,  a  hundred  horsemen,  ten 
carriages,  two  hundred  horses,  as  many 
lackeys  as  master — where  was  this  crowds 
to  be  housed  ?  Where  w6re  to  be  lodged 
all  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood,  who 
would  flock  in  in  two  or  three  hours  after 
the  news  had  enlarged  the  circle  of  its 
report,  like  the  increasing  cii'cumferences 
produced  bj'^  a  stone  thrown  into  a  placid 
lake  ? 

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  swarm  of  bees. 
All  the  servants  of  the  castle,  under  the 
inspection  of  the  oflScers,  were  sent  into 
the  city  in  quest  of  provisions,  and  ten 
horsemen  were  dispatched  to  the  pre- 
serves of  Chambord  to  seek  for  game,  to 
the  fisheries  of  Beuvion  for  fish,  and 
to  the  gardens  of  Chaverny  for  fruits 
and  flowers. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


21 


Precious  tapestries,  and  lusters  with 
great  g-ilt  chains,  were  drawn  from  the 
wardrobes ;  an  army  of  tlie  poor  were 
eng-ag-ed  in  sweeping-  the  courts  and 
washing-  the  stone  fronts,  while  their 
wives  went  in  droves  to  the  meadows 
beyond  the  Loire,  to  gather  g-reen  boug-hs 
and  field-flowers.  The  whole  city,  not  to 
be  behind  in  this  luxury  of  cleanliness, 
assumed  its  best  toilet,  with  the  help  of 
brushes,  brooms,  and  water. 

The  kennels  of  the  upper  city,  swolld  n 
by  these  continued  lotions,  became  rivers 
at  the  bottom  of  the  city,  and  the  pave- 
ment, g-enerally  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  shopkeepers 
had  a  g-lorious  trade  in  wax,  ribbons,  and 
sword  knots ;  housekeepers  laid  in  stores 
of  bread,  meat  and  spices.  Already  num- 
bers of  the  citizens,  whose  houses  were 
furnished  as  if  for  a  sieg-e,  having-  nothing- 
more  to  do,  donned  their  festive  clothes, 
and  directed  their  course  toward  the  city 
gate,  in  order  to  be  the  first  to  signal  or 
see  the  cortege.  The}^  knew  very  well 
that  the  king  would  not  arrive  before 
night,  perhaps  not  before  the  next  morn- 
ing. But  what  is  expectation  but  a  kind 
of  folly,  and  what  is  that  folly  but  an  ex- 
cess of  hope  ? 

In  the  lower  city,  at  scarcel3'  a  hundred 
paces  from  the  castle  of  the  States,  be- 
tween the  mall  and  the  castle,  in  a  suffi- 
ciently handsome  street,  then  called  Rue 
Vielle,  and  which  must,  in  fact,  have  been 
very  old,  stood  a  venerable  edifice,  with 
pointed  gables,  of  squat  and  large  dimen- 
sions, ornamented  with  three  windows 
looking  into  the  street  on  the  first  floor, 
with  two  in  the  second,  and  with  a  little 
oeil  de  hoeuf  in  the  third. 

On  the  sides  of  this  triangle  had  recently 
been  constructed  a  parallelogram  of  con- 
siderable size,  which  encroached  upon 
the  street  remorselessly,  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  com- 
pensation ? 


Tradition  said  that  this  house  with  the 
pointed  gables  was  inhabited,  in  the  time 
of  Henry  HI.,  by  a  councilor  of  state 
whom  Queen  Catherine  came,  some  say  to 
visit,  and  others  to  strangle.  However 
that  may  be,  the  good  lady  must  nave 
stepped  with  a  circumspect  foot  over  the 
threshold  of  this  building. 

After  the  councilor  had  died— whether 
by  strangulation  or  naturally  is  of  no  con- 
sequence—the  house  had  been  sold,  then 
abandoned,  and  lastly  isolated  from  the 
other  houses  of  the  street.  Toward  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  hostelr^^,  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. 

It  was  precisely  on  the  day  she  had  es- 
caped by  the  famous  window.  The  dish 
of  maccaroni  was  left  upon  the  table,  only 
just  tasted  by  the  royal  mouth. 

This  double  favor,  of  a  strangulation 
and  a  maccaroni,  conferred  upon  the  tri- 
angular house,  gave  poor  Cropoli  a  fancy 
to  grace  his  hostelry  with  a  pompous  title. 
But  his  quality  of  an  Italian  was  no  rec- 
ommendation in  these  times,  and  his 
small,  well-concealed  fortune  forbade  at- 
tracting too  much  attention. 

When  he  found  himself  about  to  die, 
wiiich  happened  in  1643,  just  after  the 
death  of  Louis  XIIL,  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  Frenchif^^  his  name,  and  at 
length,  when  the  political  horizon  should 
be  cleared  from  the  clouds  which  obscured 
it — this  was  practiced  then  as  in  our  daj^  — 
to  order  of  the  nearest  smith  a  handsome 
sign,  upon  which  a  famous  painter,  whom 
he  named,  should  design  two  queen's  por- 
traits, with  these  words  as  a  legend  : — 
''To  TitE  Medici." 

The  worthy  Cropoli,  after  these  recom- 


22 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE     DUMAS. 


mendations,  had  only  sufficient  time  to 
point  out  to  his  young"  successor  a  chim- 
ney, under  the  slab  of  which  he  had  hidden 
a  thousand  ten-franc  louis,  and  then  ex- 
pired. 

Cropoli  the  young-er,  hive  a  man  of  g-ood 
heart,  supported  the  loss  with  resig-nation 
and  the  g-ain  without  insolence.  He  be- 
gan by  accustoming"  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  g'irl, 
from  Avhose  parents  he  extorted  a  reason- 
al)le  dowr3'  hj  showing-  them  what  there 
was  beneath  the  slab  of  the  chimne}'. 

These  two  points  accomplished,  he  went 
in  search  of  the  painter  who  was  to  paint 
the  sig-n  ;  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  Venetian 
school,  doubtless  from  his  fondness  for 
color.  His  works,  of  which  he  had  never 
sold  one,  attracted  the  eye  at  a  distance 
of  a  hundred  paces  ;  but  they  so  formida- 
bly displeased  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  burned  at  the  time  of  the  marechars 
disaster. 

Cropoli,  in  his  character  of  a  compa- 
triot, was  indulg-ent  toward  Pittrino, 
which  was  the  name  of  the  artist.  Per- 
haps 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,  g-rateful,  and  fed  with  mac- 
caroni,  set  about  propag-ating-  the  reputa- 
tion of  this  national  dish,  and  from  the 
time  of  its  founder,  he  had  rendered,  with 
his  indefatig-able  tong-ue,  sig-nal  services 
to  the  house  of  Cropoli. 

As  he  g-rew  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  integ- 
rity, his   acknowledged   sobriety,   and   a 


thousand  other  virtues  useless  to  enumer- 
ate, 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  fiavor  of  the  ancient  tradition  ; 
and  it  must  be  allowed  that  he  never  pei-- 
mitted  a  grain  of  pepper  too  much,  or  an 
atom  of  parmesan  too  little.  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 
ardor  in  an  old  box,  in  which  he  found 
some  pencils,  a  little  gnawed  b^"  the  rats, 
but  still  passable ;  some  colors  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  enthusiasm,  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  e^^es  such  an  assemblage 
of  lilies  and  roses,  the  enchantmg  result 
of  the  chang-e  of  st^de  in  Pittrino — they 
assumed  the  poses  of  sirens  so  Anacreon- 
tically — that  the  principal  echevin,  when 
admitted  to  vieAv  this  capital  piece  in  the 
salle  of  Cropoli,  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  high- 
ness 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 
leg-end,  without  which  I  forbid  the  exhibi- 
tion 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  ? 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


It  was  necessary  to  thank  the  echevin  for 
his  kindness,  which  Cropok^  did.  But  Pit- 
trino  remained  downcast  and  sad  :  he  felt 
assured  of  what  was  about  to  happen. 

The  edile  was  scarcely  gone  when  Cro- 
pole  crossing  his  arms,  said  :  "  Well, 
master,  what  is  to  be  done?'' 

"  We  must  efface  the  legend,"  said  Pit- 
trino,  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,  which- 
ever 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,  'To  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  labor." 

"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  phy- 
sician, 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  play 
upon  words." 

"Six  physicians  !  impossible  !  And  the 
composition?"  cried  Prittrino. 


"  That  is  your  business — but  so  it  shall 
be — I  insist  upon  it — it  must  be  so — my 
maccaroni  is  burning." 

This  reasoning  was  peremptory  —  Pit- 
trino obe3'ed.  He  composed  the  sign  of 
six  ph^'sicians,  with  the  legend;  the  eche- 
vin applauded  and  authorized  it. 

The  sign  produced  an  extravagant  suc- 
cess in  the  city,  which  proves  that  poetr\- 
has  always  been  in  the  wrong  before  citi- 
zens, as  Pittrino  said. 

Cropole,  to  make  amends  to  his  painter- 
in-ordinary,  hung  up  the  nymphs  of  the 
preceding  sign  in  his  bedroom,  which 
made  Madame  Cropole  blush  every  time 
she  looked  at  it,  when  she  was  undress- 
ing at  night. 

This  is  the  way  in  v.hich  tlie  pointed- 
gable  house  got  a  sign  ;  and  this  is  how 
the  hostelry  of  the  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-ordi- 
nary Master  Pittrino. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE     r  X  K  N  O  W  N  . 


Thus  founded  and  recommended  by  its 
sign,  the  hostelry  of  Master  Cropole  held 
its  way  steadil3-  on  toward  a  solid  pros- 
perity. 

It  was  not  an  immense  fortune  that 
Cropole  had  in  perspective ;  but  he  might 
hope  to  double  the  thousand  louisd'orleft 
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  poul- 
try-yard, and  the  rabbit-hutches  ;  so  that 
as  many  lamentations  and  cries  resounded 
in  the  yards  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Medici 
as  were  formerlv  heard  in  Rama. 


24 


WORKS     OF    ALEXAXDRE    DUMAS. 


Cropole  had,  at  the  time,  but  one  sing'le 
traveler  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  the  youthful  neck  ;  a  small 
dark-colored  mustache  scarcely  covered 
his  curled,  disdainful  lip. 

He  spoke  to  people  looking  them  full  in 
the  face,  without  affectation,  it  is  true, 
but  without  scruple ;  so  that  the  bril- 
liancy of  his  black  eyes  became  so  insup- 
portable that  more  than  one  look  had  sunk 
beneath  his,  like  the  weaker  SAvord  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  sa}^,  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  ever^"  muscle,  every  vein,  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,  with- 
out hesitation,  without  reflection  even,  the 
principal  apartment  which  the  hotelier 
had  pointed  out  to  him  with  a  rapacious 
aim,  very  praiseworthy,  some  will  say, 
very  reprehensible,  will  say  others,  if  t\\ey 
admit  that  Cropole  was  a  phj-siognomist, 
and  judged  people  at  first  sight. 

This  apartment  was  that  which  com- 
posed the  whole  front  of  the  ancient  tri- 
angular 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  re- 
past that  had  been  served  up  to  him  in  his 
chamber.  He  had  spoken  but  two  words 
to  the  host,  to  warn  him  that  a  traveler 


of  the  name  of  Parry  would  arrive,  and  to 
desire  that,  when  he  did,  he  should  be 
shown  up  to  him  imraediatel}". 

He  afterwaixl  preserved  so  profound 
a  silence,  that  Cropole  was  almost  of- 
fended, so  much  did  he  prefer  people  who 
were  good  company. 

This  gentleman  had  risen  early  the 
morning  of  the  day  on  which  this  his- 
tory- begins,  and  liad  placed  himself  at 
the  window  of  his  salon,  seated  upon  the 
ledge,  and  leaning*  upon  the  rail  of  the 
balcony,  gazing  sadly  but  persistently  on 
both  sides  of  the  street,  watching,  no 
doubt,  for  the  arrival  of  the  traveler  he 
had  mentioned  to  the  host. 

In  this  way  he  had  seen  the  little  cor- 
tege 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  meadoAvs,  couriers  setting 
out,  Avashers  of  paA'ement,  purA^eyors  of 
the  royal  household,  gabbling,  scamper- 
ing- shopboys,  chariots  in  motion,  hair- 
dressers on  the  run,  and  pages  toiling 
along — this  tumult  and  bustle  had  sur- 
prised him,  but  Avithout  his  losing  any 
of  that  impassible  and  supreme  majesty 
Avhich  giA'es  to  the  eagle  and  the  lion  that 
serene  and  contemptuous  glance  amid  the 
hurrahs  and  shouts  of  hunters  or  the 
curious. 

Soon  the  cries  of  the  A^ctims  slauglitt^red 
in  the  poultry-yard,  the  hasty  steps  of 
Madame  Cropole  up  that  little  Avooden 
staircase,  so  narroAA^  and  so  sonorous ; 
the  bounding  pace  of  Pittrino,  Avho  only 
that  morning  Avas  smoking  at  the  door 
Avith  all  the  phlegm  of  a  Dutchman  ;  all 
this  communicated  something  like  agita- 
tion and  surprise  to  the  traveler. 

As  he  was  rising  to  make  inquiries,  the 
door  of  his  chamber  opened.  The  un- 
knoAvn  concluded  they  Avere  about  to  in- 
troduce the  impatiently  expected  traveler, 
and  made  three  i^recipitate  steps  to  meet 
him. 

But,  instead  of  the  person  he  expected, 
it  Avas  Master  Cropole  AA^ho  appeared,  and 
behind  him,  in  the  half-dark  staircase,  the 
pleasant   face   of  Madame  Cropole,   ren- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BllAGELONNE. 


25 


derecl  trivial  by  curiosity.  She  only 
g-ave  one  furtive  glance  at  the  handsome 
g-entleman,  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  lord- 
ship, 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  in- 
tended to  keep  this  apartment?  " 

"Yes." 

"Monsieur,  something  has  happened 
upon  which  w^e  could  not  reckon." 

"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  inonsieur  keep  all 
the  apartments  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  3'ou.  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  lodg- 
ing, to  fix  any  price  that  might  have 
made  your  lordship  believe  that  I  pre- 
judged your  resources;  while  to-day — " 

The  unknown  colored  ;  the  idea  at  once 
struck  him  that  he  was  supposed  to  be 
poor,  and  was  being  insulted. 

"While  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'Ancre.  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  our  city  is  small, 
that  the  court  is  about  to  invade  it,  that 
the  houses  will  be  overflowing. with  inhab- 
itants, and  that  lodgings  will  consequent- 
ly obtain  considerable  prices." 

Again  the  unknown  colored.  "Name 
3^our  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  extravagant  in  my  de- 
mands. Now  the  room  you  occupy  is 
considerable,   and  you  are  alone." 

"  That  is  my  business." 

"  Oh !  certainly.  I  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'Ancre,  a  glance  that  would 
have  crushed  him  down  to  beneath  that 
famous  chimney-slab,  if  Cropole  had  not 
been  nailed  to  the  spot  by  the  question  of 
his  own  proper  interests. 

"Do  you  desire  me  to  go?"  said  he. 
"Explain  j'-ourself — but  quickly." 
-  "Monsieur,  monsieur,  j'ou  do  not  un- 
derstand me.  It  is  ver^-  delicate — I  know 
—that  which  I  am  doing*.  I  express  my- 
self badh^,  or,  perhaps,  as  monsieur  is 
a  foreigner,  which  I  perceive  by  his  ac- 
cent—" 

In  fact,  the  unknown  spoke  with  that 
slight  defect  which  is  the  principal  char- 
acter 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  ex- 
act meaning.  I  ^Aish  for  monsieur  to  give 
up  one  or  two  of  the  apartments  he  occu- 
pies, which  would  diminsh  his  expenses 
and  ease  my  conscience.  Indeed,  it  is 
hard  to  increase  unreasonably  the  price 
of  the  chambers,  when  one  has  had  the 
honor  to  let  them  at  a  reasonable  price." 

"How^  much  does  the  hire  amount  to 
since  yesterday?" 

"  Monsieur,  to  one  louis,  with  refresh- 
ments and  the  charge  for  the  horse." 


26 


WOEA'S     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"■  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  g-reat  deal." 

The  unknown,  from  red,  as  we  have 
seen  him,  became  very  pale. 

He  drew  from  his  pocket,  with  heroic 
bravery,  a  purs:i  embroidered  with  a  coat- 
4)f-arms,  which  he  carefully  concealed  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand.  This  purse  was 
of  a  thinness,  a  flabbiness,  a  hollowness, 
Avhich  did  not  escape  the  e^^e  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  re- 
quired. 

He  looked,  therefore,  at  the  unknown, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  And  then  ?  ' ' 

"There  remains  one  louis,  do:^s  there 
not,  master  hotelier?  " 

'^  Yes,  monsieur,  but — '" 

The  unknown  plunged  his  hand  into  the 
pocket  of  his  haute-de-chausses ,  and  emp- 
tied it.  It  contained  a  small  pocket-book, 
a  g-old  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  I'eserve  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  mone}',  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  pledg-e.'" 

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  inav  be  offered  for 


it,  if  it  be  no  more  than  tlie  price  of  your 
lodging.     Beg-one  !  " 

"  Oh  I  monsieur,"  exclaimed  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  dis- 
honest at  Blois  as  you  seem  to  think ;  and 
that  the  diamond,  being*  worth  what  3^ou 
say — " 

The  unknown  here  ag^ain  darted  at 
Cropole  one  of  his  eloquent  g-lances. 

"  I  really  do  not  understand  diamonds, 
monsieur,  I  assure  you,"  cried  he. 

"But  the  jewelers  do.  Ask  them," 
said  tlie  unknown.  "  Now  I  believe  our 
accounts  are  settled,  are  th(\y  not,  mon- 
sieur riiote?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur,  and  to  my  profound 
regret  :  for  I  fear  I  have  offended  mon- 
sieur." 

'"'Not  at  all!"  replied  the  unknown, 
with  ineffable  majesty. 

"Or  have  appeared  to  be  extortionate 
with  a  noble  traveler.  Consider,  mon- 
sieur, 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  stupefied  air,  which  announced 
that  he  had  a  g-ood  heart,  and  felt  g-enu- 
ine  remorse. 

The  unknown  liimself  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 
bagf  containing  the  diamond,  his  last  re- 
source. 

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  toward  heaven,  witli 
a  sublime  emotion  of  despairing  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


him,  perhaps  he  had  prayed  in  the  bottom 
of  his  soul. 

He  drew  near  to  the  window,  resumed 
liis  place  in  the  balcony,  and  remained 
there,  motionless,  annDiilated,  dead,  till 
the  moment  when,  the  heavens  beg-inning" 
to  darken,  the  first  flambeaux  traversed 
the  embalmed  street,  and  gave  the  sig- 
nal for  illumination  to  all  the  windows 
of  the  citv. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


PARRY 


While  the  unknown  was  viewing"  these 
lig-hts  with  interest,  and  lending*  an  ear  to 
the  various  noises,  Master  Cropole  entered 
his  apartment,  followed  by  two  attend- 
ants, who  laid  the  cloth  for  his  meal. 

The  strang-er  did  not  pay  them  the  least 
attention ;  but  Cropole,  approaching-  him 
respectfully,  whispered,  "  Monsieur,  the 
diamond  has  been  valued." 

' '  Ah  !  "  sa id  the  traveler.     "  Well  ?  ' ' 

''Well,  monsieur,  the  jeweler  of  S.  A.  R. 
g-ives  two  hundred  and  eig-hty  pistoles  for 
it." 

'•  Have  you  them  ?  " 

"I  thoug-ht  it  best  to  take  them,  mon- 
sieur :  nevertheless,  I  made  it  a  condition 
of  the  barg-ain,  that  if  monsieur  wished  to 
keep  his  diamond  it  should  be  held  till 
monsieur  was  ag^ain  in  funds." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all,  I  told  you  to  sell 
it." 

"  Then  I  have  obej'ed,  or  nearly  so, 
since,  without  having-  definitely  sold  it,  I 
have  touched  the  money." 

"Paj^  3'ourself,"  added  the  unknov>-n. 

''I  will  do  so,  monsieur,  since  j^ou  so 
positively  require  it." 

A  sad  smile  passed  over  the  lij)s  of  the 
gentleman. 

"Place  the  money  on  that  trunk,"  said 
he,  turning-  I'ound  and  pointing-  to  the  jjiece 
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  Med- 
ici. 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  while  he  ate  and 
drank. 

Sliortly  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. 

"  The  king  !  the  king  !  "  repeated  a 
noisy  and  eager  crowd. 

"  The  king  !  "  cried  Cropole,  abandoning 
his  guest  and  his  ideas  of  delicacy  to  sat- 
isfy his  curiosity. 

With  Cropole  were  mingled,  and  jostled, 
on  the  staircase,  Madame  Cropole,  Pit- 
trino,  and  the  waiters  and  scullions. 

The  cortege  advanced  slowh-,  lighted 
b}'  a  thousand  flambeaux,  in  the  streets 
and  from  the  windows. 

After  a  company  of  musketeers,  and  a 
closely  ranked  troop  of  gentlemen,  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  c[ueen- 
mother,  with  her  maids  of  honor  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  exhib- 
ited, when  bowing  to  some  windows  from 
which  issued  the  most  animated  acclama- 
tions, a  noble  and  handsome  countenance 
illumined  by  the  flambeaux  of  his  pages. 

By  the  side  of  the  king,  though  a  little 
in  the  rear,  the  Prince  de  Conde,  M.  Dan- 
geau,  and  twenty  other  courtiers,  followed 
by  their  people  and  their  baggage,  closed 
this  veritably  triumphant  march.  The 
pomp  was  of  a  military  character. 

Some  of  the  courtiers — the  elder  ones, 
for  instance — wore  traveling  dresses:  but 
all  the  rest  were  clothed  in  warlike  pano- 
ply. Many  wore  the  gorg-et  and  butf  coat 
of  the  times  of  Henrv  IV.  and  Louis  XIII. 


28 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


When  the  king-  j^assed  before  him,  the 
unknown,  who  had  leaned  forward  over 
the  balcony  to  obtam  a  better  view,  and 
who  had  concealed  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  imag'es. 

"  He  is  a  kini?  !  "  murmured  he,  in  an 
accent  of  despair. 

Then,  before  he  had  recovered  from  his 
somber  reverie,  all  the  noise,  all  the  splen- 
dor, had  passed  away.  At  the  ang-le  of 
the  street  there  remained  nothing  beneath 
the  stranger  but  a  few  hoarse,  discordant 
voices,  shouting  at  intervals,  "  Vive  le 
Roif" 

There  remained  likewise  the  six  candles 
held  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  hostelry 
des  Medici;  that  is  to  say,  two  for  Cro- 
pole,  two  for  Pittrino,  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  pro- 
miscuous commentary  with  her  neighbors 
of  both  sexes. 

Cropole  was  feeding  their  gossip  with 
his  own  personal  remarks,  without  ob- 
serving that  an  old  man  on  foot,  but 
leading  a  small  Irish  horse  by  the  bridle, 
was  endeavoring  to  penetrate  the  crowd 
of  men  and  women  which  blocked  up  the 
entrance  to  the  Medici.  But  at  that  mo- 
ment the  voice  of  the  stranger  was  heard 
from  the  window. 

"  Make  way,  monsieur  I'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. 

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;  3^ou  come  from  England — j^ou 
come  so  far.  Ah  !  it  is  not  for  your  age 
to  undergo  the.  fatigues  m^^  service  re- 
quires.    Rest  yourself." 

''  I  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  energ^^  ?  I  have  medi- 
tated 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  dia- 
inonds ;  for  I  had  nothing  wherewith  to 
pay  for  my  lodgings,  and  my  host  was 
about  to  turn  me  out." 

Parry  made  a  gesture  of  indignation,  to 
which  the  young  man  replied  b^^  a  press- 
ure of  the  hand  and  a  smile. 

"  I  have  still  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
four  pistoles  left,  and  I  feel  myself  rich.  I 
do  not  despair,  Parry ;  have  you  faith  in 
my  resignation  ?  " 

The  old  man  raised  his  trembling  hands 
toward  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  let- 
ter." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"He  received  it,  and  read  it,  my  lord." 

"Did  that  letter  thoroughly  explain  my 
position  and  my  views  ?  " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


29 


*'0h,  yes!"  said  Parry,  with  a  sad 
smile;  "it  painted  your  very  thoui^lits 
faitlifully." 

"  Well— tlien,  Parry  ?  " 

"■  Then  the  g-eneral  sent  nie  back  the 
letter  \)y  an  aid-de-camp,  informing-  me 
that  if  I  were  found  the  next  day  within 
the  circumscription  of  his  command,  he 
would  have  me  arrested." 

"  Arrested  !  "  murmured  the  3'oung 
man.  "What  !  arrest  you,  my  most 
faithful  servant  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"And  notwithstanding-  you  had  sig-ned 
the  name  Parry  ?  ' ' 

' '  To  all  my  letters,  my  lord  ;  and  the 
aid-de-camp  had  known  me  at  St.  James's, 
and  at  Whitehall  too,"  added  the  old  man 
with  a  sig-h. 

The  young-  man  leaned  forward, 
thoughtful  and   sad. 

"Ay,  that's  what  he  did  before  his 
people,"  said  he,  endeavoring-  to  cheat 
himself  with  hopes.  "  But,  privately — 
between  you  and  him — what  did  he  do  ? 
Answer  !  " 

' '  Alas  !  my  lord,  he  sent  to  me  four 
cavaliers,  who  g-ave  me  the  horse  with 
which  3''ou  just  now  saw  me  come  back. 
These  cavaliers  conducted  me,  in  g-reat 
haste,  to  the  little  port  of  Tenby,  threw 
me  rather  than  embarked  me  into  a/  fish- 
ing-boat about  to  sail  for  Brittany,  and 
here  I  am." 

"  Oh  !  "  sig-hed  the  young  man,  clasp)ing- 
his  neck  convulsively  with  his  hand,  and 
with  a  sob.  "  f*arry,  is  that  all  ? — is  that 
all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  m}^  lord  ;  that  is  all." 

After  this  brief  reply  ensued  a  long  in- 
terval of  silence,  broken  only  by  the  con- 
vulsive beating  of  the  heel  of  the  young- 
man  on  the  floor. 

The  old  man  endeavored  to  change  the 
conversation;  it  was  leading- to  thoug-hts 
much  too  sinister. 

"My  lord,"  said  he,  "what  is  the 
meaning  of  all  the  noise  which  preceded 
me  ?  What  are  these  people  crying  '  Vive 
le  Roi  !  '  for  ?  What  king  do  they  inean  ? 
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 
gfentlemon  wear  swords  that  are  his.  His 
mother  precedes  him  in  a  carriag'e  mag- 
nific(uitly  incrusted  with  silver  and  g-old. 
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  ac- 
clamations, and  they  cr^^  '  Vive  le  Roi  ! 
Vive  le  Roi  .' '  " 

"  Well,  well,  my  lord,"  said  Parry, 
more  uneasj^  at  the  turn  the  conversation 
had  taken  than  at  the  other. 

"You  know,"  resumed  the  unknown^ 
"that  my  mother  and  my  sister,  while 
all  this  is  going  on  in  honor  of  the  king 
of  France,  have  neither  money  nor  bread  ; 
you  know  that  I  myself  shall  be  poor  and 
deg-raded  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  mj"  condition 
should  himself — " 

"  My  lord,  in  the  name  of  Heaven — " 

"You  are  rig-ht,  Parry;  I  am  a  cow- 
ard, 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,  m}'  loixl  ?  " 

"  What  am  I  going  to  do,  Parry  ?  W^hat 
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  g-o  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  press- 
ing- the  two  hands  of  the  old  man,  who 
watched  his  proceedings  with  a  look  of 
anxiet.y — 

"My  good  Parry,"  said  he,  "order  a 
fire.  Drink,  eat,  sleep,  and  be  happy ; 
let  us  both  be  happy,  my  faithful  friend. 


30 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


my  only  friend.     We  are  rich,  as  rich  as 
king's  I " 

He  struck  the  bag  of  pistoles  with  his 
clenched  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  it  fell 
heavily  to  the  g-round.  He  resumed  that 
dismal  laugh  that  had  so  alarmed  Par- 
ry ;  and  while  the  whole  household  was 
screaming-,  singing,  and  preparing-  to  in- 
stall the  travelers  who  had  been  preceded 
by  their  lackeys,  he  g-lided  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. 


CHAPTER   Yin. 

WHAT   HIS   MAJESTY  KING   LOUIS   XIV.  WAS 
AT   THE    AGE    OF   TWENTY-TWO. 

It  has  been  seen,  by  the  account  we 
have  endeavored  to  g-ive  of  it,  that  the 
entree  of  King-  Louis  XIV.  into  the  city 
of  Blois  had  been  noisy  and  brilliant :  his 
young-  majesty  had  therefore  appeared 
perfectly  satisfied  with  it. 

On  arriving-  beneath  the  porch  of  the 
Castle  of  the  States,  the  king-  met,  sur- 
rounded by  his  guards  and  g-entlemen, 
with  S.A.R.  the  duke,  Gaston  of  Orleans, 
whose  pli\-siog-nomy,  naturally  rather 
majestic,  had  borrowed  on  this  solemn 
occasion  afresh  luster  and  afreshdig-nity. 
On  her  part,  Madame,  dressed  in  her 
robes  of  ceremony,  awaited,  in  the  inte- 
rior balcony,  the  entrance  of  her  nephew. 
All  the  windows  of  the  old  castle,  so  de- 
serted and  dismal  on  ordinary  days,  were 
resplendent  with  ladies  and  lig-hts. 

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  treacherA^  to  keep  upon  his  head  and 
in  his  house  a  crown  which  was  already 
slipping  from  his  brow,  to  fall  into  an- 
other family. 

All  eyes,  after  having  admired  the 
young  king,  so  handsome  and  so  agree- 
able, 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  e^^e  was  brilliant, 
mild,  and  of  a  clear  azure  blue.  But  the 
most  skillful  phj^siognomists,  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 
skillful  physiognomists,  w^e  say,  would 
never  have  been  .  able  to  fathom  the 
depths  of  that  abyss  of  mildness.  It  was 
with  the  eyes  of  the  king  as  with  the  im- 
mense depth  of  the  azure  heavens,  or  with 
those  more  terrific,  and  almost  as  sub- 
lime, which  the  Mediterranean  reveals 
under  the  keels  of  its  ships  in  a  clear 
summer  da}',  a  gigantic  mirror  in  which 
heaven  delights  to  reflect  sometimes  its 
stars,  sometimes  its  storms. 

The  king  was  short  of  stature — ^he  was 
scarcel.y  five  feet  two  inches;  but  his 
youth  made  up  for  this  defect,  set  off 
likewise  by  g-reat  nobleness  in  all  his 
movements,  and  by  considerable  address 
in  all  bodily  exercises. 

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  but  poorly 
shown  to  the  people,  as  they  to  whom  he 
was  shown  saw  him  by  the  side  of  his 
mother,  a  tall  woman,  and  Moneieur  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,  whicli  were  prin- 
cipally made  in  the  capital,  the  young 
king  was  welcomed  as  a  god  b^''  the  in- 
habitants of  Blois,  and  almost  like  a  king- 
by  his  uncle  and  aunt.  Monsieur  and  Mad- 
ame, the  inhal)itants  of  the  castle. 

It  must,  however,  be  allowed,  that  when 
he  saw,  in  tlie  hall  of  recc^ption,  chairs  of 
equal  height  placed  for  himself,  his  mother, 
the  cardinal,  and  his  uncle  and  aunt,  a 
disposition  artfully  concealed  b}^  the  semi- 
circular form  of  the  assembly,  Louis  XIV. 
became  r.'d  Avith  anger,  nnd  looked  around 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


31 


liiui  to  ascertain  by  the  countenances  of 
those  that  were  present  if  this  huniiha- 
tion  had  been  prepared  for  him.  But  as 
lie  saw  nothing-  upon  the  impassible  visag-e 
of  the  cardinal,  nothing*  on  that  of  his 
mother,  nothing  on  those  of  the  assembly, 
he  resig-ned  himself,  and  sat  down,  taking- 
care  to  be  seated  before  an^^body  else. 

The  g"entl(>men  and  ladies  were  pre- 
sented 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 ; 
while  the  cardinal,  on  the  contrar^^,  never 
failed,  with  an  admirable  memor}^  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  g-entle- 
men,  and  confirmed  them  in  the  idea  that 
he  alone  is  truly  king  who  knows  his  sub- 
jects, from  the  same  reason  that  the  sun 
has  no  rival,  because  the  sun  alone  warms 
and  lightens. 

The  study  of  the  young-  king,  which  had 
begun  a  long"  time  before,  without  an^'- 
body  suspecting"  it,  was  continued  then, 
and  he  looked  around  him  attentively, 
to  endeavor  to  make  out  something"  in 
the  ph3'siognomies  which  had  at  first  ap- 
peared the  most  insignificant  and  trivial. 

A  collation  was  served.  The  king",  Avith- 
out  daring  to  call  upon  the  hospitality  of 
his  uncle,  had  waited  for  it  impatiently. 
This  time,  therefore,  he  had  all  the  honors 
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- 
poAverful  minister,  who  had  taken  her 
regenc3^  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,  Avhich  six  or  eig"ht  years  after 
caused  her  death,  ate  verj-  little  more 
than  the  cardinal. 

For  Monsieur,  alread^^  puffed  up  with 
the  great  event  which  had  taken  place  in 
his  provincial  life,  he  ate  nothing-  what- 
ever. 


Madame  alone,  like  a  true  Lorrainei-, 
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  afterward  with 
M.  de  Saint-Remy,  her  maitre  dliutel, 
who  had  really  disting-uished  himself. 

The  collation  over,  at  a  sign  of  appro- 
bation 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  cer- 
tain thing"s  for  which  women  are  as  g"ood 
observers  at  Blois  as  at  Paris— the  ladies 
then  obser\-ed  that  Louis  XIV.  had  a 
prompt  and  bold  look,  which  premised  a 
distinguished  appreciator  of  beauty.  The 
men,  on  their  part,  observed  that  the 
prince  was  proud  and  haug-hty,  that  he 
loved  to  look  down  those  who  fixed  their 
eyes  upon  him  too  long"  or  too  earnestly, 
which  g-ave  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  while  conversing-  with  Mon- 
sieur. 

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  neg-lecting-  the  arc 
of  the  circle  which  awaited  his  A'isit,  his 
object  seemed  to  be  to  come  as  quickly  as 
possible  to  the  extremitj^  of  the  curve. 

Monsieur,  like  a  g"ood  courtier,  was  in- 
quiring of  Monsieur  le  Cardinal  after  the 
health  of  his  nieces.  He  reg-retted,  he 
said,  not  having"  the  pleasure  of  receiving- 
them  at  the  same  time  with  their  uncle; 
they  must  certainly  have  g-rown  in  stat- 
ure, beauty,  and  g"race,  as  they  had  prom- 
ised 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  Mazarin  jumped  by  a 
note  and  a  half  to  reply  above  the  diapa- 
son of  his  usual  voice.  It  might  have 
been  said  that  he  wished  that  voice  to 
strike,  at  the  end  of  the  sctlon,  any  ear 
that  was  too  distant. 


32 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Monseig-neur,"  replied  he,  "  Mesde- 
moiselles  de  Mazarin  have  still  to  finish 
their  education ;  the3"  have  duties  to  ful- 
fill, and  a  position  to  make.  An  abode  in 
a  young"  and  brilliant  court  would  dissi- 
pate them  a  little." 

Louis,  at  this  last  sentence,  smiled  sad- 
\y.  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,  'Ho  cloister  them  or 
make  them  bourgeoises  ?  " 

''Not  at  all,"  replied  the  cardinal,  forc- 
ing- his  Italian  pronunciation  in  such  a 
manner  as  that,  from  soft  and  velvet}^  as 
it  was,  it  became  sharp  and  vibrating- ; 
"  not  at  all :  I  have  a  full  and  fixed  inten- 
tion to  marr}^  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  con- 
gratulating- another. 

"I  hope  not,  monseig-neur,  and  with 
reason,  as  God  has  been  pleased  to  g-ive 
them  grace,  intelligence,  and  beaut3'." 

During  this  conversation,  Louis  XIV., 
conducted  b}^  Madame,  accomplished,  as 
we  have  described,  the  circle  of  presenta- 
tions. 

"Mademoiselle  Auricule,"  said  the  prin- 
cess, 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  daug-hter  of  my 
music-mistress." 

The  king  smiled.  Madame  had  never 
been  able  to  extract  four  correct  notes 
from  either  viol  or  harpsichord. 

"Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais," 
continued  Madame ;  "  a  young-  lady  of 
rank,  and  vay  g-ood  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  g-iven  to  her  by  Madame,  who  g-en- 
erally  showed  no  tendenc}^  to  spoil  her, 
such  an  honorable  qualification. 

Our  old  acquaintance  Montalais,  there- 
fore, made  his  majesty  a  profound  curtsey, 
the  more  respectful  from  the  necessity  she 
was  under  of  concealing  certain  contrac- 


tions 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,  monseig-neur,"  replied  the  car- 
dinal. 

There  was  doubtless  some  magical  influ- 
ence in  that  word,  for,  as  we  have  said, 
the  king-  started  at  hearing-  it,  and  drew 
Madariie  toward  the  middle  of  the  circle, 
as  if  he  wished  to  put  some  confidential 
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  geog-raphy 
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  reg-ards  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  ni}'  sentence  will  serve  as  a  correc- 
tive to  the  first.  Well,  my  dear  aunt, 
some  of  them  appear  old  and  others  ugl}', 
thanks  to  tlieir  ten-year-old  fashions." 

"But,  sire,  Blois  is  only  five  days'  jour- 
ney from  Paris." 

"Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  the  king:  "two 
years  behind  for  each  day." 

"  Indeed  !  do  you  really"  think  so  ? 
Well,  that  is  strang-e  !  It  never  stru.^k 
me." 

"Now,  look,  aunt,"  said  Louis  XIV., 
drawing  still  nearer  to  Mazarin,  under 
the  pretext  of  g-aining-  a  better  point  of 
view,  "  look  at  that  simple  white  dress  by 
the  side  of  those  antiquated  specimens  of 
finer}',  and  those  pretentious  coiffures. 
She  is  probabh"  one  of  my  mother's  maids 
of  honor,  though  I  don't  know  her." 

"Ah!  ah!  m^^  dear  nephew!"  rephed 
Madame,  laug-hing ;    "permit  me  to  tell 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


33 


you  that  your  diviuatory  science  is  at 
fault  for  once.  The  young  lady  yow.  honor 
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  j^ou 
under  that  name,  approached  them,  timid 
and  blushing-,  and  almost  bent  beneath  the 
royal  g-lance. 

"  Mademoiselle  Louise  Francoise  de  la 
Beaume  Leblanc,  daug-hterof  the  Marquis 
de  la  Valliere,"  said  Madame,  ceremoni- 
ousl3^ 

The  j'oung-  girl  bowed  with  so  much 
grace,  mingled  with  the  profound  timidity- 
inspired  b}'  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-Rem3',  my  maitre  d'hotel, 
who  presided  over  the  confection  of  that 
excellent  daube  triiffee  which  3-our  majes- 
ty seemed  so  much  to  appreciate." 

No  grace,  no  youth,  no  beauty,  could 
stand  out  against  such  a  presentation. 
The  king  smiled.  Whether  the  words  of 
Madame  were  a  pleasantry,  or  uttered  in 
all  innocency,  they  proved  the  pitiless 
iminolation  of  everything  that  Louis  had 
found  charming  or  poetic  in  the  young 
girl.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  for 
Madame,  and  \iy  rebound,  for  the  king, 
was,  for  a  moment,  no  more  than  the 
daughter  of  a  man  of  a  superior  talent 
over  dindes  truffees. 

But  princes  are  thus  constituted.  The 
gods,  too,  were  just  like  this  in  Olympus. 
Diana  and  Venus,  no  doubt,  abused  the 
beautiful  Alemena  and  poor  lo,  when  they 
descended,  for  distraction's  sake,  to  speak, 
amid  nectar  and  ambrosia,  of  mortal  beau- 
ties at  the  table  of  Jupiter. 

Fortunately,  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  the  poor  child,  who  had 
so  much  good  taste  as  alone  to  have 
chosen  to  dress  herself  in  white  amid 
all  her  companions — if  that  dove's  heart, 
so  easily  accessible  to  painful  emotions, 
Dumas — 2 


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  ingen- 
ious ideas,  would  not  have  attempted  to 
recall  her  to  life ;  for  ridicule  kills  beauty 
even. 

But  fort^unately,  as  we  have  said,  Lou- 
ise, 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  con- 
versation of  the  cardinal  and  his  uncle, 
hastened  to  return  to  them. 

He  came  up  just  at  the  moment  Maz- 
arin  terminated  by  saving :  "  Marj^  as 
well  as  her  sisters,  has  just  set  off  for 
Brouage.  I  make  them  follow  the  oppo- 
site bank  of  the  Loire  to  that  along  which 
we  have  traveled  ;  and  if  I  calculate  their 
progress  correctly,  according  to  the  orders 
I  have  given,  they  will  to-morrow  be  op- 
posite 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  thej"  went  straight  to 
the  heart  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  that  the 
cardinal,  on  turning  round  at  the  simple 
noise  of  the  approaching  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  color. 
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  remain  quiet  in  a  place,  but 
cast  around  an  uncertain,  dead,  and  aim- 
less look  over  the  assembly.  He  with  his 
eyes  interrogated  his  mother  more  than 
twenty  times  ;  but  she,  given  up  to  the 
pleasure  of  conversing  with  her  sister-in- 
law,  and  likewise  constrained  by  the  glance 
of  Mazarin,  did  not  appear  to  comprehend 
any  of  the  supplications  conveyed  b}^  the 
looks  of  her  son. 


34 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


From  this  moment,  music,  lights,  flow- 
ers, beauties,  all  became  odious  and  in- 
sipid to  Louis  XIV.  After  he  had  a  hun- 
dred times  bitten  his  lips,  stretched  his 
leg's  and  his  arms  like  a  well  brought-up 
child,  who,  without  daring-  to  g-ape,  ex- 
hausts all  the  modes  of  evincing-  his 
weariness — after  having-  uselessl}'^  ag-ain 
implored  his  mother  and  the  minister,  he 
turned  a  despairing  look  toward  the  door, 
that  is  to  say,  toward  libert^^ 

At  this  door,  in  the  embrasure  of  which 
he  was  leaning,  he  saw,  standing  out 
strongly,  a  figure  with  a  brown  and  loft}^ 
countenance,  an  aquiline  nose,  a  stern  but 
brilliant  eye,  gray  and  long  hair,  a  black 
mustache,  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  gray  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  always  be  paid  for  at  the  same  price 
— he  would  have  held  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

That  which  proved  still  better  that  this 
officer  was  upon  dutj^,  and  was  accom- 
plishing a  task  to  w^hich  he  was  accus- 
tomed, was,  that  he  watched,  with  folded 
arms,  remarkable  indifference,  and  su- 
preme apathy,  the  joys  and  ennuis  of 
this  fete.  Above  all,  he  appeared,  like 
a  philosopher,  and  all  old  soldiers  are 
philosophers — he  appeared  above  all  to 
comprehend  the  ennuis  infinitely  better 
than  the  joys;  but  in  the  one  he  took 
his  part,  knowing  very  well  how  to  do 
vvithout  the  other. 

Now,  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 
exQS,  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  op- 
pressed him — all  the  timid  desire  to  go 
out  which  agitated  him — he  perceived  he 
must  render  the  king  a  service  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,  prevailing- 
over  the  orchestra,  the  singing,  and  the 
buzz  of  the  promenadei^s,  the  cardinal 
and  the  queen-mother  looked  at  each 
other  with  surprise. 

Louis  XIV.,'  pale,  but  resolved,  sup- 
ported as  he  was  by  the  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  toward  the  door. 

''Are  you  going,  iny  son?"  said  the 
queen,  while  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  over  the  lips  of  the  min- 
ister, 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  them- 
selves. 

The  king  bowed,  crossed  the  hall,  and 
gained  the  door,  where  a  hedg'e  of  twenty 
musketeers  awaited  him.  At  the  extrem- 
ity of  this  hedge  stood  the  officer,  impas- 
sible, with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand. 
The  king-  passed,  and  all  the  crowd  stood 
on  tip-toe,  to  have  one  more  look  at  him. 

Ten  musketeers,  opening  the  crowd  of 
the  antechambers  and  the  steps,  made 
Avaj"  for  his  majesty.  The  other  ten  sur- 
rounded the  king  and  Monsieur,  who  had 
insisted  upon  accompatiAing  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  Henr^- 
III.  during  his  sojourn  in  the  States. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


35 


Monsieur  had  g-iven  his  orders.  The 
musketeers,  led  b^'  their  officer,  tool^  pos- 
session of  the  httle  passag-e  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  Lorg-nes  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  he  was  struck." 

The  king-  turned  toward  his  officer,  and 
saw  something-  like  a  cloud  pass  over  his 
martial  and  daring  countenance. 

"^Yes,  from  behind  I  "  murmured  the 
lieutenant,  with  a  gesture  of  supreme  dis- 
dain. And  he  endeavored  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  flam- 
beau from  the  hands  of  M.  de  Saint-Remy, 
"  this  is  where  he  fell.  There  was  a  bed 
there,  the  curtains  of  which  he  tore  with 
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  onl}^  \ij 
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  re- 
sisted 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  daj-  by  the  king 
his  father  with  the  blood  of  Concini. 

"  Let  us  g-o  on,"  said  he. 

The  march  was  resumed  promptly  ;  for 
emotion,  no  doubt,  had  g-iven  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  passag-e  we  have 
passed  through,  but  further  with  the 
g-reat  staircase  leading-  to  the  court — 

"Will  your  majesty,"  said  Gaston, 
"condescend  to  occupy  this  apartment, 
all  unworthy  as  it  is  to  receive  3^ou?  " 

"Uncle,"'  replied  the  j'oung-  king-,  "I 
render  you  my  thanks  for  your  cordial 
hospitalit3^" 

Gaston  bowed  to  his  nephew,  who  em- 
braced him,  and  then  went  out. 

Of  the  twenty  musketeers  who  had  ac- 
companied the  king,  ten  reconducted 
Monsieur  to  the  reception  rooms,  which 
were  not  yet  empty,  notwithstanding  the 
king  had  retired. 

The  ten  others  were  posted  bj"  their 
officer,  who  himself  explored,  in  five  min- 
utes, all  the  localities,  with  that  cold  and 
certain  glance  which  not  even  habit  g-ives 
unless  that  glance  belong  to  genius. 

Then,  when  all  were  placed,  he  chose  as 
his  headquarters  the  antechamber,  in 
which  he  found  a  large  fauteuil,  a  lamp, 
some  wine,  some  water,  and  some  dry 
bread. 

He  refreshed  his  lamp,  drank  half  a 
g-lass  of  wine,  curled  his  lip  with  a  smile 
full  of  expression,  installed  himself  in  his 
large  armchair,  and  made  preparations 
for  sleeping-. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN    WHICH     THE    UNKNOWN    OF    THE  HOS- 
TELRY OF  LES   MEDICI   LOSES 
HIS    INCOC4NITO. 

This  officer,  who  was  sleejjing,  or  pre- 
paring to  sleep,  was,  notwithstanding-  his 


36 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


careless  air,  charged  with  a  serious  re- 
sponsibihty. 

Lieutenant  of  the  king's  musketeers, 
he  commanded  all  the  company  which 
came  from  Paris,  and  that  company  con- 
sisted of  a  hundred  and  twenty  men ;  but, 
with  the  exception  of  the  twenty  of  whom 
we  have  spoken,  the  other  hundred  were 
engaged  in  guarding  the  queen-mother, 
and  more  particularly  the  cardinal. 

Monsignor  Giulio  Mazarini  economized 
the  traveling  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  inconvenient,  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  al- 
lowed no  one  to  enter,  except  the  couriers, 
who,  even  while  he  was  traveling,  fol- 
lowed 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  ro^^alty. 
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  XIV.  had  been  able  to 
learn,  by  a  movement  much  more  distin- 
guished 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,  con- 
ducted by  Monsieur,  who  himself  held  a 
flambeau ;  then  followed  the  queen-mo- 
ther, 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  de- 
parted ;  and  finding  that  no  one  guarded 
the  great  entrance  or  the  porch,  seeing 
that  the  soldiers  of  Monsieur  were  frater- 
nizing with  the  royal  soldiers — that  is  to 
say,  swallowing  Beaugency  at  discretion, 
or  rather  indiscretion — the  unknown  pene- 
trated 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',  in- 
duced him  to  direct  his  steps  that  way, 
was  the  splendor  of  the  flambeaux,  and 
the  busy  air  of  the  pages  and  domestics. 
But  he  was  stopped  short  by  a  presented 
musket  and  the  cry  of  the  sentinel. 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  friend?" 
asked  the  soldier. 

"1  am  going  to  the  king's  apartment," 
replied  the  unknown,  haughtil^^,  but  tran- 
quilly. 

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, 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


let  fall  these  words :  "  The  other  staii'- 
case,  in  front." 

And  the  oflB.cei',  without  further  notice 
of  the  unknown,  resumed  his  interrupted 
conversation. 

The  strang-er,  w^ithout  reply,  directed 
his  steps  toward  the  staircase  pointed  out 
to  him.  On  this  side  there  was  no  noise, 
there  were  no  more  flambeaux. 

Obscurity,  throug-h  wliich  a  sentinel 
glided  like  a  shadow ;  silence,  w^hich  per- 
mitted him  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own 
footsteps,  accompanied  with  the  jing-ling- 
of  his  spurs  upon  the  stone  slabs. 

This  guard  was  one  of  the  twenty  mus- 
keteers appointed  for  attendance  upon  the 
king",  and  who  mounted  g"uard  with  the 
stiffness  and  consciousness  of  a  statue. 

"  Who  g'oes  there  ?  "  said  the  g"uard. 

"A  friend,"  replied  the  unknown. 

"What  do  you  want  ?  " 

''  To  speak  to  the  king  ?  " 

"  Do  you,  my  clear  monsieur  ?  That's 
not  ver}''  likely." 

'^Whynot?" 

"  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  word  ?  " 

"  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  honor." 

"Very  w^ell !  I,  also,  am  one;  and 
between  gentlemen  some  consideration 
ought  to  be   observed." 

The  soldier  lowered  his  arms,  overcome 
l)y  the  dignity  w^ith  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  unknow^n  saluted  the  solder  in  a 
lofty  fashion,  and  ascended  the  staircase  ; 
while  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  toward  the  stranger. 

"What  can  I  do  to  serve  you,  mon- 
sieur? "  asked  he. 

"You  are  the  officer  on  duty,  lieutenant 
of  the  musketeers,  are  you  ?  " 

"I  have  that  honor,"  replied  the  officer. 

"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  washed  to  see — that  is  to 
say,  a  person  of  high  distinction  in  an 
ordinary  dress. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  you  to  be  mad,"  re- 
plied 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." 

"  He  will  consent." 

"Monsieur,  permit  me  to  doubt  that. 
The  king  has  retired  this  quarter  of  an 
hour ;  he  must  be  now  undressing.  Be- 
sides, the  word  is  given." 

"When  he  knoW'S  who  I  am,  he  will 
recall  the  word." 

The  officer  was  more  and  more  sur- 
prised, more  and  more  subdued. 

"  If  I  consent  to  announce  you,  may  I 
at  least  know  wiiom  to  announce,  mon- 
sieur ?  " 

"You  will  announce  his  Majestj^  Charles 
11. ,  king  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land." 

The  officer  uttered  a  cry  of  astonish- 
ment, drew  back,  and  there  might  be 
seen  upon  his  pallid  countenance  one  of 
the  most  poignant  emotions  that  ever  an 
energetic  man  endeavored  to  drive  back 
to  his  heart. 

"Oh,  yes,  sire;  in  fact,"  said  he,  "I 
ought  to  have  recognized  you." 

"  You  have  seen  my  portrait,  then  ?  " 


38 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'•  No,  sire." 

' '  Or  else  3^011  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  3'ou  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,  "  Do  you  still  see  any  difficulty  in  an- 
nouncing me  ?  "  said  he. 

"Sire,  pardon  me,"  replied  the  officer, 
"  but  I  could  not  imagine  a  king  under  so 
simple  an  extei^ior;  and  yet  I  had  the 
honor  to  tell  your  majest3'-  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  pos- 
sible to  preserve  it — " 

"  It  is  possible,  sire,  for  I  can  dispense 
with  informing  the  first  gentleman  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  cham- 
ber 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 
3^ou  now  please  to  announce  me  to  his 
majest^^  ?  " 

"  Instantly,  sire."  And  the  officer  im- 
mediately went  and  knocked  at  the  door 
of  communication,  which  the  valet  opened 
to  him. 

"  His  Majestj^  the  King  of  England  !  " 
said  the  officer. 

"His  Majesty  the  King  of  England  I  " 
replied  the  valet-de-chambre. 

At  these  words  a  gentleman  opened  the 
folding  doors  of  the  king's  apartment,  and 
Louis  XIV.  was  seen,  without  hat  or 
sword,  and  his  pourpoint  open,  advanc- 
ing 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-chainbre,  who  passed  out  into 
the  next  apartment. 

"Sire,"  replied  Charles  II.,  "I  was 
going-  to  Paris,  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
3'our  majestj^,  when  report  informed  me 
of  3^our  approaching  arrival  in  this  city. 
I  therefore  prolonged  m^'-  abode  here, 
having  something  very  particular  to  com- 
municate to  3^ou."  . 

"  Will  this  closet  suit  you,  my  brother?" 

"  Perfectlj"  well,  sire ;  for  I  think  no  one 
can  hear  us  here." 

"  I  have  dismissed  my  gentleman  and 
vay  watcher ;  thej'  are  in  the  next  cham- 
ber. There,  behind  that  partition,  is  a 
solitary  closet,  looking  into  the  ante- 
chamber, and  in  that  antechamber  jon 
found  nobodj'  but  a  solitary  officer,  did 
you  ?  " 

"No,  sire." 

' '  Well,  then,  speak,  mj-  brother  ;  I  list- 
en to  you." . 

"Sire,  I  commence,  and  entreat  ^our 
majestj'  to  have  pit\"  on  the  misfortunes 
of  our  house." 

The  king  of  France  colored,  and  drew 
his  chair  closer  to  that  of  the  king  of 
England. 

"Sire,"  said  Charles  II.,  "I  have  no 
need  to  ask  if  j^our  majesty  is  acquainted 
with  the  details  of  vay  deplorable  llistor^^" 

Louis  XIV.  blushed  this  time  more 
strongly''  than  before ;  then,  stretching 
forth  his  hand  to  that  of  the  king  of 
England,  "  M3' brother, "  said  he,  "I  am 
ashamed  to  sa}^  so,  but  the  cardinal 
scarcely'  ever  speaks  of  political  affairs 
before  me.  Still  more,  formerly  I  used 
to  get  Laporte,  n\y  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." 


I 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


39 


"You  kno-A",  sire,  that,  being-  called  in 
1650  to  Edinburg-h,  during-  Cromweirs 
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  compa- 
triots for  me,  sire  :  they  had  forced  me  to 
forsake  the  relig-ion  of  my  fathers ;  they 
had  hung-  Lord  Montrose,  the  most  de- 
voted of  my  servants,  because  he  was  not 
a  Covenanter ;  and  as  the  poor  martyr, 
to  whom  they  had  offered  a  favor  when 
d3ang,  had  asked  that  his  bod}^  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  g-o  into  another, 
without  passing-  under  some  frag-ments  of 
a  body  which  had  acted,  foug-ht,  and 
breathed  for  me. 

"  B^^  a  bold,  almost  desperate  march,  I 
passed  through  Cromwell's  army,  and  en- 
tered England,  The  Protector  set  out  in 
pursuit  of  this  strange  flig'ht,  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  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  in- 
veteracy, I  cut  off  my  hair,  I  disguised 
myself  as  a  woodman.  One  day  spent 
amid  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  CvScaped  with 
the  daughter  of  my  host  on  a  pillion  be- 
hind me,  still  fill  the  tales  of  the  country 
firesides,  and  would  furnish   matter  for 


ballads.  I  will  some  da\-  write  all  tliis, 
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 
m^'  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 
XIV,  "I  never  heard  anj- thing  of  all 
that ;  I  was  only  told  of  your  embarka- 
tion 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  ren- 
der assistance  to  their  brothers  who  need 
it?" 

"But  tell  me,"  continued  Louis  XIV., 
"how,  after  being  so  roughl^^  received 
in  England,  j'ou  can  still  hope  for  an^-- 
thing  from  that  unliappy  country  and  that 
rebellious  people  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sire  !  since  the  battle  of  Worces- 
ter, everything  is  changed  there.  Crom- 
well is  dead,  after  having  signed  a  treaty 
with  France,  in  which  his  name  was  placed 
above  yours.  He  died  on  the  5th  of  Sep- 
tember, 1658,  a  fresh  anniversarj-^  of  the 
battles  of  Dunbar  and  Worcester." 

"  His  son  has  succeeded  him." 

"But  certain  men  have  a  famil3^,  sire, 
and  no  heir.  The  inheritance  of  Oliver 
was  too  heavy  for  Richard.  Richard  Avas 
neither  a  republican  nor  a  royalist ;  Rich- 
ard allowed  his  guards  to  eat  his  dinner, 
and  his  generals  to  govern  the  republic  : 
Richard  abdicated  the  protectorate  on  the 
22d  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  cro^m  of  \tij  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 


40 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRA]    DUMAS. 


stakes  are  thrown  upon  my  ro^^al  mantle. 
Sire,  it  onlj^  requires  a  million  to  corrupt 
one  of  these  players  and  make  an  ally  of 
him,  or  two  hundred  of  your  g-entlemen 
to  drive  them  out  of  m^^  palace  at  White- 
hall, as  Christ  drove  the  money  chang-ers 
from  the  temple." 

"You  come,  then,"  replied  Louis  XIV., 
"to  ask  me—" 

"  For  3^our  assistance ;  that  is  to  say, 
not  only  for  that  which  king-s  owe  to  each 
other,  but  that  which  simple  Christians 
owe  to  each  other — Your  assistance,  sire, 
either  in  mone^^  or  men.  Your  assist- 
ance, sire,  and  within  a  month,  whether 
I  oppose  Lambert  to  Monk,  or  Monk  to 
Lambert,  I  shall  have  re-conquered  m^^ 
paternal  inheritance,  without  having-  cost 
my  country  a  g-uinea,  or  my  subjects  a 
drop  of  blood,  for  they  are  now  all  drunk 
with  revolutions,  protectorates,  and  re- 
publics, and  ask  nothing-  better  than  to 
fall  stag-gering"  to  sleep  in  the  arms  of 
royalty.  Your  assistance,  sire,  and  I 
shall  owe  you  more  than  I  owe  my  father 
— my  poor  father,  who  bought  at  so  dear 
a  rate  the  ruin  of  our  house  !  You  may 
judg"e,  sire^  whether  I  am  unhappy, 
whether  I  am  in  despair,  for  I  accuse  my 
own  father !  " 

And  the  blood  mounted  to  the  i)ale  face 
of  Charles  II.,  who  remained  for  an  in- 
stant with  his  head  between  his  hands, 
and  as  if  blinded  by  that  blood  which  ap- 
peared to  revolt  ag-ainst  the  filial  blas- 
phemy. 

The  young"  king-  was  not  less  affected 
than  his  elder  brother ;  he  threw  himself 
about  in  his  fauteuil,  and  could  not  find 
a  sing-le  word  of  repl3^ 

Charles  II.,  to  whom  ten  years  in  ag-e 
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  fleur-de-lised  velvet — that  is  all.      I 


am  upon  a  visible  throne  ;  that  is  vay  o\\\y ' 
advantage   over  3'our  majestj'.      I  have 
nothing- — I  can  do  nothing." 

"Can  it  be  so?"  exclaimed  Charles -11. 

"M3''  brother,"  said  Louis,  sinking-  his 
voice,  "  I  have  underg-one  miseries  with 
which  my  poorest  g-entleman  are  unac- 
quainted. If  m3^  poor  Laporte  were  here, 
he  would  tell  you  that  I  have  slept  in 
rag-g-ed  sheets,  through  the  holes  of  which 
my  leg-G  have  passed  ;  he  would  tell  you 
that  afterward, when  I  asked  for  cari-iages, 
they  brought  me  conveyances  half-de- 
stroyed 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  ver\^  day  even,  when  I  am 
twenty-two  years  of  ag-e — to-day,  when  I 
have  attained  the  g-rade  of  the  majority 
of  kings — to-day,  when  I  oug-ht  to  have 
the  key  of  the  treasur^^,  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  !  While  yonder — 
look  yonder  !  View  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  XIV.  made  no  reply. 

"  Condemned  is  the  word ;  for  I  will 
never  solicit  him  who  left  my  mother  and 
sister  to  die  with  cold  and  hung-er — the 
daug-hter  and  granddaughter  of  Henry 
IV. — if  M.  de  Retz  and  the  parliament 
had  not  sent  them  wood  and  bread." 

"  To  die  ?  "  murmured  Louis  XIV. 

''Well!"  continued  the  king-  of  En- 
g-land,  "poor  Charles  II.,  g-randson  of 
Henry  IV.,  as  you  are»  sire,  having-  nei- 
ther parliament  nor  Cardinal  de  Retz  to 
apply  to,  will  die  of  hung-er,  as  his  mother 
and  sister  had  nearly  done." 

Louis  knitted  his  brow,  and  twisted 
violently  the  lace  of  his  ruffles. 

This  prostration,  this  immobility,  serv- 
ing- as  a  mark  to  an  emotion  so  visible, 
struck  Charles  II.,  and  he  took  the  young- 
man's  hand. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


41 


"  Thanks  !  "  said  he,  "  my  brother. 
You  pity  me,  and  that  is  all  I  can  re- 
quire of  you  in  your  present  situation." 

"  Sire/'  said  Louis  XIV.,  with  a  sud- 
den impulse,  and  raising-  his  head,  ''it  is 
a  million  j^ou  require,  or  two  hundred 
g-entlemen,  I  think  you  say  ?  " 

''Sire,  a  million  would  be  quite  suffi- 
cient."  "  That  is  very  little." 

"  Offered  to  a  sing-le  man  it  is  a  g-reat 
deal.  Convictions  have  been  purchased 
at  a  much  lower  price;  and  I  should  have 
nothing-  to  do  but  with  venalities." 

"Two  hundred  g-entlemen  !  Reflect  ! — 
that  is  little  more  than  a  sing-le  com- 
pany." 

"  Sire,  there  is  in  our  family  a  tradition, 
and  that  is,  that  four  men,  four  French 
g-entlemen,  devoted  to  my  father,  were 
near  saving-  my  father,  though  condemned 
by  a.  parliament,  g-uarded  by  an  armj^, 
and  surrounded  by  a  nation." 

"Then  if  I  can  procure  you  a  million, 
or  two  hundred  g-entlemen,  you  will  be 
satisfied ;  and  }■  ou  will  consider  me  your 
well-afTectioned  brother?  " 

"  I  shall  consider  you  as  mj^  savior ; 
and  if  I  recover  the  throne  of  my  father, 
England  will  be,  as  long-  as  I  reig-n  at 
least,  a  sister  to  France,  as  you  will  have 
been  a  brother  to  me." 

"Well,  my  brother,"  said  Louis,  rising-, 
"what  you  hesitate  to  ask  for,  I  will  my- 
self demand ;  that  which  I  have  never 
done  on  my  own  account,  I  will  do  on 
yours.  I  will  go  and  find  the  king-  of 
France — the  other — the  rich,  the  pow^er- 
ful  one,  I  mean.  I  will  inyself  solicit  this 
million,  or  these  two  hundred  g-entlemen  ; 
and — we  will  see." 

"Oh  !"  cried  Charles,  "you  are  a  noble 
friend,  sire  —  a  heart  created  b^^  God! 
You  save  me,  m}^  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  j^et.  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  Eng-land  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  am  firmly  seated  on  my  thrcwie. 
Pardon  me  that  expressidti,  mj^  brother ; 
it  was  that  of  an  eg-otist.  I  will  retract 
it,  therefore,  by  a  sacrifice — I  will  g-o  to 
Monsieur  le  Cardinal.  Wait  for  me,  if 
you  please — I  will  return." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   ARITHMETIC    OF  M.    DE    MAZARIN. 

While  the  king-  was  directing-  his  course 
rapidly  toward  the  wing-  of  the  cAstle  oc- 
cupied bj^  the  cardinal,  taking-  nobody 
with  him  but  his  valet-de-chambre,  the 
officer  of  musketeers  came  out,  breathing 
like  a  man  wiio  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  partition. 
It  resulted  that  this  partition,  which  w^as 
only  for  the  eye,  permitted  the  ear  the 
least  indiscreet  to  hear  every  word  spoken 
in  the  chamber. 

There  was  no  doubt,  then,  that  this 
lieutenant  of  musketeers  had  heard  all 
that  had  passed  in  his  majestj^'s  apart- 
ment. 

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  iovty  j^ears' 
absence  from  Gascony  had  not  deprived 
of  its  Gascon  accent,  "A  melancholy  ser- 
vice,"'said  he,  "and  a  melancholy  mas- 
ter!" 


42 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


These  words  pronounced,  the  lieutenant 
resumed  his  place  in  his  fauteuil,  stretched 
liis  legs,  and  closed  his  eyes,  like  a  man 
who  either  sleeps  or  meditates. 

During-  this  short  monologue  and  the 
mis-en-scene  that  had  accompanied  it, 
while  the  king-,  through  the  long  corridors 
of  the  old  castle,  proceeded  to  the  apart- 
ments of  M.  de  Mazarin,  a  scene  of  an- 
othier  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  labor.  He  had  consequently  or- 
dered Bernouin,  his  valet-de-chambre,  to 
bring-  him  a  little  traveling  desk,  so  that 
he  might  write  in  bed.  But  the  gout  is 
not  an  adversar^^  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  Ber- 
nouin. 

''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,  count- 
ing 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  Kvell  ;  a  very  orderly 
youth." 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  valet-de- 
chambre,  "but  I  don't  like  the  counte- 
nance 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,  monseigneui- :  what  am  I 
to  write  ?  " 

"  There,  that's  the  place  ;  after  the  two 
lines  already  traced." 

"  I  am  there." 

"  Write  seven  hundred  and  sixty  thou- 
sand livres." 

"That  is  written." 

"Upon  Lyons — "  The  cardinal  ap- 
peared 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,  pettishl^^, 
"  seven."  Then,  recollecting  himself, 
"You  understand,  Bernouin,"  added  he, 
"  that  all  this  mone^^  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  are  mine." 

"  These  millions  are  the  king's ;  it  is 
the  king's  money  I  am  reckoning.  Well, 
what  were  we  saying-?  You  alwaj's  in- 
terrupt me  !  " 

"  Seven  million  upon  Bordeaux." 

"  Ah  !  yes  ;  that's  right.  Upon  Mad- 
rid, four  millions.  I  give  you  to  under- 
stand 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, 
Rentrees  generates,  seven  millions ;  prop- 
erties, nine  miUions.  Have  you  written 
that,  Bernouin?" 

"  Yes,  monseigneur." 

"Bourse,  six  hundred  thousand  livres  ; 
various  property,  two  millions.  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." 


THE     YICOMTE    DE    BRAGELOKNE. 


43 


'"  Thirty -nine  millions  two  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  livres,  monseig*neur.'" 

"Ah  !  "  cried  the  cardinal,  in  a  tone  of 
vexation;  '''tliere  are  not  yet  forty  mil- 
lions !  •' 

Bernouin  recommenced  the  addition. 

•'  No,  monseig'neur  :  there  want  seven 
hundred  and  forty  thousand  livres." 

Mazarin  asked  for  the  account,  and  re- 
vised it  carefully. 

''Yes,  but/'  said  Bernouin,  "thirty- 
nine  millions  two  hundred  and  sixt}^  thou- 
sand livres  make  a  g-ood  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  beheves  no  more 
than  he  is  willing  to  believe — while  pre- 
paring- the  cardinal's  night  draug-ht  and 
putting-  his  pillow  to  rig-hts. 

"Oh!"  said  Mazarin,  when  the  valet 
had  g-one  out ;  "  not  yet  fort}^  millions  I 
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  I 
And  yet,  who  knows  that  I  may  not 
find  two  or  three  millions  in  the  pockets 
of  my  good  friends  the  Spaniards  ?  Thej- 
discovered  Peru,  those  people  did,  and — 
what  the  devil !  they  must  have  some- 
thing left." 

As  he  was  speaking  thus,  entirelj^ 
occupied  with  his  ciphers,  and  thinking 
no  more  of  his  gout,  repelled  by  a  pre- 
occupation which,  with  the  cardinal,  was 
the  most  powerful  of  all  preoccupations, 
Bernouin  rushed  into  the  chamber,  cxuite 
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  cardi- 
nal, 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  alarm  you. 
It  is  an  important  communication  which 
I  wish  to  make  to  jonv  eminence  to-night 
—that  is  all." 

Mazarin  immediately  thought  of  that 
marked  attention  which  the  king  had 
given  to  his  words  concerning  Made- 
moiselle de  Mancini,  and  the  communi- 
cation appeared  to  him  probably  to  refer 
to  this  source.  He  recovered  his  serenity 
then  instanth^,  and  assumed  his  most 
agreeable  air,  a  change  of  countenance 
which  inspired  the  king  with  the  great- 
est joy ;  and  when  Louis  was  seated — 

"  Sire,"  said  the  cardinal,  "I  ought 
certainly"  to  listen  to  your  majesty  stand- 
ing, but  the  A'iolence  of  va.j  complaint — " 

"No  ceremony  between  us,  my  dear 
Monsieur  le  Cardinal,"  said  Louis  kindlj^ : 
"  I  am  your  pupil,  and  not  the  king,  you 
know  very  well,  and  this  evening  in  par- 
ticular, 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  color  of 
the  king,  was  conflLrmed  in  his  first  idea  ; 
that  is  to  say,  that  loA^e  thoughts  were 
hidden  under  all  these  fine  words.  This 
time,  political  cunning,  keen  as  it  was, 
made  a  mistake ;  this  color  was  not 
caused  by  the  bashfulness  of  a  juvenile 
passion,  but  only  \>j  the  painful  contrac- 
tion of  the  royal  pride. 

Like  a  good  uncle,  Mazarin  felt  dis- 
posed 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  j^our  majesty  my  most  devoted 
and  tender  consideration." 

"Thanks,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal,"  an- 
swered 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 


4-i 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


sacrifice ;  but  wliatever  it  may  be  that 
j^ou  ask  me,  I  am  reaclj^  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  Ley  den  jar  or 
a  voltaic  pile,  at  the  same  time  that  a 
surprise,  or  rather  a  manifest  disappoint- 
ment, inflamed  his  features  with  such  a 
blaze  of  anger  that  Louis  XIV.,  little 
diplomatist  as  he  was,  saw  that  the  min- 
ister had  hoped  to  hear  something  else. 

''Charles  II.  ?  "exclaimed  Mazarin  with 
a  hoarse  voice  and  a  disdainful  movement 
of  his  lips.  ''You  have  received  a  visit 
from  Charles  II.  ?  " 

"From  King  Charles  II.,"  replied 
Louis,  according-  in  a  marked  manner  to 
the  g-randson  of  Henry  IV.  the  title  which 
Mazarin  had  forg-otten  to  give  him.  "  Yes, 
Monsieur  le  Cardinal,  that  unhappy  prince 
has  touched  my  heart  with  the  relation  of 
his  misfortunes.  His  distress  is  g-reat. 
Monsieur  le  Cardinal,  and  it  has  appeared 
painful  to  me,  Avho  have  seen  my  own 
throne  disputed,  who  have  been  forced  in 
times  of  commotion  to  quit  ni}^  capital — 
to  me,  in  short,  who  am  acquainted  with 
misfortune — to  leave  a  deposed  and  fugi- 
tive brother  without  assistance." 

"Eh!"  said  the  cardinal,  sharply; 
"  why  had  he  not,  as  j^ou  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-  haught- 
ily, "and  you  may  believe  well  that  I,  on 
my  part,  shall  never  forget  it.  It  is  pre- 
cisely because  my  brother  the  king-  of 
England  has  not  about  him  tlie  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  browtlie  crown  which  fell 
at  1he  foot  of  his  father's  scaffold." 


"Sire,"  replied  Mazarin,  "  I  thank  you 
for  your  g-ood  opinion  witli  regard  to  my- 
self, but  we  have  nothing  to  do  yonder  : 
they  are  a  set  of  madmen  Avho  deny  God, 
and  cut  off  the  heads  of  their  kings.  They 
are  dang-erous,  observe,  sire,  and  filthy  to 
the  touch  after  having-  wallowed  in  royal 
blood  and  covenantal  murder.  That  policy 
has  never  suited  ine — I  scorn  it  and  reject 
it." 

"Therefore  you  ought  to  assist  in  estab- 
lishing a  better." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"The  restoration  of  Charles  II.,  foi- 
exainple." 

"  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  ironically,  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  famil3^" 

"Are  you  rich  enoug-h  to  g-ive  millions 
to  other  people,  sire  ?  Have  you  millions 
to  throw  awaj^  ?  ' ' 

"Oh!"  replied  Louis  XIV.  with  g-reat 
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  France  is  worth 
a  million,  and  to  perform  a  good  action 
I  would  pledge  my  crown,  if  it  were  neces- 
sary. I  could  find  Jews  who  would  be 
willing  to  lend  me  a  million." 

"  So,  sire,  you  saj^  you  want  a  mil- 
lion? "  said  Mazarin. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  I  sa\^  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


45 


you  g'oing-  to  consult  a  lackey  upon  my 
affairs  ?  " 

"■  Bernouin  !  "  cried  the  cardinal  again, 
without  appearing-  to  remark  the  humilia- 
tion of  the  young-  prince.  "Come  here, 
Bernouin,  and  describe  the  account  I 
made  3'ou  g-o  into  just  now." 

'^Cardinal,  cardinal!  did  j'ou  not  hear 
me?"  said  Louis,  becoming-  pale  with 
ang-er. 

"  Do  not  be  ang-rj^,  sire ;  I  deal  openl}" 
with  the  affairs  of  your  majesty.  Every 
one  in  France  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,  monseig-neur. " 

"  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?" 

"  Forty-five  millions,  I  think." 

"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  ej-e  upon 
the  young-  king-,  who  sat  mute  with  stupe- 
faction. 

"But  yet — "  stammered  the  king-. 

"  What,  do  you  still  doubt,  sire  ?  "  said 
the  cardinal.  "'Well,  here  is  a  proof  of 
what  I  said." 

And  Mazarin  drew  from  under  his  bol- 
ster the  paper  covered  with  fig-ures,  which 
he  presented  to  the  king-,  who  turned 
away  his  eyes,  his  vexation  was  so  pro- 
found. 

"Therefore,  as  it  is  a  million  you  want, 
sire,  and  that  million  is  not  set  down  here, 
it  is  forty-six  millions  3'our  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  ;   '•  mj' 


brother  the  king-  of  Eng-land  ^\  ill  die  with 
hung-er." 

"Sire,"  replied  Mazarin  in  the  same 
tone,  "remember  this  proverb,  which  I 
g-ive  you  as  the  expression  of  the  soundest 
policy;  '  Rejoice  at  being-  poor  when  your 
neig-hbor  is  poor  likewise.'  " 

Louis  meditated  for  a  few  moments, 
with  an  inquisitive  g'lance  directed  to  the 
paper,  one  end  of  which  remained  under 
the  bolster. 

"Then,"  said  he,  "it  is  impossible  to 
comply  with  my  demand  for  mone^'^.  Mon- 
sieur le  Cardinal,  is  it  ?  " 

"Absolutely,  sire." 

"  Remember,  this  will  secure  me  a  fut- 
ure enemy,  if  he  succeeds  in  reg-aining-  his 
crown  without  ray  assistance." 

"  If  your  majestj^  onl^^  fears  that,  you 
may  be  quite  at  ease,"  replied  Mazarin 
eag-erly. 

"Very  well,  I  saj' no  more  about  it," 
exclaimed  Louis  XIV. 

"  Have  I  at  least  convinced  you,  sire  ?  " 
placing-  his  hand  upon  that  of  the  j'oung- 
king-. "  Perfectlj^." 

"If  there  be  anything-  else,  ask  it,  sire; 
I  shall  be  most  happj'  to  g-rant  it  to  you, 
having-  refused  this," 

'•' An3'thing'  else,  monsieur?  "' 

"Why,  yes;  am  I  not  body  and  soul 
devoted  to  \omv  majesty  ?  Hola  !  Ber- 
nouin ! — lights  and  g-uards  for  his  majesty. 
His  majesty  is  returning-  to  his  own 
chamber." 

"  Not  yet,  monsieur ;  since  you  place 
3-our  g-oodwill  at  ni}'  disposal,  I  will  take 
advantag-e  of  it." 

"For  yourself,  sire  ?  "  asked  the  car- 
dinal, hoping-  that  his  niece  was  at  leng-th 
about  to  be  named. 

"  No,  monsieur,  not  for  myself,"  replied 
Louis,  "but  still  for  my  brother  Charles." 

The  brow  of  Mazarin  ag-ain  -became 
clouded,  and  he  g-rumbled  a  few  words 
that  the  king-  could  not  catch. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

M  A  Z  A  R  I  N  '  S      POLICY. 

Insjead   of   the  hesitation  with  which 
he  had  accosted  the  cardinal  a  quarter  of 


46 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


an  hour  before,  there  mig-ht  be  read  in 
the  eyes  of  the  young-  king-  that  will 
ag-ainst  which  a  strugg-le  might  be  main- 
tained, and  which  might  be  crushed  by 
its  own  impotence,  but  which,  at  least, 
would  preserve,  like  a  wound  in  the  depth 
of  the  heart,  the  remembrance  of  its  de- 
feat. 

'  '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?  " 

^'Listen,  sire;  these  are  King- Charles's 
own  words — " 

"  Oh,  impossible  !  " 

"Listen.  '  And  if  that  miser,  that  beg-- 
ga,r\y  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  mone}^, 
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  minis- 
ter, with  a  triurai^hant  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  France, 
they  will  rally  round  me,  for  they  will 
comprehend  that  I  have  your  support. 
The  colors  of  the  French  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  honor 


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  dig-nity  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  onlj^  two 
hundred." 

"  Well,  but  you  see  I  guessed  what  he 
wanted." 

"  I  never  denied,  monsieur,  that  you 
had  a  penetrating-  eye,  and  that  was  Avhy 
I  thoug-ht  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." 

"  Sire,"  said  Mazarin,  "  I  have  studied 
policy  thirty  years :  first  under  the  aus- 
pices of  M.  le  Cardinal  de  Richelieu ;  and 
since,  alone.  This  policy  has  not  always 
been  overhonest,  it  must  be  allowed,  but 
it  has  never  been  unskillful.  Now  that 
which  is  proposed  to  your  niajesty  is  dis- 
honest and  unskillful  at  the  same  time." 

"Dishonest,  monsieur!" 

"  Sire,  you  entered  into  a  treaty  with 
Cromwell." 

"  Yes,  and  in  that  very  treaty  Crom- 
well signed  his  name  above  mine." 

"  Why  did  you  sign  yours  so  low  down, 
sire  ?  Cromwell  found  a  good  place,  and 
he  took  it;  that  was  his  custom.  I  re- 
turn, then,  to  M.  Cromwell.  You  have 
a  treaty  with  him,  that  is  to  say,  with 
England,  since  when  you  signed  that 
treat}^  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  exactl3^  Richard  in- 
herited after  the  death  of  his  father,  and 
England  at  the  abdication  of  Richard. 
The  treaty  formed  part  of  the  inheritance. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


whether  in  the  hands  of  M.  Richard  or  in 
the  hands  of  England.  The  treaty  is, 
then,  still  as  g-ood,  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  famil}^  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  whicli  they 
call  yonder  the  Rump  Parliament ;  it  w^as 
unbecoming,  I  acknowledge,  but  it  was 
not  unskillful  in  a  political  point  of  view, 
since,  thanks  to  the  treat}',  I  saved  your 
majesty,  then  a  minor,  the  trouble  and 
danger  of  a  foreign  war,  which  the  Fronde 
— you  remember  the  Fronde,  sire  ?" — the 
young  king  hung  down  his  head — ''which 
the  Fronde  might  have  fatally  compli- 
cated. And  thus  I  prove  to  j^our  majestj', 
that  to  change  our  plan  now,  without 
warning  our  allies,  would  be  at  once  un- 
skillful 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  ap- 
pearance of  fearing  it  while  provoking  it, 
for  a  permission  granted  to  five  hundred 
men,  to  two  hundred  men,  to  fift}^  men, 
to  ten  men,  is  still  a  permission.  One 
Frenchman,  that  is  the  nation ;  one  uni- 
form, 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  ap- 
prove of  England's  sending  to  the  United 
Provinces  or  to  Spain  a  regiment,  a  com- 
pany, a  squadron  even,  of  English  gentle- 
men ?  Would  you  think  that  they  kept 
within  the  limits  of  their  treaty  of  alli- 
ance ?  " 

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  mani- 
fest authorization,  I  cannot  prevent  gen- 
tlemen 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  pres- 
ence as  enemies  in  a  country  allied  with 
you." 

"Well,  but  come.  Monsieur  le  Cardinal, 
you  who  are  so  profound  a  genius,  try  if 
3^ou  cannot  find  means  to  assist  this  poor 
king,  without   compromising  ourselves." 

"And  that  is  exactl}'  wiiat  I  am  not 
willing  to  do,  my  dear  sire,"  said  Mazarin. 
"If  England  were  to  act  exactly  accord- 
ing to  my  wishes,  she  could  not  act  better 
than  she  does;  if  I  directed  the  policy  of 
England  from  this  place,  I  should  not  di- 
rect it  otherwise.  Governed  as  she  is 
governed,  England  is  an  eternal  nest  of 
contention  for  all  Europe.  Holland  pro- 
tects Charles  II.,  let  Holland  do  so;  they 
will  become  angr^"-,  they  will  fight.  They 
are  the  onl^'-  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  Cardinal !  " 

"  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  treat}^ — such  a  thing  some- 
times happens,  but  that  is  when  some 
great  interest  is  to  be  promoted  by  it,  or 
when  the  treaty  is  found  to  be  too  trouble- 
some— well,  3^ou  will  authorize  the  en- 
gagement 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, 
wiio  is  quite  as   dangerous.      The  brave 


4b 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


brewer  of  whom  we  are  speaking  was  a 
visionary;  he  had  moments  of  exalta- 
tion, fainting-s,  during  which  he  ran  over 
or  spht  hke  a  too  full  cask ;  and  from  the 
chinks  there  always  escaped  some  drops 
of  his  thoug-hts,  and  by  the  sample  the 
whole  of  his  thoug-ht  was  to  be  made  out. 
Cromwell  has  thus  allowed  us  more  than 
ten  times  to  penetrate  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 
g-iven  me,  in  one  year,  all  the  gray  hairs 
I  have.  Monk  is  no  fanatic ;  unfortunate- 
ly 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.  ad- 
vised, he  burns  his  nightcap.  Therefore, 
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,  per- 
haps, you  have  never  heard — of  whom, 
pei'haps,  you  did  not  know  the  name 
even,  before  your  brother,  Charles  II., 
who  knows  what  he  is,  pronounced  it  be- 
fore you.  He  is  a  wonder  of  depth  and 
tenacity,  the  two  only  things  against 
which  intelligence  and  ardor  are  blunted. 
Sire,  I  had  ardor  when  I  was  young :  I 
alwa^^s  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  j^our  majesty  will  perhaps 
acknowledge  I  have  rendered  some  ser- 
vices to  the  throne  of  your  majesty. 
Well,  sire,  if  I  had  met  with  Monk  on 
my  waj^  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  up  his 


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  3' ou  to  mistrust  him,  for  I  should  hv 
stronger  than  he;  but  with  him  I  am 
afraid  to  guess — to  guess  ! — 3'ou  under- 
stand my  word  ? — for  if  I  thought  I  had 
guessed,  I  should  stop  at  an  idea,  and,  in 
spite  of  mj'self,  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  traveling  toward  Madrid,  but  I  never 
lose  sight  of  London.  To  guess,  with  that 
devil  of  a  man,  is  to  deceive  one's  self,  and 
to  deceive  one's  self  is  to  ruin  one's  self. 
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  suc- 
ceed Cromwell.  Your  Charles  II.  has 
already  caused  proposals  to  be  made  to 
him  by  ten  persons  ;  he  has  satisfied  him- 
self 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  sepulcher  !  At 
this  moment  Monk  is  affecting  devotion 
to  the  Rump  Parliament ;  of  this  de- 
votion, observe,  I  am  not  the  dupe. 
Monk  has  no  wish  to  be  assassinated — 
an  assassination  would  stop  him  in  the 
midst  of  his  operations ;  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  beheve  that 
Monk  is  keeping  well  with  the  parliament 
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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


49 


I 


has  foreseen  that  victory  ten  years.  For 
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  g-ive  him  one  of  3'our  chateaux.  Yes, 
yes — wait  awhile.  But  I  forg-ot  the  treaty 
— that  famous  treaty  of  which  we  w-ere 
just  now  speaking-.  Your  majesty  has  not 
even  the  rig-ht  to  g-ive  him  a  chateau." 

''How  is  that?" 

"  Yes,  3"es ;  your  majesty  is  bound  not 
to  afford  hospitality-  to  King-  Charles,  and 
to  compel  him  to  leave  France  even.  It 
w^as  on  this  account  we  forced  him  to 
quit  it ;  and  yet  here  he  is  returned  ag-ain. 
Sire,  I  hope  you  will  g-ive  your  brother  to 
understand  that  he  cannot  remain  with 
us;  that  it  is  impossible  he  should  be 
allowed  to  compromise  us  ;  or  I  myself — " 

"Enough,  monsieur,"  said  Louis  XIV., 
rising.  "  For  to  refuse  me  a  million,  per- 
haps you  have  the  rig-ht ;  3'our  millions 
are  your  owti.  To  refuse  me  tw^o  hundred 
g-entlemen,  you  have  still  further  the 
right ;  for  you  are  first  minister,  and  you 
have,  in  the  eyes  of  France,  the  responsi- 
bility of  peace  and  war.  But  that  you 
should  pretend  to  prevent  me,  who  am 
king,  affording-  hospitality  to  the  grand- 
son of  Henry  IV.,  to  my  cousin-g-erman, 
to  the  companion  of  my  childhood — there 
your  power  stops,  and  there  commences 
my  w^ill." 

*'Sire,"  said  Mazarin,  delig-hted  at  be- 
ing- let  off  so  cheaply,  and  who  had,  be- 
sides, only  fought  so  earnestly  to  arrive 
at  that — "sire,  I  will  ahvays  bend  before 
the  will  of  VD.y  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." 

'•'Good-night,  monsieur,"  said  Louis 
XIV. ;  "  I  g-o  awaj''  in  despair." 

"  But  convinced :  and  that  is  all  I  de- 
sire, sire,"  replied  Mazarin. 

The  king-  made  no  answer,  and  retired 
quite  pensive,  convinced,  not  of  all  Maz- 
arin had  told  him,  but  of  one  thing-  which 
he  took  care  not  to  mention  to  him ;  and 
that  was,  that  it  w^as.  necessary  for  him 
to  study  seriously  both  his  own  affairs 
and  those  of  Europe,  for  he  found  them 


very  difficult  and  verj-  obscure.  Louis 
found  the  king  of  England  seated  in  the 
same  place  that  he  had  left  him  in.  On 
perceiving  him,  the  Eng-lish  prince  arose ; 
but  at  the  first  g-lance  he  saw-  discourag-e- 
ment  in  dark  letters  upon  his  cousin's 
brow.  Then,  speaking-  first,  as  if  to  facili- 
tate the  painful  avowal  that  Louis  had  to 
make  to  him — 

"Whatever  maj^  it  be,"  said  he,  "I 
shall  never  forget  all  the  kindness,  all 
the  friendship,  3'ou  have  exhibited  toward 
me." 

"  Alas  !  "  replied  Louis,  in  a  melancholy 
tone,  "  only  sterile  g-ood-will,  my  brother." 

Charles  II.  became  extremely  pale  ;  he 
passed  his  cold  hand  over  his  brow,  and 
strugg-led  for  a  few  instants  ag-ainst  a 
faintness  that  made  him  tremble.  "I 
understand,"  said  he  at  last:  "no  more 
hope  1  " 

Louis  seized  the  hand  of  Charles  II. 
"Wait,  my  brother."  said  he;  "precipi- 
tate nothing- ;  everything-  i\\3.y  change  ;  it 
is  extreme  resolutions  that  ruin  causes; 
add  another  year  of  trial,  I  implore  you, 
to  the  3-ears  3'ou  have  already  underg-one. 
You  have,  to  induce  j^ou  to  act  now  rather 
than  at  another  time,  neither  occasion  nor 
opportunit}-.  Come  with  me,  vay  brother; 
I  wall  g-ive  you  one  of  my  residences, 
whichever  you  prefer,  to  inhabit.  I,  with 
you,  will  keep  my  eye  upon  events ;  we 
will  prepare.  Come,  then,  mj-  brother, 
have  courag-e  I ' ' 

Charles  II.  withdrew  his  hand  from 
that  of  the  king-,  and  drawing-  back,  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  g-o 
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  pamful  contraction  of 
his  noble  countenance,  and  that  profound 
g-loom  wiiich,  finding-  no  more  hope  in  the 
world  of  men,  appeared  to  g-o  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  bim.  He  then  took  a  flambeau, 
called  two  musketeers,  and  descended  the 


50 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS, 


deserted  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- 
w^hich  way  he  was  going,  that  he  might 
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 
forever.  Ilordiouxf  I  will  not  resist. 
Come,  you  men,"  continued  he,  entering 
the  antechamber,  "why  are  you  all  look- 
ing at  me  so  ?  Extinguish  these  flam- 
beaux, and  return  to  your  posts.  Ah  ! 
you  were  guarding  me  ?  Yes,  you  w^atch 
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  resolu- 
tion, 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  kmg  desires  to  speak  to  you." 
"  Humph  !  "  said  the  lieutenant ;  "  per- 
haps  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  A'alet-de-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  be,  monsieur  ?  " 

' '  Sire,  when  traveling,  the  musketeers 
suppl^^  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  roj^al  guard." 

"  But  in  the  interims  ?  " 

"There  are  no  interims,  sire,  but  for 
twenty  or  thirty  men  who  rest  out  of  a 
hundred  and  tw^enty.  At  the  Louvre  it 
is  very  different,  and  if  I  w^ere  at  the 
Louvre,  I  should  rest  upon  my  brigadier ; 
but,  Avhen  traveling,  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  ver^?^  kind,  sire  ;  but  I  wnll 
not." 

"What  do  you  say?"  said  the  king, 
who  did  not  at  first  comprehend  the  full 
meaning  of  this  repl}'. 

"  I  say,  sire,  that  I  will  not  expose  my- 
self to  the  chance  of  a  fault.  If  the  devil 
had  an  ill  turn  to  play  me,  you  under- 
stand, 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  be- 
fore everything,  sire." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


51 


"But  such  duty  -will  kill  you,  mon- 
sieur." 

"Eh!  sire,  I  have  performed  it  thirty- 
years,  and  in  all  France  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." 

The  king  cut  short  the  conversation  b}' 
a  fresh  question.  "  Shall  jron  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,  while  look- 
ing at  him,  grumbled  to  himself,  biting'  his 
mustache. 

"For  a  demi-pistole,  he  has  not  resolu- 
tion enough  !  Parole  d'honneur  !  I  would 
lay  a  wager  he  does  not  speak  at  all  I  " 

The  king  continued  to  walk  about,  cast- 
ing 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,  ava- 
ricious, 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 
s;'rvice  I     His  majesty's  musketeers  I '  " 

"Because  you  gave  me  the  order,  sire." 

"Yourself." 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not  say  a  word,  mon- 
sieur." 

"Sire,  an  order  is  given  b}^  a  sign,  by  a 
gesture,  by  a  glance,  as  intelligibly,  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." 

1'' How  is  that,  sire?" 
''Because  thev  see  what  is  not." 


though  they  have  served  their  master  long 
and  much;  when  they  have  anything  to  see 
they  seldom  miss  the  opportunity.  Now, 
this  evening,  the}'  saw  that  your  majesty 
colored  with  endeavoring  to  conceal  your 
inclination  to  gape;  that  3'our  majesty 
looked  with  eloquent  supplications,  first 
at  his  eminence,  and  then  at  her  majesty 
the  queen-mother,  and  at  length  to  the 
door  of  entrance  ;  and  they  so  thoroughly 
remarked  all  I  have  said,  that  thej^  saw 
your  majesty's  lips  articulate  these  words  : 
'  Who  will  get  me  out  of  this  ?  '  " 

"Monsieur  I  " 

"  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 
instanth',  '  His  majesty's  musketeers  I ' 
And,  besides,  that  is  proved  to  be  true, 
sire,  not  only  by  your  majest3'-'s  not  say- 
ing 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  in- 
telhgent,  so  bold,  and  so  firm,  that  it 
might  have  been  said  to  be  the  proud  and 
energetic  profile  of  the  eagle  in  face  of  the 
sun.  "That  is  all  very  well,"  said  he, 
after  a  short  silence,  during  which  he  en- 
deavored, in  vain,  to  look  his  officer  down. 

But,  seeing  the  king  said  no  more,  the 
latter  piroquetted  on  his  heels,  and  made 
three  steps  toward  the  door,  muttering, 
"He  will  not  speak  !  Mordioux  I  he  will 
not  speak  I  " 

"  Thank  3-0U,  monsieur,"  said  the  king 
at  last. 

"  Humph  !  "  continued  the  lieutenant ; 
"  there  onl}^  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.  But  when  he  was  upon 
the  threshold,  feeling  that  the  king's  de- 
sire 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  im- 
mediately replied  : 


52 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"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-mor- 
row, at  about  half-past  four  in  the  morn- 
ing-, and  you  will  have  a  horse  saddled 
forme." 

•'  From  your  majesty's  stables  ?  " 

"  No;  one  of  jovly  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-g-ate." 

The  lieutenant  bowed,  understanding- 
that  the  king-  had  told  him  all  he  had  to 
sa3\  In  fact,  the  king-  dismissed  him  with 
a  g-racious  w^ave  of  the  hand.  The  officer 
left  the  chamber  of  the  king-,  and  returned 
to  place  himself  philosophically  in  his  fau- 
teuil,  where,  far  from  sleeping-,  as  mig-ht 
have  been  expected,  considering-  how  late 
it  was,  he  beg-an  to  reflect  more  profound- 
ly than  he  had  ever  reflected  before.  The 
result  of  these  reflections  was  not  so  mel- 
ancholy as  the  preceding-  ones  had  been. 

"Come,  he  has  beg-un,"  said  he.  "Love 
urg-es  him  on,  and  he  g-oes  forward — he 
g-oes  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  g-ig-antic  idea,  mordioux  !  and  perhaps 
my  fortune  depends,  at  least,  upon  that 
idea !  "  After  this  exclamation,  the  offi- 
cer arose  and  marched,  with  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  justancorps,  about  the 
immense  antechamber  that  served  him 
as  an  apartment.  The  wax-lig-ht  flamed 
furiously  under  the  effects  of  a  fresh 
breeze  which  stole  in  throug-h  the  chinks 
of  the  door  and  the  window,  and  cut  the 
salle  diag-onall}'.  It  threw  out  a  reddish, 
unequal  lig-ht,  sometimes  brilliant,  some- 
times 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  appoint- 
ment 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  at  Blois.'  Mor- 
dioux !  that  is  clear  enough,  and  particu- 
larly 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 
musketeers,  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 
understand  ?  '  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  have  good  e;>^es, 
as  his  majesty  just  now  said.  Thej^  say 
he  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  w^ent  so  far  as  to  con- 
sult the  court  of  Rome,  wluether  such  a 
marriage,  contracted  against  her  will, 
would  be  valid.  Oh,  if  I  were  but  twent}^- 
flve  !  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  creat- 
ure —  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  child- 
hood ; — I  am  becoming-  stupid  indeed  ! 
The  idea  of  Mazarin  giving  anything  !  ha  ! 
ha!  ha  !"  and  he  laughed  in  a  subdued 
voice. 

"  Well,  let  us  go  to  sleep — let  us  go  to 
sleep  ;    and   the  sooner  the  better.      My 


THE     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


53 


mind  is  fatigued  with  1113-  evening-'s  work, 
and  will  see  thing's  to-morrow  more  clearly 
than  to-day." 

And  upon  this  recommendation,  made 
to  himself,  he  folded  his  cloak  aromid  him, 
looking-  \x\W\  contempt  upon  his  ro^'al 
neig'hbor.  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     DE     MANCINI. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  enlightened  the 
majestic  trees  of  the  park  and  the  loft^^ 
turrets  of  the  castle  with  its  first  beams, 
when  the  j^oung  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,  com- 
manding him  to  preserve  the  most  abso- 
lute silence.  He  then  descended  the  little 
staircase,  went  out  at  a  lateral  door, 
and  perceived  at  the  end  of  the  wall  a 
mounted  horseman,  holding  another  horse 
by  the  bridle.  This  horseman  was  not  to 
be  recognized  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  experienced  eye. 
Louis  took  the  bridle  ;  the  officer  held  the 
stirrup  without  dismounting,  and  asked 
his  majest^^'s  orders  in  a  low^  voice. 

"FolloAv  me,"  replied  the  king. 

The  officer  put  his  horse  to  the  trot,  be- 
hind that  of  his  master,  and  they  descended 
the  hill  toward  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 
charged  to  discover  ?  " 

'•'A  carriage  in  which  you  will  see  two 
ladies,  and  probably  their  attendants  like- 
wise." 

"  Sire,  I  should  not  wish  to  make  a  mis- 
take ;  is  there  no  other  sign  hx  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  on  the  object  of 
his  search.  He  put  his  horse  to  the  trot, 
and  rode  sharplj^  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  car- 
riages. The  first,  as  you  said,  contains 
two  ladies  with  their  femmes-de-chambre  ; 
the  second  contains  the  footmen,  provis- 
ions, 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.  "Mor- 
dioux  !  "  said  he,  as  he  rode  on,  "  here  is 
a  new  and  honorable  emplo^nnent,  I  hope  ! 
I  complained  of  being  nobod3\  I  am  the 
king's  confidant :  that  is  enough  to  make 
a  musketeer  burst  with  pride." 

He  approached  the  carriage,  and  deliv- 
ered his  message,  gallantly  and  intelli- 
gently. There  were  two  ladies  in  the 
carriage  :  one  of  great  beauty,  although 
rather  thin ;  the  other  less  favored  hy 
nature,  but  lively,  graceful,  and  uniting 
in  the  light  folds  of  her  brow  all  the  signs 
of  a  strong  will.  Her  ej^es,  animated  and 
piercing,  in  particular,  spoke  more  elo- 
quently than  all  the  amorous  phrases  in 


54 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


fashion  in  those  days  of  gallantry.  It 
was  to  her  D'Artag-nan  addressed  him- 
self, without  fear  of  being-  mistaken,  al- 
thoug-h  the  other  was,  as  we  have  said, 
the  more  handsome  of  the  two. 

''Madame,"  said  he.  "  I  am  the  lieuten- 
ant of  the  musketeers,  and  there  is  on  the 
road  a  cavalier  who  awaits  you,  and  is 
desirous  of. paying*  his  respects  to  you." 

"At  these  words,  the  effect  of  which  he 
watched  closely,  the  lady  with  the  black 
eyes  uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  leaned  out  of 
the  carriag-e  window,  and,  seeing  the  cav- 
aher  approaching-,  held  out  her  arms, 
exclaiming- : 

''Ah,  my  dear  sire!"  and  the  tears 
g-ushed  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  ardor  that  she  ^vas  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  Mademoi- 
selle de  Mancini,  and  made  a  sign  to  the 
coachman  and  lackeys  to  proceed.  It  was 
nearly  six  o'clock  ;  the  road  was  fresh  and 
pleasant ;  tall  trees  wdth  the  f oilage  still 
inclosed  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  sw^allows,  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  road,  and  wrinkled  the 
surface  of  the  waters  of  the  river :  all 
these  beauties  of  the  day,  all  these  per- 
fumes of  the  plants,  all  these  aspirations 
of  the  earth  toward  the  heavens,  intoxi- 
cated the  two  lovers,  walking  side  by  side, 
leaning  upon  each  other,  eyas  fixed  upon 
eyes,  hand  clasped  wathin  hand,  and  who. 


lingering  as  by  a  common  desire,  did  not 
care  to  speak,  the3'  had  so  much  to  say. 

The  officer  saw  that  the  king's  horse 
pulled  this  way  and  that,  and  inconven- 
ienced Mademoiselle  de  Mancini.  He  took 
advantage  of  the  pretext  of  taking  the 
horse  to  draw  near  to  them,  and  dis- 
mounted, and  w'alking  betw^een  the  two 
horses  he  led,  he  did  not  lose  a  single  word 
or  gesture  of  the  lovers.  It  was  Made- 
moiselle de  Mancini  wiio  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  separated  you 
would  no  longer  think  of  me." 

"  Dear  Mar^^,  is  it  then  to-day  onh'  that 
you  have  discovered  we  are  surrounded 
by  people  interested  in  deceiving  us  ?  " 

"  But  then,  sire,  this  journey,  this  alli- 
ance with  Spain  ?  They  are  going  to 
marry  jon  ! " 

Louis  hung  his  head.  At  the  same  time 
the  officer  could  see  in  the  sun  the  eyes  of 
Mar^^  de  M^ancini  shine  with  the  brilliancy 
of  a  poniard  starting  from  its  sheath. 
"And  you  have  done  nothing  in  favor  of 
our  love  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  after  a  silence 
of  a  moment. 

"Ah  !  mademoiselle,  how  could  3^ou  be- 
lieve that  ?  I  threw  mj'self  at  the  feet  of 
vaj  mother;  I  begged  her,  I  implored 
her  ;  I  told  her  all  my  hopes  of  happiness 
were  in  you;  I  even  threatened — " 

"Well?"  asked  Marj^  eagerly. 

' '  Well,  the  queen-mother  wrote  to  the 
court  of  Rome,  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  de- 
layed." 

"And  yet  that  does  not  prevent  A'our 
being  on  the  road  to  meet  her  ?  " 

"  What  would  j'^ou  have  ?  To  my 
pra3^ers,  to  vay  supplications,  to  my 
tears,  I  received  no  answer  but  reasons 
of  state." 

"Well,  well?" 

"  Well,  w^hat   is  to  be  done,  mademoi- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


selle,  when  so  many  wills  are  leagued 
against  me  ?  " 

It  was  now  Mary's  turn  to  hang-  her 
head.  "  Then  I  must  bid  yoiw  adieu  for- 
ever," said  she.  "  You  know  that  I  am 
being-  exiled ;  you  know  that  I  am  going 
to  be  buried  alive  ;  3'ou  know  still  more 
that  they  want  to  inarry  me  also." 

Louis  became  ver^^  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  concerned,  my  dear  sire,  and  I 
stood  out  for  the  sake  of  preserving  your 
happiness." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  my  happiness,  my  treasure  I" 
murmured  the  king,  more  gallantly  than 
passionately  perhaps. 

''The  cardinal  might  have  yielded," 
said  Mary,  "  if  you  had  addressed  your- 
self to  him,  if  you  had  pressed  him.  For 
the  cardinal  to  call  the  king  of  France  his 
nephew  !  do  3^ou  not  perceive,  sire  ?  He 
would  have  made  war  even  for  that 
honor ;  the  cardinal,  assured  of  govern- 
ing alone,  under  the  double  pretext  of 
having  brought  up  the  king  and  given 
his  niece  to  him  in  marriage — the  cardinal 
would  have  combated  all  wills,  overcome 
all  obstacles.  Oh,  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  be  said,  mademoiselle  ? 
Everything  has  failed." 

"Except  j^ovir  will,  I  trust,  my  dear 
sire?  " 

"Alas  !  "  said  the  king,  coloring,  "have 
la  will?" 

"Oh!"  allowed  Mademoiselle  de  Man- 
cini  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  forever.  "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  pronounced 
with  a  perfectly  true  and  profound  feeling, 
"  I  am  unable  to  think  that  to-morrow, 
and  after  to-morrow,  I  shall  see  3^ou  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  un- 
known, should  touch  that  hand  which  you 
hold  within  yours ;  no,  in  truth,  I  cannot 
think  of  all  that,  mj"  dear  sire,  without 
ni}"  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  ! 
3^ou  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  man  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  3^ours  forever." 

The  king  made  no  reply.  Mary  then 
looked  at  him  as  Dido  looked  at  -^Eneas 
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  prevail- 
ing over  the  resolution  he  appeared  to 
have  inwardly  formed,  he  let  fall  upon 
that  beautiful  hand  a  burning  tear  of  re- 
gret, w^hich  made  Mary  start,  so  really 
had  that  tear  burned  her.  She  saw  the 
humid  eyes  of  the  king,  his  pale  brow, 
his  convulsed  lips,  and  cried,  with  an  ac- 
cent that  cannot  be  described  : 

"Oh, 'sire!  you  are  a  king,  you  weep, 
and  yet  I  depart !  " 


56 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


As  his  sole  replj-,  the  king-  concealed  his 
face  in  his  handkerchief.  U'he  officer  here 
uttered  something-  so  like  a  roar  that  it 
frightened  the  horses.  Mademoiselle  de 
Mancini,  quite  indignant,  quitted  the 
king's  arm,  g-ot  precipitately  into  the 
carriage,  crying-  to  the  coachman — "  Go 
on,  go  on,  and  quick  !  " 

The  coachmen  obeyed,  flogged  his  mules, 
and  the  heavy  carriage  rocked  upon  its 
creaking  axle,  while  the  king  of  France, 
alone,  cast  down,  annihilated,  did  not 
dare  to  look  either  behind  or  before  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  WHICH  THE  KING  AND   THE   LIEUTENANT 
EACH  GIVE  PROOFS   OP   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  carriag-e  which 
bore  away  his  mistress;  when  he  had 
turned  and  turned  again  a  hundred  times 
to  the  same  way,  and  had  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  calming  in  a  degree  the  agita- 
tion 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  resolution.  He  had  still  the  resource 
of  mounting  and  riding  after  the  carriage ; 
they  would  have  lost  nothing  by  waiting 
a  little.  But  the  imaginatioti  of  the  lieu- 
tenant was  too  rich  and  too  brilliant ;  it 
left  far  behind  it  that  of  the  king,  who 
took  care  not  to  allow  himself  to  be  car- 
ried away  by  such  an  excess  of  luxury. 
He  contented  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 
slowmess,  this  sadness,  and  leisurely 
jnounted  his  horse.  The  king  pushed  on 
sharpl}^  the  lieutenant  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  mus- 
keteer, 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  tight- 
est bonds,  and  said  in  a  low  voice    : 

"Now  then,  my  officer,  I  hope  that  it 
is  over." 

The  king  summoned  his  g-entleman. 
"  Please  to  understand  I  shall  receive 
nobody  before  tw^o  o'clock,"  said  he. 

"Sire,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "there 
is,  however,  some  one  who  requests  ad- 
mittance." 

"  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  re- 
tired. Louis  followed  them  with  his  eyes 
until  they  had  shut  the  door,  and  when 
the  tapestries  had  fallen  behind  them — 
"  You  remind  me  by  j'our  presence,  mon- 
sieur, of  something  I  had  forgotten  to 
recommend  to  you,  that  is  to  say,  the 
most  absolute  discretion." 

"  Oh  !  sire,  why  does  your  majesty  g-ive 
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  3' ou  are  discreet ;  but  as  I  had  pre- 
scribed nothing — " 

The  officer  bowed.  "  Has  your  majesty 
nothing  else  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur;  j^ou  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?  Ex- 
plain yourself,  monsieur." 

"  Sire,  a  thing  without  importance  to 
you,  but  which  interests  me  g-reatly. 
Pardon  me  then  for  speaking  of  it.  Witli- 
out  urgency,  without  necessity,  I  never 
would  have  done  it,  and  I  Avould  have 
disappeared,  mute  and  insignificant  as 
I  alwaj^s  have  been." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


57 


"^  How  !  Disappeared!  I  do  not  inuler- 
stand  you,  monsieur." 

''Sire,  in  a  word,"  said  the  officer,  "I 
am  come  to  ask  for  my  discharge  from 
your  majestj^'s  service." 

The  king-  made  a  movement  of  surprise, 
but  the  officer  remained  as  motionk^ss  as 
a  statue. 

"  Your  discharg"e  —  yours,  monsieur  ? 
and  for  how  long"  a  time,  I  pray?" 

''Why,  forever,  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 
3'ears ;  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,  every- 
thing astonishes  and  bewilders  me.  In 
short,  I  have  the  honor  to  ask  for  my  dis- 
charge of  3^our  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  e^^e  and  a  tol- 
erably firm  foot — because  I  can  still  ride 
a  horse,  and  my  mustache  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, 
impotent.     Therefore,  then,  sire — " 

"Monsieur,"  interrupted  the  king,  "re- 
member your  words  of  yesterda3^  You 
said  to  me  in  this  very  place  where  you 
now  are,  that  3^ou  were  endowed  with  the 
best  health  of  anj^  man  in  France  ;  that 
fatigue  was  unknown  to  you  !  that  you 
cared  not  for  passing  whole  da^'s  and 
nights  at  your  post.  .  Did  you  tell  me 
that,  monsieur,  or  not  ?  Recall  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 
toward  the  officer  with  a  gesture  at  once 
full  of  address  and  majesty,  "j^ou  are  not 
assigning  me  the  true  reason.  You  wish 
to  quit  my  service,  it  may  be  true,  but 
3^ou  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,  per- 
haps ;  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 
majestj"  confounds  me  !  Energetic,  vig- 
orous, 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  opin- 
ion I  ma}^  have  of  myself,  I  do  not  recog- 
nize 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  bril- 
liant qualities  was  a  treasure  beyond  all 
price.  Now,  sire,  I  have  been  all  my  life — I 
feel  bound  to  say  it — except  at  the  present 
time,  appreciated,  in  my  opinion,  much 
beneath  my  value.  I  therefore  repeat, 
your  majest}^  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  3'ou 
dissatisfied  with  my  service,  sa^^  ?  No 
evasions ;  speak  boldly,  franklj' — I  com- 
mand you  to  do  so." 

The  officer,  who  had  been  twisting  his 
hat  about  in  his  hands,  with  an  embar- 
rassed air,  for  several  minutes,  raised  his 
head  at  these  words.  "Oh!  sire,"  said 
he,  "that  puts  me  a  little  more  at  my 


58 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


ease.  To  a  question  put  so  frankly,  I  will 
reply  frankl3^  To  tell  the  truth  is  a  good. 
thing-,  as  much  from  the  pleasure  one  feels 
in  relievmg'  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  frankness  of 
an  old  soldier." 

Louis  looked  at  his  officer  with  anxious 
inquietude,  which  was  manifested  by  agi- 
tation of  hisg-esture.  "  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,  alwaj'^s  so  intelli- 
g-ent  and  martial,  assumed,  all  at  once,  a 
strang-e  character  of  grandeur  and  solem- 
nity. '"Sire,"  said  he,  " I  quit  the  king-'s 
service  because  I  am  dissatisfied.  The 
valet,  in  these  times,  can  approach  his 
master  as  respectfull}'^  as  I  do,  can  g-ive 
him  an  account  of  his  labor,  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, 
and  let  us  part.'  " 

"Monsieur  !  monsieur  !  "  exclaimed  the 
king,  purple  with  rag-e. 

"Ah  !  sire,"  replied  the  officer,  bending- 
his  knee  for  a  moment,  "  never  was  ser- 
vant more  respectful  than  I  am  before 
.your  majesty ;  only  you  commanded  me 
to  tell  the  truth.  Now  I  have  beg-un  to 
tell  it  it  must  come  out,  even  if  you  com- 
mand me  to  hold  m^'^  tongue." 

There  was  so  much  resolution  expressed 
in  the  deep-sunk  muscles  of  the  officer's 
countenance,  that  Louis  XIV.  had  no  oc- 
casion to  tell  him  to  continue  ;  he  contin- 
ued, then,  while  the  king-  looked  at  him 
with  a  curiosity  ming-ledwith  admiration. 

"  Sire,  I  have,  as  I  have  said,  now  served 
the  house  of  France  thirty-five  years ;  few 
people  have  worn  out  so  many  swords  in 
that  service  as  I  have,  and  the  SAvords  I 
speak  of  were  g-ood  swords  too,  sire.  I 
was  a  boy,  ignorant  of  everything-  except 
courage,  when  the  king  3'our  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  tliat  enmitj' 
between  the  ant  and  the  lion  may  be  read, 


from  the  first  to  the  last  line,  in  the  secret 
archives  of  your  famil3\  If  ever  3'^ou  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,  fatig'ued,  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.  For  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  3'ears.  Nevertheless,  I 
have  faith  in  what  these  people  told  me, 
for  they  were  good  judges.  They  were 
named  M.  de  Richelieu,  M.  de  Bucking- 
ham, M.  de  Beaufort,  M.  de  Retz,  a  rough 
genius  himself  in  street  warfare.  In  short, 
the  king,  Louis  XIII.,  and  even  the  queen, 
your  august  mother,  who  one  day  conde- 
scended to  say,  'Thank  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  honor 
to  tell  your  majesty,  is  history." 

The  king  bit  his  lips,  and  threw  himself 
violently  into  his  fauteuil. 

"  I  appear  importunate  to  your  maj- 
esty," 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  muske- 
teers on  some  perilous  occasions,  which 
stand  upon  the  orders  of  the  day  of  the 
company.  Mine  was  a  beautiful  lot  then  ! 
I  was  the  favorite  of  M.  de  Mazarin. 
Lieutenant  here  !   lieutenant  there  !    lieu- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


59 


\ 


tenant  to  the  rig-ht  I  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  contented  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 
honor  to  know  him,  and  I  was  well  able  to 
appreciate  him.  A  great  deal  was  prom- 
ised me  on  account  of  that  mission.  So, 
as  I  did  in  it  quite  contrary  to  all  I  had 
been  bidden  to  do,  I  was  g'enerously  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, 
3^ou  mean  to  say." 

"  Not  at  all,  sire — I  make  no  mistake  ; 
your  majesty  may  rely  upon  me  in  that 
respect.  Monsieur  le  Cardinal  gave  me 
the  commission  himself." 

"  Well  !  " 

"  But  M.  de  Mazarin,  as  3'ou  know  bet- 
ter 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  wortlw  to 
replace  M.  de  Treville,  of  illustrious  mem- 
ory ;  but  they  had  promised  me,  and  they 
had  given  me  ;  they  ought  to  have  stopped 
there." 

"  Is  that  Avhat  dissatisfies  you,  mon- 
sieur ?  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  promis- 
ing word,  which  has  been  pronounced  by  so 
mam^  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  hav- 
ing had  a  louis  in  wry  purse,  and  without 
ever  having  met  with  a  protector  in  my 
road  —  I,  who  have  protected  so  many 
people  !  So  I  change  mj'  formula,  sire ; 
and  when  any  one  sa3^s  to  me  'Hereafter,^ 
I  reply  'Now.'  It  is  repose  I  solicit,  sire. 
That  may  be  easily  granted  me.  That 
will  cost  nobody  anything." 

"  I  did  not  look  for  this  language,  mon- 
sieur, particularly  from  a  man  who  has 
always  lived  among  the  great.  You  for- 
get you  are  speaking  to  the  king,  to  a 
gentleman  who  is,  I  suppose,  of  as  good 
a  house  as  yourself;  and  when  I  say 
hereafter,  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.  If  I  were  to  see  upon  that  table 
a  marechar s  baton,  the  sword  of  con- 
stable, 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  3^our 
grandfather,  Henry  IV.  I  do  not  speak 
often ;  but  when  I  do  speak,  I  speak 
all." 

"The  future  of  my  reign  has  little 
temptation  for  3'ou,  monsieur,  it  appears," 
said  Louis,  haughtily. 

"  Forgetfulness,  forgetfulness  every- 
where !  "  cried  the  officer,  with  a  noble 
air;  "the  master  has  forgotten  the  ser- 
vant, so  that  the  servant  is  reduced  to 
forget  his  master.  I  live  in  unfortunate 
times,  sire.  I  see  youth  full  of  discourage- 
ment and  fear,  I  see  it  timid  and  despoiled, 
when  it  ought  to  be  rich  and  powerful.  I 
yesterday  evening,  for  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  in- 
spired his  elect,  Cromwell  !  I  open,  I 
said,  the  door,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  pal- 
ace 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  hu- 
miliate his  master  by  condemning  to  want 
another  king,  his  equal.     Then  I  see  my 


60 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE     DUMAS. 


prince,  who  is  young-,  handsome,  and 
brave,  who  has  courage  in  his  heart  and 
lightning  in  his  e3'e — 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  after- 
ward 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  jDronounce  them  before  me. 
You  have  commanded  me  to  pour  out  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  before  you,  sire,  and 
I  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  nie  to  do  so." 

The  king,  without  spealving  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  forget- 
fulness.  I  have  heard  nothing  but  that 
word ;  I  will  reply,  then,  to  it  alone. 
Others  have  perhaps  been  able  to  forg-et, 
but  I  have  not,  and  the  proof  is,  that  I 
remember  that  one  day  of  riot,  that  one 
daj^  in  which  the  furious  people,  furious  and 
roaring  as  the  sea,  invaded  the  royal  pal- 
ace ;  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  I 
then  demanded,  called  M.  d'Artagnan  ? 
say,  monsieur." 

"■  Your  majesty  has  a  good  memory," 
replied  the  officer,  coldlj'. 

"You  see,  then,"  continued  the  king, 
"  if  I  have  such  I'emembrances  of  m,y 
childhood,  what  an  amount  I  maj^  gather 
in  the  age  of  reason." 

"  Your  majesty  has  been  richly  endowed 
b3^  God,"  said  the  officer,  in  the  same 
tone. 


"Come,  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,"  con- 
tinued Louis,  with  feverish  agitation, 
"  ought  3^ou  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  majestj^may  do  so,  because  you 
are  young ;  but  I,  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  apart- 
ment, still  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow, 
in  a  manner  that  would  have  terrified  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  3^our  resignation 
of  the  rank  of  lieutenant  of  the  mus- 
keteers ?  " 

"I  deposit  it  humbly  at  your  majesty's 
feet,  sire." 

"  That  is  sufficient.  I  will  order  3'our 
pension." 

"  I  shall  have  a  thousand  obligations  to 
your  majesty." 

"Monsieur."  said  the  king,  with  a  vio- 
lent 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 ;  therefore  will  I 
never  again  take  service  with  an}^  king 
upon  earth,  and  will  never  again  have 
other  master  than  mj'self." 

"  You  say  so?" 

"  I  swear  so,  your  majesty." 

••I  shall  remember  that  word,  mon- 
sieur." 

D'Artagnan  bowed. 

"And  you  know  I  have  a  good  mem- 
ory ?  "  said  the  king. 

"Yes,  sire  ;  and  yet  I  should  desire  that 
that  memory  sliould  fail  your  majesty  in 
this  instance,  in  order  that  you  might  for- 


I 


THI<J     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


61 


g-et  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 — " 

"M-Y  majest^^,  monsieur,  will  act  like 
the  sun,  which  looks  upon  all,  great  and 
small,  rich  and  poor,  g'iving-  luster  to  some, 
warmth  to  others,  life  to  all.  Adieu, 
Monsieur  d'Artag-nan — 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  bot- 
tom of  the  staircase  when  the  king-  called 
his  g-entleman.  "  I  have  a  commission  to 
give  you,  monsieur,"  said  he. 

"I  am  at  your  majesty's  commands." 
"Wait,  then."  And  the  3'oung"  king- 
beg-an  to  write  the  following-  letter,  which 
cost  him  more  than  one  sig-h,  althoug-h,  at 
the  same  time,  something-  like  a  feeling-  of 
triumph  g-littered  in  his  eyes  : 

"  Monsieur  le  Cardinal — Thanks  to 
3'our  g-ood  counsels,  and,  above  all,  thanks 
to  your  firmness,  I  have  succeeded  in  over- 
coming- a  weakness  unworthy-  of  a  king-. 
You  have  too  ably  arrang-ed  my  destiny 
to  allow  g-ratitute  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  fam- 
ily if  a  misunderstanding  had  taken  place 
between  me  and  my  minister.  This,  how- 
ever, would  certainly  have  happened  if  I 
had  made  your  niece  my  wife.  I  am  per- 
fectly aware  of  this,  and  will  henceforth 
oppose  nothing-  to  the  accomplishment  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  Mon- 
sieur le  Cardinal,"  said  he. 

The  gentleman  took  it.  At  Mazarin's 
door  he  found  Bernouin  waiting  with  anx- 
iety. 

"Well?"  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  I  you  knew  then  that  his  maj- 
esty— " 

'  •  In  quality  of  first  minister,  it  belongs 
to  the  duties  of  our  charge  to  know  every- 
thing. And  his  majesty  prays  and  im- 
plores, I  presume." 

"  I  don't  know,  but  he  sighed  frequently 
while  he  was  writing." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  ;  we  understand  all  that : 
people  sigh  sometimes  from  happiness  as 
w^ell  as  from  grief,  monsieur." 

"And  yet  the  king  did  not  look  very 
happy  w^hen  he  returned,  monsieur." 

"  You  did  not  see  clearly.  Besides,  you 
onl3'-  saw  his  majesty-  on  his  return,  for  he 
w^as  onl}^  accompanied  by  the  lieutenant 
of  the  guards.  But  I  had  his  eminence's 
telescope ;  I  looked  through  it  when  he 
was  tried,  and  I  am  sure  they  both  wept." 

"Well!  was  it  for  happiness  thej 
wept  ?  " 

"No,  but  for  love,  and  they  vowed  to 
each  other  a  thousand  tendernesses,  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,  bj'-the-bj^  no  secret  to 
anybody  ? ' ' 

Bernouin  took  the  gentleman  by  the 
arm,  and,  while  ascending  the  staircase 
— "In  confidence,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
"his  eminence  looks  for  success  in  the 
affair.  I  know  ver^^  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  royall3'.  There  will  be  monej',  fes- 
tivities, and  fireworks — everybod^^  will  be 
delighted." 

"AVell,  for  my  part,"  replied  the  gen- 


62 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


tleman,  shaking  his  head,  "it  appears  to 
me  that  this  letter  is  very  hg-ht  to  contain 
all  that." 

*' My  friend,"  replied  Bernouin,  "I  am 
certain  of  what  I  tell  you.  M.  d'Artag'- 
nan  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  desig-ns, 
observe,  for  M.  d'Artagnan  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  interro- 
gate me, '  said  he  ;  'I  think  the  king  ca- 
pable of  anj^thing  :  he  has  a  head  of  iron, 
and  what  he  wills  he  wills  in  earnest.  If 
he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  marry  Made- 
moiselle de  Mancini,  he  will  marry  her, 
depend  upon  it.'  And  thereupon  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'Artag- 
nan — " 

"  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  ar- 
rived at  the  door  of  his  eminence's  apart- 
ment. His  eminence's  gout  had  left  him, 
he  was  walking  about  his  chamber  in  a 
state  of  great  anxiet^^,  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  him- 
self. 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  impression  received  from  the  letter. 


no  reflection  of  that  impression  was  al- 
lowed to  transpire  upon  his  countenance. 

"Well!"  said  he,  when  he  had  read 
and  reread  the  letter,  ' '  exceedingly  well, 
monsieur.  Inform  the  king  that  I  thank 
him  for  his  obedience  to  the  wishes  of  the 
queen-mother,  and  tliat  I  will  set  about 
doing  everj^thing  for  the  accomplishment 
of  his  will." 

The  gentleman  left  the  room.  The 
door  had  scarcely  closed  before  the  car- 
dinal, who  had  no  mask  for  Bernouin, 
took  off  that  with  which  he  had  so  recent- 
ly covered  his  face,  and  with  a  most  dis- 
mal expression — "Call  M.  de  Brienne," 
said  he.  Five  minutes  afterward,  the  sec- 
retary 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  portfolio  B,  which  is  filled  with 
documents  and  papers  relative  to  my  min- 
istry." 

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  the  ears  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,  in- 
scribed the  city  of  Poitiers  upon  his  tab- 
lets, as  the  place  of  sojourn  and  repose 
for  their  majesties.  Thus  in  a  few  instants 
was  unraveled  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  lieu- 
tenant of  musketeers  lose  his  commission 
and  his  fortune.  It  is  true  that  in  ex- 
change he  gained  his  liberty.  We  shall 
soon  know  how  M.  d'Artagnan  profited 
by  this.     For  the  moment,  if   the  reader 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


63 


Avill  permit  us,  we  will  return  to  the  hos- 
telry of  les  Medici,  of  which  one  of  the 
Avindows  opened  at  the  very  moment  the 
orders  were  given  for  the  departure  of 
the  king-. 

The  window  that  opened  was  that  of 
one  of  the  chambers  of  Charles  II,  The 
unfortunate  prince  had  passed  the  night 
in  bitter  reflections,  his  head  supported 
by  his  hands,  and  his  elbows  on  the  table, 
while  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  recom- 
mencing for  the  second  generation,  the 
fearful  series  of  misfortunes  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  iso- 
lation 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  brightlj^  into  his 
chamber,  and  Parry,  motionless  with  the 
fear  of  waking  him,  was  observing  with 
profound  grief  the  eyes  of  the  j^oung  man 
already  red  with  wakefulness,  and  his 
cheeks  pale  with  suffering  and  privations. 

At  length  the  noise  of  some  heavy  carts 
descending  toward  the  Loire  awakened 
Charles.  He  arose,  looked  around  him 
like  a  ftian  who  has  forgotten  everything, 
perceived  Parry,  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
and  commanded  him  to  settle  the  reckon- 
ing with  Master  Cropole.  Master  Cro- 
pole,  being  called  upon  to  settle  his  account 
Avith  Parry,  acquitted  himself,  it  must  be 
allowed,  like  an  honest  man ;  he  only 
made  his  customary  remark,  that  the 
two  travelers  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  con- 
sumed, but  not  the  less  lost.  Parry  had 
nothing  to  say  to  the  contrary,  and  paid. 
^^     "I  hope,"   said  the  king,  "it  has  not 


see  that  thej'  have  eaten  at  your  expense, 
and  it  would  be  a  misfortune  for  travelers 
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  Jleclici  \y3.s  not  less  hospitable  than 
its  refectory. 

The  king  mounted  his  horse ;  his  old 
servant  did  the  same,  and  both  set  out 
toward  Paris,  without  meeting  a  single 
person  on  their  road,  in  the  streets  or  the 
faubourgs  of  the  citj.  For  the  prince  the 
blo\v  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  heai't  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  mis- 
fortunes, has  thrown  hope  as  the  drop  of 
water  which  the  rich  bad  man  in  hell  en- 
treated of  Lazarus. 

For  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  his  brother  king;  then  it 
had  taken  a  form  that  had  become  a  real- 
ity ;  then,  all  at  once,  the  refusal  of  Maz- 
arin  had  reduced  the  factitious  reality  to 
the  state  of  a  dream.  This  promise  of 
Louis  XIY.,  so  soon  resumed,  had  been 
nothing  but  a  mockery:  a  mockery  like 
his  crown  —  like  his  scepter  —  like  his 
friends — like  all  that  had  surrounded  his 
roysl  childhood,  and  which  had  abandon- 
ed his  proscribed  youth.  Mocker^'!  every- 
thing was  a  mockery  for  Charles  II.  ex- 
cept the  cold,  black  repose  promised  by 
death. 

Such  were  the  ideas  of  the  unfortunate 
prince  while  sitting  listlessly  upon  his 
horse,  to  which  he  abandoned  the  reins : 
he  rode  slowly  along  beneath  the  warm 
sun  of  May,  in  which  the  somber  misan- 


64 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


thropy  of  the  exile  perceived  a  last  insult 
to  his  grief. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"REMEMBER  !  '' 

A  HORSEMAN  who  passed  rapidly  along- 
the  road  leading-  toward  Blois,  which  he 
had  left  nearly  half  an  hour  before, 
crossed  the  two  travelers,  and,  though 
apparently  in  haste,  raised  his  hat  as  he 
passed  them.  The  king-  scarcely  observed 
this  young-  man,  who  was  about  twenty- 
five  j^ears  of  age.  Turning  round  several 
times,  he  made  signals  of  kindness  to  a 
man  standing  before  the  gate  of  a  hand- 
some 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  traveling*. 

This  man,  old,  tall  and  thin,  with  white 
hair — we  speak  of  him  standing  by  the 
gate  ; — this  man  replied  to  the  farewell 
signals  of  the  young  one  by  signs  of  part- 
ing 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  trav- 
elers, arriving  in  front  of  the  gate,  at- 
tracted his  attention. 

The  king,  we  have  said,  was  riding  with 
his  head  cast  down,  his  arms  inert,  leav- 
ing his  horse  to  g'O  what  pace  he  liked, 
while  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 
encountered  those  of  the  old  man  leaning 
against  the  gate,  and  who,  as  if  struck 
by  some  strange  spectacle,  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation, and  made  one  step  toward  the 
two  travelers.  From  Parry  his  eyes  im- 
mediatel}^  turned  toward  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.  For  scarce- 
ly'' had  he  recognized  the  younger  of  the 
travelers  —  and  we  say  recognized,  for 
nothing  but  a  perfect  recognition   could 


have  explained  sucli  an  act — scarcely,  we 
say,  had  he  recog-nized  the  younger  of  the 
two  travelers,  than  he  clapped  his  hands 
together,  with  respectful  surprise,  and, 
raising-  his  hat  froin  his  head,  bowed  so 
profoundly'-  that  it  might  have  been  said 
he  was  kneeling.  This  demonstration, 
however  absent,  or  rather,  however  ab- 
sorbed was  the  king  in  his  reflections,  at- 
tracted his  attention  instantly;  and  check- 
ing his  horse,  and  turning  toward  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  ver^^  pale, 
had  already  turned  his  horse  toward  the 
gate.  "  Ah,  sire  !  "  said  he,  stopping 
suddenly  at  five  or  six  paces'  distance 
from  the  still  bending  old  man ;  "  sire,  I 
am  seized  Avith  astonishment,  for  I  think 
I  recognize  that  brave  man.  Yes,  it  must 
be  he !  Will  your  majesty  permit  me  to 
speak  to  him?  " 

"Certainly." 

"  Can  it  be  yon,  Monsieur  Grimaud  ?  " 
asked  Pany. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  replied  the  tall  old  man, 
looking-  up  without  abating  in  his  respect- 
ful attitude. 

"Sire,"  then  said  Parry,  "I  was  not 
deceived.  This  good  man  is  the  servant 
of  the.  Comte  de  la  Fere,  and  the  Comte 
de  la  Fere,  if  3^ou  remember,  is  the  worthy 
gentleman  of  whom  I  have  so  often  spoken 
to  your  majesty  that  the  remembrance  of 
him  must  remain,  not  oi\\y  in  your  mind, 
but  in  3^our  heart." 

"  He  who  was  present  at  the  la*st  mo- 
ments of  -mj  father  ?  "  asked  Charles, 
evidently  affected   at   the  remembrance. 

"The  same,  sire." 

"Alas!"  said  Charles;  and  then  ad- 
dressing Grimaud,  whose  penetrating  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  neigh- 
borhood ?  " 

"There,"  replied  Grimaud,  pointing 
with  his  outstretched  arm  to  the  white- 
and-red  house  behind  the  gate. 

"  And  is  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Fci-e 
at  home  at  present  ?  " 


» 


\ 


Louis  XIV.  and  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini.— Page  84. 
Dumas,  Volume  Three. 


THE     VICOMTE    DB    BRAGELONNE. 


65 


"  At  the  back,  under  the  chestnut- 
trees." 

''Parry,"  said  the  king-,  ''I  will  not 
miss  this  opportunity^,  so  precious  for  me, 
lO  thanlv  the  g-entleman  to  whom  our 
house  is  indebted  for  such  a  noble  ex- 
:imple  of  devotedness  and  generosity. 
Hold  my  horse,  ray  friend,  if  you  please." 
And,  throwing-  the  bridle  to  Grimaud,  the 
!:ing  entered  the  abode  of  Athos,  quite 

lone,  as  one  equal  enters  the  dw^elling-  of 
another.  Charles  had  been  informed  by 
the  concise  explanation  of  Grimaud — ''  At 
'he  back,  under  the  chestnut-trees ;  "  he 

ft,  therefore,  the  house  on  the  left,  and 
went  straig-ht  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  lozeng-es,  by  turns 
luminous  and  dark,  which  checkered  the 
g-rouiid  of  this  path  according-  as  the  trees 
were  more  or  less  in  leaf,  the  young-  prince 
perceived  a  g-entleman  walking-  with  his 
arms  behind  him,  apparently  plung-ed  in 
a  profound  reverie.  Without  doubt  he 
had  often  had  this  g-entleman  described 
to  him,  for,  without  hesitating-,  Charles 
II.  walked  straight  up  to  him.  At  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps,  the  Comte  de  la 
Fere  raised  his  head,  and  seeing-  an  un- 
known of  a  noble  and  eleg-ant  carriag-e 
coming-  toward  him,  he  raised  his  hat 
and  waited.  At  some  paces  from  him, 
Charles  II.  likewise  took  off  his  hat. 
Then,  as  if  in  repl^^  to  the  comte 's  mute 
interrogation — 

''Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said  he,  '•'  I  come 
to  discharg-e  a  duty  toward  you.  I  have, 
for  a  long  time,  had  the  expression  of  a 
profound  g-ratitude  to  bring-  you.  I  am 
Charles  II.,  son  of  Charles  Stuart,  who 
reigned  in  Eng-land,  and  died  on  the 
scaffold." 

On  hearing  this  illustrious  name,  Athos 
felt  a  kind  of  shudder  creep  throug-h  his 
veins,  but  at  the  sight  of  the  young  prince 
standing  uncovered  before  him  and  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  tow^ard  him,  two  tears, 
for  an  instant,  dimmed  his  brilliant  ej^es. 
He  bent  respectfully^,  but  the  prince  took 
him  by  the  hand. 

"  See  how  unfortunate  I  am.  Monsieur 
DuiiAS— ;■. 


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 
honor,  Avhereas  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,  reply- 
ing 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  w^orst,  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  Chris- 
tian, I  swear." 

Athos  looked  at  the  king  as  if  to  inter- 
rogate him. 

"Oh,  the  history  is  soon  related,"  said 
Charles.  "  Proscribed,  despoiled,  dis- 
dained, I  resolved,  in  spite  of  all  my 
repugnance,  to  tempt  fortune  one  last 
time.  Is  it  not  written  above,  that,  for 
our  familj^,  all  good  fortune  and  all  bad 
fortune  shall  eternallj^  come  from  France  ? 
You  know  something  of  that,  monsieur— 
you,  who  are  one  of  the  Frenchmen  whom 
my  unfortunate  father  found  at  the  foot 
of  his  scaffold,  on  the  day  of  his  death, 
after  having  found  them  at  his  right  hand 
on  the  day  of  battle." 

"Sire,"  said  Athos,  modestlj^,  "I  was 
not  alone.  I  and  my  companions  did, 
under  the  circumstances,  our  duty  as 
gentlemen,  and  that  was  all.  Your  maj- 
esty was  about  to  do  me  the  honor  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  protec- 
tion of  my  cousin  the  stadtholder  of 
Holland ;  but  without  the  intervention, 
or  at  least  without  the  authorization  of 
France,  the  stadtholder  w^ould  not  take 
the  initiative.     I  came,  then,  te  ask  this 


C6 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


authorization  of  the  king  of  France,  who 
has  refused  me." 

*'  The  king-  has  refused  you,  sire  !  " 

"  Oh,  not  he ;  all  justice  must  be  ren- 
dered 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  xny 
destin3\  I  told  m^^  brother  Louis,  that, 
not  to  compromise  either  France  or  Hol- 
land, I  would  tempt  fortune  myself  in 
person,  as  I  had  alread^^  done,  with  two 
hundred  gentlemen,  if  he  would  giv' e  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  jnine  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  en- 
deavor 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  m3'-  brother  Louis  has 
refused  me.  You  see,  then,  plainly,  that 
all  is  lost." 

''  Will  your  majest.y  permit  me  to  ex- 
press a  contrary  opinion  ?  " 

"  How  is  that,  comte  ?  Do  you  take 
me  for  a  mind  vulgar  to  such  a  degi'ee 
as  not  to  know  how  to  confront  my  posi- 
tion ?  " 

"  Sire,  I  have  always  seen  that  it  was 
in  desperate  i^ositions  that  suddenlj^  the 
great  turns  of  fortune  have  taken  place." 

"  Thank  you,  comte  ;  it  is  some  com- 
fort to  meet  with  a  heart  like  yours  ;  that 
is  to  say,  sufficiently  trustful  in  God  and 


in  monarch^',  never  to  despair  of  a  royal 
fortune,  however  low  it  may  be  fallen. 
Unfortunately,  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  perseverance  in  consoling  me, 
comte,  thanks  for  your  devoted  remem- 
brance, but  I  know  what  I  have  to  trust 
to — nothing  will  saA-e  me  now.  And  see, 
my  friend,  1  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  quickl}'-;  it  is  called  for 
so  often  b^^  this  body,  which  the  sou] 
gnaws,  and  \)y  this  soul,  which  aspires 
to  heaven." 

"  Your  majesty  has  a  mother,  a  sister, 
and  brothers  ;  your  majesty  is  the  head 
of  the  family;  3'ou  ought,  therefore,  to 
ask  a  long  life  of  God,  instead  of  implor- 
ing him  for  a  prompt  death.  Your  maj- 
esty is  proscribed,  a  fugitive,  but  you 
have  right  on  j^our  side  ;  you  ought  to 
aspire  to  combats,  dangers,  busmess,  and 
not  to  the  repose  of  the  heav^ens." 

"Comte,"  said  Charles  11. ,  with  a  smile 
of  indescribable  sadness,  "  have  you  ever 
heard  of  a  king  Avho  re-conquered  his 
kingdom  with  one  servant  of  the  age  of 
Parry,  and  with  three  hundred  crowns 
which  that  sei-vant  carries  in  his  purse  ?" 

"  JSTo,  sire ;  but  I  have  heard — and  that 
more  than  once — that  a  dethroned  king- 
has  recovered  his  kingdom  with  a  firm 
will,  perseverance,  some  friends,  and  a 
million  skillfully  emploj'^ed," 

"But  you  cannot  have  understood  me. 
The  million  I  asked  of  m:y  brother  Louis 
he  has  refused   me." 

"Sire,"  said  Athos,  "will  your  majesty 
grant  me  a  few  minutes,  and  listen  atten- 
tively to  what  remains  for  me  to  say  to 
you  ?  " 

Charles  II.  looked  carnestly'at  Athos. 
"  Willingly,  monsieur,"  said  he. 

"Then  I  will  show  joxxv  majesty  the 
way,"  resumed  the  comte,  directing  his 
steps  toward   the  house.     He  then  con- 


THE     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


6: 


ducted  the  king-  to  his  closet,  and  beg-ged 
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  recover^^  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  j-ou  have  made 
me,  have  the  goodness  to  listen  to  what 
I  have  to  saj'."  Charles  made  an  affir- 
mative sign  with  his  head.  Athos  walked 
straight  up  to  the  door,  the  bolts  of  which 
he  drew,  after  having'  looked  if  anj^bodj^ 
was  near,  and  then  returned.  ''Sire," 
said  he,  '*your  majesty  has  kindly  re- 
membered 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  historj^  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  with- 
out omitting  one  detail." 

''Speak  on,  monsieur." 

"  When  the  king  ^''our  father  ascended 
the  scaffold,  or  rather  when  he  passed 
from  his  chamber  to  the  scaffold,  even 
with  his  window,  everything  was  pre- 
pared 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  ter- 
rible details,  monsieur." 

Athos  bowed,  and  resumed.  "  But  here 
is  something  he  has  not  related  to  ^'ou, 
sire,  for  what  follows  passed  between  God, 
your  father,  and  m3'self ;  and  never  has 
the  revelation  of  it  been  made  even  to  my 
dearest  friends.  'Go  a  little  further  ofi,' 
said  the  august  patient  to  the  executioner ; 
'  it  is  but  for  an  instant,  and  I  know  that 
I  belong  to  xoxx ;  but  remember  not  to 
strike  till  I  give,  the  signal.  I  wish  to 
offer  up  m}'-  prayers  in  freedom.'  " 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Charles II., turning- 


very  pale,  "but  you,  comte,  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  execu- 
tioner, 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,  but 
canpot  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  g-ood  ?  " 

"  He  died  a  violent  death,  in  a  terrible 
night,  rendered  so  b}''  the  passions  of  man 
and  a  tempest  from  God.  His  body, 
pierced  b3'^  a  poniard,  sank  to  the  depths 
of  the  ocean.    God  pardon  his  murderer  ! ' ' 

"Proceed,  then,"  said  Charles  II.,  see- 
ing that  the  comte  was  unwilling-  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 — Remember  ! '  " 

"I  w^as  aware,"  said  Charles,  in  an  agi- 
tated voice,  "  that  that  was  the  last  word 
pronounced  by  my  unfortunate  father.  But 
with  what  aim  ?  for  whom  ?  " 

"  For  the  French  gentleman  placed  be- 
neath 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  Avith  a  black  cloth, 
still  sounds  in  m}^  ears.  The  king  knelt 
down  on  one  knee:  'Comte  de  la  Fere,' 
said  he,  '  are  you  there  ?  '  '  Yes,  sire, '  re- 
plied I.  Then  the  king  stooped  toward 
the  boards." 

Charles  II.,  also,  palpitating-  with  in- 
terest, burning-  with  g-rief ,  stooped  toward 
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 


68 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDIiU    DUMAS. 


3-0U  :  it  was  not  to  be.  Now,  even  thoug-h 
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  whicli  I 
thought  sacred,  I  have  lost  the  throne  of 
mj'  fathers,  and  diverted  the  heritage  of 
my  children.'  " 

Charles  II.  concealed  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  a  hitter  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  expres- 
sion of  such  painful  joy  as  would  have 
drawn  tears  from  any  one  acquainted 
with  his  misfortunes. 

'*'A  million!"  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." 

Charles  arose,  and  went  and  leaned  his 
burning  brow  against  the  window. 

*'  It  was  then,"  continued  Atlios,  ''the 
king-  pronounced  the  word  '  Remember  ! ' 
addressed  to  me.  You  see,  sire,  that  I 
have  remembered." 

The  king  could  not  resist  or  conceal  his 
emotion.  Athos  beheld  the  movement  of 
his  shoulders,  which  undulated  convul- 
sively ;  he  heard  the  sobs  which  burst 
from  his  overcharged  breast.  He  was 
silent  himself,  suffocated  by  the  flood  of 
bitter  remembrances  he  had  just  poured 
upon  that  royal  head.  Charles  II.,  with 
a  violent  effort,  left  the  windo\v,  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  approach- 
ing. To-morrow  I  meant  to  go  and  in- 
quire in  what  part  of  the  world  your 
majesty  was,  and  then  I  purposed  going 
to  j'^ou.  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  mj^  father  by  himself ;  but, 
believe  me,  since  ten  years  of  civil  war 
have  passed  over  ni}''  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  New- 
castle quite  destroyed  ?  Have  they  de- 
molished 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  succor,  where  I 
possess  a  single  resource,  you  see,  is  in- 
vaded by  my  enemies." 

"  General  Monk,  sire,  cannot  have  dis- 
covered the  treasure  I  speak  of." 

"Yes,  taut  can  I  go  and  deliver  myself 
up  to  Monk  in  order  to  recover  this  treas- 
ure ?  Ah  !  comte,  you  see  plainly  I  must 
3neld  to  destin}',  since  it  strikes  me  to  the 
earth  every  time  I  rise.  What  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  blow." 

"But  what  3"our  majesty  cannot  do, 
and  what  Parry  can  no  more  attempt,  do 
you  not  believe  that  I  could  succeed  in  ?  " 

"You — you,  comte — 3'^ou  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  jowr  maj- 
esty honors  me  with  a  sign,  I  will  g-o  with 
you." 

"Ah,  monsieur!"  said  the  king,  for- 
getting all  royal  etiquette,  and  throwing 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


69 


his  arms  round  the  neck  of  Athos,  "  you 
prove  to  me  that  there  is  a  God  in  heav- 
en, 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  3'oung  man,  thanked  him 
with  profound  respect,  and  approached 
tho  window.  "■  Grimaud  !  "  cried  he, 
''bring  out  my  horses." 

"What,  now — immediately  !  "  said  the 
king,  '•'  Ah,  monsieur,  you  are  indeed  a 
wonderful  man  ! " 

"  Sire,"  said  Athos,  "I  know  of  noth- 
ing more  pressing  than  your  majesty's 
service.  Besides,"  added  he,  smiling,  "it 
is  a  habit  contracted  long  since,  in  the 
service  of  the  queen  j'our  aunt,  and  of  the 
king  your  father.  How  is  it  possible  for 
me  to  lose  it  at  the  moment  your  maj- 
esty'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  re- 
warding such  services." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Athos,  laughing.  "Your 
majesty  is  joking ;  have  you  not  a  mil- 
lion ?  Ah  !  why  am  I  not  possessed  of 
the  half  of  such  a  sum  !  I  would  have 
alread}^  raised  a  regiment.  But,  thank 
God  !  I  have  still  a  few  rouleaux  of  gold 
and  some  faniil}^  diamonds  left.  Your 
majesty  v\dll,  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.  Fortu- 
nately, 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' 
two  hors3s,  led  b^'  Grimaud,  already  boot- 
ed for  the  journey',  advance  toward  the 
peristj'le. 

"  Blaisois,  this  letter  for  the  Vicointe 
dc  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  BAZIN   FOUND. 

Two  hours  had  scarcely  passed  away 
after  the  departure  of  the  master  of  the 
house,  who,  in  Blaisois'  sight,  had  taken 
tho  road  to  Paris,  when  a  cavalier,  mount- 
ed on  a  good  i^ied-horse,  stopped  before 
the  gate,  and  with  a  sonorous  "-hola!  " 
called  the  horse-boys,  who,  with  the  gar- 
deners, 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  attentions,  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  jom  are,  mon- 
sieur !  "  said  Blaisois ;  ''and  how  unfortu- 
nate will  Monsieur  le  Comte,  our  master, 
think  himself  when  he  hears  of  jour  com- 
ing !  B\'-  bad  luck,  Monsieur  le  Comte 
left  home  two  hours  ago." 

D'Artagnan  did  not  trouble  himself 
about  such  trifles.  "  Yery  good!  "  said 
he.  "You  alwa3^s  speak  the  best  French 
in  the  world ;  you  shall  give  me  a  lesson 
in  grammar  and  correct  language,  while 
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-daj^,  then?" 

"  JSTo,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  the  day  after 
to-morrow.  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  gone  a 
journey." 

"A  journey!"  said  D'Artagnan,  sur- 
prised-; "that's  a  fable.  Master  Blaisois." 

"  Monsieur,   it    is    no    more   than   the 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANIfRE    DUMAS. 


truth.  Monsieur  has  clone  me  the  honor 
to  commit  the  house  to  my  charge  ;  and 
he  added,  with  his  voice  so  full  of  author- 
ity and  kindness — that  is  all  one  to  me  : 
'  You  will  sa^'  I  am  g-one  to  Paris.'  " 

"  Well !  "  cried  D'Artag-nan,  ''since  he 
is  g-one  toward  Paris,  that  is  all  I  wanted 
to  know  !  3^ou  should  have  told  me  so  at 
first,  booby !  He  is  then  tw^o  hours  in 
advance? " 

"Yes,  monsieur.'' 

"I  shall  soon  overtake  him.  Is  he  alone?" 

"No,  monsieur." 

"  Who  is  with  him,  then  ?  " 

"A  g"entleman  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  me  an  in- 
stant ?  "  said  Blaisois,  laying-  his  hand 
g-ently  on  the  reins  of  the  horse. 

"Yes,  if  you  don't  favor  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'Artag-nan,  seriousl}^ 
"a  lure,  eh?" 

"Yes,  monsieur  :  and  Monsieur  le 
Comte  is  not  g-oing  to  Paris,  I  will 
swear." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  This  : — M.  Grimaud  alwaj^s  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  thoug-ht  her  a  noisy  scold, 
and  I  sent  her  to  Paris  :  it  is  sometimes 
inconvenient,  but  very  ag-reeablc  at 
others." 

"  I  understand  ;  but  g-o  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  impos- 
sible." 

"That  is  impossible,"  repeated  D'Ar- 
tagnan,  quite  in  a  study,  because  he 
was  quite  convinced.  "Well,  vay  brave 
Blaisois,  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  m^"  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." 

"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  honor  to  present 
you  1113'  respects." 

"  Cuistre  !  "  said  D'Artagnan  to  him- 
self, "the  fellow  is  insupportable."  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  em- 
barrassing in  his  mind.  When  he  was  at 
the  end  of  the  wall,  and  out  of  sight — 
"  Well  now,  I  wonder,"  said  he,  breathing 
quicldy,  "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  incomprehensi- 
ble. 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  pres- 
bj^tery  I  am  acquainted  with.  Fort3-fivc 
leagues — four  daj^s  and  a  half  !  Well,  it 
is  fine  weather,  and  I  am  free.  Never 
mind  distance !  " 

And  he  put  his  horse  into  a  trot,  direct- 
ing his  course  toward  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 


THE     V 2  CO  MTU    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


information.  For  these  sorts  of  details, 
unless  in  ver^'  serious  circumstances,  lie 
confided  in  his  perspicacity,  which  was  so 
seldom  at  fault,  in  his  experience  of  thirty 
3^ears,  and  in  a  g-reat  habit  of  reading-  the 
phj'siog'nomies  of  houses,  as  well  as  those 
of  men.  At  Melun,  D'Artag-nan  directly 
found  the  presbytery- — a  charming-  house, 
plastered  over  red  brick,  with  vines  climb- 
ing 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 
3'oung  birds  when  the  brood  is  just 
hatched  under  the  down.  One  of  these 
voices  was  spelling  the  alphabet  distinct- 
l^^  A  voice,  thick,  but  yet  pleasant,  at 
the  same  time  scolded  the  talkers  and 
corrected  the  faults  of  the  reader.  D'Ar- 
tag-nan  recognized  that  voice,  and,  as  the 
window  of  the  ground-floor  was  open,  he 
leaned  down  from  his  horse  under  the 
branches  and  red  fibers  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  gray 
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  hounded 
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  en- 
deavoring to  recover  the  body  of  Patro- 
clus  from  the  hands  of  the  Trojans.  Ba- 
zin did  more  than  bound  :  he  let  fall  both 
his  alphabet  and  his  ferule.  "  You  !"  said 
he  ;  "  you,  Monsieur  d'Artagnan  ?  " 

''Yes,  m^^self  !  Where  is  Aramis — no, 
M.  le  Chevalier  d'Herblay — no,  I  am  still 
mistaken — Monsieur  le  Vicaire-General?" 

"  Ah  !  monsieur,"  said  Bazin,  with  dig- 
nit^^,  "  monsieur  is  at  his  diocese." 

'•What  did  you  say?"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

Bazin  repeated  the  sentence. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  but  has  Aramis  a  diocese  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Is  he  a  bishop,  then  ?  " 

"  Wh}'-,  where  can  3'ou  come  from,"  said 


Bazin,  rather  irreverently,  "  that  you 
don't  know  that?" 

"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  Bazin,  opening 
his  eyes;  "do  not  spoil  these  poor  chil- 
dren, in  whom  I  am  endeavoring  to  incul- 
cate such  g-ood  principles."  In  fact,  the 
children  had  surrounded  D'Artag-nan, 
whose  horse,  long-  sword,  spurs,  and  mar- 
tial 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  such  fearful  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter, shouts,  and  stamping,  as  delighted 
the  musketeer,  and  bewildered  the  old 
pedagogue. 

"  There  !  "  said  he,  "  hold  your  tongues, 
you  brats  !  You  are  come,  M.  d'Artag- 
nan, and  all  my  g-ood  j)rinciples  ^y  away. 
With  you,  as  usual,  comes  disorder.  Babel 
is  revived.  Ah  !  g-ood  Lord  !  Ah  !  the 
wild  little  wretches  !  "  And  the  worthy 
Bazin  distributed  rig-ht  and  left  blows 
which  redoubled  the  cries  of  his  scholars 
by  making  them  chang-e  the  nature  of 
them . 

"  At  least,"  said  he,  "3^ou  can  no  more 
debauch  anj-  one  here." 

"Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  D'Artagnan, 
with  a  smile  which  made  a  shudder  creep 
ovor  the  shoulders  of  Bazin. 

"  He  is  capable  of  it,"  murmured  he. 

"  Where  is  3'^our  master's  diocese?  " 

"  Monseigneur  Rene  is  bishop  of  Van- 
nes." 

"Who  caused  him  to  be  nominated  ?  " 

"Why,  Monsieur  le  Surintendant,  our 
neighbor." 

"  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  Vaux ;  then  they  hunted  tog-ether." 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


''Ah!" 

"And  monseigneur  composed  his  homi- 
lies— no,  I  mean  his  sermons — with  Mon- 
sieur le  Smnntendant." 

''  Bah  !  he  preached  in  verse,  then,  this 
worthy  hishop?" 

''Monsieur,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  do 
not  jest  with  sacred  things." 

"  There,  Bazin,  there  !  So  then  Aramis 
is  at  Vannes?  " 

"  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  as- 
pect of  which  announced  solitude. 

"But  monseigneur  must  have  written 
.\-ou  an  account  of  his  promotion." 

"  From  when  does  it  date  ?  " 

"  A  month  hack." 

"  Oh  !  then  there  is  no  time  lost.  Ara- 
m's cannot  yet  have  wanted  me.  But 
how  is  it,  Bazin,  you  do  not  follow  your 
master  ?  " 

"  Monsieur,  I  cannot ;  I  have  occupa- 
tions." 

"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?" 

"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  him- 
self, "  there  will  be  no  means  of  uproot- 
ing these  people.  Get  me  some  supper, 
Bazin." 

"With  pleasure,  monsieur." 
"A  fowl,  a  bouillon,  and  a  bottle  of 
wine." 

"  This  is  Saturdaj^,  monsieur — it  is  a 
jour  maigre." 

"I  have  a  dispensation,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

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  dis- 
pensation for  committing  a  crime,  shall 
not  I,  the  friend  of  your  bishop,  have 
dispensation  for  eating  meat  at  the  call 
of  my  stomach  ?  Make  3'ourself  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 
sufRciently  eloquent. 

"My  supper,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "it  is 
getting  toward  seven  o'clock." 

Bazin  turned  round  and  ordered  the 
eldest  of  the  pupils  to  inform  the  cook. 
In  the  meantime,  D'Artagnan  surve3'ed 
the  presbytery. 

"  Pugh  ! ''  said  he,  disdainfully,  "  mon- 
seigneur 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,    jeeringly. 

"  Which  is  better,"  replied  Bazin,  with 
the  greatest  coolness  imaginable. 

"Ah,  ah!"  said  D'Artagnan. 

He  would  perhaps  have  prolonged  the 
discussion,  and  maintained  the  superioritj'' 
of  the  Louvre,  but  the  lieutenant  per- 
ceived that  his  horse  remained  fastened 
to  the  bars  of  a  gate. 

"  The  devil  !  "  said  he.  "  Get  mj^  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  Surin- 
tendant 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'Ar- 
tagnan. 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 ;  reflec- 
tion came,  and  D'Artagnan  contented 
himself  with  saying  : 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BllAGELONNE. 


73 


"The  devil  1  the  devil!  I  have  done 
well  to  quit  the  service  of  the  king-.  Tell 
me,  worthy  Master  Bazin,"  added  he, 
'•'  how  many  musketeers  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  ho3^s 
with  some  kindly  stripes  of  his  cane. 

"The  devil !  the  devil  !  "  repeated D'Ar- 
tagnan,  once  more,  as  if  to  annoy  the  peda- 
gogue. But  as  supper  was  now  announced, 
he  followed  the  cook,  who  introduced  him 
into  the  refectory',  wliere  it  awaited  him. 
D'Artag-nan  placed  himself  at  table,  and 
commenced  a  hearty  attack  upon  his 
fowl. 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  said  D'Artagnan, 
biting  with  all  his  might  at  the  tough 
fowl  they  had  served  up  to  him,  and 
which  they  had  evidently  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 
powerful  noble  this  intendant,  seeming-lj^ ! 
In  good  truth,  we  poor  fellows  know  noth- 
ing 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." 

Ac  D'Artag-nan  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 ;  be- 
yond the  fatig-uing-  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 
humor,  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'Art  agnan 
was  not  fastidious  in  that  respect.  He 
had  been  told  that  Aramis  had  taken 
away  the  key  of  his  own  private  apart- 
ment, and  as  he  knew  Aramis  was  a  very 
particular  man,  and  had  generally  manj'^ 
things  to  conceal  in  his  apartment,  that 
had  not  at  all  astonished  him.  He  had, 
therefore,  although  it  appeared  compara- 


tively even  harder,  attacked  the  bed  as 
bravely  as  ho  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  lie  was  no  longer  in  the  service  of 
any  one,  D'Artag-nan  had  i^romised  him- 
self to  indulge  in  sleeping  as  soundly'  as 
he  had  formerl^^  slept  lig-htlj^ ;  but  with 
whatever  good  faith  D'Artagnan  had 
made  himself  this  promise,  and  whatever 
desire  he  mig-ht  have  to  keep  it  religiously, 
he  was  awakened  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  b}'  a  loud  noise  of  carriages,  and 
servants  on  horseback.  A  sudden  illumi- 
nation flashed  over  the  walls  of  his  cham- 
ber ;  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  the 
window  in  his  shirt. 

"Can  the  king  becoming-  this  wa3' ?  " 
thoug-ht  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  win- 
dow on  the  ground-floor,  a  voice  which  he 
recognized  as  Bazin's,  who,  while  so  cry- 
ing-, waved  a  handkerchief  with  one  hand, 
and  held  a  large  candle  in  the  other.  D'Ar- 
tagnan then  saw  something-  like  a  brilliant 
human  form  leaning  out  at  the  window  ol 
the  principal  carriage ;  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 
passag-e  of  the  rapid  cortege. 

"  I  mig-ht  easily  see  it  was  not  the 
king,"  said  D'Artag-nan;  "people  don't 
laug-h  so  heartil}^  when  the  king  passes. 
Hola,  Bazin  !  "  cried  he  to  his  neighbor 
who  was  still  leaning  three  parts  out  ol 
the  window,  to  follow  the  carriag-e  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!"  said  D'Artag-nan;  "what 
would  'M.  de  Mazarin  say  to  that  if  he 
heard   it?"       And    he    returned    to    his 


74 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAtS. 


truckle-bed,  asking-  himself  how  Aramis 
always  contfived  to  be  protected  by  the 
most  powerful  persons  in  the  king-dom. 
*•'  Is  it  that  he  has  more  luck  than  I,  or 
that  I  am  a  g-reater  fool  than  he  ?  Bah  !  " 
That  was  the  concluding-  word  by  the  aid 
of  which  D'Artag-nan,  become  wise,  now 
terminated  every  thought  and  every 
period  of  his  style.  Formerl}'  he  said, 
"  Mordioux  !  "  which  was  a  prick  of  the 
spur,  but  now  he  had  become  older,  he 
murmured  that  philosophical  "  Bah  !  " 
which  served  as  a  bridle  to  all  the  pas- 
sions. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

IN    WHICH    d'ARTAGNAN    SEEKS    FOR  POR- 

THOS,    AND  ONLY  FINDS 

MOUSQUETON. 

When  D'Artagnan  had  iDerfectly  con- 
vinced himself  that  the  absence  of  the 
Vicaire-General  d'Herblay  was  real,  and 
tl^at  his  friend  was  not  to  be  found  at 
Melun  or  in  its  environs,  he  left  Bazin 
without  regret,  g-ave  an  ill-natured  glance 
at  the  mag-nificent  Chateau  de  Vaux, 
which  was  beginning  to  shine  with  .that 
splendor  which  broug-ht  on  its  ruin,  and, 
compressing-  his  lips  like  a  man  full  of  mis- 
trust 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." 

Vv^e  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'Ar- 
tagnan came  by  the  way  of  Nanteuil-le- 
Hardouin  and  Crepy.  At  a  distance  he 
perceived  the  Castle  d'Orleans,  which, 
having-  become  part  of  tlie  crown  do- 
main, was  kept  by  an  old  concierge.  This 
was  one  of  those  marvelous  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  v.ith  his  eyes,  and 
descended  into  the  valley.     From  a  dis- 


tance he  looked  down  upon  the  chateau  of 
Porthos,  situatt'd  on  the  shores  of  a  small 
lake,  and  contiguous  to  a  magnificent 
forest.  It  was  the  same  place  we  have 
already  had  the  honor  of  describing  to  our 
readers;  we  shall  therefore  satisfy  our- 
selves with  naming^  it.  The  first  thing 
D'Artagnan  perceived  after  the  fine  trees, 
the  sun  of  May  g-ilding-  the  sides  of  the 
green  hills,  long-  rows  of  feather-topped 
wood  Avhich  stretched  out  toward  Com- 
pieg-ne,  was  a  larg-e  rolling'  box,  pushed 
forward  by  two  servants  and  di-ag-g-ed  by 
two  others.  In  this  box  there  was  an  enor- 
mous g-reen-and-gold  thing-,  which  stoh' 
along-  the  smiling-  g-lades  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  ■ 
wiien  close,  it  was  a  man,  or  rather  a 
poussa,  the  inferior  extremity  of  which, 
spreading  over  the  interior  of  the  box,  en- 
tirely filled  it ;  when  still  closer,  the  man 
was  Mousqueton — Mousqueton,  with  gray 
hair  and  a  face  as  red  as  Punchinello's. 

"Pardieu!  "  cried  D'Artagnan  ;  '"  why, 
that's  my  dear  Monsieur  Mousqueton  !  " 

"Ah  !  "  cried  the  fat  man — " ah  !  what 
happiness  !  what  joy  !  There's  M.  d'Ar- 
tag-nan.  Stop,  you  rascals  !  "  These 
last  w^ords  were  addressed  to  the  lackeys 
who  pushed  and  drag-ged  him.  The  box 
stopped,  and  the  four  lackeys,  Avith  a  pre- 
cision quite  military,  took  off  their  laced 
hats  and  rang-ed  tliemselves  behind  it. 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  d'Artag-nah  !  "  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  in- 
firmities— troubles." 

"Troubles!  3^ou,  Mousqueton?"  said 
D'Artagnan,  making  the  tour  of  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 
leg-s  I  "  groaned  the  faithful  servant. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  leg-s?  " 

"  Oh,  they  will  no  longer  bear  me  !  " 


THE     VI  CO  31  T£    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


75 


I 


"Ah,  the  ingrates !  And  yet  you  feed 
them  well,  Mousqueton,  apparently." 

"  Alas,  yes  !  They  have  nothing-  to  re- 
proach 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  he  a  baron  too,  as  he  sighs  after  that 
fashion  ?  "  thought  D'Artagnan. 

"  3Ion  Dieu,  monsieur  !  "  said  Mousque- 
ton, as  if  rousing"  himself  from  a  painful 
reverie;  ''how*  happy  monseig"neur  will 
be  that  you  have  thought  of  him  !  " 

"Kind  Porthos  !  "  cried  D'Artagnan, 
**  I  am  anxious  to  embrace  him." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mousqueton,  much  affect- 
ed, "1  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  unfortu- 
nate.    Porthos  such  a  stay-at-home  !  " 

"Monsieur,  there  is  not  a  more  seden- 
tary man  than  monseigneur  ;  but — " 

"But  what?" 

"  When  a  friend  presses  you — " 

"A  friend?" 

"  Doubtle^  —  the  worthy  M.  d'Her- 
blay." 

"What,  has  Aramis  pressed  Porthos?" 

"  This  is  how  the  thing  happened.  Mon- 
sieur d'Artagnan.  M.  d'Herblaj^  wrote 
to  raonseig'neur — " 

"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  remove  these 
people  a  little  further  off  first." 

Mousqueton  shouted,  "  Fall  back,  you, 
sirs  T"  with  such  powerful  lungs  that  the 
breath,  without  the  words,  would  have 
been-  sufficient  to  disperse  the  four  lack- 
eys.    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  cham- 
pHre  pleasures — yes,  it  must  have  been 
Wednesday." 

"What  means  that?"  said  D'Artag- 
nan. "  The  day  of  champetre  pleasures  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur ;  we  have  so  many 
pleasures  to  take  in  this  delig-htful  coun- 
try, that  we  were  encumbered  b^'  them  ; 
so  much  so,  that  we  have  been  forced  to 
reg-ulate  the  distribution  of  them." 

"'  How  easilj^  do  I  recognize  Porthos' 
love  of  order  in  that  !  Now,  that  idea 
would  never  have  occurred  to  me ;  but 
then  I  am  not  encumbered  with  pleas- 
ures." 

"We  were,  though,"  said  Mousqueton. 

"And  how  did  you  reg-ulate  the  matter, 
let  ms  know  ?  "  said  D'Artagnan. 

"It  is  rather  long-,  monsieur." 

"  Never  mind,  we  have  plentj^  of  time  ; 
and  you  speak  so  well,  mj^  dear  Mousque- 
ton, that  it  is  really  a  pleasure  to  hear 
you." 

"' It  is  true,"  said  Mousqueton,  with  a 
sig-h  of  satisfaction,  which  emanated  evi- 
dently from  the  justice  which  had  been 
rendered  him,  "it  is  true  I  have  made 
g-reat  progress  in  the  company  of  mon- 
seigneur.*' 

^'  I  am  waiting-  for  the  distribution  of 
the  pleasures,  Mousqueton,  and  with  im- 
patience. 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 ?  " 

" 'Eih,  pardieu  !  begin  with  Sunday,  that 
is  the  Lord's  day." 

"  Sunday,  monsieur?  " 

"Yes."' 

"  Sunday  pleasures  are  religious :  mon- 
seigneur g-oes  to  mass,  makes  the  bread- 
offering,  and  has  discourses  and  instruc- 
tions, made  to  him  by  his  almoner-in- 
ordinary.     That  is  not  very  amusing-,  but 


26 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


we  expect  a  Carmelite  from  Paris  who 
will  do  the  clut^*  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  jjleasures.  On  Mon- 
day, 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  paj^  and  receive  visits,  we  plaj^ 
on  the  lute,  we  dance,  we  make  verses, 
and  burn  a  little  incense  in  honor  of  the 
ladies." 

*'  Feste !  that  is  the  height  of  gal- 
lantr3%"  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  Mous- 
queton." 

''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  he  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  inter- 
esting." 

''Interesting!  yes,  thafs  the  word," 
repeated  D'Artagnan.  "  And  Wednes- 
day ?  " 

"  Champetre  pleasures,  as  I  have  had 
the  honor  to  tell  you,  Monsieur  le  Cheva- 
lier. We  look  over  monseigneur's  sheep 
and  goats  ;  we  make  the  shepherds  dance 
to  pipes  and  reeds,  as  is  written  in  a  book 
monseigneur  has  in  his  library,  which  is 
called  'Bergeries.'  The  author  died  about 
a  month  ago." 

"Monsieur  Racan, perhaps," said  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

"Yes,  that  was  his  name — M.  Racan. 
But  that  is  not  all :  we  angle  in  tlie  little 
canal,  after  which  we  dine,  crowned  with 
flowers.     That  is  Wednesday." 

"  Peste  !  "    said     D'Artagnan;    "you 


don't  divide  your  pleasures  bad]}'.  And 
Thursday  ? — what  can  bo  left  for  poor 
Thursday  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  very  unfortunate,  monsieur," 
said  Mousqueton,  smiling.  "  Thursday, 
Olympic  pleasures.  Ah,  monsieur,  that 
is  superb  !  We  get  together  all  monseig- 
neur'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  tbrows  the  disc  as 
nobody  else  can  throw  it.  And  when  he 
does  deal  a  blow,  oh,  that  proves  a  mis- 
fortune !  " 

"How  so?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  we  were  obliged  to  I'c- 
nounce  the  cestus.  He  craclced  heads ;  he 
broke  jaws — beat  in  ribs.  It  was  charm- 
ing sport ;  but  nobod^^  was  willing  to  play 
with  him." 

"  Then  his  wrist — " 

"Oh,  monsieur,  more  firm  than  ever. 
Monseig'neur  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  knoAV  how 
popular  and  kind  monseigneur  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,  inonseigneur,  his  head  had  a  little 
skin  rubbed  off.  We  bathed  the  wounds 
with  the  water  which  the  monks  give  r,s. 
But  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with 
his  hand." 

"Nothing?" 

"No,  nothing,  monsieur.' 

' '  Deuce  take  the  Olympic  pleasures  I 
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  Frida}-,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


"  Friday'-,  noble  and  warlike  pleasures. 
We  hunt,  we  fence,  Ave  dress  falcons  and 
break  horses.  Then,  Saturday  is  the  day 
for  intellectual  pleasures  :  we  furnish  our 
minds ;  we  look  at  monseig-neur's  pictures 
and  statues;  we  write,  even,  and  trace 
plans ;  nnd  then  we  fire  monseigneur's 
cannon." 

''You  draw  plans  and  fire  cannon?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Why,  my  friend,"  said  D'Artagnan, 
"M.  de  Valon,  in  truth,  possesses  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  colored.  "What  do  you 
mean  b}^  that,  monsieur?  "  said  he,  cast- 
ing- down  his  eyes. 

"  I  mean  the  table — good  wine — even- 
ings occupied  in  the  circulation  of  the 
bottle." 

"Ah,  monsieur,  we  don't  reckon  those 
pleasures — we  practice  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  Mous- 
queton ;  "'  the  pleasures  have  misled  us. 
Well,  monsieur,  this  is  the  whole  afi'air." 

"  I  am  all  attention,  Mousqueton." 

"On  Wednesday — " 

"The  dsiy  of  the  chainpetre  pleasures?" 

"  Yes — a  letter  arrived  ;  he  received  it 
from  my  hands.  I  had  recognized  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:  'Dear  Porthos,  set  out,  if  you 
would  wish  to  arrive  before  the  Equinox. 
I  expect  you.'  " 

"  Mordioux!"  said  D'Artagnan,  thought- 
fully, "that  is  pressing,  apparently." 


"I  think  so;  therefore,"  continued 
Mousqueton,  "monseigneur  set  out  the 
very  same  daj'  with  his  secretary,  in  order 
to  endeavor  to  arrive  in  time." 

"And  did  he  arrive  in  time?  " 

"  I  hope  so.  Monseigneur,  who  is  hastj^, 
as  you  know,  monsieur,  repeated  unceas- 
ing-l3^,  '  Tonne  Dieu !  What  can  this 
mean  ?  The  Equinox  ?  Never  mind,  the 
fellow  must  be  well  mounted  if  he  arrives 
before  I  do.'  " 

"And  you  think  Porthos  will  have  ar- 
rived first,  do  3'ou  ?  "  asked  D'Artagnan. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  This  Equinox,  how- 
ever rich  he  ma}'^  be,  has  certainly  no 
horses  so  good  as  monseigneur's." 

D'Artagnan  repressad  his  inclination  to 
laug"h,  because  the  brevity  of  Aramis'  let- 
ter gave  rise  to  reflection.  He  folloAved 
Mousqueton,  or  rather  Mousqueton's 
chariot,  to  the  castle.  He  sat  down  to 
a  sumptuous  table,  of  which  they  did  him 
the  honors  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'  letter  ;  puzzled  him- 
self 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  ho  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'Artag- 
nan's  humors.  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  Avhich  as- 
cends sometimes  to  the  sublimest  elo- 
quence : 

"  No  more  friends  !  no  more  future  !  no 
more  anything  !  M.y  energies  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 


78 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


burden  on  its  shoulders  and  carries  it 
awa^^  with  the  rest  into  the  fathomless 
gulf  of  death." 

A  shudder  crept  throug-h  the  heart  of 
the  Gascon,  so  brave  and  so  strong- 
against  all  the  misfortunes  of  life ;  and 
during-  some  moments,  the  clouds  ap- 
peared black  to  him,  the  earth  slipperj'- 
and  full  of  pits  as  that  of  cemeteries. 

"Whither  am  I  g-oing-?"  said  he  to 
himself.  "  What  am  I  g-oing-  to  do ! 
Alone,  quite  alone — ^without  family,  Avith- 
out  friends  !  Bah  !  "  cried  he  all  at  once. 
And  he  clapped  spurs  to  his  horse,  who, 
having-  found  nothing-  melancholy  in  the 
heavj'  oats  of  Pierrefonds,  profited  by  this 
permission  to  show  his  g-ayety  in  a  g-allop 
which  absorbed  two  leag-ues.  "To  Paris!" 
said  D'Artag-nan  to  himself.  And  on  the 
morrow  he  alighted  in  Paris.  He  had  de- 
voted six  da^'s  to  this  journey. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WHAT  D'ARTAGXAX  WENT  TO  DO  IN  PARIS. 

The  lieutenant  dismounted  before  a 
shop  in  the  Pue  des  Lombards,  at  the 
sign  of  the  Pilon  d/Or.  A  man  of  good 
appearance,  wealing  a  white  apron,  and 
stroking  his  gray  mustache  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'Ar- 
tagnan,  stooping  to  enter  the  shop. 

"Quick,  somebody,"  cried  Planchet, 
"  to  look  after  Monsieur  d'Artagnan's 
horse — somebody  to  get  ready  his  cham- 
ber— somebody  to  prepare  his  supper." 

"Thanks,  Planchet.  Good  day,  vay 
children,"  said  D'Artagnan  to  the  eager 
boys. 

"  Allow  me  to  send  oil  this  coffee,  this 
treacle,  and  these  raisins,"  said  Planchet ; 
''they  are  for  the  office  of  JMonsieur  le 
Surintendant." 

"Send  them  off,  send  them  olT  !  " 

"  That  is  oxAj  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  unpleas- 
ant," said  D'Artagnan. 

"So  much  the  better — so  much  the  bet- 
ter !  "  And  Planchet  breathed  freely 
again,  while  D'Artagnan  seated  himself 
quietl}^  down  in  the  shop,  ujjon  a  bale  of 
corks,  and  took  cognizance  of  the  locali- 
ties. The  shop  was  well  stocked  ;  there 
was  a  mingled  perfume  of  ginger,  cinna- 
mon, and  ground  pepper,  which  made 
D'Artagnan  sneeze.  The  shop-boj's, 
proud  of  being  in  company  with  so  re- 
nowned a  man  of  war,  of  a  lieutenant  of 
musketeers,  who  approached  the  person 
of  the  king,  began  to  Avork  with  an  en- 
thusiasm which  was  something  like  deli- 
rium, and  to  serve  the  customers  with  a 
disdainful  precipitation  that  was  remarked 
by  several. 

Planchet  put  away  his  money,  and 
made  up  his  accounts^  amid  civilities  ad- 
dressed 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  no- 
bod}'.  D'Artagnan  observed  this  shade 
with  a  pleasure  which  we  will  analyze 
presently.  He  saw  night  come  on  by  de- 
grees, and  at  length  Planchet  conducted 
him  to  a  chamber  on  the  first  stor3', 
where,  amid  bales  and  chests,  a  table 
very  nicely  set  out  awaited  the  two 
guests. 

D'Artagnan  took  advantage  of  a  mo- 
ment's pause  to  examine  the  countenance 
of  Planchet,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  a 
3'ear  past.  The  shrewd  Planchet  had  ac- 
quired a  slight  protuberance  in  front,  but 
his  countenance  was  not  puffed.  His  keen 
e.ye  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  din- 
ing-room as  in  his  shop.  He  set  before 
his  master  a  frugal,  but  a  perfectly  Pari- 
sian repast ;  roast  meat,  cooked  at  the 
baker's,   with  vegetables,   salad,   and    a 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


79 


dessert  boiTowed  from  the  shop  itself. 
D'Artag-nan  was  pleased  that  the  g-rocer 
had  drawn  from  behind  the  fag'ots  a  bot- 
tle of  that  AnjoLi  wine  which,  during-  all 
his  life,  had  been  D'Ai'tagnan's  wine  by 
predilection. 

''Formerly,  monsieur,"  said  Planchet, 
with  a  smile  fall  of  bonhomie,  "it  was  I 
who  drank  your  wine  ;  now  you  do  me  the 
honor  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, 
monsienr  ?  " 

"Unlimited." 

"You  are  leaving  the  service?"  said 
Planchet,  stupefied. 

"Yes,  I  am  resting." 

"And  the  king?  "  cried  Planchet,  who 
could  not  suppose  it  possible  that  the  king" 
could  do  without  the  services  of  such  a 
man  as  D'Artagnan. 

"The  king"  will  try  his  fortune  else- 
where. But  we  have  supped  well,  you 
are  disposed  to  enjoj^  yourself ;  3^ou  pro- 
voke me  to  repose  confidence  in  you. 
Open  your  ears,  then." 

"  They  are  open."  And  Planchet,  Avith 
a  laugh  more  frank  than  cunning,  opened 
a  bottle  of  white  wine. 

"  LeaA'e  me  my  reason,  though." 

"Oh,  as  to  you  losing  your  head — you, 
monsieur !  " 

"Now  my  head  is  m}''  own,  and  I  mean 
to  take  better  care  of  it  than  ever.  In 
the  fu'st  place,  we  will  talk  of  finance. 
How  fares  your  monej^-box  ?  " 

"  Wonderfully  well,  monsieur.  The 
twentj'  thousand  livres  I  had  of  3'ou  are 
still  employed  in  my  trade,  in  which  they 
bring  me  nine  percent.  I  give  you  seven, 
so  I  gain  two  by  you." 

"And  3^ou  are  still  satisfied  ?  " 

"Delighted.  Have  you  brought  me 
any  more?  " 

"Better  than  that.  But  do  j'ou  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 


g'oods  of  my  necessitous  brethren  ;  I  lend 
mone\'  to  those  who  are  not  ready  for 
their  jiayments." 

"  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  pledgee  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  clahns  a  hundred  crowns.  Ma 
foil  I  refused,  pretending  that  I  could 
not  sell  them  for  more  than  nine  hundred 
livres.  He  accused  me  of  usur3^  I 
begged  him  to  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." 

"'  Til  Dieu !  what  a  pretty  sort  of 
banker  j^ou  make  !  "  said  D'Artagnan. 

"  For  above  thirteen  per  cent  I  fight," 
replied  Planchet ;  "  that  is  my  char- 
acter." 

"Take  only  twelve,"  said  D'Artagnan, 
"  and  call  the  rest  premium  and  broker- 
age." 

"You  are  right,  monsieur;  but  to  your 
business." 

"Ah  I  Planchet,  it  is  ver^^  long  and 
very  hard  to  speak." 

"Do  speak  it,  nevertheless." 

D'Artagnan  twisted  his  mustache  like 
a  man  embarrassed  Avith  the  confidence 
he  is  about  to  repose,  and  mistrustful  of 
his  confidant. 

"Wlw,  yes." 

"At  good  profit?" 

"A  capital  profit — four  hundred  per 
cent,  Planchet." 

"Is  it  an  investment?"  asked  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  Avill  be  more,"  replied  D'Ar- 
tagnan, C00II3';  "but  I  hke  to  lay  it  at  the 
lowest." 


80 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  The  devil !  "  said  Planchet,  drawing- 
nearer.  "  Wh3%  monsieur,  that  is  magnifi- 
cent !  Can  one  place  much  money  in  it  ?  " 

"  Twenty  thousand  livres  each,  Plan- 
chet." 

"  Why,  that  is  all  you  have,  monsieur. 
For  how  long-  a  time  ?  " 

''For  a  month." 

"  And  that  will  g-ive  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  he  necessary 
to  flg-ht  not  a  little,"  said  D'Artag-nan, 
with  the  same  tranquilhty  ;  "  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  oblig-ed  to  leave  j'our 
business  and  your  famil3^" 

"  The  affair  is  not  in  Paris,  then  ?  " 

"No." 

"'  Abroad  ?  " 

"In  England." 

"A  speculative  country,  that  is  true," 
said  Planchet — "  a  country  I  am  well  ac- 
quainted with.  What  sort  of  an  afl'air, 
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  freel3^ 
consult  with  3'ou." 

"  You  do  me  great  honor  ;  but  I  know 
very  little  about  architecture." 

"  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  gentlemen,  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  dis- 
puted ?  " 

"Oh  yes,  Planchet,  yes." 

"  I  burn  to  know  the  details,  mon- 
sieur." 

"  Thc\'  are  these,  Planchet — close  all  the 
doors  firml3^" 

"  Yes,  monsieur. "  And  Planchet  double- 
locked  them. 

"  That  is  well ;  now  draw  near."  Plan- 
chet 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  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 
terms  :     "  Planchet,  I  have  an  idea." 

"Ah  !  monsieur,  I  recognize  j^^ou  so  well 
in  that !  "  replied  Planchet,  panting  with 
emotion. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

OP  THE  SOCIETY  WHICH  WAS  FORMED  IN 
THE  RUE  DES  LOMBARDS,  AT  THE  SIGN 
OF  THE  "PILON  D'OR,"  TO  CARRY  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  can- 
not 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 
France  in  order  to  carry  him  assistance, 
and  that,  in  spite  of  that  assistance,  he 
fell,  and  was  near  dragging  you  down  in 
his  fall." 

"Exactlj^  so,  I  see  you  have  a  good 
memory,  Planchet." 

"Peste  !  the  astonishing  thing  would  be, 
if  I  could  have  lost  that  memory,  however 
bad  it  might  have  been.  When  one  has 
heard  Grimaud,  who,  3^ou  know,  is  not 
given  to  talking,  relate  how  the  head  of 
King  Charles  fell,  how  you  sailed  the  half 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


81 


I 


of  a  night  in  a  scuttled  vessel,  and  saw 
rise  up  upon  the  water  that  M.  Mordaunt 
with  a  certain  g-old-hafted  poniard  stick- 
ing- in  his  breast,  one  is  not  very  lil^ely  to 
forget  such  things." 

''And  yet  ^  there  are  people  who  forget 
them ,  Plancliet . ' " 

'•  Yes,  such  as  have  not  seen  them,  or 
have  not  heard  Grimaud  relate  them.'' 

"  Well,  it  is  all  the  better  that  you  rec- 
ollect all  that ;  I  shall  only  have  to  re- 
mind you  of  one  thing,  and  that  is,  that 
Charles  I.  had  a  son." 

"  Without  contradictmgyou,  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  honor  of  knowing  him 
by  name,  but  not  personally." 

"That  is  exactly  the  point,  Planchet, 
we  must  come  to  :  it  is  to  this  eldest  son, 
forraerl^^  called  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and 
who  is  now  styled  Charles  II.,  king  of 
England." 

"  A  king  without  a  kingdom,  monsieur," 
replied  Planchet  sententiously. 

'■'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,  Plan- 
chet, has  interested  me.  I,  D'Artagnan, 
have  seen  him  begging  assistance  of  Maz- 
arin,  who  is  a  cuistre,  and  the  aid  of 
Louis,  who  is  a  child,  and  it  appeared  to 
me,  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  mis- 
eries, 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  gbViy  light  upon  D'Artagnan's  idea. 
The  latter  continued : 

"  This,  then,  is  the  reasoning  which  I 
made  with  m^^self.  Listen  attentively, 
Planchet,  for  we  are  coming  to  the  con- 
clusion." 

"  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,  m  my  opinion, 
a  grain  of  seed  which  will  blossom  in  some 
season  or  other,  provided  a  skillful,  dis- 
creet, and  vigorous  hand  sow  it  dul^^  and 
truh',  selecting  soil,  sky  and  time." 

Planchet  still  approved  by  a  nod  of  his 
head,  which  showed  that  he  did  not  per- 
fectly comprehend  all  that  was  said. 

"  '  Poor  little  seed  of  a  king,'  said  I  to 
myself,  and  really  I  was  affected,  Plan- 
chet, which  leads  me  to  think  I  am  enter- 
ing upon  a  foolish  business.  And  that  is 
why  I  Avished  to  consult  you,  my  friend." 

Planchet  colored  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!  nothing,  monsieur." 

"You  said  '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  restora- 
tion!" 


82 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRA     DUMAS. 


"Yes,  Planchet ;  is  not  that  the  proper 
term  for  it  ?  " 

''Oh,  no  doubt,  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,  Plan- 
chet." 

"In  the  first  place,  monsieur,  I  ask 
your  pardon  for  meddling  in  these  things, 
which  have  nothing  to  do  Avith  my  trade  ; 
but  since  it  is  an  atfair  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,  I  Avill  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  king, 
the  father  of  this,  and  which  will  not  be 
willing  to  belie  its  acts." 

"Planchet,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "j'ou 
reason  like  a  cheese !  The  nation — the 
nation  is  tired  of  these  gentlemen  who 
give  themselves  such  barbarous  names, 
and  who  sing  psalms  to  it.  Chant  for 
chant,  my  dear  Planchet ;  I  have  re- 
marked that  nations  prefer  singing  a 
merry  chant  to  the  plain  chant.  Re- 
member 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  those  times." 

"Well,  but  you  were  not." 

"No." 

"  And  j-ou  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  arm3\" 

Planchet  clasped  his  hands ;  he  saw 
D'Artagnan  was  in  earnest,  and,  in  good 
truth,  he  believed  his  masti'r  liad  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  j'ou , 
M.  d'Artagaan,  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  monej^  to  pay  them  ?  " 

"'  Not  bad,  Planchet.  Ah,  the  devil  ! 
you  play  the  courtier." 

"  No,  monsieur,  I  speak  what  I  think, 
and  that  is  exactly  whj^  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  bat- 
tles, my  dear  Planchet,"  said  the  Gascon, 
laughing.  "  We  have  very  fine  exam- 
ples in  antiquity  of  skillful  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  countermarches,  that  j'ou 
never  left  the  Palais  Royal." 

Planchet  could  not  forbear  laughing. 
"It  is  plain,"  replied  he,  "that  if  your 
forty  men  conceal  themselves,  and  are  not 
unskillful,  they  may  hope  not  to  be  beaten  : 
but  3'ou  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  quickl^'^  his  majesty  Charles  II. 
on  his  throne." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Planchet,  redonbling  his 
attention  :  "let  us  see  your  plan.     But  in 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


83 


the  first  place,  it  appears  to  mo  we  are 
f org-etting-  soraetliing-. ' ' 

''What  is  that?" 

"  We  have  set  aside  the  nation,  whicli 
prefers  sing-ing-  merrj^  song's  to  psalms, 
and  the  army,  which  we  will  not  fig-ht  : 
but  the  parliament  remains,  and  that  sel- 
dom sing:s." 

"  And  which  does  not  fight,  either. 
How  is  it,  Planchet,  that  an  intellig-ent 
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." 

"As  soon  as  it  ceases  to  trouble  you, 
monsieur,  let  us  pass  on." 

"Yes,  and  arrive  at  the  result.  You 
remember  Cromwell,  Planchet?" 

"I  have  heard  a  g-reat  deal  of  talk 
about  him." 

"He  was  a  rough  soldier." 

"And  a  terrible  eater,  moreover." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"Why,  at  one  g"ulp,  he  swallowed  all 
Eng-land." 

"  Well,  Planchet,  the  evening-  before 
the  day  on  which  he  swallowed  Eng-land, 
if  anj'"  one  had  swallowed  M.  Cromwell  ?" 

"  Oh  !  monsieur,  that  is  one  of  the  first 
axioms  of  mathematics,  that  the  container 
must  be  g-reater  than  the  contained." 

"Very  well !  That  is  our  affair,  Plan- 
chet." 

"  But  M.  Cromwell  is  dead,  and  his 
container  is  now  the  tomb." 

"  My  dear  Planchet,  I^see  with  pleas- 
ure, that  you  have  not  only  become  a 
mathematician,  but  a  philosopher." 

"Monsieur,  in  my  g-rocery  business  I 
use  much  printed  paper,  and  that  in- 
structs me." 

"  Bravo  !  You  know  then,  in  that  case 
— for  you  have  not  learned  mathematics 
and  philosoph}^  without  a  little  history — 
that  after  this  Cromwell  so  g-reat,  there 
came  one  who  was  very  little." 

"Yes;  he  Avas  named  Richard,  and  he 
has  done  as  you  have,  M.  d'Artag-nan — 
he  has  g-iven  in  his  resig-nation." 

"  Very  well  said — vei-y  well !  After  the 
great  man  who  is  dead,  after  the  little 
one  who  g-ave  in  his  resig-nation,  there  is 
come  a  third.     This  one  is  named  Monk ; 


he  is  an  able  g-eneral,  considering-  he  has 
never  foug-ht  a  battle ;  he  is  a  skillful 
diplomatist,  considering  that  he  never 
speaks  in  public,  and  that  having-  to  say 
'g-ood  day'  to  a  man,  he  meditates 
twelve  hours,  and  ends  by  saying-  '  g-ood 
night;'  which  makes  people  exclaim  'mira- 
cle I ''  seeing-  that  it  falls  out  correctly." 

"That  is  rather  strong,"  said  Plan- 
chet ;  "  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  France ;  and  that  chang-es  everything-. 
Do  you  see  ?  Well,  this  M.  Monk,  who 
has  Eng-land  read3^-roasted  in  his  plate, 
and  who  is  already  opening-  his  mouth  to 
swallow  it — this  M.  Monk,  who  says  to  the 
people  of  Charles  H.,  and  to  Charles  II. 
himself,  '  Nescio  vos' — " 

"I  don't  understand  Eng-lish,"  said 
Planchet. 

"Yes,  but  I  understand  it,"  said  D'Ar- 
tag-nan. "  '  Nescio  vos  '  means  '  I  do  not 
know  you.'  This  M.  Monk,  the  most  im- 
portant man  in  Eng-land,  when  he  shall 
have  swallowed  it — " 

"Well?"  asked  Planchet. 

"'  Well,  my  friend,  I  will  g-o  over  yon- 
der, and  with  m^'  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  Plan- 
chet, 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  thoug-ht." 

"  Do  you  think.it  a  g-ood  one  ?  " 

"Yes,  certainly;  but  I  think  mine 
better." 

"Let  us  see  yours,  then." 

' '  In  the  first  place  I  will  set  a  ransom 
on  fiim." 

"Of  how  much?  " 

"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.'* 


84 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Or  clso— " 

"  Or  else),  which  is  much  better,  I  de- 
liver liiin  up  to  King-  Charles,  who,  hav- 
ing" no  longer  either  a  g-eneral  or  an  army 
to  fear,  nor  a  diplomatist  to  trick  him, 
will  restore  himself,  and  when  once  re- 
stored will  pay  down  to  me  the  hundred 
thousand  crowns  in  question.  That  is  the 
i:lea  I  have  formed  ;  what  do  you  sa3''  to 
it,  Planchet  ?  " 

"  Mag"nificent,  monsieur  ! '  cried  Plan- 
chet, trembling"  with  emotion.  ''  How  did 
3'ou  conceive  that  idea  ?  '' 

''lb  came  to  me  one  morning"  on  the 
banks  of  the  Loire,  while  our  beloved 
king",  Louis  XIV.,  Avas  pretending"  to 
snivel  upon  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Mancini." 

'  ''Monsieur,  I  declare  the  id-ea  is  sub- 
lime.    But—" 

'■'Ah!  is  there  a  hut?" 

"  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,  par5Zeit  .^ — 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'Artag"nan,  with  a  proud  simplicity. 
"  You  knov/  that  if  for  this  affair  I  had 
nw  dear  Athos,  my  brave  Porthos,  and 
my  cunning"  Aramis,  the  business  would 
be  settled  ;  but  they  are  all  lost,  as  it  ap- 
pears, and  nobody  knows  where  to  find 
the.n.  I  will  do  it,  then,  alone.  Now,  do 
3''ou  find  the  business  g"ood,  and  the  invest- 
ment advantag"eous  ?  " 

"Too  much  so — too  much  so." 

"How  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  Because  fme  thing"s  never  reac*  uiic 
point  expected." 

"  This  IS  infallible,  Planchet,  and  the 
proof  is  that  I  undertake  it.  It  will  be 
for  3'ou  a  tolerably  pretty  g"ain,  and  for 
me  a'ver}'-  interesting"  stroke.  It  will  be 
said,  '  Such  was  the  old  ag"e  of  M.  d'Ar- 


tagnan;'  and  I  shall  hold  a  place  in  stories, 
and  even  in  history  itself ,  Planchet.  I  am 
greedy  of  honor." 

"Monsieur,"  cried  Planchet,  "when  I 
think  that  it  is  here,  in  my  home,  in  the 
midst  of  my  sug"ar,  my  prunes,  and  my 
cinnamon,  that  this  g'ig-antic  project  is 
ripened,  my  shop  seems  a  palace  to  mc." 

"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  tlu; 
honor  to  belong"  to  you,  he  knows  nothing- 
of  fear ;  and  when  he  has  the  advantag"e 
of  being  bound  up  in  interests  with  3'ou, 
he  holds  his  tong'ue." 

"  Very  well ;  that  is  more  3-our  affair 
than  mine,  seeing"  that  in  a  week  I  shall 
be  in  England." 

'"  Beg"one,  beg"one,  monsieur — the  sooner 
the  better." 

"  Is  the  monej'^  then  ready  ?  " 

"It  will  be  to-morrow  ;  to-morrow  3^ou 
shall  receive  it  from  my  own  hands.  Will 
5'-ou  have  g"old  or  silver  ?  " 

"  Gold  ;  that  is  most  convenient.  But 
how  are  we  g"oing"  to  arrang"e  this  ?  Let 
us  see." 

"  Oh.  g"ood  Lord  !  in  the  simplest  way 
possible.  You  shall  g"ive  me  a  receipt, 
that  is  all." 

"No,  no,"  said  D'Artag"nan,  warmly; 
"  we  must  preserve  order  in  all  thing"S." 

"That  is  like\^iso  my  opinion;  but  with 
you,  M.  d'Artag"nan — " 

"  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  cas3  I  should  be  so  much  afflicted 
at  your  death,  that  I  should  think  noth- 
ing" about  the  money." 

"Thank  you,  Planchet;  but  that  will 
not  do.  We  will,  like  two  lawj'ers'  clerks, 
draw  up  tog"ether  an  ag"reement,  a  sort  of 
act,  which  may  be  called  a  deed  of  com- 
pany."  "  Willingly,  monsieur." 

"  I  know  it  is  difficult  to  draw  such  a 
thing:  up,  but  we  will  try." 

"Let  us  try,   then."      And    Planchet 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


85 


went  in  S3arch  of  pens,  ink,  and  paper. 
D'Artag-nan  took  tho  pen  and  wrote : — 
"  Bstween  Messire  d'Artag-nan,  ex-lieu- 
tenant of  the  king-'s  musketeers,  at  pres- 
ent residing  in  the  Rue  Tiquetonne,  Hotel 
do  la  Clievrettc  ;  and  the  Sieur  Planchet, 
grocer,  residing  in  the  Rue  des  Lombards, 
at  the  sign  of  the  '  Pilon  d'Or,'  it  has 
been  agreed  as  follows: — A  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  acquainted 
with  this  i:lca  of  M.  d'Artagnan,  and  who 
approves  of  it  in  all  points,  will  place 
twenty  thousand  livres  in  the  hands  of 
M.  d'Artagnan.  He  will  require  neither 
repayment  nor  interest  before  the  return 
of  M.  d'Artagnan  from  a  vo^'age  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  emploj^ 
the  said  sum  of  forty  thousand  livres  as 
goo:l  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  pa^'^  into  the 
hands  of  M.  Planchet  the  sum  of — " 

"The  sum  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand livres,"  said  Planchet,  innocently'- 
perceiving  that  D'Artagnan  hesitated. 

"  Oh,  the  devil,  no  !  "  said  D'Artagnan, 
"■  the  division  cannot  be  made  by  half ; 
that  vvould  not  bo  just." 

''  And  yet,  monsieur,  we  each  lay  down 
half,"  objected  Planchet,  timidly. 

"Yes;  but  listen  to  this  clause,  mj" 
dear  Planchet,  and  if  you  do  not  find  it 
equitable  in  every  respect,  when  it  is 
Vv-ritten,  well,  we  can  scratch  it  out  ag-ain: 
— '  Nevertheless,  as  M.  d'Artagnan  brings 
to  the  association,  besides  his  capital  of 
twentj'-  thousand  livres,  his  time,  his  idea, 
his  industry,  and  his  skin — things  which 
he  appreciates  strongly,  particular!}^  the 
last — M.  d'Artagnan  will  keep,  of  the 
three  hundred  thousand  livres,  two  hun- 
dred 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  hun- 
dred thousand  livres  ?  " 

"Peste!  I  think  so.  A  hundred  thou- 
sand for  twenty  thoiasand  !  " 

"And  in  a  month,  understand." 

"  How,  in  a  month  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  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  re- 
perused  their  deed. 

"That  is  perfect,  monsieur,"  said  Plan- 
chet; ''and  the  late  M.  Coquenard,  the 
first  husband  of  Madame  la  Baronne  de 
Valon,  could  not  have  done  it  better." 
'  "Do  you  find  it  so?  Let  us  sign  it, 
then."  And  both  affixed  their  sig-na- 
tures. 

"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  Avhatever  store  I  set  by  it, 
Planchet,  I  may  lose  my  skin  yonder,  and 
3-0U  will  lose  all.  Apropos — peste  ! — that 
makes  me  think  of  the  principal,  an  in- 
dispensable clause.  I  will  write  it :  'In 
the  case  of  M.  d'Artagnan  succumbing-  in 
this  enterprise,  liquidation  will  be  consid- 
ered made,  and  the  Sieur  Planchet  will 
give  quittance  from  that  moment  to  the 
shade  of  Messire  d'Artag-nan,  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  bril- 
liant 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  com- 
pany known ;  perhaps  such  thing's  have 
been  abused  a  little  since,  both  in  form 
and  principle. 

"  Now,"  said  Planchet,  pouring  out  the 
last  glass  of  Anjou  wine  for  D'Artag-nan 
— "now  go  to  sleep,  my  dear  master." 

"No/'' replied  D'Artagnan;    "for  the 


86 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


most  difficult  part  now  remains  to  be 
done,  and  I  will  think  over  that  difficult 
part." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Planchet;  ''I  have  such  a 
g-reat  confidence  in  you,  M.  d'Artagnan, 
that  I  would  not  give  my  hundred  thou- 
sand livres  for  ninety  thousand  livres 
down," 

"  And.  devil  take  me  if  I  don't  think 
you  are  right !  "  Upon  which  D'Artag- 
nan  took  a  candle  and  went  up  to  his 
bedroom. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

IN      WHICH      d'ARTAGNAN      PREPARES      TO 
TRAVEL  FOR  THE   HOUSE   OF  PLAN- 
CHET  &    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 
iovty  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  poultrj^- 
yards,  and  corn  in  their  barns.  I  will 
present  mj'self  to  General  Monk  with  my 
little  bodj''  of  troops.  He  will  receive  me. 
I  shall  gain  his  confidence,  and  will  abuse 
it  as  soon  as  possible." 

But  without  going  farther,  D'Artagnan 
shook  his  head  and  interrupted  himself. 
"  No,"  said  he  ;  "  I  should  not  dare  to  re- 
late this  to  Athos  ;  the  means  is  not  then 
honorable.  I  must  use  violence,"  contin- 
ued he — ''  very  certainly  I  must,  but  with- 
out compromising  my  lo^'^alty .  With  forty 
men  I  wall  traverse  the  country*  as  a  par- 
tisan. But  if  I  fall  in  with,  not  forty 
thousand  English,  as  Planchet  said,  but 
purely  and  simply  witli  four  hundred,  I 
shall  be  beaten.  Supposing  that  among 
my  forty  warriors  there  should  be  found 


at  least  ten  stupid  ones — ten  who  will 
allow  themselves  to  be  killed  one  aftei" 
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  be  contented  with 
thirty.  With  ten  men  less  I  should  harve 
the  right  of  avoiding  any  armed  rencon- 
tre, on  account  of  the  small  number  of  my" 
people ;  and  if  the  rencontre  should  take 
place,  my  chance  is  umch  more  certain 
with  thirty  men  than  forty.  Besides,  I 
should  save  five  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  injunc- 
tion to  reunite  at  a  given  moment ;  in  this 
fashion,  ten  by  ten,  we  should  excite  no 
suspicion  —  we  should  pass  unperceived. 
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'Artagnan,  "  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 ;  w' e 
can  get  the  horses  in  the  countrj' — they 
are  not  bad,  besides.  But  I  forgot— ^ 
peste  !  Three  bands— that  necessitates 
three  leaders  :  there  is  the  difficult}'.  Of 
the  three  commanders  I  have  already'  one 
— that  is  myself  ;— 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.  I  know  very  well 
that  twenty  men  is  but  very  little  ;  but 
since  with  thirty  I  w^as  determined  not  to 
seek  to  come  to  blows,  I  should  do  so 
more  carefully  still  with  twenty.  Twen- 
ty— that  is  a;  round  number ;  that,  besides, 
reduces  the  number  of  the  horses  by  ten, 
which  is  a  consideration  ;  and  then,  with 
a  good  lieutenant —  Mordioux !  what 
things  patience  and  calculation  are  !  Was 
I  not  going  to  embark  with  forty  men. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


87 


and  I  have  now  reduced  them  to  twentj'- 
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  tliis  lieuten- 
ant— let  him  he  found,  then  ;  and  after — ? 
That  is  not  so  easy  ;  he  must  be  brave 
and  g-ood,  a  se<;ond  mj^self.  Yes ;  but  a 
lieutenant  must  have  my  secret,  and  as 
that  secret  is  worth  a  million,  and  I  shall 
onlv  pay  my  men  a  thousand  livres,  fifteen 
hundred  at  the  most,  my  man  will  sell  the 
secret  to  Mon^.  Mordioux !  no  lieuten- 
ant. Besides,  this  man,  were  he  as  mute 
as  a  disciple  of  Pythag-oras  —  this  man 
would  be  sure  to  have  in  the  troop  some 
favorite  soldier,  whom  he  Would  make  his 
serg-eant ;  the  serg-eant  would  penetrate 
the  secret  of  the  lieutenant,  in  case  the 
latter  should  be  honest  and  unwilling-  to 
sell  it.  Then  the  serg-eant,  less  honest 
and  less  ambitious,  will  g-ive  up  the  whole 
for  fifty  thousand  livres. 

"  Come,  come  !  that  is  impossible.  De- 
cidedly the  lieutenant  is  imjiossible.  But 
then  I  must  have  no  fractions ;  I  cannot 
divide  vax  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  g-ood 
to  weaken  a  corps  by  placing-  the  rig-ht 
here,  and  the  left  there  ?  A  sing-le  corps, 
Tilordioux  !  a  single  one,  and  that  com- 
manded by  D'Artag-nan.  Very  well.  But 
twenty  men  marching-  in  one  band  are 
suspected  b}""  everybod}'- ;  twenty  horse- 
men must  not  be  seen  marching-  tog-etlier, 
or  a  company  will  be  detached  ag-ainst 
them,  and  the  orderly  word  will  be  re- 
quired ;  and  which  company'',  upon  seeing- 
the  embarrassment  of  the  troop  in  g-iving- 
it,  would  shoot  M.  d'Artag-nan  and  his 
men  like  so  many  rabbits.  I  reduce  my- 
self then  to  ten  men ;  in  this  fashion  I 
shall  act  simplj^  and  with  unity ;  I  shall 
be  forced  to  be  prudent,  which  is  half 
success  in  an  affair  of  the  kind  I  am  un- 
dertaking- ;  a  greater  number  mig-ht,  per- 
haps, have  drawm  me  into  some  folly. 
Ten  horses  are  not  many  either  to  buy  or 
take.  A  capital  idea;  what  tranquillity 
it  infuses  into  my  mind  !    l^To  more  sus- 


picions— no  orderly  words — no  more  dan- 
g-ers  !  Ten  men  —  they  are  valets  or 
clerks.  Ten  men,  leading-  ten  horses 
laden  with  merchandise  of  whatever  kind, 
are  tolerated,  well  received  everywhere. 
Ten  men  travel  on  account  of  the  house 
of  Planchet  &  Co.,  of  France  :  nothing- 
can  be  said  ag-ainst  that.  These  ten  men, 
clothed  lilvO  manufacturers,  have  a  g-ood 
cutlass  or  a  g-ood  mousqueton  at  their 
saddle-bow,  and  a  g-ood  pistol  in  the  hol- 
ster. They  never  allow  tliemselves  to  be 
uneasy,  because  they  have  no  evil  designs. 
They  are  perhaps,  at  bottom,  a  little  dis- 
posed to  be  smugglers,  but  what  harm  is 
in  that  ?  Smuggling  is  not,  like  poly- 
gamy, a  hanging  offense.  The  worse  that 
can  happen  to  us  is  the  confiscation  of  our 
merchandise.  Our  merchandise  confis- 
cated— a  fine  affair  that !  Come,  come  I 
it  is  a  superb  plan.  Ten  men  only — ten 
men,  whom  I  will  eng-age  for  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,  I  will 
never  open  my  mouth  as  to  my  designs, 
and  to  whom  I  shall  only  say,  *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  twent}^ !  " 

Thus  fortified  by  his  laborious  calcula- 
tions, D'Artagnan  stopped  at  this  plan, 
and  determined  to  change  nothing  in  it. 
He  had  already  on  a  list  furnished  by  his 
inexhaustible  memorj^,  ten  men  illustrious 
among  the  seekers  of  adventures,  ill- 
treated  by  fortune,  and  not  on  good 
terms  with  justice.  Upon  this  D'Artag- 
nan  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 
among  certain  cabins  in  Paris  sufficed  for 
his  recraiting  ;  and,  without  allowing  his 
adventurers  to  communicate  with  each 
other,  he  had  picked  up  and  got  together, 
in  less  than  thirty  hours,  a  charming  col- 
lection of  ill-looking  faces,  speakmg  a 
French  less  pure  than  the  English  they 
were, about  to  attempt.  These  men  were, 
for  the  most  part,  guards,  whose  merit 


88 


WOEIiS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


D'Artag-nan     had     had    an    opportunity 
of    appreciating-    in    various    rencontres, 
and  whom  drunkenness,  unlucky  sword- 
thrusts,  unexpected  winning's  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  under- 
g-one.     Some  had  their  visag-es  scarred — 
all  had  their  clothes  in  rag's.    D'Artagnan 
comforted  the  most  needy  of  these  frater- 
nal miserables  by  a  prudent  distribution 
of  the  crowns  of  the  society  ;  then  havnig- 
taken  care  that  these  crowns  should  be 
employed  in  the  physical  improvement  of 
the  troop,  he  appointed  a  rendezvous  with 
them   in   the   north   of    France,   between 
Berg-hes  and  Saint-Onior.     Six  daj^s  were 
allowed  as  the  utmost  term,  and  D'Ar- 
tag-nan  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with 
the  g'ood  vvill,  the  good  humor,  and  the 
relative   probity   of   these   illustrious   re- 
cruits, to  be  certain  that  not  one  of  them 
would  fail  in  his  appointment.     These  or- 
ders g-iven,  this  rendezvous  fixed,  he  went 
to  bid  farewell  to  Planchet,  who  asked 
news  of  his  army.     D'Artag-nan  did  not 
think   proper  to   inform  him   of  the   re- 
duction 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  delig-hted  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 
enem^^  of  all  true  French  hearts.     Plan- 
chet paid   down,  in  double-louis,  twenty 
thousand   livres  to  D'Artag-nan,  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   embarrass- 
ing, my  dear  Planchet,"  said  he.     "  Do 
you  know  this  weig-hs   thirty  pounds  ?  " 
"  Bah  !  your  horse  will  carry  that  like 
a  feather." 
D'Artag-nan  shook   his  head.     ''Don't 


tell  such  things  to  mo,  Planchet ;  a  horse 
overloaded  with  thirty  pounds,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  rider  and  his  portmanteau, 
cannot  cross  a  river  so  easily  -  cannot 
leap  over  a  wall  or  a  ditch  so  lig-htly;  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,  g-reatly  embarrassed. 

' '  Listen  to  mc, ' '  said  D'Artag-nan.  "  I 
will  pay  my  army  on  its  return  home. 
Keep  my  half  of  twenty  tliousand  livres, 
which  you  can  make  use  of  during-  that 
time." 

"And  my  half  ?  "  said  Planchet. 
"  I  will  take  that  with  me." 
"  Your  confidence  does  me  honor,"  said 
Planchet;  "but  suppose  you  should  not 
return  ?  " 

"That  is  possible,  though  not  very 
probable.  Then,  Planchet,  in  case  I  should 
not  return— g-ive  me  a  pen ;  I  will  make 
my  will."  D'Artagnan  took  a  pen  and 
some  paper,  and  wrote  upon  a  plain  sheet 
— "  I,  D'Artagnan,  possess  twenty  thou- 
sand livres,  laid  up,  sou  by  sou,  during- 
thirty  years  that  I  have  been  in  the 
service  of  his  majesty  the  king-  of  France. 
I  leave  five  thousand  to  Athos,  five  thou- 
sand to  Porthos,  and  five  thousand  to 
Aramis,  that  they  may  g-ive  the  said 
sums  in  my  name  and  their  own  to  my 
young-  friend  Raoul,  vicomte  de  Brag-e- 
lonne.  I  g'ive  the  remaining-  five  thou- 
sand 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'Artag-nan  had  written. 

"  Here,"  said  the  muslceteer,  " read  it." 
On  reading-  the  last  lines  the  tears  came 
into  Planchet's  eyes.  "  You  think,  then, 
that  I  would  not  have  g-iven  the  money 
without  that?  Then  I  will  have  none 
of  your  five  thousand  francs." 

D'Artag-nan  smiled.  "Accept  it,  ac- 
cept it,  Planchet ;  and  in  that  way  you 
will  only  lose  fifteen  thousand  francs  in- 
stead of  twenty  thousand,  and  you  will 
not  be  tempted  to  disreg-ard   the  sig-na- 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELO^NE. 


89 


ture  of  your  master  and  friend,  by  losing- 
nothing"  at  all." 

How  well  that  dear  Monsieur  d'Arta^- 
nan  was  acquainted  with  the  hearts  of 
men  and  grocers  !  The^^  who  have  pro- 
nounced Don  Quixote  mad  because  he 
rode  out  to  the  conquest  of  an  empire  Avitli 
i]obod3"  but  Sancho  his  squire,  and  they 
who  have  pronounced  Sancho  mad  because 
he  accompanied  his  master  in  his  attempt 
to  conquer  the  said  empire — thej^  certainly 
will  have  no  hesitation  in  extending-  the 
same  judgment  to  D'Artagnan  and  Plan- 
chet.  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  long-est  heads 
among  the  g-rocers  of  the  Rue  des  Lom- 
bards; consequently  of  Paris,  consequently 
of  France.  Now,  to  consider  these  two 
men  from  the  point  of  view  in  which  you 
would  consider  other  men,  and  the  means 
bj'  the  aid  of  which  they  contemplated  to 
restore  a  monarch  to  his  throne,  compara- 
tively with  other  means,  the  shallowest 
brains  of  the  country  where  brains  are 
most  shallow  must  have  revolted  against 
the  presumptuous  madness  of  the  lieuten- 
ant and  the  stupidity  of  his  associate. 
Fortunately,  D'Artagnan  was  not  a  man 
to  listen  to  the  idle  talk  of  thoso  around 
him,  or  to  the  comments  that  Avere  made 
on  himself.  He  had  adopted  the  motto, 
''Act  well,  and  let  people  talk."  Plan- 
chet,  on  his  part,  had  adopted  this,  ''Act, 
and  say  nothing."  It  resulted  from  this, 
that,  according  to  the  custom  of  all  su- 
perior geniuses,  these  two  men  flattered 
themselres,  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,  with- 
out a,  cloud  in  the  heavens — without  a 
cloud  on  his  mind,  joyous  and  strong, 
calm  and  decided,  great  in  his  resolution, 
and  consequently  carrying  with  him  a  ten- 
fold doss  of  that  potent  fluid  which  the 
shocks  of  mind  cause  to  spring  from  the 
nt'rves,  and  which  procure  for  the  human 
machine  a  force  and  an  influence  of  which 
future  ag'es  will  render,  according-  to  all 


probability-,  an  account  more  arithmeti- 
cally 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 
traveling  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  hos- 
telries; — his  memorj^  always  active  and 
present,  brought  back  that  j^outh  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  weak- 
nesses, and  the  spirit  of  contradiction 
familiar  to  his  understanding  changed 
all  these  imperfections  into  correspond- 
ing- qualities.  D'Artagnan,  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  extra vag-ant 
in  his  braver\%  if  the  danger  proved  to 
be  real.  Thus  everything  in  him  was 
emotion,  and  therefore  enjoA'ment.  He 
lov^ed  the  society  of  others,  but  never  be- 
came' 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  him- 
self, or  the  tricks  his  imagination  created 
just  five  minutes  before  ennui  mig-ht  have 
been  looked  for.  D'Artag-nan  was  not 
perhaps  so  gay  this  time  as  he  had  been 
with  the  perspective  of  finding-  some  g-ood 
friends  at  Calais,  instead  of  that  of  join- 
ing- 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  somber  deit}^  before 
he  got  sight  of  the  sea  at  Boulog-ne,  and 
then  these  visits  Avere  indeed  but  short. 
But  wiien  once  D'Artagnan  found  himself 
near  the  field  of  action,  all  other  feeling 
but  that  of  confidence  disappeared  nevei- 
to  return.  From  Boulogne  he  folloAved 
the  coast  to  Calais.  Calais  Avas  the  place 
of  g-eneral  rendezvous,  and  at  Calais  he 
had  named  to  each  of  his  recruits  the 
hostelry  of  "Le  Grand  Monarque,"  AAhere 
living-  Ayas  not  extravagant,  Avhere  sailors 
messed,  and  Avliere  men  of  the  sword,  with 


90 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


sheath  of  leather,  be  it  understood,  found 
lodg-ing-,  table,  food,  and  all  the  comforts 
of  life,  for  thirty  sous  per  diem.  D'Ar- 
tag-nan  proposed  to  himself  to  take  them 
by  surprise  inflagjxmte  delicto  of  wander- 
ing- life,  and  to  judge  by  the  first  appear- 
ance if  he  could  reckon  upon  them  as  trusty 
companions. 

He  arrived  at  Calais  at  half-past  four  in 
the  afternoon. 


CHAPTER    XXH. 
d'artagnan    travels   for   the    house 

OF  PLANCHET  &   COMPANY. 

The  hostelr}^  of  "  Le  Grand  Monarque  " 
was  situate  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,  passeng-ers  de- 
bouched 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  play- 
ing at  dice  had  knocked  up  a  quarrel,  and 
were  threatening  each  .other  furiously. 
The  host,  hostess,  and  two  lads  Avere 
watching-  with  anxiet}'  the  circle  of  these 
angrj'  g-amblers,  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  b^^  two  men,  who  ap- 
peared thence  to  Avatch  the  door ;  four 
tables,  placed  at  the  back  of  the  common 
chamber,  were  occuj^ied  by  eight  other  in- 
dividuals. Neither  the  men  at  tlie  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,  in- 
dif lerent  spectators.  The  quarrel  went  on 
increasing.  Ever^^  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  them- 
selves upon  the  stakes,  and  many  a  i:>iece 
of  silver  was  picked  up  by  people  who 
stole  away  while  the  sailors  were  scuffling 
with  each  other. 

The  two  men  on  the  bench  and  the 
eig-ht  at  the  tables,  although  they  seemed 
perfect  strang-ers  to  each  other,  these  ten 
men  alone,  we  say,  appeared  to  have 
agreed  to  remain  impassible  amid  the 
cries  of  fury  and  the  chinking  of  money. 
Two  only  contented  themselves  with  re- 
pulsing- 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  i^eople  do  to  avoid  being-  sub- 
merged b}^  overflowing-  water. 

''^Come,  come,"  said  D'Artag-nan  to 
himself,  not  having-  lost  one  of  the  details 
we  have  related,  "  this  is  a  very  fair 
g-athering- — circumspect,  calm,  accus- 
tomed 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  strug-glers  with 
their  feet  were  assailed  with  abuse  by  the 
sailors,  who  had  become  reconciled.  One 
of  them,  half  drunk  with  passion,  and 
quite  drunk  with  beer,  came,  in  a  menac- 
ing- manner,  to  demand  of  the  shorter  of 
these  two  sag-es,  by  what  right  he  had 
touched  with  his  foot  creatures  of  the 
good  God,  who  were  not  dog-s.  And 
while  iDutting  this  question,  in  order  to 
make  it  inore  direct,  he  applied  his  g-reat 
fist  to  the  nose  of  D'Artag-nan's  recruit. 
This  man  became  pale,  without  its  being 
to  be  discerned  whether  his  paleness  arose 
from  anger  or  from  fear ;  seeing-  Avhicli, 
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  stom- 
ach as  sent  him  rolling-  and  howling  to 
the  other  side  of  the  room.     At  the  same 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


91 


instant,  rallied  by  the  esprit  de  coijjs,  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  impru- 
dence of  touching-  his  arms,  took  up  a 
heer-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  came  to  the  rescue.  At 
the  same  time,  the  two  indifferent  spec- 
tators at  the  door  turned  round  with 
irowning-  brows,  indicating-  their  evident 
intention  of  taking-  the  enemy  in  the  rear, 
if  the  enemy  did  not  cease  their  ag-g-res- 
mions.  The  host,  his  helpers,  and  two 
watchmen  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  en- 
semble and  a  tactic  delightful  to  behold. 
At  length,  oblig-ed  to  beat  a  retreat  be- 
fore numbers,  they  formed  an  intrench- 
ment  behind  the  g-reat  table,  which  they 
raised  by  main  force ;  while  the  two 
others,  arming'  themselves  each  with 
a  trestle,  so  that,  using  it  like  a  g-reat 
sledge-hammer,  they  knocked  down  at  a 
blow  eight  sailors  upon  whose  heads  they 
had  brought  their  monstrous  catapult  in 
play.  The  floor  was  already  strewn  with 
wounded,  and  the  room  filled  with  cries 
and  dust,  when  D'Artag-nan,  satisfied 
with  the  test,  advanced,  sword  in  hand, 
and  strildng*  with  the  pommel  ever^"  head 
that  came  in  his  way,  he  uttered  a  vigor- 
ous holaf  which  put  an  instantaneous  end 
to  the  conflict.  A  great  back-flood  direct- 
ly took  place  from  the  center  to  the  sides 
of  the  room,  so  that  D'Artagnan  found 
himself  isolated  and  dominator. 

"What  is  all  this  about?"'  then  de- 
manded he  of  the  assembly,  with  the 
majestic  tone  of  Neptune  pronouncing-  the 
Quos  ego. 

At  the  very  instant,  at  the  ver^^  sound 
of  his  voice,  to  carry  on  the  Virgilian 
metaphor,  D'Artag-nan's  recruits,  recog-- 
nizing  each  his  sovereign  lord,  discon- 
tinued at  the  same  time  their  anger,  their 


plank-fighting,  and  trestle  blows.  On 
their  side,  the  sailors,  seeing  that  long 
naked  sword,  that  martial  air,  and  the 
agile  arm  which  came  to  the  rescue  of 
their  enemies,  in  the  person  of  a  man  who 
seemed  accustomed  to  command,  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  bj^  the  host  of  ''Le  Grand  Mon- 
arque."  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.  Immediately  each 
of  the  recruits,  who  understood  the  sum- 
mons, took  his  hat,  brushed  the  dust  off 
his  clothes,  and  followed  D'Artagnan. 
But  D'Artagnan,  while  observing,  exam- 
ining everything,  took  care  not  to  stop ; 
he  directed  his  course  toward  the  dune, 
and  the  ten  men — surprised  at  finding 
themselves  going  in  the  track  of  each 
other,  uneas}^  at  seeing  on  their  right,  on 
their  left,  and  behind  them,  companions 
upon  whom  they  had  not  reckoned — fol- 
lowed 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  shy- 
ness, turned  toward  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,  ahd  not  one  to  de- 
vour another." 

Instantly  all  hesitation  ceased;  the  men 
breathed  as  if  they  had  been  taken  out 
of  a  coffin,  and  examined  each  other  com- 
placently. After  this  examination  they 
turned  their  eyes  toward  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  energ}^  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.  Fig- 
ure to  yourselves  that  in  laboring  for  me 
Tou  labor  for  the  king.     I  only  warn  you 


92 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


that  if  YOU  allow  anything-  of  this  suppo- 
sition to  appear,  I  shall  be  forced  to  crack 
your  skulls  immediately^  in  the  manner 
most  convenient  to  me.  You  are  not  ig- 
norant, messieurs,  that  state  secrets  arc 
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  ex- 
pression of  curiositj^.  ''^  Approach,"  con- 
tinued 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  busi- 
ness is  to  learn  and  to  report  to  monsieur 
le  surintendant  of  the  finances  to  wliat 
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  b}^  a  storm.  It  is  certain  that  we 
must  sell  fish,  neither  more  nor  less,  like 
true  fishermen.  Only  people  might  guess 
vdio  W3  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  pro- 
tector, thanks  to  whom,  no  einbarrass- 
ment  is  possible.  One  thing  alone  puzzles 
me;  but  I  hope,  after  a  short  explana- 
tion, 3'ou  will  relieve  me  from  that  diffi- 
cult3\  The  thing  which  puzzles  me  is 
taking  with  me  a  crew  of  stupid  fisher- 
men, Avhich  crew  will  annoy  me  immense- 
ly, while  if,  by  chance,  there  were  among- 
you  any  who  have  seen  the  sea — " 

''Oh!  let  not  that  trouble  you,"  said 
one  of  the  recruits;  "1  was  a  prisoner 
among  the  pirates  of  Tunis  three  3-ears, 
and  can  maneuver  a  boat  like  an  admiral." 

''  See,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "what  an  ad- 
mirable thing  chance  is  !  "  D'Artagnan 
pronounced,  these  words  with  an  indefina- 
ble tone  of  feigned  bonhomie,  for  D'Ar- 
tag-nan  knew  very  well  that  the  victim  of 
pirates  was  an  old  corsair,  and  he  had  en- 
gaged him  in  consequence  of  that  knowl- 
edge.    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  wel- 
comed the  effect,  without  appearing  to  bo 
preoccupied  with  the  cause. 

"  And  I,"  said  a  second,  "  1,  by  chance, 
had  an.  uncle,  Avho  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  he  had  rowedon  board  his  majesty's 
galleys  six  3'ears,  at  Ciotat.  Two  others 
were  more  franlc :  they  confessed  hontst- 
1}^  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  car- 
ried 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.  Ho  enjoined  his  men  to  be 
ready  to  set  out  for  the  Hague,  some  fol- 
loAving  the  coast  which  leads  to  Breskens, 
others  the  road  to  Antwerp.  The  rendez- 
vous was  given,  by  calculating  each  day's 
march,  at  fifteen  days  from  that  time, 
upon  the  chief  place  at  the  Hague.  D'Ar- 
tagnan recommended  his  men  to  go  in 
couples,  as  they  liked  best,  from  sympa- 
th3\  He  himself  selected  from  among 
those  with  the  least  hanging  loolc,  two 
guards  whom  he  had  formerly  known,  and 
whose  onl}^  faults  were  being  drunkards 
and  gamblers.  These  men  had  not  en- 
tirely lost  all  ideas  of  civilization,  and  un- 
der proper  habiliments  their  hearts  would 
have  renewed  their  beatings.  D'Artag- 
nan, 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 
honor  with  an  absolute  confidence,  that 
D'Artagnan  imparted  a  false  confidence, 
destined  to  secure  the  success  of  his  expe- 
dition. He  confessed  to  them  that  the 
object  was  not  to  learn  to  what  extent  the 
French  merchants  were  injured  by  English 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


93 


smug-gling-,  but  to  learn  how  far  French 
smug-ghng-  could  annoy  Eng-lish  trade. 
These  men  appeared  convinced ;  they 
were  effectively  so.  D'Artag-nan  was 
quite  sure  that  at  the  first  debauch,  when 
thoroug-hly  drunk,  one  of  the  two  would 
divulge  the  secret  to  the  whole  band.  His 
play  appeared  infallible. 

A  fortnig-ht  after  all  we  have  said  had 
taken  place  at  Calais,  the  whole  troop  as- 
sembled at  the  Hague.  Then  D'Artag-nan 
perceived  that  all  his  men,  with  remark- 
able intellig-ence,  had  alread\'-  travestied 
themselves  into  sailors,  more  or  less  ill- 
treated  b}^  the  sea.  D' Artagnan  left  them 
to  sleep  in  a  cabin  in  Newkerke  Street, 
while  he  lodged  comfortably  upon  the 
Grand  Canal.  He  learned  that  the  king 
of  England  had  come  back  to  his  old  ally 
William  H.  of  Nassau,  stadtholder  of 
Holland.  He  learned  also  that  the  re- 
fusal of  Louis  XIV.  had  a  little  cooled 
the  protection  afforded  him  up  to  that 
time,  and  in  consequence  he  had  gone  to 
reside  in  a  little  village  house  at  Scheven- 
ingen,  situated  in  the  dunes,  on  the  sea- 
shore, about  a  league  from  the  Hague. 
There,  it  was  said,  the  unfortunate  ban- 
ished king  consoled  himself  in  his  exile, 
b}"  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  Scheven- 
ingen,  on  the  fine  sand  upon  which  grows 
the  golden  broom  of  the  dune,  Charles  H. 
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  Schev- 
cningen,  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'Ar- 
tagnan recognized  the  king;  he  saw  him 
fix  his  melancholy  look  upon  the  immense 


extent  of  the  waters,  and  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  fri- 
able 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  do^^^l,  and  deposited  the  three  thou- 
sand 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  S3a,  maneuvering  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  UNWILLING- 
LY, IS  FORCED  TO  DO  A  LITTLE  HISTORY. 

While  kings  and  men  were  thus  occu- 
pied with  England,  which  governed  itself 
quite  alone,  and  which,  it  must  be  said  to 
its  praise,  had  never  been  so  badly  gov- 
erned, a  man  upon  whom  God  had  fixed 
his  e^^e,  and  placed  his  finger,  a  man  pre- 
destined to  write  his  name  in  brilliant  let- 
ters in  the  book  of  history,  w^as  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,  al- 
though not  only  England,  but  France, 
but  Europe,  watched  him  marching  with 
a  fu'm  step  and  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  Avhich 
General  Lambert,  imitating  Cromwell, 
whose  lieutenant  he  had  been,  had  just 
blocked  up  so  closel}^  in  order  to  bring  it 
to  his  will,  that  no  member,  during  all 
the  blockade,  was  able  to  go  out,  and 
only  one,  Peter  Wentworth,  had  been 
able  to  get  in.  Lambert  and  Monk — 
everything  was  resumed  under  these  two 


94 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


men ;  the  ifirst  representing-  military  des- 
potism, the  second  representing-  pure  re- 
publicanism. These  men  were  the  two 
sole  political  representatives  of  that  revo- 
lution in  which  Charles  I.  had  at  first 
lost  his  crown,  and  afterward  his  head. 
As  reg-arded  Lambert,  he  did  not  dis- 
semble his  views ;  he  sought  to  establish 
a  military  g-overnment,  and  to  be  himself 
the  head  of  that  government. 

Monk,  a  rigid  republican,  some  said, 
wished  to  maintain  tbf  Rump  parliament, 
that  visible  representee  uion,  although  de- 
g-enerated,  of  the  republic.  Monk,  artful 
and  ambitious,  said  others,  wished  simply 
to  make  of  this  parliament,  which  he  af- 
fected to  protect,  a  solid  step  by  which  to 
mount  the  throne  which  Cromwell  had 
made  empty,  but  npon  which  he  had 
never  dared  to  take  his  seat.  Thus  Lam- 
bert by  persecuting-  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  himself :  Monk  in  Scotland,  where 
were  the  Presbyterians  and  the  royalists, 
that  is  to  sa}^,  the  malcontents  ;  Lambert 
in  London,  where  was  found,  as  is  always 
the  case,  the  strongest  opposition  ag-ainst 
the  power  which  it  had  beneath  its  eyes. 
Monk  had  pacified  Scotland,  he  had  there 
formed  for  himself  an  arm}^,  and  found 
an  asylum.  The  one  watched  the  other. 
Monk  knew  that  the  day  was  not  yet 
come,  the  day  mai-ked  by  the  Lord  for 
a  great  change  ;  his  sword,  therefore,  ap- 
peared g-lued  to  the  sheath.  Inexpugnable 
in  his  wild  and  mountainous  Scotland,  an 
absolute  g-eneral,  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  g-arrison  in  the  city— such  was  the 
position  of  Monk,  when,  at  a  hundred 
leagues  from  Lc^ndon ,  he  declared  liimself 
for  the  parliament.  Lambert,  on  the  con- 
trar}'-,  as  we  liave  said,  lived  in  the  capi- 
tal. That  was  the  center  of  all  his  opera- 
tions, 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  learned  the 
support  that,  from  the  frontiers  of  Scot- 
land, 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,  par- 
ticularly when  it  was  well  commanded. 
He  knew,  besides,  that  as  fast  as  the  sol- 
diers of  Monk  penetrated  into  England, 
they  would  form  on  their  route  that  ball 
of  snow,  the  emblem  of  the  globe  of  fort- 
une, which  is  for  the  ambitious  nothing- 
but  a  step  growing-  unceasingly  hig-her  to 
conduct  him  to  his  object.  He  g'ot  to- 
gether, then,  his  army,  formidable  at  the 
same  time  for  its  composition  and  its 
numbers,  and  hastened  to  meet  Monk, 
who,  on  his  part,  like  a  prudent  navig-ator 
sailing  amid  rocks,  advanced  hy  very 
short  marches,  his  nose  to  the  wind,  list- 
ening' to  the  reports  and  scenting-  the 
air  which  came  from  London. 

The  two  armies  came  in  sig-ht  of  each 
other  near  Newcastle ;  Lambert,  arriving- 
first,  encamped  in  the  city  itself.  Monk', 
always  circumspect,  stopped  where  Ik; 
was,  and  placed  his  general  quarters  at 
Coldstream,  on  the  Tweed.  The  sig-ht  of 
Lambert  spread  joy  through  the  armv' 
of  Monk,  while,  on  the  contrarj^,  th(! 
sight  of  Monk  threw  disorder  into  th(! 
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  beg'un  to  re- 
flect that  they  were  less  good  republicans 
than  the  soldiers  of  Monk,  since  the  latter 
supported  the  parliament ;  while  Lambert 
supported  nothing-,  not  even  himself.  As 
to  Monk,  if  he  had  had  to  reflect,  or  if  he 
did  reflect,  it  nmst  have  been  after  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


95 


made  in  vain  throug-hout  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  paramount  necessit}^ ;  the 
Scotch,  a  poor  and  sober  race,  live  upon 

»a  little  barley  crushed  between  two 
stones,  diluted  witli  the  water  of  the 
fountain,  and  cooked  upon  another  stone, 
heated.  The  Scotch,  their  distribution  of 
barley  being  made,  cared  very  little 
whether  there  was  or  was  not  any  meat 
in  Coldstream.  Monk,  little  accustomed 
to  barle^^-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  read.y  for  supper.  Monk 
ordered  search  to  be  made  ;  his  scouts  had 
on  arriving  in  the  jilace  found  it  deserted 
and  the  cupboards  empty  ;  upon  butchers 
and  bakers  it  was  of  no  use  depending  in 
Coldstream.  The  smallest  morsel  of  bread, 
then,  could  not  be  found  for  the  general's 
table. 

As  accounts  succeeded  each  other,  all 
equally  unsatisfactory,  Monk,  seeing  ter- 
ror and  discouragement  upon  every  face, 
declared  that  he  was  not  hungry  ;  besides, 
the.y  should  eat  on  the  morrow,  since 
Lambert  was  there  probabl}'-  with  the 
intention  of  giving  battle,  and  conse- 
quently to  give  up  his  provisions,  if  he 
were  forced  in  Newcastle,  or  to  dehver 
the  soldiers  of  Monk  from  hunger  forever 
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  indiffer- 
ence for  the  absent  mutton,  cut  a  frag- 
ment 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  pleas- 
antrj-  satisfied  some  of  those  who  had  re- 
sisted Monk's  first  deduction  from  the 
neighborhood  of  Lambert's  army ;  the 
number  of  the  dissentients  diminished 
then  greatly ;  the  guard  took  their 
posts,  the  patrols  began,  and  the  gen- 
eral 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,  b^  which  then  was  in  existence, 
and  was  called  Newcastle  Abbey.  It  was 
built  upon  a  vast  site,  independent  at 
once  of  the  plain  and  of  the  river,  because 
it  vcas  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,  and  reeds,  were 
seen  elevated  solid  spots  of  groimd,  con- 
secrated formerly  to  the  kitchen-garden, 
the  park,  the  pleasure-gardens,  and  other 
dependencies  of  the  abbe^^.  like  one  of 
those  great  sea-spiders,  whose  body  is 
round,  while  the  claws  go  diverging 
round  from  this  circumference.  The  kitch- 
en-garden, one  of  the  longest  claAvs  of 
the  abbey,  extended  to  the  camp  of  Monk. 
Unfortunately  it  was,  as  we  have  said, 
earlj^  in  June,  and  the  kitchen-garden, 
being  abandoned,  oftered  no  re^urces. 
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  abbe3\ 
But  between  these  fires  and  the  abbey  ex- 
tended the  Tweed,  unfolding  its  lummous 
scales  beneath  the  thick  shade  of  tall 
green  oaks.  Monk  was  peilectlj^  well 
acquainted  with  this  position,  Newcastle 
and  its  environs  having  already  more 
than  once  been  his  headcjuarters.  He 
knew  that  by  day  his  enemy  might  with- 
out doubt  throw  a  few  eclaireurs  into 
these  ruins  and  promote  a  skirmish,  but 
that  by  night  he  would  take  care  to  ab- 
stain from  such  a  risk.  He  felt  himself, 
therefore,  in  securit3\  Thus  llis  soldiers 
saw  him,  after  what  he  boastingly  called 
his  supper — that  is  to  say,  after  the  exer- 
cise of  mastication  reported  by  us  at  the 
commencement  of  this  chapter — like  Na- 


96 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


poleon  on  the  eve  of  Austerlitz,  sleeping- 
seated  in  his  rush  chan',  half  beneath  the 
lig-ht  of  his  lamp,  half  beneath  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  moon,  commencing-  its  ascent 
into  the  heavens,  which  denoted  that  it 
was  nearl}^  half -past  nine  in  the  evening-. 
All  at  once  Monk  was  roused  from  his 
half-sleep,  factitious  perhaps,  b}^  a  troop 
of  soldiers,  who  came  'with  joj^ous  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  quicfi3^ 

"  Well,  my  children,  what  is  going-  on 
now  ?  "  asked  the  g-eneral. 

"  General !  "  replied  several  voices  at 
once,  "  g-eneral !  you  shall  have  some 
supper." 

"I  have  had  my  supper,  g-entlemen," 
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  fish- 
ing-boat conveying  fish  to  Newcastle." 

"And  you  have  done  very  wrong,  my 
friends.  These  gentlemen  from  London 
are  deUcate,  they  smack  of  their  first  ser- 
vice ;  you  v^^ill  put  them  sadly  out  of  humor 
this  eveiiing,  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 
refiected  an  instant. 

"Tell  me,"  continued  he,  "what  are 
these  fishermen,  if  you  please?  " 

"  Some  Picard  seamen  who  were  fishing 
on  the  coasts  of  France  or  Holland,  and 
who  have  been  thrown  upon  ours  by  a  gale 
of  wind." 

"  Do  any  among  them  speak  our  lan- 
guage?" 

"  The  leader  spoke  some  few  words  of 
English." 

The  mistrust  of  the  general  was  awak- 
ened 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  ?  "  con- 
tinued Monk  ;  "  and  what  is  their  vessel  ?  " 

"  There  are  ten  or  twelve  of  them,  gen- 
eral, and  they  were  aboard  of  a  kind  of 
chasse-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  fishermen  witli 
him.  He  was  a  man  from  fifty  to  flftj'-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  ho  walked  with  the  hesitation 
peculiar  to  sailors,  who,  never  knowing, 
thanks  to  the  movement  of  the  vessel, 
whether  their  foot  will  be  placed  upon  the 
plank  or  upon  nothing,  give  to  every  one  of 
their  steps  a  fall  as  firm  as  if  the^^  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,  pecul- 
iar to  French  peasants. 

"  Do  you  speak  English  ?  "  asked  Monk, 
in  excellent  French. 

"Ah  !  but  badlj-,  my  lord,"  replied  the 
fisherman. 

This  replj'"  was  made  much  more  with 
the  lively  and  sharp  accentuation  of  the 
people  beyond  the  Loire,  than  with  the 
slightly  drawling  accent  of  the  countries 
on  the  west  and  north  of  France. 

"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  lan- 
guages." 

"Then  you  are  a  sea-fisherman  ?  " 

"I  am  at  present,  my  lord — a  fisher- 
man, 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 


Athos  fixed  upon  Monk  onk  of  thosk  penktijating  looks  which  seem  to  convey, 

TO     HIM     THEY     AKE      DIIiECTED     TO,     A    CHALLENGE     TO     CONCEAL     A     SINGLE     ONE     OF     HIS 
THOUGHTS.— Prtyt-   108. 


Dumas,  Volume  Three. 


THE     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


97 


frequently  in  the  Gulf  of  Gascony  than  in 
the  Channel,"  said  Monk,  smiling, 

"  Well,  I  am  from  the  south  :  but  does 
that  prevent  me  from  being*  a  good  fisher- 
man, 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  Newcastle,  follow- 
ing the  coast,  when  a  party  of  horsemen 
who  were  passing  along  in  an  opposite 
direction  made  a  sign  to  my  bark  to 
turn  back  to  your  honor's  camp,  under 
penalty  of  a  discharg-e  of  musketry.  As 
I  was  not  armed  for  fighting,"  added  the 
fisherman,  smiling,  "  I  was  forced  to  sub- 
mit." 

"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 — while  j^our  Scotch- 
men, Puritans,  Presbyterians,  Covenant- 
ers, 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  smil- 
ing 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  Picardj'." 

"Yes;  but  even  Picardy  is  not  En- 
gland." 

"M3'-  lord,  man  shoves  his  boat  into  the 
sea,  but  God  and  the  wind  do  the  rest, 
and  drive  the  boat  where  the}"  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  al- 
ready, 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  neces- 
sary, not  to  lose  our  fish,  which  were 
Dumas — 4 


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  gen- 
tlemen, verj^  rich  and  very  hungr3^  So  we 
steered  our  course  toward  Newcastle." 

"  And  your  companions,  where  are 
they  ? " 

"'  Oh  !  my  companions  have  remained 
on  board ;  they  are  sailors  without  the 
least  instruction . ' ' 

''While  you — ?  "  said  Monk. 

"  Who,  I  ?  "  said  Vclq, patron,  laughing : 
"  I  have  sailed  about  with  my  father ;  and 
I  know  what  is  called  a  sou,  a  crown,  a 
pistole,  a  louis,  and  a  double-louis,  in  all 
the  languages  of  Europe  :  my  crew  there- 
fore listen  to  me  as  they  would  to  an 
oracle,  and  obej^  me  as  if  I  were  an  ad- 
miral." 

"  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-bv." 

"  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  scruti- 
nizing the  fisherman — "'  You  come  from 
Ostend,  did  you  not  sa^'  ? "  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  France  and  Holland  they  ex- 
cite interest.  What  is  he  doing  who  calls 
himself  king  of  England  ?  " 

"  Oh,  \\\\  lord  !  "  cried  the  fisherman, 
with  loud  and  expansive  frankness,  "  that 
is  a  lucky  question,  and  you  could  not  put 
it  to  anybody  better  than  to  me,  for  in 
truth  I  can  make  j^ou  a  famous  reply. 
Imagine,  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 


98 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


tall,  pale  man,  with  black  hair,  and  some- 
what hard-featured.  He  looks  ill,  and  I 
don't  think  the  air  of  Holland  agrees  with 
him." 

Monk  followed  with  the  greatest  atten- 
tion the  rapid,  heightened,  and  dill'use 
conversation  of  the  fisherman,  jn  a  lan- 
guage which  was  not  his  own,  but  which, 
as  we  have  said,  he  spoke  with  great  fa- 
cility. The  fisherman,  on  his  part,  em- 
ployed sometimes  a  French  word,  some- 
times an  English  word,  and  sometimes  a 
word  which  appeared  not  to  belong  to  an3'^ 
language,  but  was,  in  truth,  pure  Gascon. 
Fortunately  his  eyes  spoke  for  him,  and 
that  so  eloquentl}^,  that  it  was  possible  to 
lose  a  word  from  his  mouth,  but  not  a 
single  intention  from  his  eyes.  The  gen- 
eral appeared  more  and  more  satisfied 
with  his  examination.  ''You  must  have 
heard  that  this  ex-king,  as  3'ou  call  him, 
was  going  to  the  Hague  for  some  pur- 
pose ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  fisherman,  "1 
heard   that." 

"  And  what  was  his  purpose  ?  " 

"Always  the  same,"  said  the  fisher- 
man. "Must  he  not  always  entertain 
the  fixed  idea  of  returning  to  England  ?  ' ' 

"That  is  true,"  said  Monk,  pensively. 

"Without  reckoning,"  added  the  fish- 
erman," that  the  stadtholder — you  know, 
my  lord,  William  H.? — " 

"Well?" 

"He  will  assist  him  with  all  his  jiower." 

"Ah  !   did  you  hear  that  said  ?  " 

"No,  but  I  think  so." 

"You  are  quite  a  politician,  apparent- 
ly." 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  provision  us." 

"I  will  do  my  best,  my  lord." 

"  How  much  do  you  ask  for  your  fish, 
in  the  first  place  ?  " 

"Not  such  a  fool  as  to  name  a  price, 
my  lord." 

"Why  not?" 


"  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,  ni}'^ 
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." 

Monk  looked  more  earnestly  than  ever 
at  the  fisherman,  of  whom  he  still  ap- 
peared 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  Gen- 
eral Lambert — " 

The  fisherman  made  a  movement  of  his 
head  and  shoulders,  which  signified,  "If 
he  persist  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  verj'-  intractable;  they 
understand  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  jovly 
country,  you  would  not  fail  to  say  that 
General  Monk  has  two  liands,  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, 
be  sure  of  that,"  said  the  fisherman,  with 
a  fear  too  expressive  not  to  be  exagger- 
ated. "  I  only  wish  to  remain  here,  if 
3'ou  will  allow  me  to  remain." 


THE     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


99 


I 


"I  readily  believe  you,"  said  Monk, 
with  an  imperceptible  smile,  "  but  I  can- 
not, nevertheless,  keep  jow.  in  my  tent." 

"I  have  no  such  wish,  my  lord,  and  de- 
sire only  that  your  lordship  should  point 
out  where  you  will  have  me  posted.  Do 
not  trouble  yourself  about  us — with  us  a 
nig-ht  soon  passes  away." 

"  You  shall  be  conducted  to  jouv 
bark." 

"As  your  lordship  pleases,  Onl^^  if 
3' our  lordship  would  allow  me  to  be 
taken  back  by  a  carpenter,  I  should  be 
extremely  grateful." 

"Why  so?"- 

' '  Because  the  g-entlemen  of  your  army, 
in  drag-g-ing-  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  of  water  in 
my  hold,  my  lord." 

"  The  g-reater  reason  wh}-  you  should 
watch  your  boat,  I  think." 

"My  lord,  I  am  quite  at  your  orders," 
said  the  fisherman.  "  I  will  empty  m^- 
baskets  where  you  wish ;  then  you  will 
paj^  me,  if  you  please  to  do  so  ;  and  you 
will  send  me  away,  if  it  appears  right  to 
j^ou.  You  see  I  am  very  easily  manag-ed 
and  pleased,  my  lord." 

"  Come,  come,  .you  are  a  very  good  sort 
of  a  fellow,"  said  Monk,  whose  scrutiniz- 
ing glance  had  not  been  able  to  find  a 
single  shade  in  the  limpid  e3^e  of  the  fish- 
erman. "Holloa,  Digby  !  "  An  aid-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 
bark,  and  yet  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  gentle- 
man has  just  presented  himself  at  the 
outposts,  and  asks  to  speak  to  your 
honor." 

All  this  was  said,  be  it  understood,  in 
English;  but,  notwithstanding,  it  pro- 
duced  a    slisrht    emotion   on   the    fisher- 


man,  which     Monk,    occupied    with    his 
sergeant,  did  not  remark. 

"  Who  is  the  gentleman  ? "  asked 
Monk. 

"My  lord,"  replied  Spithead,  "he  told 
it  me ;  but  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 
saj",  that  it  is  the  same  gentleman  who 
presented  himself  yesterday  at  the  halt, 
and  whom  3'our  honor  would  not  receive." 

"'  That  is  true  ,  I  was  holding  a  council 
of  officers." 

"Will  3' our  honor  give  an3^  orders  re- 
specting this  gentleman?" 

"Yes,  let  him  be  brought  here." 

"  Must  we  take  any  precautions  ?  " 

"  Such  as  what  ?  " 

"  Binding  his  e3^es,  for  instance." 

"To  what  purpose?  He  can  only  see 
what  I  desire  should  be  seen  ;  that  is  to 
sa3^,  that  I  have  around  me  eleven  thou- 
sand brave  men,  who  ask  no  better  than 
to  have  their  throats  cut  in  honor  of  the 
parliament  of  Scotland  and  England." 

"And  this  man,  m3-  lord?"  said  Spit- 
head, 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  toward  the  fisherman — "  I  shall 
see  3^ou  again,  my  brave  fellow,"  said  he  ; 
"I  have  chosen  3^ou  a  lodging.  Digb3', 
take  him  to  it.  Fear  nothing :  3''our 
mone3^  shall  be  sent  to  you  presenth'." 

"'  Thank  3'ou,  m3^  lord,"  said  the  fisher- 
man, and,  after  having  bowed,  he  left  the 
tent,  accompanied  b3^  Digb3'.  Before  he 
had  gone  a  hundred  paces  he  found  his 
companions,  who  were  whispering  with  a 
volubility  which  did  not  seem  exempt 
from  inquietude ;  but  he  made  them  a 
sign  which  seemed  to  reassure  them. 
" Hola,  3^ou  fellows!"  said  the  patron, 
"come  this  way.  His  lordship.  General 
Monk,  has  the  generosit3^  to  pay  us  for 
our  fish,  and  the  goodness  to  give  us  hos- 
pitality for  to-night." 

The  fishermen  gathered  round  their 
leader,,  and,  conducted  b3^  Digb3%  the  lit- 
tle troop  proceeded  toward  the  canteens. 


100 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


the  post,  as  may  be  remembered,  which 
had  been  assigned  them.  As  t\\Qj  went 
along-  in  the  dark,  the  fishermen  passed 
close  to  the  guards  who  Avere  conducting 
the  French  gentleman  to  General  Monk. 
This  gentleman  was  on  liorseback  and  en- 
veloped in  a  large  cloak,  which  prevented 
the  patron  from  seeing  him,  however 
great  his  curiosity  might  be.  As  to  the 
gentleman,  ignorant  that  he  was  elbow- 
ing- compatriots,  he  did  not  pay  any  at- 
tention to  the  little  troop. 

The  aid-dc-camp  installed  his  guests  in 
a  tolerably  comfortable  tent,  from  which 
was  dislodged  an  Irish  canteen-woman, 
who  went,  with  her  six  children,  to  sleep 
where  she  could.  A  large  fire  was  bui-n- 
ing  in  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  aid-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  bark, 
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  infinitely. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


THE  TREASURE. 


The  Frencli  gentleman  whom  Spithead 
had  announced  to  Monk,  and  who  had 
passed,  so  closely  wrapped  in  his  cloak, 
by  the  fishermen  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  aj^pearing  indis- 
creet. As  the  order  had  been  given,  he 
was  conducted  to  the  tent  of  the  general. 
The  gentleman  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  heard  the 
rej)ort  of  his  people,  and  observed  through 
the  opening-  in  the  canvas  the  countenance 
of  the  person  who  solicited  an  audience. 
Without  doubt  the  report  of  those  who 


had  accompanied  the  Fi-ench  gentleman 
established  the  discretion  with  which  he 
was  conducted ;  for  the  first  impression 
the  sti-anger  received  of  the  welcome 
made  him  by  the  general  was  more  favor- 
able than  he  could  have  expected  at  such 
a  moment,  and  on  the  part  of  so  suspici- 
ous a  man.  Nevertheless,  according  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  with- 
out embarrassment  or  notice.  At  the  end 
of  a  few  seconds,  the  general  made  a  gest- 
ure with  his  hand  and  head  in  sign  of 
attention . 

'^MjMord,"  said  the  gentleman,  in  ex- 
cellent English,  ' '  I  have  requested  an 
interview  with  your  honor,  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  question  is  indiscreet — do 
you  speak  French  with  the  same  purity?" 

'^  There  is  nothing  surprising,  my  lord, 
in  my  speaking  English  tolerably  ;  I  re- 
sided for  some  time  in  England  in  my 
youth,  and  since  then  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  French- 
man, but  a  Frenchman  from  the  environs 
of  Tours. 

''And  what  part  of  England  have  you 
resided  in,  monsieur  ?  " 

"In  my  3^outh,  London,  my  lord;  then, 
about  1635, 1  made  a  pleasure  trip  to  Scot- 
land ;  and  lastly,  in  1648,  I  lived  for  some 
time  at  Newcastle,  particularly  in  the  con- 
vent, the  gardens  of  which  are  now  occu- 
pied by  your  army." 

"Excuse  me,  monsieur;  but  you  must 
comprehend  that  these  questions  are  nec- 
essary on  ]ny  part — do  you  not  ?  " 

"  It  would  astonish  me,  my  lord,  if  tliey 
were  not  made." 

"  Now,  then,  monsieur,  what  can  I  do 
to  serve  you  ?     What  do  you  wish  ?  " 

"This,  my  lord  ; — but  in  the  first  place, 
are  we  alone  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  so,  monsieur,  except,  of 
course,  the  post  which  guards  us."     So 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


101 


saying",  Monk  pulled  open  the  canvas  with 
his  hand,  and  jDointed  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  gen- 
tleman, in  as  calm  a  tone  as  if  lie  had  been 
for  a  length  of  time  in  habits  of  intimacy 
with  his  interlocutor,  •'^I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  address  myself  to  you,  be- 
cause 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  lang-uag-e, 
Avhich  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  mus- 
cle of  his  face  moved — ' '  I  thank  you,  mon- 
sieur," said  he;  "but,  in  the  first  place, 
whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  to  ?  " 

'/ 1  sent  3^ou  my  name  by  your  sergeant, 
my  lord." 

"Excuse  him,  monsieur,  he  is  a  Scotch- 
man— ^he  could  not  retain  it." 

"  I  am  called  the  Comte  de  la  Fere, 
monsieur,"  said  Athos,  bowing-. 

"The  Comte  de  la  Fere ?  "  said  Monk, 
endeavoring  to  recollect  the  name.  '•'  Par- 
don me,  monsieur,  but  this  appears  to  be 
the  first  time  I  have  ever  heard  that 
name.  Do  you  fill  any  post  at  the  court 
of  France?" 

"None  ;  I  am  a  simple  g-entleman." 

''What  dig-nity?" 

"  King  Charles  I.  made  me  a  Knig-ht  of 
the  Garter,  and  Queen  Anne  of  Austria 
has  given  me  the  cordon  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.     These  are  my  only  dig-nities." 

"The  Garter  !  the  B.o\y  Ghost  !  Are 
you  a  knig-ht  of  those  two  orders,  mon- 
sieur ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  on  what  occasions  have  such  fa- 
vors been  bestowed  upon  you  ?  " 

"  For  services  rendered  to  their  majes- 
ties." 

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  endeavoring  to  penetrate 


this  mystery  of  a  simplicity  and  grandeur 
upon  which  the  strang-er  did  not  seem  dis- 
posed to  give  him  an}^  other  information 
than  that  which  he  had  already  received 
— "  Did  3"ou  present  j^ourself  yesterday  at 
our  advanced  posts  ?  " 

"  And  was  sent  back  ?     Yes,  my  lord." 

"  Manj'  officers,  monsieur,  would  not 
permit  anybody  to  enter  tlieir  camp,  par- 
ticularly on  the  eve  of  a  j)robable  battle. 
But  I  differ  from  my  colleagues,  and  like 
to  leave  nothing  behind  me.  Everj^  advice 
is  g'ood  to  me  :  all  danger  is  sent  to  me 
b}'  God,  and  I  weig-h  it  in  my  hand  with 
the  energ-y  He  has  g-iven  me.  So,  yester- 
day, 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  with 
the  battle  you  are  about  to  fig-ht  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  mig-ht  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  honor  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  larg-e  sum  in 
g-old,  and  on  the  eve  of  the  battle,  from  a 
presentiment  perhaps  of  the  turn  which 
thing-s  would  take  on  the  morrow,  I  con- 
cealed it  in  the  principal  vault  of  the  con- 
vent of  Newcastle,  in  the  tower  of  which 
3'ou  may  see  from  hence  the  summit  sil- 
vered bj'the  moon.  My  treasure  has  then 
remained  interred  there,  and  I  am  come 
to  entreat  your  honor  to  permit  me  to 
withdraw  it  before,  perhaps,  the  battle 
turning-  that  way,  a  mine  or  some  other 
war  eng-ine  may  destroy  the  building- 
and  scatter  my  g-old,  or  render  it  so  ap- 
parent that  the  soldiers  will  take  i^osses- 
sion  of  it." 

Monk  was  well   acquainted  with  man- 


102 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


kind  ;  he  saw  in  the  physiog'nomj'-  of  this 
g-entleman  all  the  energy,  all  the  reason, 
all  tlie  circumspection  possible ;  he  could 
therefore  onty  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  au- 
g-ured  justly  by  me.  But  is  the  sum 
worth  the  trouble  to  which  you  expose 
3^ourself  ?  Do  you  even  believe  that  it  can 
be  in  the  place  where  3'ou  left  it  ?  '' 

"  It  is  there,  monsieur,  I  do  not  doubt." 

"  That  is  a  repl}^  to  one  question ;  but 
to  the  other.  I  asked  you  if  the  sum  were 
so  larg-e  as  to  lead  you  to  expose  3^ourself 
thus." 

"  It  is  really  larg-e  ;  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  ear- 
nestly and  long-.  Monk  perceived  this, 
and  his  mistrust  returned. 

"Here  is  a  man,"  said  he,  "who  is  lay- 
ing- a  snare  for  me.  So  you  wish  to  with- 
draw this  money,  monsieur,"  replied  he, 
"  as  I  understand  ?  " 

"If  you  please,  my  lord." 

"To-day?" 

"  This  very  evening-,  and  that  on  ac- 
count of  the  circumstances  I  have 
named." 

"But,  monsieur,"  objected  Monk,  "Gen- 
eral Lambert  is  as  near  the  abbe}'  where 
you  have  to  act  as  I  am.  Why,  then, 
have  you  not  addressed  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  3^ou 
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  g-entleman  would  seize 
the  evasions  that  were  open  to  him,  but 
Athos  did  not  lift  his  brows  once. 

"I  assure  you,  my  lord,"  he  said  firm- 
ly, "  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  sug-gested  another.  Without  doubt 
this  Frenchman  was  some  emissary  sent 
to  entice  into  error  the  protector  of  the 
parliament ;  the  g'old  was  nothing-  but 
a  lure;  and  by  the  help  of  this  they 
thoug'ht  to  excite  the  cupiditj'^  of  the 
g-eneral.  This  g-old  mig-ht  not  exist.  It 
was  Monk's  business,  then,  to  seize  in  the 
fact  of  falsehood  and  trick,  the  French 
g-entleman,  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,  "with- 
out doubt  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to 
share  my  supper  this  evening  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  replied  Athos,  bow- 
ing ;  "  for  you  do  me  an  honor  of  which 
I  feel  myself  worthy,  b}^  the  inclination 
which  drew  me  toward  you." 

"It  is  so  much  the  more  gracious  on 
your  part  to  accept  my  invitation  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  honor  to  pass  an  hour  more 
with  you." 

After  this  exchange  of  civilities,  during 
which  Monk  had  lost  nothing  of  his  cir- 
cumspection, 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.  While  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  recon- 
ciliation of  M.  de  Conde  with  the  king. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


103 


and  the  probable  marriag-e  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  disunited  at  this  time,  En- 
gland, France  and  Holland.  Monk,  in 
this  conversation,  convinced  himself  of 
one  thing",  which  he  must  have  remarked 
at  the  first  w^ords  exchanged  :  that  was, 
that  he  had  to  do  with  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." 

"Quite  seriously." 

"  And  3"0U  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  necessarj^  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  in- 
convenience 3'ourself  if  I  did  not,  in  fact, 
stand  in  need  of  your  compan3'  :  but,  as  I 
recognize  that  this  company  is  not  only 
honorable,  but  necessary,  I  accept  it." 

"Do  you  desire  we  should  take  any 
people  with  us  ?  "  asked  Monk. 

"  General,  I  believe  that  would  be  use- 
less, if  you  yourself  do  not  see  the  neces- 
sity for  it.  Two  men  and  a  horse  will 
suffice  to  transport  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 
3^ourself,  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  recog- 
nize the  stone ;  and  as  I  am  not  willing,  in 
an  affair  of  delicacy  and  confidence,  to 
keep  the  secret  from  3-our  honor,  here  is 
the  inscription  : — '  Hie  jacet  venerahilis, 
Petrus  GuUelmus  Scott,  Canon  Honorah. 
Convent  us  Novi  Castelli.  Ohiit  quarto, 
et  decimd  Feb.  ann.  Dam.  mccviii.  Re- 
quiescat  171  pace.'  " 

Monk  did  not  lose  a  single  word.  He 
was  astonished  either  ab  the  marvelous 
duplicity  of  this  man,  and  the  superior 
style  in  which  he  played  his  part,  or  at 
the  good  loyal  faith  with,  which  he  pre- 
sented his  request,  in  a  situation  in  which 
was  concerned  a  million  of  money,  risked 
against  the  stab  of  a  poniard,  amid  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  wonder- 
ful, that  I  will  carry  the  fiambeau  my- 
self." And  saying  these  words,  he  girded 
on  a  short  sword,  placed  a  pistol  in  his 
belt,  disclosing  in  this  movement,  which 
opened  his  pourpoint  a  little,  the  fine 
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  poniard,  which 
he  placed  upon  the  table;  unhooked  his 
sword-belt,  which  he  laid  close  to  his  pon- 
iard ;  and,  without  affectation  opening 
his  pourpoint,  as  if  to  seek  his  handker- 
chief, showed  beneath  his  fine  cambric 
shirt  his  naked  breast,  without  arms, 
either  offensive  or  defensive. 

"This  is  truly  a  singular  man,"  said 
Monk  ;  "  he  is  without  anj-  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  ver^"  right,  but  a  great 
captain  ought  never  to  expose  himself 
with  temerity.  It  is  night,  the  passage 
of  the ,  march  may  present  dang-ers ;  be 
accompanied." 


104 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"You  are  right,"  replied  he,  caUing 
Digby.  The  aide-de-camp  appeared.  "Fif- 
ty 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    XXV. 


THE   MARCH. 


Athos  and  Monk  traversed,  in  going 
from  the  camp  toward  the  Tw^eed,  that 
part  of  the  ground  which  Digby  had 
traversed  with  the  fishermen  coming 
from  the  TAveed  to  the  camp.  ■  The  aspect 
of  this  place,  the  aspect  of  the  changes 
man  had  w-rought  in  it,  w^as  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,  wi^th 
his  eyes  sometimes  directed  toward 
heaven,  and  sometimes  toward  the 
earth,  sought,  thought,  and  sighed. 
Digbj^,  whom  the  last  orders  of  the  gen- 
eral, and  particularly  the  accent  with 
which  he  had  given  them,  had  at  first  a 
little  excited,  Digby  followed  the  night- 
walkers  about  twentj^  paces,  but  the  gen- 
eral having  turned  round  as  if  astonished 
to  find  his  orders  had  not  been  obeyed, 
the  aid-de-camp  perceived  his  indiscretion 
and  returned  to  his  tent.  He  supposed 
that  the  general  wished  to  make,  incog- 
nito, 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  min- 
ntes  among  the  tents  and  posts,  which 
were  closer  together  near  the  headquar- 
ters. Monk  entered  upon   a  little  cause- 


way wdiich  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  sa^'-,  the 
lines  nearest  to  Lambert's  army.  Beyond 
the  river  was  an  advanced  post,  belong- 
ing 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  recro.ss  it  in  the  same  manner,  giving 
the  alarm ;  but  as  there  was  no  post  at 
that  spot,  and  as  Lambert's  soldiers  w^ere 
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  hun- 
dred paces  from  the  old  abbey,  the  fisher- 
men had  taken  up  their  abode  amid  a 
crowd  of  small  tents  raised  by  the  sol- 
diers of  the  neighboring  clans,  who  had 
wdth  them  their  wives  and  children.  All 
this  confusion,  seen  by  the  moon's  light, 
presented  a  striking  coup  d'oeil;  the  half- 
shade  enlarged  ever^^  detail,  and  the  light, 
that  flatterer  which  onlj^  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  ar- 
rived then  with  Athos,  crossing  this  spot, 
illumined  by  a  double  light,  the  silver 
splendor  of  the  moon,  and  the  red  blaze 
of  the  fires  at  the  meeting  of  the  thi-ee 
causeways:  there  he  stopped,  and  ad- 
dressing 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  j^onder 
who  for  some  time  has  been  walking  be- 
hind us." 

'•  Digby  !  "  cried  Monk,  "  Digby!  come 
here,  if  you  please." 

But,  instead   of  obeying,    the   shadow 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


105 


made  a  motion  of  surprise,  and,  retreat- 
ing- instead  of  advancing-,  it  bent  down 
and  disappeared  along-  the  jetty  on  the 
left,  directing  its  course  toward  the  lodg- 
ing- of  the  fishermen. 

'•'It  appears  not  to  be  Dig-by,"  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  m 
which  are  reposing  ten  or  eleven  thousand 
men,  as  to  give  Monk  and  Athos  an3' 
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  connivance  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  treas- 
ures are  to  be  found  in  the  abbey  of  New- 
castle, 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,"  re- 
plied Athos,  in  so  natural  a  tone  of  voice 
as  made  it  evident  that  soldier  or  fisher- 
man was  the  same  to  him,  and  that  he 
had  no  preference. 

Monk  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 
toward  headquarters ;  he  was  stopped 
with  his  companion,  gave  the  password, 
and  went  on.  A  soldier,  roused  b}'  the 
noise,  unrolled  his  plaid,  and  looked  up  to 
see  what  was  g'oing  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  toward  it.  It 
appeared  to  the  general  that  at  the  mo- 
ment tliej^  came  up  a  shadow,  like  to  that 
they  had  alreadj^  seen,  glided  into  this 
tent ;  but,  on  drawing-  nearer,  he  per- 
ceived 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,  fear- 
ing he  should  be  suspected  of  connivance 
with  some  of  his  compatriots,  remained 
outside  the  tent. 

' '  Hola ! ' '  said  Monk,  in  French,  "  wake 
up  here."  Two  or  three  of  the  sleepers 
got  up.  "I  want  a  man  to  light  me," 
continued  Monk. 

"Your  honor  may  depend  upon  us," 
said  a  voice  which  made  Athos  start. 
••Where  do  you  wish  us  to  go  ?  " 

•'You  shall  see.  A  light  I  come,  quick- 
ly : " 

• '  Yes,  your  honor.  Does  it  please  your 
honor  that  I  should  accompany  you  ?  " 

"You  or  another,  it  is  of  very  little 
consequence,  provided  I  have  a  light." 

"It  is  strange  I "  thought  Athos; 
"what  a  singular  voice  that  man  has  !  " 

"  Some  fire,  3'ou  sirs  !  "  cried  the  fisher- 
man ;  "'  come,  make  haste  !  " 

Then  addressing  in  a  low  voice  his  com- 
panion nearest  to  him  : — "  Get  a  light, 
Meilneville, "  said  he,  "  and  hold  yourself 
ready  for  anything." 

One  of  the  fishermen  struck  light  from 
a  stone,  set  fire  to  some  tinder,  and  by 
the  aid  of  a  match  lit  a  lantern.  The 
light  immediately  spread  all  over  the 
tent. 

"  Are  3^ou  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. 
"Peste!  I  have  a  great  mind  to  charge 
you  with  the  commission,  Menneville ;  he 
may  know  me.  Light !  light !  "  This 
dialogue  was  pronounced  at  the  bacl\  of 
the  tent,  and 'in  so  low  a  voice  that  Monk 
could  not  hear  a  syllable  of  it  :  he  was, 
besides,  talking  with  Athos.  Menneville 
got  him'self  ready  in  the  meantime,  or 
rather  received  the  orders  of  his  leader. 


106 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Well?"  said  Monk. 

"I  am  ready,  g-eneral,"  said  the  fisher- 
man. 

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  cause- 
way, and  stretch  out  jouv  legs,"  said 
Monk  to  the  fisherman. 

The}'^  were  not  twent}^  paces  on  their 
w^ay,  when  the  same  shadow  that  had 
appeared  to  enter  the  tent  came  out  of 
it  ag-ain,  crawled  along  as  far  as  the  piles, 
and,  protected  hy  that  sort  of  parapet 
placed  along  the  causeway,  carefully  ob- 
served the  march  of  the  general.  All 
three  disappeared  in  the  night  haze. 
They  were  walking  toward  Newcastle, 
the  white  stones  of  which  appeared  to 
them  like  sepulchers.  After  standing 
for  a  few  seconds  under  the  porch,  thej'^ 
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,  monsieur,  they  "will 
assist  in  rolling  out  the  barrels,  if  your 
honor  will  permit  them." 

"  You  are  right." 

The  post,  however  fast  asleep,  roused 
up  at  the  first  steps  of  the  three  visitors 
among  the  briars  and  grass  that  invaded 
the  porch.  Monk  gave  the  password,  and 
penetrated  into  the  interior  of  the  convent, 
preceded  by  the  light.  He  w^alked  last, 
watching  even  the  least  movement  of 
Athos,  his  naked  dirk  in  his  sleeve,  and 
ready  to  j)lunge  it  into  the  reins  of  the 
gentleman  at  the  first  suspicious  gesture 
he  should  see  him  make.  But  Athos,  with 
a  firm  and  sure  step,  traversed  the  cham- 
bers and  courts.  Not  a  door,  not  a  win- 
dow was  left  in  this  building.  The  doors 
had  been  burned,  some  upon  the  spot,  and 
the  charcoal  of  tliem  was  still  jagged  with 
the  action  of  the  fire,  which  had  gone  out 
of  itself,  powxn'less,  no  doubt,  to  get  to  the 


heart  of  those  massive  joints  of  oak  fast- 
ened together  by  iron  nails.'  As  to  the 
windows,  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  intruders,  while  their 
shadow^s  appeared  trembling  upon  the 
lofty  stone  Avails  in  the  light  projected 
by  the  torch.  Monk  concluded  there 
could  biB  no  man  in  the  convent,  since 
wild  beasts  and  birds  were  there  still,  and 
fled  awa}^  at  his  approach.  After  having 
passed  the  I'ubbish,  and  torn  awa^'^  more 
than  one  branch  of  ivy  that  had  made 
itself  a  guardian  for  the  solitude,  Athos 
arrived  at  the  vaults  situated  beneath  the 
great  hall,  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." 

While  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  w^all,  reaching'  to  a  win- 
dow, which  its  branches  darkened. 

"  Have  3'ou  a  knife  ?  "  said  Monk  to  the 
fisherman. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"Cut  doAvn  this  tree,  then." 

The  fisherman  obej^ed,  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,  while  Monk  and  Athos  turned  behind 
a  column  at  the  foot  of  wiiich,  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  inscription. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


101 


''Yes/'  said  Monk. 

Then,  as  if  still  willing-  to  leave  the 
[Frenchman  one  means  of  evasion — 

•'Do  3'ou  not  observe  that  this  vault 
has  alread}"  heen  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 
bj"  any  monument.  It  is  simple,  therefore 
it  has  been  protected  by  the  superstitious 
fear  which  your  Puritans  have  always  had 
of  sacrileg-e.  Not  a  morsel  of  the  masonry 
of  this  tomb  has  been  chipped  off." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Monk. 

Athos  seized  the  lever. 

"Shall  I  help  you  ?  "  said  Monk. 

"Thank  3'ou,  my  lord;  but  I  am  not 
willing-  your  honor  should  put  your  hand 
to  a  work  of  which,  perhaps,  you  would 
not  take  the  responsibility  if  you  knew  the 
probable  consequences  of  it." 

Monk  raised  his  head. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  mon- 
sieur? " 

"  I  mean — but  that  man — " 

"  Stop,"  said  Monk  ;  "  I  perceive  what 
you  are  afraid  of.  I  will  make  a  trial.'* 
Monk  turned  toward  the  fisherman,  the 
whole  of  whose  profile  was  thrown  upon 
the  wall. 

"'  Come  here,  friend  !  "  said  he  in  En- 
g-lish,  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  circum- 
stances have  the  command  over  them- 
selves not  to  reply  to  a  question  put  to 
them  in  a  lang-uag-e  they  understood. 
The    fisherman   is  perhaps  "more  learned 


than  we  believe  him  to  be.  Send  him 
away,  my  lord,  I  beg  of  3^ou." 

"  Decidedly,"  said  Monk,  "  he  wishes  to 
have  me  alone  in  this  vault.  Never  mind, 
we  will  go  throug-h  with  it ;  one  man  is  as 
good  as  another  man ;  and  we  are  alone. 
— My  friend,"  said  Monk  to  the  fisher- 
man, "g-o  back  up  the  stairs  we  have 
just  descended,  and  watch  that  nobody 
comes  to  disturb  us."  The  fisherman 
made  a  sig-n  of  obedience.  "  Leave  your 
torch,"  said  Monk;  "it  would  betray 
your  presence,  and  mig'ht  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  broug-ht  it 
to  the  foot  of  the  column. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  "  said  he ;  "money,  then,  is 
concealed  under  this  tomb  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord  ;  and  in  five  minutes  you 
will  no  long-er  doubt  it." 

At  the  same  time  Athos  struck  a  violent 
blow  ujDon  the  plaster,  which  split,  pre- 
senting- a  chink  for  the  point  of  the  lever. 
Athos  introduced  the  bar  into  this  crack, 
and  soon  larg-e  pieces  of  plaster  yielded, 
rising  up  like  rounded  slabs.  Then  the 
Comte  de  la  Fere  seized  the  stones  and 
threw  them  away  with  a  force  that  hands 
so  delicate  as  his  mig-ht  not  have  been 
supposed  capable  of. 

"My  lord,"  said  Athos,  "this  is  plainly 
the  masonry  of  which  I  told  3-our  honor.'' 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  do  not  yet  see  the  casks," 
said  Monk. 

"  If  I  had  a  poniard,'"  said  Athos,  look- 
ing- round  him,  "  you  should  soon  see 
them,  monsieur.  Unfortunateh^  I  left 
mine  in  your  tent." 

"  I  would  willing'ly  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  mig-ht  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." 


108 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Ah!  that  is  true,"  said  Athos ;  "for 
he  cut  the  tree  down  with  it."  And  he 
advanced  toward  the  stairs. 

"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  whicli 
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  defense.  He  then 
struck,  during  several  seconds,  so  skill- 
fully and  sharply  upon  the  intermediary 
plaster,  that  it  separated  in  two  parts, 
and  Monk  was  able  to  discern  two  barrels 
placed  end  to  end,  and  which  their  weight 
maintained  motionless  in  their  chalky  en- 
velope. 

"My  lord,"  said  Athos,  "\^ou  see  that 
my  presentiments  have  not  been  disap- 
pointed." 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  Monk,  "and  I 
have  good  reason  to  believe  you  are  satis- 
fled  ;  are  you  not?  " 

"  Doubtless  I  am;  the  loss  of  this  money 
would  have  been  inexpressibly  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  pur- 
poses." 

"You  are,  upon  my  honor,  as  mysterious 
in  your  words  as  in  your  actions,  mon- 
sieur," said  Monk.  "Just  now  I  did  not 
perfectly  understand  you  when  you  said 
that  you  were  not  willipg  to  throw  upon 
me  the  responsibility  of  the  work  we  were 
accoinplishing. ' ' 

"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  England,  five  or  six 
causes,  which  does  not  prevent  every  one 
from  considering  his  own,  not  only  as  the 
good  cause,  but  as  the  best.  What  is 
yours,  monsieur  ?  Speak  boldlj'^,  that  we 
may  see  if,  upon  this  point,  to  which  you 
appear  to  attach  a  great  importance,  we 
are  of  tlie  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 
mustache  and  beard,  at  the  same  time 
that  his  vague  and  melancholy  eye  wan- 
dered 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  H.,  exiled 
from  his  countrj^  driven  from  his  palaces, 
the  orphan  at  once  of  his  father  and  his 
throne,  and  deprived  of  ever3^thing,  even 
of  the  melancholy  happiness  of  kissing  on 
his  knees  the  stone  upon  which  the  hands 
of  his  murderers  have  written  that  sim- 
ple epitaph  which  will  eternall}^  cry  out 
for  vengeance  upon  them  : — '  Here  Lies 
Charles  I.'  " 

Monk  grew  slightly  pale,  and  an  imper- 
ceptible shudder  crept  over  his  skin  and 
raised  his  gray  mustache. 

"I,"  continued  Athos,  "I,  Comte  dela 
Fere,  the  last,  the  only  faithful  friend  the 
poor  abandoned  prince  has  left,  I  have 
offered  him  to  come  hither  to  find  the 
man  upon  whom  now  depends  the  fate  of 
ro3^alt3^  and  of  England  :  and  I  am  come. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


109 


and  have  placed  mj^self  under  the  eye  of 
this  man,  and  have  placed  myself  naked 
and  unarmed  in  his  hands,  saying- : — '  My 
lord,  here  is  the  last  resource  of  a  prince 
whom  God  made  your  master,  whom  his 
birth  made  your  king- ;  upon  you,  and  3'^ou 
alone,  depend  his  life  and  his  future.  Will 
you  employ  this  money  in  consoling-  En- 
gland for  the  evils  it  must  have  suffered 
from  anarchy  ;  that  is  to  saj^,  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  3'ou,  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  en- 
thusiasm of  your  cause  carries  you  away, 
if  you  are  what  you  appear  to  be,  if  your 
hand  in  what  it  undertakes  obeys  j^our 
mind,  and  your  mind  your  heart,  here 
are  the  means  of  ruining  forever  the 
cause  of  your  enem^^,  Charles  Stuart. 
Kill,  then,  the  man  3^ou  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,  and  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  cor- 
rupt or  kill,  for  everything  resists  him, 
everything-  repulses  him,  everythihg-  is 
hostile  to  him  ;  and  3'et  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. 

"  Isiy  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  kin^  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  hfe  after 
a  happy  death.'  But  to  General  Monk, 
to  the  illustrious  man  of  whose  standard 


I  believe  I  have  taken  measure,  I  say : 
'  M.J  lord,  there  is  for  you  in  the  history 
of  peoples  and  kings  a  brilliant  place,  an 
immortal,  imperishable  g-lor}^,  if  alone, 
without  any  other  interests  but  the  g-ood 
of  your  country  and  the  interests  of  jus- 
tice, 3'ou  become  the  supporter  of  your 
king-.  Many  others  have  been  conquerors 
and  glorious  usurpers ;  you,  my  lord,  you 
will  be  content  Avith  being  the  most  virtu- 
ous, the  most  honest,  and  the  most  incor- 
rupt of  men  :  you  will  have  held  a  crown 
in  3^our  hand,  and  instead  of  placing  it 
upon  your  own  brow,  you  will  have  de- 
X)osited  it  upon  the  head  of  him  for  whom 
it  was  made.  Oh,  my  lord,  act  thus,  and 
you  will  leave  to  posterity  the  most  envi- 
able of  names,  in  which  no  human  creature 
can  rival  you.'  " 

Athos  stopped.  During-  the  whole  time 
that  the  noble  g-entleman  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  melanchol3''  countenance, 
felt  discouragement  penetrate  to  his  ver^' 
heart.  At  length  Monk  appeared  to  re- 
cover, and  broke  the  silence. 

'^ Monsieur,"  said  he,  in  a  mild,  calm 
tone,  "in  reply  to  3'ou,  I  will  make  use 
of  your  own  words.  To  any  other  but 
yourself  I  would  reply  by  expulsion,  im- 
prisonment, 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,  mon- 
sieur— I  say  so,  and  I  am  a  judg-e.  You 
just  now  spoke  of  a  deposit  which  the  late 
king  transmitted  through  3'OU  to  his  son 
— are  you,  then,  one  of  those  Frenchmen 
who,  as  I  have  heard,  endeavored  to  carry 
off  Charles  I.  from  Whitehall  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord ;  it  was  I  who  was  be- 
neath 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 


110 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


to  me  he  said,  '  Remember  ! '  and  in  say- 
ing-, '  Remember  !  '  he  made  alUision  to 
the  money  at  your  feet,  my  lord." 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  you,  monsieur," 
said  Monls;,  "but  I  am  happ}^  to  have,  in 
the  first  place,  appreciated  you  by  my 
own  observations,  and  not  by  my  remem- 
brances. I  will  g-ive  3'OU,  then,  explana- 
tions that  I  have  given  to  no  otlun-,  and 
you  will  appreciate  what  a  distinction  I 
make  between  you  and  the  persons  ^vho 
have  hitherto  been  sent  to  me." 

Athos  bowed,  and  prepared  to  absorb 
g-reedily  the  words  which  fell,  one  hy  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  g-rown  old  in  a  war  and  in 
a  polic^'^  which  are  nowadaj^s  so  closelj'" 
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  En- 
gland, and  perhaps  that  of  every  English- 
man. How  can  you  expect  that  I,  free  in 
tlie  i^osition  I  have  made  for  myself, 
should  g-o  willingly  and  hold  out  my 
hands  to  the  shackles  of  a  strang-er? 
That  is  all  Charles  is  to  me.  He  has 
fought  battles  here  which  he  has  lost,  he 
is  therefore  a  bad  captain ;  he  has  suc- 
ceeded in  no  neg-otiation,  he  is  therefore 
a  bad  diplomatist ;  he  has  paraded  his 
wants  and  his  miseries  in  all  the  courts 
of  Europe,  he  has  therefore  a  w^eak  and 
IDusillanimous  heart.  ISTothing  noble, 
nothing-  great,  nothing-  strong,  has  hith- 
erto emanated  from  that  g-enius  which 
aspires  to  g-overn  one  of  the  greatest 
kingdoms  of  the  earth.  I  know  this 
Charles,  then,  under  none  but  bad  as- 
pects, and  you  would  wish  me,  a  man 
of  g-ood  sense,  to  g-o  and  make  myself 
g-ratuitously  the  slave  of  a  creature  who 
is  inferior  to  me  in  military  capacity,  in 
politics,  and  in  dig-nity  !  No,  monsieur. 
When  some  great  and  noble  action  shall 
have  taught  me  to  value  Charles,  I  will 


pei'haps  recognize  his  rights  to  a  throne 
from  which  we  have  cast  the  father  be- 
cause he  wanted  the  virtues  which  his  son 
has  to  this  time  wanted  ;  but  hitherto,  in 
fact  of  rig-hts,  I  only  recognize  my  own : 
the  revolution  made  me  a  g-eneral,  my 
sword  will  make  me  protector,  if  I  wish 
it.  Let  Charles  show  himself,  let  him 
l^resent  himself,  let  him  pass  through  the 
concurrence  open  to  genius,  and,  above 
all,  let  him  remember  that  he  is  of  a  race 
from  whom  more  will  be  looked  for  than 
from  aiiy  other.  Therefore,  monsieur, 
say  no  more  about  him.  I  neither  refuse 
nor  accept :  I  reserve  myself — I  wait," 

Athos  knew  Monk  to  be*  too  well  in- 
formed of  all  concerning  Charles  to  ven- 
ture to  urge  the  discussion  further;  it 
was  neither  the  time  nor  the  place.  "My 
lord,"  then  said  he,  "1  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,  wor- 
thy 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  honor  fear  to 
compromise  yourself  by  allowing  such  a 
sum  to  be  carried  away  for  the  service  of 
3'our  enemj''?  " 

"My  enemy,  sa^''  j'ou?  Eh,  monsieur, 
I  have  no  enemies.  I  am  in  the  service  of 
the  parliament,  which  orders  me  to  com- 
bat General  Lambert  and  Charles  Stu- 
art— its  enemies  and  not  mine.  I  combat 
them.  If  the  parliament,  on  the  con- 
trary, ordered  me  to  unfurl  my  standards 
on  the  port  of  London,  to  assemble  my 
soldiers  on  the  banks  to  receive  Charles 
II.—" 

"You  would  obe^' ?  "  cried  Athos,  J03'- 
fully. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Monk,  smiling,  "I 
was  going — I,  a  gray-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     VI  CO  MTU    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


Ill 


The  welfare  of  my  country  before  every- 
thing. 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,  discern- 
ment. If  the  parliament  were  to  order 
such  a  thing,  I  should  reflect." 

The  brow   of   Athos  became    clouded. 

"  Then  I  may  decidedl}^  say  that  your 
honor  is  not  inclined  to  favor  King 
Charles  II.?" 

"  You  continue  to  question  me.  Mon- 
sieur 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 
frankl}^  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  negotiating,  I  would  advise  the 
king  to  raise  two  regiments,  to  enter  by 
Scotland,  which  you  have  just  pacified ;  to 
give  to  the  people  the  franchises  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  mA^ 
race  you  have  killed ;  beware  of  the  justice 
of  God  !  '  " 

Monk  hung  down  his  head,  and  mused 
for  an  instant.  "If  he  succeeded,"  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. 

"  I  will  give  orders  that  these  two  casks 
shall  be  transported  whither  you  please. 
Where  are  j'^ou  lodging,  monsieur  ?  ' ' 

"In  a  little  bourg  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  your  honor." 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  bourg  ;  it  consists  of 
five  or  six  houses,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"Exactly.  Well,  I  inhabit  the  first- 
two  net-makers  occupy  it  with  me  ;  it  is 
their  bark  which  placed  me  on  shore." 

"But  your  own  vessel,  monsieur  ?  " 

"  M3'  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  con- 
vince your  honor." 

"'  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 
Tn.y  officers  think  Lambert  will  attack  me. 
I,  on  the  contrary-,  will  be  bound  he  will 
not  stir ;  it  is,  in  m3^  opinion,  impossible. 
Lambert  leads  an  army  devoid  of  homo- 
geneous principles,  and  there  is  no  possible 
army  with  such  elements.  I  have  taught 
my  soldiers  to  consider  my  authority  sub- 
ordinate 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  m^'self,  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  I  shall  attract 
to  myself.  Lambert,  at  this  moment,  com- 
mands eighteen  thousand  deserters  ;  but 
I  have  never  mentioned  that  to  iny  officers, 
you  may  easily  suppose.  Nothing  is  more 
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 


112 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


not  be  in  a  huny,  then,  to  cross  the  seas ; 
within  a  week  there  Avill  he  something- 
fresh,  either  a  battle  or  an  accommoda- 
tion. Then,  as  you  have  juclg-ed  me  to  be 
an  honorable  man,  and  confided  your  secret 
to  me,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  this  confi- 
dence, and  I  will  come  and  pa_y  you  a  visit 
or  send  for  3'ou.  Do  not  g-o  before  I  send 
you  word.     I  repeat  the  request." 

''I  promise  you,  g-eneral,"  cried  Athos, 
with  a  joy  so  g-reat,  that,  in  spite  of  all 
his  circumspection,  he  could  not  prevent 
its  sparkling  in  his  eyes. 

Monk  surprised  this  flash,  and  imme- 
diately' exting-uished  it  by  one  of  those 
mute  smiles  which  always  broke,  betAveen 
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  delig"ht  in  such  amusements ; 
— ^5^ou  might  take  a  fancy  to  see  how  we 
fig'ht,  and  you  might  meet  with  some 
chance  shot.  Our  Scotchmen  are  \Qvy 
bad  marksmen,  and  I  do  not  wish  that  a 
worthy  g-entleman  like  you  should  return 
to  France  Avounded.  I  should  not  like 
either  to  be  oblig-ed,  myself,  to  send  to 
your  prince  his  million  left  here  hy  you  ; 
for  then  it  would  be  said,  and  with  reason, 
that  I  paid  the  pretender  to  enable  him  to 
make  war  against  the  parliament.  Go, 
then,  monsieur,  and  let  it  be  done  as  has 
been  ag-reed  upon." 

"Ah,  ni}^  lord,"  said  Athos,  "  what  joy 
it  would  g-ive  me  to  be  the  first  that  pene- 
trated to  the  noble  heart  which  beats  be- 
neath that  cloak  ! " 

'^  You  decidedh"  think,  then,  that  I  have 
secrets,"  said  Monk,  without  chang-ing"  the 
half -cheerful  expression  of  his  countenance. 
''Wlw,  monsieur,  what  secret  can  3'ou  ex- 
pect to  find  in  the  hollow  head  of  a  sol- 
dier? But  it  is  g-etting  late,  and  our 
torch  is  almost  out ;  let  us  call  our  man." 

'' Hola  !  "  cried  Monk  in  French,  ap- 
proaching the  stairs  ;  '"'  holci  !  fishei-- 
inan !  " 


The  fisherman,  benumbed  by  the  cold 
nig-ht-air,  replied  in  a  hoarse  voice,  ask- 
ing" what  they  wanted  of  hira. 

''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  per- 
formed ;  for  the  sergeant,  uneasy  at 
the  g-eneral's  being  in  that  desolate 
abbey,  had  drawn  nearer  by  deg-rees, 
and  was  not  much  further  off  than  the 
fisherman.  The  g-eneral 's  order  was 
therefore  heard  by  him,  and  he  hast- 
ened to  obey  it. 

"Get  a  horse  and  two  men,"  said 
Monk. 

"  A  horse  and  two  men  ?  "  repeated  the 
sergeant. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Monk.  "  Have  you  anj^ 
means  of  g-etting-  a  horse  with  a  pack-sad- 
dle or  two  paniers  ?  " 

"  No  doubt,  at  a  hundred  paces  off,  in 
the  Scotch  camp." 

"Very  well." 

"What  shall  I  do  with  the  horse,  g'en- 
eral?  " 

"  Look  here." 

The  serg-eant  descended  the  three  steps, 
\yhich  separated  him  from  Monk,  and  came 
into  the  vault. 

"  You  see,"  said  Monk,  "  that  g-entle- 
man yonder  ?  " 

"Yes,  general." 

"And  3"ou  see  these  two  casks  ?  " 

"Perfectly." 

"Tlie}'^  are  two  casks,  one  containing- 
powder,  and  the  other  balls  ;  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  ma^^  decide  the  fate 
of  the  battle." 

"  Oh,  general !  "  murmured  the  ser- 
g-eant. 

"  Mind,  then  !  Let  these  casks  be  fast- 
ened on  to  the  horse,  and  let  them  be 
escorted  by  two  men  and  you  to  the  resi- 
dence of  this  gentleman,  who  is  my  friend. 
But  take  care  that  nobody  knows  it." 

' '  I  would  go  by  the  marsh  i  I'  I  knew 
the  road.''  said  the  serg-eant. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


113 


'•  I  know  one  mj'self/ '  said  Atlios  ;  "  it 
is  not  wide,  but  it  is  solid,  having*  been 
made  upon  piles ;  and  with  precaution  we 
shall  g-et  there  safeh'  enough." 

''Do  everything-  this  gentleman  shall 
order  you  to  do." 

''Oh!  oh!  the  casks  are  heav^^,"  said 
the  sergeant,  trying  to  lift  one. 

"  They  weigh  four  hundred  pounds  each, 
if  the^^  contain  what  they  ought  to  con- 
tain, do  they  not,  monsieur  ?  " 

"Thereabouts,'"  said  Athos. 

The  serg-eant  went  in  search  of  the  two 
men  and  the  horse.  Monk,  left  alone  Avith 
Athos,  affected  to  speak  to  him  of  nothing 
but  indifferent  things,  w^hile  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." 

"  I  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. 

"Ah!  my  lord,  if  you  would!"  mur- 
mured Athos. 

"  Hush  !  Monsieur,  it  is  agreed  that  we 
shall  speak  no  more  of  that."  And  bow- 
ing to  Athos,  he  went  up  the  stairs,  pass- 
ing, about  the  middle  of  them,  his  men 
who  were  coming  down.  He  had  not  gone 
twenty  paces,  when  a  faint  but  prolonged 
whistle  was  heard  at  a  distance.  Monk 
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  dis- 
appeared. If  he  had,  however,  looked 
with  more  attention,  he  might  have  seen 
that  man,  bent  double,  gliding  like  a  ser- 
pent 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  Avas  then  that  the  disappear- 


ance of  the  fisherman  appeared  strang-e, 
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  re- 
gain his  camp.  The  fog  increased  with 
such  intensity  that  he  could  scarcely  dis- 
tinguish objects  at  ten  paces'  distance. 
Monk  then  thought  he  heard  the  sound 
of  an  oar  over  the  marsh  on  the  rig-ht. 
"  Who  g-oes  there  ?  "  said  he. 

But  nobody  answered  :  then  he  cocked 
his  pistol,  took  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and 
quickened  his  pace,  without,  however,  be- 
ing willing  to  call  anybody.  Such  a  sum- 
mons, 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  lig-htened  the  pools 
of  the  marsh,  in  which  the  sun  was  re- 
flected like  a  red  ball,  when  Athos,  awak- 
ing and  opening  the  window  of  his  bed- 
chamber, which  looked  out  upon  the  banks 
of  the  river,  perceived,  at  fifteen  paces 
distance  from  him,  the  serg-eant  and  the 
men  who  had  accompanied  him  the  even- 
ing before,  and  who,  after  having  depos- 
ited 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  it- 
self to  Athos.  The  serg-eant,  with  his 
head  raised,  appeared  to  be  watching  the 
moment  when  the  gentleman  should  ap- 
pear, 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  yes- 
terday the  general  commanded  me  to 
watch  over  your  safety,  and  I  thought  it 
right  to  obev  that  order." 


114 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'•  Is  the  g-eneral  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." 

"^  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,  confid- 
ing the  keys  to  Grimaud,  who  had  chosen 
his  domicile  beneath  the  shed  itself,  which 
led  to  the  cellar  w^here  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  aid- 
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  perfectlj- 
free.  He  continued  his  way  not  the  less 
to  the  headquarters,  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  in- 
troduced 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  honor,"  said  the  sergeant; 
''it  is  the  same." 

"But,"   said  Athos,  haughtily,  "I  do 
not   deny  it,   I  think ;    and  now,  gentle- 


men, 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  aslv  them?" 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "if  we 
address  these  questions  to  3-ou,  it  is  be- 
cause we  have  a  right  to  do  so,  and  if  we 
make  them  in  a  particular  tone,  it  is  be- 
cause that  tone,  believe  me,  agrees  with 
the  circumstances." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Athos,  "j^ou  do  not 
know  who  I  am ;  but  I  must  tell  j^ou  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  gen- 
eral?" 

"  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   disdainfull3^ 

"We  don't  ask  you  to  smile,"  said  one 
of  the  colonels  warmly;  "we  require  you 
to  answer." 

"And  I,  gentlemen,  declare  to  3'ou  that 
I  will  not  reply  until  I  am  in  the  presence 
of  the  general." 

"But,"  replied  the  same  colonel  who 
had  already  spoken,  "j'^ou  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  ap- 
parent good  faith,  and  the  gentlemaji 
wore  an  air  of  such  natural  surprise,  that 
the  three  officers  exchanged  a  meaning 
look.  The  lieutenant,  by  a  tacit  conven- 
tion with  the  other  two,  was  spokesman. 

"  Monsieur,  the  general  left  you  last 
night  in  the  boundaries  of  the  monas- 
tery ? " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  And  you  went — ' ' 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  answer  you,  but  for 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


115 


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,  mon- 
sieur, that  I  do  not  appeal  to  any  one 
here,  that  I  know  no  one  here  but  the 
g'eneral,  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  judg-es 
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  Eng-lish  judges  upon  me,  a 
subject  of  the  king  of  France ;  upon  me, 
placed  under  the  safeguard  of  British 
honor  I  You  are  mad,  gentlemen  I  "  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  generally-'  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,  be- 
lieve me,  no  man  says  that  to  me  which 
I  am  unwilling  to  hear.  I  am  at  this  mo- 
ment disarmed  ;  if  you  pretend  to  be  m}" 
judges,  try  me  ;  if  you  are  but  my  execu- 
tioners, kill  me." 

''But,  monsieur — "  asked  the  lieuten- 
ant, in  a  more  courteous  voice,  struck 
with  the  lofty  coolness  of  Athos. 

"  Monsieur,  I  came  to  speak  confiden- 
tially with  your  general  about  affairs  of 
importance.  It  was  not  an  ordinarj^  wel- 
come that  he  gave  me.  The  accounts  jomv 
soldiers  can  give  you  may  convince  yow.  of 
that.  If,  then,  the  general  received  me  in 
that  manner,  he  knew  what  were  my  titles 
to  his  esteem.  Now,  3'ou  do  not  suspect, 
I  should  think,  that  I  should  reveal  my 
secrets  to  you,  and  still  less  his." 


"But  these  casks,  what  do  they  con- 
tain?" 

"  Have  you  not  put  that  question  to 
your  soldiers  ?     What  was  their  reply  ?  " 

"That  they  contained  powder  and 
ball." 

'•'  From  whom  had  they  that  informa- 
tion.    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  3'^our  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 
j^esterday,  and  embarked.  Now,  if  I  have 
remained,  it  was  onh'  in  compliance  with 
the  desire  of  your  general ;  his  honor  hav- 
ing requested  me  not  to  depart  without  a 
last  audience,  which  he  fixed  at  a  week 
hence.  I  repeat  to  you  then,  I  am  wait- 
ing." 

The  lieutenant  turned  toward  the  other 
officers,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice  :  "If  this 
gentleman  speaks  truth,  there  may  still  be 
some  hope.  The  general  may  be  carr^ang 
out  some  negotiations  so  secret,  that  he 
thought  it  imprudent  to  inform  even  us. 
Then  the  time  limited  for  his  absence 
would  be  a  week."  Then,  turning  to- 
ward Athos  :  "Monsieur,"  said  he,  "3-our 
declaration  is  of  the  most  serious  impor- 
tance ;  are  you  willing  to  repeat  it  under 
the  seal  of  an  oath  ?  " 

"Monsieur,"  replied  Athos,  "I  have 
alwa3^s  lived  in  a  world  where  my  simple 
word  was  regarded  as  the  most  sacred  of 
oaths." 

"  This  time,  however,  monsieur,  the 
circumstance  is  more  grave  than  any 
you  may  have  been  placed  in.  The 
safety  of  the  whole  army  is  at  stake. 
Reflect ;  the  general  has  disappeared, 
and  our  search  for  him  has  been  vain. 


IIG 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Is  tliis  disappearance  natural  ?  Has  a 
crime  been  committed  ?  Are  we  not 
bound  to  C2i,vvy  our  investigations  to  ex- 
tremity ?  Have  we  any  rig-ht  to  wait 
with  patience  ?  At  this  moment,  every- 
thing, 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  I  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  con- 
vinced. Nevertheless,  one  of  the  colonels 
made  a  last  attempt. 

''Monsieur,"  said  he,  '' although,  we 
may  be  now  persuaded  of  the  truth  of 
what  you  say,  there  is  3'et  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,  with- 
out 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  disapiDearance. 
Yesterdaj^  some  foreign  fishermen  came 
to  sell  their  fish  here  ;  they  were  lodged 
yonder  among  the  Scots ;  that  is  to  sa,y, 
on  the  road  the  general  took  with  this 
gentleman,  to  g'o  to  the  abbey,  and  to  re- 
turn from  it.  It  was  one  of  those  fisher- 
men that  accompanied  the  general  with  a 
light.  And  this  morning  bark  and  fisher- 
men 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  pris- 
oners." 

"No  ;  but  I  repeat  it  was  one  of  them 
who  lit  the  general  and  this  gentleman  to 
the  abbey,  and  Digby  assures  us  that  the 
general  had  strong  suspicions  concerning 
those  people.     Now,  who  can  sa}''  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  b^' 
his  presence,  and  to  prevent  our  re- 
searches being  made  in  a  right  direc- 
tion ?  " 

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  regards  me.  I  have  re- 
mained, you  say,  to  divert  suspicion. 
Well !  on  the  contrary,  suspicions  arise 
in  me  as  well  as  in  you ;  and  I  say,  it  is 
impossible,  g'entlemen,  that  the  general, 
on  the  eve  of  a  battle,  should  leave  his  army 
without  saying  anything  to,  at  least,  one 
of  his  officers.  Yes,  there  is  some  strange 
event  connected  with  this ;  yes,  instead  of 
being  idle  and  waiting,  3'ou  must  display 
all  the  activity  and  all  the  vigilance  pos- 
sible. I  am  your  prisoner,  gentlemen, 
upon  parole  or  otherwise.  My  honor  is 
concerned  in  the  ascertaining  of  what  is 
become  of  General  Monk,  and  to  such  a 
point,  that  if  you  were  to  say  to  me,  '  De- 
part ! '  I  should  reply  :  '  No,  I  will  re- 
main ! '  And  if  you  were  to  ask  m}^  opin- 
ion, 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  j^our 
turn  3'ou  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  dura- 
tion; 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 


THE     VI  CO  MTU    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


117 


with  an  impenetrable  veil :  we  will  detain 
this  gentleman,  not  from  mistrust  of  him 
with  reg-ard  to  the  crime,  but  to  assure 
more  effectively  the  secrecy  of  the  absence 
of  the  general,  and  the  concentrating-  of  it 
among  ourselves ;  therefore,  until  fresh 
orders,  the  gentleman  will  remain  at  head- 
quarters." 

"  Gentlemen,"'  said  Athos,  "  j'ou  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  reproach  you,  I  swear 
on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  for  having 
displeased  him  in  this." 

"  So  be  it,  monsieur,"  said  the  lieuten- 
ant; "return  to  your  abode." 

Then  they  placed  over  Athos  a  guard 
of,  fifty  men,  who  surrounded  his  house, 
wit'hout  losing  sight  of  him  for  a  minute. 

The  secret  remained  secure,  but  hours, 
but  days  passed  away  without  the  gen- 
eral's returning,  or  without  anything 
being  heard  of  him. 


CHAPTER    XXVIIL 

SMUGGLING. 

Two  days  after  the  events  we  have  just 
related,  and  Avhile  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  darkness :  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  barks  which  fishermen  draw 
\\\}  upon  the  sand  upon  rollers,  as  the  an- 
cients did,  according  to  Virgil.  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  spongy ;  it 
receives  easilj',  but  does  not  give  up  so. 
It  was  on  this  account,  no  doubt,  that  a 
boat  was  detached  from  the  bark,  as  soon 
as  the  latter  had  cast  anchor,  and  came 
with  eight  sailors,  amid  whom  was  to  be 
seen  an  object  of  an  oblong  form,  a  sort 
of  large  pannier  or  bale. 

The  shore  was  deserted  ;  the  few  fisher- 
men 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  im- 
possible), 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  com- 
manding. In  consequence  of  this  order, 
several  muskets  immediately  glittered  in 
the  feeble  light  reflected  from  that  miri-or 
of  the  -heavens,  the  sea ;  and  the  oblong- 
bale  of  which  we  spoke,  containing  no 
doubt  some  contraband  object,  was  trans- 
ported to  land,  with  infinite  precautions. 
Immediately  after,  the  man  who  had 
landed  first  set  off  in  a  hasty  pace  di- 
agonally toward  the  village  of  Scheven- 
ingen, directing  his  course  to  the  nearest 
point  of  the  wood.  When  there,  he  sought 
for  that  house  already  described  as  the 
temporary'  residence — and  a  very  humble 
residence  —  of  him  who  was  styled  by 
courtesy  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 


118 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


to  little  carts  to  carry  fish  to  the  Hague, 
bcg-an  to  bark  formidabl}^  as  soon  as  the 
strang-er'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  g-reat 
joy,  for  his  voice  might  perhaps  have 
proved  insufacient  to  rouse  the  people  of 
the  house,  while,  with  an  auxiliary  of  that 
sort,  his  voice  became  almost  useless.  The 
strang-er  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  beg-an  to 
roar  with  such  violence  that  soon  another 
voice  was  heard  from  the  interior,  appeas- 
ing- 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  throug-h  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. 

"  I  will  answer  for  it,  I  bring  you  news 
you  httle  expect.  Open  the  door,  then,  if 
you  please,  hein  ! ' ' 

''Monsieur,"  persisted  the  old  man, 
'•  do  3^ou  believe,  upon  your  soul  and  con- 
science, 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  b}^  the  order  of  my  master,  mon- 
sieur." 

"  Well,  my  name  is — but,  I  warn  3^ou, 

my  name  will  tell  you  absolutely  nothing. " 

"  Never  mind,  tell  it,  notwithstanding." 

"Well,  I  am  the   Chevalier  d'Artag- 

nan." 

The  voice  uttered  an  exclamation. 
' '  Oh  !  good  heavens  !  "  said  the  voice 
on  the  other  side  of  the  door.'    "  Monsieur 
d'Artag-nan  !     What  happiness  !     I  could 
not  help  thinking  I  knew  that  voice." 

"Humph!"  said  D'Artag-nan.  "My 
voice  is  knoAvn  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  lig-ht  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'Ar- 
tagnan,  it  is  I.  What  joy  to  see  you  once 
ag-ain!  " 

"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  mon- 
sieur." 

"  Mordioux  !  then  wake  him.  He  won't 
scold  you  for  having  disturbed  him,  I  will 
promise  you." 

"  You  come  on  the  part  of  the  comte, 
do  3'ou  not  ?  ' ' 

"  The  Comte  de  la  Fere  ?  " 
"From  Athos?" 

"  Ma  foi !  no  ;  I  come  on  my  own  part. 
Come,  Parry,  quick  !  The  king-  - 1  want 
the  king-." 

Parry  did  not  think  it  his  duty  to  resist 
any  long-er ;  he  knew  D'Artag-nan  long 
before ;  he  knew  that  although  a  Gascon, 
his  words  never  promised  more  than  they 
could  stand  to.  He  crossed  a  court  and 
a  little  g-arden,  appeased  the  dog-,  who 
seemed  seriously  to  wish  to  taste  the 
musketeer,  and  went  howhng  to  the  shel- 
ter of  a  chamber  forming-  the  g-round-floor 
of  a  little  pavilion.  Immediately^  a  little 
dog  inhabiting  that  chamber  replied  to 
the  great  dog  inhabiting  the  court. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


119 


"  Poor  king" !  "  said  D'Artagnan  to  him- 
self, "  these  are  his  bodj^-g-uards.  It  is 
true  he  is  not  the  worse  guarded  on  that 
account.'' 

"  What  is  wanted  with  nie  ?  "'  asked  the 
king-,  from  the  back  of  the  chamber. 

"  Sire,  it  is  M.  le  ChevaUer  d'Artag-nan- 
who  bring-s  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 
g-arden.  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. 

"  Come  in.  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said 
he,  turning-  round.  Then  perceiving-  the 
fisherman,  "What  do  you  mean.  Parry? 
Where  is  M.  le  Chevalier  d'Artag-nan?  " 
asked  Charles. 

"He  is  before  you,  sire,"  said  M.  d'Ar- 
tag-nan. 

"  What,  in  that  costume  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  look  at  me,  sire ;  do  you  not  re- 
member having-  seen  me  at  Blois,  in  the 
antechambers  of  King-  Louis  XIV.  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  and  I  remember  I  was 
much  pleased  with  3'ou." 

D'Artag-nan  bowed.  ''It  was  my  duty 
to  conduct  myself  as  I  did,  the  moment  I 
knew  that  I  had  the  honor  of  being-  near 
your  majesty." 

**  You  bring-  me  news,  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire." 

"  From  the  king-  of  France  ?  " 

"Ma  foi !  no,  sire,"  replied  D'Artag-- 
nan.  "Your  majesty"  must  have  seen 
yonder  that  the  king-  of  France  is  onl^'' 
occupied  with  his  own  majesty  ?  " 

Charles  raised  his  eyes  toward  heaven. 

"No,  sire,  no,"  continued  D'Artag-nan. 
"  I  bring-  news  entirely  composed  of  per- 
sonal facts.  Nevertheless,  I  hope  your 
majesty  will  listen  to  the  facts  and  news 
with  some  favor." 

"Speak,  monsieur." 

"If  I  am  not  mistaken,  sire,  3'our  maj- 
esty spoke  a  great  deal  at  Blois  of  the 
embarrassed  state  in  which  the  affairs  of 
Eng-land  are." 

Charles    colored.       "  Monsieur,"    said 


he,  "it  was  to  the  king-  of  France  I  re- 
lated—" 

"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  g-reatest  respect, 
but,  still  more,  the  most  absolute  devo- 
tion; and  that,  believe  me,  with  me,  sire, 
means  something-.  Now,  hearing-  your 
majesty  complain  of  yonv  destin^^,  I  found 
that  you  were  noble  and  g-enerous,  and 
bore  misfortune  well." 

"  In  truth  !  "  said  Charles,  much  aston- 
ished, "I  do  not  know  which  I  ought  to 
prefer,  your  freedoms  or  your  respects." 

"You  will  choose  presently,  sire,"  said 
D'Artag-nan.  "  Then  your  majesty  com- 
plained to  your  brother,  Louis  XIV.,  of 
the  difficulty  you  experienced  in  returning- 
to  Eng-land  and  regaining- your  throne,  for 
want  of  men  and  money." 

Charles  allowed  a  movement  of  impa- 
tience to  escape  him. 

"And  the  principal  object 3^our majesty, 
found  in  your  way,"  continued  D'Artag-- 
nan,  "  was  a  certain  g-eneral  commanding- 
the  armies  of  the  parliament,  and  who 
was  playing-  yonder  the  part  of  another 
Cromwell.  Did  not  your  majesty  say 
so?" 

"Yes;  but  I  repeat  to  you,  monsieur, 
those  words  were  for  the  king-'s  ears 
alone." 

"And  3^ou  will  see,  sire,  that  it  is  very 
fortunate  that  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  questions  ?  ' ' 

"'  Oh  !  I  know  very  well,  sire,  that  eti- 
quette will. not  allow  kings  to  be  interro- 
gated. I  hope,  however,  presently  you 
will  pardon  my  want  of  etiquette.  Your 
majest}^  added  that,  notwithstanding,  if 
you  could  see  him,  confer  with  him,  and 
meet  him  face  to  face,  3"ou  would  triumph, 
either  by  force  or  persuasion,  over  that 
obstacle— the  only  serious  one,   the  only 


130 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


insurmountable  one,  the  only  real  one  you 
met  with  on  j^our  road." 

''All  that  is  true,  monsieur;  my  des- 
tiny, my  future,  my  obscurity,  or  my 
g'lory  depend  upon  that  man;  but  what 
do  3^ou  draw  from  that  ?  " 

'•'One  thing-  alone  :  that  if  this  General 
Monk  is  troublesome  to  the  point  you  de- 
scribe, it  would  be  expedient  to  get  rid  of 
him,  your  majesty,  or  to  make  an  ally  of 
him." 

"Monsieur,  a  king-  who  has  neither 
arn\y  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  b^^  that  ?  " 

"  That,  without  an  arn\y  and  Avithout  a 
million,  I  have  done — I,  myself — what  3'our 
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  j^onder  to  take  this  man  who  is  so 
troublesome  to  your  majest3\" 

"  In  England  ?  " 

"Exactly,  sire." 

"You  went  to  take  Monk  in  England?" 

"Should  I  by  chance  have  done  wrong, 
sire?" 

"In  truth,  you  are  mad,  monsieur  I  " 

"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  taken  him  on  the  cause- 
way 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  con- 
sidered 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,  mon- 
sieur ?  Are  you  not  insulting  me  with 
some  unworthy  pleasantry?  You  have 
accomplished  this  unheard-of  act  of  au- 
dacity and  genius— impossible  !  " 

"Will  3''our  majesty  permit  me  to 
open  the  window?"  said  D'Artagnan, 
opening  it. 

The  king  had  not  time  to  reply,  yes  or 
no.  D'Artagnan  gave  a  shrill  and  pro- 
longed whistle,  which  he  repeated  three 
times  through  the  silence  of  the  nig-ht. 

"  There  !  "  said  he,  "  he  will  be  brought 
to  your  majesty." 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

IN  WHICH  D'ARTAGNAN  BEGINS  TO  FEAR 
HE  HAS  PLACED  HIS  MONEY  AND  THAT 
OF  PLANCHET   IN  THE   SINKING   FUND. 

The  king  could  not  overcome  his  sur- 
prise, and  looked  sometimes  at  the  smil- 
ing- face  of  the  musketeer,  and  sometimes 
at  the  dark  window  which  opened  into  the 
night.  But  before  he  had  fixed  his  ideas, 
eig'ht  of  D'Artagnan's  men,  for  two  had 
remained  to  take  care  of  the  bark,  brought 
to  the  house,  where  Parry  received  him, 
that  object  of  an  oblong  form,  which,  for 
the  moment,  inclosed  the  destinies  of  En- 
gland. 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, 
properl}"  mattressed,  formed  a  bed  suffi- 
ciently- soft  to  prevent  the  rolling  of  the 
ship  turning  this  kind  of  cage  into  a  rat- 
trap.  The  litth^  grating,  of  which  D'Ar- 
tagnan 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. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


121 


him  who  had  uttered  that  cr^-.  D'Artag- 
nan  was  so  well  acquainted  with  his  crew 
and  his  prisoner,  that  during-  the  whole 
voj'ag-e  he  had  been  in  dread  of  two 
thing's :  either  that  the  general  would 
prefer  death  to  this  sort  of  imprison- 
ment, and  would  smother  himself  by 
endeavoring-  to  speak,  or  that  his  g-uards 
would  allow  themselves  to  be  tempted  hy 
the  offers  of  the  prisoner,  and  put  him, 
D'Artagnan,  into  the  box  instead  of 
Monk.  D'Artagnan,  therefore,  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  endeavor- 
ing to  reassure  him  upon  the  destin}^  which 
awaited  him  at  the  end  of  this  singular 
captivit3^  •  Two  pistols  on  the  table  and 
his  naked  sword  made  D'Artagnan  easj^ 
with  regard  to  indiscretions  from  with- 
out. When  once  at  Scheveningen  he  had 
felt  completely  reassured .  His  men  great- 
ly 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  respiration. 
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'Artagnan 
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  En- 
gland. Your  gratification  will  then  be 
doubled.  Return  to  the  boat  and  wait 
for  me . "  U  pon  which  t\\ey  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  ante- 
chamber. He  then,  with  great  care, 
closed  the  door  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  worthj^  of  such  a  man  as  you, 
I  know  very  well ;  but  I  wished  you  to 
take  me  for  the  captain  of  a  bark.  And 
then  England  is  a  very  inconvenient  coun- 
tr3^  for  transports.  I  hope,  therefore, 
you  will  take  all  that  info  consideration. 
But  now,  general,  you  are  at  libertj^  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's  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  toward  the  prisoner,  "you  are 
in  the  presence  of  his  majesty  Charles  II., 
sovereign  lord  of  Great  Britain." 

Monk  raised  toward  the  prince  his 
coldly  stoical  look,  and  replied  :  "I  know 
no  king-  of  Great  Britain ;  I  recognize 
even  here  no  one  worth3^  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  a^ou  :  you  have  my 
body,  you  may  kill  it,  and  I  persuade  you 
to  do  so,  for  you  shall  never  have  m^^ 
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  tliat  value  according  to  the  accent 
with  which  it  has  been  pronounced. 


122 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  The  fact  is,"  said  lie,  in  a  wliisper  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  toward  him.  "^  You 
will  please  to  understand  perfectly,"  said 
he,  "  that  your  speech,  otherwise  very 
fine,  does  not  suil  anybody,  not  even  your- 
self. His  majesty  wished  to  speak  to  3^ou, 
you  refused  him  an  interview ;  why,  now 
that  you  are  face  to  face,  that  you  are 
here  by  a  force  independent  of  A'our  will, 
why  do  you  confine  yourself  to  rigors 
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 
mustache  with  a  thoughtful  air,  which 
announced  that  matters  were  going  on 
badW. 

During  all  this  time  Charles  II.  had 
fallen  into  a  profound  reverie.  For  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  rests  his  life,  a 
general  his  fortune,  and  a  king  his  Mng- 
dom.  "  Monsieur,"  said  he  to  Monk,  "  you 
are  perfectlj'^  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  re- 
mained impassible. 

"  You  have  made  me  just  now  a  painful 
reproach,  monsieur,"  continued  the  king; 
'•  you  said  that  one  of  my  emissai'ies  had 
been  to  Newcastle  to  lay  a  snare  for  you. 


and  that,  parenthetically,  cannot  be  un- 
derstood b}''  M.  d'Artagnan  here,  and  to 
whom,  before  everything,  I  owe  sincere 
thanks  for  his  generous,  his  heroic  devo- 
tion." 

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  prop- 
er movement,  without  interest,  without 
orders,  without  hope,  like  a  true  gentle- 
man as  he  is,  to  render  a  service  to  an  un- 
fortunate king,  and  to  add  to  the  illus- 
trious actions  of  an  existence,  already  so 
well  filled,  one  fine  action  more." 

D'Artagnan  colored  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  un- 
derstand that — such  proofs  of  devotion 
are  so  rare  that  their  reality  may  well  be 
put  in  doubt." 

"  Monsieur  would  do  wrong  not  to  be- 
lieve you,  sire,"  cried  D'Artagnan;  "for 
that  which  your  inajesty  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  every- 
thing 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  alwaj'S  love."  And  the 
king  pressed  his  hand  cordially.  "  And," 
continued  he,  bowing  to  Monk,  "  an  enemj^ 
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  somber  impassibility. 

"Then,  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,"  con- 
tinued Charles,  "this  is  what  was  about 
to  happen  :  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere,  whom 
you  know,  I  believe,  has  set  out  for  New- 
castle." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


123 


"What,  Athos  !  "  exclaimed  D'Artag-- 
nan. 

"  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  1113^ 
party,  when  you  violently,  as  it  appears, 
interfered  with  the  negotiation," 

"  Mordioux  !  "  replied  D'Artagnan, 
"who  entered  the  camp  the  very  even- 
ing- in  which  I  succeeded  in  getting  into 
it  with  my  fishermen — " 

An  almost  imperceptible  frown  on  the 
brow  of  Monk  told  D'Artagnan  that  he 
had  surmised  rig-htly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  muttered  he;  "  I  thoug-ht 
I  knew  his  person ;  I  even  fancied  I  knew 
his  voice.  Unlucky  wretch  that  I  am  ! 
Oh  !  sire,  pardon  me  !  I  thought  I  had  so 
successfully  steered  my  bark." 

"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 
employing-  with  you,  as  you  will  soon  see. 
In  the  meanwhile,  when  I  give  you  my 
word  upon  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  be- 
lieve 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." 

"  That  is  well ;  from  a  man  like  3'ou  one 
word  sufiBces.  In  addition  to  that  word 
5^ou  bring  actions.  General,  have  the 
goodness  to  follow  me.  Come  with  us, 
M.  d'Artagnan." 

D'Artagnan,  considerably  surprised, 
prepared  to  obe3\  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  travelers,  and,  at 
fifty  paces  from  the  little  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 
hang-ing  down  and  his  hand  beneath  his 
cloak.  Monk  followed  hfm,  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  muske- 
teer. 

"  Yonder,  sire  ;  I  have  seven  men  and 
an  officer  waiting-  for  me  in  that  little 
bark  which  is  lighted  b^^  a  fire." 

"Yes,  I  see;  the  boat  is  drawn  up 
upon  the  sand  ;  but  you  certainly  did  not 
come  from  Newcastle  in  that  frail  bark  ?" 

"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  voyag-e." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  king  to  Monk, 
"you  are  free." 

However  firm  of  will.  Monk  could  not 
suppress  an  exclamation.  The  king  add- 
ed an  affirmative  motion  of  his  head, 
and  continued  :  "We  will  waken  a  fisher- 
man of  the  villag-e,  who  will  put  his  boat 
to  sea  immediately^,  and  will  take  you 
back  to  an3^  place  yoxx  may  command 
him.  M.  d'Artagnan  here  will  escort 
your  honor.  I  place  M.  d'Artagnan 
under  the  safeguard  of  jowy  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  I  " 

"  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. 
"  WHiat  can  I  do  to  serve  you  ?  " 

"  Captain  Keyser,"  said  Charles,  "^3-ou 
must  sail  immediately.  Here  is  a  traveler 
who  wishes  to  freig-ht  your  bark,  and  will 
pay  you  well;  use  him  well."  And  the 
king  drew  back  a  few  steps  to  allow  Monk 
to  spe^k  to  the  fisherman. 

"  I  wish  to  cross  over  into  Eng-land," 


12i 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


said  Monk,  who  spoke  Dutch  oiioug'li  to 
make  hmiself  understood. 

''This  minute,"  said  the  patron,  '•  this 
very  minute,  if  yon  wish  it." 

'•'  But  will  that  he  long  ?  "  said  Monk. 
"Not  half  an  hour,  your  honor.     My 
eldest  son  is  at  this  moment  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,  signahng  from  the  shore  with 
the  blast  of  a  bull's  horn. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  king,  "  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,  I  must  give  them 
notice." 

"  Whistle  to  them,"  said  Charles,  smil- 
ing. 

D'Artagnan,  accordingly^,  whistled^ 
while  the  patron  Keyser  replied  to  his 
son;  and  four  men,  led  by  Menneville, 
attended  the  first  summons. 

"Here  is  some  mone}'  on  account,"  said 
D'Artagnan,  putting  into  their  hands  a 
purse  containing  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred livres  in  gold.  "  Go  and  wait  for  me 
at  Calais,  you  know  where."  And  D'Ar- 
tagnan heaved  a  profound  sigh,  as  he  let 
the  purse  fall  into  the  hands  of  Menne- 
ville. 

"'  What,  are  you  leaving  us  ?  "  cried  the 
men . 

"For  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  received,  3^ou  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  afterward  set 
off  immediately." 

••  Yes,  captain.'" 

D'Artagnan  returned  to  Monk,  saying 
— "Monsieur,  I  await  your  orders,  fori 
understand  we  are  to  go  together,  unless 
my  company  be  disagreeable  to  you." 

"On  the  contrar^^  monsieur,"  said 
Monk. 

"Come,  gentlemen,  on  board,"  said 
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  sub- 
jected, when  you  are'  convinced  that  I 
was  not  the  cause  of  them." 

Monk  bowed  profoundly  without  reply- 
ing. On  his  side,  Charles  affected  not  to 
sa}^  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  Plan- 
chet !  poor  Planchet  I  I  am  ver^^  much 
afraid  we  have  made  but  a  bad  specula- 
tion." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    SHARES   OF    THE    COMPANY    OF    PLAN- 
CHET &  CO.    RISE   AGAIN   TO   PAR. 

During  the  passage.  Monk  only  spoke 
to  D'Artagnan  in  cases  of  urgent  neces- 
sity. Thus,  when  the  Frenchman  hesi- 
tated 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  him- 
self on  all  great  occasions  extremely  con- 
cise, did  not  draw  from  the  general's 
conciseness  a  favorable  augury  of  the 
result  of  his  mission.  Now,  as  D'Artag- 
nan had  plenty  of  time  for  reflection,  he 
battered  his  brains  during  this  time  in 
endeavoring  to  find   out  how  Athos  had 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


135 


seen  King-  Charles,  how  he  had  conspired 
his  departure  with  him,  and  lastly,  how 
he  had  entered  Monk's  camp ;  and  the 
poor  lieutenant  of  musketeers  plucked  a 
hair  from  his  mustache  every  time  he  re- 
flected that  the  cavalier  who  accompanied 
Monk  on  the  night  of  the  famous  abduc- 
tion must  have  been  Athos.  At  length, 
after  a  passage  of  two  nig'hts  and  two 
days,  the  pcdron  Keyser  touched  the 
point  where  Monk,  who  had  given  all 
orders  during  the  voyage,  had  com- 
manded the3"  should  land.  It  was  ex- 
actly 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 
extremitj^  of  his  disk  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  j)laced 
him  and  D'Artagnan  upon  the  muddy 
bank,  amid  the  reeds.  D'Artagnan,  re- 
signed to  obedience,  followed  Monk  ex- 
actly as  a  chained  bear  follows  his  master; 
but  the  position  humiliated  him  not  a  little, 
and  he  grumbled  to  himself  that  the  ser- 
vice 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  alread}^  begim  to  per- 
ceive distinctly  a  few  of  the  cottages  of 
the  sailors  and  fishermen  spread  over  the 
little  qua^^  of  this  humble  port,  when,  all 
at  once,  D'Artagnan  cried  out — "God 
pardon  me,  there  is  a  house  on  fire  I  " 

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  flre.  The  two  travelers  quickened 
their  steps,  hearing  loud  cries,  and  see- 
ing, as  they  drew  nearer,  soldiers  with 
their  glittering  arms  pointing  toward 
the  house  on  fire.  It  was  doubtless  this 
menacing  occupation  which  had  made 
them  neglect  to  signal  the  felucca.  Monk 
stopped    short   for  an  instant,  and,   for 


the  first  time,  formulated  his  thoughts 
with  words.  "Eh!  but,"  said  he,  "per- 
haps they  are  not  my  soldiers,  but  Lam- 
bert's." 

These  words  contained  at  once  a  pain> 
an  apprehension,  and  a  reproach  perfectly 
intelligible  to  D'Artagnan.  In  fact,  dur- 
ing the  general's  absence,  Lambert  might 
have  given  battle,  conquered,  and  dis- 
persed the  parliament's  army,  and  taken 
with  his  own  the  place  of  Monk's  armj^ 
deprived  of  its  strongest  support.  At 
this  doubt,  which  passed  from  the  mind 
of  Monk  to  his  own,  D'Artagnan  made 
this  reasoning: — "One  of  two  things  is 
going  to  hapj)en  :  either  Monk  has  spoken 
correctly,  and  there  are  no  longer  an^^  but 
Lambertists  in  the  country — that  is  to 
say,  enemies  who  would  receive  me  wonder 
fully  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 . ' '  W  hile 
thinking  thus,  the  two  travelers  advanced, 
and  began  to  find  themselves  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  soldies.  Monk  addressed 
one  of  these  sailors — ' '  What  is  going  on 
here?  "  asked  he. 

' '  Monsieur, "  replied  the  man,  not  recog- 
nizing Monk  as  an  officer,  under  the  thick 
cloak  which  enveloped  him,  "that  house 
was  inhabited  \>j  a  foreigner,  and  this 
foreigner  became  suspected  by  the  sol- 
diers. Then  the^-  wanted  to  get  into  his 
house  under  pretense  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  vent- 
ure, the  Frenchman  stretched  him  on  the 
earth  with  a  pistol-shot." 

"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 


126 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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'Artag-nan,  ''wait  a  little — wait  a  lit- 
tle. 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-  toward  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  mad- 
man. Monk's?" 

' '  There  has  been  no  battle,  then  ?  ' ' 

"  A  battle,  yes  !  but  what  g'ood  ?  Lam- 
bert'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  musketr^^  discharged  ag-ainst  the 
house,  and  by  another  pistol  shot  which 
replied  to  the  salvo,  and  struck  down  the 
most  daring-  of  the  agg-ressors.  The  rag-e 
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,  g-lancing-  at  him  side- 
waj'S ;  "are  you  a  g-eneral,  and  allow 
3^our  men  to  burn  houses  and  assassinate 
people,  while  you  look  on  and  warm  your 
hands  at  the  blaze  of  the  conflagration  ? 
Mordioux  !  you  are  not  a  man." 

"Patience,  monsieur,  patience!"  said 
Monk,  smiling. 

"Patience  !  yes,  until  that  brave  g-en- 
tleman  is  roasted  —  is  that  what  you 
mean?"  And  D'Artagnan  rushed  for- 
ward . 

"Remain  where   you   are,    monsieur," 


said  Monk,  in  a  tone  of  command.  And 
he  advanced  toward  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  3  our 
life.     Reply,  or  by  St.  Patrick—" 

The  besieged  made  no  answer ;  he  was 
no  doubt  reloading  his  pistol. 

"A  re-enforcement  is  g-one  for,"  con- 
tinued the  officer ;  "in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  there  will  be  a  hundred  men  round 
your  house." 

"  I  reply  to  3'ou,"  said  the  Frenchman. 
"  Let  your  men  be  sent  awa^' ;  I  will  come 
out  freely  and  repair  to  the  camp  alone, 
or  else  I  will  be  killed  here  !  " 

"  Mille  tonnerresf ''  shouted  D'Artag- 
nan ;  "why  that's  the  voice  of  Athos  ! 
Ah,  canailles  !"  and  the  sword  of  D'Ar- 
tagnan flamed  from  its  sheath.  Monk 
stopped  him,  and  advanced  himself,  ex- 
claiming, in  a  sonorous  voice:  "  Hola  ! 
what  is  going-  on  here  ?  Digby,  whence 
is  this  fire?  why  these  cries?" 

"The  g-eneral!"  cried  Dig-by,  letting- 
the  point  of  his  sword  fall. 

"The  g-eneral!"  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  no- 
bod3'^  answers  me  ?  "  said  Monk.   "  What !     M 
do  I  find  a  fault,  and  nobod3^  repairs  it  ?     ■ 
The  fire  is  still  burning-,  I  believe." 

Immediately  the  twenty  men  rushed 
forward,  seizing-  pails,  buckets,  jars,  bar- 
rels, and  extinguishing-  the  fire  with  as 
much  ardor  as  they  had,  an  instant  be-  M 
fore,  employed  in  promoting  it.  But  | 
already,  and  before  all  the  rest,  D'Ar- 
tagnan had  applied  a  ladder  to  the  house, 
cr3ang,  "  Athos  !  it  is  I,  D'Artagnan  ! 
Do  not  kill  me,  m3^  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


127 


crossed,  quietly  on  the  sill.  OnW,  at 
hearing-  the  voice  of  D'Artag-nan,  he  had 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  The 
fire  being-  extinguished,  the  soldiers  pre- 
sented themselves.  Dig-by  at  their  head. 

"  General,"  said  he,  "excuse  us;  what 
we  have  done  was  for  the  love  of  your 
honor,  whom  we  thoug-ht  lost." 

"'  You  are  mad,  g-entlemen.  Lost  !  Is 
a  man  like  me  to  be  lost .'  Am  I  not,  \)j 
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 
g-entleman,  vnj  friend,  my  g-uest,  to  be 
besieg-ed,  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  Digb\%  piteously, 
"  there  were  twenty-eight  of  us,  and  see, 
thei-e  are  eight  on  the  ground." 

"  I  authorize  M.  le  Corate  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  3'our- 
self  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  3'ou,  and  he  shall  be  placed  under  ar- 
rest, instead  of  you,  if  he  has  reall}^  com- 
manded 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  departed 
with  dejected  looks.  ''  Now  we  are  alone, ' ' 
said  Monk  to  Athos,  "have  the  goodness 
to  tell  me,  monsieur,  why  you  persisted 
in  remaining  here,  while  you  had  your 
felucca — " 

''  I  waited  for  you,  general,"  said  Athos. 


"Had  not  your  honor  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  abduction.  He  knew 
already  it  could  not  be  so. 

'•  Monsieur,"  said  he  to  D'Artagnan, 
"you  wxre  perfectly  right.  Have  the 
kindness  to  allow  me  a  moment's  conver- 
sation with  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere." 

D'Artagnan  took  advantage  of  this  to 
go  and  ask  Grimaud  how  he  did.  Monk 
requested  Athos  to  conduct  him  to  the 
chamber  he  lived  in. 

This  chamber  Avas  still  full  of  smoke 
and  rubbish.  More  than  fifty  balls  had 
passed  through  the  Avindows,  and  muti- 
lated the  walls.  They  found  a  table,  ink- 
stand, 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  transporting  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  3- our  friend  and 
bid  him  adieu,  monsieur ;  he  is  returning 
to  Holland." 

"To  Holland!"  cried  D'Artagnan; 
"and  I?" 

"'  You  are  at  libert}'  to  follow  him, 
monsieur  ;  but  I  request  3'ou  to  remain," 
said  Monk.     "  Will  yoM  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  preparations  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.     While  going  along,  the  gen- 


138 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


eral  leaning-  on  his  arm,  D'Artag-nan 
could  not  help  murmuring  to  himself — 
"Come/  come,  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
shares  of  the  house  of  Planchet  &  Com- 
pany are  rising." 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

MONK    REVEALS    HIMSELF. 

D'Artagnan,  althoug-h  he  flattered 
himself  with  better  success,  had,  never- 
theless, not  too  Avell  comprehended  his 
situation.  It  was  a  strange  and  g-rave 
subject  for  him  to  reflect  upon — this  voy- 
ag-e  of  Athos  into  England ;  this  league 
of  the  king-  with  Athos,  and  that  extraor- 
dinary combination  of  his  design  with 
that  of  the  Comte  de  la  Fere.  The  best 
way  was  to  let  thing's  follow  their  own 
train.  An  imprudence  had  been  com- 
mitted, and,  wiiile  having-  succeeded  as 
he  had  promised,  D'Artag-nan  found  that 
he  had  g-ained  no  advantage  by  his  suc- 
cess. Since  everything-  was  lost,  he  could 
risk  no  more.  D'Artag-nan  followed  Monk 
through  his  camp.  The  return  of  the 
g-eneral  had  produced  a  marvelous  effect, 
for  his  people  had  thought  him  lost.  But 
Monk,  with  his  austere  look  and  icy  de- 
meanor, appeared  to  ask  of  his  eager 
lieutenants  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  learned  his  departure — 

"Why  is  all  this?"  said  he;  "am  I 
obliged  to  render  an  account  of  myself  to 
you?" 

"  But,  your  honor,  the  sheep  may  well 
tremble  without  the  shepherd." 

"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, 
g-entlemen,  do  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  g-eneral,  for  you." 

"  Oh  !  pray  meddle  with  your  own  con- 
cerns. If  I  have  not  the  wit  God  gave 
to  Oliver  Cromwell,  I  have  that  which  he 
lias  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  ac- 
complished some  important  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  faitli  of  the  Puritans, 
his  allies,  must  have  returned  thanks  with 
much  fervor  to  the  patron  saint  who  had 
taken  him  from  the  box  of  M.  d'Artag- 
nan.  While  these  things  were  going  on, 
our  musketeer  could  not  help  constantly 
repeating — "God  grant  that  M.  Monk 
ma^^  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  malicious 
wretch,  or  in  his  attitude  any  grotesque 
imitation  of  my  position  in  the  box,  that. 
Mordioux  !  I  should  plunge  a  good  pon- 
iard into  his  throat  in  compensation  of 
the  grating,  and  would  nail  him  down  in 
a  veritable  bier,  in  remembrance  of  the 
false  coffin  in  wiiich  I  had  been  left  to 
grow  mouldy  for  two  days."  And  D'Ar- 
tagnan 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  con- 
cerning the  past  to  his  timid  conqueroi-  : 
but  he  admitted  him  very  near  to  his  pei'- 
son  in  his  labors,  took  him  with  him  to 
several  reconnaissances,  in  such  a  wa."\' 
as  to  obtain  that  which  he  evidently 
wai^mly  desired — a  rehabilitation  in  the 
mind  of  D'Artagnan.  The  latter  con- 
ducted himself  like  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  circum- 
vallations  of  the  camp  of  Lambert,  who 
had,  he  said,  very  uselessly  given  himself 
the  trouble  to  inclose  a  camp  for  twenty 
thousand  men,  while  an  acre  of  ground 
would  have  been  quite  sufficient  for  the 


I 


a  ^ 


o  ^ 


K  W 


<   O 


THE     riCOMTE    BE    BRAGELOXXE. 


129 


corporal  and  fifty  guards  who  would  per- 
haps remain  faithful  to  him.  Monk,  im- 
mediately^ 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  demanded 
a  profession  of  faith  of  his  rival.  The 
latter  declared  he  had  no  other  opinion 
but  that  of  the  majorit3\  Lambert  asked 
if  it  would  not  be  more  expedient  to  ter- 
minate 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.  There- 
fore, 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'Artag- 
nan  had  foreseen,  began  to  prefer  the 
good  cause  to  the  bad  one,  and  the  parlia- 
ment, rumpish  as  it  was,  to  the  pompous 
nothings  of  the  designs  of  Lambert.  Thej^ 
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  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  Lon- 
don ? "  From  that  time  nothing  was 
heard  of  but  desertion  in  Lambert's  arm^-. 
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  pur- 
pose. 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 partj^  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  thou- 
DUMAS — 5 


sand  desertions  a  day  Lambert  had  men 
enough  to  last  twenty  days ;  but  there  is 
in  things  which  sink  such  a  growth  of  in- 
crease 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  deser- 
tion 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  resolu- 
tion of  decamping  during  the  night,  to  re- 
turn to  London,  and  be  beforehand  Avith 
Monk,  in  constructing  a  power  with  the 
wreck  of  the  military  party.  But  Monk, 
free  and  without  inquietude,  marched  to- 
ward London  as  a  conqueror,  aug-menting 
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  pro- 
tector, and  looked  for  b^'  the  people,  who 
were  anxious  to  see  him  reveal  himself 
that  they  might  judge  him. 

D'Artagnan  himself  had  not  been  able 
to  fathom  his  tactics  :  he  observed — he 
admired.  Monk  could  not  enter  London 
with  a  settled  determination  without  re- 
nouncing civil  war.  He  temporized  for  a- 
short  time.  Suddenly-,  without  anj^body 
expecting  it.  Monk  drove  the  military 
party  out  of  London,  and  installed  him- 
self in  the  city  amid  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  Avere  accusing  their  leader — 
Monk,  finding  himself  certain  of  a  major- 
ity, declared  to  the  Rump  that  it  must 
abdicate — be  dissolved — and  3'ield  its  place 
to  a  government  which  would  not  be  a 
joke.  Monk  pronounced  this  declaration, 
supported  hy  fifty  thousand  swords,  to 
which,  that  same  evening,  were  united, 
with  hurrahs  of  delirious  joy,  the  five 
hundred  thousand  inhabitants  of  the  good 
cit}^  of  London.  At  length,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  the  people,  after  their  triumphs 
and  festive  repasts  in  the  open  streets, 
were  looking  about  for  a  master,  it  was 


130 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


affirmed  that  a  vessel  had  left  the 
Hag-ue,  bearing-  Charles  II.  and  his  for- 
tunes. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Monk  to  his  officers, 
* '  I  am  going-  to  meet  the  legitimate  king. 
He  who  loves  me  will  follow  me . "  A  burst 
of  acclamations  welcomed  these  words, 
which  D'Artagnan  did  not  hear  with- 
out 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 
l)eg-,  what  you  wrote  by  Athos,  that  is 
to  say,  the  Comte  de  la  Fere — 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.'" 

"  Ah  !  "  said  D'Artagnan,  "  I  no  longer 
say  it  is  bold  ;  I  say  it  is  well  played  :  it 
is  a  fine  stroke  !  " 

"You  are  something  of  a  judge  in  such 
matters,"  replied  Monk. 

And  this  was  the  only  time  the  general 
liad  ever  made  an  allusion  to  his  vo3^age 
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  j)omp,  as  he  after- 
ward did  into  London.  He  had  sent  for 
Ihis  brothers;  he  had  brought  over  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  tYiej  had  cut  off, 
was  a  festival  for  the  three  kingdoms. 
Consequently,  all  the  vows,  all  the  accla- 
m.ations,  which  accompanied  his  return, 
struck  the  young  king  so  forcibly  that  he 
stooped  toward  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  w^as  magnificent.  Beautiful 
weather  favored  the  solemnity.  Charles 
had  regained  all  his  youth,  all  his  good 
humor ;  he  appeared  to  be  transfigured ; 
hearts  seemed  to  smile  beneath  him  like 
the  sun.  Among  this  obstreperous  crowd 
of  courtiers  and  worshipers,  who  did  not 
appear  to  remember  the}'  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  contem- 
plation, 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,  enameled  with 
flowers  like  a  spring  meadow  ;  he  is  about 
to  plunge  his  empty  hands  into  the  im- 
mense coffer  in  which  his  now  faithful — 
but  so  lately  unfaithful — subjects  have 
amassed  one  or  two  cart-loads  of  ingots 
of  gold.  The3^  cast  bouquets  enough  upon 
him  to  smother  him  ;  and  j^et,  if  he  had 
presented  himself  to  them  two  months 
ago,  the}'  would  have  sent  as  manj'  bul- 
lets and  balls  at  him  as  they  now  throw 
flowers.  Decidedly  it  is  worth  something 
to  be  born  in  a  certain  fashion ;  with  sub- 
mission to  the  lowly,  who  pretend  that  it 
is  of  very  little  advantage  to  them  to  be 
born  lowly."  The  cortege  continued  to 
flle  on,  and,  Avith  the  king,  the  acclama- 
tions began  to  die  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  palace,  which,  however,  did  not  pre- 
vent our  officer  from  being  shoved  about. 

"Mordioux!"  continued  the  reasoner, 
"  these  people  tread  upon  my  toes  and 
look  upon  me  as  of  verj' 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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


131 


M.  d'Artag-nan  ?  '  they  would  replj^  'Nes- 
cio  vos.'  But  let  any  one  say  to  them, 
'  There  is  the  king-  going-  b^-,'  '  There  is  M. 
Monk  g"oing-  by/  they  would  run  away, 
shouting- — '  Vive  le  roi  !  Vive  M.  Monk  I ' 
till  then^  lung-s  were  exhausted .  And  yet, ' ' 
continued  he,  survejang-,  with  that  look 
sometimes  so  keen  and  sometimes  so 
proud,  the  diminishing-  crowd — "  and  yet, 
reflect  a  little,  my  g-ood  people,  on  what 
your  king-  has  done,  on  what  M.  Monk  has 
done,  and  then  think  what  has  been  done 
\)j  this  poor  unknown,  who  is  called  M. 
d'Artag-nan !  It  is  true  you  do  not  know 
him,  since  he  is  here  unknown,  which  pre- 
vents your  thinking-  about  the  matter. 
But,  bah  !  what  matters  it !  All  that  does 
not  prevent  Charles  II.  from  being- a  g-reat 
king-,  althoug-h  he  has  been  exiled  twelve 
years,  or  M.  Monk  from  being'  a  g-reat 
captain,  although  he  did  make  a  voyag-e 
to  Holland  in  a  box.  Well,  then,  since  it 
is  admitted  that  one  is  a  g-reat  king-  and 
the  other  a  g-reat  captain — '  Hurrah  for 
King  Charles  II.! — Hurrah  for  General 
Monk!'''  And  his  voice  ming-led  with 
the  voices  of  hundreds  of  spectators,  over 
which  it  dominated  for  a  moment.  Then, 
the  better  to  play  the  devoted  man,  he 
took  off  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  roy- 
alism.) 

''Athos!''  cried  D'Artagnan,  '^j^ou 
here  !  "  And  the  two  friends  seized  each 
other's  hands. 

"You  here! — and  being-  here,"  contin- 
ued 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'Artag-nan  !  " 
said  Athos.  "Will  you  never  correct 
yourself  of  that  vile  habit  ?  " 

"But,  you  do  not  form  part  of  the  cor- 
tege?" 

"  I  do  not,  because  I  was  not  willing  to 
do  so." 


"And  why  were  you  not  willing-?'* 

"  Because  I  am  neither  envo^^  nor  am- 
bassador, nor  representative  of  the  king- 
of  France ;  and  it  does  not  become  me  to 
exhibit  myself  thus  near  the  person  of  an- 
other king-  than  the  one  God  has  g-iven  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  dut3^  to  do 
it.  But  j^ou  know  I  hate  all  ostentation. 
Let  King-  Charles  II.  then,  who  no  long-er 
stands  in  need  of  me,  leave  me  to  my 
repose,  and  in  the  shade,  that  is  all  I 
claim  of  him." 

D'Artag-nan  sig-hed. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said 
Athos.  "One  would  saj^  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  laug-h,  "  have  I  not  done 
much  for  his  majesty,  w^ithout  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  muske- 
teer bitterlj^,  "by  my  faith  !  I  did  not 
suspect  so,  and  I  was  even,  a  moment 
ag-o,  trying-  to  forget  it  myself." 

"  But  he,  my  friend,  will  not  forg-et  it, 
I  will  answer  for  him." 

"You  tell  me  that  to  console  me  a  lit- 
tle, 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  isahelle 
colored  horse." 

"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  labored  nobly.  But  I,  I,  who 
in  appearance  marred  your  combinations^ 


132 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


It  was  I  who  really  made  tliem  succeed. 
I^ollow  my  calculations  closely;  you  might 
not  have,  by  persuasions  or  mildness, 
con\-inced  General  Monk,  while  I  have  so 
roughly  treated  this  dear  general,  that 
I  furnished  ,your  prince  with  an  oppor- 
"tunit^^  of  showing  himself  generous  :  this 
g-enerosity  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  strikingh^ 
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  I 
shall  return  to  m^^  beautiful  country, 
cursed  by  the  soldiers  I  had  raised  with 
the  hopes  of  large  pay,  cursed  by  the 
t)rave  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.  Honk 
fancies  he  has  recalled  him,  you  fanc}' 
you  have  supported  him,  I  fancy  I  have 
Ibrought  him  back,  the  people  fancy  t\\ej 
liave  reconquered  him,  he  himself  fancies 
lie  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  placed  upon  the 
throne  by  a  French  grocer,  who  lives  in 
the  Rue  des  Lombards,  and  is  named 
Planchet. — And  such  is  grandeur  !  Van- 
ity !  says  the  Scripture,  vanity,  all  is 
vanity." 

Althos  could  not  help  laughing  at  this 
whimsical  outbreak  of  his  friend. 

*'  My  dear  D'Artagnan,"  said  he,  press- 
ing his  hand  affectionately,  "  should  you 
not  exercise  a  little  more  philosophy  ?  Is 
it  not  some  further  satisfaction  to  you  to 
have  saved  my  life  as  you  did  by  arriv- 
ing so  fortvmately  with  Monk,  when  those 
damned  parliamentarians  wanted  to  burn 
ine  alive  ?  ' ' 


"Well,  but  you,  in  some  degree,  de- 
served buring  a  little,  ni}'  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  pro- 
nounced upon  the  scaffold." 

"  And  which  means  souviens-toi  I  " 

"Exactl3^  That  was  signified.  Re- 
member there  is  a  million  buried  in  the 
vaults  of  Newcastle  Abbej^,  and  that 
that  million  belongs  to  my  son." 

"Ah  I  very  well,  I  understand.  But 
what  I  understand  likewise,  and  what 
is  very  frightful,  is,  that  ever3^  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  cha- 
teau 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." 

"  No  —  for  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
future." 

D'Artagnan  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  Maz- 
arin." 

Athos  frowned  slightly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  continued  D'Ar- 
tagnan, laughing,  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
if  I  have  offended  you.  The  future ! 
Nein  !  what  prettj^  words  are  words  that 
promise,  and  how  well  they  fill  the  mouth 
in  default  of  other  things  !  Mordioux  ! 
After  having  met  with  so  manj^  who 
promised,  when  have  I  found  one  who 
performed  ?  But,  let  that  pass  !  "  con- 
tinued D'Artagnan.  "What  are  you 
doing  here,  vay  dear  Athos  ?  .  Are  jo\x 
king's  treasurer?" 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


133 


"How — win'  king's  treasurer?" 

"  AYell :  since  the  king-  possesses  a 
million,  he  must  want  a  treasurer.  The 
king-  of  France,  althoug-h  he  is  not  worth 
a  sou,  has  still  an  intendant  of  finance, 
M.  Fouquet.  It  is  true,  that,  in  exchang-e, 
M,  Fouquet,  they  say,  has  a  g-ood  num- 
ber of  millions  of  his  own." 

'"Oh!  our  million  is  spent  long-  ag-o," 
said  Athos,  laug-hing-  in  his  turn. 

'•'  I  understand ;  it  was  frittered  away 
in  satin,  precious  stones,  velvet,  and 
feathers  of  all  sorts  and  colors.  All  these 
princes  and  princesses  stood  in  g-reat  need 
of  tailors  and  dressmakers.  Eh  !  Athos, 
do  you  remember  what  we  fellows  ex- 
pended in  equipping-  ourselves  for  the 
campaign  of  La  Rochelle,  and  to  make 
our  appearance  on  horseback  ?  Two  or 
three  thousand  livres,  b}^  vny  faith  I  But 
a  king-'s  robe  is  more  ample,  it  would  re- 
quire a  million  to  purchase  the  stuff.  At 
least,  Athos,  if  you  are  not  treasurer,  3'ou 
are  on  a  g-ood  footing-  at  court." 

"By  the  faith  of  a  g-entleman,  I  know 
nothing-  about  it,"  said  Athos,  simply. 

"  What !  3'ou  know  nothing-  about  it  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  have  not  seen  the  king-  since 
"vve  left  Dover." 

"  Then  he  has  forg-otten  3'ou,  too ! 
Mordioux  I     That  is  shameful !" 

"  His  majesty  has  had  so  much  business 
to  transact." 

"Oh  !"  cried  D'Artagnan,  with  one  of 
those  intellig-ent  g-rimaces  which  he  alone 
knew  how  to  make,  '"  that  is  enoug-h  to 
make  me  recover  my  love  for  Monseig-neur 
Giulio  Mazarini.  What,  Athos  !  the  king- 
lias  not  seen  you  since  ?  " 

"No." 

"  And  you  are  not  furious  ?  " 

"  I ! — why  should  I  be  ?  Do  you  imag-- 
ine,  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  al- 
lowed myself  to  be  drawn  toward  the 
son,  by  a  sympathy  for  this  same  princi- 
ple. Besides,  he  was  a  worthy  knight,  a 
noble  mortal  creature,  that  father ;  do 
jou  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,  under- 
stand this  :  to  that  king,  to  that  man  of 
heart,  to  that  friend  of  my  thoughts,  if  I 
durst  venture  to  say  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  livel}^  remem- 
brance of  his  father.  I  have  accom- 
plished toward  Charles  II.  what  I  prom- 
ised 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,  b^^  relieving 
myself  of  this  responsibility,  and  not 
to   him." 

"Well,  I  have  always  said,"  replied 
D'Artagnan,  with  a  sigh,  "that  disinter- 
estedness 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,  yon  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  fulfill ;  while  you  were  under  no 
obligation  to  the  son  of  the  martyr.  You 
had  not,  on  j'our  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  apparent  skepticism  and  sarcastic 
ironj' ;  you  have  engaged  the  fortune  of 
a  servant,  and  your  own,  I  suspect,  my 
benevolent  miser  I  and  your  sacrifice  is 
not  acknowledged  I  Of  what  consequence 
is  it  ?  You  wish  to  repay  Planchet  his 
mone3\  I  can  comprehend  that,  my 
friend  ;  for  it  is  not  becoming  in  a  gentle- 
man to  borrow  of  his  inferior,  Avithout 
returning  him  principal  and  interest. 
Well,  I  will  sell  La  Fere,  if  necessary,  and 
if  not,  some  little  farm.  You  shall  pay 
Planchet,  and  there  will  be  enough,  be- 
lieve me,  of  corn  left  in  my  granaries  for 


134 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


us  two  andRaoul.  In  this  way,  my  friend, 
you  will  owe  an  obligation  to  nobody  but 
yourself;  and,  if  I  know  you  well,  it  will 
not  be  a  small  satisfaction  to  your  mind, 
to  be  able  to  say,  ''  I  have  made  a  king- ! 
Am  I  right?" 

"Athos  !  Athos  !  "  murmured  D'Artag- 
nan,  thoughtfully,  "I  have  told  you  more 
than  once  that  the  day  on  which  yon  shall 
preach,  I  will  attend  the  sermon  ;  the  day 
on  which  you  shall  tell  me  there  is  a  hell, 
mordioux !  I  shall  be  afraid  of  the  grid- 
iron 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  En- 
glish say,  if  I  have  not  all  the  rest." 

"  I  know  nobody  equal  to  D'Artagnan," 
replied  Athos  ;  "  but  here  we  are,  arrived 
gentl}^  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'Ar- 
tagnan. 

"  I  confess  I  chose  it  on  purpose.  I  like 
old  acquaintances ;  I  like  to  sit  down  on 
that  place,  whereon  I  sank,  overcome  by 
fatigue,  overwhelmed  with  despair,  when 
3^ou  returned  on  the  31st  of  Januar3^" 

"  After  having  discovered  the  abode  of 
the  masked  executioner  ?  Yes,  that  was 
a  terrible  daj^  !  " 

''Come  in,  then,"  said  Athos,  inter- 
rupting him. 

They  entered  the  large  apartment, 
formerly  the  common  one.  The  tavern, 
in  general,  and  this  room  in  particular, 
had  undergone  great  changes ;  the  an- 
cient host  of  the  musketeers  having  be- 
come 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  recognized  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'Ar- 


tagnan. "Mordioux!  it  appears  to  me 
a  centur^^  ! " 

''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  sherr3^  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  thresh- 
hold,  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  par- 
ticularly of  the  first  part  of  your  thought ; 
it  is  very  pleasant  to  smile  there  where  we 
have  so  legitimately  shuddered  at  thinking* 
that  from  one  moment  to  another  M.  Mor- 
daunt  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  honor." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Athos,  taking  the 
letter  without  looking  at  it.  "  Tell  me, 
m3^  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 
Januar3^,  1G49,"  added  Athos,  believing 
he  would  stimulate  the  lazy  memory  of 
the  host  by  this  remark. 

"That  is  very  possible,"  replied  he, 
smihng ;  "  but  it  is  so  long  ago  !  "  and 
he  bowed  and  went  out 

''  Thank  you,"  said  D'Artagnan — "  per- 
form exploits,  accomplish  revolutions,  en- 
deavor to  engrave  your  name  in  stone  or 
upon  brass  with  strong  swords  !  there  is 
soincthing    more   rebellious,    more   hard. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


135 


more  forg-etful  than  iron,  brass,  or  stone, 
and  that  is,  the  brain  become  old  of  the 
letter  of  lodgings  enriched  by  his  trade  ; 
— he  does  not  know  me  !  Well,  I  should 
have  known  him,  thoug-h." 

Athos,  smiling-  at  his  friend's  philos- 
ophy, unsealed  his  letter. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  ''  a  letter  from  Parry." 

'*^0h!  oh!"  said  D'Artagnan,  "read 
it,  my  friend,  read  it  I  it,  no  doubt,  con- 
tains 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  memor3\  His  maj- 
esty 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  honor's  very  humble  and  very  obedi- 
ent 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,"  re- 
sumed Athos,  whom  the  almost  imper- 
ceptible bitterness  of  D'Artagnan  had 
not  escaped.  ''Pardon  me  !  can  I  have 
unintentionally  wounded  my  best  com- 
rade ?  ' ' 

"  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  will  go  in  with  me,  my  friend,  I 
will  speak  to  his  majesty." 

"No,  no!"  replied  D'Artagnan,  with 
a  true  pride,  free  from  all  mixture ;  "  if 
there  is  anything  worse  than  begging 
yourself,  it  is  making  others  beg  for  you. 
Come,  let  us  go,  my  friend,  the  walk  will 
be  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  marechal  m  France, 
please  to  know." 


Athos  allowed  himself  to  be  led  along, 
made  quite  sad  by  D'Artagnan's  forced 
attempts  at  gayety.  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  ar- 
rived thus  in  front  of  Monk's  house,  be- 
fore 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  sat- 
isfaction, and  that  that  might  wound 
D'Artagnan.  The  latter  feared  that  in 
speaking  he  should  allow  some  little 
ascerbity  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- 
humor.  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' Au- 
bigny,'  in  which  that  devoted  servant, 
a  Gascon  like  myself,  poor  as  myself,  and, 
I  was  going  to  add,  brave  as  myself,  re- 
lates instances  of  the  meanness  of  Henry 
IV.  ?  My  father  always  told  me,  I  re- 
member, that  D'Aubigny  w^as  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 
XIIL,  his  son,  was  so  likewise ;  w^e  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.  Henrietta,  poor 
woman,  might  well  be  avaricious,  she 
who  did  not  eat  every  day,  and  could  not 
warm  iierself  every  winter ;  and  that  is 
an   example   she  has   given  to   her  son. 


136 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Charles  II.,  grandson  of  the  great  Henry 
IV.,  who  is  as  covetous  as  his  mother 
and  his  g-randfather.  See  if  I  have  well 
traced  the  genealogy  of  the  misers  ?  " 

"  D'Artagnan,  my  friend,"  cried  Athos, 
"  you  are  very  rude  toward  that  eagle 
race  called  the  Bourbons." 

"  Eh  !  and  I  have  forgotten  the  best 
instance  of  all  —  the  other  grandson  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  begin- 
ning to  be  angry.  Here  we  are,  by  good 
luck,  close  to  my  house,  or  rather  to  that 
of  my  friend  M.  Monk." 

"  My  dear  D'Artagnan,  you  do  not 
make  me  angrj^,  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  diplo- 
macy. Tell  me  if  the  Luynes,  the  Belle- 
gardes,  and  the  Bassompierres  have 
merited,  as  we  have,  fortunes  and  hon- 
ors ?  You  'are  right,  my  friend,  a  hun- 
dred times  right." 

D'Artagnan  sighed,  and  preceding  his 
friend  under  the  porch  of  the  mansion 
Monk  inhabited,  at  the  extremit}^  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 
to  steal  from  me  the  remainder  of  1113^ 
poor  crowais,  I  should  not  be  able  to 
return  to  France.  Now,  content  I  left 
France,  and  wild  with  joy  I  should  return 
to  it,  seeing  that  all  my  prejudices  of 
former  days  against  England  are  re- 
turned, 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  soldier,  who  filled  in  Monk's 
establishment    the    double    functions    of 


porter  and  guard,  stopped  our  muske- 
teer, saying  to  him,  in  English  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  Lord  D'Ar- 
tagnan !  " 

"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  whom 
they  were  addressed,  and  who  himself 
only  spoke  an  English  mixed  with  the 
rudest  Scotch.  But  Athos  was  grieved 
with  them,  for  he  began  to  think  D'Ar- 
tagnan was  not  wrong, 

The  Englishman  showed  D'Artagnan  a 
letter  :  "  From  the  general,"  said  he. 

"Aye!  that's  it,  my  dismissal!"  re- 
plied the  Gascon.  "Must  it  be  read, 
Athos?" 

"You  must  be  deceived,"  said  Athos, 
"  or  I  know  no  more  honest  people  in  the 
world  but  j^ou  and  myself." 

D'Artagnan  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
unsealed  the  letter,  while  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  j^ourself,"  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  cortege.  You  have 
failed  with  him  as  you  failed  with  me, 
my  dear  captain.  There  is  but  one  means 
of  repairing  all  this.  His  majesty  expects 
me  at  nine  o'clock  at  the  palace  of  St, 
James's ;  will  j^ou  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'Artagnan  had 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONJSE. 


137 


read    the    letter    addressed    to    him    hy 
Monk. 

"  Well  I  •  ■  said  D"  Artag-nan,  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  polite- 
ness." 

"  I  had  g-reat  difficulty  in  believing-  the 
young-  prince  ung-rateful,"  said  Athos. 

"The  fact  is,  that  his  present  is  still 
too  near  to  his  past,"  replied  D'Artag-- 
nan;  "but,  after  all,  everything-  to  the 
present  moment  proves  me  right." 

"I  acknowledg'e  it,  my  dear  friend,  I 
acknowledge  it.  Ah  !  there  is  your  cheer- 
ful look  returned.  You  cannot  think  how 
delighted  I  am." 

"  Thus  you  see,"  said  D'Artag-nan, 
"Charles  II.  receives  M.  Monk  at  nine 
o'clock  ;  me  he  will  receive  at  ten ;  it  is  a 
g-rand  audience,  of  the  sort  which  at  the 
Louvre  are  called  '  distributions  of  holy 
court  water.'  Come,  let  us  g-o  and  place 
ourselves  under  the  spout,  my  dear  friend  I 
come  along-." 

Athos  replied  nothing- ;  and  both  direct- 
ed their  steps,  at  a  quick  pace,  toward 
the  palace  of  St.  James,  which  the  crowd 
still  surrounded,  to  catch,  throug-h  the 
windows,  the  shadows  of  the  courtiers, 
and  the  reflection  of  the  ro.yal  person. 
Eig-ht  o'clock  was  striking-  when  the  two 
friends  took  their  places  in  the  g-allery 
filled  with  courtiers  and  politicians.  Ev- 
ery one  g-ave  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'Ar- 
tagnan,  having-  with  two  looks  taken  the 
measure  of  the  whole  of  the  assembty, 
resumed  their  chat.  A  great  noise  was 
suddenly  heard  at  the  extremity  of  the 
gallery- — it  was  General  Monk,  who  en- 
tered, followed  by  more  than  twenty  offi- 
cers, 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  re- 
member that  I  am   no  lons-er  anvthinsr. 


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 
A^esterday." 

Great  surprise  was  painted  on  the 
countenances  of  all,  and  the  circle  of  adu- 
lators and  suppliants  which  surrounded 
Monk  an  instant  before,  was  enlarged  by 
degrees,  and  finished  bj^  being  lost  in  the 
large  undulations  of  the  crowd.  Monk 
was  going  into  the  antechamber  as  others 
did.  D'Artagnan  could  not  help  remark- 
ing this  to  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,  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  gen- 
eral. 

Charles  stepped  hastily  toward  him, 
and  seized  his  hand  with  the  warmest 
demonstration  of  friendship.  "  General," 
said  the  king,  aloud,  "  I  have  just  signed 
your  patent — yow  are  Duke  of  Albemarle  ; 
and  my  intention  is  that  no  one  shall  equal 
you  in  power  and  fortune  in  this  kingdom, 
w^here — the  noble  Montrose  excepted — no 
one  has  equaled  you  in  loyalty,  courage, 
and  talent.  Gentlemen,  the  duke  is  com- 
mander of  our  armies  by  land  and  by  sea, 
pay  him  j'our  respects,  if  you  please,  in 
that  character." 

While  every  one  was  pressing  round 
the  general,  who  received  all  this  homage 
without  losing  his  impassibility  for  an  in- 
stant, D'Artagnan  said  to  Athos :  "  When 
one  thinks  that  this  duchy,  this  command 
of  the  land  and  sea  forces,  all  these  grand- 
eurs, in  a  word,  have  been  shut  up  in  a  box 
six  feet  long  and  three  feet  wide  ! — " 

"Mj'-  friend,"  replied  Athos,  "much 
more  imposing  grandeurs  are  confined  to 
boxes  still  smaller — and  remain  there  for- 
ever." 

All  at  once.  Monk  perceived  the  two 
gentlemen,  who  held  themselves  apart 
until  the  crowd  had  diminished  ;  he  made 
himself  a  passage  toward  them,  so  that 
he  surprised  them  in  the  midst  of  their 
philosophical    reflections.       "Were    you 


138 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


speaking-  of  me?"  said  he,  with  a 
smile. 

*'My  lord,"  replied  Athos,  ''we  were 
speaking-  likewise  of  God." 

Monk  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then 
replied  g-ayly  :  ''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'Artag-nan. 

"Let  us  g-o  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  center  of  the  gallery. 

"  Oh  !  my  Frenchmen  !  "  said  he,  in  that 
tone  of  careless  gayety  which,  in  spite 
of  so  much  g-rief  and  so  many  crosses,  he 
had  never  lost.  "My  Frenchmen!  my 
consolation  !  "  Athos  and  D'Artag-nan 
bowed. 

"  Duke,  conduct  these  g-entlemen  into 
my  study.  I  am  at  your  service,  mes- 
sieurs," 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 
ag-ain." 

"  Sire,  my  joy  is  at  its  height  at  having- 
the  honor  to  salute  your  majest}^  in  your 
own  palace  of  St.  James's." 

"  Monsieur,  you  have  been  willing'  to 
render  me  a  g-reat  service,  and  I  owe  you 
my  g-ratitude  for  it.  If  I  did  not  fear  to 
intrude  upon  the  rights  of  our  g-eneral 
commandant,  I  would  offer  you  some  post 
worthy  of  you  near  our  person." 

"Sire,"  replied  D'Artag-nan,  "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  ;  3^ou  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   muske- 


teers ? "  D'Artag-nan  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 
honor  to  tell  your  majesty,  is  eng-ag-ed  to 
the  king-  of  France." 

"  We  will  say  no  more  about  it,  then,'* 
said  the  king,  turning-  toward  Athos,  and 
leaving-  D'Artagnan  plunged  in  the  deep- 
est pangs  of  disappointment. 

"Ah!  I  said  so!"  muttered  the  mus- 
keteer. "  Words  !  words  !  Court  holy 
water  !  King-s  have  always  a  marvelous 
talent  for  offering  us  that  which  they 
know  we  will  not  accept,  and  in  appear- 
ing- generous  without  risk.  So  be  it  I— 
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  recompense,  notwith- 
standing. You  were  created  by  my  father 
a  Knight  of  the  Garter — that  is  an  order 
which  all  the  kings  of  Europe  cannot 
bear;  b}^  the  queen  reg-ent.  Knight  of 
the  Holy  Ghost — which  is  an  order  not 
less  illustrious  ;  I  join  to  it  that  of  the 
Golden  Fleece,  which  the  king-  of  France 
has  sent  me,  to  whom  the  king-  of  Spain, 
his  father-in-law,  g-ave  two  on  the  occa- 
sion 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 
king  of  France  is  the  only  person  in  my 
country  who  enjoys  that  distinction  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  to  be  in  3^our  country  and 
elsewhere  the  equal  of  all  those  whom  sov- 
ereigns have  honored  with  their  favor," 
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,  while  his  friend, 
on  his  knees,  received  the  eminent  order 
which  the  king  conferred  on  him— "It  is 
almost  incredible  that  I  have  always  seen 
showers  of  prosperity  fall  upon  all  who 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


139 


surrounded  me,  and  that  not  a  drop  ever 
reached  nie  !  If  I  were  a  jealous  man,  it 
would  be  enoug-h  to  make  one  tear  one's 
hair,  parole  d'honneur  !  " 

Athos  rose  from  his  knees,  and  Charles 
embraced  liim  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 
elong"ate  it.  I  should  wish  to  see  3^ou  so 
near  my  throne,  that  I  might  say  to  you, 
as  to  Louis  XIV.,  m^^  brother  !  Oh  !  I 
have  it ;  and  you  will  be  almost  my 
brother,  for  I  make  yow.  viceroy  of  Ire- 
land 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,  without  \oy,  as 
he  did  everything-.  His  heart,  however, 
had  been  moved  by  this  last  favor. 
Charles,  by  skillfully  husbanding-  his 
g-enerosity,  had  left  the  duke  time  to 
wish,  althoug-h  he  mig-ht  not  have  wished 
for  so  much  as  was  g-iven  him. 

"Mordioux!"  g-rumbled  D'Artag-nan, 
''there  is  the  shower  beginning-  ag-ain  ! 
Oh  !  it  is  enough  to  turn  one's  brain  !  " 
and  he  turned  away  with  an  air  so  sor- 
rowful 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 
g-oing-?" 

"  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  go- 
ing- without  M.  d'Artag-nan,  I  hope." 

'•'Why  not,  sire?"  said  the  old  war- 
rior. 

"Well !  you  know  very  well  why,"  said 
the  king-. 

Monk  looked  at  Charles  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Oh  !  it  ma3'  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'Artagan?  " 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  offer  M.  d'Artag- 
nan  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  colored  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  3^our  ransom." 

The  eyes  of  D'Artagnan  regained  their 
gayety  and  their  brilliancy.  The  Gascon 
began  to  comprehend.  Charles  advanced 
toward  him. 

"The  general,"  said  he,  "is  not  rich, 
and  cannot  paj^  you  what  he  is  worth.  I 
am  richer,  certainl^^ ;  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  gen- 
eral 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  honor,  3'es,  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. 


140 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Oh  !  oh  !  "  cried  Charles  II.  ;  "  what ! 
a  sword  that  has  restored  me  to  my 
throne — to  go  out  of  the  kingdom — and 
not,  one  da^',  to  flg-ure  among-  the  crown 
jewels  !  No,  on  my  soul  !  that  shall  not 
be  !  Captain  d'Artag-nan,  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'Artag- 
nan,  with  inimitable  seriousness.  "  In 
the  first  place,  I  do  not  at  all  wish  to  sell 
it ;  but  your  majest}^  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  victor^^ 
I  ask  then  three  hundred  thousand  livres 
for  the  sword,  or  I  will  give  it  to  your 
majesty  for  nothing."  And  taking  it  'bj 
the  point  he  presented  it  to  the  king. 
Charles  broke  into  hilarious  laughter. 

"A  gallant  man,  and  a  joyous  com- 
panion !  Odds  iish  !  is  he  not,  duke  ?  is  he 
not,  comte  ?  He  pleases  me  !  I  like  him  I 
Here,  Chevalier  d'Artagnan,  take  this." 
And  going  to  the  table,  he  took  a  pen  and 
WTote  an  order  upon  his  treasurer  for 
three  hundred  thousand  livres. 

D'Artagnan  took  it,  and  turning  grave- 
ly toward  Monk.  "I  have  still  asked  too 
little,  I  know,"  said  he,  "but  believe  me. 
Monsieur  le  Dae,  I  would  rather  have  died 
than  allow  myself  to  be  governed  by  ava- 
rice." The  king  began  to  laugh  again, 
like  the  happiest  cocknej^  of  his  kingdom. 

"  You  will  come  and  see  me  again  be- 
fore 3"ou  go,  chevalier?"  said  he.  ''I 
shall  want  to  lay  in  a  stock  of  gayety 
now  my  Frenchmen  are  leaving  me." 

"  Ah  !  sire,  it  shall  not  be  with  the  gay- 
ety as  with  the  duke's  sword  ;  I  will  give 
it  to  your  majesty  gratis,"  replied  D'Ar- 
tagnan, whose  feet  scarcely  seemed  to 
touch  the  ground. 

'•And  you,  comte,"  added  Charles, 
turning  toward  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  Athos,  when  they  were 
out  of  the  palace,  "are  3'ou  satisfied  ?  " 

"Hush  !  "  said  D'Artagnan,  wild  with 
joy,  "I  am  not  yet  returned  from  the 
treasurer's — the  spout  may  fall  upon  my 
head." 


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 
exchang'e  a  piece  of  paper,  covered  with 
very  ugly  writing,  for  a  prodigious  num- 
ber of  crowns,  recently  stamped  with  the 
effigies  of  his  very  gracious  majesty 
Charles  II.  D'Artagnan  easily  recov- 
ered his  self-possession :  and  yet,  upon 
this  occasion,  he  could  not  help  evincing 
a  joy  which  the  reader  will  perhaps  com- 
prehend, if  he  deigns  to  have  some  in- 
dulgence for  a  man  who,  since  his  birth, 
had  never  seen  so  many  pieces  and  rou- 
leaux 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  favor  which  treasurers  do 
not  accord  to  everybody-.  Then,  impassi- 
ble, and  just  as  polite  as  he  ought  to  be 
toward  a  man  honored  with  the  friend- 
ship of  the  king,  he  said  to  D'Artagnan  : 

"Take  away  3^our  money,  sir."  Your 
money  !  These  words  made  a  thousand 
chords  vibrate  in  the  heart  of  D'Artag- 
nan, 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  hun- 
dred thousand  livres  is  not  too  much. 
D'Artagnan  shut  himself  up,  ate  no  din- 
ner, 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  loveh'  crowns,  which  from  the  coffers 
of  the  king  had  passed  into  his  coffers. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


141 


from  passing-  from  his  coffers  into  the 
pocl^ets  of  an}'  thief  whatever.  The  best 
means  discovered  by  the  Gascon  was  to 
inclose  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'Artag-nan  re- 
membered that  the  Eng-lish  are  passed 
masters  in  mechanics  and  conservative 
industrj^ ;  and  he  determined  to  g-o  in 
the  morning-  in  search  of  a  mechanic  who 
would  sell  him  a  strong  box.  He  did  not 
g-o  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  g-ive  you,"  said  he,  "a  piece  of 
mechanism  entirely  new.  At  the  first 
serious  attempt  upon  your  lock,  an  in- 
visible plate  will  open  of  itself  and  vomit 
forth  a  prett}'  copper  bullet  of  the  weig-ht 
of  a  mark — which  will  knock  down  the 
intruder,  and  not  without  a  loud  report. 
What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

''I  think  it  xerj  ing-enious,"  cried 
D'Artag-nan ;  "  the  little  copper  bullet 
pleases  me  mightil}^.  So  now,  monsieur 
the  mechanic,  the  terms?" 

''A  fortnight  for  the  execution,  and 
fifteen  hundred  livres,  payable  on  de- 
livery," replied  the  artisan. 

D'Artagnan's  brow  darkened.  A  fort- 
night 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  vig-i- 
lance  would  procure  him  for  nothing. 

'a  will  think  of  it,"  said  he;  'Hhank 
you,  monsieur."  And  he  returned  home 
at  full  speed  ;  nobody  had  yet  touched 
his  treasure.  That  same  day,  Athos  paid 
his  friend  a  visit,  and  found  him  so 
thoughtful  that  he  could  not  help  ex- 
pressing his  surprise. 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  said  he,  "  you  are  rich 
and  not  g-ay — you,  who  were  so  anxious 
for  wealth  !  " 

"  My  friend,  the  pleasures  to  which  we 
are  not  accustomed  oppress  us  more  than 
the  g-riefs  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  yo\x  done  with  yours,  see- 
ing- that  it  has  not  made  you  a  miser  or  a 
prodig-al  ?  For  avarice  dries  up  the  heart., 
and  prodigality  drowns  it  —  is  not  that 
so?" 

"  Fabricius  could  not  have  spoken  more 
justly.  But,  in  truth,  my  monej^  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  com- 
poses 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  theni 
by?" 

"No." 

"What  do  you  think  of  a  chest  con- 
cealed 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'Artag-nan." 

"Ah  !  that  may  be.  But  you  are  some- 
thing- of  a  prince;  fifteen  or  sixteen  thou- 
sand livres  melt  away  between  your  fin- 
g-ers;  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  fan- 
cied 3^ou  had  a  partner — " 

"Ah!  Mordioux !  that's  true,"  cried 
D'Artagnan,  coloring-,  "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. 


142 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


true,  Athos ;  I  am  no  loii^-er  rich.  What 
a  memory  you  have  !  " ' 

"  Tolerably  g-ood  ;  yes,  thank  God  !  " 

^' Bravo,  Planchet  ! ''  grumbled  D'Ar- 
tag-nan  ;  "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  arrang-e  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  ow^n.  But  now  that 
you  have  nothing-  more  to  do  here,  we  will 
be  g"one,  if  you  please.  You  can  g-o  and 
thank  his  majesty,  ask  if  he  has  any  com- 
mands, 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  g-o  at  once  and  pay  my  re- 
spects to  the  king-." 

"  I,"  said  Athos,  "  am  going  to  call 
upon  some  friends  in  the  city,  and  shall 
"be  then  at  your  service." 

"  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,  imper- 
turbably. 

"And  he  will  not  stir,  will  he  ?  " 

"Not  more  than  the  pistols  them- 
selves." 

"  Then  I  will  g"0  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. 
While  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  g-oing-  to  ascertain  if  it 
were  he,  the  usher  summoned  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  g-ratitude  to  me ;  I  have  not 
paid  you  a  quarter  of  the  value  of  the 
histor^^  of  the  box  into  which  you  put  the 
brave  g-eneral — the  excellent  Duke  of  Able- 
marle,  I  mean."  And  the  king-  laug-hed 
heartily. 

D'Artagnan  did  not  think  it  proper  to 
interrupt  his  majestj^  and  bowed  with 
much  modesty. 

"Apropos,"  continued  Charles,  "do 
3'^ou  think  my  dear  Monk  has  really  par- 
doned you  ?  " 

"Pardoned  me  !  yes,  I  hope  so,  sire  !  " 

"  Eh  ! — but  it  was  a  cruel  trick  !  Odds 
fish  !  to  pack  up  the  first  personag-e  of  the 
English  revolution  like  a  herring-.  In 
your  place,  I  would  not  trust  him,  chev- 
alier." 

"  But,  sire — " 

"  Yes,  I  know  very  well  that  Monk 
calls  you  his  friend.  But  he  has  too 
penetrating  an  eye  not  to  have  a  mem- 
ory, and  too  lofty  a  brow  not  to  be  very 
proud,  you  know,  grande  supercilium." 

"I  certainly  will  learn  Latin,"  said 
D'Artag-nan  to  himself. 

"  But  stop,"  cried  the  merr^^  monarch, 
"I  must  manage  your  reconciliation;  I 
know  how  to  set  about  it ;  so — ' ' 

D'Artagnan  bit  his  mustache.  "  Will 
your  majesty  permit  me  to  tell  you  the 
truth?" 

"Speak,  chevalier,  speak." 

"'  Well,  sire,  3'ou  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  chang-ed  D'Artagnan's 
alarm  into  downright  terror. 

"'  Sire,  I  beg-  3^ou  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  com- 
mands for  me." 

Charles  became  more  serious. 


THE     ViaOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


l^S 


"  One  single  thing*.  See  my  sister,  the 
\3.dj  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  de- 
pend upon." 

''Sire,  ever}^  one  that  is  dear  to  your 
majesty  will  be  sacred  to  me." 

"  Very  well  !  —  Parry  !  Come  here, 
Parr\\" 

The  lateral  door  opened,  and  Parr^'^ 
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  w^ell.  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  3^our  parting  audience,  you  can  after- 
ward set  out  as  soon  as  you  please." 

"  Sire,  I  thank  3^ou." 

"  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  j'^ou  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  I 
love   3^ou."     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,  per- 
fectly astonished  with  this  singular  audi- 
ence. The  old  man  took  his  arm  in  a 
friendly  way,  and  led  him  toward  the 
srarden. 


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  bark,  pavoisee 
with  the  arms  of  England,  surmounted, 
by  a  dais,  and  carpeted  with  long 
damasked  stuffs,  which  trailed  their 
fringes  in  the  water.  Eight  rowers,, 
leaning  lazilj^  to  their  oars^  made  it 
move  upon  the  canal  with  the  graceful 
slowness  of  the  swans,  which,  disturbed 
in  their  ancient  possessions  by  the  ap- 
proach of  the  bark,  looked  from  a  distance 
at  this  splendid  and  noisj'^  pageant.  We 
say  noisy — for  the  bark  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  emula- 
tion of  each  other,  to  please  the  lad^^  Hen- 
rietta Stuart,  granddaughter  of  Henry 
IV.,  daughter  of  Charles  I.,  and  sister 
of  Charles  II.,  who  occupied  the  seat  of 
honor  under  the  dais  of  the  bark.  We 
know  this  young  princess,  we  have  seen 
her  at  the  Louvre  with  her  mother,  want- 
ing wood,  wanting*  bread,  and  fed  b^"  the 
coadjeuteur  and  the  parliament.  She 
had,  therefore,  like  her  brothers,  passed 
through  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 


144 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


recent  restoration  had  rendered  cele- 
brated. Misfortune  had  taken  from  her 
the  hister  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,  forg-otten 
during-  a  nig-ht  of  the  first  frosts  of 
autumn,  have  hung  their  heads,  but 
which  on  the  morrow,  warmed  once  more 
b3'  the  atmosphere  in  which  they  were 
born,  rise  ag"ain  with  g-reater  splendor 
than  ever.  Villiers,  duke  of  Bucking'- 
liam,  son  of  him  who  played  so  conspic- 
uous a  part  in  the  early  chapters  of  this 
history' — Villiers  of  Bucking-ham,  a  hand- 
some cavalier,  melancholy  with  women, 
a  jester  with  men — and  Wilmot,  lord 
Kochester,  a  jester  with  both  sexes,  were 
standing-  at  this  moment  before  the  lad}' 
Henrietta,  disputing-  the  privilege  of  mak- 
ing her  smile.  As  to  that  3^oung  and 
beautiful  princess,  reclining  upon  a  cush- 
ion 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  appear- 
ing to  listen  to  them.  This  lady  Henri- 
etta— this  charming  creature — this  woman 
who  joined  the  graces  of  France  to  the 
beauties  of  England,  not  having  yet 
loved,  was  cruel  in  her  coquetry.  The 
.smile,  then — that  innocent  favor  of  young 
girls— did  not  even  enlighten  her  counte- 
nance :  and  if,  at  times,  she  did  raise  her 
feyes,  it  was  to  fasten  them  upon  one  or 
other  of  the  cavaliers  with  such  a  fixity, 
that  their  gallantry,  bold  as  it  generall^^ 
was,  took  the  alarm,  and  became  timid. 

In  the  meanwhile  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  be- 
came doubtless  monotonous  to  the  prin- 
cess, for,  all  at  once,  shaking  her  head 
with  an  air  of  impatience — "  Come,  gentle- 
men— enough  of  this  ;— -let  us  land," 

''Ah,  madame,"  said  Buckingham,  "w^e 
are  very  unfortunate  !  We  have  not  suc- 
ceeded 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  while 
uttering  this  cruel  word,  Henrietta  en- 
deavored to  console  by  a  look  each  of  the 
young  men,  who  appeared  terrified  at 
such  frankness.  The  look  produced  its 
effect — the  two  faces  bi-ightened  ;  but  im- 
mediately, as  if  the  royal  coquette  thought 
she  had  done  too  much  for  simple  mortals, 
she  made  a  movement,  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  Henri- 
etta, and*,  in  that  case,  took  ever^^hing- 
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  flow^ery  turf  of  the  park,  when 
she  perceived  Parry  and  D'Artagnan  at  a 
distance. 

"  Who  is  coming  yonder?  "  said  she. 

The  two  young-  men  turned  round  with 
the  rapidit}^  of  lightning. 

"Parry,"  replied  Buckingham;  "no- 
body but  Parry." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Rochester, 
"but  I  think  he  has  a  companion." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  princess,  at  first  with 
languor,  but  then — "  What  mean  those 
words,  '  Nobody  but  Parry ;  '  say,  my 
lord  ?  " 

"  Because,  madame,"  replied  Bucking- 
ham, piqued,  "  because  the  faithful  Pany, 
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  lad}^  Henrietta  followed  the  usual 
progress  of  pretty  women,  particularly 
coquettish  women  :  she  passed  from  ca- 
price to  contradiction  ; — the  gallant  had 
undergone  the  caprice,  the  courtier  must 
bend  beneath  the  contradictory  humor. 
Buckingham  bowed,  but  made  no  reply. 

"It  is  true,  madame,"  said  Rochester, 
bowing  in  his  turn,  "that   Parry  is  the 


C_  |_3 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


145 


model  of  servants ;  but,  madame,  lie  is  no 
loug-er  3'oung',  and  we  only  laugh  at  see- 
M  ing-  cheerful  objects.  Is  an  old  man  a 
g-ay  object  ?" 

'' Enough,  my  lord,"  said  the  princess, 
coolly;  ''the  subject  of  conversation  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,  madame,"  cried  Bucking-ham, 
'•'your  royal  highness  pierces  vny  heart 
with  a  poniard  forged  by  j^our  own 
hands." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  speech, 
which  is  turned  so  like  a  French  madrigal, 
duke  ?    I  do  not  understand  it." 

"  It  means,  madame,  that  you  j^ourself, 
so  good,  so  charming,  so  sensible,  you 
have  laughed  sometimes — smiled,  I  should 
say — at  the  idle  prattle  of  that  good 
Parry,  for  whom  your  royal  highness 
to-day  entertains  such  a  marvelous  sus- 
ceptibility." 

"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  prin- 
cess's command ;  and,  a  moment  after, 
the  boat  touched  the  bank. 

"Let  us  land,  gentlemen,"  said  Henri- 
etta, 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  un- 
happy 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 
g-o?  "  asked  Rochester. 

"You  see,  my  lord,  toward  that  good 
Parry,  who  is  wandering,  as  m^^  Lord  of 
Buckingham  says,  and  seeking  me  with 
eyes  weakened  by  the  tears  he  has  shed 
over  our  misfortunes." 

"Good  heavens  I  "  said  Rochester,  "how 


sad  your  royal  highness  is  to-day  ;  we 
have,  in  truth,  the  air  of  appearing  ridic- 
ulous fools  to  you,  madame." 

"Speak  for  yourself,  my  lord,"  mter- 
rupted  Buckingham,  with  vexation;  "for 
my  part,  I  displease  her  royal  highness 
to  such  a  degree  that  I  appear  absolutelj' 
nothing"  to  her." 

Neither  Rochester  nor  the  princess  made 
any  reply  ;  Henrietta  only  urged  her  cav- 
alier to  a  quicker  pace.  Buckingham 
remained  behind,  and  took  advantag-e  of 
this  isolation  to  g-ive  himself  up  to  such 
rage,  in  his  handkerchief,  that  the  cam- 
bric was  bitten  in  holes. 

"  Parrj'-,  my  good  Parry,"  said  the 
princess,  with  her  weak  voice,  "  come 
hither.  I  see  you  are  seeking  for  me,  and 
I  am  waiting-  for  you." 

"Ah,  madame,"  said  Rochester,  coming 
charitably  to  the  succor  of  his  companion, 
remaining,  as  we  have  said,  behind,  "if 
Parry  cannot  see  jonr  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,  deter- 
mined to  be  as  ill-natured  as  possible. 
Rochester  bowed.  "  One  of  those  vig-oi"- 
ous  soldiers'  heads  seen  nowhere  but  in 
France,"  added  the  princess,  with  the 
perseverance  of  a  woman  sure  of  impu- 
nity. 

Rochester  and  Bucking-ham  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  favor,  resumed  his  courage, 
and  hastened  to  meet  Pany,  who,  fol- 
lowed 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  eag-er  to 
comply  with  the  desire  of  the  princess, 
had  stopped  at  a  marble  bench,  as  if 
fatigued  with  the  few  steps  he  had  gone — 


14G 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


when  Bufking'ham,  we  say,  was  at  a  dis- 
tance 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  tem- 
pered by  a  desire  of  making  himself 
agreeable  to  the  princess. 

"  Well,  his  majesty  begs  your  grace  to 
present  this  gentleman  to  her  royal  high- 
ness the  Princess  Henrietta." 

"In  the  first  place,  what  is  the  gentle- 
man's name  ?  "  said  the  duke,  haughtily. 

D'Artagnan,  as  we  know,  was  easily 
affronted  ;  the  tone  of  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham 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  nothing  more." 

"That  is^  to  say?" 

"  That  is  to  say,  I  do  not  know  you." 

"  I  am  more  fortunate  than  you,  inon- 
sieur,"  replied  D'Artagnan  ;  "  for  I  have 
had  the  honor  of  knowing  much  of  your 
family,  and  particularly  my  lord  duke  of 
Buckingham  your  illustrious   father." 

"  My  father  ?  "  said  Buckingham. 
"Well,  I  think  I  now  remember.  Mon- 
sieur 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 
mj^  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- 
chamhre  of  Anne  of  Austria,  notice  of  the 
dangers  which  threatened  him  ;  unfortu- 
nately, it  came  too  late." 

"Never  mind,  monsieur,"  said  Buck- 
ingham.    "  I  understand  now,  that,  hav- 


ing- 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  honor 
of  r(nidering  some  services — I  may  tell 
3' ou,  my  lord,  my  life  has  been  passed  in 
such  occupations — King  Charles  II.,  then, 
who  wishes  to  honor  me  with  some  kind- 
ness, 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  j^ou,  at 
this  moment,  were  with  her  royal  high- 
ness, and  has  sent  me  to  you,  by  the  in- 
termission of  Parry.  There  is  no  other 
mystery.  I  ask  absolutely  nothing  of 
3^ou  ;  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  Bucking- 
ham, determined  to  have  the  last  word, 
"you  will  not  go  back  from  aji  explana- 
tion 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  re- 
moved 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  France,  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  3'ou, 
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 
ray  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  toward  them. 

"  At  least,  monsieur,"  said  Bucking- 
ham, "you  shall  not  wait  for  the  presenta- 
tion von  claim  of  me." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELOXNE. 


147 


Then  turning'  toward  the  princess,  and 
bowing- :  "  Madame,"  said  the  young  man, 
*^  the  king,  your  brother,  desires  me  to 
have  tlie  honor  of  presenting  to  your 
royal  highness,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier 
d'Artagnan." 

"  In  order  that  ^^our  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'Artag-nan,  while  addressing-  the  old 
servant. 

''Yes,  madame;  the  king- desires  j'ou  to 
preserve  religiously  in  3'our  memory  the 
name,  and  to  remember  the  merit,  of  M. 
d'Artagnan,  to  whom  his  majesty  owes, 
he  says,  the  recovery  of  his  kingdom." 
Buckingham,  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  dia- 
mond studs." 

"Madame,"  said  Buckingham,  "mon- 
sieur has  just,  for  the  second  time,  recalled 
to  my  memorj^  an  event  which  excites  my 
curiositj^  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,  while 
Buckingham  took  that  of  D'Artagnan. 

"Oh!  tell  me,  chevalier,"  said  Buck- 
ingham, "all  that  affair  of  the  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  evi- 
dent no  entreaties  could  prevail. 

"Since  it  is  so,  monsieur,"  said  Buck- 
ingham, "pardon  my  indiscretion,  I  beg 
you  ;  and  if,  at  any  time,  I  should  go  into 
France — "  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  Rochester. 
Bucking-ham  sighed. 

"Well  ?  "  said  D'Artagnan. 

"I  was  saying  that,  if  any  day,  I  were 
to  go  into  France—" 

"You  will  go,  m.y  lord,"  said  D'Artag- 
nan, "'  I  will  answer  for  that." 

"And  how  so?" 

' '  Oh,  I  have  strange  powers  of  predic- 
tion ;  if  I  do  predict  anything,  I  am  sel- 
dom mistaken.  If.  then,  you  do  come  to 
France?" 

"  Well,  then,  monsieur,  you,  of  whom 
kings  ask  that  valuable  friendship  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'Artag-nan,  "be- 
lieve me,  I  shall  deem  myself  highly  hon- 
ored if,  in  France,  you  remember  having- 
seen  me  here.     And  now  permit — " 

Then,  turning-  toward  the  princess : 
"Madame,"  said  he,  "your  royal  high- 
ness is  a  daughter  of  France ;  and  in  that 
qualitj'^  I  hope  to  see  you  ag-ain  in  Paris. 
One  of  my  happy  days  will  be  that  on 
which  your  royal  highness  shall  g-ive  me 
any  command  whatever,  which  will  assure 
me  that  3'ou  have  not  forgotten  the  rec- 
ommendations 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!  madame,"  said  Bucking-ham,  in 
a  subdued  voice,  "what  can  a  man  do  to 
obtain  a  similar  favor  from  your  royal 
highness?  " 

"Dame!  my  lord,"  replied  Henrietta, 
"  ask  Monseiur  d'Artagnan;  he  will  tell 
you." 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

HOW    D'ARTAGNAN    DREW,    AS  A    FAIRY 
AVOULD   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  ap- 


148 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


prehension.  The  lieutenant  had  had,  all 
his  life,  the  great  art  of  choosing-  his  ene- 
mies ;  and  when  he  had  found  them  im- 
placable and  invincible,  it  was  when  he 
had  not  been  able,  under  any  pretense,  to 
make  them  otherwise.  But  points  of  view 
chang-e  greatly  in  the  course  of  a  life.  It 
is  a  magic  lantern,  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  year 
on  which  w^e  shall  see  black,  there  is  but 
the  interval  of  a  single  nig-ht. 

Now  D'Artagnan,  when  he  left  Calais 
with  his  ten  scamps,  would  have  hesi- 
tated 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,  fast- 
ing, attacks  a  ram.     Hunger  blinds.     But 
D'Artag-nan  satisfied — D'Artagnan  rich— 
D'Artagnan   a    conqueror  —  D'Artagnan 
proud  of  so  difficult  a  triumph— D'Artag-- 
nan  had  too  much  to  lose  not  to  reckon, 
figure  hj  figure,  with  probable  bad  fort- 
une.      His     thoug-hts     were      emploj'ed, 
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  established,  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  con- 
fine him  in  one  of  the  Middlesex  prisons, 
or  to  drown  him  a  little  on  his  passag-e 
from  Dover  to  Boulog-ne.     Such  sorts  of 
satisfaction  kings  are  accustomed  to  ren- 
der-to viceroys  without  disagreeable  con- 
sequences.    It  would  not  be  at  all  neces- 
sary 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  pardon- 
ing- the  viceroy  of  Ireland  all  he  should 
undertake  against   D'Artagnan.      Noth- 
ing more  was  necessary  to  place  the  con- 
science of  the  Duke  of  Albemarle  at  rest 
than  a  te  absolve  said  with  a  laugh,  or 
the  scrawl  of  ''Charles  the  King-"  traced 


at  the  foot  of  a  parchment ;  and  with 
these  two  words  pronounced,  and  these 
two  words  written,  poor  D'Artag-nan  was  ' 
forever  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  him- 
self alone ;  and  even  the  friendship  of 
Athos  could  not  restore  his  confidence. 
Certes,  if  the  aft'air  had  onlj^  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  unlucky 
chance  should  arise  in  justification  of  Monk  ■ 
or  of  Charles  of  England,  D'Artagnan  fl 
knew  Athos  well  enough  to  be  sure  he 
would  give  the  best  possible  coloring  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  afterward 
composing  his  epitaph  in  the  most  pom- 
pous superlatives. 

"  Decidedl}^,"  thought  the  Gascon  ;  and 
this  thought  was  the  result  of  the  reflec- 
tions which  he  had  just  whispered  to  him- 
self, and  which  we  have  repeated  aloud 
— "decidedly,  I  must  be  reconciled  with 
M.  Monk,  and  acquire  a  proof  of  his  per- 
fect 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  will  seize  the  first  hostile  sign  ;  I 
will  decamp,  or  conceal  myself  at  the 
residence  of  my  Lord  of  Buckingham,  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  no- 
body, 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  noble- 
man 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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


149 


was  not  wanting-  in  ideas  ;  and  during- 
his  monologue,  D'Artagnan  buttoned  his 
vest  up  to  the  cliin,  and  nothing-  excited 
his  imag-ination  like  this  preparation  for 
a  combat  of  am'  kind,  called  accinction 
by  the  Romans.  He  was  quiet  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. 

"  My  lord,"  said  D'Artag-nan,  with  that 
expression  of  frankness  which  the  Gascon 
knew  so  well  how  to  assume,  '*my  lord, 
I  am  come  to  ask  your  grace ^s  ad\dce  !  " 

Monk,  as  closely  buttoned  up  morally, 
as  his  antagonist  was  physically.  Monk 
replied  :  "Ask,  my  friend  ;  "  and  his  coun- 
tenance presented  an  expression  not  less 
open  than  that  of  D'Artagnan. 

"  My  lord,  in  the  first  place,  promise  me 
secrecy  and  indulg-ence." 

''I  promise  you  all  you  wish.  What  is 
the  matter  ?     Speak  !  " 

''It  is,  vay  lord,  that  I  am  not  quite 
pleased  with  the  king-." 

"  Indeed  !  And  on  what  account,  my 
dear  lieutenant  ?  ' ' 

'•  Because  his  majesty-  gives  way  some- 
times to  pleasantries  very  compromising 
for  his  servants ;  and  pleasantry,  Yn.y 
lord,  is  a  weapon  that  seriously  wounds 
men  of  the  sword,  as  we  are." 

Monk  did  all  in  his  power  not  to  betray 
his  thoug-ht,  but  D'Artag-nan  watched 
him  with  too  close  an  attention  not  to 
detect  an  almost  imperceptible  redness 
upon  his  face.  *'Well,  now,  for  my  part," 
said  he,  with  the  most  natural  air  possi- 
ble, ''I  am  not  an  enemy  to  pleasantr3', 
my  dear  Monsieur  d'Artag-nan ;  my  sol- 
diers will  tell  you  even  that  mam^  times 
in  camp  I  listened,  very  indifferently  and 
with  a  certain  pleasure,  to  the  satirical 
songs  which  the  armj'  of  Lambert  passed 
into  mine,  and  which  certainly  would 
have  made  the  ears  of  a  g-eneral  more 
susceptible  than  I  am,  tingle." 

"  Oh  !  my  lord  !  "  said  D'Artag-nan, 
"  I  know  you  are  a  complete  man ;  I 
know  3^ou  have  been,  for  a  long  time, 
placed  above  human  miseries ;  but  there 


are  pleasantries,  and  pleasantries  of  a  cer- 
tain kind,  which,  as  to  myself,  have  the 
power  of  irritating-  me  beyond  expres- 
sion." 

"  May  I  inquire  what  kind,  my  friend  ?" 

"  Such  as  are  directed  against  my 
friends,  or  ag-ainst  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  3'our  skin  ?    Answer  me  that." 

"My  lord,  I  can  explain  it  to  you  in 
one  singie  sentence  ;  it  concerns  you." 

Monk  advanced  a  sing'le  step  toward 
D'Artag-nan.     "  Concerns  me, "'  said  he. 

"  Yes,  and  this  is  what  I  cannot  ex- 
plain ;  but  that  arises,  perhaps,  from  my 
want  of  knowledg-e  of  his  character.  How 
can  the  king-  have  the  heart  to  joke  about 
a  man  who  has  rendered  him  so  many  and 
such  g-reat  services  ?  How  can  one  under- 
stand that  he  should  amuse  himself  in 
setting-  by  the  ears  a  lion  like  you  with  a 
g-nat  like  me?  " 

"  I  cannot  conceive  that  in  any  way,"" 
said  Monk. 

"  But  so  it  is.  The  king-,  who  owed  me 
a  reward,  mig-ht  have  rewarded  me  as  a 
soldier,  without  contriving-  that  history 
of  the  ransom,  which  affects  j^ou,  my 
lord." 

'•]Sro,"  said  Monk,  laug-hing-,  ''it  does 
not  affect  me  in  any  way,  I  can  assure 
you." 

"Not  as  reg-ards  me,  I  can  understand: 
you  know  me,  my  lord,  I  am  so  discreet 
that  the  g-rave  would  appear  a  babbler 
compared  to  me  :  but — do  you  understand, 
vox  lord  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Monk,  with  persistent 
obstinac}'. 

"  If  another  knew  the  secret  which  I 
know — " 

"What  secret?" 

"Eh  I  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." 

"  It  was  well  played,  chevalier,  that  is 


150 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


all,  and  no  more  is  to  be  said  about  it ; 
you  are  a  soldier,  both  brave  and  cun- 
ning-, Avhich  proves  that  you  unite  the 
quahties  of  Fabius  and  Hannibal.  You 
employed  your  means,  force  and  cunning- ; 
there  is  nothing-  to  be  said  against  that ; 
I  ought  to  have  been  more  g-uarded . ' ' 

''Ah!  yes;  I  know,  my  lord,  and  I  ex- 
pected 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." 

"There  is  —  in  truth  it  is  difficult  to 
speak  it," 

"There  is?" 

"Well,  there  is  that  devil  of  a  box  !  " 

Monk  colored  visibl}'.  "Well,  I  have 
forg-otten  it." 

"Deal  box,"  continued  D'Artag-nan, 
"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'Artag-nan,  "1,  a 
soldier  of  fortune,  it  was  quite  simple,  be- 
cause, 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'Artag-nan, 
and  I  appreciate  you." 

D'Artag-nan  never  took  his  eyes  off 
Monk ;  studying  all  which  passed  in  the 
mind  of  the  g-eneral  as  he  prosecuted  his 
idea.  "But  it  does  not  concern  me," 
resumed  he. 

' '  Well,  then,  whom  does  it  concern  ?  ' ' 
said  Monk,  who  began  to  g-row  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. 


"M3"  lord,"  replied  D'Artagnan,  "do 
not  dissemble,  I  implore  30U,  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 
scepters  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  curi- 
ous object  of  natural  history ;  for  you 
must  understand  it  would  make  all  j'our 
enemies  ready  to  burst  with  laughter,  and 
you  are  so  great,  so  noble,  so  generous, 
that  3'ou  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  foreseen,  acted  upon  him  in  a 
manner  which  neither  the  cliances  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'Ar- 
tagnan  ;  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." 

"Oh!  certainly,"  cried  D'Artagnan. 
"I  am  entirely  of  3^our  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,  per- 
fectly." 

"  Oh  !  I  understand  you,  you  are  at  ease 
as  far  as  the  king  is  concerned  ?  " 

"I  have  told  j-ou  I  was." 


THE     VWOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


151 


"  But  you  are  not  so  much  so  on  my 
account  ? "' 

"  I  thoug-ht  I  had  told  you  that  I  had 
faith  in  your  loyalty  and  discretion," 

"Without  doubt,  without  doubt,  but 
'     you  must  remember  one  thing- — ** 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  That  I  was  not  alone,  that  I  had  com- 
panions ;  and  what  companions  I  ' " 

"  Ob  !  3^es,  I  know  them," 

"  And,  unfortunately^  m}^  lord,  they 
know  you,  too  !  " 

"Well?" 

"  Well ;  t\iey  are  3-onder,  at  Boulog-ne, 
Avaiting-  for  me," 

"And  3^ou  fear — " 

"  Yes,  I  fear  that  in  my  absence — 
Paj^bleu  I  if  I  were  near  them,  I  could 
answer  for  their  silence." 

''Was  I  not  rig-ht  in  saying-  that  the 
dang-er,  if  there  was  any  dang-er,  would 
not  come  from  his  majesty,  however  dis- 
posed he  may  be  to  joke,  but  from  3'our 
companions,  as  you  say  — To  be  laug-hed 
at  b}^  a  king-  may  be  tolerable,  but  by  the 
horse-boys  and  scamps  of  the  army  ? 
Damn  it  !  " 

"Yes,  I  comprehend,  that  would  be  in- 
supportable ;  that  is  Avhy,  mj^lord,  I  came 
to  say — do  you  not  think  it  would  be  better 
that  I  should  set  out  for  France  as  soon 
as  possible  ?  ' ' 

"  Certainly,  if  you  think  your  j)res- 
ence — " 

"  Would  impose  silence  upon  these 
scoundrels  ?  Oh  I  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  propag-ated  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  g-race," 

"Oh,  come  back  !  come  back  I  " 

"  Unfortunately^  my  lord,  I  am  ac- 
quainted   with     nobod}^    here    but    your 


g-race,  and  if  I  should  no  long-er  find  you, 
or  if  3'ou  should  have  forg-otten  me  in 
3-our  g-reatness  ?  " 

"Listen  to  me.  Monsieur  d'Artag-nan," 
replied  Monk ;  "you  are  a  superior  g-en- 
tleman,  full  of  intellig-ence  and  courag-e ; 
you  merit  all  the  g-ood  fortune  this  world 
can  bring-  you ;  come  with  me  into  Scot- 
land, and,  I  swear  to  you,  I  will  create 
you  a  destiny  which  all  may  envy." 

"'  Oh  !  my  lord,  that  is  impossible  at 
present.  At  jDresent  I  have  a  sacred  duty 
to  perform  :  I  have  to  watch  over  your 
g-lory,  I  have  to  prevent  a  low  joker  fi-om 
tarnishing-  in  the  eyes  of  our  contempo- 
raries— who  knows  ?  in  the  eyes  of  pos- 
terity— the  splendor  of  3' our  name," 

"  Of  posterity.  Monsieur  d'Artag-nan  ?  " 

"  Doubtless,  It  is  necessary,  as  reg-ards 
posterit}',  that  all  the  details  of  that  his- 
tory should  remain  a  mystery  ;  for,  admit' 
tliat  this  unfortunate  history  of  the  deal 
box  should  spread,  and  it  should  be  as- 
serted that  3'ou  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,  honor,  probity!"  said  he, 
"3^ou  are  but  words/" 

"  Mist !  "  replied  D'Artag-nan,  "nothing- 
but  mist,  throug-h  which  nobody  can  see 
clearly." 

"Well,  then,  g-o  to  France,  my  dear 
Monsieur  d'Artag-nan,"  said  Monk;  "g-o, 
and  to  render  Eng-land  more  attractive 
and  ag-reeable  to  jou,  accept  a  remem- 
brance of  me." 

"  What  now  ?  "  thoug-ht  D'Artag-nan. 

"I  have  on  the  banks  of  the  Clyde," 
continued  Monk,  "a  little  house  beneath 
trees,  a  cottag-e  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  refug-e 
you  were  talking  of  just  now." 


152 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  For  me  to  be  oblig-ed  to  your  worship 
to  such  an  extent !  Really,  your  g-race,  I 
am  ashamed.'*' 

''Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  monsieur/''  re- 
plied Monk  with  an  arch  smile;  ''it  is  I 
who  shall  be  obliged  to  3^ou.  And, "  press- 
ing* the  hand  of  the  musketeer,  "  I  Avill  go 
and  draw  up  the  deed  of  g"ift,"  and  he  left 
the  room. 

D'Artag-nan  looked  at  him  as  he  went 
out  with  something  of  a  pensive  and  even 
an  agitated  air. 

"After  all,"  said  he,  "he  is  a  brave 
man.  It  is  only  a  sad  reflection  that  it  is 
from  fear  of  me,  and  not  affection,  that 
he  acts  thus.  Well,  I  will  endeavor  that 
affection  may  follow."  Then,  after  an  in- 
stant's deeper  reflection — "  Bah  !  "  said 
he,  "to  what  purpose  ?  He  is  an  Eng-lish- 
man."  And  he  in  his  turn  w^ent  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  w^as 
not  with  the  monej^  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  flnd  Athos."  And 
he  directed  his  steps  toward  the  dwelling 
of  the  Comte  de  la  Fere. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

HOW  d'aRTAGNAN   regulated  the  "  PAS- 
SIVE "  OF   THE   COMPANY   BEFORE  HE 
ESTABLISHED   ITS    "ACTIVE." 

"  Decidedly,"  said  D'Artagnan  to 
iiimself,  "lam  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  no  ioWy, 
I   will  take   advantage   of   it :    it  comes 


quite   late   enough    to    find    me    reason- 
able." 

He  supped  that  evening,  in  very  good 
humor,  with  his  friend  Athos ;  he  said 
nothing  to  him  about  the  expected  dona- 
tion, 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  j)roprietor ;  only  he 
could  not  help  regretting,  more  than 
once,  the  absence  of  the  lively  humor  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  bot- 
tom of  his  plate,  to  trace  ciphers  and 
make  additions  of  surprising  rotundity. 
The  order,  or  rather  license,  for  their 
embarkation,  arrived  at  Athos'  lodg- 
ings that  evening.  At  the  same  time 
this  paper  was  remitted  to  the  comte  an- 
other messenger  brought  to  D'Artagnan 
a  little  bundle  of  parchment,  adorned 
with  all  the  seals  employed  in  setting-off 
propert^^  deeds  in  England.  Athos  sur- 
prised him  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
these  different  acts  which  established  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  a 
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  3'our  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  yo\i  more  tenderly  than 
brother,  father,  or  all  the  world — " 

"  Except  your  Raoul  ?  " 

"  I  shall  love  Raoul  still  better  when  he 
shall  be  a  man,  and  I  shall  have  seen  him 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


153 


develop  himself  in  all  the  phases  of  his 
character  and  his  actions — as  I  have  seen 
you,  my  friend.'' 

"  You  said,  then,  that  30U  had  an  order 
likewise,  and  that  you  would  not  commu- 
nicate it  to  me."' 

"  Yes,  my  dear  D'Artag-nan." 

The  Gascon  sighed.  "There  was  a 
time,"  said  he,  "in  which  3'ou  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  3^outh,  confidence,  the  .generous  season 
when  the  blood  commands,  when  it  is 
warmed  by  feeling- !  " 

"Well  I  Athos,  will  you  allow  me  to 
tell  you  ?  " 

"  Speak,  my  friend  !  " 

"  That  delig-htful  time,  that  generous 
season,  that  domination  of  the  heated 
blood,  were  all  very  fine  thing's,  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  (you  knew  if  I  was  so,  Athos), 
so  simple  as  I  might  appear  in  my  clothes, 
I  w^ould  not  the  less  have  preferred  the 
braveries  and  embroideries  of  Porthos  to 
vcij  little  porous  cassock,  which  admitted 
the  wind  in  winter  and  the  sun  in  sum- 
mer. I  should  always,  my  friend,  mis- 
trust him  who  would  pretend  to  prefer 
evil  to  g-ood.  Now,  in  times  past,  all 
was  evil  with  me,  the  times  past  in  which 
every  month  found  a  fresh  hole  in  my  cas- 
sock and  in  my  skin,  a  g-old  crown  less  in 
my  poor  purse  ;  of  that  execrable  time  of 
small  beer  and  see-saw,  I  reg-ret  abso- 
lutely nothing-,  nothing,  nothing-  but  our 
friendship  ;  for  within  me  I  have  a  heart, 
and  it  is  a  miracle  that  heart  has  not  been 
dried  uj)  b^"  the  wind  of  povertj'-  which 
passed  throug-h  the  holes  of  my  cloak,  or 
pierced  \>y  the  swords  of  all  shapes  which 
passed  throug-h  the  holes  in  my  poor 
flesh." 

"Do  not  reg-ret  our  friendship,"  said 
Athos,    "that   will    only   die    with    our- 


selves. Friendship  is  composed,  above 
all  thing's,  of  remembrances  and  habits, 
and  if  3'ou  have  just  now  made  a  little 
satire  upon  mine,  because  I  hesitate  to 
tell  you  the  nature  of  my  mission  into 
France — " 

"  Who  !  I  ?  —  Oh  !  heavens  !  if  you 
knew,  my  dear  friend,  how  indifferent  all 
the  missions  of  the  world  will  henceforth 
become  to  me  !  "  And  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  the   parchment  in  his  vest  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  dis- 
charg-ed  the  reckoning.  Porthos  often 
did,  Aramis  sometimes,  and  you,  you 
alinost  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  toward  the  park,  not,  however, 
without  D'Artag-nan  frequently  turning- 
round  to  watch  the  transport  of  his  dear 
crowns.  Nig-ht  had  just  spread  her  thick 
veil  over  the  ^^ellow  waters  of  the  Thames ; 
the}'  heard  those  noises  of  casks  and  pul- 
leys, the  precursors  of  preparing-  to  sail 
which  had  so  many  times  made  the  hearts 
of  the  musketeers  beat  when  the  dang-ers 
of  the  sea  were  the  least  of  those  they 
were  g-oing-  to  face.  This  time  they  were 
to  embark  on  board  a  larg-e  A-essel  whicli 
awaited  them  at  Gravesend,  and  Charles 
II.,  alwa3's  delicate  in  small  matters,  had 
sent  one  of  his  yachts,  with  twelve  men 
of  his  Scotch  g-uard,  to  do  honor  to  the 
ambassador  he  was  deputing-  to  France. 
At  midnight  the  3' acht  had  deposited  its 
passengers  on  board  the  vessel,  and  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  vessel 
landed  the  ambassador  and  his  friend  be- 
fore the  ^etee  at  Boulogne.  While  the 
comte,  with  Grimaud,  w^as  busy  in  pro- 
curing horses  to  go  straight  to  Paris, 
D'Artagnan  hastened  to  the  hostelry 
where,  according  to  his  orders,  his  little 
armj'was  to  wait  for  him.  These  gentle- 
men were  at  breakfast  upon  oj^sters,  fish, 
and  aromatized  brandy,  wiien  D'Artag- 
nan appeared.     They  were  all  very  gay^^ 


154 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


T3ut  not  one  of  them  had  A'et  exceeded  the 
l^ouiids  of  reason.  A  hurrah  of  joy  wel- 
comed the  general.  ''Here  I  am,"  said 
D'Artagnan,  "  the  campaign  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  remain-' 
ing"  in  the  purse  of  the  richest  among  j^ou. " 

"  That  is  true  !  "  cried  they  in  chorus. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "  then, 
this  is  the  last  order.  The  treaty  of  com- 
merce has  been  concluded,  thanks  to  our 
coup-de-main  which  made  us  masters  of 
the  most  skillful  financier  of  England,  for 
now  I  am  at  liberty  to  confess  to  you  that 
the  man  we  had  to  carr^'  off  was  the 
treasurer  of  General  Monk." 

This  word  treasurer  produced  a  certain 
effect  in  his  army.  D'Artagnan  observed 
that  the  eyes  of  Menneville  alone  did  not 
evince  perfect  faith. 

"This  treasurer,"  continued  D'Artag- 
nan, "  I  have  conveyed  to  a  neutral  ter- 
ritory, Holland ;  I  have  forced  him  to 
sign  the  treaty" ;  I  have  even  reconducted 
him  to  Newcastle ;  and  as  he  was  obliged 
to  be  satisfied  with  our  proceedings  to- 
ward him — the  deal  coffer  being  always 
carried  without  jolting,  and  being  lined 
softly,  I  asked  for  a  gratification  for  you. 
Here  it  is."  He  threw  a  respectable-look-* 
ing  purse  upon  the  cloth  ;  and  all,  invol- 
untarily, stretched  out  their  hands. 
''One  moment,  vay  lambs,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan; "if  there  are  benefits,  there  are 
also  charges." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  "  murmured  the3^ 

"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  gal- 
lows 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  satis- 
faction in  reply  to  the  sufficiently  proud 
look  of  D'Artagnan.     "The   king  being 


restored,  I  restored  Monk  his  man  of  busi- 
ness, 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,  be- 
tween 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  '  (3^ou  understand  me,  M,  Menneville) 
'  escapes  from  your  lips,  or  the  lips  of 
your  companions,  I  have,  in  my  govern- 
ment of  Scotland  and  Ireland,  seven  hun- 
dred and  forty-one  wooden  gibbets,  of 
strong  oak,  clamped  with  iron,  and  fresh 
greased  every  week.  I  will  make  a  pres- 
ent 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'Ar- 
tagnan, 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  certainly 
comply.'  " 

A  cry  of  terror  broke  from  all  corners 
of  the  table. 

"There!  there!  there!"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan, "  this  brave  M.  Monk  has  forgot- 
ten 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  your- 
selves, 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  honor  to  tell  you.  I  am 
sure  you  have  understood  me  perfectly 
well,  have  you  not,  M.  Menneville?" 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


155 


"  Perfectl3%"  replied  the  latter. 

"Now  the  crowns  !  "  said  D'Artag-nan. 
''Shut  the  doors,"  he  cried,  and  opened 
the  bag-  upon  the  table,  from  which  rolled 
several  fine  gold  crowns.  Every  one  made 
a  movement  toward  the  floor. 

"  Gently  !  "  cried  D'Artag-nan,  "I  in- 
sist upon  it  nobody  stoops,  and  then  I 
shall  not  be  out  in  my  reckoning-. "  He 
found  it  all  rig-ht;  g-ave  fifty  of  those 
splendid  crowns  to  each  man,  and  received 
as  many  benedictions  as  he  bestowed 
pieces.  ''Now,''  said  he,  "if  it  were  pos- 
sible for  3'ou  to  reform  a  little,  if  you  could 
become  g-ood  and  honest  citizens — " 

"That  is  rather  difficult,"  said  one  of 
the  troop. 

"  What  then,  captain  ?  "  said  another. 

"  Because  I  mig'ht  be  able  to  find  you 
ag-ain,  and  who  knows  ?  refreshed  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  !  I  need  not  recommend 
3'ou  to  be  discreet." 

Menneville  followed  him,  while  the  salu- 
tations of  the  auxiliaries  were  mingled 
with  the  sweet  sound  of  the  money  clink- 
ing- in  their  pockets. 

"Menneville,"  said  D'Artag-nan,  when 
they  were  once  in  the  street,  "you  were 
not  my  dupe;  beware  of  being  so.  You 
did  not  appear  to  me  to  have  an}^  fear 
of  the  g-ibbets  of  Monk,  or  the  Bastille 
of  his  majesty  King-  Louis  XIV.,  but  you 
will  do  me  the  favor  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  noth- 
ing-, 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  intel- 
lig-ent  fellow,"  said  the  musketeer;  "I 
have  tried  you  for  a  length  of  time. 
These  fifty  g-old  crowns  which  I  g-ive  you 
more  than  the  rest  will  prove  the  esti- 
mation 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  forever  under  the  rust  of  an  evil 
life.  Become  a  gallant  man,  Menneville, 
and  live  for  a  year  upon  those  hundred 
gold  crowns :  it  is  a  good  provision ; 
twice  that  of  a  high  ofiicer.  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  j^et  some  one  must  have 
spoken ;  and  as,  to  a  certainty,  it  was  not 
one  of  the  nine  companions,  as  equally- 
certainly  it  was  not  Mennevile,  it  must 
have  been  D'Artagnan,  who,  in  his  qual- 
ity 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  se- 
cret of  the  deal  coffer  pierced  with  holes 
should  come  to  our  knowledge,  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  neighbors  ? 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

IN    WHICH    IT    IS   SEEN   THAT    THE    FRENCH 
GROCER    HAD    ALREADY    BEEN    ESTAB- 
LISHED   IN     THE     SEVENTEENTH 
CENTURY. 

His  accounts  once  settled,  and  his  recom- 
mendations made,  D'Artagnan  thought 
of  nothing  but  regaining  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  traveler  perceives  with  pleasure,  at 
the  close  of  the  day — even  though  the 
dav  has  been  a  fine   one — that  night  is 


156 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


approaching',  and  will  bring  a  little  sleep 
with  it.  So,  from  Boulogne  to  Paris, 
jogging  on  side  by  side,  the  two  friends, 
In  some  degree  absorbed  each  in  his  in- 
dividual thoughts,  conversed  of  nothing 
sufficiently  interesting  for  us  to  intrude 
upon  our  readers  with.  Each  of  them, 
^iven  up  to  his  personal  reflections,  and 
■constructing  his  future  after  his  own  fash- 
ion, was  above  all  anxious  to  abridge  the 
distance  by  speed.  Athos  and  D'Artag- 
nan  arrived  at  the  barriers  of  Paris  on 
the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  after  leav- 
ing Boulogne. 

''Where  are  you  going,  vay  friend?" 
asked  Athos.  "  I  shall  direct  my  course 
straight  to  nn-  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  3'ou  remain  in  Paris,  yes;  for  I 
shall  stay  here." 

"No;  after  having  embraced  Raoul, 
-with  whom  I  have  appointed  a  meeting 
at  my  hotel,  I  shall  set  out  immediateh^ 
for  La  Fere." 

"Well,  adieu  then,  dear  and  true  friend. " 

"  All  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 
liandsome  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,  rail,  and  teal, 
without  reckoning  sunsets  and  excursions 
on  the  water,  to  make  you  fancy  j^ourself 
ISTimrod  and  Apollo  themselves.  Await- 
ing the  acquisition,  you  can  live  at  La 
Fere,  and  we  will  go  together  to  fiy  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  Comte,"  said  he,  "I 
will  neither  say  'Yes'  nor 'No.'  Let 
me  pass  in  Paris  the  time  necessary  for 
the  regulation  of  mv  affairs  and  accustom 


myself,  by  degrees,  to  the  heavy  and  glit- 
tering idea  which  is  beating  in  my  brains 
and  dazzles  them.  I  am  rich,  do  you  see, 
and  from  this  moment  till  the  time  I  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  apropos  of  this  habit,  dear  D'Ar- 
tagnan,  will  ^'ou  allow  me  to  offer  yoxx  a 
little  advice  ?  " 

"Yes,  willingly." 

"You  will  not  be  angry  ?  " 

"Proceed." 

"When  wealth  falls  to  any  one  late  or 
all  at  once,  that  any  one,  in  order  not  to 
change,  will  most  likelj^  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  vou  become 


a  miser 


V  " 


'f  No,  pardieu  !  I  was  one  already",  hav- 
ing nothing.     Let  us  chang-e." 

"  Then  be  prodigal." 

"  Still  less,  mordioux  !  Debts  terrify 
me.  Creditors  appear  to  me,  'by  antici- 
pation, those  devils  who  turn  the  damned 
upon  the  g-ridirons,  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  thej 
have  anything  to  teach  j^ou.  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  stag-es ;  I  occupy  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  ni}^  own 
home,  without  the  expense." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


157 


''Oh  I  how  well  you  manage,  Athos  ! 
"What  order  and  what  liberality  !  They 
are  what  I  wish  to  unite  !  But,  of  what 
use  trying- 1  that  conies  from  birth,  and 
cannot  be  acquired." 

'•'You  are  a  flatterer!  Well!  adieu, 
dear  friend.  Apropos,  remember  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'Artag-nan  had  not  for  a 
moment  lost  sig-ht  of  a  certain  pack-horse, 
in  whose  panniers,  under  some  hay,  were 
spread  the  sacoches  (messeng-er's  bag-s) 
with  the  portmanteau.  Nine  o'clock  was 
striking-  at  Saint-Mine ;  Planchet's  lads 
were  shutting-  up  his  shop.  D'Artag-nan 
stopped  the  postilion  who  rode  the  pack- 
horse,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Lom- 
bards, 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  en- 
tered the  shop  of  the  grocer,  who  had  just 
finished  supper,  and  who,  in  his  little  pri- 
A'ate  room,  was,  with  a  degree  of  anxiety, 
consulting- the  calendar,  from  which  every 
evening' lie  scratched  out  the  day  that  was 
past.  At  the  moment  when  Planchet,  ac- 
cording to  his  daily  custom,  with  the  back 
of  his  pen,  erased  another  day,  D'Artag- 
nan  kicked  with  his  feet  at  the  door,  and 
the  blow  made  his  steel  spur  jingle.  ''  Oh  ! 
good  Lord  !  "  cried  Planchet.  The  worthy 
grocer  could  say  no  more  ;  he  perceived 
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  traveler,  "  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  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  D'Artagnan.  A  shudder 
ran  through  the  whole  frame  of  Planchet. 
"I  should  like  to  have  something  to 
drink,"  said  the  musketeer,  raising  his 
head  piteously. 

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,  mon- 
sieur," said  Planchet:  "that  good  old 
Anjou  wine,  which  was  one  day  nearl3' 
costing-  us  all  so  dear." 

"Ah!"  replied  D'Artagnan,  with  a 
melancholy  smile,  "ah!  my  poor  Plan- 
diet  !     ought     I     still     to     drink     good 


wme 


?" 


"Come!  my  dear  master,"  said  Plan- 
chet, making  a  superhuman  effort,  while 
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  Monsieur  d'Ar- 
tagnan ;  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  say,  my 
dear  friend  ?  " 

Planchet,  from  being  pale  turned  yellow. 
It  might  have  been  thought  he  was  g'oing- 
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  hang- 
ing listlesslj^  looked  like  a  statue  of  dis- 
couragement. Planchet  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  I — life  is  some- 
thing— but  I  am  ruined  !  " 


158 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


''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,  wh}^  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  g-reat  emo- 
tion, 'Hhou  art  a  brave  fellow,  by  my 
honor,  Planchet.  You  have  not  been  play- 
ing- comedy,  have  you  ?  You  have  not 
seen  the  pack-horse  with  the  sacoches 
under  the  shed  yonder  ?  " 

"What  horse?  What  sacoches  9  " 
said  Planchet,  whose  trembling-  heart 
beg-an  to  sug-g-est  that  D'Artag-nan  was 
mad, 

"Why  !  the  Eng"lish  bag's,  mordioux  I  " 
said  D'Artag-nan,  all  radiant,  quite  trans- 
figured. 

"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  con- 
trar3%  never  was  mj'  head  more  clear,  or 
my  heart  more  jo^^ous.  To  the  sacoches, 
Planchet,  to  the  sacoches  !  " 

"But  to  what  sacoches,  mon  Dieu  !  " 

D'Artagnan  pushed  Planchet  toward 
the  window.  "  Under  the  pent-house, 
yonder,  don't  you  see  a  horse  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Don't  you  see  how  his  back  is  laden?" 

"Yes,  yes  !  " 

"  Don't  you  see  your  lad  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  Plan- 
chet from  the  window. 

"Bring  the  horse  !  "  shouted  D'Artag- 
nan. 

"  Bring  the  horse  !  "  screamed  Plan- 
chet. 

"Now  give  ten  livres  to  the  postilion," 
said  D'Artagnan,  in  the  tone  he  would 
have  emploj^ed  in  commanding*  a  maneu- 


ver ;  "'  two  lads  to  bring  up  the  two  first 
sacoches,  two  to  bring  up  the  two  last — 
and  move,  mordioux  !  be  alive  !  ' ' 

Planchet  precipitated  himself  down  the 
staii-s,  as  if  the  devil  had  been  at  his 
heels.  The  moment  after,  the  lads  as- 
cended the  staircase,  bending  beneath 
their  burden.  D'Artagnan  sent  them  off 
to  their  garrets,  carefully  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  provok- 
ing sound  of  the  silver  and  gold — when  he 
saw  bubbling  out  of  the  bags  the  shining* 
crowns,  which  glittered  like  fish  from  the 
sweep-net — when  he  felt  himself  plunging 
his  hands  up  to  the  elbow  in  that  still  ris- 
ing tide  of  3'ellow  and  silver  pieces,  a  gid- 
diness 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,  inconti- 
nently, recalled  him  to  life. 

"Ah!  good  heavens!  good  heavens! 
good  heavens  !  "  said  Planchet,  wiping 
his  mustache  and  beard. 

At  that  time,  as  they  do  now,  grocers 
wore  the  cavalier  inustache  and  the  lans- 
quenet beard,  only  the  bains  d^ argent, 
already  become  rare  in  those  days,  have 
becoine  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'Ar- 
tagnan,  the  lovely  sum  !  " 

"  I  confess  that,  half  an  hour  ago,  I  re- 
gretted that  I  had  to  give  j^ou  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     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


159 


the  whole  history,"  said  Planchet,  "that 
must  be  better  than  the  money." 

''Ma  foi  !  "  said  D'Artagnan,  stroking- 
liis  mustache,  *'I  can't  say  no;  and  if 
€ver  the  historian  turns  to  me  for  infor- 
miation,  he  will  be  able  to  say  he  has  not 
dipped  his  bucket  into  a  dry  spring-. 
Listen  then,  Planchet,  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

''And  I  will  build  piles  of  crowns,"  said 
Planchet.  "  Commence,  my  dear  mas- 
ter." 

"Well,  this  is  it,"  said  D'Artag-nan, 
drawing-  breath. 

"And  that  is  it,"  said  Planchet,  pick- 
ing- up  his  first  handful  of  crowns. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 
mazarin's  gaming  party. 

In  a  large  chamber  of  the  Palais-Roj-al, 
covered  with  a  dark  colored  velvet,  which 
threw  into  strong-  relief  the  g-ilded  frames 
of  a  g-reat  number  of  magnificent  pictures, 
on  the  evening  of  the  arrival  of  the  two 
[Frenchmen,  the  whole  court  was  assem- 
bled before  the  alcove  of  M.  le  Cardinal  de 
Mazarin,  who  g-ave  a  party,  for  the  pur- 
poses 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  with  an  expres- 
sion 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  smil- 
ing at  her  husband.  As  for  the  cardinal, 
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  Ber- 
nouin ;  but  the  rouge,  which  glowed  only 
on  his  cheeks,  threw  into  stronger  con- 
trast 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  uneas}^  looks  of 
the  king,  the  queen  and  the  courtiers. 
The  fact  is,  that  the  two  ej-es  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  wilhngl^-  left  him; 
but  in  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  Maz- 
arin would  have  changed  his  indifference 
for  an  ugly  grimace ;  to  lose  would  like- 
wise have  been  dangerous,  because  she 
must  have  cheated,  and  the  infanta,  who 
watched  her  game,  would,  doubtless,  have 
exclaimed  against  her  partiality  for  Maz- 
arin. Profiting  by  this  calm,  the  cour- 
tiers were  chatting.  When  not  in  a  bad 
humor,  M.  de  Mazarin  was  a  very  dehon- 
naire  prince,  and  he,  who  prevented  no- 
body from  singing,  provided  they  paid, 
was  not  tyrant  enough  to  prevent  people 
from  talking,  provided  the^^  made  up  their 
minds  to  lose.  The^^  were  chatting  then. 
At  the  first  table,  the  king's  younger 
brother,  Philip,  due  d'Anjou,  was  admir- 
ing his  handsome  face  in  the  glass  of  a 
box.  His  favorite,  the  Chevalier  de  Lor- 
raine, leaning  over  the  fauteuil  of  the 
prince,  was  listening,  with  secret  envy,  to 
the  Comte  de  Guiche,  another  of  Philip's 
favorites,  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.  B\'  degrees,  the  fate  of  the  un- 
fortunate 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  picturesquel3^  related  by  the  Comte 
de  Guiche. 


160 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


The  Comtesse  de  Soissons  interrupted 
the  narrator,  ''  Confess,  comte,  you  are 
n  venting." 

"  Madame,  I  am  repeating-  like  a  parrot 
all  the  histories  related  to  me  by  different 
Eng-lishmen.  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,  ''Monsieur  le  Cardinal  will 
tell  you  that  in  my  minoritj^  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  maj- 
esty exaggerates,  and  j^our  supper  has 
always  been  ready  with  that  of  3^ our  ser- 
vants." 

The  king  colored. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Philip,  inconsiderately, 
from  his  place,  and  without  ceasing  to  ad- 
mire 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  dis- 
tresses, as  with  the  hopes  of  future  g-ood 
fortune. 

"It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  crown 
of  France  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  Engiand  ;  and 
when,  by  chance,  that  crown  oscillated  a 
little — for  there  throne  quakes  as  well  as 
earth  quakes — every  time,  I  sa^^,  that  re- 
bellion threatened  it,  a  good  victory  re- 
stored tranquillit}'." 

"  With  a  few  gems  added  to  the  crown," 
said  Mazarin. 

The  Comte  de  Guiche  was  silent  ;  the 
king  composed  his  countenance,  and  Maz- 
arin exchanged  looks  with  Anne  of 
Austria,  as  if  to  thank  her  for  her  inter- 
vention. 

"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  Reister ;  and  if  he  con- 
tinues to  fight  thus,  no  doubt  he  will  finish 
by  gaining  a  battle,  like  Rocroy — " 

"He  has  no  soldiers,"  interrupted  the 
Chevalier  de  Lorraine. 

"The  king  of  Holland,  his  ally,  will 
give  him  some.  I  would  willingly  have 
given  him  some  if  I  had  been  king  of 
France." 

Louis  XIV.  blushed  excessively.  Maz- 
arin affected  to  be  more  attentive  to  his 
game  than  ever. 

"By  this  time,"  resumed  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  "the  fortune  of  this  unhappj^ 
prince  is  decided.  If  he  has  been  deceived 
by  Monk  he  is  ruined.  Imprisonment,  per- 
haps 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.  "You  know — you, 
m}"  brother." 

Louis  XIV.  colored  again.  That  was 
the  third  time  within  an  hour.  "Ask  Mon- 
sieur 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  grouj)  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  saj-,  in  a  whisper, 
what  it  was  not  convenient  should  be 
said.     He  was  beginning  then  to  dart  at 


I 


THE     VICOjITE    DE    BRAGELONXE. 


161 


them  glances  full  of  mistrust  and  uneasi- 
ness, inviting-  Anne  of  Austria  to  throw 
perturbation  amid  the  unlawful  assem- 
bly, when,  suddenly,  Bernouin,  entering- 
under  the  tapestry  of  the  bedroom,  whis- 
pered in  the  ear  of  Mazarin,  ''  Monseig- 
neur,  an  envoy  from  his  majesty  the  king 
of  England.'' 

Mazarin  could  not  help  exhibiting  a 
slight  emotion,  which  was  perceived  by 
the  king.  To  avoid  being  indiscreet,  still 
less  than  not  to  appear  useless,  Louis 
Xr\^.  rose  immediately,  and  approaching 
his  eminence,  wished  him  good  night.  All 
the  assembly  had  risen  with  a  great  noise 
of  rolling  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  ^\-ith  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  jmelle,  the  curtains  of  which,  in  fall- 
ing, concealed  the  bed.  The  cardinal, 
nevertheless,  did  not  lose  sight  of  the 
conspirators. 

"M.  le  Comte  de  Guiche,"  said  he  in  a 
fretful  voice,  while  putting  on,  behind  the 
curtain,  his  robe  de  chambre,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  Bernouin. 

'•'I  am  here,  monseigneur,"  said  the 
young  man,  as  he  approached. 

"  Take  my  cards,  3'ou  are  lucky.  "Win 
a  little  money  for  me  of  these  gentlemen." 

' '  Yes,  monseigneur. ' ' 

The  young  man  sat  clown  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  mean  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  cur- 
tain. His  eminence  had  followed  Ber- 
nouin into  the  closet  adjoining  the  bed- 
room. 


Dumas— 6 


CHAPTER  XL. 


AX    AFFAIR    OF    STATE. 


The  cardinal,  on  passing  into  his  cabi- 
net, 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  expres- 
sion of  the  face  of  his  interlocutor,  what 
would  be  the  result  of  the  conversation. 
But,  this  time,  Mazarin  was  disappointed 
in  his  expectation ;  lie  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  Hoh^  Ghost, 
the  Garter,  and  the  Golden  Fleece,  three 
orders  of  such  importance,  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.  "1  am  told,"  said 
he,  at  length,  ''3'ou  have  a  message  from 
England  for  me." 

And  he  sat  down,  dismissing  Bernouin, 
who,  in  his  quality  of  secretary,  was  get- 
ting his  pen  read3\ 

'•'  On  the  part  of  his  majesty,  the  king 
of  England,  yes,  your  eminence." 

"You  speak  verj"  good  French,  for  an 
Englishman,  monsieur,"  said  Mazarin  gra- 
ciously, looking  through  his  fingers  at 
the  Holy  Ghost,  Garter,  and  Golden 
Fleece,  but  more  particularh'  at  the  face 
of  the  messenger. 

"  I  am  not  an  Englishman,  but  a 
Frenchman,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal,"  re- 
plied Athos. 

"  It^  is  remarkable  that  the  king  of 
England  should  choose  a  Frenchman  for 
his  ambassador :  it  is  an  excellent  augury. 
Your  name,  monsieur,  if  you  please." 

''Comte  de  la  Fere,"  replied  Athos, 
bowing-  more  slightly  than  the  ceremonial 
and  pride  of  the  all-powerful  minister  re- 
quired. 


162 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Mazarin  bent  his  shoulders,  as  if  to 
saj^ : — "  I  do  not  know  that  name." 

Athos  did  not  alter  his  carriag-e. 

''Andj^ou  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 
announce  to  the  king-  of  France,"  con- 
tinued 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  accus- 
tomed to  mankind,  not  to  see  in  the  cold 
and  almost  haughty  politeness  of  Athos 
an  index  of  hostilit}^,  which  was  not  of 
the  temperature  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  powrpow^, 
a  dispatch.  The  cardinal  held  out  his 
hand  for  it.  "Your  pardon,  monseig- 
neur," said  Athos.  "My  dispatch  is  for 
the  king-." 

"Since you  are  a  Frenchman,  monsieur, 
you  oug-ht  to  know  what  the  position  of  a 
prime  minister  is  at  the  court  of  France." 

"There  was  a  time,"  replied  Athos, 
"  when  I  occupied  mj^self  with  the  impor- 
tance 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  dis- 
patch in  its  bag,  bowed  gravely  and  made 
several  steps  toward  the  door.  Tliis  cool- 
ness exasperated  Mazarin.  "What  strange 
diplomatic  proceedings  are  these  !  "  cried 
he.  "  Are  we  ag-ain  in  the  times  in  which 
Cromwell  sent  us  bullies  in  the  g-uise  of 
charges  d'affaires  ?  You  want  nothing, 
monsieur,  but  the  steel  cap  on  your  head, 
and  a  Bible  at  j^our  g-irdle." 


"  Monsieur,"  said  Athos  dryly,  "  I  have 
never  liad,  as  3'ou  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.,  he  does  not  write  to  his  emi- 
nence Cardinal  Mazarin.  I  see  no  diplom- 
ac}^  in  that  distmction." 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Mazarin,  raising-  his  at- 
tenuated hand,  arid  striking-  his  head  :  "  I 
remember  now  !  "  Athos  looked  at  him 
in  astonishment.  "  Yes,  that  is  it !  "  said 
the  cardinal,  continuing-  to  look  at  his  in- 
terlocutor; "yes,  that  is  certainly  it.  I 
know  you  now,  monsieur.  Ah  !  diavolo  ! 
1  am  no  longer  astonished." 

"  In  fact,  I  was  astonished  that  with 
the  excellent  memory  your  eminence  has," 
replied  Athos,  smiling,  "  jow  have  not 
recognized  me  before." 

"  Always  refractory  and  g-rumbling — 
monsieur— monsieur —  What  do  they  call 
3^ou  ?  Stop — a  name  of  a  river — Potamos; 
no — the  name  of  an  island — Naxos  ;  no, 
per  Glove  ! — the  name  of  a  mountain — 
Athos  I  now  I  have  it.  Delighted  to  see 
you  again,  and  to  be  no  long-er  at  Rueil, 
where  j^ou  and  3'our  damned  companions 
made  me  pay  ransom.  Fronde  !  still 
Fronde !  accursed  Fronde  !  Oh,  what 
g-rudg-es !  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  considera- 
tions of  that  kind.  I  have  a  mission  to 
fulfill.  Will  you  facilitate  the  means  for 
my  fulfilling  that  mission,  or  will  yow 
not  ?  " 

"I  am  astonished,"  said  Mazarin  — 
"' quite  delighted  at  having-  regained  the 
remembrance;"  and  bristling-  with  ma- 
licious points,  "  I  am  astonished,  mon- 
sieur— Athos — that  a  Frondeur  hke  you 
should  have  accepted  a  mission  to  Maz- 
arin, as  used  to  be  said  m  the  g'ood  old 
times — "     And  Mazarin  began  to  laug-h. 


< 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


163 


in  spite  of  a  painful  cough,  "vvhicli  cut 
short  his  sentences,  converting-  them  into 
sobs. 

"  I  have  onl}^  accepted  the  mission  to 
the  king  of  France,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal," 
retorted  the  comte,  though  with  less  as- 
perity, for  he  thought  he  had  sufficiently 
the  advantage  to  show  himself  moderate. 

''And  yet,  Monsieur  le  Frondeur," 
said  Mazarin  ga3^1y,  "  the  affair  with 
which  you  charge  j'ourself  must,  from 
the  king—" 

'•'  With  which  I  am  charged,  monseig- 
neur.     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." 

''  I  have  had  the  honor  of  assuring  j^our 
eminence  that  the  letter  alone  of  his  maj- 
esty King  Charles  II.  contains  the  revela- 
tion of  his  wishes." 

''Pooh!  you  are  ridiculous  with  your 
obstinacy.  Monsieur  Athos.  It  is  plain 
you  have  kept  company  with  the  Puritans 
3^onder.  As  to  your  secret,  I  know  it 
better  than  3'ou  do ;  and  you  have  done 
wrongly,  perhaps,  in  not  ha^-ing  shown 
some  respect  for  a  very  old  and  suffering 
man,  who  has  labored  much  during  his 
life,  and  kept  the  field  bravely  for  his 
ideas,  as  you  have  for  3'ours. — You  will 
not  communicate  your  letter  to  me  ? — You 
will  say  nothing  to  me  ? — Wonderfully^ 
well !  Come  with  me  into  m^^  chamber  ; 
you  shall  speak  to  the  king — and  before 
the  king. — Now  then,  one  last  word  :  who 
gave  3'ou  the  Fleece  ?  I  remember  3-ou 
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,  fill- 
ing 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  of  M.  le  Prince  was 
being  announced.  The  Prince  de  Conde, 
the  first  prince  of  the  blood,  the  conqueror 
of  Rocroy,  Lens,  and  Nordingen,  was,  in 
fact,  entering  the  apartment  of  Monseig- 


neur de  Mazarin,  followed  by  his  gentle- 
men, and  had  already  saluted  the  king, 
when  the  prime  minister  raised  his  cui-- 
tain."  Athos  had  time  to  see  Raoul  press- 
ing the  hand  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche,  and 
to  return  him  a  smile  for  his  respectful 
bow.  He  had  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— Avon  ?  " 

"Some  fifty  thousand  crowns;  yes, 
monseigneur,"  replied  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  rising.  "Must  I  give  up  my 
place  to  your  eminence,  or  shall  I  con- 
tinue?" 

"  Give  up  !  give  up  !  you  are  mad.  You 
would  lose  all  you  have  won.     Peste  .' " 

"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  Maz- 
arin !  " 

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  honor  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  disap- 
peared at  the  simple  gesture.  Raoul, 
after  a  last  look  cast  at  the  comte,  fol- 
lowed M.  de  Conde.  Philip  of  Anjou  and 
the  queen  appeared  to  be  consulting  about 
departing. 

"A  family  affair,"  said  Mazarin,  sud- 
denly, detaining  them  in  their  seats. 
"  This  gentleman  is  bearer  of  a  letter,  in 
which  King  Charles  II.,   completely  re, 


I 


1G4 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


stored  to  his  throne,  demands  an  alhance 
between  Monsieur,  the  brother  of  the  king-, 
and  Mademoiselle  Henrietta,  grand- 
daughter of  Henr3^  IV.  Will  you  remit 
your  letter  of  credit  to  the  king.  Monsieur 
leComte?" 

Athos  remained  for  a  minute  stupefied. 
How  could  the  minister  possibly  know 
the  contents  of  the  letter,  wiiich  had  never 
been  out  of  his  keeping  for  a  single  instant  ? 
Nevertheless,  always  master  of  himself, 
he  held  out  the  dispatch  to  the  young 
king,  Louis  XIV.,  who  took  it  with  a 
blush.  A  solemn  silence  reigned  in  the 
chamber  of  the  cardinal.  It  was  onl^^ 
troubled  by  the  dull  sound  of  the  gold 
which  Mazarin,  with  his  yellow,  dry  hand, 
piled  up  in  a  coffret,  while  the  king  was 
reading. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 


THE     RECITAL. 


The  malice  of  the  cardinal  did  not  leave 
much  for  the  ambassador  to  say ;  never- 
theless, 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,  j^ou  are  a  Frenchman, 
and  the  orders  which  I  see  glitter  upon 
your  person  announce  you  to  be  a  man  of 
merit  as  well  as  a  man  of  quality." 

"•Monsieur,"  said  the  cardinal,  turning 
toward  the  queen-mother,  "is  an  ancient 
servant  of  your  majesty's,  Monsieur  le 
Comte  de  la  Fere." 

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  ac- 
quainted with  England,   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  3"oung  queen.  These  words  had 
much  power,  for  they  rendered  mute  and 
attentive  all  the  roj'al  personag'es,  who, 
with  very  various  sentiments,  set  about 
recomposing  at  the  same  time  the  myste- 
rious, which  the  young  had  not  seen,  and 
which  the  old  had  believed  to  be  forever 
effaced. 

"Speak,  monsieur,"  said  Louis  XIV., 
the  first  to  escape  from  troubles,  suspi- 
cions, and  remembrances. 

"  Yes,  speak,"  added  Mazarin,  to  whom 
the  little  piece  of  malice  inflicted  upon  Anne 
of  Austria  had  restored  energy  and  gay- 
ety. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  comte,  "  a  sort  of  mir- 
acle 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  amid  universal  benedic- 
tions." 

"A  great  miracle,  indeed,"  said  Maz- 
arin; "for,  if  the  news  was  true,  King 
Charles  II.,  who  has  just  returned  amid 
benedictions,  went  away  amid  musket- 
shots." 

The  king"  remained  impassible.  Philip, 
younger  and  more  frivolous,  could  not  re- 
press 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  about 
the  ti'iumph  of  His  designs.     To  what  men 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


165 


does  Charles  II.  principally  owe  his  re- 
establishment  ?  " 

"Why,"  interrupted  Mazarin,  "with- 
out any  regard  for  the  self-love  of  the 
king-,  does  not  3'our  majesty  know  that  it 
is  to  M.  Monk  ?  " 

"I  ought  to  know  it,"  replied  Louis 
XIV.,  resolutely;  "and  yet  I  ask  mon- 
sieur, the  ambassador,  the  causes  of  the 
change  in  this  Monsieur  Monk?  " 

"  And  your  majesty  touches  precisel}^ 
the  question,"  replied  Athos  ;  "  for  with- 
out the  miracle  I  have  had  the  l)onor  to 
speak  of,  Monsieur  Monk  would  probablj' 
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,  while  a  devoted 
and  courageous  idea  took  possession  of 
the  mind  of  another  man.  The  combina- 
tion of  these  two  ideas  brought  about 
such  a  change  in  the  position  of  M.  Monk, 
that,  from  an  inveterate  enemj',  he  be- 
came 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  Frenchmen,  sire." 

*•'  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,  reason- 
able 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  coura- 
geous as  well  as  devoted.  It  was  neces- 
sary, 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  man,y  difficulties  : 
the  general  proved  to  be  loyal,  and  al- 
lowed 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  while  he 
was  in  Paris." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  rejoined  the  cardi- 
nal, maliciously,  "that  his  majesty  the 
king  of  Great  Britain  knew  perfectly  well 
of  this  million,  but  that  he  preferred  hav- 
ing two  millions  to  having  one." 

"Sire,"  said  Athos  firmly,  "the  king 
of  England,  while  in  France,  was  so  poor 
that  he  had  not  even  money  to  take  the 
post ;  so  destitute  of  hope  that  he  fre- 
quentl_y  thought  of  dying.  He  was  so 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  existence  of  the 
million  at  Newcastle,  that  but  for  a  gen- 
tleman— 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  ob- 
stacle 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  \)y  the  neck  at  the 
Place  de  Greve,  by  decree  of  the  parlia- 
ment." 

"Your  eminence  is  mistaken,"  replied 
Athos,  drylj^;  "I  did  not  say  that  the 
Frenchman  in  question  had  resolved  to  as- 
sassinate 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  udge.  This  French  gentleman, 
then,  formed  the  idea  of  gaining  posses- 
sion of  the  person  of  Monk,  and  he  exe- 
cuted liis  plan." 

The  king  became  animated  at  the  re- 
cital of  great  actions.  The  king's  younger 
brother  struck  the  table  with  his  hand, 
exclaiming,  "  Ah  !  that  is  fine  !  " 


166 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  He  carried  o(T  Monk  ?  "  said  the  king-. 
**  Why,  Monk  was  in  his  camp."' 

"  And  the  gentleman  was  alone,  sire." 

'*'  That  is  marvelous  !  "  said  Piiilip. 

''  Marvelous  indeed  !  "  cried  the  king. 

''Good  !  There  are  two  little  lions  un- 
chained," murmured  the  cardinal.  And 
with  an  air  of  spite,  which  he  did  not  dis- 
semble :  "'lam  unacquainted  with  these 
details,  will  you  g-uarantee  the  authen- 
ticity of  them,  monsieur?  " 

"All  the  moi-e  easil}',  Monsieur  le  Car- 
dinal, from  having  seen  the  events." 

"You  have  ?  " 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

The  king  had  involuntarily  drawn  close 
to  the  comte,  the  Due  d'Anjou  had  turned 
sharph'  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  gen- 
eral, 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  enthusi- 
asm, Louis  XIV.,  more  reflective,  turned 
toward  the  Comte  de  la  Fere. 

"Is  this  true,"  said  he,  "in  all  its  de- 
tails?" 

"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.  Maza- 
rin,  himself,  had  raised  his  arms  towai'd 
heaven. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  king,  "I  will 
seek,  I  will  find  means  to  reward  3'ou." 
Athos  made  a  movenunit.  "Oh,  not  for 
3'our  probity,  to  be  paid  for  that  would 
humiliate  you;  but  I  owe  you  a  reward 
for  having  participated  in  the  restoration 
of  my  brother.  King  Charles  II." 


"  Certainly,"  said  Mazarin. 

"  It  is  the  triumph  of  a  g-ood  cause 
which  fills  the  whole  house  of  France 
with  jo3',"  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  ver\'-  inferior  rank." 

"  And  nothing  but  them  ?  " 

"'  Nothing  more." 

"And  you  call  him  ?  " 

"Monsieur  d'Artagnan,  formerly  lieu- 
tenant of  the  musketeers  of  your  maj- 
esty."* 

Anne  of  Austria  colored  ;  Mazarin  be- 
came yellow  with  shame  ;  Louis  XIV. 
was  deepl}'  thoughtful,  and  a  drop  of 
sweat  fell  from  his  pale  brow.  "Wiiat 
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'Ati- 
jou,  placing  his  hand,  delicate  and  white 
as  that  of  a  woman,  upon  the  arm  of 
Atiios,  "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  Fiance." 
And,  on  finishing-  these  words,  the  yoimg- 
man,  perceiving  that  his  enthusiasm  had 
deranged  one  of  his  ruffles,  set  to  work 
to  put  it  to  rights  with  the  g-reatest  care 
imaginable. 

"Let  us  resume  business,  sire,"  inter- 
rupted Mazarin,  \vho  never  was  enthu- 
siastic, and  who  had  no  ruffles  on. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  Louis  XIV. 
"  Enter  upon  your  communication.  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte,"  added  he,  turning-  toward 
Athos. 

Athos  immediately  commenced,  and 
offered  in  due  form  the  hand  of  the  Prin- 
cess Henrietta  Stuart  to  the  young  prince, 
the  king's  bi-other.  The  conference  lasted 
an  hour;  after  Avhich  the  doors  of  the 
chamber  were  thrown  open  to  the  cour- 
tiers, who  resumed  their  places,  as  if 
nothing  had  been  kept  from  them  in  the 
occupations  of  that  evening.     At  hos  then 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


167 


found  himself  ag"ain  with  Raoul,  and  the 
father  and  sou  were  able  to  clasp  hands 
once  more. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

IN    WHICH    MAZARIN    BECOMES   PRODIGAL. 

While  Mazarin  was  endeavoring  to  re- 
cover (rom  the  serious  alarm  he  had  just 
experienced,  Athos  and  Raoul  were  ex- 
chang'ing"  a  few  words  in  a  corner  of  the 
apartment.  '•'  Well,  here  j^ou  are  in 
Paris,  then,  Raoul  ?  "'  said  the  comte. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  since  the  return  of  M. 
le  Pi'ince." 

''  1  cannot  converse  freely  with  ,you  here, 
because  we  are  observed  ;  but  I  shall  re- 
turn home  presently-,  and  shall  expect  you 
as  soon  as  your  dutj'-  permits." 

Raoul  bowed,  and,  at  that  moment,  M. 
le  Prince  came  up  to  them.  The  prince 
had  that  clear  and  keen  look  which  distin- 
g-uishes  birds  of  prey  of  the  noble  species : 
his  physioii'tiomy  itself  presented  several 
distinct  trails  of  this  resemblance.  It  is 
known,  that  in  the  Prince  de  Conde,  the 
aquiline  nose  rose  out  sharph'  and  in- 
cisively from  a  bi'ow  sli.shtU'  retreating", 
rather  low  than  high,  which,  according-  to 
the  railers  of  the  court,  a  pitiless  i-ace, 
even  for  g-enius,  constituted  rather  an 
eag-le's  beak  than  a  human  nose,  in  the 
heir  of  the  illusti-ious  princes  of  the  house 
of  Conde.  This  penetrating-  look,  this 
imperious  expression  of  the  whole  counte- 
nance, g-enerally  disturbed  those  to  whom 
the  prince  spoke,  more  than  either  maj- 
esty or  reg-ular  beaut}'  could  have  done  in 
the  conqueror  of  Rocroy.  Besides  this, 
the  fire  mounted  so  suddenlj'  to  his  pro- 
jecting- eyes,  that  w'ith  the  prince  every 
sort  of  animation  resembled  passion.  Now, 
on  account  of  his  rank,  everybody'  at  the 
court  respected  M.  le  Prince,  and  manj' 
even,  seeing-  only  the  man,  carried  their 
respect  as  far  as  terror.  Louis  de  Conde 
then  advanced  toward  the  Comte  de  la 
Fere  and  Raoul,  with  the  marked  inten- 
tion of  being  saluted  \iy  the  one,  and  of 
speaking  to  the  other.  No  man  bowed 
with  more  reserved  grace  than  the  Comte 


I 


de  la  Fere.  He  disdained  to  put  into  a 
salutation  all  the  shades  which  a  courtier 
ordinarily  borrows  from  the  same  color — 
the  de.sire  to  please.  Athos  knew  his  own 
personal  value,  and  bowed  to  the  prince 
like  a  man,  correcting  by  something  sym- 
pathetic and  undfflnable  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  yo\x  —  mon 
prince.^' 

'•'I  have  the  honor  to  address  Monsieur 
le  Comte  de  la  Fei-e,"  said  Conde  instantly'. 

''My  protector,"  added  Raoul,  blush- 
ing. 

*'  One  of  the  most  honorable  men  in  the 
kingdom,"  continued  the  prince;  '•  one  of 
the  first  gentlemen  of  France,  and  of  whom. 
I  have  heard  so  much,  that  I  have  fre- 
quently desired  to  number  him  anjong  n\y 
fiiends." 

"  An  honor  of  which  I  should  be  un- 
worthy," replied  Athos,  ''but  for  the  re- 
spect and  admiration  I  entertain  for  3'our 
royal  highness." 

"Monsieur  de  Bragelonne,"  said  the 
prince,  "  is  a  good  ofBcer,  who,  it  is  plain, 
has  been  to  a  good  school.  Ah,  Monsieur 
le  Comte,  in  your  time,  generals  had  sol- 
diers !  " 

"  That  is  true,  monseigneur  ;  but  nowa- 
days soldiers  have  generals." 

This  compliment,  which  savored  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  probable  that  the  king-  will 
soon  have  a  war  with  Holland  or  England, 
and  opportunities  for  distinguishing  him- 
self would  not  be  wanting  for  a  man  who, 
like  you,  knows  Great  Britain  as  well  as 
3'ou  do  France." 

"  I  believe  I  may  sa\',  monseigneur,  that 
I  have  acted  wisely  in  retiring  from  the 


168 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


service,"  said  Athos,  smiling.  "  France 
and  Great  Britain  will  henceforward  live 
like  two  sisters,  if  I  can  trust  my  presen- 
timents." 

"  Your  presentiments  ?  " 

"  Stop,  monseigneur,  listen  to  what  is 
being  said  yonder,  at  the  table  of  Monsieur 
le  Cardinal." 

"  Where  the}'  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.  "  Mon- 
seigneur," said  the  cardinal,  "pick  up,  if 
you  please,  all  those  gold  crowns."  And 
he  pointed  to  the  enormous  pile  of  yellow 
and  s'littei'ing  pieces  which  the  Comte  de 
Guiche  had  raised  hj  degrees  before  him, 
by  a  surprising  run  of  luck  at  pla}'. 

"  For  me  ?  "  cried  the  Due  d'Anjou. 

"  Those   fifty    thousand    crowns ;    yes, 
monseigneur,  the}'  are  yours." 
'     "  Do  you  give  them  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  playing  on  your  account, 
monseigneur,"  replied  the  cardinal,  get- 
ting weaker  and  weaker,  as  if  this  effort 
of  giving  mone}'  had  exhausted  all  his 
physical  and  moral  faculties. 

"  Oh,  good  heavens  f"  exclaimed  Philip, 
wild  with  joy,  ''  what  a  fortunate  day  !  " 
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  favor- 
ite, the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  "come 
hither,  chevalier."  Tlie  favorite  quickly 
obeN^ed.  "  Pocket  the  rest,"  said  the 
young    prince. 

This  singular  scene  was  onl\'  taken  by 
the  persons  present  as  a  touching  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  liberalit}'  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,  joyously,  as  he 
crossed  the  chamber  with  his  favorite,  to 


go  to  his  carriage.  "  No,  never  !  What 
a  weierht  these  crowns  ai-e  !  " 

•'  But  why  has  Monsieur  ie  Cardinal 
given  the  money  all  at  once?"  asked 
Monsieur  le  Prince  of  the  Coinie  de  la 
Fere.  "He  must  be  very  ill,  the  dear 
cardinal  !  " 

"  Yes,  monseigneur,  ver}^  ill,  without 
doubt ;  he  looks  verj-  ill,  as  your  royal 
highness  may  perceive." 

"  Certes  !  but  he  will  die  of  it.  A  hun- 
dred and  fiity  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  surprised  if  they  spared  us  the 
trouble  of  being  indiscreet.  Listen  to 
them." 

Ill  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  3'ou, 
to  make  him  so  generous  ?  " 

'"As  I  said,"  whispered  Athos  in  the 
prince's  ear ;  "  that,  perhaps,  is  the  best 
reply  to  yonv  question." 

"Tell  me,  monseigneur,"  reiterated  the 
chevalier  impatiently,  as  he  was  calculat- 
ing, 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." 

"How,  a  nuptial  present !  " 

"Eh  !  yes,  I  am  going  to  be  married  !  " 
replied  the  Due  d'Anjou,  without  perceiv- 
ing, at  the  moment  he  was  passing,  the 
prince  and  Athos,  who  both  bowed  respect- 
fully. 

The  chevalier  darted  at  the  young  duke 
a  glance  so  strange  and  so  malicious  that 
the  Comte  de  la  Fere  quite  started  at  be- 
holding it. 

"  You  !  you  be  married  !  "  repeated  he; 
"oh  !  that's  impossible. — You  would  not 
commit  such  a  folly  !  " 

"  Bah  !  I  don't  do  it  myself  ;  I  am  made 
to  do  it,"  replied  the  Due  d'Anjou.  "  But 
come,  quick  !  let  us  get  rid  of  our  mone^y." 
Thereupon  he  disappeared  with  his  com- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


169 


panion,  laughing-  and  talking-,  while  all 
iieads  were  bowed  on  his  passag-e. 

'•'  Then,"  whispered  the  prince  to  Athos, 
"  that  is  the  secret.'' 

*'It  was  not  I  that  told  you  so,  mon- 
sei.erneur.''* 

•'  He  is  to  marr^'  the  sister  of  Charles 
11.  ?" 

''I  believe  so." 

The  prince  reflected  for  a  moment,  and 
his  eyes  shot  forth  one  of  its  not  unfre- 
quent  flashes.  '•  Huuiph  !  "'  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  sig-h  contained  of  am- 
bition silently  stifled,  of  illusions  extin- 
guished 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,  b}'  a  sig-n  made  to  Brag-elonne,  re- 
newed the  desire  he  had  expressed  at  the 
commencement  of  the  scene.  By  deg-rees 
the  chamber  was  deserted,  and  Mazarin 
was  left,  alone,  a  prey  to  suffering-s  which 
he  could  no  longer  dissemble.  '^  Ber- 
nouin  !  Bernouin  !  "  cried  he,  in  a  broken 
voice. 

*•'  What  does  monseig-neur  want  ?  " 

"Guenaud — let  Guenaud  be  sent  for," 
said  his  eminence.    '*'  I  think  I  am  dying-." 

Bernouin,  in  g-reat  terror  rushed  into 
the  cabinet  to  g-ive  the  order,  and  the 
piqueur,  who  hastened  to  fetch  the  phys- 
ician, passed  the  king-'s  carriage  in  the 
Rue  Saint-Honore. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


GUENAUD. 


The  order  of  the  cardinal  was  press- 
ing ;  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  re- 
sistances.    On   the  arrival   of  Guenaud: 


"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "  now  I  am  saved  !  " 

Guenaud  was  a  ver\'  learned  and  cir- 
cumspect man,  who  stood  in  no  need  of 
the  critiques  of  Boileau  to  obtain  a  repu- 
tation. 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  repl^'  to  Mazarin  as  the  minis- 
ter expected:  '"'Here  is  the  doctor; 
good-by,  disease."  On  the  contrary,  on 
examining  his  patient,  with  a  very  seri- 
ous air  : 

''  Oh  !  oh  !  "  said  he. 

'•  Eh  !  what !  Guenaud  !  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  ra.ised  himself  upon  his  elbow, 
and,  questioning  by  look  and  gesture : 
'•'  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Am  I 
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,  1  fancy. — The  late 
M.  de  Richelieu  was  but  seventeen 
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,  monseig- 
neur." 

"  Well !  some  ten  years — off  and  on." 

"Very  well ;  be  kind  enough  to  reckon 
everj'  year  of  the  Fronde  as  three  years — 
that  makes  thii-ty ;  now  twent^^  and  fifty- 
two  make  seventy-two  years.  You  are 
seventy-two,  monseigneur  !  and  that  is  a 
great  age." 

While  saying  this,  he  felt  the  pulse  of 
his  patient.  This  pulse  was  filled  with 
such  fatal  prognostics,  that  the  physician 
continued,  notwithstanding  the  interrup- 
tions   of    the   patient:      "Put  down  the 


170 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


years  of  the  Fronde  at  four  each  and  you 
have  lived  eighty-two  years." 

''Are  you  speaking  seriously,  Gue- 
naud  ?  '■ 

"  Alas  !  yes,  monseigmeur." 

"  You  take  a  roundabout  way,  then, 
to  announce  to  me  tliat  I  am  ver}'  ill  ?  " 

'•'Ma  foi  !  yes,  monseigneui-,  and  with 
a  man  of-  the  mind  and  courage  of  3"our 
eminence,  it  ought  not  to  be  necessary 
to  do  so." 

The  cardinal  breathed  with  such  dilR- 
culty  that  he  inspired  pity  even  in  a  piti- 
less ph^^sician.  "There  are  diseases  and 
diseases,"  resumed  Mazarin.  "From 
some  of  them  people  escape." 

"  That  is  true,  monseigneur," 

*'■  Is  it  noL?"  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  gen- 
ius, Guenaud  ?  Of  what  use  would  be 
science  and  art,  if  the  patient,  who  dis- 
poses of  all  that,  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  blindl.y,and  that  consequently — " 

"I  know  all  that,"  said  Guenaud. 

"I  shall  be  cured,  then?" 

"  Monseig'neur,  there  is  neitlier  strength 
of  will,  nor  power,  nor  genius,  nor  science 
that  can  i-esist  a  disease  which  God  doubt- 
less 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  I'ather  his 
mind  was  a  firm  one.  "Guenaud,"  said 
he,  recovering  from  the  first  shock,  "you 
will  permit  me  to  appeal  from  your  judg- 
ment. I  will  call  together  the  most 
learned  men  of  Europe ;  I  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  j^ours.  I  have  already  as- 
sembled all  the  good  physicians  and  prac- 
titioners of  France  and  Europe.  There 
were  twelve  of  them." 

"And  they  said—" 

"  The\^  said  that  your  eminence  was 
attacked  wit h  a  mortal  disease  ;  I  have 
the  consultation  signed  in  my  portfolio. 
If  your  eminence  will  please  to  see  it,  ^-ou 
will  find  the  names  of  all  the  incurable 
diseases  we  have  met  \\\t\\.  There  is 
first—" 

"No,  no!"  cried  Mazarin,  pushing 
away  the  paper.  "'  No,  no,  Guenaud,  I 
yield  !  I  yield  !  "  And  a  profound  silence, 
during  which  the  cardinal  resumed  his 
senses  and  recovered  his  strength,  suc- 
ceeded to  the  agitation  of  this  scene. 
"There  is  another  thing,"  murmured 
Mazarin;  "there  are  empirics  and  char- 
latans. In  my  countr}',  those  whom  phy- 
sicians 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  ray  purse.  You  are  not  cui'ed  ;  and, 
but  for  my  art,  j^ou  would  be  dead." 

"That  ends  it!"  murmured  the  car- 
dinal ;  "  that  ends  it — "  And  he  threw  a 
melancholy  look  upon  the  riches  which 
surrounded  him.  "And  must  1  quit  all 
that?"  sighed  he.  "I  am  dying,  Gue- 
naud !  I  am  dying  !  " 

"Oh  !  not  3''et,  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  mt',  whose  every  minute  is 
worth  a  treasure.  Tell  me,  Guenaud,  tell 
me  !  " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


171 


"No,  no,  monseig-neur." 

'•I  insist  upon  it,  1  tell  3'ou.  Oh  !  give 
me  a  month,  and  for  every  one  of  those 
thirty  days  I  will  pa}'  you  a  hundred  thou- 
sand livres. " 

''' Mi>nseig-neur,"  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,  murmur- 
ing, "  Thank  you,  Guenaud,  thank  3'ou  !" 

The  pliysician  was  about  to  depart ;  the 
dying  man  raising  himself  up  :  "Silence  I" 
said  he,  witli  eyes  of  dame,  "silence  !" 

"  Monseigneur,  I  have  known  this  secret 
two  months;  3'ou  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  XLIV. 


COLBERT. 


Colbert  was  not  far  off.  During  the 
whole  evening  he  had  remained  in  one  of 
the  corridors,  cliatting-  with  Bernouin  and 
Brienne,  and  commenting,  with  the  ordi- 
nary skill  of  people  of  a  court,  upon  the 
views  which  developed  themselves,  like 
air-bubbles  upon  the  water,  on  the  sur- 
face 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  his- 
torian and  the  moralist  have  an  equal 
right.  Ho  was  thirteen  j^ears  older  than 
Louis  XIV.,  his  future  master.  Of  mid- 
dle height,  rather  thin  than  otherwise, 
he  had  deep-set  eyes,  a  mean  appear- 
ance, coarse  black  and  thin  hair,  which 
say  the  biographers  of  his  lime,  made 
him  take  early  to  the  calotte.  A  look 
full  of  severity,  of  liarshness  even,  a 
sort  of  stiffness,  which,  with  inferiors,  was 
pride,  with  supeiiors,  an  affectation  of 
superior  virtue  ;  a  surly  cast  of   counte- 


nance upon  all  occasions,  even  when  look- 
ing at  himself  in  a  glass  alone — sucli  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  g-overnors  of  frontier  places 
to  feed  the  garrisons  without  paj',  with 
what  the}'  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  deg-recs  crept  into  tlie  court, 
notwithstanding"  the  meanness  of  his  birth, 
for  he  was  tiie  son  of  a  man  who  sold  wine 
as  his  father  had  done,  but  who  afterward 
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  aChatelet 
procureur  named  Biterne.  It  was  here 
he  had  learned  the  art  of  drawing  up  an 
account,  and  the  much  more  valuable  one 
of  complicating-  it.  This  stiffness  of  Col- 
bert's had  been  of  g-reat  benefit  to  him ; 
so  true  is  it  that  Fortune,  when  she  has  a 
caprice,  resembles  those  women  of  antiq- 
uity, whose  fantasy  nothing-  physical  or 
moral,  in  either  things  or  men,  disgusted. 
Colbert,  placed  with  Michel  Lctellier,  sec- 
retary of  state  in  1G48,  by  his  cousin  Col- 
bert, seigneur  do  Saint-Penange,  who 
favored  him,  received  one  day  from  the 
minister  a  commission  for  Cardinal  Maz- 
arin. His  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  anno\'ed 
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  valu- 
able 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 


172 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Letellier  wished  to  send  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria's letter  to  Mazarin,  in  order  tliat  he 
mig-ht  be  acquainted  with  it,  and  conse- 
quently 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  commu- 
nicated it,  that  was  the  difficulty.  Letel- 
lier cast  his  eyes  around  him,  and  seeing- 
the  blaclc  and  meager  clerk  scribbling 
away  with  his  scrowling  brow,  in  his 
office,  he  preferred  him  to  the  best  g-en- 
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  sternl}',  '''  more  nec- 
essary." Then  lie  set  out,  traveled  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 
colored  greatly  while  reading  Anne  of 
Austria's  letter,  gave  Colbert  a  gracious 
smile,  and  dismissed  him. 

*'  When  shall  I  have  the  answer,  mon- 
seigneur  ?" 

"  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  patientlj^  in  the  antechamber; 
his  turn  being  come,  he  entered.  Maz- 
arin gave  him  a  sealed  packet.  Upon 
the  envelope  of  this  packet  were  these 
^xQ,,(;}g  . — X  Monsieur  Michel  Letellier.  etc. 
Colbert  looked  at  the  packet  with  much 
attention  ;  the  cardinal  put  on  a  pleasant 
countenance,  and  pushed  him  toward  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  cr3\  "  What  are  j-ou 
doing-?"  said  he  angrily. 

"  I  am  unsealing  the  packet,  mon- 
seigneur." 

''You  mistrust  me  then,  master  cuistre, 
do  you  ?  Did  any  one  ever  see  such  im- 
pertinence ?" 

'•'  Oh  !  monseigneur,  do  not  be  angry 
with  me  ?  It  is  certainly  not  3'our  emi- 
nence's word  I  place  in  doubt,  God  for- 
bid !" 

"What  then?"' 

"  It  is  the  carefulness  of  j^our  chancery, 
monseigneur.  What  is  a  letter  ?  A  rag-. 
May  not  a  rag  be  forgotten  ?  And,  look, 
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 
angrih'  ;  "  begone  and  wait  my  pleas- 
ure." While  saying  these  words,  with 
subtlel  y  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  dis- 
agreeable figure  never  failed  to  ask  him 
humbly,  but  with  tenacity',  for  the  queen- 
mother's  letter.  Mazarin  could  hold  out 
no  longer,  and  was  oblig-ed  to  give  it  up. 
He  accompanied  this  restitution  with  a 
most  severe  reprimand,  during  which  Col- 
bert contented  himself  with  examining, 
feeling,  even  smelling,  as  it  were,  the 
papers,  the  characters,  and  the  signature, 
neither  more  nor  less  than  if  he  had  had 
to  do  with  the  greatest  forger  in  the  king- 
dom. Mazarin  behaved  more  rudeh'  still 
to  him,  but  Colbert,  still  impassible,  hav- 
ing obtained  a  certainty  that  the  letter 
was  the  true  one,  went  off  as  if  he  had 
been  deaf.  This  conduct  afterward  was 
worth  the  post  of  Joubert  to  him ;  for 
Mazarin,  instead  of  bearing-  malice,  ad- 
mired him,  and  was  desirous  of  attaching 
so  much  fidelit}'  to  himself. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


173 


It  may  be  judg-ed,  by  this  sing-le  anec- 
dote, what  the  character  of  Colbert  was. 
Events  developing-  themselves  by  deg-rees 
allowed  all  the  powers  of  his  friend  to  act 
freel^^  Colbert  w'as  not  long-  in  insinuat- 
ing- himself  into  the  g-ood  graces  of  the 
cardinal :  he  became  even  indispensable 
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  wh.y,  when  about  to  ap- 
pear before  the  Master  of  another  world, 
Mazarin  was  desirous  of  taking-  g-ood 
counsel  in  disposing  of  the  w-ealth  he  was 
so  unwilling-ly  oblig-ed  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  alwaj's  remembered  that,  M. 
Colbert,  and  I  have  worked  in  that  pre- 
vision. You  know  that  I  have  amassed  a 
little  wealth." 

"  I  know  3^ou  have,  monseigneur." 

"  At  how  much  do  3'ou  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  sig-h,  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  hundred  and^sixty 
thousand,  two  hundred  livres,  nine  sous, 
eight  deniers,  there  are  thirteen  millions 
that  are  not  known  of." 

"Om/.'"  sig-hed  Mazarin,  "what  a 
man  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  head  of  Bernouin 
appeared  through  the  embrasure  of  the 
door.  "What  is  it?"  asked  Mazarin, 
"and  whv  do  vou  disturb  me?" 


"The  Theatin  father,  3^our  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,  saving-:  "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 — and  what  I  have  to 
say  to  one  tlie  other  may  hear.  Remain 
w^here  you  are,  Colbert." 

"  But,  monseig-netu',  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  3^ou  g-ood  to  hear 
the  confession  of  a  rich  man." 

Colbert  bowed,  and  w^ent  into  the  rweZ/e. 

"Introduce  the  Theatin  father,"  said 
Mazarin,  closing-  the  curtains. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

CONFESSION   OF   A   MAN   OF   WEALTH. 

The  Theatin  entered  deliberately,  with- 
out being  too  much  astonished  at  the 
noise  and  agitation  which  anxiety  for 
the  health  of  the  cardinal  had  raised  iu 
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,  monseig-neur,"  re- 
plied the  Theatin. 

"  Commence  by  sitting-  down,  and  mak- 
ing yourself  comfortable,  for  I  am  g-oing 
to  begin  by  a  g-eneral  confession  ;  j^ou 
wall  afterward  g-ive  me  a  good  abso- 
lution, and  I  shall  believe  myself  more 
tranquil." 

"Monseig-neur,"  said  the  father,  "you 
are  not  so  ill  as  to  make  a  general  confes- 
sion urg-ent — 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 


174 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


man  has  lived  so  completely  as  your  emi- 
nence has  done." 

"All  ;  that  is  true! — yes — the  recital 
ma}'^  be  long-," 

"  The  mercy  of  God  is  great  !  "  snuffled 
the  Theatin. 

"Stop,"  said  Mazarin,  "there  I  begin 
to  terrify  myself  with  having  allowed  so 
m;iny  things  to  pass  which  the  Lord 
miglit  reprove." 

"  Is  not  that  always  so  ?  "  said  the 
Theatin,  naively,  removing  further  from 
tlie  lamp  his  thin  pointed  face,  like  that 
of  a  mole,  "Sinners  are  so:  forgetful 
beforehand,  and  scrupulous  when  it  is  too 
late," 

"  Sinners  ?"  i-eplied  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  de- 
scended from  two  old  Roman  consuls,  S. 
Geganius  Macerinus  1st,  Macerinus  2d, 
and  Proculus  Macerinus  3d,  of  whom  the 
Clironicle  of  Haolander  speaks.  From 
Macerinus  to  Mazarin  the  proximit}^  was 
tempting.  Macerinus,  a  diminutive,  means 
leanish,  poorish.  out  of  case.  Oh  !  rever- 
end father  !  Mazarini  may  now  be  car- 
ried to  the  augmentative  Maigre,  thin  as 
Lazarus.  Look  !  " — and  he  showed  his 
fleshless  arms. 

"  In  your  having  been  born  of  a  famil.y 
of  fishermen  (pecheurs)  I  see  nothing  in- 
jurious to  you  ;  for — St,  Peter  was  a  fish- 
erman ;  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  m}'  having 
threatened  with  the  Bastille  a  certain 
Bounet,  a  pi-iest  of  Avignon,  who  wanted 
to  publisli  a  genealouy  of  the  Casa  Maza- 
rini much  too  marvelous." 

"  To  be  probable  ?"  replied  the  Tlieatin. 
"Oh!    if  I  had  acted  up   to  his  idea, 
father,. that  would   have  been   tlie  vice  of 
pr-ide — another  sin," 

*  Tliis  is  quite  untranslatiible— it  beintr  a  play 
upon  the  worfls  pechevr.  a  sinner,  iind  pecheiir,  a 
fisherman.     It  is  in  very  bad  taste. — Trans. 


"  It  was  excess  of  wit,  and  a  person  is 
not  to  be  reproached  with  such  sorts  of 
abuses.     Pass  on,  pass  on  ! " 

"I  w^as  all  pride.  Look  you,  father,  I 
will  endeavor  to  divide  that  from  capital 
sins." 

"  I  like  divisions,  w^hen  well  made." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  You  must  know 
that  ill  1G30  —  alas!  that  is  thirt3^-one 
years  ago  !  " 

"  You  were  then  twenty-nine  years  old, 
monseigneur." 

"  A  hot-headed  age.  I  was  then  some- 
thing- of  a  soldier,  and  I  threw  myself  at 
Casal  into  the  arquebusades,  to  show  that 
I  rode  on  horseback  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  g-ood  taste,  and  does  honor  to 
our  g-own.  In  my  quality'  of  a  Christian, 
I  approve  of  j^our  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  consequences  ?  " 

"What  consequences?  " 

"  Eh  !  that  damned  sin  of  pride  has 
roots  without  end.  From  the  time  that  I 
threw  mj^self  in  that  manner  between  two 
armies,  that  I  had  smelled  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 
thouglit  one  supportable  since  that  time." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  the  Theatin,  "  that 
the  g-enerals  we  have  had  have  not  been 
remarkable." 

"Oh!"  cried  Mazarin,  "there  was 
Monsieur  le  Prince.  I  have  tormented 
hiui  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  dungeons  of 
Vincennes  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  but  he  was  a  rebel,  and  the  safety' 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


175 


of  the  state  required  that  3'ou  should  make 
a  sacrifice. — Pass  on  ?  " 

"  I  beheve  I  have  exhausted  pride. 
There  is  another  sin  which  I  am  afraid  to 
quahfy." 

''  I  will  quahfy  it  myself.— Tell  it." 

"  A  great  sin,  reverend  father  !  " 

"We  shall  judge,  monseigneur." 

"  You  cannot  fail  to  have  heard  of  cer- 
tain relations  which  I  have  had — with  her 
majesty  the  queen-mother — the  malevo- 
lent—'' 

"  The  malevolent,  monseigneur,  are 
fools. — Was  it  not  necessary,  for  the  g-ood 
of  the  state  and  the  interests  of  the  young" 
king,  that  you  should  live  in  good  intelli- 
gence with  the  queen  ? — Pass  on,  pass  on!" 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Mazarin,  "  you  re- 
move a  terrible  weigiit  from  my  breast." 

"  These  are  all  trifles  ! — Look  for  some- 
thing serious." 

"  I  have  had  much  ambition,  father." 

''  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  Chris- 
tians.— Wh3'  sliould  you  not  desire  that  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  printed  that,  to  gain  that 
object,  I  had  sold  Cambrai  to  the  Span- 
iards." 

'•'  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." 

''Hike  to  win." 

"  No  player  plays  to  lose." 

"I  cheated  a  little." 

"  You  took  3'our  advantage. — Pass  on." 

"  Well  !  reverend  father,  I  feel  nothing 
else  upon  my  conscience.  Give  me  abso- 
lution, and  my  soul  will  be  able,  when 
God  shall  please  to  call  it,  to  mount  with- 
out obstacle  to  the  throne — " 

The  Theatin  moved  neither  his  arms 
nor  his  lips.  "  W^hat  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  3^our  memoiy." 

"Do." 

The  Theatin  coughed  several  times. 
"  You  have  said  nothing  of  avarice,  an- 
other capital  sin,  nor  of  those  millions," 
said  he. 

"  Of  what  millions,  father  ?  " 

"  Why  of  those  3'ou  possess,  monseig- 
neur." 

"  Father,  that  money  is  mine,  why 
should  I  speak  to  3^ou  about  that  ?  " 

"Because,  see  you,  our  opinions  differ. 
You  say  that  money  is  yours,  while  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  service  of 
the  king." 

"Hum!  much — that  is  not  too  much." 

"Whatever  it  maj-  be,  whence  came 
that  wealth  ?  " 

"  From  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  bishopic  of  Metz  ?  " 

"Yes." 

'=The  abbeys  of  St.  Clement,  St.  Ar- 
nould,  and  St.  Vincent,  all  at  Metz?  " 

"'Yes." 

"You  have  the  abbey  of  St.  Denis,  in 
France — a  magnificent  property-?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"You  have  the  abbe}'  of  Cluny,  which 
is  rich  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  That  of  St.  Midare,  at  Soissons,  with 
a  revenue  of  a  hundred  thousand  livres  ?" 


176 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  I  cannot  deny  it." 

'*'  That  of  St.  Victor  at  Marseilles— one 
of  the  best  in  the  south  ?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  A  g-ood  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  twentj'  millions  placed  out  at  Mty 
per  cent  g-ive,  b\'  progression,  twenty- 
three  millions  in  ten  j^ears." 

"  How  well  you  reckon  for  a  Theatin." 

''Since  your  eminence  placed  our  order 
in  the  convent  we  occupy,  near  St.  Ger- 
main des  Pres,  in  1641,  I  have  kept  the 
accounts  of  the  society." 

"And  mine  likewise,  apparently,  fa- 
ther." 

"  One  oug-ht  to  know  a  little  of  every- 
thing*, monseig"neur." 

"Very  well.     Conclude,  at  present." 

"  I  conclude  that  your  bagg-age  is  too 
heavy  to  allow  you  to  pass  through  the 
g-ates  of  Paradise." 

"Shall  I  be  damned  ?  " 

"  If  you  do  not  make  restitution,  yes." 

Mazarin  uttered  a  piteous  cry.  "  Res- 
titution I — 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-  sig-n 
the  ordinances?  " 

Mazarin  passed  from  sighs  to  groans. 
"Absolution  !  absolution  I  "  cried  he. 

"  Impossible,  monseig-neur.  Restitu- 
tion !  restitution  !  "  replied  the   Theatin. 

"  But  you  absolve  me  from  all  other 
sins,  why  not  from  that  ?  " 

"  Because,"  replied  the  father,  "  to  ab- 
solve you  from  that  motive  would  be  a 
sin  for  which  the  king-  would  never  ab- 
solve me,  monseigneur." 

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  cardi- 
nal. "Come  here,  Colbert,  I  am  very, 
very  ill  indeed,  mj'  friend." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE      DONATION. 

Colbert  reappeared  beneath  the  cur- 
tains. 

"  Have  you  heard  ?  "  said  Mazarin. 

"Alas!  3-es,  monseig-neur." 

"  Can  he  be  right  ?  Can  all  this  money 
be  badly  acquired  ?  " 

"  A  Theatin,  monseig-neur,  is  a  bad 
judge  in  matters  of  finance,"  replied 
Colbert,  coolly.  "And  yet  it  is  very 
possible  that,  according-  to  his  theolog-i- 
cal  ideas,  your  eminence  has  been,  in  a 
certain  degree,  wrong.  People  g-enerally 
find  they  have  been  so— when  they  die." 

"  In  the  first  place,  they  commit  the 
wrong-  of  dying,  Colbert." 

"That  is  true,  monseig-neur.  Ag-ainst 
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,  mon- 
seig-neur." 

"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  g-ood  fort- 
une—the whole  even  of  what  I  have 
g-ained  ?  " 

"I  see  no  impediment  to  that,  mon- 
seigneur." 

"I  felt  assured  that  in  consulting-  you, 
Colbert,  I  should  have  sag-e  advice,"  re- 
phed  Mazarin,  g-really  delighted. 

Colbert  assumed  his  pedantic  look. 

"Monseig-neur,"  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  g-ates  of  the  tomb,  because  3'our  emi- 
nence consulted  him.  DitI  not  I  hear  him 
sa3- — '  Distinguish  that  which  the  king  has 
g-iven  you  from  that  which  3'ou  have  given 
yourself.'     Recollect,  monseigneur,   if  he 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


177 


did  not  say  something-  a  little  like  that  to 
you  ? — that  is  quite  a  theatrical  speech." 

"  That  is  possible." 
^  "  In  which  case,  monseig-neur,  I  should 
^     consider  \o\i  as  required  by  the  Theatin 
W     to—" 

"To  malve  restitution!"  cried  Maza- 
rin,  with  gTeat  warmth. 

'•'  Eh  !  I  do  not  say  no." 

"  What,  of  all  !  yow.  do  not  dream  of 
such  a  thing"  !  You  speak  just  as  the  con- 
fessor did." 

"  To  make  restitution  of  a  part — that  is 
to  sa}',  his  majesty's  part ;  and  that, 
monseig-neur,  may  have  its  dang-ers. 
Your  eminence  is  too  skillful  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  m^'-  affair,"  said  Mazarin, 
triumphantly  ;  "  that  belong-s  to  M.  le 
Surintendant  Fouquet,  whose  accounts  I 
have  given  you  to  verif\'  for  months  past." 

Colbert  bit  his  lips  at  the  name  only  of 
Fouquet.  "His  majestj^"  said  he,  be- 
tween 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  vay 
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  dishonor 
3'ou  and  offend  the  king.  Leaving  a  part 
to  his  majesty,  is  to  avow  that  th?,t  part 
has  inspired  you  with  doubts  as  not  being 
acquired  legitimately." 

"Monsieur  Colbert !  " 

"  I  thought  your  eminence  did  me  the 
honor  to  ask  my  advice  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  ignorant  of  the  prin- 
cipal details  of  the  question." 

"  I  am  ignorant  of  nothing,  monseig- 
neur:  during  ten  years,  all  the  columns 
of  figures  which  are  found  in  France  have 
passed  in  review  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.  Letellier,  which  is  sober, 
to  the  httle  secret  largesses  of  M.  Fou- 
quet,  who  is   prodigal,    I    could    recite. 


figure  by  figure,  all  the  money  that  is 
spent  in  France,  from  Marseilles  to  Cher- 
bourg." 

"Then,  3-ou  would  have  mo  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  re- 
proach me  with  nothing,  but  he  would 
laugh  at  me,  while  squandering  vc\y  mil- 
lions, and  with  reason." 

"  Your  eminence  has  misunderstood 
me.  I  did  not,  the  least  in  the  world, 
pretend  that  his  majest}^  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  be- 
cause 3'^our  eminence,  absorbed  as  you  are 
by  3'our  disease,  entirely  loses  sight  of  the 
character  of  Louis  XIV." 

"Ho\vso?  " 

"  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  ?  " 

"  Well,  monseigneur,  if  I  have  divined 
rightly',  your  eminence  has  but  to  give 
all  your  money  to  the  king,  and  that  im- 
raediateh'." 

"But  what  for,"  said  Mazarin,  quite 
bewildered. 

"Because  the  king  will  not  accept  of 
the  whole." 

"  What,  and  he  a  3'oung  man,  and  de- 
voured b}^  ambition  ?  " 

"Just  so." 

"  A  .young  man  who  is  anxious  for  ray 
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  were  made 
in  a  certain  form,  he  would  refuse  it." 

"Well;  but  how?" 

"  That  is  plain  enough.     A  young  man 


178 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  con- 
tent with  the  Palais  Roj'al,  which  M.  de 
Richelieu  left  him,  nor  with  the  Palais 
Mazarin  which  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  pre- 
dict he  will  disdain." 

"And  you  will  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  the^' ?  " 

'' I  will  write  them,  if  monseig-neur  will 
have  the  g-oodness  to  dictate  them." 
.    "  Well,  but,  after  all,  what  advantage 
will  that  be  to  me  ?  " 

"  An  enormous  one.  Nobody  will  after- 
ward be  able  to  accuse  your  eminence  of 
that  unjust  avarice  witli  which  pamphle- 
teers have  reproached  the  most  brilliant 
mind  of  the  present  age." 

''  You  are  right,  Colbert,  you  are  right ; 
g-o,  and  seek  the  king,  on  my  part,  and 
carr3'  him  my  will." 

•'Your  donation,  monseigneur." 

"But,  if  he  should  accept  it;  if  he 
should  even  think  of  accepting  it." 

"Then  there  would  remain  tliirteen 
millions  for  3'our  family,  and  that  is  a 
g-ood  round  sum." 

"But  then  you  would  be  either  a  fool 
or  a  traitor." 

"  And  I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other,  monseig-neur.  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  re- 
served millions  to  him — 3'es,  I  will  do  so — 
5'es.  But  my  pains  are  returning,  I  shall 
faint.  I  am  very,  very  ill,  Colbert ;  I  am 
very  near  my  end  I  " 

Colbert  started.  The  cardinal  was  in- 
deed very  ill ;  large  drops  of  sweat  flowed 
down    upon    his  bed  of   agony,    and  the 


fi-ightful  paleness  of  a  face  streaming  with 
water,  was  a  spectacle  which  the  most 
hardened  practitioner  could  not  have  be- 
held 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,  wiiich  almost  gave 
nobleness  to  his  vulgar  head,  his  shoulders 
thrown  up,  his  neck  sti-etched  out,  his  lips 
half-open,  to  give  vent  to  unconnected 
fragments  of  incoherent  thoughts,  he 
lashed  up  his  courage  to  the  pitch  of  the 
undertaking  contemplated,  while  within 
ten  paces  of  him,  separated  only  by  a 
wall,  his  master  w^as  being-  stifled  by  an- 
guish, 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.  While 
burning-hot  napkins,  topicals,  revulsives, 
and  Guenaud,  who  was  recalled,  were  per- 
forming their  functions  with  increased 
activity,  Colbert,  holding  his  g-reat  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  dis- 
ease should  atTord  him.  It  would  appear 
as  if  all  the  cries  of  the  cardinal,  and  all 
the  attacks  of  death  upon  this  representa- 
tive of  the  past,  were  stimulants  for  the 
genius  of  this  thinker  with  the  bushy  eye- 
brows, who  was  turning  already  toward 
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  ])ersuaded  him  to  dictate  a 
donation  thus  conceived. 

"About  to  appear  before  God,  the 
Master  of  mankind,  I  beg  the  king-,  who 
was  my  master  on  earth,  to  resume  the 
wealth  which  his  bounty  has  bestowed 
upon  rae,  and  which  m3'  family  would  be 
happ,y  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     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


179 


The  cardinal  sig-hed  heavily  as  he  signed 
this :  Colbert  sealed  the  packet,  and  car- 
ried it  immediately  to  the  Louvre,  whither 
the  Idng-  had  returned. 

He  then  went  back  to  his  own  home, 
rubbing-  his  hands  with  the  confidence  of 
a  workman  who  has  done  a  g-ood  day's 
work. 


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  marriag-e  of  Monsieur,  the 
king's  brother,  which  had  already'  been 
announced  as  an  official  fact.  Scarcely 
had  Louis  XIV.  returned  home,  with  his 
thouglits  fully  occupied  witli  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  lever,  pre- 
sented themselves  again  at  his  coucher%  a 
remarkable  piece  of  respect,  which,  during- 
the  reign  of  the  cardinal,  the  court,  not 
ver}'  discreet  in  its  preferences,  had  ac- 
corded 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-  toward  the 
throne.  Courtiers  have  a  marvelous  in- 
stinct in  scenting- events  beforehand;  cour- 
tiei's  possess  a  supreme  kind  of  science ; 
they  are  diplomatists  to  throw  a  light 
upon  the  unraveling  of  difficult  circum- 
stances, captains  to  divine  the  issue  of 
battles,  and  ph^'sicians  to  cure  the  sick. 
Louis  XIV.,  to  whom  his  mother  had 
taught  this  axiom,  among  man.y  others, 
understood  at  once  that  Monsieur  le  Car- 
dinal must  be  very  ill.  Scarcely  had 
Anne  of  Austria  conducted  the  young 
queen  to  her  apartments  and  rHieved  her 
brows  of  the  headdress  of  ceremony,  when 
she  went  to  seek  her  son  in  his  cabinet, 


where,  alone,  melanchoU",  and  depressed, 
he  was  indulging,  as  if  to  exercise  his  will, 
in  one  of  those  terrible  inward  passions 
— kings'  passions  —  which  create  events 
when  the}'-  break  out,  and  which,  with 
Louis  XI\".,  thanks  to  his  astonishmg 
command  over  himself,  became  such  be- 
nign tempests,  that  his  most  violent,  his 
onl}^  passion,  that  which  F.  Simon  men- 
tions with  astonishment,  was  that  famous 
passion  of  anger  which  he  exiiibited  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 
infiicted  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 
pre\'  to  a  double  excitement ;  and  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  looked  in  a  glass,  "  O 
king- ! — king-  by  name,  and  not  in  fact ; — 
phantom,  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  thj-  silken  hand  ? 
when  wilt  thou  be  able  to  o[)en  for  any 
purpose  but  to  sigh  or  smile,  lips  con- 
demned to  the  motionless  stupidity  of  the 
marbles  of  thy  g-aller}'  ?  " 

Then,  passing-  his  hand  over  his  bi-ow, 
and  feeling-  the  want  of  air,  he  approached 
a  window,  whence  he  saw  below  some 
cavaliers  talking  together,  and  g-roups  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, 
crying  —  "King-  of  France!  what  a  ti- 
tle !  People  of  France  !  what  a  heap  of 
creatures  !  I  have  just  returned  to  m}'- 
Louvre;  m}^  horses,  just  unharnessed, 
are  still  smoking,  and  I  have  created  in- 
terest enougii  to  induce  scarcely  twenty 
persons  to  look  at  me  as  I  passed.  Twen- 
ty !  what  do  I  say  ?  no  ;  there  were  not 
twent}'-  anxious  to  see  the  king  of  France. 
There  are  not  even  ten  archers  to  guard 
my  place  of  residence;  archers,  people, 
g-uards.  all  are  at  the  Palais  Royal  ! 
Why, 'my  g-ood  God!  have  not  I,  the 
king-,  the  right  to  ask  of  you  all  that?" 


180 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Because,"  said  a  voice,  replying-  to 
his,  and  which  sounded  from  tlie  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  reig-n." 

Louis  turned  sharply  round.  The  voice 
which  had  pronounced  these  words  was 
that  of  Anne  of  Austria.  The  kin^r 
started,  and  advanced  toward  her.  "  I 
hope,"  said  he,  "  your  majesty  has  paid 
no  attention  to  the  vain  declamations  with 
which  the  solitude  and  disg-ust  familiar 
to  king-s,  g'ive  the  idea  to  the  happiest 
characters  ?  " 

'•  I  only  paid  attention  to  one  thing, 
my  son,  and  that  was  that  you  were  com- 
plaining." 

"Who!  I?  Not  at  all,"  said  Louis 
XIV.  ;  "no,  in  truth,  you  mistake,  mad- 
ame." 

"  What  were  you  doing,  then  ?  " 
"  I  thought  I  was  under  the  ferule  of 
my  professor,  and  was  developing  a  sub- 
ject 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  axiom  : — 
Gold  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  3^ou  have 
been  willing  they  should  be  so  ;  and  I  en- 
tertain for  them  neither  malice  nor  envy; 
they  have,  without  doubt,  served  your 
majesty  sufficiently  well  for  your  majesty 
to  have  permitted  them  to  reward  them- 
selves. 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  any- 
thing !  " 

"  Besides,"  continued  Anne  of  Austria, 
"  the  Lord  never  gives  the  goods  of  this 
world  but  for  a  season  ;  the  Lord — as 
correctives    to    honor    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  increased  attention 
to  the  words  which  Anne  of  Austria,  no 
doubt,  pronounced  with  a  view  of  consol- 
ing him,  "Madame,"  said  he,  looking 
earnestly  at  his  mother,  "  one  would  al- 
most, in  truth,  say  you  had  something 
else  to  announce  to  me," 

"  I  have  absolutely  nothing,  m^'  son  ; 
only  3''ou  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  apparentl3''  a  little  changed, 
but  that  was  from  a  suffering  of  quite  a 
personal  character.  Perhaps  the  alter- 
ation 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  to  be  called 
away  by  God.  Is  not  that  j^our  opinion 
as  well  as  mine,  my  son  ?  "  said  the  queen. 
"Yes,  madame;  yes,  certainly,  it 
would  be  a  great  loss  for  the  kingdom," 
said  Louis,  coloring  ;  "'  but  the  peril  does 
not  seem  to  me  to  be  so  great ;  besides. 
Monsieur  le  Cardinal  is  j'oung  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,"  re- 
plied 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  galler}^,  the  antechamber, 
and  the  court. 

"Ah,  ah!"  said  Louis  XIV.,  who 
without  doubt  knew  what  the  triple  noise 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


181 


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  fi- 
nances, Fouquet,  appeared  before  his  nom- 
inal master.  It  was  he  wlio  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  precisel^^  a  king-,  as  you 
fancy,"  said  Anne  of  Austria  to  her  son  ; 
"  he  is  only  a  man  who  is  much  too  rich — 
that  is  all." 

While  saying  these  words,  a  bitter  feel- 
ing- 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,  while  he  continued  to  unfold 
the  paper  given  to  him  by  the  usher. 
Fouquet  perceived  this  movement,  and 
with  a  politeness  at  once  easy  and  respect- 
ful, advanced  toward  the  queen,  so  as  not 
to  disturb  the  king.  Louis  had  opened 
the  paper,  and  3'et  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  al- 
most smiled.  Fouquet  perceived  that  the 
king,  instead  of  reading,  was  attending  to 
him  ;  he  turned  half  round,  therefore,  and 
thus,  while  continuing  to  be  eng-ag'ed  with 
the  queen,  faced  the  king-. 

*' You  know.  Monsieur  Fouquet,"  said 
Louis,  "how  ill  M.  Mazarin  is  ?  " 

"Yes,  sire,  I  know  that,"  said  Fou- 
quet ;  "  in  fact  he  is  very  ill,  I  was  at 
vc\j  countrj'-  house  of  Vaux  when  the  news 
reached  me ;  and  the  affair  seemed  so 
pressing  that  I  left  at  once." 

"  You  left  Vaux  this  evening,  mon- 
sieur ?  " 

"  An  hour  and  a  half  ago,  yes,  your 

k majesty,"    said   Fouquet,     consulting    a 


'•'  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  maj- 
est}'  doubts  my  word,  and  you  have  rea- 
son to  do  so ;  but  I  have  really  come  so 
quickly,  thoug-h  it  is  wonderful.  I  have 
i-eceived  from  England  three  pairs  of  very 
fast  horses,  as  I  had  been  assured.  They 
were  placed  at  distances  of  four  leag-ues 
apart,  and  I  have  tried  them  this  evening-. 
They  really  broug-ht  me  from  Vaux  to  the 
Louvre  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  so  your 
majest}'-  sees  I  have  not  been  cheated." 

The  queen-mother  smiled  with  some- 
thing- like  secret  envj-.  But  Fouquet 
caught  her  thought,  "Thus,  madame," 
he  promptly'-  said,  "such  horses  are  made 
for  kings,  not  for  subjects;  for  kings 
ought  never  to  yield  to  an}^  one  in  any- 
thing."    The  king  looked  up. 

"And  yet,"  interrupted  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, "  you  are  not  a  king,  that  I  know  of, 
M.  Fouquet." 

"  Truly  not,  madame ;  therefore  the 
horses  only  wait  the  orders  of  his  maj- 
estj^  to  enter  the  roN-al  stables ;  and  if  I 
allowed  m^^self  to  try  them,  it  was  only 
out  of  the  fear  of  offering  to  the  king-  any- 
thing- that  was  not  positively'- wonderful." 

The  king-  became  quiet  red. 

"You  know.  Monsieur  Fouquet,"  said 
the  queen,  "that  at  the  court  of  France 
it  is  not  the  custom  for  a  subject  to  offer 
an3'thing-  to  his  king-." 

Louis  started. 

"  I  hoped,  madame,"  said  Fouquet, 
much  agitated,  "'  that  my  love  for  his 
majest}',  m^-  incessant  desire  to  please 
him,  would  serve  as  a  counterpoise  to 
that  reason  of  etiquette.  It  was  not,  be- 
sides, so  much  a  present  that  I  permitted 
m3'self  to  offer,  as  a  tribute  I  paid." 

"Thank  you.  Monsieur  Fouquet."  said 
the  king  politely'-,  "  and  I  am  gratified  by 
3'our  intention,  for  I  love  g-ood  horses; 
but  you  know  I  am  not  ver^''  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." 

Fouquet  darted  a  look  of  haughtiness  at 
the  queen-mother,  who   appeared   to   tri- 


182 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


umph  at  the  false  position    the   minister 
had  g-ot  into,  -and  rephed  : 

"  Luxury  is  the  virtue  of  king-s,  sire ; 
it  is  luxuiy  which  makes  them  resemble 
God  ;  it  is  b}-  luxury  they  are  more  than 
other  men.  Witli  luxury  a  king-  nourishes 
his  subjects,  and  lienors  them.  Under 
tlie  mild  heat  of  this  luxury  of  king-s 
springs  the  luxurj' of  individuals,  a  source 
of  riches  for  the  people.  His  majesty,  by 
accepting  the  g-ift  of  these  six  incompar- 
able horses,  would  have  piqued  the  self- 
love  of  the  breeders  of  our  country,  of 
Limousin,  Perche,  and  Normandx^  ;  and 
this  emulation  would  have  been  beneficial 
to  all.  But  the  king  is  silent,  and  conse- 
quently I  am  condemned." 

During-  this  speech,  Louis  was,  uncon- 
sciously, folding  and  unfolding-  Mazarin's 
paper,  upon  which  he  had  not  cast  his 
e.yes.  At  length  he  g-lanced  upon  it,  and 
uttered  a  faint  cry  at  reading-  the  first  line. 
"  What  is  the  matter,  my  son  ?  "  asked 
the  queen  anxiously,  and  g-oing  toward 
the  king. 

•'  Fi'ora  the  cardinal,"  replied  the  king-, 
contiiuiing  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  con- 
vince Anne  of  Austria  of  a  thing  so  aston- 
ishing as  was  conveyed  in  that  paper. 

Anne  of  Austria  read  in  her  turn,  and, 
as  she  read,  her  eyes  sparkled  wnth  a  joy 
the  more  lively  for  her  uselessly  endeavor- 
ing to  hide  it,  which  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  Fouquet. 

"  Oh  !  a  regularly  drawn  up  deed  of 
donation,"  said  she. 

"  A  donation  ?  "  repeated  Fouquet. 
"Yes,"  said  the  king,  replying  pointed- 
ly to  the  surintendant  of  finances  ;  "j'es, 
at  the  point  of  death,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal 
makes  me  a  donation  of  all  his  wealth." 
"  Forty  millions  I  "  cried  the  queen. 
"Oh,  my  son  !  this  is  very  noble  on  the 
part  of  Monsieur  le  Cardinal,  and  will  si- 
lence all  malicious  rumors;  forty  millions 
scraped  together  slowly,  coming  back  all 
in  one  heap  to  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;  "you  must  reply  to  it, 
and  that  immediately." 
"But  how,  madame  ?  " 
"By  a  visit  to  the  cardinal." 
"  Wh}^,  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 
seems  to  me,  my  son,  that  a  man  who  has 
just  made  such  a  present  has  a  good  right 
to  expect  to  be  thanked  for  it  with  some 
degree  of  promptitude."  Then  turning* 
toward  Fouquet,  "Is  not  that  likewise 
your  opinion,  monsieur?" 

"  That  the  present  is  worth  the  trouble. 
Yes,  madame,"  said  Fouquet,  with  a 
loft3'  air  that  did  not  escape  the  king. 

"Accept,  then,  and  thank  him,"  in- 
sisted 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  Fou- 
quet. 

"'  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  the  queen. 
"You   have  yourself    said    why,   mad- 
ame,"    continued     Fouquet;      "because 
kings  ought  not  and  cannot  receive  pres- 
ents 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  An- 
toinette replied,  "You  will  tell  me  as 
much  !  " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


183 


I 


''I  know,''  said  Fouquet,  laughing, 
''forty  millions  are  a  good  round  sum — 
such  a  sum  as  could  almost  tempt  a  roj'al 
conscience." 

''But,  monsieur,"  said  Aune  of  Aus- 
tria, "instead  of  persuading  the  king  not 
to  receive  this  present,  recall  to  his  maj- 
esty's mind,  you,  whose  duty  it  is,  that 
these  forty  milUons  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  sub- 
ject six  horses,  wortli  twenty  thousand 
livers,  it  would  be  disgraceful  for  hiui  to 
owe  a  fortune  to  another  subject,  more  or 
less  scrupulous  in  the  choice  of  the  ma- 
terials which  contributed  to  the  building 
up  of  that  fortune." 

•'•'It  ill  becomes  you,  monsieur,  to  give 
your  king  a  lesson,"  said  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria; "rather  procure  him  forty  millions 
to  replace  those  you  make  him  lose." 

"Tlje  king  shall  have  them  whenever 
he  wishes,"  said  the  surintendant  of  the 
finances,  bowing. 

"Yes,  by  oppressing  the  people,"  said 
the  queen. 

"And  were  they  not  oppressed,  mad- 
ame," replied  Fouquet,  "  when  they  were 
made  to  sweat  the  forty  millions  given 
by  this  deed  ?  Furthermore,  his  majesty 
has  asked  my  opinion — I  have  given  it; 
if  his  majesty  asks  my  concurrence,  it  will 
be  the  same." 

"Nonsense!  accept,  my  son,  accept," 
said  Anne  of  Austria.  "You  are  above 
reports  and  mtei-pretations." 

"Refuse,  sire,"  said  Fouquet.  "As 
long  as  a  king  lives,  he  has  no  other 
measure  but  his  conscience  —  no  other 
judge  but  his  own  desires  :  but  when 
dead,  he  has"  posterity,  which  applauds 
or  accuses." 

"Thank  .you,  mother,"  replied  Louis, 
bowing  respectfully' to  the  queen.  "Thank 
5'ou.  Monsieur  Fouquet,"  said  he.  dismiss- 
ing the  sui-intirndant  civilly. 

"  Do  you  accept?  "  asked  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, once  more. 

"I  will  consider  of  it,"  replied  he,  look- 
ing at  Fouquet. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

AGONY. 

The  day  after  the  deed  of  donation  had 
been  sent  to  the  king,  tlie  cardinal  caused 
himself  to  be  transported  to  Vincennes. 
The  king  and  the  court  followed  him 
thither.  The  last  flashes  of  this  torch 
SI  ill  cast  splendor  enough  around  to  ab- 
sorb in  its  radiations  all  other  lights. 
Besides,  as  it  has  been  seen,  the  faiihful 
satellite  of  his  minister,  young  Louis 
XIV.,  marched  to  the  last  minute  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  gravitation.  The  dis- 
ease, as  Guenaud  had  predicted,  had  be- 
come worse;  it  was  no  longer  an  attack 
of  gout,  it  was  an  attack  of  death  :  then 
tht^re  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  to  the  king,  and 
which,  according  to  Colbert,  the  king 
ought  to  send  back  not  accepted  to  the 
cardinal.  Tlie  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  possibly  have  been  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  dona- 
tion was  in  coming  back,  the  more  Maza- 
rin  thought  that  fort};-  millions  were  worth 
a  little  risk,  particularly  of  so  hypothetic 
a  thing  as  the  soul.  Mazarin,  in  his  char- 
acter of  cardinal  and  prime  minister,  was 
almost  an  atheist,  and  quite  a  materialist. 
EverN"  time  that  the  door  opened,  he 
turned  sharply  j'ound  toward  tliat  door, 
expecting  to  see  tlie  return  of  his  unfort- 
unate 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  toward  the  dying  man  a 
sorrow  which  she  owed  him  as  a  wife, 
according  to  some;   and  as  a  sovereign^ 


184 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  g-reat  designs,  in  order  to  g-ain 
more  spring-  at  the  decisive  moment.  Ex- 
treme unction  had  been  administered  to 
the  cardiniil,  who,  faithful  to  his  habits  of 
dissimulation,  struggled  ag-ainst  appear- 
ances, and  even  ag-ainst  reality,  receiving- 
company  in  his  bed,  as  if  only  afflicted 
with  a.  temporary  complaint.  Guenaud, 
on  his  part,  preserved  profound  secrecj' ; 
fatigued  with  visits  and  questions,  he  an- 
swert'd  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,  re- 
serve, and  preference,  were  commented 
upon  earnestly  by  t:\vo  persons — the  king 
and  the  cardinal.  Mazarin,  notwithstand- 
ing- 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  con- 
stantly' preoccupied  the  cardinal ;  Louis 
did  not  exact]}'  know  how  to  make  out 
Mazarin 's  conduct.  The  son  of  Louis 
Xin.,  following  the  paternal  traditions, 
had,  10  that  time,  been  so  little  of  a  king 
that ,  while  ardently  desiring  royalty',  he 
desired  it  witli  that  terror  which  always 
accompnnios  the  unknown.  Thus,  having 
formed  liis  resolution,  which,  besides,  he 
communicated  to  nobody,  he  determined 
to  have  an  interview  with  Mazarin.  It 
was  Anne  of  Austria,  who,  constant  in  her 
at,tendance  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  ?  Nev- 
ertheless, as  the  dying  man  felt  that  the 
uncertainty  increased  his  torments,  he  did 
not  hesitate  an  instant. 

"  His  majest}'  will  be  welcome — yes, 
very  welcome,"  cried  he,  making  Col- 
bert, who  was  seated  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  a  sign  which  the  latter  comprehended 
perfectly.  "Madame,"  continued  Maza- 
rin, "  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  toward  Colbert:  ''Well,  Col- 
bert," said  he,  "two  da3's  have  passed 
away — two  mortal  days — and,  you  see, 
nothing  is  come  back  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  dj'ing,  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  re- 
turned. On  her  way  to  the  apartments  of 
her  son,  she  had  met  with  a"  new  empiric. 
This  concerned  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  ex- 
pected ;  therefore  he  would  not  even  look 
at  it,  declaring  that  life  was  not  worth 
the  pains  that  were  taken  to  preserve  it. 
But,  while  professing  this  philosophical 
axiom,  his  long-confined  secret  escaped 
him  at  last. 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


185 


"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 
deliciicy,  no  doubt,  his  majestj'  has  not 
condescended  to  saj'  anything  about  it ; 
but  the  time  for  explanation  is  come,  and 
I  implore  your  majesty  to  tell  me  if  the 
king  has  made  up  his  mind  on  that 
matter." 

An  lie  of  Austria  was  about  to  replj^, 
when  Mazarin  stopped  her. 

"Tlie  truth,  madame,"  said  he — "in 
the  name  of  Heaven,  the  truth  I  Do  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,  tak- 
ing the  cardinal's  hand,  "  I  know  that 
j'ou  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. 

'•  Tliat  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  pre- 
served sufficient  strength  and  presence  of 
mind  to  cast  upon  Colbert  one  of  those 
looks  which  are  well  worth  a  hundred 
sonnets,  which  is  to  say,  ten  long  poems. 

"  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  ar- 
ticulating a  s,yllable.  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  gloiy  you  are  about  to  acquire 
b3'  this  generosity,  have  endeavored  to 
prove  to  the  king*  that  he  ought  not  to 
accept  of  this  donation,  I  have  struggled 


in  your  favor,  and  so  well  have  I  strug- 
gled, that  you  will  not  have,  I  hope,  that 
disagreeable  to  undergo." 

"  Ah  I"  murmured  Mazarin,  with  lan- 
guishing eyes,  "  ah  !  that  is  a  service  I 
shall  never  forget  for  a  single  minute 
during  the  few  houi'S  I  have  to  live." 

"I  must  admit,"  continued  the  queen, 
"that  it  was  not  without  trouble  I  i-en- 
dered  it  to  .your  eminence." 

"  Ah,  peste  1     I  believe  that.    Oh  !  oh  !" 

"  Good  God  !  what  is  the  matter?" 

"  I  am  burning  !" 

"  Do  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 
majest.y  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  flUed  with  people.  This  an- 
nouncement produced  a  stir  of  which  Col- 
bert took  advantage  to  escape  by  the  door 
of  the  ruelle.  Anne  of  Austria  rose,  and 
awaited  her  son,  standing.  Louis  XTV. 
appeared  at  the  threshold  of  the  door,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  d.ying  man,  who  did 
not  even  think  it  worth  while  to  notice  that 
majest}'^  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  her 
turn.  Then,  as  the  king  had  looked  be- 
hind him,  the  usher  understood  that  look, 
and  made  a  sign  to  the  courtiers  wlio 
filled  up  the  doorway  to  be  gone,  which 
the}'  instantly  complied  with.  Silence  fell 
upon  the  chamber  with  the  velvet  cur- 
tains. 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 


186 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


only  upon  things  of  this  world,  but  of  the 
next.  As  to  the  cardinal,  at  that  moment 
he  had  but  one  thoug-ht — his  donation. 
It  was  not  physical  pain  which  g-ave  him 
that  air  of  despondency,  and  that  lugu- 
brious look  ;  it  was  the  expectation  of  the 
thani^s  that  were  about  to  issue  from  the 
king's  mouth,  and  cut  off  all  hope  of  resti- 
tution. Mazarin  was  the  first  to  break 
tlie  silence.  "Is  your  majesty  come  to 
make  any  staj^  at  Vincennes  ?"  said  he. 

Louis  made  an  affirmative  sign  with  his 
head. 

"That  is  a  gracious  favor,"  continued 
Mazarin,  "granted  to  a  d.ying  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. 

"Your  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  Ins  two  guests,  but  from  very 
different  motives.  Here  the  silence  re- 
turned. The  queen  wiped  her  ej'es  and 
the  king  resumed  his  firmness. 

"I  v/as  sajang,"  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  lament- 
able 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  maybe  imputed 
to  me  as  an  error ;  but,  at  least,  it  shall 


not  be  said  of  me  that  I  have  refused  to 
sacrifice  everything  to  m}'  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  misunderstood  me,  apparently." 

Mazarin  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow. 

"  I  have  no  purpose  to  despoil  your  dear 
family,  nor  to  ruin  .your  servants.  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  foohshl}^ 
affected,  and  play  the  generous,"  thought 
the  queen;  "he  must  not  be  allowed  to 
impoverish  himself ;  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  respect  to  3^our 
famih%  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  favor  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  d.ying  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  be  the  richest  heiresses  of 
France;  and  since  you  have  been  kind 
enough  to  give  me  theirdowry" — the  car- 
dinal was  panting — "  I  restore  it  to  them," 
continued  Louis,  drawing'  from  his  breast 
and  holding  toward  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  I  tell  you,  monseigneur  ?  " 
murmured  in  the  ruelle  a  voice,  which 
passed  awaj'  like  a  breath. 

"  Your  majesty  returns  me  my  dona- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


187 


tion  \  "  cried  Mazarin,  so  disturbed  bv 
joj'  as  to  forg-et  his  cliaracter  of  a  bene- 
factor. 

"Your  majesty  rejects  the  forty  mil- 
lions I  "  cried  Anne  of  Austria,  so  stupe- 
fied as  to  forget  her  character  of  an 
afflicted  wife,  or  queen.     . 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Cardinal ;  3'es,  mad- 
ame,"  replied  Louis  XIV.,  tearing-  the 
parchment  wliich  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  majest}'  reflect," 
said  Anne  of  Austria,  "that  j'ou  have 
not  ten  thousand  crowns  in  your  coffers  ?" 

"Madame,  I  have  just  performed  my 
first  royal  action,  and  I  hope  it  will 
W'Orthil3'  inaugurate  ni}"  reig-n." 

"Ah!  sire,  3^ou  are  right!"  cried 
Mazarin;  "that  is  truly  g-reat  —  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  e3'es  fell  upon  the  frag-ment 
which  bore  his  sig'iiature,  and,  recog-niz- 
ing  it,  he  sunk  back  swooning  on  his  bol- 
ster. Anne  of  Austria,  without  strength 
to  conceal  her  regret,  raised  her  hands 
and  eyes  toward  heaven. 

"Oh!  sire,"  cried  Mazarin,  "be  you 
blessed  !  My  God  !  Ma^^  you  be  beloved 
by  all  m^'^  famil^^  !  Per  Baccho  !  if  ever 
any  discontent  comes  to  you  on  the  part 
of  those  belonging  to  me,  sire,  onlj"  frown, 
and  I  will  rise  from  my  tomb  !  " 

This  paw-^a/o/i>2ade  did  not  produce  all 
the  effect  Mazarin  had  reckoned  upon. 
Louis  had  ali-ead^'  passed  to  considerations 
of  a  more  elevated  nature,  and  as  to  Anne 
of  Austria,  unable  to  support,  without 
abandoning  herself  to  the  anger  she  felt 
burning  within  her,  the  magnanimit.y  of 
her  son  and  the  hypocrisy  of  the  cardinal, 
she  arose  and  left  the  chamber,  heedless 
of  thus  betra.ying'  the  extent  of  her  grief. 
Mazarin  saw  all  this,  and  fearing-  t^iat 
Louis  XIV.  might  repent  of  his  decision, 
he  began,  in  order  to  draw  attention  an- 


other way,  to  cry  out  as,  at  a  later 
pei-iod,  Scapin  was  to  cry  out,  in  that 
sublime  piece  of  pleasantry  which  the 
morose  and  grumbling  Boileau  dared  to 
reproach  Moliere  with.  His  cries,  how- 
ever, by  degrees,  became  fainter,  and 
when  Anne  of  Austria  left  the  apartment, 
they  ceased  altog-ether. 

"  Monsieur  le  Cardinal,"  said  the  king, 
"have  you  an^'  recommendations  to  make 
to  me?  " 

"Sire,"  replied  Mazarin,  "3'ou  are 
already  wisdom  itself,  prudence  personi- 
fied ;  of  your  g-enerosity  I  will  not  ven- 
ture to  speak :  that  which  you  have  just 
done  exceeds  all  that  the  most  g-enerous 
men  of  antiquitj^  or  of  modern  times  have 
ever  done."  The  king  received  this  praise 
coldly. 

"'  So  3"ou  confine  yourself,  monsieur," 
said  he,  "  to  3'our  thanks — and  ^-our  ex- 
perience, much  more  extensive  than  vc\y 
wisdom,  my  prudence,  or  m^^  generositj-, 
does  not  furnish  me  with  a  single  piece  of 
friendly  advice  to  guide  \wy  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  exchange  for 
these  fort}^  millions  you  have  given  up  so 
royally." 

Louis  XIV.,  b\'  a  movement,  indicated 
that  these  flatteries  were  unpleasing-  to 
him.  "' I  will  g-ive  \o\x  a  pieceof  advice," 
continued  Mazarin;  "yes,  a  piece  of  ad- 
vice— advice  more  precious  than  the  fort\' 
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  onl\^ 
like  a  recommendation  from  the  tomb  in 
the  attentive  ears  of  the  king — "'  Sire, 
never  have  a  prime  minister." 

Louis  drew  back  astonished.     The  ad- 


188 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


vice  was  a  confession — a  treasure,  in  fact, 
v.-as  that  sincere  confession  of  Mazarin. 
The  leg-acy  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  re- 
mained for  an  instant  confounded.  As 
for  Mazarin,  he  appeared  onl}^  to  have 
said  something-  quite  natural.  A  little 
scratching  was  heard  along-  the  curtains 
oit\niruelle.  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  Car- 
dinal." 

"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  g-lance, 
he  is  never  mistaken  either  in  things  or 
in  men — which  is  more  surprising-  still. 
Sire,  I  owe  you  much,  but  I  think  I  acquit 
myself  of  all  toward  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  car- 
dinal 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  be- 
fore I  present  m3'self  to  my  new  master. 
— Adieu,  sire  !  " 

The  .young-  king-  felt  the  tears  rise  to 
his  eyes;  he  bent  over  the  dying-  man, 
alread.y  half  a  corpse,  and  then  precipi- 
tately retired. 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

THE  FIRST   APPEARANCE   OF  COLBERT. 

The  whole  nig-htwas  passed  in  anguish, 
common  to  the  dying  man  and.  the  king- ; 
the  dying  man  expected  his  deliverance, 
the  kins-  expected  his  liberty.  Louis  did 
not  g-o  to  bed.  An  hour  after  leaving- 
the  chamber  of  the  cardinal,  he  learned 


that  the  dying-  man,   recovering  a  little 
streng-th,  had  insisted  upon  being- dressed, 
fai-ded  and  painted,  and  seeing-  the  am- 
bassadors.    Like  Aug-ustus,  he  no  doubt 
considered  the  world  to  be  a  g-reat  thea- 
ter, and  was  desirous  of  playing  out  the 
last  act  of  the  comed3^     Anne  of  Austria 
reappeared   no   more    in    the    cardinal's 
apartments  ;  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  g-iven  her  son'  rankled  in  his  heart. 
Toward  midnight,  still  painted,  Mazarin's 
mortal  ag-on}''  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  advantag-e  of  his  weakness  to 
make  him  chang-e  something  in  that  testa- 
ment, he  had  given  orders  to  Colbert,  who 
walked  up  and  down  the  corridor  which 
led  to  the  cardinal's  bed-chamber,  like  the 
most  vigilant  of  sentinals.    The  king,  shut 
up  in  his  own  apartment,  dispatched  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  heard  that  prayers  for  the  dying- 
were   commenced   for   the   cardinal.     At 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning  Guenaud  had 
administered  the  last  remed3\     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  se- 
cret thrust.     Mazarin,  after  having  taken 
the  remedy,  respired  freely  for  nearly  ten 
minutes.      He   immediately   gave   orders 
that   the   news   should  be  spread    every- 
where of  a  fortunate  crisis.     The  king,  on 
learning  this,  felt  as  if  a  cold  sweat  were 
passing  over  his  brow; — he   had   had  a 
glimpse  of  the  light  of  libert3^ ;  slavery 
appeared    to    him    more   dark    and    less 
acceptable   than   ever.     But   the  bulletin 
which  followed  entirely  changed  the  face  of 
things.     Mazarin  could  no  longer  breathe 
at'all,  and  could  scarcely  follow  the  pray- 
ers which  the  cure  of  Saint-Nicholas-des- 
Champs  recited  near  him.     The  king  re- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


189 


sumed  his  agitated  walk  about  his  cham- 
ber, and  consulted,  as  he  walked,  several 
papers  drawn  from  a  casket  of  which  he 
alone  had  the  kej'.  A  third  time  the  nurse 
returned.  M.  de  Mazarin  had  just  uttered 
a  joke,  and  had  ordered  his  ''Flora,"  b}^ 
Titian,  to  be  revarnished.  At  length,  to- 
ward 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 
b}'  entering  the  room.  ''Well?"  asked 
the  king. 

"Well,  my  dear  sire,"  said  the  nurse, 
clasping  her  hands  with  an  air  of  commis- 
eration.    "  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  !  3'^es." 

"  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  has 
become  of  M.  Colbert  ?  " 

"  He  has  just  left  the  chamber  of  his 
eminence." 

"Togo  whither?" 

"To  follow  me." 

"  So  that  he  is—" 

"  There,  my  dear  sire,  waiting  at  your 
door,  till  it  shall  be  yowv  good  pleasure 
to  receive  him." 

Louis  ran  to  the  door,  opened  it  him- 
self, 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  toward  his  majesty- 
Louis  re-entered  his  chamber,  making 
Colbert  a  sign  to  follow  him.  Colbert  en- 
tered :  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 
pi'ivate  thoughts,  which  he  could  not 
completely  conceal. 

"  That  Monsieur  le  Cardinal  has  just 
expired,  sire ;  and  that  I  bring  your  maj- 
est}^  his  last  adieu." 

The  king  remained  pensive  for  a  min- 
ute ;  and  during  that  minute  he  looked 
attentively  at  Colbert ; — it  was  evident 
that  the  cardinal's  last  words  were  in  his 
mind.  "Are  3^ou,  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  secret  s  ?" 

"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  m3'  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  honor,  sire." 

"You  never  did  anything  personally 
for  my  household,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  sire,  it  was  I  who  had  the 
honor  of  giving  Monsieur  le  Cardinal  the 
idea  of  an  economy  which  puts  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  a  3^ear  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 


190 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


these  ribbons ;  it  could  not  be  seen,  and 
a  hundred  thousand  crowns  serve  to  feed 
a  reiiiment  during*  six  months  ;  oi"  is  the 
price  of  ten  thousand  good  muskets;  or  is 
the  value  of  a  vessel  of  ten  guns,  read}^ 
for  sea." 

"  Th:it  is  true,"  said  Louis  XIV.,  con- 
sidering the  personage  more  attentivel.y, 
'•and.mafoi!  there  is  an  economy  ^vell 
placed  ;  besides,  it  was  ridiculous  for  sol- 
diers to  wear  the  same  lace  as  noblemen 
wear." 

"  I  am  happ3'  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  ex- 
amine the  accounts  of  the  surintendant, 
sire."' 

"Ah  I  "  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.  Fou- 
quet,  was  it  ?  And  the  result  of  the  ex- 
amination ?  " 

"  Is  that  there  is  a  deficit,  sire  ;  but  if 
your  majesty  will  permit  me — " 

"Speak,  M.  Colbert." 

'•'  I  ouglit  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  :  emptj^ 
everywhere,  money  nowhere." 

"Beware,  monsieur,  you  are  roughl\' 
attacking  the  administration  of  M.  Fou- 
quet,  who,  nevertheless,  I  have  heard  say, 
is  an  able  man." 

Colbert  colored,  and  then  became  pale, 
for  he  felt  from  that  minute  he  entered 
upon  a  struggle  with  a  man  wliose  power 
almost  equaled  the  power  of  him  who 
had  just  dird.  "  Yes,  sire,  a  verj'  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  de- 
ficit, do  you  sa3'  ?     A  deficit  ma}'  be  tem- 


porary ;  credit  returns  and  funds  are  re- 
stored." 

"  No,  sire." 

''  Upon  this  year,  perhaps,  I  understand 
that  ;  but  upon  next  3'ear?" 

"  Next  3'ear  is  eaten  as  bare  as  the  cur- 
rent year." 

"  But,  the" year  after,  then  ?  " 

"  Like  next  j^ear." 

'•  What  do  3'ou  tell  me.  Monsieur  Col- 
bert?" 

"  I  say  there  are  four  years  engaged 
beforehand." 

"  They  must  have  a  loan,  then." 

"  They  must  have  three,  sire." 

"I  will  create  offices  lo  make  them  re- 
sign, and  the  money  of  the  posts  shall  be 
paid  into  the  treasury." 

"  Impossible,  sire,  for  there  have  al- 
ready been  creations  upon  creations  of 
offices,  the  provisions  of  which  are  given 
in  blank,  so  that  the  purchasers  enjoy 
them  without  filling  them.  That  is  why 
your  majest}^  cannot  make  them  resign. 
Further,  upon  each  agreement  M.  Fou- 
quet 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  ^-ou  wish  me 
to  explain." 

"  You  are  right,  clearness  is  what  j'^ou 
wish,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire,  clearness.  God  is  God 
above  all  things,  because  He  made  light." 

"Well,  for  example,"  resumed  Louis 
XIV.,  "if  io-day,  thecardinal  being  dead, 
and  I  bt'ing  king,  I  wanted  mone^^  ?  " 

"Your  majesty  would  not  have  any." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  strange,  monsieur  !  How! 
my  surintendant  would  not  find  me  any 
money  ?  " 

Colbert  shook  liis  large  head. 

"How  is  that?  "said  the  king ;  "are 
the  revenues  of  the  state  so  mucli  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  or- 
donnances  to  obtain  from  the  holders  a 
discharge,  a  liquidation-,  at  a  cheap  rate." 

"  Impossible,  for  the  ordonnances  have 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


191 


been  converted  into  bills,  which  bills,  for 
the  convenience  of  return  and  facilitj'^  of 
transaction,  are  divided  into  so  many 
parts,  tliat  the  originals  can  no  long-er  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  im- 
passible caster-up  of  figures. 

"  Well,  but  3^et,  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  anj- 
act  whatever,  but  which  he  confided  to 
me." 

''To  you?" 

"Yes,  sire,  with  an  ujjunction  to  remit 
It  to  your  majest.y." 

"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  !  "  mur- 
mured the  king.  "  M.  de  Mazarin  on  one 
side  and  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  king. 

"  Yes,  sire,  it  is  a  .round  sum." 

"  Amounting-  to  how  much  ?  " 

"  To  thirteen  millions  of  livres,  sire." 

"  Thirteen  millions  !  "  cried  Louis,  trem- 
bling with  joy  ;  "  do  j^ou  say  thirteen 
millions.  Monsieur  Colbert  ?  " 

"  I  said  thirteen  millions,  yes,  your  maj- 
esty." 

"  Of  which  everybody  is  ignorant  ?  " 

"Of  which  everybod}^  is  ignorant." 

"  Which  are  in  your  bands  ?  " 

"In  m}'- 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  car- 


dinal possessed  in  the  cit}-,  and  which  he 
was  so  kind  as  to  leave  to  me  by  a  partic- 
ular clause  of  his  will." 

•'You  are  acquainted  with  the  car- 
dinal'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  m^-  con- 
science." 

"And  Monsieur  Mazarin  has  intrusted 
It  to  you?  " 

"  Wh\'  not,  sire  ?  " 

"  He !  a  man  mistrustful  of  ever3'- 
body?" 

"  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.  Colbei't," 
said  the  king.   ' 

"  That  is  not  a  virtue,  it  is  a  duty,"  re- 
plied Colbert,  coolly. 

"But,"  added  Louis,  "does  not  the 
money  belong'  to  the  family  ?  " 

"  If  this  money  belonged  to  the  famlh', 
It  would  be  disposed  of  in  the  testament, 
as  the  rest  of  his  fortune  is.  If  this  money 
belonged  to  the  famih-,  I,  who  drew  up 
the  deed  of  donation  in  favor  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  dona- 
tion ? " 

"  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  Col- 
bert, 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. 


192 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'*0h!  how  3'oung"  I  am,"  mui'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-nig-ht,  at  eleven  o'clock;  I  desire 
that  no  one  may  know  that  I  possess  this 
money." 

Colbert  made  no  more  repl}'-  than  if  the 
thing  had  not  been  said  to  him. 

"  Is  the  amount  in  ing-ots,  or  coined 
g-old  ?  " 

''  In  coined  g"old,  sire." 

"That  is  well." 

"  Where  shall  I  send  it  to  ?  " 

"  To  the  Louvre.  Thank  you,  M.  Col- 
bert." 

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  tlie  keen 
morning"  air,  which  broug-ht  to  his  senses 
the  scent  of  the  trees  and  the  perfume  of 
flowers.  A  splendid  dawn  was  rising-  in 
the  horizon,  and  the  first  ra^'S  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  3'ou  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  Fouquet,  Lyonne, 
and  Letellier  entered  la  salle  des  seances, 
to  hold  a  icouncil.  The  king  sent  for 
them  immediately.  "Messieurs,"  said 
he,  "  as  long  as  Monsieur  le  Cardinal 
lived,  I  allowed  him  to  govern  my  affairs; 
but  now,  I  mean  to  govern  them  m3^self. 
You  will  give  me  j'our  advice  when  I 
shall  ask  it.     You  raaj-^  go." 


The  ministers  looked  at  each  other  with 
surpi-ise.  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  heav,y  for  his 
strength.  Fouquet  took  leave  of  his  col- 
leagues upon  the  stairs,  saying — "Mes- 
sieurs !  there  will  be  so  much  the  less 
labor  for  us." 

And  he  got  ga^-ly  into  his  carriage. 
The  others,  a  little  uneasy  at  the  turn 
things  had  taken,  went  back  to  Paris  to- 
gether. Toward  ten  o'clock,  the  king  re- 
paired to  the  apai'tment  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  hesitation  of  all  and  the 
curiosity  of  each.  Toward  evening,  he 
ordered  the  doors  of  the  Louvre  to  be 
closed,  with  the  exception  of  one  onlj^, 
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  cari-ied  pack- 
ages, but  no  others  ;  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.  Soon 
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  3"our  majesty's  cellar." 

The  king  then  descended  and  went  him- 
self 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  ke}'  in  the  morning.  This  review  com- 
pleted, 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 
probitj^  ?  " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


193 


"  Absolutely  nothing",  sire." 

"  How  !  nothing-  ?  Not  even  an  oppor- 
tunity' of  serving  me  ?  " 

'•'If  your  majesty  were  not  to  furnish 
me  with  that  opportunity,  I  should  not 
the  less  serve  j^ou.  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  alread\'  a  surintendant, 
sire." 

'•'  I  know  that." 

''  Sire,  the  surintendant  of  the  finances 
is  the  most  powerful  man  in  the  kingdom." 

''Ah  !  "  cried  Louis,  coloring,  "  do  you 
think  so?" 

"  He  will  crush  me  in  a  week,  sire.  Your 
majesty  gives  me  a  cont  'ole  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  honor  of  telling-  3'our  maj- 
esty that  during-  the  lifetime  of  M.  de 
Mazarin,  M.  Fouquet  was  the  second  man 
in  the  kingdom ;  now  M.  de  Mazarin  is 
dead,  M.  Fouquet   is   become  the  first." 

"  Monsieur,  I  ag-ree  to  what  you  told 
me  of  all  things,  up  to  to-da.y,  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  3"ou  fear  to 
compromise  yourself  in  serving  me." 

"I  onh'  fear  to  be  placed  so  that  I  can- 
not serve  your  majesty." 

'•  What  do  3'ou  wish  then  ?  " 

"  I  wish  your  majesty  to  allow  me 
assistance  in  the  labors  of  the  office  of 
intendant." 

"  The  post  would  lose  in  value." 

"It  would  g-ain  in  securit3^" 

"Choose  your  colleagues." 

"Messrs.  Breteuil,  Marin,  Harvard." 

"' To-morrow  the  ordonnance  shall  ap- 
pear." 

"Sire,  I  thank  3'ou." 

"  Is  that  all  3'ou  ask  ?  " 

"No,  sire,  one  thing  more." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Allow  me  to  compose  a  chamber  of 
justice." 

Dumas — 7 


"What  would  this  chamber  of  justice 
do?" 

"Try  the  farmers-g-eneral  and  con- 
tractors, who,  during  ten  years,  have 
peculated." 

"' Well,  but  what  would  you  do  with 
them  ?  " 

"  Hang  two  or  three,  and  that  avouUI 
make  the  rest  disg-orge." 

"'  I  cannot  commence  my  reig-n  with 
executions,  M.  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  peo- 
ple stronger  than  ourselves,  if  they  are 
warned." 

"Compose  that  chamber  of  justice, 
inonsieur." 

"  I  will,  sire." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  No,  sire  ;  there  is  still  an  important 
affair.  What  rig-hts  does  3'our  majest}' 
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  corre- 
spondence with  Eng-land." 

"  Impossible,  monsieur,  for  that  corre- 
spondence is  kept  from  the  council ;  Mon- 
sieur le  Cardinal  himself  carried  ic  on." 

"I  thoug-ht  your  majesty  had  this 
morning"  declared  that  there  should  no 
longer  be  a  council  ?  " 

"'  Yes,  I  said  so." 

"  Let  your  majesty  then  have  the  good- 
ness to  read  all  the  letters  yourself,  par- 
ticularly those  from  Eng-land  :  I  hold 
strongly  to  this  article." 

"  Monsieur,  you  shall  have  that  corre- 
spondence, and  render  me  an  account  of 
it." 

"Now,  sire,  what  shall  I  do  with  re- 
spect to  the  finances?" 

"'  All  which  M.  Fouquet  has  not  done." 

"  That  is  all  I  ask  of  3'our  majesty. 
Than'ks,  sire,  I  depart  at  ease;  "  and  at 


194 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  II.  The  following  is  what 
the  English  prince  wrote  to  his  royal 
brother : — 

"  Your  majesty  must  be  rendered  very 
uneasy  b}^  the  illness  of  M.  le  Cardinal 
Mazarin  ;  but  the  excess  of  danger  can 
only  prove  of  service  to  j^ou.  The  car- 
dinal is  given  over  by  his  physician.  I 
thank  you  for  the  gracious  reply  you 
have  made  to  my  communication  touch- 
ing the  Princess  Henrietta,  .  m^^  sister, 
and,  in  a  week,  the  princess  and  her  court 
will  set  out  for  Paris.  It  is  gratifying  to 
me  to  acknowledge  the  fraternal  friend- 
ship you  have  evinced  toward  me,  and 
to  call  3'ou,  more  justly  than  ever,  my 
brother.  It  is  gratifying  to  me,  above 
everything,  to  prove  to  your  majest}^ 
how  much  I  am  interested  in  all  that  may 
please  3'ou.  You  are  having  Belle-Isle- 
en-Mer  secretl}^  fortified.  That  is  wrong. 
We  shall  never  be  at  war  against  each 
other.  That  measure  does  not  make  me 
uneas}^,  it  makes  me  sad.  You  are  spend- 
ing useless  miUions  there  ;  tell  your  min- 
isters so ;  and  be  assured  that  I  am  well 
informed ;  render  me  the  same  service, 
m}'-  brother,  if  occasion  offers." 

The  king  rang  his  bell  violently,  and 
his  valet-de-chambre  appeared.  "  Mon- 
sieur Colbert  is  just  gone ;  he  cannot  be 
far  off.  Let  him  be  called  back  !  "  ex- 
claimed he.  The  valet  ^vas  about  to  exe- 
cute 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  forti- 
fied, that  is  a  conspirac}'^  on  the  part  of 
M.  Fouquet.  The  discovery  of  that  con- 
spirac3'  is  the  ruin  of  the  surintendant, 
and  that  discovery  is  the  result  of  the 
correspondence  with  England.  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  here,  to-mor- 
row, 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  carr3nng-  my  sword — I 
am  king  !  ' ' 


CHAPTER  LI. 


A   PASSION. 


The  day  of  his  arrival,  on  returning 
from  the  Palais  Roj-al,  Athos,  as  we  have 
seen,  went  straight  to  his  hotel  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Honore.  He  there  found  the  Vi- 
comte  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  vo^-age  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?"  in- 
sisted Raoul. 

Grimaud  pointed  to  the  sword ;  he 
pointed  to  the  fire  and  to  a  musket  hung 
up  over  the  wall. 


THE     VI  CO  MTU    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


195 


"  Monsieur  le  Comte  had  an  enemy 
there,  then?"  cried  Raoul, 

''Monk,"  replied  Qrimaud. 

"  It  isstrang-e,"  continued  Raoul,  "that 
Monsieur  le  Comte  persists  in  considering- 
me  a  novice,  and  not  allowing-  me  to 
partake  the  honor  and  danger  of  his  ren- 
contres." 

Grimaud  smiled.  It  was  at  this  mo- 
ment Athos  came  in.  The  host  was  light- 
ing l)im  up  the  stairs,  and  Grimaud, 
recog-nizing-  the  step  of  his  master,  hast- 
ened to  meet  him,  which  cut  short  the 
conversation.  But  Raoul  was  launched 
into  the  sea  of  interrog-atories,  and  did 
not  stop.  Taking  both  hands  of  the 
comte,  with  warm,  but  respectful  tender- 
ness—  "How  is  it,  monsieur,"  said  he, 
"  that  you  have  set  out  upon  a  dangerous 
voyag-e,  without  biding-  me  adieu,  without 
commanding-  the  aid  of  m}'  sword,  of  my- 
self, who  ought  to  be  your  support,  now^  I 
have  the  streng-th  ;  of  me,  whom  you  have 
broug-ht  up  like  a  man  ?  Ah  !  monsieur, 
wh\^  would  you  expose  me  to  the  cruel 
trial  of  never  seeing-  you  ag-ain  ?  " 

"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  voy- 
ag-e was  a  dangerous  one  ?  " 

"  I,"  said  Grimaud. 

"  And  wh3'  did  you  do  so  ?  "  said  Athos 
sternly. 

Grimaud  was  embarrassed  ;  Raoul  came 
to  his  assistance,  b3''  answering-  for  hi.n. 
"  It  is  natural,  monsieur,  that  our  good 
Grimaud  should  tell  me  the  truth  in  what 
concerns  you.  By  w^hom  should  you  be 
loved  and  supported,  if  not  by  me  ?  " 

Athos  did  not  reply.  He  made  a  friend- 
ly motion  to  Grimaud,  which  sent  him  out 
of  the  room  ;  he  then  seated  himself  in  a 
fauteuil,  while  Raoul  remained  standing 
before  him. 

"  But  is  it  true,"  continued  Raoul, 
"  that  your  vo,yag-e  was  an  expedition, 
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 
5'our  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  3'ou  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur,  thank  you." 

"'  I  left  orders  with  Blaisois  to  pay  you 
a  hundred  pistoles,  if  3'ou  should  stand  in 
need  of  money." 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  not  seen  Blaisois." 

"  You  have  been  without  mone\',t  hen  ?" 

"  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 
pistoles  at  his  play-table,  three  months 
ag-o." 

"  Do  you  pla^'  ?  I  don'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  an- 
other, a  similar  advantage  to  one  of  his 
gentlemen.  There  are  fifty  gentlemen  in 
his  highness'  household  ;  it  was  m\'  turn 
that  time." 

"Very  well  !  You  went  into  Spain, 
then  ?  ""^ 

"'  Yes,  monsieur,  I  niade  a  ver\'  delight- 
ful and  interesting  journey'." 

"You  have  been  back  a  month,  have 
3^ou  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"And  in  the  course  of  that  month  ?  " 

"In  that  month—" 

"'  What  have  you  done  ?  " 

"Mj^  duties,  monsieur." 

"Have  j^ou  not  been  home  to  La  Fere  ?" 

Raoul  colored.  Athos  looked  at  him 
with  a  fixed  but  tranquil  expression. 

"  You  would  be  wrong  not  to  believe 
me,"  said  Raoul.  "  I  feel  that  I  colored, 
and  in  spite  of  m^'^self.  The  question  you 
did  mo  the  honor  to  ask  me  is  of  a  nature 
to  raise  in  me  much  emotion.  I  color, 
then,  because  I  am  agitated — not  because 
I  meditate  a  falsehood." 

"'  I'know,  Raoul,  that  you  never  lie." 


196 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  No,  monsieur.'* 

"  Besides,  my  young-  friend,  3'ou  would 
be  wrong-;  wliat,  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  Raoul  trembled  as  he  pro- 
nounced these  words.  Athos,  a  sovereign 
judg-e  in  all  matters  of  delicacy,  immedi- 
ately added,  "  Raoul,  you  answer  with  a 
painful  feeling-;  you  are  unhappy."' 

"Ver^',  monsieur;  you  have  forbidden 
me  to  g-o  to  Blois,  or  to  see  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Valliero  again."  Hero  the  young 
man  stopped.  That  dear  name,  so  de- 
lightful to  pronounce,  made  his  heart 
bleed,  although  so  sweet  upon  his  lips. 

''And  I  have  acted  correctly,  Raoul," 
Athos  hastened  to  reply.  "  I  am  neither 
an  unjust  nor  a  barbarous  father.  I  re- 
spect 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  ardor  is  a  battalion 
of  young  and  free  lieutenants  who  would 
rush  to  the  fight  with  enthusiasm,  and 
fall  crying,  '  Vive  le  Roi ! '  instead  of 
'Adieu,  vay  dear  wife  ! '  You  understand 
that,  Raoul.  However  brutal  my  reason- 
ing 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, 
Raoul,  I  repeat  to  you,  you  should  see  in 
my  counsel  onl^'-  the  desire  of  being  useful 
to  you,  only  the  ambition  of  seeing  3^ou 
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,"  re- 
plied Raoul,  "and  I  obey." 

"  Commanded  !  "  cried  Athos.  ''  Is  it 
thus    3^ou    reply   to    me  ?     I  have   com- 


manded 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  Raoul,  persistently.  "Had  you  only 
requested  me,  your  request  is  still  more 
effective  than  your  order.  I  have  not 
seen  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  again." 

"But  you  are  unhappy!  you  are  un- 
happy !  "  insisted  Athos. 

Raoul  made  no  repl3\ 

"  I  find  ,you  pale;  I  find  you  dull.  The 
sentiment  is  strong,  then  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  passion,"  replied  Raoul. 

"No— a  habit." 

"  Monsieur,  you  know  I  have  traveled 
much,  that  I  have  passed  two  j'^ears  far 
from  her.  A  habit  would  jield  to  an  ab- 
sence of  two  years,  I  believe ;  whereas, 
on  my  return,  I  loved,  not  more — that  was 
impossible — but  as  much.  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Valliere  is  for  me  the  mate  above 
all  others ;  but  3'ou  are  for  me  a  god 
upon  earth  —  to  3'ou  1  sacrifice  every- 
thing." 

"You  are  wrong,"  sa-id  Athos;  "I 
have  no  longer  any  right  over  you.  Age 
has  emancipated  ^-ou  ;  you  no  longer  even 
stand  in  need  of  my  consent.  Besides,  I 
will  not  refuse  my  consent  after  what  you 
have  told  me.  Marrj'^  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere  if  you  like." 

Raoul  was  startled  ;  but  suddenly, 
"You  are  very  kind,  monsieur,"  said  he, 
"  and  your  concession  excites  my  warm- 
est gratitude ;  but  I  will  not  accept  it." 

"Then  you  now  refuse  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"I  will  not  oppose  you  in  anj^thing, 
Raoul." 

"  But  3'^ou  have  at  the  bottom  of  your 
heart  an  idea  against  this  marriage  ;  you 
have  not  chosen  it." 

"That  is  true." 

"  That  is  suflBcient  to  make  me  not  per- 
sist ;  I  will  wait." 

"  Beware,  Raoul  !  what  ^'ou  are  now 
sajnng  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BUAGEOLNNE. 


197 


tears  in  his  eyes,  "  is  it  possible  that  you 
should  wound  my  heart  thus  ?  I  have 
never  g-iven  3'ou  cause  of  complaint  !  " 

"Dear  boy,  that  is  true,"  murmured 
Athos,  pressing"  his  lips  violently  tog'ether 
to  suppress  the  emotion  of  which  he  was 
no  longrer  master.  "  No,  I  will  no  long'er 
afflict  3"ou ;  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  chang-e  ,your  opinion." 

*'  I  should  wisli  to  put  the  matter  to 
a  test,  Raoul ;  I  should  like  to  see  if 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  will  wait  as 
3'ou  do." 

"I  hope  so,  monsieur." 

'•  But  take  care,  Raoul ;  if  she  did  not 
wait  ?  Ah,  you  are  so  young-,  so  confiding-, 
so  loyal !     Women  are  changeable." 

'•'  You  have  never  spoken  ill  to  me  of 
women,  monsieur;  jow  have  never  had  to 
complain  of  them.  Why  should  you  doubt 
of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  ?  " 

"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  im- 
probabilities !  If,  I  say.  Mademoiselle  de 
la  Valliere  should  not  wait  for  you  ?  " 

"  How,  monsieur  ?  " 

''  If  she  turned  her  e^yes  another  way  ?" 

"  If  she  looked  favorably  upon  another 
man — do  you  mean  that,  monsieur  ? " 
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  Valliere  had  re- 
stored me  her  heart." 

Athos  started.  "  I  thought,"  resumed 
he,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  that  you  called 
me  just  now  3'our  god,  your  law  in  this 
world." 

•'Oh!"  said  Raoul,  trembling,  ''you 
would  forbid  me  the  duel  ?  " 

"If  I  forbade  it.  Raoul?" 

"  You  would  forbid  me  to  hope,  mon- 


sieur ;  consequently  you  would  not  forbid 
me  to  die." 

Athos  raised  his  eyes  toward  the 
vicomte.  He  had  pronounced  these  words 
with  the  most  melancholy  inflection,  ac- 
companied by  the  most  melanciioly  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,  Raoul,  perform  your 
duties,  love  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  ; 
in  a  word,  act  like  a  man,  since  you  hav^e 
attained  the  age  of  a  man  ;  onlj'  do  not 
forget  thai  I  love  you  tenderly,  and  that 
you  profess  to  love  me." 

"  Ah!  Monsieur  le  Comte!  "  cried  Raoul, 
pressing  the  hand  of  Athos  to  his  heart. 
"Enough,  dear  boy  !  leave  me;  I  want 
rest.  Apropos,  M.  d'Artagnan  has  re- 
turned fr-om  England  with  me  ;  3'ou  owe 
him  a  visit." 

"I  will  go  and  pay  it  him,  monsieur, 
with  great  pleasure.  I  love  Monsieur 
d'Artagnan  exceedingh'." 

'•  You   are  right  in  doing  so ;  he  is  a 
worthy  man  and  a  brave  cavalier." 
"  Who  loves  3'^ou  dearly." 
"  I  am  sure  of  that.     Do  30U  know  his 
address  ?" 

"  At  the  Louvre,  I  suppose,  or  where- 
ever  the  king  is.  Does  he  not  command 
the  musketeers  ?  " 

"No  ;  at  present  M.  d'Artagnan  is  ab- 
sent 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  ;  Rue  des  Lombards?  " 
"  Somewhere  thereabouts,   or  Rue  des 
Arcis." 

"  I  will  find  it,  monsieur — I  will  find 
it." 

"  You  Avill  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 
Fere." 

"Yes,  monsieur." 
"  Good-night,  Raoul  !  " 
"  Monsieur,  I  see  you  wear  an  order  I 
never  saw  you  wear  before  ;  accept  my 
compliments." 


198 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"The  Fleece  !— that  is  true.  A  coral, 
1113''  boy,  \\'hich  no  long-er  amuses  even 
an  old  child  like  myself.  Good-nig-ht, 
Raoul." 


CHAPTER  LII. 
d'artagnan's    lesson. 

Raoul  did  not  meet  with  D'Artag-nan 
the  next  day,  as  he  had  hoped.  He  only 
meo  with  Planchet,  whose  joy  was  great 
at  seeing"  the  young*  man  ag^ain,  and  who 
contrived  to  pa}^  him  two  or  three  sol- 
dierly compliments,  savoring-  very  little 
of  the  g-rocer's  shop.  But  as  Raoul  was 
returning-  next  day  from  Vincennes,  at 
the  head  of  fifty  drag-oons  confided  to 
him  by  Monsieur  le  Prince,  he  perceived, 
in  La  Place  Baudo^'^er,  a  man  with  his 
nose  in  the  air,  examining-  a  house,  as  we 
examine  a  horse  we  have  a  fancy  to  bu}'. 
This  man,  dressed  in  citizen's  costume 
buttoned  up  like  a  military  pourpoint,  a 
very  small  hat  oa  his  head,  but  a  long- 
shagTeen-mounted  sword  b}"  his  side, 
turned  his  head  as  soon  as  he  heard  the 
steps  of  the  horses,  and  left  off  looking- 
at  the  house  to  look  at  the  dragoons. 
This  Avas  simply'  M.  d'Artag-nan  ;  D'Ar- 
tag-nan  on  foot ;  D'Artagnan  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  passing-  a  little  re- 
view upon  the  drag-oons,  after  having- 
reviewed  the  buildings.  Not  a  man,  not 
a  tag,  not  a  horse's  hoof  escaped  his  in- 
spection. 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  toward  him. 

''^Mistaken — no!  Good  day  to  you," 
replied  the  ex-musketeer;  while  Raoul 
eagerly  pressed  the  hand  of  his  old 
friend.  "Take  care,  Raoul,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan "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?" 

"Most  willingly.  Monsieur-  d'Artag- 
nan." 

"  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  dis- 
mounted, 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  evolu- 
tions, with  the  satisfaction  of  a  connois- 
seur. 

"  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.  Fou- 
quet  ?  "  asked  D'Artagnan,  with  a  dis- 
dainful movement  of  the  shoulders,  prov- 
ing that  the  death  of  Mazarin  did  not 
affect  him  bej^ond  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  I  the  king  means  no  harm,"  re- 
plied the  young  man. 

"  I  say  nothing  about  the  crown,"  cried 
D'Artagnan  ;  "  lam  speaking  of  the  king- 
— the  king,  that  is  M.  Fouquet,  if  the  car- 
dinal is  dead.  You  must  contrive  to  be 
well  with  M.  Fouquet,  if  you  do  not  wish 
to  moulder  away  all  j^our  life  as  I  have 
mouldered.  It  is  true  you  have,  fortu- 
nately, 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  anj' wish  to  make 
your  way  in  England,  3'ou  cannot  apply 
to  a  better  person.  I  can  even  say,  with- 
out too  much  vanit3%  that  I  myself  have 
some  credit  at  the  court  of  Charles  II. 
There  is  a  king — God  speed  him  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Raoul,  with  the  natural 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


199 


curiosity  of  well-born  people,  while  listen- 
ing- 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  scoun- 
drels of  contractors  and  farmers-general, 
who  steal  as  well  with  French  hands  as 
others  have  done  with  Italian  hands ; 
leave  the  little  sniveling  king,  who  is 
g-oing  to  give  us  another  reign  of  Francis 
II.  Do  you  know  anything  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." 

"  Indeed  !  " 

"  And  Henry  III.  always  the  stomach- 
ache." 

Raoul  began  to  laugh. 

"Well,  my  dear  friend,  Louis  XIV. 
alwaj'S  has  the  heart-ache;  it  is  deplor- 
able to  see  a  king  sighing-  from  morning 
till  night,  without  saying,  once  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  ventre-saint-gris!  cor- 
bcEuf!  or  anything  to  rouse  one." 

"  Was  that  the  reason  why  you  quitted 
the  service.  Monsieur  le  Chevalier?  " 

"  Yes." 

"But  3^ou  yourself,  M.  d'Artagnan,  are 
throwing  the  handle  after  the  ax  ;  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  Gas- 
con, he  exceeded  in  ill-luck  all  the  gascon- 
nades  of  France  and  Navarre  ;  Raoul  had 
a  hundred  times  heai^d  Job  and  D'Artag- 
nan named  together,  as  the  twins  Rom- 
ulus and  Remus  are  named.  D'Artag- 
nan 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  ver}' 
lucky  chance  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur,  I  did  not  know  that." 

"  Yes,  a  ver}^  woi^thy  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  congratulations." 

"Thank  you  !  Look,  that  is  m^^  house," 

"  Place  de  Greve  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  don't  like  this  quarter?  " 

"On  the  contra r3%  the  look-out  on  the 
water  is  pleasant.  Oh  !  what  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  3'ou  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  3'ears'  purchase,  my  dear 
Raoul ;  a  superb  affair ;  I  bought  the 
house  for  thirt}--  thousand  livres  :  it  has 
a  garden  opens  to  the  Rue  de  la  Matil- 
lerie ;  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? 
Wlw,  that  is  not  habitable." 

"'  Therefore  no  one  does  inhabit  it ;  onl^-- 
3'ou  see  this  g-arret  has  two  windows  which 
look  out  upon  the  Place." 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"Well,  then,  every  time  an^'body  is 
broken  on  the  wheel  or  hung,  quartered, 
or  burned,  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  cockne.ys  are  sometimes  real  an- 
thi'opophagi.  I  cannot  conceive  how  men. 
Christians,  can  make  such  speculations." 

"That  is  true." 


200 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"As  for  myself,"  continued  D'Artag-- 
nan,  ''  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  hun- 
dred livres  ?  " 

"  To  tlie  ferocious  cabaretier,  who  sub- 
lets it.  I  said  then  fifteen  hundred 
livres." 

"  The  natural  interest  of  monej',"  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  gar- 
den, which  is  verj^  fine,  well  planted,  well 
shaded  under  the  walls  and  portal  of 
Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais,  thirteen  hun- 
dred livres." 

"  Thirteen  hundred  livres  !  why  that  is 
royal !  " 

''  This  is  the  histor}^  of  it.  I  strongly' 
suspect  some  canon  of  the  parish  (these 
canons  are  all  as  rich  as  Croesus) — I  sus- 
pect some  canon  of  having  hired  the  gar- 
den 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  un- 
known ;  but  of  what  consequence  is  it  to 
me  ?  he  al\va3-s  paj^s  in  advance.  I  had 
also  an  idea  just  now,  when  I  met  3'ou,  of 
bu3ing  a  house  in  the  Place Baudoj^er,  the 
back  premises  of  which  join  m\'  garden, 
and  would  make  a  magnificent  property. 
Your  dragoons  interrupted  my  calcula- 
tions. But  come,  let  us  take  the  Rue  de 
la  Vannerie,  that  will  lead  us  straiglit  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.  Planchet 
was  out,  but  the  dinner  was  read3^  There 
was  a  remains  of  militar^^  regularity  and 
punctualit3'  preserved  in  the  grocer's 
household.  D'Artagnan  returned  to  the 
chapter  of  Raoul's  future. 

"  Your  father  keeps  3'ou  rather  strict- 
ly ?  "  said  he. 

"  Justly,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier." 
"Oh,  3^es,  I  know  Athos  is  just;  but 
close,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Aro\'al  hand.  Monsieur  d'Artagnan." 


"Well,  never  want,  m3^  bo3'^ !  If  ever 
3-ou  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  !  m3^  little  Aramis  I  That,  m3'  dear 
friend,  costs  still  more  than  pla3\  It  is 
true  we  fight  when  we  lose  ;  that  is  a  com- 
pensation. Bah  !  the  little  sniveler  of  a 
king  makes  men  who  draw  pa 3'^  for  it. 
What  a  reign  !  m3^  poor  Raoul,  what  a 
reign  !  When  we  think  that,  in  m3'  time, 
the  musketeers  were  besieged  in  their 
houses,  like  Hector  and  Priam  in  the  city 
of  Tro3' ;  and  then  the  women  wept,  and 
then  the  walls  laughed,  and  then  five  hun- 
dred beggarl3'  fellows  clapped  their  hands, 
and  cried,  '  Kill  !  kill ! '  when  not  one 
musketeer  was  hurt  !  Mordioux !  you 
will  never  see  anN'thing  like  that." 

"  You  are  very  hard  upon  the  king,  m3' 
dear  Monsieur  d'Artagnan;  and  3^et  3'ou 
scarcely  know  him." 

"  I !  Listen,  Raoul.  Da3"  b3^  ^^y>  liour 
b3'-  hour — take  note  of  m3'  words — I  will 
predict  what  he  will  do.  The  cardinal 
being  dead,  he  will  weep  :  ver3^  well,  that 
is  the  thing  the  least  silly  he  will  do,  par- 
ticularly 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  com- 
pose verses  at  Fontainebleau,  upon  some 
Mancini  or  other,  whose  e3'es  the  queen 
will  scratch  out.  She  is  a  Spaniard,  see 
3'OU — this  queen  of  ours  ;  and  she  has,  as 
a  mother-in-law,  Madame  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria. 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,  be- 
cause lace  is  too  expensive,  he  will  dis- 
mount the  musketeers,  because  the  oats 
and  hay  of  a  horse  cost  five  sous  a  da3'." 

"Oh  !  do  not  say  that." 

"  Of  what  consequence  is  it  to  me  ;  I  am 
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  ?  " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


201 


"My  dear  Monsieur  d'Artag-nan,  I  be- 
seech you,  say  no  more  ill  to  me  of  the 
king-.  I  am  almost  in  liis  service,  and  my 
father  would  be  very  angr}^  with  me  for 
having  heard  even  from  j^our  moutli  words 
that  were  offensive  to  his  majest3\" 

"  Your  father,  eh  !  He  is  a  Ivuight  in 
evevy  bad  cause.  Pardieu  !  yes,  your 
father  is  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  3'^ou  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  rig-ht.  I  am  a  rascal 
and  in  my  dotage ;  I  am  an  unhappy 
wretch  grown  old ;  a  forag-e  cord  un- 
twisted, 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'Ar- 
tagnan  ?  " 

'•  Say  this  to  me  :  '  Mazarin  was  a  pitiful 
wretch.'  " 

"  Perhaps  he  is  dead." 

''  More  the  reason — I  say  ivas  ;  if  I  did 
not  hope  that  he  was  dead,  I  would  entreat 
5^ou  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  wnth  laughter  as  in  his  best  days. 

"A  moment,"  said  the  latter,  "you 
have  spoken  my  fiist  proposition,  here  is 
the  conclusion  of  it — ;repeat,  Raoul,  repeat: 
'  But  I  regret  Mazarin.'  " 

''  Chavalier  !  " 

"You  will  not  say  it?  Well,  then,  I 
will  say  it  twice  for  you." 

"  But  you  would  reg-ret  Mazarin  ?  " 

And  they  were  still  laughing  and  dis- 
cussing this  digesting  of  a  profession  of 
principles,  when  one  of  the  shop-boys  en- 
tered. "A  letter,  monsieur,''  said  he, 
"  for  M.  d'Artagnan." 

"Thank  you;  give  it  me,"  cried  the 
musketeer. 

"  The  handwriting  of  Monsieur  le 
Comte,"  said  Raoul. 


"  Yes,  yes."     And  D'Artag-nan  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.  Raoul  picked 
it  up,  and  continued  to  read  aloud  : 

"  Make  haste.  His  majest}'  is  very 
anxious  to  speak  to  you,  and  expects  you 
at  the  Louvre." 

"Expects  me!"  again  repeated  the 
musketeer. 

"'  He,  he,  he  !  "  laughed  Raoul. 

"Oh,  oh  !  "  replied  D'Artagnan.  "What 
the  devil  can  this  mean  ?  " 


CHAPTER   LHI. 


THE  KING. 


The  first  movement  of  surprise  over, 
D'Artagnan  re-perused  Athos'  note.  "  It 
is  strange,"  said  he,  "that  the  king 
should  send  for  me." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  said  Raoul  ;  "  do  you  not 
think,  monsieur,  that  the  king  must  re- 
gret such  a  servant  as  3'ou  ?  " 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  cried  the  officer,  laughing 
with  all  his  might  :  "'  you  are  jeering  me. 
Master  Raoul.  If  the  king  had  regretted 
me  he  would  not  have  let  me  leave  him. 
No,  no  ;  I  see  in  it  something  better,  or 
worse,  if  3^ou  like." 

"  Worse  !  What  can  that  be.  Monsieur 
le  Chevalier  ?  " 

"  You  are  young,  you  are  a  boy,  3"0u 
are  admirable.  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to 
be  as  you  are.  To  be  but  twenty-four, 
with  an  unfurrowed  brow,  under  which 
the  brain  is  void  of  eveiwthing  but  wo- 
man, love  and  good  intentions.  Ob,  Raoul, 
as  long  as  you  have  not  received  the  smile 
of  kings,  the  confidence  of  queens  !  as  long 
as  you  have  not  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,  Raoul." 


202 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'•'How^'oii  speak  that!  What  a  seri- 
ous face  ! " 

"  Eh  !  but  the  occasion  is  worthy  of  it. 
Listen  to  nie,  I  have  a  very  g-ood  recom- 
mendation to  make  you.'" 

••  I  am  all  attention.  Monsieur  d'Artag-- 
nan."' 

'*  You  will  g-o  and  inform  your  father 
of  m.v  departure." 

"  Your  departure  ?  " 

'•  Pardieu  I — You  will  tell  him  that  I 
am  gone  into  England  ;  and  that  I  am  liv- 
ing in  m\^  little  country-liouse." 

."In  England,  you  I — And  the  king's 
orders  ?  " 

"  You  get  more  and  more  silly  :  do 
you  imagine  that  I  am  going  in  that 
wa}'  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  not  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  snugl.y 
in  the  Bastille,  purelj'  and  simply,  see 
you  !  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  cried  Raoul,  terrified  at 
what  he  heard. 

"On  account  of  what  I  told  him  one 
day  at  Blois.  I  was  warm;  he  remem- 
bers it." 

"  You  told  him  Avhat  ?  " 

"  That  he-  was  mean,  cowardly,  and 
silly." 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Raoul,  "is  it  pos- 
sible that  such  words  should  have  issued 
from  ycur  mouth  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  give  the  letter  of  my 
speed),  but  I  give  the  sense  of  it." 

'•  But  did  not  the  king  have  you  arrested 
immediateh'  ?  " 

"  B.y  whom  ?  It  w^as  I  who  commanded 
the  musketeers  ;  he  must  have  commanded 
me  to  convey  myself  to  prison;  I  would 
never  have  consented  :  I  would  have  re- 
sisted myself.  And  then  I  went  into  En- 
gland— no  more  D'Artagnan.  Now,  the 
cardinal  is  dead,  or  nearl3'  so,  they  learn 
that  I  am  in  Paris,  and  they  lay  their 
hands  on  me." 


"  The  cardinal  was  then  your  protec- 
tor?" 

"  The  cardinal  knew  me  ;  he  knew  cer- 
tain particularities  of  me ;  I  also  knew 
certain  of  him  ;  we  appreciated  each  other 
mutually.  And  then,  on  rendering  his 
soul  to  the  devil,  he  would  recommend 
Anne  of  Austria  to  make  me  the  inhab- 
itant of  a  safe  place.  Go  then  and  find 
your  father,  relate  the  fact  to  him — and, 
adieu  !  " 

"My  dear  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,"  said 
Raoul,  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." 

"Weill" 

"  Well,  he  v/ill  arrest  you." 

D'Artagnan  broke  into  an  Homeric 
laugh. 

"  Oh  !  I  know  very  well  that  3^ou  will 
resist,  that  you  will  fight  even  ;  I  know 
VQvy  well  that  you  will  prove  conqueror  : 
but  that  amounts  to  rebellion,  and  j'ou 
are  an  officer  yourself,  knowing"  what  dis- 
cipline is." 

"'  Devil  of  a  bo.y,  how  noble,  how  logical 
that  is  !  "  grumbled  D'Artagnan. 

"'  You  approve  of  it,  do  3'ou  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  g-ood  one.  I 
will  burst  him,  m}'  means  permit  me  to 
do  so,  and  b3'  killing  one  horse  after  an- 
other, I  shall  arrive  at  Boulogne  in  eleven 
hours.  I  know  the  road.  Only  tell  3'our 
father  one  thing-." 

"What  is  that?  " 

"That  is,  that  that  which  he  knows 
about  is  placed  at  Planchet's  house,  ex- 
cept a  fifth,  and  that — " 

"  But,  my  dear  M.  d'Artagnan,  be  as- 
sured 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     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


203 


"  The  second,  that  you  felt  j-ourself 
g-uilty." 

''Guilty  of  what?" 

"  Why,  of  the  crimes  they  wish  to  im- 
pute to  you." 

"That  is  true  again.  So,  then,  you 
advise  me  to  g-o  and  get  myself  made  a 
prisoner  in  the  Bastille  ?  " 

'•'M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  would  advise 
you  just  as  I  do." 

''  Fardieu  !  I  know  he  would,"  said 
D'Artagnan,  thoughtfull3^  "  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'Artagnan, 
seizing  his  hand  ;  '*  that  savors  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  I  " 

''  It  is  that  if  you  cannot  get  me  out  of 
the  Bastille,  and  that  I  remain  there — 
Oh  I  that  will  be  so,  and  I  shall  be  a  de- 
testable prisoner  ;  I,  who  have  been  a 
passable  man — in  that  case,  I  give  three- 
fifths  to  you,  and  the  fourth  to  3'our 
father." 

'•'  Chevalier  !  " 

"  Mordioux !  If  j^ou  will  have  some 
masses  said  for  me,  you  are  welcome." 

That  being  said,  D'Artagnan  took  his 
belt  from  the  hook,  girded  on  his  sword, 
took  a  hat  the  feather  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  hands  into  a  chest  of 
currants,  he  went  straight  to  the  oflBcer 
who  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  door. 

"  Those  features  !  Can  it  be  you,  Mon- 
sieur de  Friedisch?"  cried  D'Artagnan, 
gayly.  "  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  I  "  said  the  Swiss,  in  his 
mountain  patois. 

"■  Must  I  give  3'ou  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  j'ou  w^ould  be  more  at  a  loss 
than  I  should,  with  two." 

"  The  king  has  given  no  orders  about 
it,"  replied  the  Swiss,  ''so  keep  3'our 
sword." 

"  Well,  that  is  very  polite  on  the  part 
of  the  king.     Let  us  go  at  once." 

Monsieur  Fi'iedisch  was  not  a  talker, 
and  D'Artagnan  had  too  much  to  think 
about  to  be  one.  From  Plancheb's  shop 
to  the  Louvre  was  not  far — thej'  arrived 
in  ten  minutes.  It  was  dark  night.  M. 
de  Friedisch  wanted  to  enter  by  the 
wicket.  "No,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "  3^ou 
would  lose  time  by  that ;  take  the  little 
staircase." 

The  Swiss  did  as  D'Artagnan  advised, 
and  conducted  him  to  the  vestibule  of  the 
king's  cabinet.  W^hen  arrived  there,  he 
bowed  to  his  prisoner,  and,  Avithout  saying 
anything,  returned  to  his  post.  D'Artag- 
nan had  not  had  time  to  ask  wh}'  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  car- 
riage, and  entered,  with  his  large  eyes 
wide  open,  his  brow  calm,  his  mustache 
stiff.  The  king  was  seated  at  a  table 
writing.  He  did  not  disturb  himself  when 
the  step  of  the  musketeer  resounded  on 
the  fioor ;  he  did  not  even  turn  his  head. 
D'Artagnan  advanced  as  far  as  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  and  seeing  that  the  king 
paid  no  attention  to  him.  and  suspecting 
besides  that  that  was  nothing  but  affecta- 
tion, 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  ma- 
neuver was  accompanied  by  this  little  tacit 
monologue.  "Ah  !  you  want  to  humble 
me,  do  you  ? — you,  whom  I  have  seen  so 
young — you  w-hom  I  have  saved  as  I  would 
my  own  child — you  whom  I  have  served 
as  I  would  a  god — that  is  to  say,  for  noth- 


204 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAiS. 


ing-.  Wait  awhile  !  wait  awhile  !  3'ou  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'Artag-- 
nan  ?  "  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  onl}'^ 
bowed.  "  That  is  polite  enough,"  thought 
he  ;  "  I  have  nothing  to  sa^^" 

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  m^^  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,  stopping  op- 
posite to  D'Artagnan,  he  looked  at  him 
W'ith  an  air  at  once  imperious  and  kind. 
"  What  the  devil  does  he  want  with  me  ? 
I  wish  he  w^ould  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  in  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'Ar- 
tagnan ;  ''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  3^ou  do  not  remember,  I  do.     You 
said  to  me — listen  wnth  attention." 

"  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  muske- 
teer. The  latter  smoothetl  the  feather  of 
his  hat,  then  his  mustache,  and  waited 
intrepidly.  Louis  XIV.  continued,  "You 
quitted  my  service,  monsieur,  after  hav- 
ing 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  mj^  famil\'  thirty'- 
years,  and  were  tired." 
"I  said  so  ;  yes,  sire." 
"And  you  afterward  admitted  that 
that  fatigue  was  a  pretext,  and  that  dis- 
content 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  anj'bod}^  else." 

"Do  not  excuse  3'ourself,  D'Artagnan, 
but  continue  to  listen  to  me.  When  mak- 
ing me  the  reproach  that  you  were  dis- 
contented, you  received  in  reply  a  promise. 
Wait ;  is  not  that  true  ?" 

"  Yes,  sire,  as  true  as  what  I  told  3'ou." 
"  You  answered  me,  'Hereafter?  No, 
now  immediately.'  Do  not  excuse  3'our- 
self,  I  tell  you.  It  was  natural ;  but  you 
had  no  charitj^  for  ^our  poor  prince.  Mon- 
sieur 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;  ^-ou 
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  mustache. 

"  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 3'our  maj- 
esty when  poor,  neither  did  I  betray  you. 
I  have  shed  my  blood  for  nothing  ;  I  have 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


205 


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  dis- 
charge 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  say- 
ing 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  weak- 
ness, for  you  considered  it  a  weakness?  " 
— D'Artagnan  made  no  repl3\ — "  You 
reproached  me  also  with  regard  to  mon- 
sieur the  defunct  cardinal.  Now,  Mon- 
sieur le  Cardinal,  did  he  nob  bring  me  up, 
dii  he  not  support  me  ?— elevating  him- 
self and  supporting  himself  at  the  same 
time,  I  admit ;  but  the  benefit  was  dis- 
charged. As  an  ingt-ate  or  an  egotist, 
would  you,  then,  have  better  loved,  me  or 
served  me  ?  " 

"  Sire  !  " 

"  We  will  say  no  more  about  it,  mon- 
sieur ;  it  would  onl3'^  create  you  too  manj^ 
regrets,  and  me  too  much  pain." 

D'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'Artag- 
nan, politely. 

"Why,  upon  all  that  I  have  said  to 
you,  monsieur." 

"Yes,  sire,  no  doubt — " 

"  And  you  have  only  waited  for  an  op- 
portunity of  retracting  your  words?  " 

"Sire'l" 

"You  hesitate,  it  seems." 

"I  do  not  understand  what  your  maj- 
esty did  me  the  honor  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

Louis's  brow  became  cloudy. 

"  Have    the    goodness    to   excuse   me. 


sire ;  vay  understanding  is  particularly 
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  3"our  maj- 
esty's." 

"  Then  give  me  quickly  one  solution. 
My  time  is  valuable.  What  have  j^ou 
been  doing  since  your  discharge  ?  " 

"  Making  my  fortune,  sire," 

"  The  expression  is  rude,  Monsieur  d'Ar- 
tagnan." 

"  Your  majesty  takes  it  in  bad  part, 
certainly.  1  entertain  nothing  but  the 
profoundest  respect  for  the  king;  and  if 
I  have  been  impolite,  which  might  be  ex- 
cused by  my  long  sojourn  in  camps  and 
barracks,  3'our  majesty  is  too  much  above 
me  to  be  offended  at  a  word  innocenth^ 
escaped  from  a  soldier." 

"In  fact,  I  know  that  you  have  per- 
formed a  brilliant  action  in  England, 
monsieur.  I  only  regret  that  you  have 
broken  your  promise." 

"  I  !  "  cried  D'Artagnan. 

"  Doubtless.  You  engaged  your  word 
not  to  serve  any  other  prince  on  quitting 
my  service.  Now,  it  was  for  King  Charles 
II.  that  you  undertook  the  marvelous  car- 
rying off  of  M.  Monk." 

"Pardon  me,  sire;  it  was  for  my- 
self." 

"  And  did  you  succeed  ?  " 

"  Like  the  captains  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, coups-de-main  and  adventures." 

"  What  do  3'^ou  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 
3X'ars." 

"  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 
thouglit  of  augmenting  it." 

"  What  !  do  you  contemplate  remaining 
idle  ?  " 

"Yes,  sire." 

"To  quit  the  sword  ?  " 

"That  is  done." 


206 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Impossible,  Monsieur  d'Artagnan!" 
said  Louis,  firml3\ 

"  But,  sire—" 

''Well?" 

"  What  for  ?  " 

'■'Because  I  will  that  you  shall  not  !" 
said  the  youni?-  prince,  in  a  voice  so  stern 
and  imperious  that  D'Artag-nan  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.     Goon." 

"  Now,  when  by  ray  industry  I  have  ac- 
quired a  comfortable  means  of  subsistence, 
would  your  majesty  despoil  me  of  my 
liberty?  Your  majestj'^  would  condemn 
me  to  the  least,  when  I  have  gained  the 
most." 

"Who  gave  3'ou  permission,  monsieur, 
to  fathom  my  designs,  or  to  reckon  with 
me  ? "  replied  Louis,  in  a  voice  almost 
angry.  "  Who  told  3-ou  what  I  shall  do, 
or  what  you  will  yourself  do  ?  " 

"Sire,"  said  the  musketeer,  quietly, 
*'  as  far  I  see,  freedom  is  not  the  order  of 
the  conversation,  as  it  was  on  the  day  we 
came  to  an  explanation  at  Blois." 

"No,  monsieur;  everything  is  changed." 

"I  make  your  majesty  my  sincere  com- 
pliments upon  that,  but — " 

"  But  3'ou  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  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  hard 
for  a  man  who  reckoned  upon  independ- 
ence." 

At  this  moment  some  one  scratched  at 
the  door  of  the  cabinet.  The  king  raised 
his  head  proudly.  "Your  pardon.  Mon- 
sieur d'Artagnan,"  said  he;  "it  is  M. 
Colbert,  who  comes  to  niake  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  apph'ing  his  keen,  quick  glance  to  the 
new  figure  which  presented  itself. 
"  Is  the  inquir}^  then,  made?  " 
"  Yes,  sire." 

"And  the  opinion  of  the  inquisitors?" 
"  Is  tliat  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 
tins.  "  Do  not  disturb  j^oui-self,"  said  he  ; 
"itisM.  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  dis- 
pleased the  other  ;  the  cautious  circum- 
spection of  the  financier  displeased  the 
soldier.  "Ah,  ah  !  this,  is  the  gentle- 
man 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  praise- 
worth}'  piece  of  econom}'  !  " 

The  financier  thought  to  embarrass  the 
musketeer ;  but  the  musketeer  ran  the 
financier  right  through. 

"Monsieur  d'Artagnan,"  resumed  the 
king,  who  had  not  remarked  all  the 
shades,  of  wliich  Mazarin  would  not  have 
missed  one,  "  this  concerns  the  farmets 
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  difficultly  in  the  execution." 
"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  said  Louis. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


207 


''  You  must  not  conceal  from  yourself," 
continued  Colbert  quietly,  ''  that  attack- 
ing- the  farijiers-general  is  attacking  the 
surintendance.  The  two  unfortunate 
guiln^  men  in  question  are  the  particu- 
lar friends  of  a  powerful  personage,  and 
the  day  of  punishment,  w^hich  otherwise 
might  be  stifled  in  the  Chatelet,  disturb- 
ances will  arise  without  doubt." 

Louis  colored  and  turned  toAvard  D'Ar- 
tagnan,  who  took  a  slight  bite  at  his 
mustache,  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  move- 
ment so  rapid  that  his  hand  shook,  he 
affixed  his  signature  at  the  bottom  of  the 
two  papers  presented  by  Colbert ;  then, 
looking  the  latter  in  the  face,  "  Monsieur 
Colbert,"  said  he,  "when  you  speak  to 
me  of  affairs,  exclude  more  frequentl}'  the 
word  difficulty  from  your  reasoning's  and 
opinions ;  as  to  the  word  impossibility, 
never  pronounce  it." 

Colbert  bowed,  much  humiliated  at 
having-  underg-one  such  a  lesson  before  the 
musketeer  :  he  was  about  to  go  out,  but, 
jealous  to  repair  his  check  :  "I  forg-ot  to 
announce  to  3^our  majestj',"  said  he, 
"  that  the  confiscations  amount  to  the 
sum  of  five  millions  of  livers." 

'•  That's  pretty,"  thought  D'Artag-nan. 

"Wliich  makes  in  my  coffers?"  said 
the  king-. 

''Eighteen  millions  of  livers,  sire,"  re- 
plied Colbert,  bowing-. 

''Mordioux!"  grumbled  D'Artagnan, 
''  that's  g-lorious  I  " 

"  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  j'our  inajest}'  wants 
me  no  more  this  evening?  " 

"No,  monsieur:  adieu!"  And  Col- 
bert went  out.    . 

"Now,  let  us  return  to  our  affair,  M. 
d'Artagnan,"  said  the  king,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  "You  see  that  with  re- 
spect to  money,  there  is  already  a  nota- 
ble change." 

"  Something  like  from  zero  to  eig-hteen 


millions,"  replied  the  musketeer,  ga^'ly. 
'•'  Ah  !  that  w^as  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'-biock." 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,"  replied  Louis, 
"  you  are  unjust,  monsieur  ;  for,  if  Provi- 
dence had  made  me  able  to  give  my  brother 
the  million  that  day,  you  would  not  have 
quitted  ni3'  service,  and  consequently  you 
would  not  have  made  3'our  fortune,  as  you 
told  me  just  now  you  have  done.  But,  in 
addition  to  this,  I  have  had  another  piece 
of  good  fortune  ;  and  m\'  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  us  see  j^our  letter  to  my  brother 
Charles  II." 

D'Artagnan  pricked  up  his  ears.  "  A 
moment,  monsieur,"  said  Louis,  careless- 
ly, to  the  Gascon;  "I  must  expedite  to 
London  my  consent  to  the  marriage  of 
m}^  brother,  M.  le  Due  d'Anjou,  with  the 
Princess  Henrietta  Stuart." 

"  He  is  knocking  me  about,  it  seems,"' 
murmured  D'Artagnan,  while  the  king 
signed  the  letter,  and  dismissed  M.  de 
Lxonne ;  "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  e^^es,  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  ter- 
minate 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; 
3'ou  have  3'our  own  money,  not  mine  ;  that 
does  not  enter  into  my  account." 

•'  I  do  not  well  understand  w^hat  your 
majesty  means." 

"Then,  instead  of  leaving  you  to  draw 
out  your  words,  speak  spontaneously. 
Should  you  be  satisfied  with  twenty  thou- 
sand livres  a  j'^ear,  as  a  fixed  income  ?  " 


208 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  But,  sire,"  said  D'Artagnan,  opening- 
his  ej'es  to  the  utmost, 

''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  3'ou  prefer  a  fixed  sum  Avhicli 
would  be,  for  example,  forty  thousand 
livres  ?     Answer." 

"  Sire,  3'our  majesty — " 

"  Yes,  you  are  surprised,  that  is  natural, 
and  I  expected  it.  Answer  me,  come  !  or 
I  shall  think  you  have  no  long-er  that 
rapidity  of  judg-ment  I  have  so  much  ad- 
mired in  you." 

"It  is  certain,  sire,  that  twent}^  thou- 
sand livres  a  year  make  a  handsome  sum  ; 
but—" 

"No  buts  !  Yes  or  no.  is  it  an  honor- 
able indemnit3"  ?  " 

"  Oh  !   certes— " 

"You  will  be  satisfied  with  it  ?  Well, 
that  is  well.  It  will  be  better  to  reckon 
the  extra  expenses  separately ;  3'ou  can 
arrange  that  with  Colbert.  Now,  let  us 
pass  to  something-  more  important." 

'•  But,  sire,  I  told  3'^our  majesty — " 

"That  you  wanted  rest,  I  know  you 
did  ;  only  I  replied  that  I  would  not  allow^ 
it — I  am  master,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire." 

"That  is  well.  You  were  formerly  in 
the  way  of  becoming"  captain  of  the  mus- 
keteers ?  " 

"'  Yes,  sire." 

"  Well,  here  is  your  commission  signed. 
I  place  it  in  this  drawer.  The  day  on 
which  you  shall  return  from  a  certain  ex- 
pedition which  I  have  to  confide  to  3'ou, 
on  that  day  you  may  yourself  take  the 
commission  from  the  drawer."  D'Artag-- 
nan  still  hesitated,  and  hung-  down  his 
head.  "Come,  monsieur,"  said  the  king-, 
"one  would  believe,  to  look  at  j^ou,  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  France." 

"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 
3'ou,  so  g-ood  a  servant,  had  lost  a  g-ood 
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  disor- 
ganized since  3'our  departure,  and  the 
men  go  about  drinking-  and  rioting-  in  the 
cabarets,  where  the^'^  fight,  in  spite  of  my 
edicts,  or  those  of  m}'  father.  You  will 
reorganize  the  service  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible." 

"Yes,  sire." 

"You  will  not  ag-ain  quit  my  person." 

"Very  well,  sire." 

"  You  will  march  with  me  to  the  army, 
you  will  encamp  round  m^^  tent." 

"  Then,  sire,"  said  D'Artag-nan,  "if  it 
is  onl}^  to  impose  upon  me  a  service  like 
that,  3'our  majesty  need  not  g-ive  me 
twent3^  thousand  livres  a  3'ear.  I  shall 
not  earn  them." 

' '  I  desire  that  you  shall  keep  open 
house  ;  I  desire  that  3^ou  should  keep  an 
open  table  ;  I  desire  that  m3^  captain  of 
musketeers  should  be  a  person  a  g-e." 

"  And  I,"  said  D'Artag-nan,  bluntly, 
"I  do  not  like  easil3^  found  mone3^  I 
like  mone3^  won  !  Your  majest3^  g-ives  me 
an  idle  trade,  which  the  first  comer  would 
perform  for  four  thousand  livres." 

Louis  XIV.  beg-an  to  laugh.  "You  are 
a  true  Gascon,  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,  3''ou 
will  draw  my  heart's  secret  from  me." 

"  Bah  !  has  3^our  majest3'^  a  secret, 
then?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Well !  then  I  accept  the  twenty  thou- 
sand livres,  for  I  will  keep  that  secret, 
and  discretion  is  above  all  price,  in  these 
times.     Will  3'our  majesty  speak  now  ?  " 

"You  will  get  booted.  Monsieur  d'Ar- 
tagnan,  and  mount  on  horseback." 

"Directlx',  sire." 

"Within  two  days." 

"  That  is  well,  sire ;  for  I  have  my 
affairs  to  settle  before  I  set  out ;  particu- 
larl3^  if  it  is  likel3^  there  should  be  any 
blows  stirring." 

"  That  ma3^  happen." 

"'  We  can  receive  them  !  But,  sire,  3'ou 
have  addressed  yourself  to  the  avarice,  to 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BllAGELONNE. 


209 


the  ambition ;  you  have  addressed  3^our- 
self  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 
ordei'S  ?  " 

"  Does  that  interest  you  ?  " 

'•  Why,  3'es,  sire.  M3'  friend  Athos  is 
quite  covered  with  orders,  and  that  daz- 
zles me." 

"  You  shall  be  a  knight  of  ni}'  order  a 
month  after  you  have  taken  your  commis- 
sion of  captain." 

''Ah  !  ah  !  "  said  the  officer,  thoug-ht- 
fully,  "  after  the  expedition." 

"Precisely." 

"  Where  is  your  majesty  g^oing  to  send 
me?" 

"  Are  .you  acquainted  with  Bretagne  ?  " 

^'No,  sire." 

"  Have  you  any  friends  there  ?  " 

"  In  Bretagne  ?    No,  ma  foi  I  " 

"  So  much  the  better.  Do  you  know 
anything-  about  fortifications  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  do,  sire,"  said  D'Artag-nan, 
smiling. 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  can  readily  dis- 
tinguish a  fortress  from  a  simple  fortifica- 
tion, such  as  is  allowed  to  chdtelains  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  ?  " 

"  For  Bretag-ne  ?  " 

"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    ^-ourself    sometimes,    as   the 

servant  of  a  good  family.     Your  face  is 

very  well-known  in  France,  M.  d'Artag-- 

•nan." 

"  And  then,  sire  ?  " 

"And  then  you  will  travel  slowly 
through  Bretagne,  and  will  examine  care- 
fully the  fortifications  of  that  country." 

"  The  coasts  ?  " 


•*  Yes,  and  the  isles  ;  commencing"  by 
Belle-Isle-en-Mer-." 

"'  Ah  !  which  belongs  to  M.  Fouquet  ?  " 
said  D'Artag'nan,  in  a  serious  tone,  rais- 
ing- his  intelligent  eye  to  Louis  XIV. 

"I  fancj'  you  are  rig-Jit,  monsieur,  and 
that  Belle-Isle  does  belong  to  M.  Fouquet, 
in  fact." 

"  Then  j^our  majesty  wishes  me  to  as- 
certain if  Belle-Isle  is  a  good  place  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  If  the  fortifications  of  it  are  new  or 
old  ?  " 

"  Precisel3\" 

"  And  if  tiie  vassals  of  M.  Fouquet  are 
sufficiently  numerous  to  form  a  g-arrison  ?  " 

"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  Bretag-ne,  list- 
ening- and  judging." 

"  Then  I  am  a  king's  spy  ?  "  said  D'Ar- 
ta^nan,  bluntly,  twisting  his  mustache. 

"No,  monsieur." 

"  Your  pardon,  sire ;  I  spy  on  youv 
majesty's  account." 

"  You  go  on  a  discovery,  monsieur. 
Would  3'ou  march  at  the  head  of  yonv 
musketeers,  with  your  sword  in  your 
hand,  to  observe  an,y  spot  whatever,  or 
an  enemy's  position  ?  " 

At  tins  word  D'Artag-nan  started. 

"Do  you,"  continued  the  king-,  "  im- 
ag-ine  yourself  to  be  a  sp3^  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  D'Artagnan,  but  pen- 
sively'' ;  "  the  thing-  chang-es  its  face  when 
one  observes  an  enem\^  :  one  is  but  a  sol- 
dier. And  if  the}'^  are  fortifying-  Belle- 
Isle?  "  added  he,  quickly. 

"  You  will  take  an  exact  plan  of  the  for- 
tifications." 

"  Will  they  permit  me  to  enter  ?  " 

"  That  does  not  concern  me,  that  is  your 
affair.  Did  you  not  understand  that  I  re- 
served for  you  a  supplement  of  twenty 
thousand  livres  per  annum,  if  you  wished 
for  it?" 

"  Yes,  sire ;  but  if  they  are  not  forti- 
fying ?  " 

"  You  will  return  quietlj^  without  fa- 
tiguing- your  horse." 

"  Sire,  I  am  ready." 

"  You  will  begin  to-morrow  by  going- to 


210 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Monsieur  le  Surintendant's  to  take  the  first 
quarter  of  the  pension  I  ^ive  you.  Do  3'ou 
know  M.  Fouquet  ?  '' 

('  Very  little,  sire  ;  but  I  beg-  your  maj- 
est}^  to  observe  that  I  don't  think  it  verj^ 
urg-ent  that  I  should  know  him." 

'•  I  ask  3'our  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.  Apropos, 
have  you  a  g-ood  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  Avant  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  3' ours, 
I  am  sure  3^ou  Avill  not  spare  it." 

"'  Your  majestj^  is  in  a  hurry  then  ?  " 

"  A  g-reat  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  eig-ht 
he  has  to  do  ;  and  then  there  is  the  post. " 

"No,  no,  the  post  compromises,  Mon- 
sieur d'Artag-nan.  Begone,  and  do  not 
forg-et  you  are  mine." 

"  Sire,  it  was  not  I  who  ever  forgot  it. 
At  what  hour  to-morrow  shall  I  take  my 
leave  of  your  majesty  ?  " 

"  Where  do  you  lodge  ?  " 

"I  must  henceforward  lodge  at  the 
Louvre." 

"  That  must  not  be  now — keep  your 
lodgings  in  the  city,  I  will  pay  for  tliem. 
As  to  your  departure,  it  must  take  place 
at  night ;  you  must  set  out  witliout  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  3'ou  have  said 
bj'-  that  single  word." 

"I  asked  you  where  j'ou  lodged,  for  I 


cannot  always  send  to  M.  le  Comte  de  la 
Fere  to  seek  3'ou." 

"  I  lodg-e  with  M.  Planchet,  a  grocer. 
Rue  des  Lombards,  at  the  sign  of  the  Pilon 
d"Or." 

"  Go  out  but  little,  show  yourself  still 
less,  and  await  m\^  orders." 

'•  And  ,yet,  sire,  I  nmst  go  for  the 
money." 

"  That  is  true  ;  but,  when  going  to  the 
surintendance,  where  so  many  people  are 
constantl}^  going-,  j^ou  must  mingle  with 
the  crowd." 

"  I  want  the  notes,  sire,  for  the  mone^-." 
"Here    thej'    are."     The   king   signed 
them,    and    D'Artagnan     looked    on    to 
assure  himself  of  the  regularit3'. 

"That  is'mone3',"  said  he,  "andmone3'- 
is  either  read  or  counted." 

"Adieu  !  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,"  added 
the  king  ;  "  I  think  3''ou  have  perfectl3'  un- 
derstood me." 

"  I  !     I  understood  that  3'our  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." 

"VerN^  well:  I  admit  3^ou  ma3'  be 
taken." 

"And  I  do  not  admit  it,"  replied  the 
Gascon  boldl3\ 

"  I  admit  that  a^ou  ma3^  be  killed,"  con- 
tinued the  king. 

"  That  is  not  probable,  sire." 
"  In  the  first  case,  3'ou  must  not  speak; 
in   the   second,  there    must   be  no  paper 
found  upon  you  to  speak." 

D'Artagnan  shrugged  his  shoulders 
without  ceremon3%  and  took  leave  of  the 
king,  saying-  to  hijnself —  "The  English 
shower  continues — let  us  ren\aiu  under 
the  spout  !  " 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE   HOUSES   OF    M.  FOUQUET. 

4 

While  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,  neverthe- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


211 


less,  is  not  foreig'n  to  the  conversation  our 
musketeer  had  just  had  with  the  Idng ; 
only  tills  scene  took  place  out  of  Paris,  in 
a  house  possessed  by  the  surintendant 
Fouquet  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,  and  others 
waitins:  for  sig'nature.  As  it  mig-ht  be 
about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the 
masters  had  dined  :  supper  was  being- 
prepared  for  twenty  subaltern  g-uests. 
The  surintendant  did  not  stop  :  on  alight- 
ing- from  his  carriage,  he,  at  the  same 
bound,  sprang  throug'h  the  doorwa3% 
traversed  the  apartments  and  gained  his 
cabinet,  where  he  declared  he  w^ould  shut 
himself  up  to  work,  commanding  that  he 
should  not  be  disturbed  for  anj^thing  but 
an  order  from  the  king.  As  soon  as  this 
order  was  given,  Fouquet  shut  himself 
up,  and  two  footmen  were  placed  as  sen- 
tinels at  his  door.  Then  Fouquet  pushed 
a  bolt  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  Fouquet  shut 
himself  up  thus,  for  he  went  straight  to  a 
bureau,  seated  himself  at  it,  opened  the 
portfolio,  and  began  to  make  a  choice  in 
the  enormous  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  sliglit  equal  strokes  struck 
his  ear,  and  appeared  to  fix  all  his  atten- 
tion. Fouquet  raised  his  head,  turned  his 
ear,  and  listened. 

The  little  strokes  continued.  Then  the 
worker  arose  with  a  slight  movement  of 
iui patience  and  walked  straight  up  to  a 
glass  behind  which  the  blows  w^ere  struck 
by  a  hand,  or  by  some  invisible  mechan- 
ism. It  was  a  large  glass  let  into  a  panel. 
Three  otiier  glasses,  exactly  similar  to  it, 
completed  the  symmetry  of  the  apart- 
ment. Nothing  distinguished  that  from 
the  others.  Without  doubt,  these  reiter- 
ated little  strokes  Avere  a  signal  ;  for,  at 
the  moment  Fouquet  approached  the  glass 


listening,  the  same  noise  was  renewed, 
and  in  the  same  measure.  "  Oh  !  oh  I  " 
murmured  the  intendant,  with  surprise, 
"who  is  3"onder  ?  I  did  not  expect  an  \'- 
body  to-daj'."  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  noth- 
ing auN'  longer  but  work.  In  fact,  with 
incredible  rapidit}-  and  marvelous  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,  signatures,  figures,  ref- 
erences, became  multiplied  as  if  ten  clerks 
— that  is  to  say,  a  hundred  fingers  and 
ten  brains — had  performed  the  duties,  in- 
stead of  the  five  fingers  and  single  brain 
of  this  man.  From  time  to  time  only, 
Fouquet,  absorbed  hy  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  vvas  once  set,  in  one  hour's 
work  he,  by  himself,  did  what  another 
would  not  have  accomplished  in  a  day ; 
alwaj^s  certain,  consequently,  provided  he 
w^as  not  disturbed,  to  arrive  at  the  end  in 
the  time  his  devouring  activity  had  fixed. 
But  in  the  midst  of  his  ardent  labor,  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  Rambouillet 
for  three  daj'S.  The  presidente,  then  ? 
Oh  !  no,  the  presidente  would  not  assume 
such  grand  airs ;  she  would  ring  xerj 
humbly,  then  she  would  wait  my  good 
pleasure.  The  clearest  of  all  is,  that  I 
ma3'  not  know  who  it  can  be,  but  that  I 
know  who  it  cannot  be.  And  since  it  is 
not  j'^ou,  marquise,  since  it  cannot  be  3'ou, 
deuce'take  the  rest  !  "  And  he  v/ent  on 
with  his  work  in  spite  of  the   reiterated 


312 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


appeals  of  the  bell.  At  the  end  of  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  however,  impatience  pie- 
vailt'd  over  Fouquet  in  his  turn  :  he  mig-ht 
be  said  to  burn,  rather  than  to  complete 
the  lest  of  his  work  ;  he  thrust  his  papers 
into  his  portfolio,  and  g-iving-  a  glance  at 
the  mirror,  while  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  impatientl}^  ?  Let 
us  see  !  " 

He  then  applied  the  tip  of  his  finger 
to  the  nail  parallel  to  the  one  he  had 
drawn.  Immediate^  the  glass  moved 
like  the  fold  of  a  door  and  discovered  a 
secret  closet,  rather  deep,  in  which  the 
surintendant  disappeared  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  of  steps  which  sank,  winding,  un- 
derground, and  came  to  a  long,  paved, 
subterranean  passage,  lighted  by  imper- 
ceptible loop-holes.  The  walls  of  this 
vault  were  covered  with  slabs,  retiles, 
and  the  floor  with  carpeting.  This  pas- 
sage 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 
emptj',  although  furnished  with  the  ut- 
most elegance.  As  soon  as  he  entered, 
he  examined  careful  1}^  whether  the  glass 
closed  without  leaving  anj^  trace,  and, 
doubtless,  satisfied  with  his  observation, 
he  opened,  b\'  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  tow^ard  Fouquet. 
*'  Ah  !  good  heavens  !  "  cried  the  latter, 
starting  back  with  astonishment.  "  Mad- 
ame la  Marquise  de  Belliere,  you  here  ?  " 


"  Yes,"  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  3^ou  waiting  !  " 

"A  long  time,  monsieur;  yes,  a  very 
long  time  !  " 

"  I  am  happy  in  thinking  this  waiting' 
has  appeared  long  to  3'ou,  marquise  !  " 

"  Oh  !  an  eternity,  monsieur ;  oh  !  I 
rang  more  than  twenty  times.  Did  you 
not  hear  me  ?  " 

•'Marquise,  you  are  pale,  you  trem- 
ble/' 

"  Did  you  not  hear,  then,  that  you  were 
summoned  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  heard  plainly  enough, 
madame  ;  but  I  could  not  come.  After 
your  rigor  and  your  refusal,  how  could 
1  dream  it  was  j'ou  ?  If  I  could  have 
had  any  suspicion  of  the  happiness  that 
awaited  me,  believe  me,  madame,  I  would 
have  quitted  everything  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  j'ou 
of  that." 

"Really?"  said  the  marquise,  in  a 
melancholj^  tone. 

"  You  sigii,"  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  I  " 

"  Reproaches  !  Have  I  a  right  to  make 
you  dbViy  ?  " 

''No,  unfortunately,  no;  but  tell  me, 
you,  who  during  a  year  I  have  loved  with- 
out return  or  hope — " 

"  You  are  mistaken — without  hope  it  is 
true,  but  not  without  return." 

"  What  !  for  me,  to  my  love  !  there  is 
but  one  proof,  and  that  proof  I  still  want." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


213 


'•  I  ain  come  to  bring-  it  to  you,  mon- 
sieur." 

Fouquet  wished  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms, 
but  she  diseng-ag-ed  herself  with  agresture. 

'•'You  persist  in  deceiving"  yourself, 
monsieur,  and  never  will  accept  of  me  the 
only  thing-  I  am  willing-  to  give  you — 
devotion." 

''All,  then,  you  do  not  love  me?  De- 
votion is  but  a  virtue,  love  is  a  passion." 

•'  Listen  to  me,  I  implore  3^ou  :  I  should 
not  have  come  hither  without  a  serious 
motive  :  you  are  well  assured  of  that,  are 
3'ou  not  ?  " 

'•'  The  motive  is  of  very  little  conse- 
quence, so  that  you  are  but  here — so  that 
I  see  you — so  that  I  speak  to  you  I  " 

'•' You  are  rig-ht ;  the  principal  thing- is 
that  I  am  here  without  any  one  having- 
seen   me,  and  that  I  can  speak  to  3"ou." 

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  strang-e  mixture  of 
love  and  melancholy. 

"  Oh  !"  at  length  murmured  she,  "would 
that  I  were  she  who  has  the  rig-ht  of  seeing- 
you  every  minute,  of  speaking- to  3'ou  every 
instant  I  would  that  I  were  she  who  mig-ht 
w;itch  over  you,  she  who  would  have  no 
need  of  mysterious  spring's  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  dark- 
ness of  a  mystery,  still  more  strang-e  at 
his  going-  out  than  it  had  been  at  his 
coming  in.  Oh  I  that  would  be  to  be  a 
happy  wouian  I  " 

'•  Do  you  happen,  marquise,"  said  Fou- 
quet, smiling,  '•  to  be  speaking  of  vay 
wife  ?  " 

"Yes,  certainly,  of  her  I  spoke." 

"  Well,  you  need  not  envy  her  lot,  mar- 
quise ;  of  all  the  women  with  whom  lam 
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  m3^sterious,  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  endeavor  to  discover  the 
secret  of  these  communications  under  pain 
of  breaking-  off  forever  your  connections 
with  her,  as  you  have  forbidden  all  who 
have  come  here  before  me,  and  all  who 
shall  come  after  me." 

"Dear  marquise,  how  unjust  a-ou  are, 
and  how  little  do  you  know  what  you  are 
doing  in  thus  exclaiming  against  mystery  ; 
it  is  with  mj'sterj'^  alone  we  can  love  with- 
out trouble  ;  it  is  with  love  without  trou- 
ble alone  that  we  can  be  happy.  But  let 
us  return  to  ourselves,  to  that  devotion 
of  which  3"ou  were  speaking,  or  rather  let 
me  labor  under  a  pleasing  delusion,  and 
believe  that  this  devotion  is  love." 

"'Just  now,"  repeated  the  marquise, 
passing  over  her  e^'es  a  hand  that  might 
have  been  a  model  for  the  graceful  con- 
tours of  antiquity-;  "just  now  I  was  pre- 
pared 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  yoMv 
presence,  marquise,  welcome  be  that  bad 
news  I  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  3'ou  instan.tlj^, 
and  not  to  allow  myself  to  be  turned  aside 
hy  anj'  feeling  whatever.  Fouquet,  my 
friend  !  it  is  of  immense  importance  I  " 

"  You  astonish  me,  ma  rquise  :  I  will 
even  saj^  you  almost  frighten  me.  You, 
so  serious,  so  collected  ;  you  who  know 
the  world  we  live  in  so  well.  Is  it  then 
important  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  \evy  important." 

"'  In  the  first  place,  how  did  yon  come 
here  ?  *' 

"You  shall  know  that  presently;  but 
first  to  something  of  more  consequence." 

"'Speak,  marquise,  speak!  I  implore 
you.  have  pity  on  mj'  impatience." 

"  Do  you  know  that  Colbert  is  made 
intendant  of  the  finances  ?  " 

"  Bah  !     Colbert,  little  Colbert  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Colbert,  little  Colbert." 


214 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Mazarin's  factotum  ?  " 

"The  same." 

"  Well !  what  do  3'ou  see  so  terrific  in 
that,  dear  marquise?  little  Colbert  is  in- 
tendant :  that  is  astonishing,  I  confess,, 
but  is  not  terrific." 

"Do  you  think  tlie  king-  lias  g-iven, 
without  a  pressing-  motive,  such  a  place 
lo  one  you  call  a  little  cuistre  ?  " 

"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  Vanel." 

"'  Ah  !  now  3'ou  begin  to  frighten  me 
in  earnest,"  said  Fouquet,  laughing  ;  "  if 
2ir\y  one  is  well  informed,  or  ought  to  be 
well  informed,  it  is  the  person  3'ou  name." 

"Do  not  speak  ill  of  poor  Marguerite, 
Monsieur  Fouquet,  for  she  still  loves 
jou." 

"Bah  !  indeed.  That  is  scarceh^  credi- 
ble. I  thought  little  Colbert,  as  3'ou  said 
just  now,  had  passed  over  that  love,  and 
left  the  impression  upon  it  of  a  spot  of 
ink  or  a  stain  of  grease." 

"  Fouquet !  Fouquet !  Is  this  the  way 
3'ou  alwaj'S  are  for  the  poor  women  you 
desert?" 

"  Wh}'^,  3'ou  surely  are  not  going  to  un- 
dertake the  defense  of  Madame  Vanel  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  undertake  it ;  for,  I  repeat, 
she  loves  you  still,  and  the  proof  is  she 
saves  3'ou." 

"  B}'^  3^our  interposition,  marquise  ;  that 
is  very  cunning  on  her  part.  No  angel 
could  be  more  agreeable  to  me,  or  could 
lead  me  more  certainly  to  salvation.  But, 
let  me  ask  3'ou,  do  3"ou  know  Margue- 
rite?" 

"  She  was  m}'  convent  friend." 

"And  you  swy  that  she  has  informed 
.you  that  Monsieur  Colbert  was  named  in- 
tendant?" 

"Yes,  she  did." 

"Well,  enlighten  me,  marquise;  granted 
Monsieur  Colbert  is  iiitendmit,  so  be  it_ 
In  what  can  an  intendant,  that  is  to  say, 
my  subordinate,  my  clerk,  give  me  um- 


brage or  injure  me,  even  were  he  Mon- 
sieur Colbert  ?  " 

"'  You  do  not  reflect,  monsieur,  appar- 
enth',"  replied  the  marquise. 

"  Upon  what  ?" 

"This:  that  Monsieur  Colbert  hates 
you." 

"  Hates  me  !  "  cried  Fouquet.  "  Good 
heavens  !  marquise,  whence  do  .vou  come  ? 
where  can  a'OU  live  !  Hates  me  !  whj'  all 
the  world  hates  me,  he  as  others  do." 

"  He  more  than  others." 

"  More  than  othei-s — 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  Mad- 
ame Yanel." 

"  And  obtained  his  end  :  look  to  that." 

"Do  3'ou  mean  to  say  he  has  the  pre- 
sumption 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  Vanel  is  one  thing,  to  suc- 
ceed me  with  the  king  is  another.  France 
is  not  to  be  purchased  so  easilj'  as  the  wife 
of  a  maitre  des  comptes.'" 

"  Eh  !  monsieur,  ever^^thing  is  to  be 
bought ;  if  not  by  gold,  by  intrigue." 

"  Nobody  knows  to  the  contrary  better 
than  you,  madame,  3'ou  to  whom  I  have 
offered  millions." 

"  Instead    of    millions,    Fouquet,    j^ou 

•should  have  offered  me  a  true,  onl}',  and 

boundless  love  :    I  might   have   accepted 

that.     So  3"0U  see  still,  everything  is  to 

be  bought,  if  not  in  one  wa^^  by  another." 

"  So  Colbert,  in  3^our  opinion,  is  in  a 
fair  wa3'  of  bargaining  for  m,y  place  of 
surintendant.  Make  3'ourself  easy  on  that 
head.  m.y  dear  marquise,  he  is  not  yet  rich 
enough  to  purchase  it." 

"  But  if  he  should  rob  you  of  it  ?  " 
"  Ah  !  that  is  another  thing.  Unfort- 
un'atehs  before  he  can  reach  me  ;  that  is 
to  say,  the  body  of  the  place,  he  must  de- 
stroy, must  make  a  breach  in  the  advanced 
works,  and  I  am  devilishly  well  fortified, 
marquise." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


215 


"  What  you  call  your  advanced  works 
are  yonv  creatures,  are  they  not — your 
friends?  " 

''Exactly  so." 

"And  is  M,  d'Eymeris  one  of  your 
creatures  ?  " 

'•'  Yes,  lie  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'Ejmieris  and  L3'odot,  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"  Marg-uerite  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.  Colbert.'  " 

"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  ap- 
pointed inteiidant.'  " 

"  1  have  already  told  you,  marquise, 
that  M.  Colbert  would  only  be  the  more 
ill  my  power  for  that." 

"Yes,  but  that  is  not  all;  Marguerite 
is  intimate,  as  you  know,  with  Madame 
d'Eymeris  and  Madame  L3'odot." 

"  1  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  J'ou." 

"  Oh,  as  to  those  two,  I  can  answer  for 
them  ;  they  must  be  killed  before  they  can 
cease  to  be  mine." 


"  Then,  as  Madame  Vanel  was  obliged 
to  quit  M.  Colbert  for  an  instant  to  re- 
ceive a  visitor,  and  as  M.  Colbert  is  in- 
dustrious, 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  Vanel  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  g-et  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 ;  Mad- 
ame Vanel  read  it,  and  sent  for  me." 

"Ay,  ay?" 

"Then,  when  she  was  assured  I  was 
3'our  devoted  friend,  she  gave  me  the 
paper,  and  told  me  the  secret  of  that 
house." 

"And  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  Jus- 
tice :  D'Eymeris,  friend  of  M.  F.;  Lyodot, 
friend  of  M.  F.;  De  Vanin,  indif.'  " 


!16 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  D'Ej^meris  and  L3'odot  !  "  cried  Fou- 
quet,  reading-  the  paper  eagerly  again. 

••  Friends  of  M.  F.,"  pointed  tlie  mar- 
quise with  her  fing-er. 

'•  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  these 
words  :  '  To  be  condemned  by  the  Ciiam- 
ber  of  Justice?  '  " 

'•  Dame  !  "  said  the  marquise,  "  that  is 
clear  enough,  I  think.  Besides,  that  is 
not  all.     Read  on,  read  on  ! " 

And  Fouquet  continued  : 

"  'The  two  first  to  death,  the  third  to 
be  dismissed,  with  MM.  d'Hautemont  and 
de  la  Valette,  who  will  only  have  their 
property'  confiscated.'  " 

'•Great  God!"  cried  Fouquet,  '*  to 
death,  to  death  !  L^'odot  and  P'Eymeris. 
But  even  if  the  Chamber  of  Justice  should 
condemn  them  to  death,  the  king  will 
never  ratify  their  condemnation,  and  they 
cannot  be  executed  without  the  king's  sig- 
nature." 

"The  king  has  made  M.  Colbert  in- 
tendant." 

"  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  -\\i\\  know  nothing,  monsieur ; 
you  despise  your  enem^^  too  much  for 
that." 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  marquise;  ex- 
cuse me  :  j^es,  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  j'ou  are  here,  as  you 
have  assured  me  of  your  devotion,  as 
you  have  allowed  me  to  hope  for  j'our 
love,  as  we  are  alone — " 

"  I  came  here  to  save  you,  M.  Fouquet, 
and  not  to  ruin  myself,"  said  the  mar- 
quise, rising — "therefore,  beware  ! — " 

"  Marquise,  in  truth  j'ou  ten-ify  your- 
self too  much,  at  least,  unless  this  terror 
is  but  a  pretext — " 

"  He  has  a  deep  heart,  that  M.  Col- 
bert :    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  w^alking 
toward  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  communi- 
cated from  one  house  to  the  other,  trans- 
mitting, through  two  glasses,  the  wishes 
and  signals  of  two  correspondents. 


CHAPTER  LV. 


THE    ABBE    FOUQUET. 


Fouquet  hastened  back  to  his  apart- 
ment by  the  subterranean  passage,  and 
immediately  closed  the  mirror  with  the 
spring".  He  was  scarcely  in  his  closet, 
when  he  heard  some  one  knocking  vio- 
lently at  the  door,  and  a  well-known  voice 
crjang — "Open  the  door,  monseignenr,  I 
entreat  3^ou  open  the  door!"  Fouquet 
quickly  restored  a  little  order  to  every- 
thing which  might  reveal  either  his  ab- 
sence 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,  monseignenr,  do  ^'^ou  not  know 
me?"  replied  the  voice, 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Fouquet  to  himself, 
"  yes,  my  friend,  I  know  ^^ou  well  enough." 
And  then  aloud  :  "  Is  it  not  Gourville  ?  " 

"  Wi)}^  3'es,  monseigneur." 

Fouquet  arose,  cast  a  last  look  at  one 
of  his  glasses,  w^ent  to  the  door,  pushed 
the  bolt,  and  Gourville  entered.  "Ah, 
monseigneur  !  monseigneur  !  "  cried  he, 
"  what  cruelty  !  " 

"In  what?" 

"  I  have  been  a  quarter  of  an  hour  im- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


217 


ploring  .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,  al- 
thoug-h  I  might  make  you  an  exception, 
Gourville,  I  insist  upon  m}^  orders  being- 
respected  by  others." 

"  Monseig-neur,  at  this  moment,  orders, 
doors,  bolts,  locks,  and  walls,  I  could  have 
broken,  overthrown,  and  split  them  all !  " 

'^Ah!  ah!  it  relates  to  some  g-reat 
event,  then  ?  "  asked  Fouquet. 

"Oh  I  I  assure  you  it  does,  monseig*- 
neur,"  replied  Gourville. 

'•'And  what  is  this  event?  "  said  Fou- 
quet, a  little  troubled  b\'  the  evident  agi- 
tation of  his  most  intimate  confidant. 

''There  is  a  secret  chamber  of  justice 
instituted,  monseigrneur." 

*'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  ag^ainst 
whom  ?  " 

*'  Ag-ainst  two  of  your  friends." 

''  Lyodot  and  D'Eymeris,  do  you  mean  ? 
But  what  sort  of  a  sentence  ?  " 

"  Sentence  of  death." 

"  Passed  ?  Oh  !  3'ou  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  eagerl}^,  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 
councilor,  do  not  trust  to  that." 

"Monsieur  Colbert  again  !  "  cried  Fou- 
quet. "  How  is  it  that  that  name  rises 
upon  all  occasions  to  torment  mj^  ears, 
during  the  last  two  or  three  days  ?  You 
make  so  trifling  a  subject  of  too  much 
importance,  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  whicli  ra^^  feet  maj^  be 
placed." 

"  Patience,  monseigneur ;  for  3'ou  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  mo,  my 
friend,  not  to  be  so  easily  frightened  ;  M. 
Colbert  a  meteor  I  Corbleu,  we  confront 
the  meteor.  Let  us  see  acts,  and  not 
words.     AVhat  has  he  done  ?  " 

"  He  has  ordered  two  gibbets  of  the  exe- 
cutioner 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  secre- 
taries of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  who  was  one 
of  Fouquet's  creatures. 

"Yes,  that  is  true,"  murmured  the 
minister  ;  "  the  scaffold  ma}^  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  b}' 
to-morrow  morning." 

"Oh  !  no,  no  !  "  cried  the  surintendant, 
once  again  ;  "  3'ou  are  all  deceived,  and 
deceive  me  in  my  turn  ;  Lyodot  came  to 
see  me  only  the  day  before  yesterday  ; 
only  three  days  ago  I  received  a  present 
of  some  Syracuse  wine  from  poor  D'E}-- 
meris." 

"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  com- 
plete when  they  were  arrested." 

'•  What  !  are  the^^  then  arrested  ?  " 

"No  doubt  they  are." 

"  But  where,  when,  how  have  they  been 
arrested  ?  " 

"  Lyodot,     yesterday,     at     daybreak ; 


218 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


D'Eymeris,  the  day  before  yesterday,  in 
the  evening,  as  he  was  retut-ning*  Iroiii 
the  house  of  his  mistress  :  tlieir  disappear- 
ance h;id  disturbed  nobody;  but  at  length 
M.  Colbert  all  at  once  raised  the  mask, 
and  caused  the  affair  to  be  published  ;  it 
is  being-  ci'ied  by  sound  of  trumpet,  at  tliis 
moment,  in  Paris,  and,  in  truth,  monseiir- 
neur,  there  is  scarcely  anybody  but  your- 
self ig"norant  of  the  event."  Fouquet  bc- 
g-an  to  walk  about  his  chamber  with  an 
uneasiness  that  became  more  and  more 
serious. 

"  What  do  you  decide  upon,  monseig- 
neur  ?  "  said  Gourville. 

"  If  it  really  were  as  you  say,  I  would 
g-o  to  the  king,"  cried  Fouquet.  "  But  as 
I  g-o  to  the  Louvre,  I  will  pass  hy  the  Hotel 
de  Ville.  We  shall  see  if  the  sentence  is 
sig-ned." 

'*  Incredulity  !  thou  art  the  pest  of  all 
g-reat  minds,"  said  Gourville,  shrug-g-ing- 
his  shoulders. 

'' Gourville." 

"  Yes,"  continued  he,  "  and  incredulity  ! 
thou  ruinest  them,  as  contag-ion  destroys 
the  most  robust  health ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
an  instant." 

^' Let  us  g-o,"  cried  Fouquet;  "desire 
the  door  to  be  opened,  Gourville." 

"Be  cautious,"  said  the  latter,  ''the 
Abbe  de  Fouquet  is  there." 

"  Ah  !  my  brother,"  replied  Fouquet, 
in  a  tone  of  anno3'ance ;  "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  m}^  brother  is  ther-e,  my  af- 
fairs are  bad,  Gourville;  why  did  j'ou  not 
tell  me  that  sooner,  I  should  have  been 
the  more  readil.7  convincetl." 

'•'Monseig-neur  calumniates  him,"  said 
Gourville,  laughing-;  "if  he  is  come,  it  is 
not  with  a  bad  intention." 

"What,  do  j-ou  excuse;  him?"  cried 
Fouquet;  "a  fellow  without  a  heart, 
without  ideas;   a  devouier  of  w^eallli." 

"'  He  knows  ^''ou  are  rich." 

"And  would  ruin  me." 

"No,  but  he  would  like  to  have  your 
purse.     That  is  all." 

"'  Enough  !  enough  !  A  hundred  tliou- 
sand  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  Fou- 
quet, I  have  not  a  sou."  Gourville  made 
a  step  toward  the  door.  "He  has  been 
a  month  without  seeing  me,"  continued 
Fouquet,  "'  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,  Gourville,  to-day — 
the  advocate  of  the  Abbe  Fouquet !  " 

"  Eh  !  but  ever^'thing  and  every  man 
has  a  good  side — their  useful  side,  mon- 
seigneur." 

"The  bandits  whom  the  abbe  keeps  in 
pay  and  drink  have  their  useful  side,  have 
they  ?     Prove  that,  if  you  please." 

"  Let  the  circumstance  arise,  monseig- 
neur, and  you  will  be  very  glad  to  have 
these  bandits  under  3^our  hand." 

"You  advise  me,  then,  to  be  reconciled 
to  the  abbe?"  said  Fouquet,  ironicalh'. 

"  I  advise  you,  monseigneur,  not  to 
quarrel  w'ith  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and 
twenty  loose  fellows,  who,  by  putting  their 
i-apiers  end  to  end,  would  form  a  cordon 
of  steel  capable  of  surrounding  three  thou- 
sand men." 

Fouquet  darted  a  searching  glance  at 
Gourville,  and  passing  before  him — "  That 
is  all  very  well;  let  M.  I'Abbe  Fouquet 
be  introduced,"  said  he  to  the  footman. 
"You  are  right,  Gourville."  Two  min- 
utes after,  the  Abbe  Fouquet  appeared 
in  the  doorwa3',  with  profound  reverences. 
He  was  a  man  of  from  forty  to  fortj'-five 
years  of  age,  half  churchman,  half  soldier 
— a.  spadassin  grafted  upon  an  abbe;  upon 
seeing  that  he  had  not  a  sword  hy  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 
I'Abbe?"  said  he. 

"'Oh  !  oh  !  how  you  speak  that  to  me, 
brother  !" 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


219 


'*  I  speak  it  like  a  man  who  is  in  a  hurry, 
monsieur." 

The  abbe  looked  maliciously  at  Gour- 
ville,  and  anxiously  at  Fouquet,  and  said, 
"■  I  have  three  hundred  pistoles  to  pay  to 
M.  de  Bre.iii  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,"  con- 
tinued the  abbe;  "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  humilia- 
tion for  the  church. " 

"  What  else  is  there  ?"  said  Fouquet. 

'•'You  will  please  to  remark,"  said  the 
abbe  humbl}^  "  that  I  have  asked  nothing 
for  myself." 

*' That  is  dehcate,  monsieur,"  replied 
Fouquet ;  ''  so,  as  you  see,  1  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." 

''Wiiy  a  hundred  men  ?"  said  Fouquet. 
''Are  3'ou  a  Richelieu  or  a  Mazarin  to 
require  a  hundred  men  as  a  guard  ?  What 
use  do  you  make  of  these  hundred  men? 
— spea  k — say. ' ' 

"  And  do  you  ask  me  that  ?"  cried  the 
Abbe  Fouquet;  "ah!  how  can  you  put 
such  a  question — wh}'^  I  maintain  a  hun- 
dred men?     Ah  !" 

"Why,  yes,  I  do  put  that  question  to 
you.  What  have  you  to  do  with  a  hun- 
dred men?— answer." 

"  Ingrate  !"  continued  the  abbe,  more 
and  more  affected. 

"Explain  yourself." 

"Whj'-,  Monsieur  the  Surintendant,  I 
only  want  one  valet-de-chambre,  for  my 


part,  and  even  if  I  were  alone,  could  help 
myself  very  well :  but  you,  you  wiio  have 
so  man\'  enemies — a  hundred  men  are  not 
enough  for  me  to  defend  you  with.  A 
hundred  men  I — you  ought  to  have  ten 
thousand.  I-  maintain,  tlien,  these  men 
in  order  that  in  public  places,  in  assem- 
blies, 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  j'ou  understand  ?" 

"Ah!  I  did  not  know  you  were  my 
champion  to  such  an  extent,  Monsieur 
I'Abbe." 

"  You  doubt  it  ! "  cried  the  abbe. 
"Listen,  then,  to  what  happened,  not 
longer  ago  than  yesterday.  Rue  de  la 
Hochette.  A  man  was  cheapening  a 
fowl." 

"  Well,  how  could  that  injure  me, 
abbe  ?  " 

"  This  wa.y.  The  fowl  was  not  fat. 
Tile  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.  Fouquet  had  had  all  the  fat  ?  " 

"Goon." 

"The  joke  caused  a  deal  of  laughter," 
continued  the  abbe;  "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  im- 
mediately there  was  a  clapping  of  hands. 
A  frightful  scandal  !  you  understand  ;  a 
scandal  which  forces  a  brother  to  hide  his 
face." 

Fouquet  colored.  "  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  barbes /  Monsieur  the  false 
joker ;  here's  a  thrust  for  Colbert  ! ' 
'  And  one  for  Fouquet,'  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  tlie  windows  ?  " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Fouquet. 


220 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Well,  monsieur,  my  Menneville  spitted 
the  joker,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  the 
spectators,  and  said  to  the  cook:  'Take 
this  g-oose,  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  tlie 
honor  of  the  family,  monsieur."  Fouquet 
hung-  his  head.  "  And  I  have  a  hundred 
as  good  as  he,"  continued  the  abbe. 

"  Ver}' well,"  said  Fouquet,  ''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  I'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  con- 
tented, abbe."  Then,  aside  to  Gourville 
— "  Let  them  put  to  my  English  horses," 
said  he,  "and  direct  the  coachman  to  stop 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  de  Paris." 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

THE   WINE   OF  M.    DE   LA   FONTAINE. 

Carriages  were  already  bringing  the 
guests  of  Fouquet  to  Saint-Mande ;  al- 
ready the  whole  liouse  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  peo- 
ple 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  toward  the  Place  de  Greve,  ac- 
companied by  Gourville.  At  the  turning 
of  the  Place,  the}'  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  Vin- 
cennes.     He  had  before  him  a  large  ham- 


per filled  with  bottles,  which  he  had  just 
purchased  at  the  cabaret  wilh  the  .sign  of 
"  L'Imag(5-de-Notre-Dame." 

"Eh!  but  that'is  Vatel !  my  maltre 
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  caba- 
ret ! "  said  Fouquet.  "  My  cellar  then 
must  be  in  a  miserable  condition  !  "  and 
he  advanced  toward  the  maltre  d 'hot el, 
who  was  arranging  his  bottles  in  the  car- 
riage with  the  most  minute  care. 

"  Hola  !  Vatel,"  said  he,  in  the  voice  of 
a  master. 

"  Take  care,  monseigneur  !  "  said  Gour- 
ville, "  you  will  be  recognized." 

"  Very  well  !  Of  what  consequence  ? — 
Vatel!"  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  e^^es  of  this  personage, 
a  smile  rather  sl}"^  played  round  his  lips; 
but  the  observer  might  soon  have  re- 
marked- that  this  fire  and  this  smile  ap- 
plied 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  tur'ned  round, 
exclaiming  :     "  Oh  !  monseigneur  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  I.  What  the  devil  are  you 
doing  here,  Vatel  !  Wine  !  You  are  buy- 
ing wine  at  a  cabaret  in  the  Place  de 
Greve  !  " 

"But,  monseigneur,"  said  Vatel,  quiet- 
ly, after  having  darted  a  hostile  glance 
at  Gourville,  "why  am  I  interfered  with 
here  ?     Is  my  cellar  kept  in  bad  order  ?  " 

"No,  certes,  Vatel,  no;  but—" 

"  But  what  ?  "  replied  Vatel.  Gour- 
ville touched  tht'  elbow  of  Fouquet. 

"Don't  be  angry,  Vatel;  I  thought 
mj'  -cellar — your  cellar — sufficiently  well 
stocked  for  us  to  be  able  to  dispense  with 
having  recourse  to  the  cellar  of  L'Image- 
de-Notre-Dame." 

"Eh,  monsieur,"  said  Vatel,  sinking 
from  monseigneur  to  monsieur  with  a  de- 
gree of  disdain:  "  3'our  cellar  is  so  well 
stocked  that  when  certain  of  your  guests 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


221 


dine  with  you  the}^  have  nothing-  to 
drink.'" 

Fouquet,  in  g-reat  surprise,  looked  at 
Gourville.  "What  do  you  mean  \>\ 
that  ?  "' 

'•'  I  mean  that  your  butler  had  not 
wines  (or  all  tastes,  monsieur ;  and  that 
M.  de  la  Fontaine,  j\[.  Pellisson,  and  M. 
Conrard,  do  not  drink  when  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  Joig-ny,  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  g-etting-  warm.  ''It  is 
just  as  if  you  would  reproach  me,  mon- 
seigneur,  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  m^^  house  !  " 
cried  Fouquet  laughing. 

"  Certainly  he  does,  monsieur,  and  that 
is  the  reason  why  he  dines  there  with 
pleasure." 

'•Vatel,"  cried  Fouquet,  pressing-  the 
hand  of  hi»  maitre  d'hotel,  "you  ai'e  a 
man !  I  thank  you,  Vatel,  for  having- 
understood  that  at  vci^  house  M.  de  la 
Fontaine,  M.  Conrard,  and  M.  Loret,  are 
as  great  as  dukes  and  peers,  as  g-reat  as 
princes,  greater  than  m3'self .  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, 
murmurmg-  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  g-esture, 
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  \>y  chahis.  while  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,  wlio  guessed  the 
destination  of  the  g-ibbets,  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,  monseig- 
neur:  if  thej'have  thus  lulled  your  friend- 
ship and  suspicions — if  things  have  g-one 
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  m}^  friends  ;  would  you  advise 
me,  while  able  tofig-ht,  to  throw  the  arms 
I  have  in  my  hand  to  the  ground  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  advise  you  to  do  an3'thing-  of 
the  kind,  monseig-neur.  Are  you  in  a  po- 
sition 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 
him." 

"  Yes,  but  I  shall  have  been  base  ;  now, 
I  am  not  willing  that  my  friends  should 
die  ;  and  thej^  shall  not  die  I  " 

"  For  that  it  is  necessary  you  should  g-o 
to  the  Louvre." 

"  Gourville  !  " 

"Beware!  once  at  the  Louvre,  where 
you  will  be  forced  to  defend  your  friends 
openlj^,  that  is  to  say,  to  make  a  profes- 
sion of  faith  :  or  you  will  be  forced  to 
abandon  them  irrevocabl3\" 

"  Never." 

"  Pardon  me ; — the  king  will  propose 
the  alternative  to  3"ou,  rigorously,  or  else 
you  will  propose  it  to  him  ^^ourself." 

"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  accom- 


222 


WORKS     OF    ALFXASDEE    DUMAS. 


plished ;  I  will  not  stir,  I  say,  till  I  have 
found  some  means  of  combating-  m^'-  ene- 
mies." 

'•'  Monseigneur,"  replied  Gourville,  -'you 
would  excite  m}-  pity,  if  I  did  not  know 
3-0U  for  one  of  the  great  spirits  of  this 
world.  You  possess  a  hundred  and  ^t'ty 
millions,  you  are  equal  to  the  king-  in  po- 
sition, and  a  hundred  and  fift^^  millions 
his  superior  in  money.  M.  Colbert  has 
not  even  had  the  wit  to  have  the  testa- 
ment 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  sa,y." 

"To  consult  with  Pellisson  ? — we  will." 

"  No,  monseigneur  ;  to  count  your 
money." 

''  So  be  it,"  said  Fouquet,  with  his  ej^es 
inflamed  ; — '*yes,  yes,  to  Saint-Mande  !  " 
He  g-ot  into  his  carriag-e  again,  and  Gour- 
ville  with  him.  Upon  their  road,  at  the 
end  of  the  Faubourg-  Saint- Antoine,  they 
overtook  the  humble  equipag-e  of  Vatel, 
who  was  quietly  conveying  along  his  vin 
de  Joigny.  The  black  horses,  going-  at  a 
swift  pace,  alarmed,  as  the}^  passed  the 
timid  hack  of  the  maitre  d'hotel,  Avho, 
putting  his  head  out  of  the  window,  cried, 
in  a  fright,  ''  Take  care  of  my  bottles  !  " 


CHAPTER  LVn. 

THE   GALLERY    OF   SAINT-MANDE. 

Fifty  persons  were  waiting  for  the 
surint^ndant.  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  Avere  assembled 
in  full  chat.  The  intendant  was  about 
to  order  supper  to  be  served,  but,  above 
all,  the  Abbe  Fouquet  watclied  the  return 
of  his  brother,  and  was  endeavoring  to 
do  the  honors  of  the  house  in  his  absence. 
Upon  the  arrival  of  the  surintendant,  a 
murmur  of  joy  .and  affection  was  heard: 
Fouquet,  full  of  affability,  g-ood  humor, 
and  munificence,  was  beloved  by  his  poets, 


his  artists,  and  his  men  of  business.  His 
brow,  upon  which  his  little  court  i-ead, 
as  upon' that  of  a  god,  all  the  niovements 
of  his  soul,  and  thence  drew  rules  of  con- 
duct—his brow,  upon  which  affairs  of 
state  never  impressed  a  Avrinkle,  was  this 
evening  paler  than  usual,  and  more  than 
one  friendly  eye  remarked  that  paleness. 
Fouquet  placed  himself  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  presided  gayly  during  sup- 
per. He  recounted  Vatel 's  expedition 
to  La  Fontaine  ;  he  related  tlio  history 
of  Menneville  and  the  thin  fowl  to  Pellis- 
son, 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  Pel- 
lisson. The  Abbe  Fouquet,  not  being- 
able  to  comprehend  why  his  brotlier 
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  Fouquet;  "if 
true,  as  it  is  said  to  be,  that  the  king  has 
made  him  his  intendant?"  Scarcely 
had  Fouquet  uttered  these  words,  with 
a  marked  intention,  than  an  explosion 
broke  foi-th  among-  the  g-uests. 
"The  miser  !  "  said  one.  • 
"The  mean,  pitiful  fellow!"  said 
another. 

"The  hj^pocrite  !  "  said  a  third. 
Pellisson  exchang-ed  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 
Surintendant,  who,  I  am  sure, .  agrees 
with  me." 

"Entirel3%"  replied  Fouquet.  "Let 
the  fat  fowls  of  M.  Colbert  alone  ;  our 
business  to-day  is  with  the  faisans  trvffes 
of  M.  Vatel."  This  speech  stopped  the 
dark  cloud  which  was  beginning  to  throw 
its  shade  over  the  guests.  Gourville  suc- 
ceeded 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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


223 


and  men  of  the  sword,  that,  amid  the 
vapors  of  this  joy  and  the  noise  of  con- 
versation, the  object  of  inquietudes  dis- 
appeared 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  liqueurs  to  be 
carried  into  the  salon  adjoining-  the  gal- 
lery. He  led  the  wa^'' thither,  conducting- 
by  the  hand  a  lady,  the  queen,  b}'  his 
preference,  of  the  evening-.  The  musicians 
then  supped,  and  the  promenades  in  the 
g-allerj'  and  the  g-ardens  commenced  be- 
neath a  spring-  sk}',  mild  and  perfumed. 
Pellisson  then  approached  the  surintend- 
ant,  and  said  :  "  Something-  troubles  mon- 
seig-neur  ?  " 

*'  Greatly,"  replied  the  minister  ;  "  ask 
Gourville  to  tell  you  what  it  is."  Pellis- 
son, on  turning-  round,  found  La  Fon- 
taine treading-  upon  his  heels.  He  was 
oblig-ed  to  listen  to  a  Latin  verse,  which 
the  poet  had  composed  upon  Vatel.  La 
Fontaine  had,  for  an  hour,  been  scanning- 
this  verse  in  all  corners,  seeking-  some  one 
to  pour  it  out  upon  advantag-eously.  He 
thought  he  had  caug-ht  Pellisson,  but  the 
latter  escaped  him  ;  he  turned  toward 
Sorel,  who  had,  himself,  just  composed  a 
quatrain  in  honor  of  the  supper  and  the 
Amphyirion.  La  Fontaine  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  g-ain  attention  to  his  verses  ; 
Sorel  wanted  to  obtain  a  hearing-  for  his 
quatrain.  He  was  obliged  to  retrog-rade 
before  M.  le  Comte  de  Chanost,  whose 
arm  Fouquet  had  just  taken.  L'Abbe 
Fouquet  perceived  that  the  poet,  as  ab- 
sent as  usual,  was  about  to  follow  the 
two  talkers;  and  he  interposed.  La  Fon- 
taine seized  upon  him,  and  recited  his 
verses.  The  abbe,  who  was  quite  inno- 
cent  of  Latin,  nodded  his  liead,  in  cadence, 
at  every  roll  which  La  Fontaine  impressed 
upon  his  body,  according-  to  the  undula- 
tions of  the  dactyls  and  spondees.  While 
this  was  g-oing-  on,  behind  the  confiture- 
basins,  Fouquet  related  the  event  of  the 
da^^  to  his  son-in-law,  M.  de  Chanost. 
"We  must  send  the  idle  and  useless  to 
look  at  the  fireworks,"  said  Pellisson,  to 
Gourville,  "while  we -converse  here." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Gourville,  addressing- 


four  words  to  Vatel,  The  latter  then  led 
toward  the  g-ardens  the  major  part  of  the 
beaux,  the  ladies  and  the  chatterers,  while 
the  men  walked  in  the  graller}^,  lighted 
by  three  hundred  waxlig-hts,  in  the  sight 
of  all;  the  admirers  of  fireworks  all  ran 
away  toward  the  garden.  Gourville  ap- 
proached Fouquet,  and  said  :  "  Monsieur, 
we  are  all  here." 

"All!"  said  Fouquet. 

"Yes  —  count."  The  surintendant 
counted ;  there  were  eight  persons.  Pel- 
lisson and  Gourville  walked  arm  in  arm, 
as  if  conversing  upon  vague  and  light 
subjects.  Sorel  and  two  officers  imitated 
them,  in  an  opposite  direction.  The  Abbe 
Fouquet  walked  alone.  Fouquet,  with 
M.  de  Chanost,  walked  as  if  entirely  ab- 
sorbed by  the  conversation  of  his  son-in- 
law.  "Messieurs,"  said  he,  "let  no  one 
of  you  raise  his  head  as  he  walks,  or  ap- 
pear 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, 
while  lending  attention  really  to  only  one 
among  them,  who,  himself,  seemed  to  be 
speaking  onlj^  to  his  companion.  "Mes- 
sieurs," said  Fouquet,  '*3'ou  have,  with- 
out 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 
3^ou  to  listen ;  walk  on,  carrying  3'our 
head  in  a  natural  way,  and,  as  you  have 
an  excellent  sight,  place  yourself  at  the 
window,  and  if  any  one  returns  toward 
the  gallery,  give  us  notice  by  coughing'." 
The  abbe  obeyed. 

"  I  have  not  observed  the  absent,"  said 
Pellisson,  who,  at  this  moment,  was  turn- 
ing his  back  to  Fouquet,  and  walking  the 
other  wa^^ 

''I  do  not  see  M.  Lj'odot,"  said  Sorel, 
"who  pays  me  my  pension." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  abbe,  at  the  win- 
dow, ''  do  not  see  M.  d'Ej^meris,  who 
owes  me  eleven  hundred  livres  from  our 
last  game  at  Brelan." 


224 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Sorel,"  continued  Fouquet,  walking- 
bent,  and  g-loomil^^  "•you  will  never  re- 
ceive your  pension  any  more  from  M. 
Lyodot ;  and  you,  abbe,  will  never  be 
paid  your  eleven  hundred  livres  by  M. 
d'Ejaneris  ;  for  both  are  about   to   die." 

"To  die  !  "  exclaimed  the  whole  assem- 
bly, stopped,  in  spite  of  themselves,  in  the 
scene  they  were  plajnng-,  b^^  that  terrible 
word. 

"Recover  yourselves,  messieurs,"  said 
Fouquet,  "for,  perhaps,  we  arejwatched 
— I  said  :  to  die  !  " 

"  To  die  !  "  repeated  Pellisson  ;  "  what, 
the  men  I  saw  not  six  days  ago,  full  of 
health,  g-a3'ety,  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  remedj^,"  said  Sorel. 

"No  remedy.  Messieurs  de  Lyodot 
and  D'Eymeris  are  on  the  eve  of  their 
last  da3\" 

"Of  what  are  these  g-entlemen  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  hang- 
ing- them,"  murmured  Fouquet,  in  a  sin- 
ister voice,  which  sounded  like  a  funeral 
knell  in  that  rich  g-allery,  splendid  with 
pictures,  flowers,  velvet,  and  g-old.  In- 
voluntarily every  one  stopped  ;  the  abbe 
quitted  his  window ;  the  first  fusees  of 
the  fireworks  beg-an  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.  "  Mes- 
sieurs," said  he,-"M.  Colbert  has  caused 
to  be  arrested,  tried,  and  will  execute  to 
death  my  two  friends ;  what  does  it  be- 
come me  to  do?  " 

"' Mordieu  !  "  exclaimed  the  abbe,  the 
first,  "  run  M.  Colbert  through  the  body." 

"Monseigneur,"  said  Pellisson,  "j^ou 
must  speak  to  his  majesty." 

"The  king,  my  dear  Pellisson,  has 
signed  the  order  for  the  execution." 

"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  al- 
lowed 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  mone}',"  said  Fouquet; 
"  five  hundred  thousand  livres  to  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  conciergerie,  tha  t  is  sufficient ; 
nevertheless,  it  shall  be  a  miUion,  if  neces- 
sary." 

"A  million!"  cried  the  abbe;  "  wh,y, 
for  less  than  half,  I  would  cause  the  half 
of  Paris  to  be  sacked." 

"  There  must  be  no  disorder,"  said  Pel- 
lisson. "  The  governor  being  won,  the 
two  prisoners  escape  ;  once  clear  of  tlie 
fangs  of  the  law,  they  will  call  together 
the  enemies  of  Colbert,  and  prove  to  the 
king  that  his  young  justice,  like  all  other 
exagg-erations,  is  not  infallible." 

"Go  to  Paris,  then,  Pellisson,"  said 
Fouquet,  "and  bring  hither  the  two  vic- 
tims ;  to-morrow  we  shall  see." 

Gourville  gave  Pellisson  the  five  hun- 
dred thousand  livres.  "Take  care  the 
wind  does  not  carrj^  j^ou  away,"  said  the 
abbe ;  "  what  a  responsibility.  Peste  ! 
Let  me  help  j^ou  a  little." 

"Silence!"  said  Fouquet,  "somebody 
is  coming.  Ah  !  the  fireworks  are  pro- 
ducing- a  magical  effect."  At  this  mo- 
ment a  shower  of  sparks  fell  rustling 
among  the  branches  of  the  neighboring- 
trees.  Pellisson  and  Gourville  went  out 
together  by  the  door  of  the  gallery  : 
Fouquet  descended  to  the  garden  with 
the  five  last  plotters. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

THE     EPICUREANS. 

As   Fouquet  was  giving,  or  appearing 
to  give,  all  his  attention  to  the  brilliant 


9  » 
^  I 


^  P 


5  !?; 

A  < 

O    fit 


ca 

V'l 

:i 

m 

w 

a 

a 

H 

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H 

a' 

w 

til 

CO 

O 
O 

o 

■-5 

o 

i^ 

a 

THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


225 


illuminations,  the  languishing-  music  of 
the  violins  and  hautbo3\s,  the  sparkling 
sheaves  of  the  artificial  fires,  which,  in- 
flaming the  heavens  with  glowing  reflec- 
tions, 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  ordinary ;  and  Vatel,  whose 
restless,  even  jealous  look,  earnesth^  con- 
sulted the  look  of  Fouquet,  did  not  appear 
dissatisfied  with  the  welcome  given  to  the 
ordering  of  the  evening's  entertainment. 
The  fireworks  over,  the  companj^  dispersed 
about  the  gardens  and  beneath  the  marble 
porticos  with  that  delightful  liberty'  which 
reveals  in  the  master  of  the  house  so  much 
forgetf ulness  of  greatness,  so  much  courte- 
ous hospitality-,  so  much  magnificent  care- 
lessness. 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  insinuated  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  ^-outh  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  w'rong." 

''Monsieur,'"'  said  Conrard,  "you  are 
very  wrong  in  persisting  to  decorate  3our- 
self  with  the  name  of  an  Epicurean  ;  in- 
deed, 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, 
Dumas— S 


what  likeness  is  there  between  tlie  doc- 
trine of  Epicurus  and  that  of  M.  Fou- 
quet ?  ' ' 

"This — pleasure  gives  happiness." 

"Next?" 

"  Well,  I  do  not  think  we  ought  to  con- 
sider 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  favorite  cabaret ; 
not  one  impertinence  heard  during  a 
supper  of  an  hour  long,  in  spite  of  the 
presence  of  ten  millionaires  and  twenty 
poets." 

"I  stop  you  there.  You  mentioned  vin 
do  Joigny  and  a  good  repast ;  do  you  per- 
sist in  that  ?  " 

"'  I  persist — anteco,  as  thej'  saj'  at  Port 
Roj'al.'' 

"  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  Fon- 
taine ;  "'  and  you  appear  to  me  to  be  con- 
founding Epicurus  and  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,"  re- 
plied La  Fontaine.  "  Epicurus  Avas  like 
M.  Fouquet." 

"  Do  not  compare  him  to  Monsieur  le 
Surintendant,"  said  Conrard,  in  an  agi- 
tated voice,  "'  or  3'ou  would  accredit  the 
reports  which  are  circulated  concerning 
him  and  us." 

"'  What  reports  ?  " 

"'  That  we  are  bad  Frenchmen,  luke- 
warm 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  I  must  tell  you  so,  as  a  myth. 
All  which  touches  the  least  upon  antiquity 
is  a  myth.  Jupiter,  if  we  give  a  little  at- 
tention to  it,  is  life.  Alcides  is  strength. 
The  words  are  there  to  bear  me  out :  Zeus. 
that  is  zen,  to  live  :  Alcides,  that  is  alee, 
vigor.  Well,  Epicurus,  that  is  mild 
watchfulness,  that  is  protection.  Now, 
who   watches  better  over   the  State,   or 


226 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


who  protects  individuals,  better  than  M. 
Fouquet  does  ?  " 

"You  talk  etymology,  and  not  moral- 
ity ;  I  say  that  we  modern  Epicureans 
are  troublesome  citizens." 

'•'  Oh  !  "  cried  La  Fontaine,  "  if  we  be- 
come troublesome  citizens,  it  will  not  be 
in  following-  the  maxims  of  our  master. 
Listen  to  one  of  his  principal  aphorisms." 

'•'I  listen." 

"  Wish  for  g-ood  leaders." 

"Well?" 

"  Well  !  what  does  M.  Fouquet  sa^'^  to 
us  everj^  day  ?  '  When  shall  we  be  gov- 
erned ? '  Does  he  say  so  ?  Come,  Con- 
rard,  be  frank." 

"  Ho  says  so,  that  is  true." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  doctrine  of  Epicurus." 

"  Yes :  but  that  is  a  little  seditious, 
observe." 

"  How— ::£;editious  to  wish  to  be  governed 
by  g-ood  heads  or  leaders  ?  " 

''  Certainly,  when  those  who  g-overn  are 
bad." 

'^  Patience  !    I  have  a  repl}'"  for  all." 

"  Even  for  that  I  have  just  said  to  you  ?" 

"  Listen  !  Would  j-ou  submit  to  those 
Avho  g-overn  ill  ?  Oh,  it  is  written,  Cacos 
politeuousi.     You  grant  me  the  text?" 

'•'  Pardieu  !  I  think  so.  Do  3'ou  know 
you  speak  Greek  as  well  as  ^sop  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  ? 
AVas  it  not  this  :  '  What  a  cuistre  is  that 
Mazarin !  what  an  ass  !  what  a  leech  ! 
We  must,  however,  submit  to  the  fellow  !' 
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  Epicureans, 
and  that  is  ver^^  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  phi- 
losopher of  Hieropolis  —  he  who  called 
bread  luxury,  veg-etables  prodigalit\',  and 
clear  water  drunkenness — he  who,  being 


beaten  by  his  master,  said  to  him,  grum- 
bling a  little,  it  is  true,  but  without  be- 
ing angry,  '  I  will  la}'  a  wager  you 
have  broken  m}^  leg  I '  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  ;  3^ou  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  j-ou  are  a  Jansenist." 

This  peroration  was  hailed  by  an  im- 
mense shout  of  laughter ;  by  degrees  the 
promenaders  had  been  attracted  by  the 
exclamations  of  the  two  disputants  around 
the  arbor  under  winch  they  argued.  All 
the  discussion  had  been  relig'iousl^' listened 
to,  and  Fouquet  himself,  scarcely  able  to 
suppress  his  laughter,  had  given  an  ex- 
ample of  moderation.  But  the  denoue- 
ment of  the  scene  threw  off  all  restraint ; 
he  laughed  aloud.  Everybod}'  laughed  as 
he  did,  and  the  two  philosophers  were 
saluted  by  unanimous  felicitations.  La 
Fontaine,  however,  was  declared  con- 
queror, on  account  of  his  profound  eru- 
dition and  his  irrefragible  logic.  Conrard 
obtained  the  compensation  due  to  an  un- 
successful combatant :  he  was  praised  for 
his  loj^alty  and  the  purity  of  his  conscience. 

At  the  moment  w^hen  this  joy  was  mani- 
festing itself  by  the  most  lively  demon- 
strations— at  the  moment  when  the  ladies 
were  reproaching  the  two  adversaries  with 
not  having  admitted  women  into  the  sys- 
tem of  Epicurean  happiness,  Gourville  was 
seen  hastening'  from  the  other  end  of  the 
garden,  approaching  Fouquet,  who  sur- 
ve3'ed  him  anxiously,  and  detaching  him, 
by  his  presence  alone,  from  the  group. 
The  surintendant  preserved  upon  his  face 
the  smile  and  the  character  of  careless- 
ness ;  but  scarcely  was  he  out  of  sight 
than  he   thi-ew   off  the  mask.     "Well," 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONN  E. 


227 


said  he  eag-erly,  ''  where  is  Pellisson  ? 
What  is  lie  doing-  ?  " 

"PeUisson  is  returned  from  Paris." 

''Has  he  brought  back  the  prisoners?  " 

"He  lias  not  even  seen  the  concierge  of 
the  prison.'' 

"  What !  did  he  not  tell  him  he  came 
from  me  ?  " 

"  He  told  him  so,  but  the  concierg'e  sent 
him  tliis  repl}'  :  'If  any  one  came  to  me 
Irom  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  3'our  own  name." 

"You  are  rig-ht.  I  will  g-o  in,  as  if  to 
work  ;  let  the  horses  remain  harnessed, 
Pellisson.  Entertain  my  friends,  Gour- 
ville." 

"  One  last  word  of  advice,  monseig-- 
iieur,"  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,  monseigncur,  send  a  message 
again  to  the  concierge — he  is  a  worthy 
man,  but  do  not  carry  it  yourself." 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  said  Fouquet ;  "be- 
sides, 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  Pellis- 
son ;  "it  is  never  a  fault  to  arrive  too 
soon." 

"Adieu!"  said  the  surintendant ; 
"  come  with  me,  Pellisson.  Gourville,  I 
commend  my  guests  to  your  care."  And 
he  set  off.  The  Epicureans  did  not  per- 
ceive 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  distuibed  than  might  have 
been  expected.  He  turned  toward  Pellis- 
son, who  was  meditating  in  the  corner 
of  the  carriage  some  good  arguments 
against  the  violent  proceedings  of  Col- 
bert. 

"My  dear  Pellisson,"  said  Fouquet, 
then,  "it  is  a  g-reat  pity  j^ou  are  not  a 
woman." 

"  I  think,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  very 
fortunate,'"  replied  Pellisson;  "for,  mon- 
seig-neur,  I  am  excessively  ugl.y." 

"Pellisson!  Pellisson!"  said  the  sur- 
intendant, laughing.  "  You  repeat  too 
often  you  are  'ug-ly,'  not  to  leave  people 
to  believe  that  it  gives  you  much  pain." 

"In  fact  it  does,  monseigneur,  much; 
there  is  no  man  more  unfortunate  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  that 
sort ;  I  take  g-reat  interest  in  your  affairs, 
and  if,  at  this  moment,  I  were  a  pretty 
woman,  I  could  render  yow.  an  important 
service." 

"What?" 

"  I  would  g-o  and  find  the  concierge  of 
the  Palais  ;  I  w^ould  seduce  him,  for  he  is 
a  g-allant  man,  extra vag-antly  partial  to 
w^omen  ;  then  I  would  get  awa3'  our  two 
prisoners." 

"I  hope  to  be  able  to  do  so  mj^self,  al- 
though lam  not  a  pretty  woman,"  replied 
Fouquet. 

"  Granted,  monseigneur ;  but  30U  are 
compromising-  3'ourself  very  much." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Fouquet,  suddenl}^,  with 
one  of  those  secret  transports  which  the 
g-enerous  blood  of  youth,  or  the  remem- 
brance 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 
concierg-erie." 

"And,  on  vay  part,  I  know  fiftj-,  mon- 
seigneur; fift}^  trumpets,  which  will  inform 
the  universe  of  j'^our  g-enerosity,  of  your 
devotion  to  your  friends,  and,  consequent- 
ly, Avill  ruin  3^ou  sooner  or  later  in  ruining- 
themselves." 

"  I,  do  not  speak  of  such  women,  Pellis- 
son :  1    speak  of   a  noble   and    beautiful 


228 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


creature  who  joins  to  the  intellig-encc  and 
wit  of  her  sex  the  valor  an^  coolness  of 
ours;  I  speak  of  a  woman,  handsome 
enoug-h  to  make  the  walls  of  a  prison  bow 
down  to  salute  her,  of  a  woman  discreet 
enougrh  to  let  no  one  suspect  \)x  whom  she 
has  been  sent." 

''A  treasure!''  said  Pellisson;  ''you 
would  make  a  famous  present  to  monsieur 
the  g-overnor  of  the  conciegerie  !  Peste  ! 
monseig-neur,  he  might  have  his  head  cut 
off,  that  might  happen ;  but  he  would, 
before  dying,  have  had  such  happiness  as 
no  man  had  enjoN^ed  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,  mj'  friend,  would  give  him  nothing 
but  the  horses  and  the  mone3\  Let  us  go 
and  seek  this  woman,  Pellisson." 

The  surintendant  reached  forth  his  hand 
toward  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 
disturbance  ?  When  da3'light  dawns,  how 
can  we  conceal  our  proceedings  ?  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  Bel- 
liere  !  " 

"Hush!" 

"Ah  !  Good  Lord  !  "  exclaimed  Pellis- 
son. 

"  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  go- 
ing 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  go- 
ing 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  yon  to  wait  for  me, 
Pellisson,"  replied  Fouquet,  with  sincere 
courtesy. 

"  The  greater  reason  why  I  should, 
monseigneur  ;  knowing  that  you  are  keep- 
ing me  waiting,  you  will,  perhaps,  stay  a 
shorter  time.  Take  care  !  You  see  there 
is  a  carriage  in  the  courtyard  :  she  has 
some  one  with  her,"  Fouquet  leaned  to- 
ward the  steps  of  the  carriage.  "  One 
word  more,"  cried  Pellisson  ;  "  do  not  go 
to  this  lady  till  you  have  been  to  the  con- 
cierge, for  Heaven's  sake  !  " 

"  Eh  !  five  minutes,  Pellisson,"  replied 
Fouquet,  alighting  at  the  steps  of  the 
hotel,  leaving  Pellisson  in  the  carriage,  in 
a  very  ill  humor.  Fouquet  ran  upstairs, 
told  his  name  to  the  footman,  which  ex- 
cited an  eagerness  and  a  respect  that 
showed  the  habit  the  mistress  of  the 
house  had  of  honoring  that  name  in  her 
family.  "Monsieur  le  Surintendant," 
cried  the  marquise,  advancing,  very  pale, 
to  meet  him  ;  "  what  an  honor  !  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  Vanel 
had  risen,  more  pale,  more  livid,  than 
Envy  herself.  Fouquet  in  vain  addressed 
her,  with  the  most  agreeable,  most  pa- 
cific salutation;  she  only  replied  by  a 
terrible  glance  darted  at  the  marquise 
and  Fouquet.  This  keen  glance  of  a 
jealous  woman  is  a  stiletto  which  pierces 
ever}-  cuirass  ;  Marguerite  Vanel  plunged 
it  straight  into  the  hearts  of  the  two  con- 
fidants. She  made  a  curtsey  to  her  friend, 
a  more  profound  one  to  Fouquet,  and  took 
leave,  under  pretense  of  having  a  great 
number  of  visits  to  make,  without  the 
marquise  trying  to  prevent  her,  or  Fou- 
quet, a   prey  to  anxiety,   thinking  any- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


229 


thing-  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. 

'^  Oh  !  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  suspicion  she 
would  come  this  evening." 

''You  do  love  me  a  little,  then,  mar- 
quise ?  " 

"  That  is  not  the  question,  now  ;  it  is 
of  your  dangers ;  how  are  j^our  affairs 
g-oing-  on  ?  " 

"  I  am  going"  this  evening*  to  get  m^^ 
friends  out  of  the  prisons  of  the  palais." 

"  How  will  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  By  buying-  and  seducing-  the  gover- 
nor." 

''He  is  a  friend  of  mine;  can  I  assist 
you,  without  injuring-  3'ou  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  marquise,  it  would  be  a  signal 
service ;  but  how  can  30U  be  employed 
without  your  being  compromised  ?  Now, 
never  shall  my  life,  my  power,  or  even  my 
liberty,  be  purchased  at  the  expense  of  a 
sing"le  tear  from  your  eyes,  or  of  a  sing-le 
pain  upon  your  brow  !  " 

"  Monseig-neur,  speak  no  more  such 
words,  they  bewilder  me ;  I  have  been 
culpable  in  trying-  to  serve  j^ou,  without 
calculating-  the  extent  of  what  I  w'as 
doing-.  I  love  you,  in  reality,  as  a  tender 
friend,  and  as  a  friend,  I  am  g-rateful  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  3^ou  are  too  much  beloved," 
said  the  young-  woman  in  a  low  voice; 
"because  you  are  too  much  beloved  hy 
too  many  people — because  the  splendor  of 
glor\^  and  fortune  wound  my  ej^es,  while 
the  darkness  of  sorrow  attracts  them ; 
because,  in  short,  I,  who  have  repulsed 
you  in  3-our  proud  magnificence ;  I,  who 
scarcely  looked  at  you  in  your  splendor, 
I  came,  like  a  mad  woman,  to  throw  m}^- 
self,  as  it  were,  into  your  arms,  when  I 
saw  a  misfortune  hovering  over  your 
head.     You   understand   me,   now,    mon- 


seigneur?  Become  happy  again,  that  I 
may  again  become  chaste  in  heart  and  in 
thought ;  3'our  misfortunes  would  ruin 
me  !  " 

"  Oh  !  madame,"  said  Fouquet,  with  an 
emotion  he  had  never  before  felt ;  "  were 
I  to  fall  to  the  last  degree  of  human  mis- 
ery, and  should  hear  from  your  mouth 
that  word  which  you  now  refuse  me,  that 
day,  madame,  you  Avill  be  mistaken  in 
3^our  noble  eg-otism  ;  that  day  you  will 
fancy  j^ou  are  consoling-  the  most  unfortu- 
nate 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  precipi- 
tately, crying,  in  very  ill  humor,  "  Mon- 
seig-neur!  madame!  for  heaven's  salve! 
excuse  me.  Monseig-neur,  you  have  been 
here  half  an  hour.  Oh  !  do  not  both  look 
at  me  so  reproachfully.  Madame,  praj^ 
who  is  that  lady  who  left  3'our  house  soon 
after  monseigneur  came  in  ?  " 

"Madame  Vanel,"  said  Fouquet. 

"There,"  cried  Pellisson,  "I  was  sure 
of  that." 

"  Well  !  what  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  got  into  her  carriage  look- 
ing- deadly  pale." 

"  What  consequence  is  that  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  what  she  said  to  her  coacli- 
man  is  of  consequence  to  j^ou." 

"What,  good  God!"  cried  the  mar- 
quise, "was  that  ?  " 

"  To  M.  Colbert's  !  "  said  Pellisson  in  a 
hoarse  voice. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  begone,  begone,  mon- 
seig-neur !  "  replied  the  marquise,  pushing 
Fouquet  out  of  the  salon,  while  Pellisson 
dragg-ed  him  by  the  hand. 

"Am  I,  then,  indeed,"  said  the  surin- 
tendant,  "become  a  child,  to  be  fright- 
ened b^^  a  shadow  ?  " 

"You  are  a  g-iant,"  said  the  marquise, 
"  whom  a  viper  is  endeavoring-  to  bite  at 
the  heel." 

Pellisson  continued  to  drag-  Fouquet 
quite  to  the  carriage.  "  To  the  palais  at 
full  speed  !  "  cried  Pellisson  to  the  coach- 
man. ,  The  horses  set  off  like  lightning- ; 
no  obstacle  relaxed  their  pace  for  an  in- 


230 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


stant.  Only  at  the  Arcade  Saint-Jean,  as 
thej''  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  heavj'^  carriage 
they  were  escorting,  and  which  ascended 
rapidl^^  toward  the  Place  Baudoj^er.  Fou- 
quet  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  con- 
cierge du  palais  five  minutes  after.  That 
officer  was  still  walking-  about  in  the  front 
court.  At  the  name  of  Fouquet,  whis- 
pered in  his  ear  by  Pellisson,  the  g-overnor 
eagerly  approached  the  carriage,  and,  liat 
in  his  hand,  was  profuse  in  his  reverences. 
''What  an  honor  forme,  monseigneur," 
said  he. 

"One  Avord,  Monsieur  le  Gouverneur, 
will  you  take  the  trouble  to  get  into  m,y 
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  3'^ou,  monsieur,  but  which  will  assure 
to  3'ou  forever  my  protection  and  my 
friendship." 

"  Were  it  to  cast  mj^self  into  the  fire 
for  you,  monseigneur,  I  would  do  it." 

"That  is  well,"  said  Fouquet;  "what 
I  require  is  much  more  simple." 

"  That  being  so,  monseig-neur,  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,  mon- 
sieur; at  the  same  time  that  I  will  g-ive 
you  ample  means  of  palliating  this  es- 
cape." 

"  Escape  !  Why,  then,  monseigneur 
does    not    know  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  That  Messrs.  Lyodot  and  d'Eymeris 
are  no  longer  here." 


"  Since  when  ?  "  cried  Fouquet,  in  great 
agitation. 

"  About  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"  Whither  are  they  gone,  then  ?  " 

"To  Vincennes — to  the  donjon." 

"Who  took  them  from  here  ?  " 

"An  order  from  the  king." 

"Oh  !  woe  !  woe  !  "  exclaimed  Fouquet, 
striking-  his  forehead.  "Woe  !  "  and  with- 
out sa^'ing-  a  single  word  more  to  the 
governor,  he  threw  himself  back  in  his 
carriag-e,  despair  in  his  heart  and  death 
on  his  countenance. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Pellisson,  with  g-reat 
anxiet3\ 

"  Our  friends  are  lost.  Colbert  is  con- 
veying- them  to  the  donjon.  It  was  they 
who  crossed  our  passage  under  the  arcade 
St.  Jean." 

Pellisson,  struck  as  with  a  thunderbolt, 
made  no  repl3\  With  a  single  reproach 
he  would  have  killed  his  master.  "  Where 
is  monseigneur  g-oing-  ?  "  said  the  footman. 

"Home — to  Paris.  You,  Pelhsson,  re- 
turn to  Saint-Mande,  and  bring-  the  Abbe 
Fouquet  to  me  within  an  hour.  Beg-one  !" 


CHAPTER  LX. 

PLAN    OF    BATTLE. 

The  night  was  already  far  advanced 
when  the  Abbe  Fouquet  joined  his,brother. 
Gourville  had  accompanied  him.  These 
three  men,  pale  with  future  events,  re- 
sembled 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  abbe  hesitated. 

"  Come  !  no  fear,  I  am  not  threatening ; 
no  romancing,  for  I  am  not  joking." 

"  Since  you  demand  the  truth,  monseig- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


231 


rieur,  here  it  is  : — I  have  a  hundred  and 
twenty  friends  or  companions  of  pleasure, 
who  are  sworn  to  me  as  the  thief  is  to  the 
g"allows." 

''  And  3'ou  think  vou  can  depend  upon 
them?" 

'•'Entireh'." 

"^'And  you  will  not  compromise  your- 
self ?  " 

"  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  burned  in  turn." 

'•'The  thing-  I  ask  of  3'ou,  abbe,"  said 
Fouquet,  wiping  the  sweat  which  fell 
froQi  his  brow,  ''is  to  throw  your  hun- 
dred and  twenty  men  upon  the  people  I 
will  point  out  to  you,  at  a  certain  moment 
g-iven — is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  It  will  not  be  the  first  time  such  a 
thing"  has  happened  to  them,  nionseig- 
neur." 

"  That  is  well ;  but  would  these  bandits 
attack  an  armed  force  ?  " 

"  They  are  used  to  that." 

"  Then  g"et  jomv  hundred  and  twenty 
men  together,  abbe." 

"  Directly.     But  where  ?  " 

'•'  On  the  road  to  Vincennes,  to-morrow, 
at  two  o'clock  preciseh'." 

"  To  carr^'^  off  Lj'^odot  and  D'E3'^meris  ? 
There  will  be  blows  to  be  got  ! " 

'•'  A  number,  no  doubt ;  are  you 
afraid  ?  " 

'•'  Not  for  myself,  but  for  3"ou." 

"  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  3'ou,  I 
pra.y  ?  Besides,  if  I  fall,  3'OU  fall  with 
me." 

"  It  would  then  be  more  prudent,  mon- 
sieur, not  to  stir  in  the  affair,  and  leave 
the  king  to  take  this  little  satisfaction." 

"■  Think  well  of  this,  abbe.  L^'odot  and 
D'Ej'meris  at  Vincennes  are  a  prelude  of 
ruin  for  mj"  house.  I  repeat  it — I  ar- 
rested, 3'ou  will  be  imprisoned — I  impris- 
oned, you  will  be  exiled." 

"Monsieur,  I  am  at  ^^our  orders  ;  have 
you  an\-  to  give  me  ?  " 


"What  I  told  you— I  wish  that,  to- 
mori'ow,  the  two  financiers  of  whom  they 
mean  to  make  victims,  while  there  remain 
so  many  criminals  unpunished,  should  be 
snatched  from  the  fury  of  my  enemies. 
Take  j'our  measures  accordingly'.  Is  it 
possible  ?  " 

"  It  is  possible." 

''  Describe  3'our  plan." 

"It  is  of  rich  siraplicit3\  The  ordinary 
guard  at  executions  consists  of  twelve 
archers." 

"There  will  be  a  hundred  to-morrow." 

"I  reckon  so.  I  even  sa}' more — there 
will  be  two  hundred." 

"  Then  your  hundred  and  twenty  men 
will  not  bo  enough." 

"Pardon  me.  In  every  crowd  com- 
posed of  a  hundred  thousand  spectators, 
there  are  ten  thousand  bandits  or  cut- 
purses — onh'  the}'  dare  not  take  the  ini- 
tiative." 

"AVell?" 

"There  will  then  be,  to-morrow,  on  the 
Place  de  Greve,  which  I  choose  as  my 
battlefield,  ten  thousand  auxiliaries  tomj' 
hundred  and  twent}'  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  Grove  ?  " 

"This  ;  thes-  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 :  cer- 
tain houses  have  two  issues — one  upon 
the  Place,  and  the  other  into  the  Rue  de 
la  Mortellerie,  or  la  Vannerie,  or  la  Tex- 
eranderie.  The  prisoners,  entering  by 
one  door,  will  go  out  at  another." 

"Yes;  but  fix  upon  something  posi- 
tive." 

"I   am   seeking   to  do   so." 

"And  I,"  cried  Fouquet,  "I  have 
found  it.  Listen  to  what  has  occurred  to 
me  at  this  moment." 

"I  am  listening." 

Fouquet  made  a  sign  to  Gourville,  who 
appeared  to  understand. 

"  One  of  mj'  friends  lends  me  sometimes 
the  ke^'s  of  a  house  which  he  rents,  Rue 
Baudojer,  the  spacious  gardens  of  which 


232 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  sig-n  represents  the  imag-e  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  b3'  a  door  of  communication." 

"Good  !"  said  the  abbe. 

"  Enter  by  the  cabaret,  take  the  pris- 
oners in  ;  defend  the  door  while  you  enable 
them  to  fl}^  by  the  garden  and  the  Place 
Baudo3'er." 

"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  I 
Oh,  monsieur,  if  they  heard  you  !  Some 
of  them  are  very  susceptible." 

"I  mean  to  say  they  must  be  broug-ht 
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  con- 
quer— please  to  understand." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  monsieur.  Give  me 
3'our  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  Fouquet, 
purple  with  anger,  "you  excite  my  pity. 
Speak  for  yourself,  if  you  please.  M}^ 
head  does  not  shake  in  that  manner  upon 
my  shoulders.  Now,  abbe,  is  everything 
arranged?  " 

"Everything." 


•'•  At  two  o'clock  to-morrow." 

"  At  twelve,  because  it  will  be  necessary 
to  prepare  our  auxiliaries  in  a  secret  man- 
ner." 

"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  j^our  friend.  Apro- 
pos, the  name  of  your  friend." 

Fouquet  looked  ag-ain  at  Gourville.  The 
latter  came  to  the  succor  of  liis  master, 
sajing,  "  Accompany  Monsieur  I'Abbe  for 
several  reasons;  on h^  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  !  g-ood  !  I  will  go  and  g"ive  no- 
tice to  my  soldiers." 

"Accompany  him,  Gourville,"  said  Fou- 
quet, "and  count  him  down  the  mone3^ 
One  moment,  abbe — one  moment,  Gour- 
ville— what  name  will  be  given  to  this 
carr^dng"  off?" 

"A  ver}^  natural  one,  monsieur  —  the 
Riot." 

"  The  riot  on  account  of  what  ?  For,  if 
ever  the  people  of  Paris  are  disposed  to 
pay  their  court  to  the  king,  it  is  when  lie 
hangs  financiers." 

"  I  will  manage  that,"  said  the  abbe. 

"  Yes ;  but  3^ou  may  manag-e  it  badly, 
and  people  will  guess." 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all.  I  have  another 
idea." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  M}^  men  shall  cry  out  '  Colbert,  vive 
Colbert  I  '  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. 
"  Peste  !  Monsieur  I'Abbe,  what  an 
imagination  you  have !" 

"Monsieur,  we  are  worthy  of  our  fami- 
ly," replied  the  abbe,  proudly. 


1 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


233 


"Strange  fellow,"  murmured  Fouquet. 
Then  he  added,  '*  That  is  ing-enious.  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  IMAGE-DE- 
NOTRE-DAME. 

At  two  o'clock  the  next  day,  fiftj^  thou- 
sand 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  Pelletier ;  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  traversed  the  quarters  of  the 
cit}',  particularly  the  halles  and  the  fau- 
bourgs, 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.,  absolutel^^ 
like  invited  guests,  who  feared  to  commit 
an  impoliteness  in  not  repairing  to  the 
house  of  him  who  invited  them.  Accord- 
ing 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  provis- 
ions, extortioners  and  forgers,  were  about 
to  undergo  capital  punishment  on  the 
Place  de  Greve,  with  their  names  affixed 
over  their  heads,  according  to  their  sen- 
tence. 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  Vincennes,  would  be  con- 
ducted 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  philosophj* — 
and  those  who  wished  to  see  the  con- 
demned die — these  were  of  hearts  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  mo- 
ments are  counted  ought  to  do,  because 
he  appreciates  their  importance. 

'•'  M}^  departure  is  to  be,"  said  he,  '^  at 
break  of  day,  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  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  pay- 
ment 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  ray 
clothes  and  my  arms,  and  get  my  boots 
cleaned.  I  have  still  two  hours  left. 
Mordioux  !  how  rich  I  am ! "  And  so 
saying,  D'Artagnan  felt  a  strange  joy,  a 
joy  of  youth,  a  perfume  of  those  great  and 
happ3^  years  of  former  times,  mount  into 
his  brain  and  intoxicate  him.  "  During 
these  two  hours  I  will  go,"  said  the  muske- 
teer, ''and  take  my  quarter's  rent  of  the 
Image-de-Notre-Dame.  That  will  be  pleas- 
ant !  Three  hundred  and  seventy-five 
livres  !  Mordioux  !  but  that  is  astonish- 
ing !  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  monev,  which  he  does 


234 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


not  touch.  Here  are  three  hundred  and 
seventy-five  livres  which  fall  to  me  from 
Heaven.  I  will  g-o,  then,  to  the  Image- 
de-Notre-Dame,  and  drink  a  g-lass  of  Span- 
ish wine  with  m}'  tenant,  which  he  can- 
not fail  to  offer  me.  But  order  must  be 
observed.  Monsieur  d'Artag-nan,  order 
must  be  observed  !  Let  us  organize  our 
time,  then,  and  distribute  the  employ- 
ment of  it:  Art.  1st,  Athos ;  Art.  2d, 
the  Imag-e-de-Notre-Dame  ;  Art.  3d,  M. 
Fouquet ;  Art.  4th,  M.  Colbert ;  Art.  5th, 
supper;  Art.  Gth,  clothes,  boots,  horse, 
portmanteau;  Art.  7Lh  and  last,  sleep." 

In  consequence  of  this  arrangement, 
D'Artagnan  then  went  straig-ht  to  the 
Comte  de  la  Fere,  to  whom,  modestly  and 
ing-enuously,  he  related  a  part  of  his  fort- 
unate adventures.  Athos  had  not  been 
without  uneasiness  on  the  subject  of  D'Ar- 
tagnan's  visit  to  the  king ;  but  few  words 
sufficed  as  an  explanation  of  that.  Athos 
divined  that  Louis  had  charg-ed  D'Artag- 
nan 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 
discreetl}^  to  accompany  him,  if  that  were 
desirable. 

''But,  my  dear  friend,"  said  D'Artag-- 
nan,  "I  am  going-  nowhere." 

"  What !  you  come  and  bid  me  adieu, 
and  are  g"oing  nowhere  ?  " 

"  Oh  I  yes,  yes,"  replied  D'Artagnan, 
coloring  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  saj- — 'Do  not 
g-et  yourself  robbed.'  " 

''  My  friend,  I  will  inform  you  if  I  cast 
m}'  eye  upon  any  propert\'  that  pleases 
me,  and  shall  expect  you  wall  favor  me 
with  your  opinion." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Athos,  too  delicate  to 
permit  himself  even  the  consolation  of  a 
smile.  Raoul  imitated  the  paternal  re- 
serve. But  D'Artagnan  thought  it  would 
appear  too  mysterious  to  leave  his  friends 
under  a  pretense,  without  even  telling 
them  the  route  he  was  about  to  take. 

"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  same  direction  as  La 
Touraine,  and  that  b^^  waiting  two  days 
at  most,  he  mig"ht  travel  with  a  friend. 
But  D'Artag-nan,  more  embarrassed  than 
the  comte,  dug,  at  every  explanation, 
deeper  into  the  mud,  into  which  he  sank 
by  degrees.  "  I  shall  set  out  to-morrow 
at  da^'break,"  said  he  at  last.  "  Till  that 
time,  will  you  come  with  me,  Raoul  ?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said  the 
young  man,  "  if  Monsieur  le  Comte  does 
not  want  me." 

"  No,  Raoul ;  I  am  to  have  an  audience 
to-day  of  Monsieur,  the  king's  brother ; 
that  is  all  I  have  to  do." 

Raoul  asked  Grimaud  for  his  sword, 
which  the  old  man  brought  him  immedi- 
ateh".  "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  sepa- 
rated. Raoul  took  the  arm  of  his  old 
friend,  who  led  him  along-  the  Rue  Saint- 
Honore.  "  I  am  conducting  you  to  the 
abode  of  the  god  Plutus,"  said  D'Artag- 
nan to  the  young-  man;  "prepare  your- 
self. The  whole  day  a'ou  will  witness  the 
piling-up  of  crowns.  Good  God  !  how  am 
I  changed  !  " 

"  Oh  I  oh!  what  numbers  of  people 
there  are  in  the  street !  "  said  Raoul. 

"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  him- 
self hung  the  day  I  want  to  go  and  take 
m}'  rent !  "  cried  D'Artag-nan.  "  Raoul, 
did  you  ever  see  anybody  hung?  " 

"Never,  monsieur — thank  God  !  " 

"'  Oil  !  how  3^oung  that  sounds  !  If  you. 
were  on  guard  in  the  trenches,  as  I  was, 
and  a  spy — But,  look  you,  pardon  me, 
Raoul,  I  am  doting— 3^ou  are  quite  rig-ht. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELON.\E. 


235 


it  is  a  hideous  sig-ht  to  see  a  person  hung- ! 
At  what  hour  do  they  hang-,  monsieur,  if 
you  please  ?  " 

'' Monsieur,"  replied  the  strang-er  re- 
spectfullj^  delighted  at  joining-  conversa- 
tion 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  g-et  away  before  the  ar- 
rival of  thenialef actor." 

"  Malefactors,  monsieur,"  continued  the 
bourgeois  ;  ''tliere  are  two  of  them." 

"  Monsieur,  I  return  you  raanj""  thanks," 
said  D'Artagnan,  who,  as  he  g-rew  older, 
had  become  polite  to  a  degree.  Drawing- 
Raoul  along-,  he  directed  his  course  rapidly 
in  the  direction  of  La  Greve.  Without 
that  g-reat  experience  musketeers  have  of 
a  crowd,  to  which  were  joined  an  irresisti- 
ble strength  of  wrist  and  an  uncommon 
suppleness  of  shoulders,  our  two  travelers 
would  not  have  arrived  at  their  place  of 
destination.  They  followed  the  line  of  the 
Quai,  which  they  had  gained  on  quitting- 
the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  where  the}'  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  g-roups,  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  be- 
tween ribs  that  were  too  rebellious,  mak- 
ing- it  take  the  part  of  a  lever  or  crowbar, 
to  separate  husband  from  wife,  uncle  from 
nephew,  and  brother  from  brother.  And 
all  this  was  done  so  naturally,  and  with 
such  g-racious  smiles,  that  people  must 
have  had  ribs  of  bronze  not  to  cry,  "Thank 
j'^ou  !  "  when  the  wrist  made  its  play;  or 
hearts  of  diamond  not  to  be  enchanted 
when  the  bland  smile  enlivened  the  lips 
of  the  musketeer.  Raoul,  following-  his 
friend,  cajoled  the  women,  who  admired 
his  beauty,  pushed  back  the  men,  who 
felt  the  rigidit}'  of  his  muscles,  and  both 
opened,  thanks  to  tliese  maneuvers,  the 
rather  compact  and  rather  muddy  tide  of 
the  populace. 

They  arrived  in  sight  of  the  two  gib- 
bets, from  which  Raoul  turned  away  his 


e^^es  in  disgust.  As  for  D'Artag-nan,  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 
disting-uished,  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  wa^'' 
to  turn  himself.  Three  lads  could  not 
supply  the  drinkers.  They  filled  the  shop, 
the  chambers,  and  the  court  even.  D'Ar- 
tag-nan called  Raoul's  attention  to  this 
concourse,  adding- :  "  The  fellow  will  have 
no  excuse  for  not  paying-  his  rent.  Look 
at  those  drinkers,  Raoul ;  one  would  saj'- 
they  were  jolly  companions.  Mordioux  ! 
whj-,  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  m^^  cellar  upside  down." 

"  The  cellar,  if  j^ou  like,  but  not  the 
money-box." 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  your  thirty-seven  ana 
a  half  pistoles  are  all  counted  out  ready 
for  you,  upstairs  in  my  chamber;  but 
there  are  in  that  chamber  thirtj^  custom- 
ers, who  are  sucking  the  staves  of  a  little 
barrel  of  Oporto  which  I  tapped  for  them 
this  morning.  Give  me  a  minute — onh'  a 
minute  ?  " 

''So  be  it— so  be  it." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Raoul,  in  a  low  voice, 
to  D'Artagnan  ;  "  this  hilarity'  is  vile  !  " 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  D'Artag-nan,  stern- 
b^j  "you  will  please  to  remain  where  you 
are.  The  soldier  ought  to  familiarize  him- 
self with  all  kinds  of  spectacles.  There 
are  in  the  eye,  when  it  is  yo\ix\g,  fibers 
which  we  must  learn  how  to  harden  ;  and 
we  are  not  trul}'-  g-enerous  and  g-ood  but 
from  the  moment  when  the  eye  has  be- 
come hardened,  and  the  heart  remains 
tender.  Besides,  my  little  Raoul,  would 
you  leave  me  alone  here  ?  That  would  be 
very  ill  of  you.     Look,  there  is  yonder,  in 


236 


WORKS    QF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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." 

From  the  spot  on  which  they  had  placed 
themselves,  the  two  new  guests  of  the 
Imag-e-de-Notre-Dame  heard  the  ever-in- 
creasing- 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'Artag-nan  had  wished  to  place  himself 
as  a  vedette  for  an  expedition,  he  could 
not  have  succeeded  better.  The  tree 
under  which  he  and  Raoul  were  seated 
covered  them  with  its  alread}^  thick  foli- 
age :  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  every- 
thing. He  observed  the  goings  and  com- 
ings of  the  waiters,  the  arrival  of  fresh 
drinkers,  the  welcome,  sometimes  friendl}^, 
sometimes  hostile,  given  to  certain  new- 
comers by  certain  others  that  were  in- 
stalled. 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  hurrj^  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. 
"Hola!  oh  !  somebody  there  !  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  Kaoul,  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  with- 
out closing  the  door,  and,  having  cast  an 
oblique  glance  at  D'Artagnan  and  his 
companion,  directed  his  course  toward  the 
cabaret  itself,  looking  about  in  all  direc- 
tions with  eyes  capable  of  piercing  walls 
or  consciences.     ''Humph!"  said  D'Ar- 


tagnan, "  m3^  tenants  are  communicating. 
That,  no  doubt,  now,  is  some  amateur  in 
hanging  matters."  At  the  same  moment 
the  cries  and  disturbance  in  the  upper 
chauibers  ceased.  Silence,  under  such 
circumstances,  surprises  more  than  a  two- 
fold increase  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  popular 
clamors,  which  made  a  formidable  accom- 
paniment 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  cham- 
ber. One  of  these  six,  the  man  with  the 
sword,  took  the  cabaretier  aside,  engaging 
him  in  discourse  more  or  less  serious ; 
while  the  others  lit  a  great  fire  in  the 
chimnej^-place — a  circumstance  rendered 
strange  b}^  the  fine  weather  and  the 
heat. 

''  It  is  very  singular,"  said  D'Artagnan 
to  Raoul,  "  but  I  think  I  know  those  faces 
3'onder." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  can  smell  the 
smoke  here?  "  said  Raoul. 

"  I  rather  think  I  can  smell  a  conspii'- 
acy,"  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 
door  of  communication,  casting,  at  inter- 
vals, glances  at  D'Artagnan,  which  signi- 
fied 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  tin  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  3^ou  know,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier, 
that  I  am  not  willing  to  become  a  passive 


1 


THE     V1C031TE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


237 


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  toward  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  fire.  On  seeing 
D'Artagnan  and  his  friend  enter — "Ah  I 
ah  !  a  re-enforcement,"  murmured  thej'. 

D'Artagnan  jogged  Raoul's  elbow. 
''Yes,  my  braves,  a  re-enforcement," 
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  3'ou  please,  and  observe."  D'Artag- 
nan smiled  in  his  mustache,  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, 
leveled  by  the  perspective,  extended  afar, 
thick  and  agitated  as  the  ears  of  corn  in 
a  vast  plain.  From  time  to  time,  a  fresh 
report,  or  a  distant  rumor,  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  center,  and  beat,  like  the  tides, 
against  the  hedge  of  archers  who  sur- 
rounded  the  gibbets.     Then  the  handles 


of  the  halberds  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, 
wiiich  underwent,  in  their  turn,  the  op- 
pression of  the  sudden  movement,  which 
drove  them  against  the  parapets  of  the 
Seine.  From  the  window,  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  whole  place,  D'Ar- 
tagnan 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  exception  of  a, 
dozen  stragglers  whom  he  still  saw  roll- 
ing here  and  there,  the  nucleus  \vas  com- 
plete, and  within  reach  of  his  voice.  But 
it  was  not  the  musketeers  and  guards  onl^^ 
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  demeanors  were  to  be  seen 
here  and  there,  mingled  with  silly  faces 
and  indifferent  demeanors  ;  signals  were 
exchanged,  hands  given  and  taken.  D'Ar- 
tagnan 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  organizinir 
troops  and  giving  orders.  ''Mordioux  I  "' 
said  D'Artagnan  to  himself,  "  I  was  not 
deceived  ;  I  know  that  man — it  is  Menne- 
ville.  What  the  devil  is  he  doing  here  ?  " 
A  distant  murmur,  w'hich  became  more 
distinct  by  degrees,  stopped  this  reflec- 
tion, and  drew  his  attention  another  way. 
This  murmur  was  occasioned  b\'  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    Raoul   was    becoming 


238 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


pale,  and  he  slapped  him  roughly  on  the 
shoulder.  The  fire-keepers  turned  round 
on  hearing-  the  great  cry,  and  asked  what 
was  going-  on.  ''  The  condemned  are  ar- 
rived," said  D'Artag-nan.  "  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  in- 
tentions. The  condemned  appeared  upon 
the  Place.  They  were  walking,  the  exe- 
cutioner before  them,  w^hile  fifty  archers 
formed  a  hedge  on  their  right  and  their 
left.  Both  were  dressed  in  black  :  they 
appeared  pale  but  firm.  They  looked  im- 
patiently over  the  people's  heads,  standing 
on  tiptoe  at  ever}'^  step.  D'Artagnan  re- 
marked this.  ''  Mordioux  !  "  cried  he, 
"  they  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  a  sight 
of  the  gibbet  !  "  Raoul  drew  back,  with- 
out, however,  having  the  power  to  leave- 
the  window.  Terror  even  has  its  attrac- 
tions. 

"To  the  death  !  to  the  death  !  "  cried 
fifty-thousand  voices. 

"Yes,  to  the  death!"  howled  a  hun- 
dred frantic  others,  as  if  the  great  mass 
had  given  them  the  replj-. 

"  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  pressing,  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 
endeavored  to  stand  against  them.  Be- 
hind these  men  was  the  crowd.  Then 
commenced,  amid  a  frightful  tumult,  as 
frightful  a  confusion.  This  time,  there 
were  something  more  than  cries  of  ex- 
pectation or  cries  of  joy,  there  wore  cries 


of  pain.  Halberds  struck  men  down, 
swords  ran  them  through,  muskets  were 
discharged  at  them.  The  confusion  be- 
came then  so  great  that  D'Artagnan 
could  no  longer  distinguish  anything. 
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  toward  the  house 
of  L'Image-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  peo- 
ple was,  that  those  who  cried  "Vive  Col- 
bert !"  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  suc- 
cess. The  populace  had  come  to  witness 
an  execution,  and  here  was  an  oppor- 
tunity offered  them  of  performing  one 
themselves.  It  was  this  that  must  be 
most  agreeable  to  the  populace  ;  there- 
fore, they  ranged  themselves  immediate- 
ly on  the  party  of  the  aggressors  against 
the  archers,  crying  with  the  minorit}^, 
which  had  become,  thanks  to  them,  the 
most  compact  ma3orit3^  "  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  window,  a  fire- 
brand in  his  hand.  "  Ah,  ah  ?  "  said  he, 
"it  gets  warm."  Then,  turning  to  his 
companion,  "There  is  the  signal,"  added 
he  ;  and  he  immediately  applied  the  burn- 
ing brand  to  the  wainscoting.  Now,  this 
cabaret  of  the  Image-de-Notre-Dame  was 
not  a  very  newly-built  house  ;  and,  there- 
fore, 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  incendiaries. 
D'Artagnan,  who  had  not  seen  what 
passed,  from  being  engaged  at  the  win- 
dow, felt,  at  the  same  time,  the  smoke 
wliich  choked  him  and  the  fire  that 
scorched  him.     "  Hola  !  "  cried  he,  turn- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


239 


ing  round,  ''is  the  fire  here?  Are  j^ou 
drunk  or  mad,  my  masters  ?  " 

The  two  men  looked  aL  each  other  with 
an  air  of  astonishmet.  "  In  what  ?  "  asked 
the3'  of  D'Artagnan  ;  "  was  it  not  a  thing- 
agreed  upon  ?  " 

'*  A  thing-  agreed  upon  that  3'ou  should 
burn  my  house  !  "  vociferated  D'Artag- 
nan, snatching-  the  brand  from  the  hand 
of  the  incendiarj",  and  striking-  him  with 
it  across  the  face.  The  second  wanted  to 
assist  his  comrade,  but  Raoul,  seizing- him 
hy  the  middle,  threw  him  out  of  the  win- 
dow, while  D'Artagnan  pushed  his  man 
down  the  stairs.  Raoul,  first  diseng-ag-ed, 
tore  the  burning-  wainscoting-  down,  and 
threw  it  flaming-  into  the  chamber.  At  a 
g-lance,  D'Artagnan  saw  tliere  w^as  noth- 
ing- to  be  feared  from  the  fire,  and  sprang- 
to  the  window.  The  disorder  was  at  its 
height.  The  air  was  filled  with  simulta- 
nous  cries  of  ''To  the  fire!"  "To  the 
death  !  "  '•  To  the  halter  !  "  ■'  To  the 
stake!"  "Vive  Colbert !  "  "Viveleroi!" 
The  g-roup  which  had  forced  the  culprits 
from  the  hands  of  the  archers  had  drawn 
close  to  the  house,  which  appeared  to  be 
the  g-oal  toward  whicli  they  drag-g-ed  them. 
Menneville  was  at  the  head  of  this  g-roup, 
shouting-  louder  than  all  the  others,  "To 
the  fire!  to  the  fire!  Vive  Colbert!" 
D'Artagnan  began  to  comprehend  what 
was  meant.  They  Avanted  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  win- 
dow. "  Menneville,  what  do  you  want  to 
do  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,"  cried  the  lat- 


ter 


give  wa3^,  give  wa}' 


"  To  the  fire!  to  the  fire  with  the  thieves! 
Vive  Colbert  !  " 

These  cries  exasperated  D'Artagnan. 
"Mordioux!"  said  he.  "What!  burn 
the  poor  devils  wiio  are  only  condemned 
to  be  hung  ?  that  is  infamous  !  " 

Before  the  door,  however,  the  mass  of 
anxious  spectators,  rolled  back  against 
the  walls,  had  become  more  thick,  and 
closed  up  the  way.  Menneville  and  his 
men,  who  were  dragging  along  the  cul- 
prits, were  within  ten  paces  of  the  door. 

Menneville  made  a  last  effort.     "Pas- 


sage !  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 
crj",  alwaj's  so  effective  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,  mousque- 
taires !  "  And  suspending  himself  by  the 
arm  from  the  balcony,  he  allowed  himself 
to  drop  amid  the  crowd,  which  began  to 
draw  back  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  ciy,  and  recog- 
nized D'Artagnan.  '*'  To  the  captain,  to 
the  captain  !  "  cried  the}^  in  their  turn. 
And  the  crowd  opened  before  them  as  if 
before  the  prow  of  a  vessel.  At  that  mo- 
ment D'Artagnan  and  Menneville  found 
themselves  face  to  face.  "  Passage,  pas- 
sage !  "  cried  Menneville,  seeing  that  he 
was  within  an  arm's  length  of  the  door. 

"No  one  passes  here,"  said  D'Artag- 
nan. 

"  Take  that,  then  !  "  said  Menneville, 
firing  his  pistol,  almost  within  touch. 
But  before  the  cock  had  dropped,  D'Ar- 
tagnan had  struck  up  Menneville's  arm 
with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  passed  the 
blade  through  his  bodj^. 

"  I  told  you  plainly  to  keep  yourself 
quiet,"  said  D'Artagnan  to  Menneville, 
w^ho  rolled  at  his  feet. 

"Passage!  passage!"  cried  the  com- 
panions of  Menneville,  at  first  terrified, 
but  soon  recovering,  when  the}"  found 
they  had  on\j  to  do  with  two  men.  But 
those  tw^o  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'Artagnan,  to  every  man 
he  str-uck  at,  that  is  to  saj'-,  to  every  man 


240 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  aggres- 
sors 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  fly- 
ing in  the  air — the  crowd  falls  back,  and 
crushes  itself.  At  length  cries  for  mercy 
and  of  despair  resound  ;  that  is,  the  fare- 
well of  the  vanquished.  The  two  con- 
demned are  again  in  the  hands  of  the 
archers.  D'Artagnan  approaches  them, 
and  seeing  them  pale  and  sinking  :  "  Con- 
sole yourselves,  poor  men,"'  said  he,  "  you 
will  not  undergo  the  frightful  torture 
with  which  these  wretches  threatened 
3^ou,  The  king  has  condemned  you  to  be 
hanged  :  you  shall  only  be  hanged.  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  conspira- 
tors have  fled  by  the  garden.  The  archers 
were  dragging  the  culprits  to  the  gibbets. 
From  this  moment  the  affair  did  not  oc- 
cupy much  time.  The  executioner,  heed- 
less about  operating  according  to  the 
rules  of  art,  made  such  haste  that  he  dis- 
patched the  condemned  in  a  minute.  In 
the  meantime,  the  people  gathered  round 
D'Artagnan  —  they  felicitated,  they 
cheered  him.  He  wiped  his  brow,  stream- 
ing 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  Raoul 
turned  awa.y  his  eyes  in  compassion,  he 
pointed  up  to  the  musketeers  the  gib- 
bets laden  with  their  melancholy  fruit. 
"Poor  devils!"  said  he,  "1  hope  they 
died  blessing  me,  for  I  saved  them  nar- 
rowly." These  words  caught  the  ear  of 
Menneville,  at  the  moment  when  he  him- 
self was  breathing  his  last  sigh.  A  dark, 
ironical  smile  flittered  across  his  lips  :  he 
wished  to  reply,  but  the  effort  hastened 
the  snapping  of  the  cord  of  life — he  ex- 
pired. 

"  Oh  !  all  this  is  very  frightful  !  "  mur- 


mured Raoul :  ''let  us  be  gone.  Monsieur 
le  Chevalier.'" 

"  You  are  not  wounded  ?  "'  asked  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

"  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 
liere,  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'Artagnan. 

•'Come,  chevalier,  pray  come  !  "  urged 
Raoul. 

"  One  minute,  my  friend ;  let  me  take 
my  thirty-seven  and  a  half  pistoles,  and 
I  shall  be  at  ^''our  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  profit- 
able, I  should  prefer  its  being  in  another 
quarter." 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

HOW      THE      DIAMOND     OF     M.     d'EYMERIS 

PASSED    INTO    THE    HANDS    OF    M. 

D'ARTAGNAN. 

While  this  violent,  nois}^  and  bloody 
scene  was  passing  on  the  Greve,  several 
men,  barricaded  behind  the  gate  of  com- 
munication with  the  garden,  replaced 
their  swords  in  their  sheaths,  assisted 
one  among-  them  to  mount  a  ready  sad- 
dled horse  which  was  waiting  in  the  gar- 
den, and  li'Ke  a  flock  of  terrified  birds,  fled 
away  in  all  directions,  some  climbing  the 
walls,  others  rushing  out  at  the  gates, 
with  all  the  furj^  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  Fou- 
quet,  at  the  clatter  of  the  hoofs  on  the 


s    I 

i-i    O 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


J41 


pavement,  appeared  at  a  window  of  the 
court,  and  before  even  the  cavalier  had 
set  foot  to  the  ground,  ''  Well  !  Dane- 
camp?"  cried  he,  leaning-  half  out  at  the 
window. 

"  Well,  it  is  all  over,"  replied  the  cava- 
lier. 

''  All  over  I  "  cried  the  abbe  ;  '•  then 
the3^  are  saved  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur,"  replied  the  cavalier, 
''  they  are  hanged." 

"Hanged  I"  repeated  the  abbe,  turning 
pale.  A  lateral  door  suddenly  opened, 
and  Fouquet  appeared  in  the  chamber, 
pale,  distracted,  with  lips  half  opened, 
breathing  a  cr}--  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  acustomed  to  war, 
sword  in  hand,  are  worth  ten  thousand 
archers  in  a  surprise.  Where  is  Menne- 
ville,  that  boaster,  that  braggart,  who 
was  to  come  back  either  dead  or  a  con- 
queror ?  " 

"  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  mad- 
man, who  at  one  blow  extinguisiied  the 
fire,  extinguished  the  riot,  and  caused  a 
hundred  musketeers  to  rise  up  out  of  the 
pavement  of  the  Place  de  Greve." 

Fouquet  raised  his  brow,  streaming  with 
sweat,  murmuring,  "  Oh  !  L^^odot  and 
D'Eymeris !  dead  !  dead  !  dead  !  and  I 
dishonored." 

The  abbe  turned  round,  and  perceiving 
his  brother  despairing  and  livid,  "  Come, 
come,"  said  he,  "it  is  a  blow  of  fate,  mon- 
sieur ;  we  must  not  lament  thus.  As  it  is 
not  effected,  it  is  because  God — " 

"Be  silent,  abbe!  be  silent  I "  cried 
Fouquet;  "your  excuses  are  blasphe- 
mies. Order  that  man  up  here,  and  let 
him  relate  the  details  of  this  horrible 
event." 


"  But,  brother—" 

"  Obe^',  monsieur  !  " 

The  abbe  made  a  sign,  and  in  half  a 
minute  the  step  of  the  man  was  heard 
upon  tlie  stairs.  At  the  same  time  Gour- 
ville  appeared  behind  Fouquet,  like  the 
guardian  angel  of  the  surintendant,  press- 
ing one  finger  upon  his  lips  to  enjoin  ob- 
servation even  amid  the  bursts  of  his 
grief.  The  minister  resumed  all  the  se- 
renity that  human  strength  could  leave  at 
the  disposal  of  a  heart  half  broken  with 
sorrow.     Danecamp  appeared. 

"Make  your  report,"  said  Gourville. 

"'Monsieur,"  replied  the  messenger, 
"  we  received  orders  to  carry  off  the 
prisoners,  and  to  cry  '  Vive  Colbert ! ' 
while  carrying  them  off." 

"  To  burn  them  alive,  was  it  not,  abbe  ?" 
interrupted  Gourville. 

"'  Yes,  yes,  the  order  was  given  to  Men- 
neville.  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  profitable  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 
burned  instead  of  being  hanged." 

"And  the  people  were  right,"  said  the 
abbe.     "Goon." 

"But,"  resumed  ^he  man,  "at  the  mo- 
ment 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  furj-,  the 
demon,  the  giant  of  whom  I  told  you,  and 
who,  we  had  been  informed,  was  the  pro- 
prietor 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  assistance  the 
musketeers  who  were  in  the  crowd,  leaped 
himself  from  the  window  of  the  first  stor3^ 
into  the  Place,  and  plied  his  sword  so  des- 


242 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


perately  that  the  victory  was  restored  to 
the  archers,  the  prisoners  were  retaken, 
and  Menneville  killed.  Wlien  once  recap- 
tured, the  condemned  were  executed  in 
three  minutes."  Fouquet,  in  spite  of  his 
self-command,  could  not  prevent  a  deep 
g-roan  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  g-arden,  and  I 
remained  at  my  post;  only  the  affair 
was  related  to  me  as  I  repeat  it.  I  was 
ordered,  when  once  the  thing  was  ended, 
to  come  at  best  speed  and  announce  to 
you  the  manner  in  which  it  finished.  Ac- 
cording to  this  order,  I  set  out,  full  gal- 
lop, 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  Gour- 
ville. 

"Partly,  monsieur,"  replied  Danecamp. 

"  Here   are   twenty  pistoles.     Beg-one, 

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  Fouquet,  who  had  re- 
mained motionless,  advanced  with  a  rapid 
step,  and  stood  between  the  abbe  and 
Gourville.  Both  of  them  at  tlie  same 
instant  opened  their  mouths  to  speak 
to  him.  **No  excuses,"  said  he,  "no  re- 
criminations against  anybody.  If  I  had 
not  been  a  false  friend,  I  should  not  have 
confided  to  any  one  the  care  of  deliver- 
ing Lyodot  and  D'Eymeris.  I  alone  am 
guilty  ;  to  me  alone  are  reproaches  and 
remorse  due.     Leave  me,  abbe." 

"And  yet,  monsieur,  3'ou  will  not  pre- 
vent me,"  replied  the  latter,  "  from  en- 
deavoring to  find  out  the  miserable  fellow 
who  has  intervened  for  the  advantag-e  of 
M.  Colbert,  in  this  so  well-arranged  af- 
fair ;  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  circumspection  and  silence. 
Yon  have  a  terrible  example  before  3'ou, 
g-entlemen;  no  reprisals,  I  forbid  them." 
"There  are  no  orders,"  grumbled  the 
abbe,  "which  will  prevent  me  from 
avenging  a  family  affront  upon  the  g-uilty 
person." 

"And  I,"  cried  .  Fouquet,  in  that  im- 
perative tone  to  which  one  feels  there  is 
nothing  to  reply,  "  if  j'ou  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  accordingl3^,abbe." 
The  abbe  colored  and  bowed.  Fouquet 
made  a  sign  to  Gourville  to  follow  him, 
and  was  already  directing-  his  steps  to- 
ward his  cabinet,  when  the  usher  an- 
nounced with  a  loud  voice  : 

"Monsieur  le   Chevalier  d'Artag-nan." 
"Who   is  he?"    said   Fouquet,    neg-li- 
gentl.y,  to  Gourville. 

"  An  ex-lieutenant  of  his  majesty's  mus- 
keteers," replied  Gourville,  in  the  same 
tone. 

Fouquet  did  not  even  take  the  trouble 
to  reflect,  and  resumed  his  walk. 

"I  beg-  3'Our  pardon,  monseigneur  !  " 
said  Gourville,  "  but  I  have  remembered  ; 
this  brave  man  iias  quitted  the  king's 
service,  and  probabl3'"  comes  to  receive  a 
quarter  of  some  pension  or  other." 

"Devil  take  him!"  said  Fouquet, 
"  why  does  he  choose  his  time  so  ill  ?  " 

"  Permit  me  then,  monseigneur,  to  an- 
nounce 3'our  refusal  to  him  ;  for  he  is  one 
of  my  acquaintance,  and  is  a  man  whom, 
in  our  present  circumstances,  it  would  be 
better  to  have  as  a  friend  than  an  en(Mny." 
"Answer  him  as  you  please,"  said  Fou- 
quet. 

"Ell !  good  Lord  !  "  said  the  abbe,  still 
full  of  malice,  like  an  egotistical  man  ; 
"  tell  him  there  is  no  monej',  particularly 
for  musketeers." 

But  scarcely  had  the  abbe  uttered  this 
imprudent  speech,  when  the  partlj^-open 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAQELONNE. 


243 


door  was  thrown  back,  and  D'Artagnan 
appeared. 

"Eh!  Monsieur  Fouquet,"  said  he,  "I 
w^as  well  aware  there  was  no  money  for 
musketeers  here.  Therefore  I  did  not 
come  to  obtain  an}^,  but  to  have  it  re- 
fused. That  being-  done,  receive  my 
thanks.  I  g-ive  you  g-ood-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."  Gour- 
ville  obe^^ed,  and  overtook  D'Artagnan  on 
the  stairs.  D'Artagnan,  hearing-  steps 
behind  him,  turned  round  and  perceived 
Gourville.  "  Mordioux  !  my  dear  mon- 
sieur," said  he,  "these  are  sad  lessons 
which  you  g-entlemen  of  finance  teach  us  ; 
— I  come  to  M.  Fouquet,  to  receive  a  sum 
accorded  by  his  majesty,  and  I  am  re- 
ceived 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'Artag- 
nan  ;  j'ou  said  you  were  going-  to  M. 
Colbert's  ?" 

"  I  certainly  am  going  there,  were  it 
only  to  ask  satisfaction  of  the  people  who 
try  to  burn  houses,  crying  '  Vive  Col- 
bert ! '  " 

Gourville  pricked  up  his  ears.  ''Oh, 
oh  !"  said  he,  ''you  allude  to  what  has 
just  liappened  at  the  Greve  ?  " 

"Yes,  certainly." 

''And  in  what  did  that  which  has  taken 
place  concern  3'ou  ?  " 

"  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  Imag-e-de-Notre- 
Dame  3'ours,  then  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  this  week." 

"Well,  then,  are  you  the  brave  cap- 
tain, are  you  the  valiant  blade,  who  dis- 
persed 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  m}'^  duty  to  have  the  orders 
of  the  king  accomplished.  As  a  pro- 
prietor, it  is  my  interest  m}'  house  should 
not  be  burned.  I  have  then  at  the  same 
time  attended  to  the  laws  of  interest 
and  dut}^  in  replacing  Messrs.  Lyodot 
and  d'Eymeris  in  the  hands  of  the 
archers." 

"  Then  it  was  j^ou  who  threw  the  man 
out  of  the  window  ?  " 

"It  was  I,  myself,"  replied  D'Artag-- 
nan,  modestly. 

"'  And  3'-ou  who  killed  Menneville  ?  " 

"  I  had  that  misfortune,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan, bowing-  like  a  man  who  is  being 
cong-ratulated. 

"  It  was  you,  then,  in  short,  who 
caused  the  two  condemned  persons  to 
be  hanged  ?" 

"  Instead  of  being  burned,  yes,  mon- 
sieur, and  I  am  proud  of  ib.  I  saved  the 
poor  devils  from  horrible  tortures.  Un- 
derstand, m}^  dear  Monsieur  de  Gourville, 
that  the^"  wanted  to  burn  them  alive  !  It 
exceeds  imagination  !  " 

"Go,  m}'^  dear  Monsieur  d'Artagnan, 
go,"  said  Gourville,  anxious  to  spare 
Fouquet  the  sight  of  a  man  who  had  just 
caused  him  such  profound  grief. 

"No,"  said  Fouquet,  who  had  heard  all 
from  the  door  of  the  antechamber  ;  "  not 
so  ;  on  the  contrary.  Monsieur  d'Artag- 
nan, come  in." 

D'Artagnan  wiped  from  the  hilt  of  his 
sword  a  last  bloody  trace,  which  had  es- 
caped his  notice,  and  returned.  He  then 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  these  three 
men,  wiiose  countenances  wore  very  dif- 
ferent expressions  :  with  the  abbe  it  was 
anger,  wdth  Gourville  it  was  stupor,  with 
Fouquet  it  was  dejection. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Monsieur  le  Minis- 
tre,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "but  my  time  is 
short ;  I  have  to  go  to  the  office  of  the  in- 
tendant,  to  have  an  explanation  with  Mon- 
sieur 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  inconsiderate- 


244 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


ly,  monsieur,  I  know,  because  I  heard  it," 
said  the  minister  ;  "  a  man  of  your  merit 
ought  to  be  known  by  everybody."  D'Ar- 
tagnan  bowed.  "Have  you  an  order?" 
added  Fouquet. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Give  it  me,  I  will  pay  you  myself ; 
come  with  me."  He  made  a  sig-n  to  Gour- 
ville  and.  the  abbe,  who  remained  in  the 
chamber  where  they  were.  He  led  D'Ar- 
tagnan  into  his  cabinet.  As  soon  as  the 
door  was  shut — "  How  much  is  due  to 
j'^ou,  monsieur  ?  " 

"  Why,  something-  like  five  thousand 
livres,  monseigneur." 

"  For  your  arrears  of  pay  ?  " 

"  For  a  quarter's  pa3\'' 

"  A  quarter  consisting  of  five  thousand 
livres  !  "  said  Fouquet,  fijcing  upon  the 
musketeer  a  searching  look.  "  Does  the 
king,  then,  give  you  twenty  thousand 
livres  a  j^ear  ?  ' ' 

*'Yes,  monseigneur,  twenty  thousand 
livres  a  year;  do  3'ou  tliink  it  is  too 
much?" 

*'  I  ?  "  cried  Fouquet,  and  he  smiled  bit- 
terly. '•  If  I  had  any  knowledge  of  man- 
kind, if  I  were — instead  of  being  a  frivo- 
lous, inconsequent,  and  vain  spirit — of  a 
prudent  and  reflective  spirit ;  if,  in  a  word, 
I  had,  as  certain  persons  have  known  how, 
regulated  my  life,  3^ou  would  not  receive 
twenty  thousand  livres  a  year,  but  a  hun- 
dred thousand,  and  you  would  not  belong 
to  the  king,  but  to  me." 

D'Artagnan  colored  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  intoxi- 
cated by  it.  The  surintendant  terminated 
this  speech  b}^  opening  a  drawer,  and  tak- 
ing 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.  Mon- 
sieur le  Chevalier ;  and  I  hope  j'^ou  will 
not  bear  me  any  malice  on  account  of  the 
rude  reception  \ny  brother  gave  you.  He 
is  of  a  sour,  capricious  disposition." 

"Monsieur,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "be- 
lieve 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 
favor." 

"  Oh,  monsieur." 

Fouquet  drew  from  his  finger  a  ring 
worth  about  a  thousand  pistoles.  ' '  Mon- 
sieur," said  he,  "this  stone  was  given  me 
hy  a  friend  of  mj'  childhood,  bj'^.a  man  to 
whom  you  have  rendered  a  great  ser- 
vice." 

"  A  service — I?"  said  the  musketeer; 
"  I  have  rendered  a  service  to  one  of  your 
friends?" 

"  You  cannot  have  forgotten  it,  mon- 
sieur, 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 !  Mon- 
sieur d'Artagnan,  in  return  for  the  ser- 
vice 3^ou  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  da\'  of  mourning ;  hereafter  j^ou  will, 
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  re  voir."  And  the  minister 
quitted  the  cabinet,  leaving  in  the  hands 
of  the  musketeer  the  ring  and  the  twenty 
thousand  livres. 

"Oh  !  oh  !"  said  D'Artagnan,  after  a 
moment's  dark  reflection.  "Do  I  under- 
stand wliat  this  means  ?  Mordioux !  I 
can  imderstand  so  far,  he  is  a  gallant 
man  ;  I  will  go  and  explain  matters  with 
M.  Colbert."     And  he  went  out. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


245 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

OF  THE  NOTABLE  DIFFERENCE  D'ARTAGNAN 
FINDS  BETWEEN  MONSIEUR  THE  INTEN- 
DANT  AND  MONSIEUR  THE  SURINTEN- 
DANT. 

M.  Colbert  resided  Rue  Neuve  des 
Petits-Champs,  in  a  liouse  which  had  be- 
longed to  Beautru.  The  leg's  of  D'Ar- 
tagnan  [cleared  the  distance  in  a  short 
quarter  of  an  hour.  When  he  arrived  at 
the  residence  of  the  new  favorite,  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  con- 
dition ;  the}'  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  pleas- 
ure 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'Ar- 
tagnan  made  his  appearance  just  as  the 
chief  of  the  watch  was  giving  his  report. 
D'Artagnan  stood  close  to  the  door,  be- 
hind the  archers.  That  oflicer  took  Col- 
bert on  one  side,  in  spite  of  his  resistance 
and  the  contraction  of  his  great  eyebrows. 
*^In  case,"  said  he,  "you  really  desired, 
monsieur,  that  the  people  should  do  jus- 
tice on  the  two  traitors,  it  would  have 
been  wise  to  warn  us  of  it ;  for  indeed, 
monsieur,  in  spite  of  our  regret  at  dis- 
pleasing you,  or  thwarting  ^^our  views, 
we  had  our  orders  to  execute." 

''  Triple  fool !  "  replied  Colbert,  furi- 
ously shaking  his  hair,  thick  and  black 
as  a  mane ;  ''  what  are  vow  telling  me 
there  ?  What  !  that  I  could  have  had 
an  idea  of  a  riot  !  Are  j'ou  mad  or 
drunk  ?  " 

"But,  monsieur,  they  ci^ied  'Vive  Col- 
bert ! '  "  replied  the  trembling  watch. 
"  A  handful  of  conspirators — " 
"No,  no  ;  a  mass  of  people." 
"Ah!    indeed,"  said  Colbert,  expand- 
ing.    "A  mass    of    people    cried    'Vive 
Colbert  !  '     Are  you  certain  of  what  you 
sav.  monsieur  ?  " 


"We  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  open 
our  ears,  or  rather  to  close  them,  so  ter- 
rible were  the  cries." 

"'  And  this  was  from  the  people,  the 
real  people  ?  " 

"'  Certainh',  monsieur ;  only  these  real 
people  beat  us." 

"  Oh  I  \eYy  well,"  continued  Colbert, 
thoughtfull3\  "  Then  j'ou  suppose  it  was 
the  people  alone  who  wished  to  burn  the 
condemned  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  3'es,  monsieur  !  " 

"That  is  quite  another  thing.  You 
strongl}'  resisted,  then  ?  " 

"  We  had  three  men  stifled,  monsieur." 

"  But  you  killed  nobod}'  yourselves  ?  " 

"Monsieur,  a  few  of  the  rioters  were 
left  upon  the  square,  and  one  among 
them  was  not  a  common  man." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"A  certain  Menneville,  upon  whom  the 
police  have  a  long  time  had  an  eye." 

"Menneville!"  cried  Colbert,  "what, 
he  who  killed,  Rue  de  la  Hochette,  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  mad- 
man." 

The  brow  of  Colbert  became  cloud}'-  and 
wrinkled.  A  kind  of  ambitious  glory 
which  had  lighted  his  face  was  extin- 
guished, like  the  light  of  those  glow- 
worms which  we  crush  beneath  the  grass. 
"What  then  do  you  sa3%"  resumed  the 
deceived  intendant,  "  that  the  initiative 
came  from  the  people  ?  Menneville  was 
my  enemj-;  I  would  have  had  him  hanged, 
and  he  knew  it  well.  Menneville  belonged 
to  the  Abbe  Fouquet — all  the  affair  origi- 
nated 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  gentlemanh' 
man." 

"And,"  continued  Colbert,  "are  you 
quite  sure  Menneville  is  dead  ?  " 

D'Artagnan  thought  the  time  was  come 
for  him  to  make  his  appearance.     "'  Per- 


246 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


fectly,  monsieur,"  replied  he,  advancing- 
suddenly. 

"Oh!  is  that  you,  monsieur?"  said 
Colbert. 

''In  person,"  replied  the  musketeer, 
with  his  deliberate  tone,  "  it  appears 
that  j^ou  had  in  Menneville  a  pretty  little 
enem3\" 

"  It  was  not  I,  monsieur,  who  had  an 
enemy,"  replied  Colbert;  ''it  was  the 
king-." 

"Double  brute!"  thought  D'Artag-- 
nan,  "  to  think  to  play  the  great  man 
and  the  hypocrite  with  me.  Well,"  con- 
tip-ued  he  to  Colbert,  "  I  am  very  happy 
to  have  rendered  so  good  a  service  to 
the  king ;  will  you  take  upon  3^ou  to  tell 
his  majesty.  Monsieur  I'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  be  easy  for  3'^ou  to  announce  to 
his  majesty  that  it  was  I,  who,  being 
there  by  chance,  did  justice  upon  Menne- 
ville, and  restored  things  to  order." 

Colbert  opened  his  eyes,  and  interro- 
gated the  chief  of  the  watch  with  a  look 
— "Ah  !  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  ex- 
plained, and  better  for  j^ou  than  for  any 
other." 

"  You  are  in  error.  Monsieur  I'Intend- 
ant, 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  honor  of  your 
visit,  then  ?  " 

"  Simply  to  this  :  the  king  ordered  me 
to  come  to  you." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Colbert,  recovering  him- 
self, 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, 
insolentl.y  enough,  and  finding  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  directed  his  steps  toward  the  door  in 
quick  time.  Colbert  was  struck  with  his 
pointed  rudeness,  to  which  he  was  not  ac- 
customed. In  general,  men  of  the  sword, 
when  they  came  to  his  office,  had  such  a 
want  of  money,  that  though  their  feet  had 
taken  root  in  the  marble,  they  would  not 
have  lost  their  patience.  Was  D'Artag- 
nan 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  ser- 
vice, and  that  too  recexAAy,  for  it  to  be 
already  forgotten.  Therefore  Colbert 
thought  it  would  bo  better  to  shake  off 
his  arrogance,  and  call  D'Artagnan  back. 
"Ho  !  Monsieur  d'x\rtagnan,"  cried  Col- 
bert, "  what !  are  you  leaving  me  thus  ?  " 

D'Artagnan  turned  round  :  "  Whj' 
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  j^ou  give  a 
sword-thrust,  when  you  are  required,  I, 
on  my  part,  pay  when  an  order  is  pre- 
sented to  me.     Present  yours." 

"It  is  useless,  my  dear  Monsieur  Col- 
bert," 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." — Col- 
bert became  pale. 

"Explain  3'ourself,  then,"  said  he  in  a 
stifled  voice — "if  you  are  paid,  why  do 
3^ou  show  me  that  paper? " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAQELONNE. 


247 


I 


"  In  consequence  of  the  word  of  order 
of  which  you  spoke  to  me  so  ing-eniously 
just  now,  dear  M.  Colber-t ;  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.  Fouquet ;  the  surintendant  will, 
perhaps,  have  no  money,  then  you  will  go 
and  draw  it  of  M.  Colbert.'  " 

The  countenance  of  M.  Colbert  bright- 
ened for  a  moment ;  but  it  was  with  his 
unfortunate  pli3^siognom3'  as  with  a 
stonii}^  sky,  sometimes  radiant,  some- 
times dark  as  night,  according  as  the 
lightning"    gleams    or    tiie   cloud   passes. 

"  Ell  !  and  was  there  any  mone}''  in  the 
surintendant's  coffers?"     asked  he. 

"  Why,  yes,  he  could  not  be  badly  ofif 
for  mone^',"  replied  D'Artagnan — '-'it 
may  be  believed,  since  M.  Fouquet,  in- 
stead of  pajnng-  me  a  quarter,  of  five 
thousand  livres — " 

••'  A  quarter,  of  five  thousand  livres  !  " 
cried  Colbert,  struck,  as  Fouquet  had 
been,  with  the  largeness  of  the  sum  des- 
tined to  pa^^  a  soldier  ;  "  why,  that  would 
be  a  pension  of  tvventj''  thousand  livres  !  " 

"Exactl3^,  M,  Colbert.  Peste !  you 
reckon  like  old  Pythag-oras ;  3'es,  twenty 
thousand  livres." 

"  Ten  times  the  appointment  of  an  in- 
tendant  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  expec- 
tation of  the  king,  the  surintendant  paid 
you,  did  he  ?  " 

'•'  In  the  same  manner  as,  in  opposition 
to  the  king's  expectation,  3'ou  refused  to 
pay  me." 

"I  did  not  refuse,  monsieur;  I  onl}'^ 
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 
totalit}'  of  the  sum,  sa^'ing-  that,  for  the 
king,  his  coffers  were  always  full." 

'•'  The  totality  of  the  sum  !  M.  Fou- 
quet has  given  3'ou  twenty  thousand 
livres  instead   of  five  thousand?" 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  And  what  for  ?  " 

"  In  order  to  spare  me  three  visits  to 
the  money-chest  of  the  surintendant ;  so 
that  I  have  the  twent\^  thousand  livres 
in  my  pocket  in  good  new  coin.  You  see, 
then,  that  I  am  able  to  go  awaj'-  without 
standing  in  need  of  .you,  having  come  here 
onh^  for  form's  sake."  And  D'Artagnan 
slapped  his  hand  upon  his  pocket,  with  a 
laugh  which  disclosed  to  Colbert  thirty- 
two  magnificent  teeth,  as  white  as  teeth 
of  twentA'-five  years  old,  and  which 
seemed  to  say  in  their  language,  "  Serve 
up  to  us  thirty-two  little  Colberts,  and 
we  will  g-rind  them  willingl\\"  The  ser- 
pent is  as  brave  as  the  lion,  the  hawk  as 
courageous  as  the  eag-le — 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 
the}'-  have  to  defend  themselves.  Colbert 
was  not  frightened  at  the  thirty-two 
teeth  of  D'Artagnan  ;  he  recovered,  and 
suddenly,  "Monsieur,"  said  he,  "Mon- 
sieur le  Surintendant  has  done  what  he 
had  no  right  to  do." 

"  V/hat  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  replied 
D'Artagnan. 

"  I  mean  that  your  note — will  you  let 
me  see  3'our  note,  if  3'Ou  please  ?  " 

"Very  willingly  :  here  it  is." 

Colbert  seized  the  paper  with  an  eager- 
ness which  the  musketeer  did  not  remark 
without  uneasiness,  and  particularly  with- 
out a  certain  degree  of  regret  at  having- 
trusted  him  with  it.  "  Well,  monsieur, 
the  royal  order  says  this  :  '  At  sig-ht,  I 
command  that  there  be  paid  to  M.  d'Ar- 
tagnan  the  sum  of  five  thousand  livres, 
forming  a  quarter  of  the  pension  I  have 
made  him.'  " 

"  So,  in  fact,  it  is  written,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan, affecting  calmness. 

"Very  Avell ;  the  king  only  owed  .you 
five  thousand  livres.  Why  has  more  been 
g-iven  to  .you  ?  " 


248 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


""  Because  there  was  more,  and  M.  Fou- 
quet  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,  mon- 
sieur, when  you  have  a  thousand  livres  to 
pay,  what  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  never  have  a  thousand  livres  to 
pay,"  replied  D'Artag-nan. 

"Once  more,"  said  Colbert,  irritated — 
''once  more,  if  3'ou  had  any  sum  to  paj', 
would  you  not  pa3^  what  you  ought  ?  " 

"  That  only  proves  one  thing-,"  said 
D'Artag-nan,  "  and  that  is,  that  you  have 
3'^our  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'Artag-nan  flashed.  "  What 
is  not  due  to  me  yet,  you  meant  to  s-a,y, 
M.  Colbert;  for  if  I  had  received  what 
was  not  due  to  me  at  all,  I  should  have 
committed  a  theft." 

Colbert  made  no  reply  to  this  subtlety. 
"  You  then  owe  fifteen  thousand  livres  to 
the  public  chest,"  said  he,  carried  away 
loy  his  jealous  ardor. 

"  Then  you  must  g-ive  me  credit  for 
them,"  replied  D'Artagnan,  with  his  im- 
perceptible 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  comptabilite,  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  re- 
ceipts for  what  he  has  paid." 

"  Ah  !  now  I  understand  why  you  have 
taken  that  paper,  M.  Colbert  !  " 

Colbert  did  not  perceive  all  that  there 
was  of  a  threatening  character  in  his 
name  pronounced  in  a  certain  manner. 
"You  shall  see  hereafter  what  use  I  will 
make  of  it,"  said  he,  holding  up  the  paper 
in  his  fingers. 

"Oh!"  said  D'Artagnan,  snatching 
the  paper  from  him  with  a  rapid  move- 
ment;  "I  understand  it  perfectly  well, 
M.  Colbert ;  I  have  no  occasion  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  !  3'ou  must  not  be  particu- 
lar about  the  manners  of  a  soldier  !  " 
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. 

For  a  man  who  had  seen  so  manj^ 
much  more  dangerous  ones,  the  position 
of  D'Artagnan  wdth  respect  to  M.  Colbert 
was  onl}"-  comic.  D'Artagnan,  therefore, 
did  not  deny  Mmself  the  satisfaction  of 
laughing  at  the  expense  of  Monsieur  I'ln- 
tendant,  from  the  Rue  des  Petits-Champs 
to  the  Rue  des  Lombards.  It  was  a  great 
while  since  D'Artagnan  had  laughed  so 
long  together.  He  was  still  laughing 
when  Planchet  appeared,  laughing  like- 
wise, at  the  door  of  his  house ;  for  Plan- 
chet, since  the  return  of  his  patron,  since 
the  entrance  of  the  English  guineas, 
passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  doing 
what  D'Artagnan  had  only  done  from 
Rue-Neuve  des  I^etits-Champs  to  the  Rue 
des  Lombards. 

"You  are  come,  then,  my  dear  mas- 
ter ?  "  said  Planchet. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


249 


"No,  m}'  friend,"  replied  the  muske- 
teer; ''I  am  going-,  and  that  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  Plan- 
chet,  ''you  know  very  well  that  j^our 
horse  is  the  jewel  of  the  family  ;  that  my 
lads  are  caressing  it  all  day,  and  cram- 
ming 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." 

"Very  well,  Planchet,  that  is  all  right. 
Now,  then,  I  pass  to  what  concerns  me — 
my  supper  ?  " 

"  Read}'.  A  smoking  roast  joint,  white 
wine,  crayfish,  and  fresh-gathered  cher- 
ries.    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.  Mordioux !  speak  freelj',  and 
quickly." 

"Well,  this  is  it,"  replied  Planchet: 
"  3'ou  appear  to  me  to  be  going  on  some 
expedition  or  other." 

"  I  don't  say  that  I  am  not." 

"  Then  3'ou  have  some  new  idea  ?  " 

"  That  is  possible,  too,  Planchet." 

"  Then  there  will  be  a  fresh  capital  to 
be  ventured.  I  will  laj'^  down  fifty  thou- 
sand livres  upon  the  idea  you  are  about 
to  carr^^  out."  And  so  saying,  Planchet 
rubbed  his  hands  one  against  the  other 
W'ith  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  counselor  :  she 


carries  away  her  man,  as  Satin  did  Jesus, 
to  the  mountain,  and  when  once  she  has 
shown  to  an  unfortunate  all  the  kingdoms 
of  the  earth,  she  is  able  to  repose  herself, 
knowing  full  Avell  that  she  has  left  her 
companion  Envy  to  gnaw  his  heart. 
Planchet  had  tasted  of  riches  easily  ac- 
quired, and  was  never  afterward  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  recommen- 
dations, each  more  affectionate  than  the 
others.  He  would  not  have  been  sony, 
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  confiden- 
tial escape  him.  The  evening  passed  thus. 
After  supper  the  portmanteau  occupied 
D'Artagnan  ;  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  remorse  ;  he  closed  his  eyes  five  min- 
utes after  he  had  blown  out  his  lamp. 
Man}'  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  re- 
flection till  the  next  day,  for  fear,  he  said, 
not  to  be  fresh  when  he  wanted  to  be  so. 
The  day  came.  The  Rue  des  Lombards 
had  its  share  of  the  caresses  of  Aurora 
with  the  rosy  fingers,  and  D'Artagnan 
arose  like  Aurora.  He  did  not  awaken 
anybod}' ;  he  placed  his  portmanteau 
under  his  arm,  descended  the  stairs 
without  making  one  of  them  creak,  and 
without  disturbing  one  of  the  sonorous 
snorings  stored  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  diplomatic  affairs  which  solicited  his 
attention ;  for,  in  the  morning,  in  the 
freshness  and  mild  twilight,  his  ideas  de- 


250 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


veloped  themselves  in  puritj-  and    abun- 
dance.    In  the  first  place,  he  passed  be- 
fore the  house  of  Fouquet,  and  threw  into 
a  large   g-aping-   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  Fouquet,   it 
had  not  even  been  divined  b^^  Planchet, 
who  in  divination  was  equal  to  Calchas  or 
the   Pythian  Apollo.      D'Artagnan   thus 
sent  back  the  order  to  Fouquet,  without 
compromising  himself,  and  without  hav- 
ing   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  atmosphere,  breathe;  and  let  us  be 
verj  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  coun- 
sels, 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.   Fouquet 
presents  himself.     What  is  M.  Fouquet  ? 
— M.    Fouquet,"    replied   D'Artagnan  to 
himself,  "  is  a  handsome  man,  very  much 
beloved  by  the  women  ;  a  generous  man, 
very  much  beloved  by  the  poets ;  a  man 
of   wit,    much    execrated   by  pretenders. 
Well,  now  I  am  neither  woman,  poet,  nor 
pretender ;  I  neither  love  nor  hate  Mon- 
sieur ie  Surintendant.  I  find  myself,  there- 
fore, in  the  same  position  in  which  M.  de 
Turenne  found  himself  when  opposed  to 
the  Prince  de  Conde  at  Jargeau,    Gien, 
and  the  Faubourg  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. 
Fouquet  does  not  wish.     Then  what  does 


M.  Fouquet  wish  ? — Oh,  that  is  serious — 
M.  Fouquet  wishes  precisely  for  all  which 
the  king  wishes." 

This  monologue  ended,  D'Artagnan  be- 
gan to  laugh,  while  making  his  whip 
whistle  in  the  air.  He  was  already  on 
the  high  road,  frightening  the  birds  in  the 
hedges,  listening  to  the  livres  clinking  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  dom- 
inant 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,  which  was  called,  I  think^ 
'Much  Ado  about  Nothing.'  " 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 


THE  JOURNEY. 


It  was  perhaps  the  fiftieth  time  since 
the  da}^  on  which  we  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  fortune  and  death.  The  one — 
that  is  to  sa}'-,  death — had  constantly  re- 
treated before  him,  as  if  afraid  of  him; 
the  other — that  is  to  say,  fortune — 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  skillful  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 
Ro3'al;  and  he  had  made  a  collection,  en 
passant,  in  the  society  of  Athos  and  Ara- 
mis,  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


251 


first  years  of  his  life  liad  for  a  long-  time 
been  considered  b}'  hi  in  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  these 
principles,  which,  as  we  have  said,  had 
regulated  the  thirtj^'-five  first  3^ears  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'Artag-nan,  the  events  of  the  Place  de 
Greve  might  have  served  as  a  reply. 
Many  consciences  would  have  been  satis- 
fied with  them,  but  D'Artag-nan  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 
prett.y  freel}^  on  the  Place  de  Greve,  to  be 
satisfied  of  m^^  bravery,"  D'Artagnan 
had  himself  replied.  *' Gentl}'-,  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  burned  in  Bretagne ;  I  have 
no  treasure  there  that  can  be  taken  from 
me. — No  ;  but  I  have  m}^  skin  ;  that  pre- 
cious skin  of  M.  d'Artagnan,  w'hich  to 
him  is  worth  more  than  all  the  houses  and 
all  the  treasures  of  the  world.  That  skin 
to  which  I  cling  above  everj^thing,  because  . 
it  is,  everything  considered,  the  binding 
of  a  body  which  incloses  a  heart  very 
warm  and  ready  to  fight,  and,  conse- 
quently, to  live.  Then,  I  do  desire  to 
live  ;  and,  in  realitj',  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  baton  of  a  marechal  ?  Then,  I  really 
don't  know  if  there  will  be,  from  that  mo- 
ment, 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  marechal,  as  his  father.  King 
Louis  XIII.,  made  a  duke  and  constable 
of  Albert  de  Luj'nes  ?  Am  I  not  as  brave, 
and  much  more  intelligent,  than  that 
imbecile  De  Yitry  ?  Ah  !  that's  exactly 
what  will  prevent  my  advancement :  I 
have  too  much  wit.  Luckil3^  if  there  is 
any  justice  in  this  world,  fortune  owes  me 
many  compensations.  She  owes  me,  cer- 
tainly, a  recompense  for  all  I  did  for  Anne 
of  Austria,  and  an  indemnification  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 
determining  to  reign.  May  God  keep  him 
in  that  illustrious  road  !  For,  if  he  is  re- 
solved to  reign,  he  will  want  me ;  and  if 
he  wants  me,  he  v/ill  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. Onl\'  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  spe- 
cies I  You  hoped,  for  an  instant,  that  3'ou 
had  not  a  heart,  and  now  you  find  3'ou 
have  one — bad  courtier  as  thou  art — and 
even  one  of  tlie  most  seditious.  You  have 
a  heart  which  speaks  to  j'ou  in  favor  of 
M.  Fouquet.  And  what  is  M.  Fouquet 
when  the  king  is  in  question  ? — A  conspir- 
ator, 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.  Fou- 
quet  has   been   guilty   of   an   armed    re- 


252 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


volt.  Thus,  while  the  king-  vaguely 
suspects  M.  Fouquet  of  rebellion,  I 
know  it— I  could  prove  that  M.  Fouquet 
has  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.  Fou- 
quet'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 
hfe. 

••'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.  Fouquet.  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  I  Forward,  for  his  majesty  Louis 
XIV.  !— Forward  !  " 

These  reflections  were  the  only  impedi- 
ments which  were  able  to  retard  the  prog- 
ress   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  forever.     The  day  after  his 
departure  from  Paris,  he  was  left  at  Char- 
tres,  at  the  house  of  an  old  friend  D'Artag- 
nan had  met  with  in  an  hotelier  of  that 
cit3' .     From  that  moment  the  musketeer 
traveled  on  post-horses.     Thanks  to  this 
mode  of    locomotion,   he    traversed    the 
space    which    separates    Chartres    from 
Chateaubriand.     In  the  last  of  these  two 
cities,  far  enough  from  the  coast  to  pre- 
vent 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  pres- 
ent a  rather  poor  star  in   the  heaven  of 
ro^^alty,  would  one  day  make  that  star  his 
emblem;  the  messenger   of  Louis  XIV., 
w^e  say,  quitted  the  post  and  purchased  a 
bidet  of  the  meanest  appearance — one  of 
those  animals  which  an  officer  of  cavalry 
would  never  choose,  for  fear  of  being  dis- 
graced.    Excepting  the   color,   this   new 
acquisition  recalled  to  the  mind  of  D'Ar- 


tagnan the  famous  orange-colored  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'Artag- 
nan who  was  traveling — it  was  a  good 
man  clothed  in  an  iron-graj'  justau corps, 
brown  haut-de-chausses,  holding  the  me- 
dium between  a  priest  and  a  layman;  that 
w^hich  brouglit  him  nearest  to  the  church- 
man 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  metamorphosis ;  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'Artagnan,  I  will  be  Agnan, 
short ;  that  is  a  concession  which  I  natur- 
ally owe  to  my  gray  coat,  my  round  hat, 
and  my  rust^^  calotte." 

Monsieur  D'Artagnan  traveled,  then, 
prettj'^  easily  upon  Furet,  who  ambled 
like  a  true  butter-woman's  pad,  and  who, 
-with  his  amble,  managed  cheerfull}'  about 
twelve  leagues  a  day,  upon  four  spindle- 
shanks,  of  which  the  practiced  eye.  of 
D'Artagnan  had  appreciated  the  strength 
and  safety  beneath  the  thick  mass  of  hair 
which  covered  them.  Jogging  along,  the 
traveler  took  notes,  studied  the  country'', 
which  he  traversed  reserved  and  silent, 
ever  seeking  the  pretext  the  most  plaus- 
ible 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  countr^^,  in  this  ancient 
duclw  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


253 


for  them  upon  the  political  current.  Their 
ancient  dukes  no  longer  g-overned  them  ; 
but  it  was  a  void — 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  coun- 
try, even  within  sight  of  that  mj'-sterious 
Isle,  legends  and  traditions  consecrate  its 
wonders.  Every  one  did  not  penetrate 
into  it :  the  isle,  of  an  extent  of  six  leagues 
in  length,  and  six  in  breadth,  was  a  seig- 
norial  property,  which  the  people  had  for 
a  long  time  respected,  covered  as  it  was 
with  the  name  of  Retz,  so  much  redoubted 
in  the  countr\\  Shortly  after  the  erec- 
tion of  this  seigneurie  into  a  marquisate, 
Belle-Isle  passed  to  M.  Fouquet.  The 
celebritj"  of  the  isle  did  not  date  from  yes- 
terday ;  its  name,  or  rather  its  qualifica- 
tion, is  traced  back  to  the  remotest  an- 
tiquity :  the  ancients  called  it  Kalonese, 
from  the  two  Greek  words,  signif\'ing 
beautiful  isle.  Thus,  at  a  distance  of 
eighteen  hundred  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  learned  all  this  without 
appearing  the  least  in  the  world  aston- 
ished .  He  also  learned  that  the  best  waj'- 
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  dis- 
covered, besides,  since  his  departure  from 
Chateaubriand,  that  nothing  would  be 
impossible  for  Furet  under  the  impulsion 
of  M.  Agnan,  and  nothing  to  M.  Agnan 
upon  the  initiative  of  Furet.    He  prepared. 


then,  to  sup  oil  a  teal  and  a  tourteau, 
in  a  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  PRINT- 
ER FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  PRINTING  HIS  OWN 
VERSES. 

Before  taking  his  place  at  table,  D'Ar- 
tagnan  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  ques- 
tioner in  the  hostelry  of  La  Roche-Ber- 
nard. At  the  moment,  there  were  in  the 
house,  in  the  first  story,  two.  travelers 
occupied  also  in  preparations  for  supper, 
or  wath  their  supper  itself.  D'Artagnan 
had  seen  their  nags  in  the  stable,  and 
their  equipages  in  the  salle.  One  trav- 
eled with  a  lackey,  as  a  sort  .of  person- 
age ;  —  two  Perche  mares,  sleek,  sound 
beasts,  were  their  means  of  locomotion. 
The  other,  rather  a  little  fellow,  a  trav- 
eler of  meager  appearance,  wearing  a 
dust^'  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  color,  that 
D'Artagnan  might  have  gone  a  hundred 
miles  without  finding  a  better  match. 
This  cart  contained  divers  large  packets 
wrapped  up  in  pieces  of  old  stuff. 

"That  traveler  there,"  said  D'Artag- 
nan to  himself,  "  is  the  man  for  mj-  money. 
He  will  do,  he  suits  me  ;  I  ought  to  do  for 
and  suit  him ;  M.  Agnan,  with  the  gray 
doublet  and  the  rusty  calotte,  is  not  un- 
worthy of  supping  with  the  gentleman  of 
the  old  boots  and  the  old  horse."  This  be- 
ing said;  D'Artagnan  called  the  host,  and 
desired  him  to  send  his  teal,  tourteau,  and 


254 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


cider  up  to  the  chamber  of  the  g-entleman 
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'Ar- 
tag-nan  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  yow  are,  a  traveler ;  I  know  no  one 
in  the  hotel,  and  I  have  the  bad  habit  of 
losing-  m}'  spirits  when  I  eat  alone ;  so 
that  ms''  repast  appears  a  bad  one  to  me, 
and  does  not  nourish  me.  Your  face, 
which  I  saw  just  now,  when  3^ou  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  hy 
side  in  the  stable,  where  they  appear  to 
agree  amazingly  well  together.  I  there- 
fore, monsieur,  cannot  see  why  the  mas- 
ters should  be  separated  when  the  horses 
are  united.  In  consequence,  I  am  come 
to  request,  the  pleasure  of  being  admitted 
to  your  table.  My  name  is  Agnan,  at 
your  service,  monsieur,  the  unworth}^ 
steward  of  a  rich  seigneur,  who  wishes  to 
purchase  some  salt-mines  in  this  country, 
and  sends  me  to  examine  his  future  acqui- 
sitions. In  truth,  monsieur,  I  should  be 
well  pleased  if  my  countenance  were  as 
agreeable  to  you  as  yours  is  to  me ;  for, 
upon  my  honor,  I  am  quite  j^ours." 

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  3'ears,  bonhomie  in  his 
features  collectively,  but  a  little  cunning 
in  his  look. 

*'  One  would  say,"  thought  D'Artagnan, 
"that  this  merry  fellow  has  never  exer- 
cised 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  honor  ; 


not  that  I  am  ever  ennuye,  for  I  have," 
added  he,  smiling,  "  a  company  which 
amuses  me  alwa\'s  ;  but,  never  mind  that, 
I  am  ver}'  happ3'-  to  receive  3'ou."  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 
sa3',  "  the  host  is  bringing  me  up  a  pretty 
piece  of  roasted  poultr}^  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  para- 
site:  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'Artag-nan 
spoke,  the  host  appeared,  bearing  the  an- 
nounced 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  wonder- 
ful thing." 

"  How  so  ?  "  replied  the  stranger,  with 
his  mouth  full. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

The  stranger  gave  a  short  ti'uce  to  the 
movement  of  his  jaws,  in  order  to  hear 
the  better. 

"In  the  first  place,"  continued  D'Ar- 
tagnan, "instead  of  one  candle,  Avhich 
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  3"ou  eat  my  tourteau 
in  preference,  while  I,  in  preference,  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  compan3%" 

"  Trul.v,  monsieur,  3'ou  are  ver3'^  jovial," 
said  1  he  unknown  cheerfulh'. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  jovial,  as  all  people 
arc   who  carr^'^   nothing   in   their  heads. 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELOXNE. 


255 


Oh  !  I  can  see  it  is  quite  another  sort  of 
thing-  with  you,"  continued  D'Artag-nan  ; 
"  I  can  read  in  3'our  ej'es  all  sorts  of 
g-enius." 

"  Oh,  monsieur  !  " 

''Come,  confess  one  thing-." 

''What  is  that?" 

"  That  you  are  a  learned  man." 

"Mafoi!  monsieur." 

"Hein?" 

"Almost." 

"Come,  then  !  " 

"  I  am  an  author." 

"  There  !  "  cried  D'Artagnan,  clapping- 
his  hands,  "  I  knew  I  could  not  be  de- 
ceived !     It  is  a  miracle  !  " 

"  Monsieur — " 

"What  !  shall  I  have  the  honor  of  pass- 
ing- the  evening  in  the  society  of  an  author, 
of  a  celebrated  author,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  unknown,  blushing, 
"celebrated,  monsieur,  celebrated  is  not 
the  word." 

"Modest!"  cried  D'Artag-nan,  tran- 
sported, "  he  is  modest  !  "  Then,  turning- 
toward  the  stranger,  with  a  character  of 
blunt  bonhomie:  "But  tell  me  at  least 
the  name  of  3'our  works,  monsieur ;  for 
you  will  please  to  observe  yon  have  not 
told  me  3'ours,  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 
honor ;  and  I  do  not  know  why — pardon 
me  the  mistake,  if  it  be  one — but  surely  I 
have  heard  that  name  somewhere." 

"  1  have  made  verses,"  said  the  poet, 
modestl}''. 

"  Ah  !   that  is   it   then  ;  I   have   heard 
them  read." 
•    "A  trag•ed3^" 

"I  must  have  seen  it  played." 

The  poet  blushed  ag-ain,  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  ag-ain  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'Artagnan  bit  his  lips.  "Thus  then 
you  see,  monsieur,"  continued  the  poet, 
"3'^ou  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,  nevertheless,  a 
fine  name,  and  quite  as  worthy  of  being- 
known  as  those  of  MM.  Corneille,  or  Ro- 
trou,  or  Garnier.  I  hope,  monsieur,  3'ou 
will  have  the  g-oodness  to  repeat  to  me  a 
part  of  ,your  trag-edy  presently,  by  way  of 
dessert,  for  instance.  That  will  be  sugared 
roast  meat — mordioux  !  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  my- 
self to  usurp  that  little  oath,  as  it  seems 
in  g-ood  taste.  I  take  this  liberty  only  in 
his  absence,  please  to  observe,  for  you  may 
understand  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  irreg-ular  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  rummag-ed  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  ag-ain  in  his  pocket.  D'Artagnan 
perceived  this,  for  he  was  a  man  nothing- 
escaped.  He  stretched  forth  his  hand  to- 
w-ard  the  piece  of  brass  :  "^  Humph  !  that 
which  you  hold  in  your  hand  is  prettj'^ ; 
will  you  allow  me  to  look  at  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  poet,  who  ap- 
peared to  have  yielded  too  soon  to  a  first 
impulse.  "  Certainly,  you  may  look  at 
it ;  but  Jt  will  be  in  vain  for  you  to  look 
at   it,"    added    he,  with   a   satisfied   air; 


256 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


*'  if  I  were  not  to  tell  j'ou  the  use  of  that, 
you  would  never  g'uess  it." 

D'Artagnan  had  seized  as  an  avowal  the 
hesitation  of  the  poet,  and  his  eag-erness 
to  conceal  the  piece  of  brass  which  a  first 
movement  had  induced  him  to  lake  out  of 
his  pocket.  His  attention,  therefore,  once 
awakened  on  this  point,  he  surrounded 
himself  with  a  circumspection  which  gave 
him  a  suporiorit}'  upon  all  occasions.  Be- 
sides, whatever  M.  Jupenet  might  saj^ 
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  m\'  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 
sometliing  yqyy  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." 

"That  is  it." 

"Good." 

"Look  attentively." 

"  I  am  looking."  D'Artagnan,  in  fact, 
appeared  absorbed  in  his  observations. 
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.  Peste  !  that  is  c\\- 
rious  indeed." 

"Is  it  not?" 

"  Good  God  I  what  a  number  of  things 
w^e  learn  by  traveling  !  " 

"  To  3^our  health  !  "  said  Jupenet,  quite 
enchanted. 

"To  yours,  mordioux  !  to  vours.  But — 
an  instant — not  in  this  cider.  It  is  an 
abominable  drink,  unworthy  of  a  man 
who  quenches  his  thirst  at  the  Hippo- 
crene  fountain — is  not  it  so  you  call  your 
fountain,  you  poets?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur,  our  fountain  is  so  called. 
That  comes  from  two  Greek  words — hip- 
pos, which  means  a  horse,  and — " 

"Monsieur,"  interrupted  D'Artagnan, 
"  3'ou  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  Beaugencj^,  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  advantage  of  the  tide  to  secure 
the  boat." 

"What  boat?"  asked  D'Artagnan. 

"  Wh}',  the  boat  which  sets  out  for 
Belle-Isle." 

"Ah — for  Belle-Isle,"  said  the  muske- 
teer, "that  is  good." 

"  Bah  !  you  will  have  plenty  of  time, 
monsieur,"  replied  the  hotelier,  uncork- 
ing the  bottle,  "the  boat  will  not  leave 
this  hour." 

"But  who  will  give  me  notice  ?  "  said 
the  poet. 

"Your  neighbor,"  replied  the  host. 

"'  But  I  scarcel}'  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     VIGOMTE    DE     BRAGELONNE. 


257 


"The  monsieur  who  has  a  lackey?" 
asked  D'Artag-nan.  "  He  is  some  g-entle- 
man,  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  honor  for  us," 
said  D'Artagnan,  filling  liis  companion's 
glass,  while  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  swift- 
ness and  skill  which  did  not  escape  the 
eye  of  D'Artag-nan. 

"  Ahrege,^^  said  he,  as  he  ended. 

"  Good  !"  said  D'Artag-nan  ;  "'  here  are 
plenty  of  letters  g-ot  tog-ether ;  but  how 
are  they  kept  so?"  And  he  poured  out 
a  second  g-lass  for  the  poet.  M.  Jupenet 
smiled  like  a  man  who  has  an  answer  for 
everything  ;  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  tog-ether,  and  in  a 
line,  the  characters,  holding-  them  under 
his  left  thumb. 

"  And  what  do  3' ou  call  that  little  metal 
ruler?"  said  D'Artag-nan,  "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 ;  3^ou  have  a  press  in  yowv 
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  laz}' 
to  write,  and  when  I  have  a  verse  in  my 
head,  I  print  it  immediately.  That  is  a 
labor  spared." 

"Mordioux !"  thought  D'Artag-nan  to 
himself,  "this  must  be  cleared  up."  And 
under  a  pretext,  which  did  not  embarrass 
the  musketeer,  who  was  fertile  in  expedi- 
ents, he  left  the  table,  went  downstairs, 
ran  to  the  shed  under  which  stood  the 
Dumas— 9 


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'Artag-nan,  "I  do 
not  yet  know  whether  M.  Fouquet  wishes 
to  fortify  Belle-Isle  ;  but,  at  all  events, 
here  are  some  spiritual  munitions  for  the 
castle."  Then,  rich  in  his  discover^',  he 
ran  upstairs  again,  and  resumed  his  place 
at  the  table. 

D'Artagnan  had  learned  what  he  wished 
to  know.  He,  however,  remained,  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  go  out.  The  printer  was  im- 
mediatel}'  on  foot;  he  had  g-iven  orders 
for  his  horse  to  be  got  read3'.  His  car- 
riage was  waiting  at  the  door.  The  sec- 
ond traveler  got  into  his  saddle,  in  the 
courtyard,  with  his  lacke3\  D'Artagnan 
followed  Jupenet  to  the  door;  he  em- 
barked his  cart  and  horse  on  board  the 
boat.  As  to  the  opulent  traveler,  he  did 
the  same  with  his  two  horses  and  his  ser- 
vant. But  all  the  wit  D'Artagnan  em- 
ployed in  endeavoring  to  find  out  his 
name  was  lost — he  could  learn  nothing. 
Onl,y  he  took  such  notice  of  his  counte- 
nance, that  that  countenance  was  im- 
pressed upon  his  mind  forever.  D'Ar- 
tagnan had  a  great  inclination  to  embark 
with  the  two  travelers,  but  an  interest 
more  powerful  than  curiosity — that  of 
success— repelled  him  from  the  shore  and 
brought  him  back  again  to  the  hotellerie. 
He  entered  with  a  sigh,  and  went  to  bed 
directly,  in  order  to  be  ready  earh^  in  the 
morning  with  fresh  ideas  and  the  counsel 
of  the  night. 


CHAPTER    LXVIH. 

D'ARTAGNAN     CONTINUES     HIS     INVES- 
TIGATIONS. 

At  daybreak.  D'Artagnan  saddled 
Furet,  who  had  fared  sumptuously  all 
the  night,  and  devoured  the  remainder 
of  the  corn  left  b^'  her  commnion??.     The 


258 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


musketeer  sifted  all  he  could  out  of  the 
host,  whom  he  found  cunning-,  mistrust- 
ful, and  devoted,  hod}^  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  alreaxi\'  made, 
and  would  be  carried  to  the  castle.  More- 
over, it  was  sing-ular  that  this  traveler 
and  his  lackey  should  have  remained  a 
secret  for  D'Artag-nan,  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  concerning  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  little  nervous  leg-s,  along-  the 
foot-wide  causeways  which  separate  the 
salt-mines.  D'Artagnan,  aware  of  the 
consequences  of  a  fall,  which  would  re- 
sult in  a  cold  bath,  allowed  him  to  g-o  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,  ex- 
actly resembling:  each  other,  attracted 
and  suspended  his  attention.  If  the 
traveler  turned  round,  the  better  to 
make  his  observations,  he  saw  on  the 
other  side  a  hori2;on  of  three  other 
steeples,  Guerande,  La  Poulighen,  and 
Saint-Joachim,  which,  in  their  circum- 
ference, represented  a  set  of  skittles,  of 
which  he  and  Furet  were  but  the  wan- 
dering 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  countr}"  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  cer- 
tainly, did  not  come  from  Pirial  or  the 
marshes. 

'^' Where  do  they  come  from,  then?'' 
asked  the  musketeer. 

"  Monsieur,  they  come  from  Nantes  and 
Paimboeuf." 

"  Where  are  the}^  going,  then  ?  " 

'^  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.  Fouquet  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  tell- 
ing me  I  was  fortifying  the  '  Image-de- 
Notre-Dame,'  when  I  should  be  purely 
and  sirapl}^  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  fisher- 
man— for  his  part  of  a  suspicious  man 
was  imposed  upon  him  by  the  object  even 
of  his  mission — "you  must  confess,  my 
dear  monsieur,  that  these  stones  travel 
in  a  very  curious  fashion." 

"  How  so  ?  "  said  the  fisherman. 

"They  come  from  Nantes  or  Paimboeuf 
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  maj^  see 
that  you  have  never  been  a  sailor,"  added 
the  fisherman,  not  without  a  sort  of  dis- 
dain. 


THE     VJOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


259 


**  Explain  that  to  me,  if  you  please,  my 
g-ood  man.  It  appears  to  me  that  to 
come  from  Paimboeuf  to  Pirial,  and  g"o 
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,  imperturba- 
bly. 

"  But  there  is  an  elbow  ?  "  The  fisher- 
man 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  barks  almost  as  far  as 
Croisic.  If  fhey  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  car- 
ries them  to  the  Isle-Dumel,  two  leagues 
and  a  half." 

"Granted." 

"There  the  current  of  the  Vilaine 
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.  Tiie 
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  upon  the  Loire  ;  that  is  it." 

"  It  does  not  signify,"  said  the  obsti- 
nate M.  Agnan ;  "it  is  ver}'  far  about." 

"Ah  I  yes;  but  M.  Fouquet  will  have 
it  so,"  replied,  as  conclusive,  the  fisher- 
man, taking  off  his  woolen  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,  on  his  features  nothing 
but  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  bark  —  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  gray,  desolate,  spread 
over  with  polypuses  and  seaweed,  with 
its  pebbles  dispersed  and  white,  like  the 
bones  in  some  vast  old  cemetery.  But 
the  soldier,  the  politician,  and  the  am- 
bitious man  had  no  longer  the  sweet  con- 
solation of  looking  toward  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  peaceful.  D'Ar- 
tagnan found  the  sk^^  blue,  the  breeze 
embalmed  with  saline  perfumes,  and  he 
said,  "  I  will  embark  with  the  first  tide, 
if  it  be  but  in  a  nutshell." 

At  Croisic,  as  at  Pirial,  he  had  remarked 
enormous  heaps  of  stone  lying-  along  the 
shore.  These  gigantic  walls,  demolished 
ever^^  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  w^ell  divined 
at  Pirial.  Was  it  a  Avail  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,  w^ent  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  lookout 
which  resembles  an  enormous  brioche 
(a  kind  of  cake)  elevated  on  a  dish.  The 
flat  strand  is  the  dish.  Hundreds  of 
barrowfuls  of  earth,  solidified  with  the 
pebbles,  and  rounded  into  cones,  with 
sinuous  passages  between,  are  lookouts 
and  brioches  at  the  same  time.  It  is  so 
now,  it  was  so  two  hundred  years  ago, 
only  the  brioche  was  less  large,  and  prob- 


260 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


abl}^  there  were  not  to  be  seen  trellises 
of  lath  around  the  brioche,  which  consti- 
tute the  ornament  of  it,  and  which  the 
edility  of  that  poor  and  pious  bourgade 
has  planted  like  g-ardes-fous  along  the 
passages,  winding  toward  the  little  ter- 
race. Upon  the  shingle  were  three  or 
four  fishermen  talking  about  sardines  and 
shrimps.  D'Artagnan,  with  his  eye  ani- 
mated by  rough  gayety,  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  onl^^  waiting  for  the  tide." 

''  Where  do  j^ou  fish,  m^'  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.  Ag- 
nan's  face. 

"  Hear  me,  then,"  said  the  latter,  with 
an  air  of  simple  stupidity  ;  "  four  leagues 
off  3'ou  lose  sight  of  land,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"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. 
"Do  you  know  hiui  ?  " 

"A  httle ;  he  is  the  intimate  friend  of 
my  master." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  fishermen,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"And,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "I  have 
seen  all  his  chateaux  of  Saint-Mande,  of 
Vaux,  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,  break- 
ing 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  equaled  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  Vaux  ?  " 

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  the  permission  of  the  gov- 
ernor." 

"  But  1  do  not  know  the  governor," 

"  As  3^ou  know  M.  Fouquet,  you  can 
tell  3'our  name." 

"Oh,  my  friends,  I  am  not  a  gentle- 
man." 

"Everybody  enters  Belle-Isle,"  contin- 
ued the  fisherman,  in  his  strong,  pure  lan- 
guage, "  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  fisher- 
man, pointing  with  pride  to  his  pretty 
round-bottomed  bark. 

"  Well,  you  almost  persuade  me,"  cried 
M.  Agnan  ;  "I  will  go  and  see  Belle-Isle, 
but  thev  will  not  admit  me." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


261 


"  We  shall  enter,  safe  enough." 

"You!     What  for?" 

"  Why,  dame  !  to  sell  fish  to  the  cor- 
sah's." 

''  He  I    Corsairs — what  do  you  mean  ?  "' 

"  W^ell,  I  mean  that  M.  Fouquet  is  hav- 
ing- two  corsairs  built  to  chase  the  Dutch 
and  the  Eng-lish,  and  we  sell  our  fish  to 
the  crews  of  those  little  vessels." 

"Come,  come!"  said  D'Artagnan  to 
hifnself — '^  better  and  better.  A  printing- 
press,  bastions,  and  corsairs  I  Well,  M. 
Fouquet  is  not  an  enemy  to  be  despised, 
as  I  presumed  to  fancj-.  He  is  worth 
the  trouble  of  traveling-  to  see  him 
nearer." 

"  We  set  out  at  half-past  five,"  said  the 
fisherman,  g-ravely. 

"I  am  quite  readj*,  and  I  will  not  leave 
you  now."  So  D'Artag-nan  saw  the  fish- 
ermen haul  their  barks  to  meet  the  tide 
with  a  windlass.  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  larg-e  inteUigent  eyes.  He  laid  him- 
self down  upon  a  folded  sail,  did  not  in- 
terfere with  anything  while  the  bark 
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  passenger  had  not 
become  pale,  had  neither  groaned  nor  suf- 
fered ;  that,  in  spite  of  the  horrible  tossing 
and  rolling  of  the  bark,  to  which  no  hand 
imparted  direction,  the  novice  passenger 
had  preserved  his  presence  of  mind  and  his 
appetite.  They  fished,  and  their  fishing 
was  sufficiently  fortunate.  To  fines  baited 
with  prawms,  soles  came,  with  numerous 
gambols,  to  bite.  Two  nets  had  already 
been  broken  by  the  immense  weight  of 
congers  and  haddocks ;  three  sea-eels 
plow^ed  the  hold  with  their  slim}^  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  \ov,  and  mordioux  enough  to  have 
astonished  musketeers  themselves,  every 


time  that  a  shock  given  to  his  line  bj^  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  diplo- 
matic mission.  He  was  struggling  with 
an  awfull\'  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 
3-0U  from  Belle-Isle  I  " 

These  words  produced  the  same  effect 
upon  D 'Artagnan  as  the  hissing  of  tlie 
first  bullets  on  a  day  of  battle  :  he  let  go 
of  both  line  and  conger,  which,  one  drag- 
ging the  other,  returned  again  to  the 
water.  D'Artagnan  perceived,  within 
half  a  league  at  most,  the  blue  and  marked 
profile  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  w^hat  first  attracted  the  atten- 
tion 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  I  "  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  diffi- 
cult. Which  the  devil  way  could  a  land  ing 
be  effected  on  that  isle  w^hich  God  has  de- 
fended so  completely  ?  " 

"This  way,"  replied  the  patron  of  the 
bark,  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  3-onder  ?  " 
said  D'Artagnan. 

'•'You  see  Leomaria,"  replied  the  fisher- 
man. 

"Well,  but  there?" 

"That  is  Bragos." 

"And  further  on  ?  " 

"Sanger,  and  then  the  palace." 


262 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Mordioux  !  It  is  a  world.  Ah  !  there 
are  some  soldiers." 

"  There  are  seventeen  hundred  men  in 
Belle-Isle,  monsieur,"  replied  the  fisher- 
man proudly.  *'  Do  you  know  that  the 
least  g-arrison  is  of  twenty  companies  of 
infantr}^  ?  " 

"  Mordioux  !"  cried  D* Artagnan,  stamp- 
ing with  his  foot.  "  His  majesty  was  rig-ht 
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. 

There  is  always  something  in  a  land- 
ing, 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  g-lance  the  new  place  that  is  pre- 
sented to  it.  The  movable  bridges,  the 
agitated  sailors,  tlie  noise  of  the  Avater 
upon  the  pebbles,  the  cries  and  the  impor- 
tunities of  those  who  wait  on  the  shore, 
are  the  multiplied  details  of  that  sensa- 
tion 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  in- 
terior of  the  isle,  an  immense  number  of 
workmen  in  motion.  At  his  feet,  D'Ar- 
tagnan  recog-nized  the  five  chalands  laden 
with  rough  stone  which  he  had  seen  leave 
the  port  of  Pirial.  The  stones  were  trans- 
ported to  the  shore  by  means  of  a  chain 
formed  by  twenty-five  or  thirty  peasants. 
The  large  stones  were  loaded  upon  car- 
riages which  conve^^ed  them  in  the  same 
direction  as  the  shards,  that  is  to  say, 
toward  the  works,  of  which  D'Artag"- 
nan  could  as  3'et  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  ex- 


citing 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-,  sajang*  nothing,  and  meeting 
all  suspicions  that  mig-ht  have  been  excited 
with  a  half-silly  question  or  a  polite  bow. 
And  yet,  while  his  companions  carried  on 
their  trade,  g-iving-  or  selling  their  fish  to 
the  workmen  or  the  inhabitants  of  the 
city,  D'Artag-nan  had  g-ained  ground  T)y 
deg-rees,  and,  reassured  b}--  the  little  at- 
tention 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  g-lance  fell  upon  move- 
ments of  earth  in  which  the  eye  of  a  sol- 
dier 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'Artag-nan  saw  the  workmen  finish- 
ing- the  platforms  and  making-  ready  the 
demi-circumference  in  wood  upon  which 
the  wheels  of  the  pieces  might  turn  to 
embrace  every  direction  over  the  epaul- 
ment.  B}^  the  side  of  each  of  these  bat- 
teries other  workmen  were  strengthening 
g-abions  filled  with  earth,  the  lining  of  an- 
other batter3\  The  latter  had  embrasures, 
and  a  conductor  of  the  works  called  suc- 
cessively men  who,  with  cords,  lied  the 
saucissons,  and  those  who  cut  thelozeng-es 
and  right  angles  of  turf  destined  to  retain 
the  matting  of  the  embrasures.  By  the 
activity  displayed  in  these  works,  already 
so  far  advanced,  they  might  be  considered 
as  terminated  ;  they  were  not  yet  fur- 
nished with  their  cannons,  but  the  plat- 
forms had  their  g-ites  and  their  mad riers 
all  prepared  ;  the  earth,  beaten  carefully, 
had  consolidated  them ;  and,  supposing 
the  artillery  to  be  on  the  island,  in  less 
than  two  or  three  days  the  port  might  be 
completely  armed.  That  which  aston- 
ished D'Artagnan,  when  he  turned  his 
eyes  from  the  coast  batteries  to  the  forti- 
fications of  the  cit3%  was  to  see  that  Belle- 
Isle  was  defended  by  an  entirel}^  new  s,ys- 
tem,    of   which   he   had   often   heard    the 


TEE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


263 


Comte  de  la  Fere  speak  as  a  great  ad- 
vancement, but  of  which  he  had  never  j^et 
seen  the  application.  These  fortifications 
belonged  neither  to  the  Dutch  method  of 
MaroUais,  nor  to  the  French  method  of 
the  Chevalier  Antoine  de  Ville,  but  to  the 
system  of  Manesson  Mallet,  a  skillful  en- 
gineer, 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  ram- 
parts destined  to  defend  a  city  from  esca- 
lades, the}',  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  S3'^stem,  which 
gives  no  advantage  to  cannon.  Besides, 
as  the  fosses  were  lower  than,  or  on  a 
level  with,  the  sea,  these  fosses  might  be 
inundated  by  subterranean  sluices.  Other- 
wise, 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  maneuvers  connected  with  the  bar- 
rows, joined  the  interior  to  the  exterior. 
With  an  air  of  simple  curiosity,  D'Artag- 
nan 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  toward 
the  group. 

'This  group  was  superintended  by  the 
man  whom  D'Artagnan  had  already-  re- 
marked, 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  just- 
aucorps,  which,  from  its  sumptuousness, 
was  scarcely  in  harmonj'  with  the  work 
he  was  employed  in,  which  would  rather 
have,  necessitated  the  costume  of  a  master 
mason  than  of  a  noble.  He  w^as,  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'Ar- 
tagnan 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  feath- 
ers 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  eight  or  ten 
inches  from  the  ground,  sweating  and 
blowing,  while  a  seventh  got  ready 
against  there  should  be  dayUght  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  d,oubt 
that  every  time  the  stone  escaped  them 
they  .bounded  quickly  backward,  to  keep 
their  feet  from  being  crushed  by  the  re- 
falling  stone.  Ever}'  time,  the  stone, 
abandoned  by  them,  sunk  deeper  into  the 
damp  earth,  which  rendered  the  opera- 
tion 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 
toward  the  stone,  the  man  with  the 
feathers  had  himself,  with  a  powerful 
voice,  given  the  word  of  command,  firm, 
which  presides  over  all  maneuvers  of 
strength.     Then  he  drew  himself  up. 

•'■'Oh!  oh!'"'  said  he,  ''what  is  all 
this  about?  Have  I  to  do  with  men  of 
straw?  Corne  de  boeuf  I  stand  on  one 
side,  and  30U  shall  see  how  this  is  to  be 
done." 

"Peste!"  said  D'Artagnan,  ''will  he 
pretend  to  raise  that  rock  ?  that  would  be 
a  sight  worth  looking  at," 

The  workmen,  as  commanded  b}"-  the 
engineer,  drew  back,  with  their  ears  down 
and  shaking  their  heads,  with  the  excep- 
tion 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 


264 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


lying"  upon  the  ground,  stiffened  his  Her- 
culean muscles,  and,  without  a  strain, 
with  a  slow  motion,  like  that  of  a  ma- 
chine, 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  ag-ain,  but  placing  it 
upon  its  support. 

'' Mordioux  !  "  cried  D'Artagnan,  "'I 
know  but  one  man  capable  of  such  a  feat 
of  strength." 

''Hein!"  cried  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  disg"uised  lieu- 
tenant, and,  in  spite  of  his  metamor- 
phosis, recognized  him. 

"  D'Artagnan  !  "  cried  he  ;  and  the 
color  mounted  to  his  face.  "Hush!" 
said  he  to  D'Artagnan. 

"  Hush  !  "  in  his  turn,  said  the  mus- 
keteer. 

In  fact,  if  Porthos  had  just  been  discov- 
ered by  D'Artagnan,  D'Artagnan  had 
just  been  discovered  by  Porthos.  The  in- 
terest of  the  particular  secret  of  each 
struck  them  both  at  the  same  time.  Nev- 
ertheless, 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'Artag- 
nan ;  only  D'Artagnan  uttered  that  ques- 
tion in  a  low  voice. 

Less  strong  in  diplomac}^  than  his 
friend,  Porthos  thought  aloud. 

"  How  the  devil  did  3'ou  come  to  Belle- 
Isle?"  asked  he  of  D'Artagnan,  "and 
what  do  you  come  to  do  here  ?  " 

It  was  necessary  to  repW  without  hesi- 
tation. To  hesitate  in  his  answer  to  Por- 
thos would  have  been  a  check,  for  which 
the  self-love  of  D'Artagnan  would  never 
have  consoled  itself. 


"  Pardieu  !  my  friend  ;  I  am  at  Belle- 
Isle,  because  you  are  here." 

"Ah,  bah!"  said  Porthos,  visibly 
stupefied  with  the  argument,  and  seeking 
to  account  for  it  to  himself,  with  that 
lucidity  of  deduction  which  we  know  to  be 
pecuhar  to  him. 

"Without  doubt,"  continued  D'Artag- 
nan, unwilling  to  give  his  friend  time  to 
recollect  himself,  "  I  have  been  to  see  you 
at  Pierrefonds." 

"Indeed  !  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  did  not  find  me  there  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  I  found  Houston." 

"  Is  he  well  ?  " 

"  Peste  !  " 

"  Well,  but  Houston  did  not  tell  you  I 
was  here." 

"Why  should  he  not?  Have  I,  per- 
chance, deserved  to  lose  his  confidence  ?  " 

'•  No  ;  but  he  did  not  know  it." 

"  Well ;  that  is  a  reason  at  least  not  of- 
fensive to  ray  self-love." 

"Then,  how  did  you  manage  to  find 
me?" 

"M.y  dear  friend,  a  great  noble,  like 
3'ou,  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  !  you  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  \ny  part  so  well  that  everybody 
was  deceived." 

"  Indeed  !  so  well,  that  I  have  not  dis- 
covered and  joined  you  ?  " 

"'  Yes ;  but  how  have  you  disco.vered 
and  joined  me?  " 

"  Stop  a  bit.  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
how.     Do  3'ou  imagine  Houston — ?" 

"Ah  !     it   was  that  fellow    Houston," 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


265 


said  Porthos,  gathering*  together  those 
two  triumphant  arches  which  served  him 
for  ej'ehrows. 

'*'  But  stop,  I  tell  you  ; — it  was  no  fault 
of  Houston's,  because  he  was  ignorant  of 
where  3^ou  were." 

'•  I  know  he  was ;  and  that  is  why  lam 
in  such  haste  to  understand — " 

''Oh  I  hoAv  impatient  you  are,  Por- 
thos !  " 

••'When  I  do  not  comprehend,  I  am  ter- 
rible." 

"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  it;  "  said  D'Artagnan, 
hoping  that  this  reason  would  satisfy  Por- 
thos. Porthos  appeared  to  give  himself 
up  to  a  violent  mental  labor. 

"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  learned  that  Aramis  was  in  Bre- 
tagne,  and  you  said  to  j^ourself,  '  Porthos 
is  in  Bretagne.'  " 

"■  Exactly  !  In  good  truth,  Porthos,  1 
cannot  tell  wh}'  you  have  not  turned  con- 
juror. 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  w^hich  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  recog- 
nized me,  we  embraced  ;  and,  ma  foi  I  if 
you  like,  vciy  dear  friend,  we  will  embrace 
again." 

"Ah!  now  it  is  all  explained,"  said 
Porthos  ;  and  he  embraced  D'Artagnan 
with  so  much  friendship  as  to  deprive  the 
musketeer  of  his  breath  for  five  minutes. 

"'Why,  3'ou  are  stronger  than  ever," 
said  D'Artagnan,  "and  still  in  your  arms." 


Porthos  saluted  D'Artagnan  with  a  gra- 
cious smile.  During  the  five  minutes  D'Ar- 
tagnan was  recovering  his  breath,  he  re- 
flected that  he  had  a  very  difficult  part  to 
play.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should 
question  without  ever  replying.  B.y  the 
time  his  respiration  returned  he  had  fixed 
his  plan  of  the  campaign. 


CHAPTER   LXX. 

WHEREIN   THE   IDEAS   OF   D'ARTAGNAN,    AT 

FIRST   VERY   TROUBLED,  BEGIN  TO 

CLEAR    UP   A   LITTLE. 

D'Artagnan  immediatel}^  took  the  of- 
fensive. "  Now  that  I  have  told  ^-ou  all, 
dear  friend,  or  rather  now  you  have 
guessed  all,  tell  me  w^hat  you  are  doing 
here,  covered  with  dust  and  mud  ?  " 

Porthos  wiped  his  brow,  and  looked 
around  him  with  pride.  "Why,  it  ap- 
pears," 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  3'ou  understand — " 

"'  Yes,  that  it  is  not  your  place  to  lift 
stones,  although  there  are  manj^  whose 
place  it  is,  who  cannot  lift  them  as  you 
do.  It  was  that  which  made  me  ask 
3'ou,  just  now%  what  are  3'ou  doing  here, 
baron  ?  " 

"  I  am  studying  topography,  chevalier." 

"'  You  are  studj'ing  topography  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  3'ou — what  are  you  doing  in 
that  common  dress  ?  " 

D'Artagnan  perceived  he  had  committed 
a  fault  in  giving  expression  to  his  aston- 
ishment. Porthos  had  taken  advantage 
of  it  to  retort  with  a  question. .  "Why," 
said  he,  "  3^ou  know^  I  am  a  bourgeois,  in 
fact ;  my  dress,  then,  has  nothing  aston- 
ishing in  it,  since  it  conforms  with  my 
condition." 

"  Nonsense  !  you  are  a  musketeer." 

"  You  are  wrong,  my  friend  ;  I  have 
given  in  my  resignation." 

"  Bah  !  " 


266 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  3^es." 

"  And  have  you  abandoned  the  ser- 
vice ?  " 

"  I  have  quitted  it." 

"You  have  abandoned  the  king-?  '' 

"Quite." 

Porthos  raised  his  arms  toward  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 
disg-usted  me  for  a  long-  time,  as  you 
know ;  so  I  threw  my  cassock  to  the 
nettles." 

"  But  Mazarin  is  dead." 

"  I  know  that  well  enoug"h,  parbleu  ! 
Onh-  at  the  period  of  his  death,  my  res- 
ignation had  been  given  in  and  accepted 
two  months.  Then,  feeling  m.yself  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  j^our  fashion," 

'•'  M}^  friend,  3^ou  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  mone^'' — 
do  3'-ou?"  said  Porthos,  making  some- 
thing like  fifty  louis  chink  in  his  pocket, 
"  In  that  case,  3'^ou  know — " 

"  No,  thank  3'ou  ;  I  am  not  in  want  of 
anything,  I  placed  my  savings  with 
Planchet,  who  pays  me  the  interest  of 
them." 

"  Your  savings  ?  " 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  D'Artagnan  ; 
"  wln^  should  I  not  put  by  savings,  as 
well  as  another,  Porthos  ?" 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  reason  whj' ;  on  the 
contrary,  I  always  suspected  you — that  is 
to  say,  Aramis  always  suspected  you  to 
have  savings.  For  ray  own  part,  d'ye, 
see,  I  take  no  concern  about  the  manage- 
ment of  my  household  ;  but  I  presume 
the  savings  of  a  musketeer  must  be 
small." 

"No  doubt,  relative  to  yourself,  Por- 
thos, who  are  a  millionaite  ;  but  3'ou  shall 


judge.  I  had  laid  by  twenty-five  thou- 
sand 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  e^'^es,  which 
eloquently  demanded  of  the  musketeer, 
Where  the  devil  did  3'ou  steal  such  a  sum 
as  that,  mj'-  dear  friend  ?  "  Two  hundred 
thousand  livres  !  "  cried  he  at  length. 

"Yes;  which  with  the  t went}'- five  I 
had,  and  twenty  thousand  I  have  about 
me,  complete  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and 
forty-five  thousand  livres." 

"  But  tell  me,  whence  comes  this  fort- 
une ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  presently, 
dear  friend  ;  but  as  you  have,  in  the  first 
place,  many  things  to  tell  me  3'ourself,  let 
us  place  my  recital  in  its  proper  rank." 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  Porthos  ;  "'  then  we  are 
botli  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  Vannes,  Dear  Aramis  !  do  you  know 
how  he  succeeded  so  well  ?  " 

''  Yes,  yes  ;  without  reckoning  that  he 
does  not  mean  to  stop  there." 

"  What  !  do  j^ou  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?" 

"  B\^  somebody  more  powerful  than  the 
king." 

"Ah;  the  devil!  Porthos,  what  in- 
credible things  3'OU  tell  me,  my  friend  !  " 

"  Wh3'  incredible  ?  Is  there  not  alwa3's 
somebod3'  in  France  more  powerful  than 
the  king?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  in  the  time  of  King  Louis 
XIII,  it  was  Cardinal  Richelieu  ;  in  the 
time  of  the  regency  it  was  Cardinal  Maza- 
rin.  In  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  it  is  M, — " 

"Goon." 

"It  is  M.  Fouquet." 

"  Jove  !  3'ou  have  hit  it  the  first 
time." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


267 


"  So,  then,  I  suppose  it  is  M.  Fouquet 
who  has  promised  Aramis  the  red 
hat  ?  " 

Portlios  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  ma\'  be  to  their  interests  to  be  kept. 
When  3^ou  see  Aramis,  he  will  tell  3'ou  all 
he  thinks  he  oug-ht  to  tell  you."' 

"  You  are  right,  Porthos  :  and  yoi^are 
quite  a  padlock  for  safety.  But,  to  revert 
to  3'ourself  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Porthos. 

"  You  said  just  now  you  came  hither  to 
study  topography  ?  " 

"I  did  so." 

"  Tu  Dieu  I  m}'  friend,  what  fine  things 
you  will  do  !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

*•'  Wh3',  these  fortifications  are  admir- 
able." 

"  Is  that  your  opinion  ?  " 

'■'  Doubtless  it  is.  In  truth,  to  anything 
but  a  regular  siege,  Belle-Isle  is  impreg- 
nable." 

Porthos  rubbed  his  hands.  "  That  is  my 
opinion,"  said  he. 

"But  w^ho  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'Artagnan?  " 

"  In  truth,"  replied  the  musketeer,"  can 
it  be  you — who — oh  !  " 

"  Praj' — my  dear  friend — " 

"You  who  have  imagined,  traced,  and 
combined  between  these  bastions,  these 
redans,  these  curtains,  these  halfmoons  ; 
and  are  preparing  that  covered  way  ?  " 

"I  beg  j'ou — " 

"  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  embrasures,  b^''  the 


means  of  which  you  so  effectively  protect 
the  men  who  serve  the  guns  ?  " 

"  Eh  \  mon  Dieu  !  yes." 

"  Oh  !  Porthos,  Porthos  !  I  must  bow 
down  before  you — I  must  admire  you  ! 
But  3'ou  have  always  concealed  from  us 
this  superior  genius.  I  hope,  my  dear 
friend,  3'ou  will  show  me  all  this  in  de- 
tail ?" 

"Nothing  more  easy.  There  is  my 
plan." 

"  Show  it  me."  Porthos  led  D'Artagnan 
toward  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, 
3''ou  will  suppose  youi-  place  inclosed  in  a 
regular  hexagon,  this  poh'gon  having 
the  advantage  of  offering  more  angles 
than  the  quadrilateral  one.  Everj'  side 
of  your  hexagon,  of  which  you  will  deter- 
mine the  length  in  proportion  to  the 
dimensions  taken  upon  the  place,  will  be 
divided  into  two  parts,  and  upon  the  mid- 
dle point  j-ou  will  elevate  a  perpendicular 
toward  the  center  of  the  polygon,  which 
will  equal  in  length  the  sixth  part  of  the 
side.  B3'  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  de- 
fense." 

"  The  devil  I  "  said  D'Artagnan,  stop- 
ping at  this  point  of  the  demonstration  ; 
"why,  this  is  a  complete  system,  Por- 
thos." 

"  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  !  m}'  dear  friend,  death  !  " 

"How!  death?" 

"  W^hy,  we  are  all  mortal,  are  we  not?" 

"  That  is  true,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "you 
have  a  reply  for  everything,  mj'  friend." 
And  he  replaced  the  plan  upon  the  stone. 


268 


WORES    OF    ALEXANDER    DUMAS. 


But  however  short  a  time  he  had  the 
plan  in  Ins  hands,  D'Artagnan  had  been 
able  to  distinguish  under  the  enormous 
writing  of  Porthos,  a  much  more  delicate 
hand,  which  reminded  him  of  certain  let- 
ters 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  practiced  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 
favor,  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." 

"  Followed  by  a  lackej'  ?  " 

"Exactly." 

"In  company  with  a  mean  sort  of  fel- 
fow  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.  Fouquet's  house." 

"Ah  !  ah  !  "  cried  D'Artagnan  ;  "you 
are  of  the  household  of  M.  Fouquet,  then, 
Porthos?  " 

"  I !  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  said 
the  topographer,  blushing  to  the  tips  of 
his  ears. 

"  Wh3%  you  sa3'  the  house,  when  speak- 
ing 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.  Fou- 
quet, 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.  Boulin- 
grin." 

"  Who  is  M.  Boulingrin  ?  " 

"Now  we  come  to  it.  If,  when  this 
gentleman  is  walking  with  a  ruler  in  his 
hand,  an}'  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.  Fouquet. 
But  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  forti- 
fications, which  are  n\y  department  alone, 
do  you  understand  ?  mine,  absolutely 
mine." 

"  Ah  !  Porthos  !  "  cried  D'Artagnan, 
letting  his  arms  fall  as  a  conquered  man 
gives  up  his  sword  ;  "ah  !  my  friend,  you 
are  not  only  a  Herculean  topographer, 
you  are,  still  further,  a  dialectician  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 
shabbj'-looking  man  who  accompanies  M. 
Getard,  is  he  also  of  the  household  of  M. 
Fouquet?" 

"Oh!  yes,"  said  Porthos,  with  con- 
tempt ;  "  it  is  one  M.  Jupenet,  or  Juponet, 
a  sort  of  poet." 

"  Who  is  come  to  establish  himself 
here  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  I  thought  M.  Fouquet  had  poets 
enough,  yonder — Scuder}',  Loret,  Pellis- 
son,  La  Fontaine  ?  If  I  must  tell  3'ou 
the  truth,  Porthos,  that  poet  disgraces 
you?" 

"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  re- 
member, I  have  a  word  to  say  to  the 
cuistre." 

"Say  it,  then." 

Porthos  made  a  sign  to  Jupenet,  who 
perfectly  recollected  D'Artagnan,  and  did 
not  care  to  come  nearer  ;  which  naturallj'' 
produced  another  sign  from  Porthos. 
This  was  so  imperative,  he  was  obliged 
to    obey.      As    he    approached,    "Come 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE, 


269 


hither ! "  said  Porthos.  "  You  only 
landed  j^esterday,  and  you  have  begun 
your  tricks  alread3\" 

'•'How  so,  Monsieur  le  Baron  ?  "  asked 
Jupenet,  trembling-. 

"  Your  press  was  groaning  all  night, 
monsieur,"  said  Porthos,  "and  j^ou  pre- 
vented my  sleeping,  come  de  hoeuf!  " 

"Monsieur — "  objected  Jupenet,  timidly. 

"You  have  nothing  yet  to  print ;  there- 
fore, 3^ou  have  no  occasion  to  set  your 
press  going.  What  did  you  print  last 
night?" 

"  Monsieur,  a  light  poem  of  vay  own 
composition." 

"  Light !  no,  no,  monsieur  :  the  press 
groaned  pitifully  with  it.  Let  tbat  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  fel- 
low's head,  let  us  breakfast." 

"Yes,"  replied  D'Artagnan,  "let  us 
breakfast." 

"Onl3\"  said  Porthos,  "I  beg  you  to 
observe,  my  friend,  that  we  have  onl}' 
two  hours  for  our  repast." 

"What  would  you  have  ?  We  will  try 
to  make  enough  of  it.  But  why  have  3^ou 
onl3'  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,  "bet- 
ter than  that." 

"What?" 

"You  are  going  to  Vannes,  you  say  ?" 

"  To  a  certainty." 

"  To  see  Aramis  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well  !  1  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  manj^  hours  can  you  go 
from  hence  to  Vannes?" 

"  Oh  I  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  fortifjing  Belle-Isle." 

Two  hours  after,  at  high  tide,  Porthos 
and  D'Artagnan  set  out  for  Sarzeau. 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

A  PROCESSION   AT   VANNES. 

The  passage  from  Belle-Isle  to  Sarzeau 
was  made  rapidly  enough,  thanks  to  one 
of  those  little  corsairs  of  which  D'Artag- 
nan had  been  told  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  topogra- 
pher, was  not  deeply  versed  in  affairs  of 
State.  His  perfect  ignorance,  with  any 
other,  might  have  passed  for  well-in- 
formed 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  librar^^  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 


270 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMA6. 


because,  in  truth,  there  was  nothing-  to 
be  found. 

••  Be  it  so,"  said  D'Artag-nan  :  '"I  shall 
know  more  at  Vannes  in  lialf  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  onl,y  stratag-em 
I  leave  at  his  disposal  :  he  must  not 
warn  Aramis  of  vay  arrival."  All  the 
cares  of  the  musketeer  were  then,  for  the 
moment,  confined  to  the  watching  of  Por- 
thos. And  let  us  hasten  to  say,  Porthos 
did  not  deserve  all  this  mistrust.  Porthos 
thought  of  no  evil.  Perhaps,  on  first  see- 
ing him,  D'Artagnan  had  inspired  him 
with  a  little  suspicion  ;  but  almost  im- 
mediately D'Artagnan  had  reconquered 
in  that  g-ood  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  per- 
ceived them  at  the  crossing  of  the  road 
which  turns  round  Sarzeau,  and  which, 
without  passing  through  that  little  city, 
leads  toward  Vannes.  These  horses  were 
two  in  number — one  for  M.  de  Valon,  and 
one  for  his  equerrj^ :  for  Porthos  had  an 
equerr}-^  since  Houston  was  onlj'-  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  await  his  return  at  Sar- 
zeau, while  D'Artagnan  would  ride  his 
horse,  which  was  done. 

"  Eh  !  but  you  are  quite  a  man  of  pre- 
caution, my  dear  Porthos,"  said  D'Ai-- 
tagnan  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,  mor- 


dioux  !  "  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  toward  Heaven. 

"  Then  he  is  much  changed,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan ;  "  3'ou  and  I  have  known  him 
passably  profane." 

'•  Grace  has  touched  him,"  said  Porthos. 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  D'Artagnan  ;  "  that 
redoubles  my  desire  to  see  m}^  dear  old 
friend."  And  he  spurred  his  horse,  which 
sprang  off  into  a  more  rapid  pace. 

"  Peste  !  "  said  Porthos,  "  if  we  g-o  on 
at  this  rate,  we  shall  only  take  one  hour 
instead  of  two." 

"  To  go  how  far  do  you  say,  Porthos  ?  " 

'■  Four  leagues  and  a  half." 

"That  will  be  a  g-ood  pace." 

"  I  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  alwaj^s  look  mag-nificent  on  horse- 
back." 

"  Rather  heavy,  my  friend ;  I  was 
weighed  the  other  day." 

''  And  what  do  you  weig-h  ?  " 

"  Three  hundred weig-ht !  "  said  Porthos, 
proudlj'. 

''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,  g-iant's  horses  you  must  have, 
must  you  not  ?  " 

'•You  are  very  polite,  my  friend,"  re- 
plied the  engineer,  with  an  affectionate 
majesty. 

"As  a  case  in  point,"  replied  D'Ar- 
tagnan, "your  horse  seems  to  sweat 
alread3\" 

"  Dame  !  it  is  hot  !  Ah,  ah  !  do  you  see 
Vannes  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  perfectly.  It  is  a  handsome  city, 
apparently." 

"Charming — according'  to  Aramis,  at 
least ;  but  I  think  it  black.     But  black 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


271 


seems  to  be  considered  handsome  by  art- 
ists ;  I  am  very  sorry  for  it." 

"Why  so,  Porthos?  " 

"  Because  I  have  lately  had  mj' chateau 
of  Pierrefonds,  which  was  gray  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  gray  is  handsome, 
you  understand,  my  friend,  black  must  be 
superb." 

"  Dame  !  "  said  D'Artagnan,  "that  ap- 
pears logical." 

'*  Where  you  never  at  Vannes,  D'Ar- 
tagnan? " 

*' 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  sadlj^,  "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  an- 
other cross?  " 

"Perfectly  well." 

"  That  is  Saint-Paterne,  the  parish  pre- 
f(!,rred  by  Aramis." 

•"Indeed!" 

•  "  Without  doubt.  Saint-Paterne,  see 
you,  passes  for  having  been  the  first  bishop 
of  Vannes.  It  is  true  that  Aramis  pre- 
tends 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." 

"My  friend,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "con- 
tinue your  interesting  description,  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  hand- 


some Gothic  style,  as  that  brute,  M.  Get- 
ard,  sa3's?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  very  plainly  to  be  seen. 
Well  ? " 

"Well,  that  is  where  Aramis  resides." 

"What !  does  he  not  reside  at  the  epis- 
copal palace  ?  " 

"  No  ;  that  is  in  ruins.  The  palace  like- 
wise 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  ^'ou,  the  faubourg  is  like  a 
separate  city,  it  has  its  walls,  its  towers, 
its  ditches  ;  the  qn'd^y  is  upon  it  likewise, 
and  the  boats  land  at  the  qua3^  If  our 
little  corsair  did  not  draw  eight  feet 
water,  we  could  have  come  full  sail  up  to 
Aramis'  windows." 

"  Porthos,  Porthos,"  cried  D'Artagnan, 
"you  are  a  well  of  knowledge,  a  spring  of 
ingenious  and  profound  reflections.  Por- 
thos, you  no  longer  surprise  me,  you  con- 
found me." 

"  Here  we  are  arrived,"  said  Porthos, 
turning  the  conversation  with  his  usual 
modesty. 

"And  high  time  we  were,"  thought 
D'Artagnan,  *'  for  Aramis'  horse  is  melt- 
ing away  like  a  horse  of  ice."  They  en- 
tered almost  at  the  same  instant  into  the 
faubourg ;  but  scarcely  had  th^y  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  France.  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  Avere  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  new- 
ly ai^rived  travelers.     A  crowd  in  holiday 


272 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


g-arb  appeared  tliroug-h  the  vapors  of  in- 
cense which  mounted  to  the  heavens  in 
blue  flocks,  and  clouds  of  rose-leaves  flew 
up  as  hi^h  as  the  first  stories.  Above  all 
heads  were  to  be  seen  the  cross  and  ban- 
ners, the  sacred  symbols  of  relig'iou. 
Then,  beneath  these  crosses  and  banners, 
as  if  protected  by  them,  was  a  whole 
world  of  young"  g"irls,  clothed  in  whit©-, 
and  crowned  with  corn-flowers.  At  the 
two  sides  of  the  street,  inclosing*  the  cor- 
teg"e,  marched  the  g-uards  of  the  g-arrison, 
carrying-  bouquets  in  the  barrels  of  their 
muskets  and  on  the  points  of  their  lances. 
This  was  a  procession.  While  D'Artag-- 
nan  and  Porthos  were  looking-  on  with  a 
fervor  of  good  taste,  which  disg-uised  an 
extreme  impatience  to  g'et  forward,  a 
magnificent  dais  approached,  preceded  by 
a  hundred  Jesuits  and  a  hundred  Domini- 
cans, and  escorted  by  two  archdeacons,  a 
treasurer,  a  penitentiary,  and  twelve  can- 
ons. A  chanter  with  a  thundering-  voice 
— a  chanter  certainly  picked  out  from  all 
the  voices  of  France,  as  w^as  the  drum- 
major  of  the  imperial  guard  from  all  the 
giants  of  the  empire — a  chanter  escorted 
b3^  four  other  chanters,  who  appeared  to 
be  there  onh^  to  sei've  him  as  an  accom- 
paniment, made  the  air  resound,  and  the 
windows  of  all  the  houses  vibrate.  Under 
the  dais  appeared  a  pale  and  noble  coun- 
tenance, with  black  eyes,  black  hair 
streaked  wnth  threads  of  white,  a  deli- 
cate, compressed  mouth,  a  prominent  and 
angular  chin.  This  head,  full  of  graceful 
majesty,  was  covered  with  the  episcopal 
miter,  a  head-dress  which  gave  it,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  character  of  sovereignty, 
that  of  ascetism  and  evangelic  medita- 
tion. 

"Aramis!"  cried  the  musketeer,  in- 
voluntarily, as  this  lofty  countenance 
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  to- 
ward the  spot  whence  the  exclamation 
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'Artag- 
nan. On  perceiving  him,  Aramis  had 
colored,  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  Por- 
thos, and  what  does  he  want  at  Vannes  ?  " 
Aramis  comprehended  all  that  was  pass- 
ing 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,  alwaj's 
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  batter^''  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.  Per- 
haps, 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  friendl}^  hand  upon  the  back  of  his 
companion,  he  crushed  him  down  toward 
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  Antaeus,  had  only  touched  the 
ground,  and  he  turned  toward  Porthos, 
almost  angry.  But  there  was  no  mis- 
taking the  intention  of  the  brave  Her- 
cules ;  it  was  a  feeling  of  religious  pro- 
priety that  had  influenced  him.  Besides, 
speech,  with  Porthos,  instead  of  disguising 
his  thought,  alwaj'S  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  convinced  than  Porthos, 
D'Artagnan  made  no  reply. 

"Observe,  my  friend,"  continued  Por- 
thos, "  he  has   seen    us  ;  and,   instead  of 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


273 


continuing-  to  walk  on  at  the  simple  pace 
of  the  procession,  as  he  did  just  now — see, 
what  a  hurry  he  is  in  ;  do  3-011  see  how  the 
corteg-e  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'Artag-nan  and  Porthos 
walked  straig-ht  up  to  the  episcopal  palace, 
which  was  surrounded  by  a  numerous 
crowd,  anxious  to  see  the  prelate  return. 
D'Artag-nan  remarked,  that  this  crowd 
was  composed  principally  of  citizens  and 
military  men.  He  recognized  in  the  nat- 
ure of  these  partisans  the  address  of  his 
friend.  Aramis  was  not  the  man  to  seek 
for  a  useless  popularit3\  He  cared  verj^ 
little  for  being'  beloved  b^-  people  who 
could  be  of  no  service  to  him.  Women, 
children,  and  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  presented  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  some- 
thing in  Aramis,  resembling  those  Roman 
senators,  who  had  their  doors  always  sur- 
rounded 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  secretl3%  passed  his 
head  under  the  dais.  He  then  re-entered 
his  palace ;  the  doors  closed  slowly,  and 
the  crowd  melted  awaj^,  while  chants  and 
pra^^ers  were  still  resounding  abroad.  It 
was  a  magnificent  da3^  Earthl}^  per- 
fumes were  mingled  with  the  perfumes  of 
the  air  and  the  sea.  The  city  breathed 
happiness,  joy,  and  strength.  D'Artag- 
nan  felt  something-  like  the  presence  of  an 
invisible  hand  which  had,  ail-powerfully, 
created  this  strength,  this  jo.y,  this  hap- 
piness, and  spread .  everywhere  these 
perfumes. 


'•  Oh  I  oh  !  "  said  he,  "  Porthos  has  g-ot 
fat ;  but  Aramis  is  grown  taller  !  " 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

THE  GRANDEUR  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES. 

Porthos  and  D'Artag-nan  had  entered 
the  bishop's  residence  by  a  private  door, 
as  his  personal  friends.  Of  course,  Porthos 
served  D'Artagnan  as  guide.  The  wor- 
thj''  baron  comported  himself  everywhere 
rather  as  if  he  were  at  home.  Neverthe- 
less, 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 
moralh^  a  worthy  habit  which  had  always 
made  Porthos  a  model  soldier  and  an  ex- 
cellent 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  re- 
marked 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  prevent  his  asking  questions.  Porthos 
questioned.  They  learned  that  his  great- 
ness had  just  returned  to  his  apartment, 
and  was  preparing-  to  appear  in  familiar 
intimacy-,  less  majestic  than  he  had  ap- 
peared with  his  flock.  After  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  which  D'Artag-nan  and  Por- 
thos passed  in  looking-  mutuall}^  at  each 
other  with  the  white  of  their  eyes,  and 
turning  their  thumbs  in  all  the  different 
evolutions  which  g-o  from  north  to  south, 
a  door  of  the  chamber  opened,  and  his 
g-reatness  appeared,  dressed  in  the  un- 
dress, complete,  of  a  prelate.  Aramis 
carried  his  head  hig-h,  like  a  man  accus- 
tomed to  command  ;  his  violet  robe  was 
tucked  up  on  one  side,  and  his  white  hand 
was  on  his  hip.  He  had  retained  the  fine 
mustache  and  the  lengthened  roj'-ale  of 
the  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 


274 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


this  case  onh',  the  perfume  had  retained 
something-  of  the  relig-ious  sublimit}^  of 
incense.  It  no  long-er  intoxicated,  it  pen- 
etrated ;  it  no  long-er  inspired  desire,  it 
inspired  respect.  Ararais,  on  entering  the 
chamber,  did  not  hesitate  an  instant ;  and 
witliout  pronouncing  one  woi'd,  wliicli, 
whatever  it  might  be,  would  have  been 
cold  on  such  an  occasion,  he  went  straight 
up  to  the  musketeer,  so  well  disguised 
under  the  costume  of  M.  Agnan,  and 
pressed  him  in  his  arras  with  a  tender- 
ness which  the  most  mistrustful  could  not 
have  suspected  of  coldness  or  affectation. 

D'Artagnan,  on  his  part,  embraced  him 
with  equal  ardor.  Porthos  pressed  the 
delicate  hand  of  Aramis  in  his  immense 
hands,  and  D'Artagnan  remarked  that 
his  greatness  gave  him  his  left  hand, 
probably  from  habit,  seeing'  that  Portnos 
alread}^  ten  times  had  been  near  injuring 
his  fingers  covered  with  rings,  by  pound- 
ing his  flesh  in  the  vise  of  his  fist. 
Warned  by  the  pain,  Aramis  was  cau- 
tious, and  onl}'^  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.  The  maneuver, 
familiar  to  diplomatists  and  women,  re- 
sembles much  the  advantage  of  the  guard 
which,  according  to  their  skill  or  habit, 
combatants  endeavor  to  take  on  the 
ground  at  a  duel.  D'Artagnan  was  not 
the  dupe  of  this  maneuver ;  but  he  did 
not  appear  to  perceive  it.  He  felt  him- 
self caught ;  but,  precisel3"  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  vic- 
toTy.     Aramis  began  the  conversation. 

"  Ah  !  dear  friend  !  my  good  D'Ar- 
tagnan," said  he,  "  what  an  excellent 
chance  !  " 

''It  is  a  chance,  my  reverend  compan- 
ion," said  D'Artagnan,  "  that  I  will  call 
friendship.  I  seek  you,  as  I  always  have 
sought  you,  when  I  had  any  grand  enter- 


prise to  propose  to  you,  or  some  hours  of 
liberty  to  give  you." 

"  Ah  !  indeed,"  said  Aramis,  without 
explosion,  '•  3'ou  have  been  seeking  me  ?  " 

"  Eh  1  yes,  he  has  been  seeking  you, 
Ai-amis,"  said  Porthos,  "'and  the  proof  is 
that  he  has  unharbored  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  in- 
deed !  " 

"'  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  cvy 
of  joy  escape,  whicli  salutes  the  commg  of 
a  friend." 

"  Well,  and  you  must  have  been  satis- 
fied," 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,  vny  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 
France." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  now  speaking  of  temporal 
w-ealth,"  said  Aramis,  with  a  careless  air. 

"To  be  sure,  I  wish  to  speak  of  that; 
I  hold  by  it,  on  my  part." 

"In  that  case,  let  me  speak  of  it,"  said 
Aramis,  with  a  smile. 

"You  own  yourself  to  be  one  of  the 
richest  prelates  in  France  ?  " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


275 


''M}^  friend,  since  you  ask  me  to  give 
you  an  account,  I  will  tell  you  that  the 
bishopric  of  Vannes  is  worth  about  twent}' 
thousand  livres  a  year,  neither  more  nor 
less.  It  is  a  diocese  which  contains  a  hun- 
dred and  sixty  parishes." 

''That  is  very  pretty,"  said  D'Artag-- 
nan. 

"It  is  superb!"  said  Porthos. 

"And  yet,"  resumed  D'Artag-nan, 
throwing"  his  eye  over  Aramis,  "  you  don't 
mean  to  bury  yourself  here  forever  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me.  Only  I  do  not  admit  the 
word  fewr?/." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me,  that  at  this  dis- 
tance 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  xi\\ 
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 
paj'ing  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  jow,  or 
Porthos,  understand.  I  have  an  mcome 
of  about  fifteen  thousand  livres." 

Aramis  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  He 
could  not  believe — particularly  on  seeing 
his  friend  in  such  humble  guise — that  he 
had  made  so  fine  a  fortune.     Then  D'Ar- 


tagnan, seeing  that  the  hour  for  explana- 
tions 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  con- 
vulsiveh'.  As  to  Porthos,  it  was  not  ad- 
miration he  manifested  for  D'Artagnan, 
it  w'as  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 
fields  to  too  powerful  a  pressure,  and 
seeks  another  road. 

"At  all  events,"  said  the  bishop,  "3'ou 
have  assumed  a  singular  traveling  cos- 
tume, old  friend." 

••  Frightful !  I  know  it  is.  You  may 
understand  wh}'"  I  would  not  travel  as  a 
cavalier  or  a  noble  :  since  I  became  rich  I 
am  miserly." 

"'  And  5^ou  say,  then,  you  came  to  Belle- 
Isle  ?  "  said  Aramis,  without  transition. 

"  Yes,"  replied  D'Artagnan  ;  "'  I  knew 
I  should  find  you  and  Porthos  there." 

"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  house- 
keeper." 

"Ah,  dear  friend,  I  must  tell  3'ou  that 
I  am  no  longer  the  man  of  former  times. 
Riding  on  horseback  is  unpleasant  to  me  : 
the  sea  fatigues  me.  I  am  a  poor  ailing 
priest,  always  complaining,  always  grum- 
bling, and  inclined  to  the  austerities  which 
appear  to  accord  with  old  age — parleys 
with  death.  I  abide,  my  dear  D'Artag- 
nan, I  abide." 

"  Well,  that  is  all  the  better,  my  friend, 
for  we  shall  probablj''  become  neighbors 
soon." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Aramis,  with  a  degree  of 
surprise  he  did  not  even  seek  to  dissemble. 
"  You,  my  neighbor  I  " 


276 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


**Mordioux!  3^es." 
*'How  so?" 

"  I  am  about  to  purchase  some  very 
profitable  salt-mines,  which  are  situated 
between  Pirial  and  Croisic.  Imag-ine,  my 
friend,  a  clear  profit  of  twelve  per  cent. 
Never  an^'^  deficiencj'^,  never  any  idle  ex- 
penses ;  the  ocean,  faithful  and  reg-ular, 
brings  every  six  hours  its  contingency  to 
my  coffers.  I  am  the  first  Parisian  who 
has  dreamed  of  sucli  a  speculation.  Do 
not  say  anything  about  it,  I  beg  of  j^ou, 
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  defense.  "  I  heard  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  honors  of  war." 

"  I ! "  said  the  musketeer,  with  a  burst 
of  laughter  that  could  not  conceal  his  em- 
barrassment :  for,  from  these  words,  Ara- 
mis was  not  unlikely  to  be  acquainted 
with  his  last  relations  with  the  king.  "  I ! 
Oh,  tell  me  all  about  that,  pra3?^,  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  con- 
fidant 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  resignation." 

"  What,  sincerel}^  ?  " 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  sincere." 

"  It  was  after  that,  then,  that  you  went 
to  the  Comte  de  la  Fere's  ?  " 

"Yes." 

**  Afterward  to  me  ?  "  " 


"Yes." 

"  And  then  Porthos  ?  " 
"Yes." 

"Was  it  in  order  ^to  pay  us  a  simple 
visit  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  did  not  know  3'ou  were  engaged, 
and  I  wished  to  take  yon  with  me  into 
England." 

"Yes,  I  understand  ;  and  then  3'ou  exe- 
cuted alone,  wonderful  man  as  j^ou  are, 
what  3^ou  wanted  to  propose  to  us  all 
four  to  do.  I  suspected  you  had  had 
something  to  do  in  that  famous  restora- 
tion, when  I  learned  that  you  had  been 
seen  at  King  Charles's  receptions,  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  further  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^  barks  which  come  from  sea.  He  is 
concealed  in  his  sentry-box,  and  the  fisher- 
men 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  sentr^^-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  for- 
getfulness.  I  was  wrong.  I  see  you 
again,  and  it  is  a  festival,  a  great  festi- 
val, I  swear  to  you  ! — How  is  Athos  ?  " 

"Very  well,  thank  3'ou." 

"  And  our  young  pupil,  Raoul  ?  " 

"  He  seems  to  have  inherited  the  skill 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


27'] 


of  his  father,  Athos,  and  the  strength  of 
his  tutor,  Porthos." 

"And  on  what  occasion  have  j^ou  been 
able  to  judge  of  that  ?  " 

''Eh  !  mon  Dieu  !  the  eve  of  my  de- 
parture from  Paris." 

"Indeed  !  what  was  it  ?  ' ' 

'•'Yes;  there  was  an  execution  at  the 
Greve  ;  and,  in  consequence  of  that  execu- 
tion, a  riot.  We  happened,  by  accident, 
to  be  in  the  riot ;  and  in  this  riot  we  were 
obh^ed  to  have  recourse  to  our  swords. 
And  he  did  wonders." 

"  Bah  !  what  did  he  do  ?  " 

"  Wliy,  in  the  first  place,  he  threw  a 
man  out  of  the  window,  as  he  would  have 
thrown  a  bale  of  cotton." 

"Come,  that's  prett\'  well,"  said  Por- 
thos. 

"  Then  he  drew,  and  cut  and  thrust 
away,  as  we  fellows  used  to  do  in  g-ood 
old  times." 

"  And  what  was  the  cause  of  this  riot?" 
said  Porthos. 

D'Artagnan  remarked  upon  the  face  of 
Aramis  a  complete  indifference  to  this 
question  of  Porthos.  "Why,"  said  he, 
fixing  his  eyes  upon  Aramis,  "  on  account 
of  two  farmers  of  the  revenues,  friends 
of  M.  Fouquet,  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  repl3^  "Oh,  oh!" 
said  Porthos;  "and  what  were  the 
names  of  these  friends  of  M.  Fouquet  ?'' 

"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  finan- 
ciers." 

"Exactl}'^;    so  they  were." 

"Oh  !  M.  Fouquet  allows  his  friends  to 
be  hanged,  then,"  said  Porthos. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  Aramis. 

"  Wh}^  it  seems  to  me — " 

"  If  these  culprits  were  hanged,  it  was 
by  order  of  the  king.  Now,  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  j^ou." 

"Of  me  3'ou  know  all  that  I  can  tell 
you.  On  the  contrary,  let  me  hear  a  little 
about  you,  Aramis." 

"I  have  told  3'ou,  m}'-  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  iias  taken  b^^  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  strangle  !  I  have  been 
told  it  w^as  M.  Fouquet." 

"  Who  told  you  that?  "  cried  Aramis, 
without  being  able,  with  all  the  power  of 
his  will,  to  prevent  the  color  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 
I  repeat  it  to  3'ou." 

"I  have  never  seen  M.  Fouquet,"  re- 
plied Aramis,  with  a  look  as  pure  and 
calm  as  that  of  a  virgin  who  has  never 
told  a  lie. 

"  Well,  but  if  you  have  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'Artag- 
nan, in  the  most  natural  tone  imaginable. 
"  I  said  that  because  everj'body  here 
swears  hy  M.  Fouquet,  The  plain  is  M. 
Fouquet's  ;  the  salt-mines  I  am  about  to 
bu}^  are  M.  Fouquet's  ;  the  island  in  which 
Porthos  studies  topography  is  M.  Fou- 
quet's; the  garrison  is  M.  Fouquet's  ;  the 
galleys  are  M.  Fouquet's.    I  confess,  then, 


278 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


that  nothing  would  have  surprised  me  in 
your  enfeoffment,  or  rather  in  that  of 
your  diocese,  to  M.  Fouquet.  He  is  an- 
other 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  m\'  own,"  replied  Aramis,  who, 
during  this  conversation,  followed  with 
his  eye  ever}'^  gesture  of  D'Artagnan, 
everj*^  glance  of  Porthos. 

But  D'Artagnan  was  impassible,  and 
Porthos  motionless  ;  the  thrusts  aimed  so 
skillfulh'-  were  parried  by  an  able  ad- 
versary ;  not  one  hit  the  m^rk.  Never- 
theless, both  began  to  feel  the  fatigue  of 
such  a  contest,  and  the  announcement  of 
supper  was  well  received  by  everybody. 
Supper  changed  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion. Besides,  thej^  felt  that,  upon  their 
guard  as  each  one  had  been,  they  could 
neither  of  them  boast  of  having  the  ad- 
vantage. Porthos  had  understood  noth- 
ing 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'Ar- 
tagnan was  in  high  spirits.  Aramis  ex- 
ceeded himself  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  increased  the  mistrust 
of  D'Artagnan,  as  the  eternal  indifference 
of  D'Artagnan  provoked  the  suspicions  of 
Aramis.  At  length  D'Artagnan,  design- 
edly 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  him- 
self, '•  that  is  too  strong  !  We  must  be 
careful,  mordioux  !  we  must  be  careful." 

And  he  then  gave  Aramis  all  the  in- 
formation respecting  M.  Colbert  he  could 
desire.  The  supper,  or  rather  the  con- 
versation, was  prolonged  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  woke  up, 
and  the}^  sent  him  to  bed. 

"  Hum  !  "  said  he,  "  I  was  near  failing 
asleep  ;  but  that  was  all  very  interesting 
you  were  talking  about." 

At  one  o'clock  Aramis  conducted  D'Ar- 
tagnan to  the  chamber  destined  for  him, 
which  was  the  best  in  the  episcopal  resi- 
dence. 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  horse- 
back 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  LXXIU. 

IN   W^HICH    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  Por- 
thos' room.  The  giant,  who  had  been  in 
bed  nearly  an  hour  and  a  half,  la^^  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  re- 
minds us  of  the  soothing  movement  of  a 
ship.  In  a  moment  Porthos  would  have 
begun  to  dream.  The  door  of  the  cham- 
ber opened  softly  under  the  delicate  press- 
ure of  the  hand  of  Aramis.     The  bishop 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


279 


approached  the  sleeper.  A  thick  carpet 
deadened  the  sounds  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  convej^ed  more 
than  a  notice — it  conve^-ed  an  order.  His 
hand  was  light,  but  it  indicated  a  dang-er. 
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  I     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  di- 
rectly." 

"Setoff?" 

"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?" 

"Yes." 

"  A  hundred  leagues  ?  "  said  he. 

"A  hundred  and  four,"  replied  the 
bishop. 

'•  Oh  :  mon  Dieu  I  "  sighed  Porthos,  h'- 
ing  downi  again,  like  those  children  who 
contend  with  their  bonne  to  gain  an  hour 
or  two  more  sleep. 

"Thirty  hours'  riding,"  said  Aramis, 
firmly.  "You  know  there  are  good  re- 
lays." 

Porthos  pushed  out  one  leg,  allowing  a 
groan  to  escape  him. 

"  Come,  come  !  mj'-  friend,"  insisted  the 
prelate  with  a  sort  of  impatience. 

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, 
ray  dear  Porthos!"  said  Aramis,  "you 
will  wake  somebod^^" 

"Ah!  that's  true,"  replied  Porthos  in 
a  voice  of  thunder,  "  I  forgot  that ;  but 


be  satisfied,  I  will  observe."  And  so  spy- 
ing, he  let  fall  a  belt  loaded  with  his  sword 
and  pistols,  and  a  purse,  from  which  the 
crowns  escaped  with  a  vibrating  and  pro- 
longed noise.  This  noise  made  the  blood 
of  Aramis  boil,  while  it  drew  from  Porthos 
a  formidable  burst  of  laughter.  "How 
droll  that  is  I  "  said  lie,  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  Por- 
thos, "  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,  Poriuhos  :  let  us  make 
haste,  and  hold  our  tongues." 

"You  see  I  am  doing  my  best,"  said 
Porthos,  putting  on  his  haut  de  chausses. 

"Very  w^ell." 

"  This  seems  to  be  something  in  haste  ?  " 

"It  is  more  than  that,  it  is  serious,  Por- 
thos." 

"Oh,  oh!" 

"  D'Artagnan  has  questioned  you,  has 
he  not  ?  " 

"  Questioned  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  at  Belle-Isle  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  Porthos  ?  " 

"Par  bleu!" 

"It  is  impossible.  —  Recollect  3'our- 
self." 

"He  asked  me  what  I  was  doing,  and  I 
told  him ; — studying  topography.  I  would 
have  made  use  of  another  word  which  you 
employed  one  day." 

"  Of  castrametation  ?  " 

"'  Yes,  that's  it ;  but  I  never  could  rec- 
ollect 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 


280 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


out  your  writing-,  with  India-rubber.  It 
was  impossible  for  him  to  suppose  you  had 
g-iven  me  anj'^  advice  in  those  works." 

''Ay;  but  our  friend  has  very  keen 
eyes." 

''  What  are  \o\i  afraid  of  ?  " 

''  I  fear  that  everything-  is  discovered, 
Porthos  ;  the  matter  is,  then,  to  prevent 
a  g-reat  misfortune.  I  have  g"iven  orders 
to  my  people  to  close  all  the  g-ates  and 
doors.  D'Artag-nan  will  not  be  able  to 
g-et  out  before  daj'break.  Your  horse  is 
read,y  saddled  ;  you  will  g-ain  the  first 
relay ;  by  five  o'clock  in  the  morning-, 
you  will  have  g-one  fifteen  leag-ues. 
Come  !  " 

Aramis  then  assisted  Porthos  to  dress, 
piece  b}'^  piece,  with  as  much  celerity  as 
the  most  skillful  valet-de-chambre  could 
have  done.  Porthos,  half  confused,  half 
stupefied,  let  him  do  as  he  liked,  and 
confounded  himself  in  excuses.  When 
he  was  ready,  Aramis  took  him  b^^  the 
hand,  and  led  him,  making-  him  place 
his  foot  with  precaution  on  every  step  of 
the  stairs,  preventing-  him  running-  ag-ainst 
door-frames,  turning-  him  this  way  and 
that,  as  if  Aramis  had  been  the  g-iant  and 
Porthos  the  dwarf.  Soul  set  fire  to  and 
elevated  matter.  A  horse  was  waiting-, 
ready  saddled,  in  the  courtyard.  Por- 
thos 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  him  neighing-.  When 
arrived  at  the  outward  g-ate,  drawing- 
Porthos  toward  him,  who  was  g'oing  off 
without  even  asking-  him  what  for : 
"  Now,  friend  Porthos,  now  :  without 
drawing-  bridle,  till  you  g-et  to  Pans," 
whispered  he  in  his  ears  ;  "  eat  on  horse- 
back, drink  on  horseback,  sleep  on  horse- 
back, but  lose  not  a  minute." 

"  That's  enoug-h  ;  I  will  not  stop." 

''This  letter  to  M.  Fouquet  ;  cost  what 
it  may,  he  must  have  it  to-morrow  before 
mid-day." 

"He  shall  have  it." 

"  And  do  not  forg-et  one  thing-,  my 
friend." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 


"  That  3^ou  are  riding-  after  your  brevet 
of  due  and  peer." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  "  said  Porthos,  with  his 
eyes  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 
hapd,  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  lackej^  to  bed,  and  quickly  sought  his 
own.  D'Artagnan  reall3^  suspected  noth- 
ing ;  therefore  thought  he  had  gained 
everything,  when  he  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing, 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  ser- 
vant appeared.    All  the  doors  were  closed. 

"Good!  perfect  calm,"  said  D'Artag- 
nan 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  en- 
deavored 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  that  militar}^  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  cham- 
ber without  ceremony.  Aramis  was  asleep 
or  feigned  to  be  asleep.  Alarg-e  book  lay 
open  upon  his  night-desk,  a  wax-light  was 
still  burning  above  its  silver  plateau.  This 
was  more  than  enough  to  prove  to  D'Ar- 
tagnan the  innocence  of  the  night  of  the 
prelate,   and  the   good   intentions   of  his 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELOyXE. 


281 


waking-.  The  musketeer  did  to  the  bishop 
precise!}^  as  the  bishop  had  done  to  Por- 
thos — he  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 
Evidently  Aramis  pretended  to  sleep  ;  for, 
instead  of  waking  suddenl^^  he  who  slept 
so  lig-htl}^,  he  required  a  repetition  of  the 
summons. 

"  Ah  !  ah  I  is  that  you  ?  "  said  he, 
stretching'  his  arms.  "  What  an  ag"ree- 
able  surprise  !  Ma  foi !  Sleep  had  made 
me  forget  I  had  the  happiness  to  possess 
you.     What  o'clock  is  it  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  D'Artag-nan,  a 
little  embarrassed.  ••  Earh',  I  believe. 
But,  you  know,  that  devil  of  a  habit  of 
waking-  Avith  the  day  sticks  to  me  still." 

"Do  you  wish  that  we  should  g-o  out  so 
soon?"  asked  Aramis.  "It  appears  to 
me  to  be  very  early." 

"  Just  as  you  like." 

"I  thought  we  had  agreed  not  to  g-et 
on  horseback  before  eig-ht," 

"  Possiblj^ ;  but  I  had  so  g-reat  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 ;  j'-our  blood  was  alive,  and  yoxx 
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  eig-ht  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,  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  perform  my  devotions." 

"  Your  devotions  ?  " 

"Yes." 

''  I  did  not  believe  a  bishop's  exercises 
were  so  severe." 

"A  bishop,  m^^  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  appar- 
ences,  Aramis  !  " 

"  Instead  of  felicitating  me  upon  it, 
pardon  me,  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  praj^ers." 

"-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  I 
Ah  !  vay  friend,  be  as  reasonable  with  me 
as  3'OU  can.  Let  me  have  the  best  bar- 
gain possible." 

Aramis  began  to  laugh. 

"  Still  agreeable,  still  young,  still  gay," 
said  he.  "  You  have  come  into  my  diocese 
to  set  me  quarreling  with  grace.'' 

"Bah  !" 

"  And  3'ou  know  well  that  I  was  never 
able  to  resist  \-our  seductions ;  you  will 
cost  me  my  salvation,  D'Artagnan." 

D'Artagnan  bit  his  lips. 

"W^ell,"  said  he,.  "  I  will  take  the 
sin  on  my  own  head  ;  favor  me  with 
one  simple  Christian  sign  of  the  cross, 
favor  me  with  one  pater,  and  we  will 
part." 

"Hush!"  said  Aramis,  "we  are  al- 
ready 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  yon  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  and  ^vake  Porthos,  and  re- 
main in  his  company  till  you  have  finished 
the  conference." 

Aramis  did  not  stir,  his  brow  remained 
unbent,  he  betrayed  himself  by  no  gest- 
ure or  word.  "Go,"  said  he,  as  D'Ar- 
tagnan advanced  to  the  door. 

"Apropos,  do  3'ou  know  where  Porthos 
sleeps  ?  " 

"No,  but  I  can  inquire." 


282 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'•'Take  the  corridor,  and  open  the  sec- 
ond door  on  the  left." 

"  Thank  you  :  au  revoir  !  "  And  D'Ar- 
tag-nan  departed  in  the  direction  pointed 
out  by  Aramis. 

Ten  minutes  had  not  passed  away  when 
he  came  back.  He  found  Aramis  seated 
between  the  supeinor  of  the  Dominicans 
and  the  principal  of  the  college  of  the 
Jesuits,  exactly  in  the  same  situation  as 
he  had  found  him  formerly  in  the  auberg-e 
at  Crevecceur.  This  compan^^  did  not  at 
all  terrify  the  musketeer. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Aramis,  quietl3\ 
''You  have,  apparentl.y,  something  to  say 
to  me,  m^'  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  you  not  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'Ar- 
tagnan,  carelessly. 

"What  to  do?" 

"  To  see  if  Porthos  was  gone  out  on 
horseback." 

"And  ?  "  interrogated  the  bishop. 

"  Well,  there  is  a  liorse  missing — stall 
No.  3,  Goliah." 

All  this  dialogue,  it  may  be  easily  under- 
stood, Avas  not  exempt  from  a  certain  af- 
fectation on  the  part  of  the  musketeer, 
and  a  perfect  complaisance  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  sur- 
prise." 

"  A  surprise?  " 

"  Yes  :  the  canal  which  goes  from  Van- 
nes  to  the  sea  abounds  in  teal  and  snipes  ; 
that  is  Porthos'  favorite  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  \^y  a  wager  he  took  a  gun 
with  him." 

"  Well,  that  is  possible,"  said  D'Artag- 
nan. 

"  Do  one  thing,  mj'  friend  :  get  on  horse- 
back, and  join  him." 

"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  j'esterda^^  on  coming 
from  Belle-Isle." 

"So  be  it ;  use  the  horse  as  your  own." 

Aramis  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. 
Wlien  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'Ar- 
tagnan he  wished.  D'Artagnan  got  into 
the  saddle,  and  Aramis  heard  the  steps  of 
his  horse  on  the  pavement.  An  instant 
after,  the  servant  returned. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  bishop. 

' '  Monseigneur,  he  has  followed  the 
course  of  the  canal,  and  is  going  toward 
the  sea,"  said  the  servant. 

"'  Very  well  !  "  said  Aramis. 

In  fact,  D'Artagnan,  dismissing  all  sus- 
picion, hastened  toward  the  ocean,  con- 
stantly hoping  to  see  in  the  Landes,  or  on 
the  beach,  the  colossal  profile  of  Porthos. 
He  persisted  in  fancying  he  could  trace 
a  horse's  step  in  every  puddle.  Some- 
times he  imagined  he  heard  the  report  of 
a  gun.  This  illusion  lasted  three  hours  : 
during  two  of  them  he  went  forward  in 
searcli  of  his  friend  ;  in  the  last  he  re- 
turned to  the  house. 

"We   must    have    crossed,"   said    he, 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONSE. 


283 


''and  I  shall  find  them  waiting-  for  me  at 
table." 

D'Artag-nan  was  mistaken  ;  he  no  more 
found  Porthos  at  the  palace  than  he  had 
found  him  on  the  sea-shore.  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,  m^^  friend, 
deeply,  to  have  induced  3'ou  to  take  such 
a  useless  search ;  but,  about  seven  o'clock, 
the  almoner  of  Saint-Paterne  came  here. 
He  had  met  De  Valon,  who  was  g-oing- 
away,  and  who,  being-  unwilling  to  disturb 
anybody  at  the  palace,  had  charg-ed  him 
to  tell  me  that,  fearing  M.  Getard  Avould 
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,  "  Go- 
liah is  in  the  stable,  well  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  direc- 
tion of  the  prelate,  from  whom  no  detail 
had  escaped.  D'Artagnan  appeared  as 
well  satisfied  as  possible  with  the  expla- 
nation. He  entered  upon  a  part  of  dis- 
simulation which  agreed  perfectly'  with 
the  suspicions  that  arose  more  and  more 
strongly  in  his  mind.  He  breakfasted  be- 
tween the  Jesuit  and  Aramis,  having  the 
Dominican  in  front  of  him,  and  smiling  par- 
ticularly at  the  Dominican,  whose  jolh'  fat 
face  pleased  him  much.  The  repast  was 
long  and  sumptuous ;  excellent  Spanish 
wine,  fine  Morbitran  oysters,  exquisite 
fish  from  the  mouth  of  the  Loire,  enor- 
mous prawns  from  Paimbceuf,  and  delic- 
ious game  from  the  moors,  constituted 
the  principal  part  of  it.  D'Artagnan 
ate  much,  and  drank  but  little.  Ara- 
mis 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  ?  " 

"  While  waiting  for  Porthos,  it  is  the 
best  thing  I  can  do,  I  think." 

"Take  which  you  like  from  the  tro- 
pby." 

"  Will  3'ou  not  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  would  with  great  pleasure ;  but, 
alas  !  my  friend,  sporting  is  forbidden  to 
bishops." 

"Ah  !  "  said  D'Artagnan,  "I  did  not 
know  that." 

"Besides,"  continued  Aramis,  "  I  shall 
be  busy  till  mid-day." 


then 


said 


'Ar- 


"  I  shall  go  alone, 
tagnan. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  you  must ;  but 
come  back  to  dinner." 

"  Pardieu  I  the  eating  at  your  house  is 
too  good  to  make  me  think  of  not  com- 
ing back."  And  thereupon  D'Artagnan 
quitted  his  post,  bowed  to  the  guests,  and 
took  his  arquebuse  ;  but,  instead  of  shoot- 
ing, went  straight  to  the  little  port  of 
Vannes.  He  looked  m  vain  to  observe 
if  anybody  saw  him ;  he  could  discern 
neither  thing  nor  person.  He  engaged  a 
little  fishing  boat  for  twenty -five  livres, 
and  set  off  at  half-past  eleven,  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  the 
morning,  by  the  help  of  an  excellent  glass, 
lost  sight  of  one  of  his  steps.  At  three- 
quarters  past  eleven,  Aramis  was  in- 
formed that  D'Artagnan  was  sailing 
toward  Belle-Isle.  The  voyage  was  rapid  ; 
a  good  north-northeast  wind  drove  him 
toward  the  isle.  As  he  approached,  his 
eyes  were  constanth'  fixed  upon  the  coast. 
He  looked  to  see  if,  upon  the  shore  or  upon 
the  fortifications,  the  brilliant  dress  and 
vast  stature  of  Porthos  should  stand  out 
against  a  slightly  clouded  skj ;  but  his 
search  was  in  vain.  He  landed  without 
having  seen  anything  ;  and  learned  from 
the  first  soldier  interrogated  by  him  that 
M,  de  Valon  was  not  yet  returned  from 
Vannes.     Then,  without  losing  an  instant. 


284 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


D'Artagnan  ordered  bis  little  bark  to  put 
its  head  toward  Sarzeau.  We  know  tbat 
the  wind  changes  with  the  different  hours 
of  the  day.  The  wind  had  gone  round 
from  the  north-northeast  to  the  south- 
east ;  the  wind,  then,  was  almost  as  good 
for  the  return  to  Sarzeau  as  it  bad  been 
for  the  vo3^age  to  Belle-Isle.  In  three 
hours  D'Artagnan  had  touched  the  con- 
tinent ;  two  hours  more  sufficed  for  bis 
ride  to  Vannes.  In  spite  of  the  rapidity 
of  his  passage,  what  D'Artagnan  endured 
of  impatience  and  anger  during  tbat  short 
passage,  the  deck  alone  of  the  vessel, 
upon  which  he  stamped  backward  and 
forward  for  three  hours,  could  relate  to 
history.  He  made  but  one  bound  from 
the  quay  whereon  he  landed,  to  the  epis- 
copal palace.  He  thought  to  terrify  Ara- 
mis  by  the  promptitude  of  his  return  ;  he 
wished  to  reproach  him  with  his  duplicitj^, 
and  yet  with  reserve  ;  but  with  sufficient 
spirit,  nevertheless,  to  inake  him  feel  all 
the  consequences  of  it,  and  force  from  him 
a  part  of  bis  secret.  He  hoped,  in  short — 
thanks  to  that  beat  of  expression  which  is 
to  m3^steries  what  the  charge  with  the 
ba^'^onet  is  to  redoubts — to  bring  the  mys- 
terious Aramis  to  some  manifestation  or 
other.  But  be  found,  in  the  vestibule  of 
the  palace,  the  valet-de-chambre,  who 
closed  the  passage,  while  smiling  upon 
him  with  a  stupid  air. 

"  Monseigneur  ?  "  cried  D'Artagnan, 
endeavoring  to  put  him  aside  with  his 
hand.  Moved  for  an  instant,  the  valet 
resumed  his  station. 

"  Monseigneur  ?"  said  he. 

*'Yes,  to  be  sure;  do  you  not  know 
me ;   imbecile  .^" 

''Yes;  you  are  the  Chevalier  d'Ar- 
tagnan." 

"  Then  let  me  pass." 

"  It  is  of  no  use." 

"  Why  of  no  use  ?  " 

''Because  his  greatness  is  not  at 
"i?ome." 

"What !  his  greatness  is  not  at  home  ? 
where  is  be  then  ?  " 

"Gone." 

"  Gone  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Whithe 


"  I  don't  know  ;  but  perhaps  he  tells 
Monsieur  lo  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 
line,  "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  3'ou  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  3^ou  can  ;  but  do  not  attempt 
to  bold  out  against  him  at  table.  This  is 
a  counsel  I  might  have  given  even  to 
Athos,  in  his  most  brilliant  and  best  days. 
Adieu,  dear  friend  ;  believe  that  I  regret 
greatly  not  having  better  and  for  a 
longer  time  profited  by  your  excellent 
compan3^" 

"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  nut- 
shell ! "  And  with  a  heart}^  blow  be- 
stowed upon  the  nose  of  tlie  still  grinning 
valet-de-chambre,  he  made  all  haste  out 
of  the  episcopal  palace.  Furet,  however 
good  a  trotter,  was  not  equal  to  present 
circumstances.  D'Artagnan,  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. 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

IN  Vi^HICH  D'ARTAGNAN  MAKES  ALL  SPEED, 

PORTHOS     SNORES,    AND    ARAMIS 

COUNSELS. 

From  tbirtj'^  to  thirty-five  hours  after 
the   events  we  have  just   related,  as  M. 


I 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


385 


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  car- 
riag-e  drawn  by  four  horses  streaming-  with 
sweat  entered  the  court  at  full  g-allop. 
This  carriage  was,  probably,  expected ; 
for  three  or  four  lacker's  hastened  to  the 
door,  which  they  opened.  While  M.  Fou- 
quet  rose  from  his  bureau  and  ran  to  the 
window,  a  man  g-ot  painfulh''  out  of  the  car- 
riage, descending-  with  difficulty  the  three 
steps  of  the  door,  leaning-  upon  the  shoul- 
ders 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  vestibule. 
This  man  went  to  inform  his  master  ;  but 
he  had  no  occasion  to  knock  at  the  door  : 
Fouquet  was  standing-  on  the  threshold. 

'•'  Monseigneur,  the  bishop  of  Vannes," 
said  he. 

"Yery  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  I  but  bruised, 
battered,  as  you  see." 

''Ob  !  my  poor  dear  friend,"  said  Fou- 
quet, presenting  him  his  arm,  upon  which 
Aramis  leaned,  while  the  servants  drew 
back  with  respect. 

"Bah!"  replied  Aramis,  "it  is  noth- 
ing, since  I  am  here.  The  principal  thing 
was  that  I  should  get  here,  and  here  I 
am." 

"  Speak  quickly,"  said  Fouquet,  closing 
the  door  of  the  cabinet  behind  Aramis  and 
himself. 

"  Are  we  alone  ?  " 

"Yes;  perfectl3\" 

"  No  one  can  listen  to  us  ? — no  one  can 
hear  us?  " 

"Be  satisfied  ;  nobody." 

"  Is  M.  de  Valon  arrived  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  j-^ou  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  elsewhere." 


"You  are  right;  it  cannot  be  more 
serious." 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  you  !  What  is  it 
about  ?  But,  for  God's  sake  !  before  anj^- 
thing  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. 
Did  M.  de  Valon  tell  you  nothing,  when 
he  delivered  the  letter  to  you  ?  " 

"  Xo  ;  I  heard  a  great  noise  ;  I  went  to 
the  window  ;  I  saw  at  the  feet  of  the  per- 
ron 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  apartment.  Having 
read  the  letter,  I  went  up  to  him,  in  hope 
of  obtaining  more  ample  information  ;  but 
he  was  asleep,  and,  after  such  a  fashion, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  wake  him.  I 
took  pit}'  on  him  :  I  gave  oi^ders  that  his 
boots  should  be  taken  off,  and  that  he 
should  be  left  quite  undisturbed." 

"  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  in- 
telligence, and  even  a  man  of  heart ; 
although  he  did  bring  about  the  death 
of  our  dear  friends,  Lyodot  and  D'Ey- 
meris." 

"  Alas  !  yes,  I  heard  of  that.  At  Tours, 
I  met  the  courier,  who  was  bringing  me 
the  letter  from  Gourville,  and  the  dis- 
patches from  Pellisson.  Have  you  seri- 
ously^ reflected  on  that  event,  monsieur  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  in  it  ^'■ou  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  monev." 


286 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


*'  With  what  kind  of  order  ?  " 

"With  an  order  from  the  king." 

"Direct?" 

"  Sig-ned  by  his  majesty." 

"  There,  then  !  Well,  D'Artag-nan  has 
been  to  Belle-Isle  ;  he  was  disguised  ;  he 
came  in  the  character  of  some  sort  of  an 
intendant,  charged  by  his  master  to  pur- 
chase salt-mines.  Now,  D'Artagnan  has 
no  master  but  the  king;  he  came,  then, 
sent  by  the  king.     He  saw  Porthos." 

"Who  is  Porthos  ?  " 

"I  beg  3'our  pardon,  I  made  a  mistake. 
He  saw  M.  de  Valon  at  Belle-Isle  ;  and  he 
knows,  as  well  as  you  and  1  do,  that  Belle- 
Isle  is  fortified." 

"  And  you  think  that  the  king  sent  him 
there  ?  "  said  Fouquet,  pensively. 

"  I  certainly  do." 

"  And  D'Artagnan,  in  the  hands  of  the 
king,  is  a  dangerous  instrument  ?  " 

"  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, 
most  acute,  and  the  most  adroit  man  in 
France,  you  have  judged  correctly." 

"  He  must  be  had,  then,  at  any  price." 

"  D'Artagnan  ?  " 

"  Is  not  that  your  opinion  ?  " 

"It  may  be  my  opinion,  but  3'ou  will 
never  have  him." 

"Why?" 

"Because  we  have  allowed  the  time  to 
go  b}'.  He  was  dissatisfied  with  the 
court,  we  should  have  profited  by  that; 
since  that  he  has  passed  into  England  ; 
there  he  powerfulh^  assisted  m  the  resto- 
ration, 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." 

"  We  will  pay  him  still  better,  that  is 
all." 

"  Oh  I  monsieur,  excuse  me  ;  D'Artag- 
nan has  a  high  sense  of  his  word,  and 
where  that  word  is  once  engaged,  that 
word  remains  where  it  is." 

"  What  do  5'^ou  conclude  then  ?  "  said 
Fouquet,  with  great  inquietude. 


"  At  present,  the  principal  thing  is  to 
parr3'^  a  dangerous  blow." 

"  And  how  is  it  to  be  parried  ?  " 

"Listen." 

"  But  D'Artagnan  will  come  and  rendi>r 
an  account  to  the  king  of  his  mission." 

"Oh,  we  have  time  enough  to  think 
about  that." 

"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  heav- 
ens ;  at  these  swallow^s  which  cut  the  air. 
D'Artagnan  moves  more  quickly  than  the 
clouds  or  the  birds  ;  D'Artagnan  is  the 
wind  w^hich  carries  them." 

"  A  strange  man  !  " 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  something  superhu- 
man, monsieur.  He  is  of  my  age,  and  I 
have  knoW'U  him  these  five-and-twenty 
years." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  listen  to  my  calculation,  mon- 
sieur. I  sent  M.  de  Valon  off  to  you  at 
two  hours  after  midnight.  M.  de  Valon 
was  eight  hours  in  advance  of  me  ;  when 
did  M.  de  Valon  arrive  ?  " 

"About  four  hours  ago." 

"  You  see,  then,  that  I  gained  four  upon 
him  ;  and  3'et  Porthos  is  a  stanch  horse- 
man, and  he  has  left  on  the  road  eight 
dead  horses,  whose  bodies  I  came  to  suc- 
cessively. I  rode  post  fifty  leagues  ;  but 
I  have  the  gout,  the  gravel,  and  what  else 
I  know  not ;  so  that  fatigue  kills  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  centaur.  D'Artagnan,  you  see,  set  out 
for  Belle-Isle  when  I  set  out  for  Paris ; 
and  D'Artagnan,  notwithstanding  mj''  ten 
hours'  advance,  D'Artagnan  will  arrive 
within  two  hours  after  me." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


287 


"  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  ad- 
mire. I  love  him  because  he  is  good, 
great  and  lo^'al ;  I  admire  him  because  he 
represents  with  me  the  culminating  point 
of  human  powers  ;  but,  while  loving-  and 
admiring  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  beforehand  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' Herb  lay  I  Monsieur 
d'Herblay,"  cried  Fouquet,  "what  pro- 
jects crushed  all  at  once  !  " 

"After  one  project  that  has  failed, 
there  is  always  another  project  which 
may  lead  to  good ;  we  should  never  de- 
spair.    Go,  monsieur,  and  go  quickly." 

"  But  that  garrison,  so  carefully  chosen, 
the  king  will  change  it  directly." 

"  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  \'OU  see 
any  inconvenience  in  having  an  army  at 
the  end  of  a  yesuY,  instead  of  two  regi- 
ments? Do  3'"ou  not  see  that  your  garri- 
son of  to-day  will  make  3'^ou  partisans  at 
La  Rochelle,  Nantes,  Bordeaux,  Toulouse 
— in  short,  w'herever  the}'-  may  be  sent  to? 
Go  to  the  king,  monsieur  ;  go  ;  time  flies, 
and  D'Artagnan,  while  we  are  losing 
time,  is  flaying  like  an  arrow  along  the 
high  road." 

"Monsieur  d'Herblay,  you  know  that 
each  word  from  you  is  a  germ  which  fruc- 
tifies in  m}^  thoughts.  I  will  go  to  the 
Louvre." 

"'  Instantly,  will  you  not?" 

"  I  onl}'-  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 
off  an  hour  from  the  advance  which  re- 
mains 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,  Fouquet 
gave  orders  for  his  departure. 

Aramis  had  only  time  to  say  to  him  : 

"  Return  as  quickly  as  j^ou  go ;  for  I 
shall  await  you  impatiently." 

Five  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  friendh'  dignity  which  he  knew  so 
well  how  to  assume,  those  caresses  as  re- 
spectful as  earnest ;  but,  all  at  once,  stop- 
ping 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  Pellisson,  smiling. 

"Well;  but—" 

"It  is  M.  de  Valon  snoring." 

"  Ah  !  true,"  said  Aramis  ;  "  I  had  for- 
gotten. No  one  but  he  is  capable  of  mak- 
ing such  a  noise.  Allow  me,  Pellisson,  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  es- 
caped from  the  deep  cavities  of  his  chest 
made  the  glass  of  the  windows  vibrate. 
To  those  developed  and  clearlj^  defined 
muscles  starting  from  his  face,  to  his  hair 
matted  with  sweat,  to  the  energetic  heav- 
ing of  his  chin  and  shoulders,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  refuse  a  certain  degree  of  admira- 
tion. Strength  carried  to  this  point  is 
almost  divinit3^  The  Herculean  legs  and 
feet  of  Porthos  had,  by  s\v'elling,  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  re- 
clines   upon    the   plains  of  Agrigentum. 


^88 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


According-  to  Pellisson's  orders,  his  boots 
had  been  cut  off,  for  no  human  power 
could  have  pulled  them  off.  Four  lacker's 
had  tried  in  vain,  pulling-  at  them  as  they 
would  have  pulled  capstans  ;  and  yet  all 
this  did  not  awaken  him.  They  had  taken 
oir  his  boots  in  fragments,  and  his  leg-s 
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  con- 
siderable time.  They  then  put  on  him 
clean  linen,  and  placed  him  in  a  well- 
warmed  bed — the  whole  with  efforts  and 
pains  which  mig'ht  have  roused  a  dead 
man,  but  which  did  not  make  Porthos 
open  an  eye,  or  interrupt  for  a  second  the 
formidable  org-an  of  his  snoring.  Aramis 
wished,  on  his  part,  with  a  dry,  nervous 
nature,  armed  with  extraordinary  cour- 
age, to  outbrave  fatigue,  and  employ  him- 
self with  Gourville  and  Pellisson,  but  he 
fainted  in  the  chair  in  which  he  had  per- 
sisted to  remain.  Ho  was  carried  into  the 
adjoining  room,  where  the  repose  of  bed 
soon  calmed  his  throbbing  brain. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

IN   WHICH   MONSIEUR  FOUQUET  ACTS. 

In  the  meantime  Fouquet  was  hasten- 
ing to  the  Louvre,  at  the  best  speed  of 
his  English  horses.  The  king  was  at 
Avork  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  mem- 
ory :  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  3"ou  made  me  condemn 
were  not  ver3^  great  culprits." 

"  Sire,  they  were  picked  out  from  the 
herd  of  the  farmers  of  the  finances,  which 
wanted  decimating." 

"  Picked  out  by  whom  ?  " 

''By  necessity,  sire,"  replied  Colbert, 
coldly. 

"Necessity!  —  a  great  word,"  mur- 
mured the  young  king. 


*'  A  great  goddess,  sire." 

'•  They  were  devoted  friends  of  the  su- 
rintendant,  were  they  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire ;  friends  who  would  have 
given  their  lives  to  Monsieur  Fouquet." 

"They  have  given  them,  monsieur," 
said  the  king. 

'*■  That  is  true; — but  uselessly,  by  good 
luck — w^hich  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  m^'^  coffers  ?  " 
said  the  king,  with  a  certain  air  of  repug- 
nance. 

"  It  is  there,  sire  ;  but  this  confiscation, 
while  threatening  M.  Fouquet,  has  not 
touched  him." 

"  You  conclude,  then,  M.  Colbert — " 

"  That  if  M.  Fouquet  has  raised  against 
your  majesty  a  troop  of  factious  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  oi 
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  3'our  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  royaX  pre- 
rogative, and  cannot,  if  this  continues  so, 
be  long  in  placing  your  majesty  among 
the  weak  and  obscure." 

"How  would  you  qualify  all  these  proj- 
ects, M.  Colbert  ?  " 


w 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


289 


"  The  projects  of  M.  Fouquet,  sire  ?  " 

"Yes." 

'•'  They  are  called  crimes  of  Use  ma- 
jeste.'' 

"  And  what  is  done  to  criminals  g^uilty 
of  lese  majeste  ?  " 

"They  are  arrested,  tried,  and  pun- 
ished." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  that  M.  Fouquet 
has  conceived  the  idea  of  the  crime  3'ou 
impute  to  him?" 

"I  can  say  more,  sire  ;  there  is  even  a 
commencement  of  the  execution  of  it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  return  to  that  which  I 
was  sajnng,  M.  Colbert." 

"  And  you  w^ere  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?" 

"  I  have  just  learned  that  M.  Fouquet 
is  fortifying  Belle-Isle." 

"Ah,  indeed  !" 

"Yes,  sire." 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"Perfectly.  Do  you  know,  sire,  what 
soldiers  there  are  at  Belle-Isle  ?  " 

"  No,  ma  foi  !     Do  j^ou  ?  " 

"  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  m3'self  whether,  after  the  ex- 
ample of  the  ancient  feudal  lords,  M.  Fou- 
quet was  embattlementing  his  walls." 

"  And  with  w^hat  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  immediatel}'  do  as  you 
say  ;  M.  Fouquet  must  be  arrested.' 

"That  is  impossible." 

"  I  thought  I  had  already  told  you,  mon- 
sieur, that  I  suppressed  that  word  in  m}' 
service." 

"The  service  of  your  majest^^  cannot 
Dumas — 10 


prevent  M.  Fouquet  from  being-  surinten- 
dant-general." 

"Well?" 

"  That,  in  consequence  of  holding  that 
post,  he  has  for  him  all  the  parliament, 
as  he  has  all  the  army  b}"-  his  largesses, 
all  literature  b}'  his  favors,  and  all  the 
noblesse  by  his  presents." 

"'  That  is  to  say,  then,  that  I  can  do 
nothing  ag-ainst  M.  Fouquet  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing- — at  least  at  pres- 
ent, sire." 

"You  are  a  sterile  counselor,  M.  Col- 
bert." 

"  Oh,  no,  sire ;  for  I  will  not  confine 
myself  to  pointing  out  the  peril  to  your 
ma  jest}'." 

"  Come,  then,  where  shall  we  begin  to 
undermine  the  Colossus?  let  us  see;" 
and  his  majesty  began  to  laugh  with 
bitterness. 

"  He  has  grown  g-reat  by  money  :  kill 
him  by  money,  sire." 

"  If  I  were  to  deprive  him  of  his  charg-e?" 

"A  bad  means,  sire." 

"  The  g-ood — the  g-ood,  then  ?  " 

"Ruin  him,  sire,  that  is  the  wa}^" 

'•'But  how?" 

"Occasions  will  not  be  wanting;  take 
advantag-e  of  all  occasions." 

"'  Point  them  out  to  me." 

"'  Here  is  one  at  once.  His  royal  hig-h- 
ness  Monsieur  is  about  to  be  married,  his 
nuptials  must  be  magnificent.  That  is  a 
g-ood  occasion  for  jgmv  majest\-  to  demand 
a  million  of  M.  Fouquet.  M.  Fouquet, 
who  pa^'s  twentj^  thousand  livres  down 
when  he  need  not  pay  more  than  five 
thousand,  will  easilj''  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  ordon- 
nance,  I  will  have  the  money  taken  my- 
self." And  Colbert  pushed  a  paper  before 
the  king-  and  presented  a  pen  to  him. 

At  that  moment  the  usher  opened  the 
door  and  announced  Monsieur  le  Surin- 
tendant.  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 


290 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


whom  a  sing-le  glance  was  sufficient  to 
make  him  appreciate  his  situation.  That 
situation  was  not  very  encouraging  for 
Fouquet,  whatever  might  be  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  strength.  The  small 
black  eye  of  Colbert,  dilated  \>y  envy,  and 
the  limpid  eye  of  Louis  XIV.,  inflamed  by 
anger,  signaled  a  pressing  danger.  Cour- 
tiers are,  with  regard  to  court  rumors, 
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  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  for- 
bearance of  the  moment.  Fouquet  bold Ij-^ 
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  hj'pocrites  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  5'our  ej-es  over  this  work,"  said  he. 

The  king  slowly  unfolded  the  paper. 

''Plans?"  said  he. 

"Yes,  sire." 

"  And  what  are  these  plans  ?  " 

"A  new  fortificatjon,  sire." 

"Ah,  ah  !  "  said  the  king,  "you  amuse 
yourself  with  tactics  and  strategies  then, 
k.  Fouquet?" 

"  I  occupy  myself  with  everything  that 


may  be  useful  to  the  reign  of  your  maj- 
esty," replied  Fouquet. 

"  Beautiful  descriptions  ! "  said  the 
king,  looking  at  the  design. 

"Your  majest^^  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 
3^ou  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  neces- 
sity 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  six- 
teen hundred  thousand  livres  in  this 
operation." 

"  What  to  do  ?  "  replied  Louis  coldly, 
having  taken  the  initiative  from  a  ma- 
licious look  of  the  intendant. 

"  For  an  aim  very  easy  to  seize,"  re- 
plied Fouquet.  "  Your  majesty  was  on 
cool  terms  with  Great  Britain." 

"Yes;  but  since  the  restoration  of 
King  Charles  II.  I  have  formed  an  alli- 
ance 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  citi- 
zens who  were  playing  at  sohiiers.  Belle- 
Isle  will  be  ready  fortified  against  the 
Dutch,  against  whom  eitiier  England  or 
your  majesty  cannot  fail  to  make  war." 

The  king  was  again  silent,  and  looked 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


291 


I 


under  at  Colbert.  "  Belle-Isle,  I  believe," 
added  Louis,  ''is  yours,  M.  Fouquet?" 

"No,  sire." 

''Whose  tben  ?  " 

"Your  m;ijestv's." 

Colbert  was  seized  with  as  much  terror 
as  if  a  ^\i\i  had  opened  beneath  his  feet. 
Louis  started  with  admiration,  either  at 
the  g-enius  or  the  devotion  of  Fouquet. 

"Explain  yourself,  monsieur,"  said  he. 

"Nothing'  more  easy,  sire;  Belle-Isle 
is  one  of  m\'  estates ;  I  have  fortified  it 
at  m}'^  own  expense.  But,  as  nothing*  in 
the  world  can  oppose  a  subject  making*  a 
humble  present  to  his  king",  I  offer  jour 
majesty  the  proprietorship  of  the  estate, 
of  which  3^ou  will  leave  me  the  usufruct. 
Belle-Isle,  as  a  place  of  war,  ought  to  be 
occupied  by  the  king".  Your  majesty  will 
be  able,  henceforth,  to  keep  a  safe  g"ar- 
rison  there." 

Colbert  felt  almost  sinking"  down  upon 
the  floor.  To  keep  himself  from  falling-, 
he  was  oblig-ed  to  hold  by  the  columns  of 
the  wainscoting-. 

"  This  is  a  piece  of  g-reat  skill  in  the  art 
of  war  that  you  have  exhibited  here,  mon- 
sieur," said  Louis. 

"  Sire,  the  initiative  did  not  come  from 
me,"  replied  Fouquet;  "many  officers 
have  inspired  me  with  it.  The  plans  them- 
selves have  been  made  by  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  engineers." 

"  His  name?  " 

"M.  de  Valon." 

"  M.  de  Valon  ?  "  resumed  Louis,  "  I 
do  not  know  him.  It  is  much  to  be  la- 
mented, M.  Colbert,"  continued  he,  "that 
I  do  not  know  the  names  of  the  men  of 
talent  who  do  honor  to  my  reig-n."  And 
while  saying-  these  words  he  turned  to- 
ward Colbert.  The  latter  felt  himself 
crushed,  the  sweat  flowed  from  his  brow, 
no  word  presented  itself  to  his  lips,  he  suf- 
fered an  inexpressible  martj^rdom.  "You 
will  recollect  that  name,"  added  Louis 
XIV. 

Colbert  bowed,  but  was  paler  than  his 
ruffles  of  Flemish  lace.  Fouquet  con- 
tinued : 

"  The  masonries  are  of  Roman  mastic  ; 
the  architects  have  composed  it  for  me 
after  the  best  accounts  of  antiquity." 


"  And  the  cannons  ?  "  asked  Louis. 

"  Oh !  sire,  that  concerns  j^our  maj- 
esty ;  it  did  not  become  me  to  place  can- 
non in  mj'^  own  house,  unless  your  majesty 
had  told  me  it  was  yours." 

Louis  beg-an  to  float,  undetermined  be- 
tween the  hatred  which  this  so  powerful 
man  inspired  him  with,  and  the  pit\^  he 
felt  for  that  other  man,  so  cast  down, 
who  seemed  to  him  the  counterfeit  of  the 
former.  But  the  consciousness  of  his 
kinglj'  duty  prevailed  over  the  feeling-s  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  plans  into  execu- 
tion," said  he. 

"I  believe  I  had  the  honor  of  telling 
3'^our  majesty  the  amount?  " 

"  Repeat  it,  if  3'ou  please,  I  have  for- 
gotten it." 

"Sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres." 

"  Sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres  ?  j-ou 
are  enormously  rich,  monsieur." 

"  It  is  5'our  majesty  who  is  rich,  since 
Belle-Isle  is  3'ours." 

"Yes,  thank  3'ou  ;  but  however  rich  I 
may  be,  M.  Fouquet — "  The  king  stopped 
— "  Well,  sire  ?  "  asked  the  surintendant. 

"I  foresee  the  moment  when  I  shall 
want  monej'." 

"You,  sire?  —  And  at  what  moment, 
then  ?  " 

"To-morrow,  for  example." 

"  Will  your  majesey  do  me  the  honor 
to  explain  3'ourself  ?  " 

"  My  brother  is  going  to  marry  the 
princess  of  England." 

"Well?— sire." 

"  Well,  I  ought  to  give  the  young  prin- 
cess a  reception  worthy  of  the  grand- 
daughter of  Henrj'  IV." 

"  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  toward  Colbert, 
that  he  might  give  the  blow. 

"  I  shall  want,  to-morrow,"  repeated 
he,  looking  at  Colbert. 

"A  million,"  said  the  latter,  bluntly, 


292 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


delig"hted  to  take  his  revenge.  Fouquet 
turned  his  back  upon  the  intendant  to 
listen  to  the  king.  He  did  not  at  all  turn 
round,  but  waited  till  the  king-  repeated, 
or  rather  murmured,  "A  million." 

''Oh,  sire,"  replied  Fouquet  disdain- 
fully, •'  a  million  !  What  will  j^our  maj- 
esty do  with  a  million  ?  " 

"  It  appears  to  me,  nevertheless — "  said 
Louis  XIV. 

"  That  is  not  more  than  is  spent  at  the 
nuptials  of  one  of  the  most  pett^^  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  honor  of  sending  your 
majesty  sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres 
this  evening." 

"  How  !  "  said  the  king,  "  sixteen  hun- 
dred thousand  lives?" 

"Look,  sire,"  replied  Fouquet,  without 
even  turning  toward  Colbert,  "  I  know 
that  that  wants  four  hundred  thousand 
livres  of  the  two  millions.  But  this  Mon- 
sieur of  I'Intendance  "  (pointing  over  his 
shoulder  to  Colbert,  who,  if  possible,  be- 
came paler,  behind  him)  "  has  in  his 
coffers  nine  hundred  thousand  livres  of 
mine." 

The  king  turned  round  to  look  at  Col- 
bert. 

"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,  twent}^- 
five  thousand  to  the  Swiss,  a  hundred 
and  thirt3'^  thousand  to  provisions,  a  thou- 
sand for  arms,  ten  thousand  for  incidental 
expenses.  I  do  not  err,  then,  in  reckoning 
upon  nine  hundred  thousand  livres  that 
are  left."  Then  turning  toward  Colbert, 
like  a  disdainful  head  of  office  toward  his 
inferior,  "Take  care,  monsieur,"  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  ma^^  serve  as  pocket  money  for  his 
royal  highness.  You  understand.  Mon- 
sieur Colbert,  this  evening,  before  eight 
o'clock." 

And  with  these  words,  bowing  respect- 
fully to  the  king,  the  surintendant  made 
his  exit  backward,  without  honoring  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  the}'  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'Herblaj^  was  right,"  murmured 
Fouquet,  pulling  out  his  watch;  "an 
hour  and  fifty-five  minutes.  It  was  quite 
true." 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

IN    WHICH    D'aRTAGNAN    FINISHES   5Y    AT 
LENGTH  PLACING   HIS   HAND  UPON 

HIS  captain's  commission. 

The  reader  guesses  beforehand  whom 
the  usher  announced  in  announcing  the 
messenger  from  Bretagne.  This  messen- 
ger was  easily  recognized.  It  was  D'Ar- 
tagnan,  his  clothes  dusty,  his  face  in- 
flamed, 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  per- 
ceived, in  the  doorway  he  was  passing 
through,  the  surintendant  coming  out. 
Fouquet  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  inexhaust- 
ible vigor  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  betra}^  his  cause ;  to  speak  that 
word  in  the  cabinet  of  the  king,  and  be- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


293 


fore  an  usher,  would  have  been  to  ruin 
himself  g-ratuitousl3-,  and  could  save  no- 
body. D'Artag-nan,  then,  contented  him- 
self with  bowing-  to  Fouquet,  and  entered. 
At  this  moment  the  king-  floated  between 
the  joy  the  last  words  of  Fouquet  had 
given  him,  and  his  pleasure  at  the  return 
of  D'Artagnan.  Without  being-  a  cour- 
tier, D'Artagnan  had  a  glance  as  sure 
and  as  rapid  as  if  he  had  been  one.  He 
read,  on  his  entrance,  devouring-  humilia- 
tion 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  in- 
tendance?"  Colbert,  suffocated,  bowed, 
but  made  no  repl\'.  All  this  scene  entered 
into  the  mind  of  D'Artagnan,  by  the  ej^es 
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-daj' ;  " 
his  second  was  to  send  away  Colbert. 
The  latter  left  the  king's  cabinet  livid  and 
tottering,  while  D'Artag-nan  twisted  up 
the  ends  of  his  mustache. 

"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  suflB.ciently  urg-ent  to  excuse 
my  presenting-  m^'self  thus  before  you." 

"  You  bring-  me  great  news,  then,  mon- 


sieur 


9" 


'•'  Sire,  the  thing-  is  this,  in  two  words  : 
Belle-Isle  is  fortified,  admirabl}'  fortified  ; 
Belle-Isle  has  a  double  enceinte,  a  citadel, 
two  detached  forts ;  its  ports  contain 
three  corsairs,  and  the  side-batteries  onh' 
wait  for  their  cannon." 

''I  know  all  that,  monsieur,"  replied 
the  king. 

"What  !  your  majestj^  knows  all  that  ?  " 
replied  the  musketeer,  stupefied. 

"  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  simi- 
lar one  on  the  spot." 

The     brow    of      D'Artag-nan     became 


clouded.  "Ah!  I  understand  all.  Your 
majest}'  has  not  trusted  to  me  alone,  but 
has  sent  some  other  person,"  said  he,  in  a 
reproachful  tone. 

"  Of  what  importance  is  the  manner, 
monsieur,  in  which  I  have  learned  what  I 
know,  so  that  I  do  know  it  ?  " 

"Sire,  sire,"  said  the  musketeer,  with- 
out seeking  even  to  conceal  his  dissatisfac- 
tion ;  "  but  I  must  be  permitted  to  sa\-  to 
3'our  majest}'',  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  intellig-ence. 
Sire,  when  people  are  not  trusted,  or  are 
deemed  insufficient,  they  should  not  be 
employed."  And  D'Artagnan,  with  a 
movement  perfectlj^  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 
to  me,  but,  still  further,  Belle-Isle  is  mine." 

"  That  is  well  !  that  is  well,  sire,  I  ask 
no  more," replied  D'Artagnan.  "My  dis- 
charg-e." 

"  What  !  your  discharge  ?  " 

"Without  doubt.  I  am  too  proud  to 
eat  the  bread  of  the  king-  without  g-aining- 
it,  or  rather  by  g-aining-  it  badly. — Mj'  dis- 
charge, sire  !  " 

"Oh,  oh!" 

"I  ask  for  my  discharg-e,  or  I  shall  take 
it." 

"  You  are  angr^',  monsieur  ?  " 

'  •  I  have  reason — mordioux  !  I  am  thirty- 
two  hours  in  the  saddle,  I  ride  night  and 
day,  I  perform  prodig-ies  of  speed,  I  ar- 
rive stiff  as  the  corpse  of  a  man  who  has 
been  hanged — and  another  arrives  before 
me  !  Come,  sire,  I  am  a  fool  ! — My  dis- 
charg-e, sire  !  " 

"  Monsieur  d'Artagnan,"  said  Louis, 
leaning-  his  white  hand  upon  the  dusty 
arm  of  the  musketeer,  "  w^hat  I  tell  3'ou 
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  ;  3'ou  have  won 
it,  Monsieur  d'Artagnan." 


294 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


D'Artagnan  opened  the  paper  eagerly, 
and  looked  at  it  twice.  He  could  scarcelj'^ 
believe  his  eyes. 

"And  this  commission  is  given  j^ou," 
continued  the  king,  '•'  not  onh'-  on  account 
of  your  journey  to  Belle-Isle,  but,  more- 
over, for  your  brave  intervention  at  the 
Place  de  Greve.  There,  likewise,  you 
served  me  Yaliantl3^" 

"  Ah,  ah  !"  said  D'Artagnan,  without 
his  self-command  being  able  to  prevent 
a  certain  redness  mounting  to  his  ej'es — 
"j'^ou  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,  mon- 
sieur ;  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 
musketee)"S  for  having  charged  a  battery 
at  the  head  of  my  company  or  taken  a 
cit3',  than  for  causing  two  wretches  to  be 
hanged." 

"  Is  that  quite  true  that  j^ou  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  majestj'^  is  de- 
ceived, and  greatl}"-;  yes,  I  do  repent  of 
having  drawn  my  sword  on  account  of 
the  results  tliat  action  produced  ;  the  poor 
men  who  were  hanged,  sire,  were  neither 
your  enemies  nor  mine  ;  and  they  could 
not  defend  themselves." 

The  king  preserved  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment. "And  3'our  companion,  M.  d'Ar- 
tagnan,  does  he  partake  of  your  repent- 
ance?" 

"  My  companion  ?" 

"Yes,  you  were  not  alone,  I  have  been 
told." 

"Alone,  where?" 
"  At  the  Place  de  Greve." 
"  l^o,  sire,  no !"  said  D'Artagnan,  blush- 
ing 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  Raoul ;  "no,  mordioux  ! 
and  as  your  majesty  says,  I  had  a  com- 
panion, and  a  good  companion,  too." 

"  A  young  man  ?" 

"Yes,  sire,  a  young  man.  Oh!  j'^our 
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.  d'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  muske- 
teer. 

"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'Ar- 
tagnan, delighted  on  his  part  to  direct 
the  king's  attention  to  Raoul. 

"  Do  3'ou  not  know  his  name  ?  " 

"Well,  I  think— " 

"  You  know  him  then  ?  " 

"  I  have  known  him  nearly  five-and- 
twenty  years,  sire." 

"  Why,  he  is  scarcely  twent^'^-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  maj- 
esty questions  me  with  a  mistrust  in 
which  I  recognize  another  character  than 
your  own.  M.  Colbert,  who  has  so  well 
informed  j'ou,  has  he  not  forgotten  to  tell 
you  that  this  young  man  is  the  son  of  mj'^ 
most  intimate  friend  ?  " 

"'  The  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne  is  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sire.  The  father  of  the 
Vicomte  de  Bragelonne  is  M.  le  Comte  de 
la  Fere,  who  so  powerfully  assisted  in  the 
restoration  of  King  Charles  II.  Brage- 
lonne is  of  a  valiant  race,  sire." 

"  Then  he  is  the  son  of  that  nobleman 
\\\\o  came  to  me,  or  rather  to  M.  Mazarin, 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


295 


on  the  part  of  King  Charles  11.,  to  offer 

me  his  alliance  ?  " 

''Exactly,  sire." 

"■  And  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  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  lip 
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  3'ears;  yes,  sire.  Your 
majestj'^  may  see  that  I  do  not  speak  to 
you  of  yesterda3\" 

"  Should  3'ou  be  glad  to  see  this  j^oung 
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'Artag- 
nan. 

"  He  is  on  guard  to-day,  at  the  Louvre, 
with  the  company  of  the  gentlemen  of 
Monsieur  le  Prince." 

The  king  had  scarcely  ceased  speaking 
when  Raoul  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,  fa- 
miliarly, to  Raoul,  "  the  king  will  allow 
you  to  embrace  me ;  only  tell  his  majesty 
you  thank  him." 

Raoul  bowed  so  gracefully,  that  Louis, 
to  whom  all  superior  qualities  were  pleas- 
ing when  they  did  not  affect  anything 
against  his  own,  admired  his  beauty, 
strength,  and  modesty. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  king,  addressing 
Raoul,  "  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  3'ou 
will  not  lose  by  the  change." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Raoul,  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 
understood,  the  proprieties,  and  flattering, 
even  when  he  appeared  to  be  bantering. 

"  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-da}' that 
I  belong  to  3' our  majest3'." 

"  Oh  !  no,  I  know,"  said  the  king,  "3'ou 
mean  your  enterprise  of  the  Greve.  That 
day  3'OU  were  trul3^  mme,  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'Artagnan.  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  3'^our  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  arm3'  of  Monsieur  le  Prince, 
M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  came  to  conduct 
me  as  far  as  Saint-Denis,  where  the  re- 
mains 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  3^ears.  Then  he  made 
me  swear  upon  the  ashes  of  our  masters, 
to  serve  ro3'alt3^,  represented  by  3'ou — in- 
carnate in  3'-ou,  sire — to  serve  it  in  w^ord, 
in  thought,  and  in  action.  I  swore,  and 
God  and  the  dead  were  witnesses  to  m3' 
oath.  During  ten  3^ears,  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  3^ou,  I  do  not  change  m3^  master,  I 
onl3'  change  m3'  garrison." 

Raoul  was  silent,  and  bowed.  Louis 
still  listened  after  he  had  done  speaking. 

"  Mordioux!"  cried  D'Artagnan,  "that 
is  well  spoken  I  is  it  not,  3'our  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  eminentl3''  aris- 
tocratic. "  Yes,  monsieur,  you  say  trul3'; 
■ — wherever  3'ou  were,  3'ou  were  the  king's. 
But  in  changing   3^our  garrison,  believe 


296 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


me,  30U  will  find  an  advancement  of  which 
3^ou  are  worthy." 

Raoul  saw  that  there  stopped  what  the 
king-  had  to  say  to  him.  And  with  the 
perfect  tact  which  characterized  his  re- 
fined nature,  he  bowed  and  retired. 

*'Is  there  anything-  else,  monsieur,  of 
which  you  have  to  inform  me  ?  "  said  the 
king-,  when. he  found  himself  again  alone 
with  D'Artag-nan. 

"  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  vay  ear." 

''In  truth  you  terrify  me,  M.  d'Artag-- 
nan  !  " 

"  Sire,  this  word  was  pronounced  to 
me  by  a  piqueur,  who  wore  a  crape  on  his 
arm." 

"  My  uncle,  Gaston  of  Orleans,  per- 
haps?" 

"  Sire,  he  has  rendered  his  last  sig-h." 

"  And  I  was  not  warned  of  it  !  "  cried 
the  king,  whose  royal  susceptibility  saw 
an  insult  in  the  absence  of  this  intelligence, 

''Oh!  do  not  be  angry,  sire,"  said 
D'Artagnan ;  "neither  the  couriers  of 
Paris,  nor  the  couriers  of  the  whole  world, 
can  travel  with  your  servant ;  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." 

"  M3'  uncle  Gaston,"  murmured  Louis, 
pressing  his  hand  to  his  brow,  and  com- 
prising in  those  three  words  all  that  his 
memory  recalled  of  that  name  of  oppo- 
site sentiments. 

"Eh  !  3^es,  sire,  it  is  thus,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan, philosophically  replying-  to  the 
ro3'al  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." 

"  1  feel  confidence  in  j^our  majesty  on 
that  head,"  said  D'Artagnan  bowing, 
*'  and  now — " 

*^You  are  right,  monsieur;  I  had  for- 


gotten 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  Fontainebleau, 
he  quickly  traversed  the  Louvre  to  rejoin 
Bragelonne. 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

A   LOVER   AND   A    MISTRESS. 

While  the  wax-lights  were  burning  in 
the  castle  of  Blois,  around  the  inanimate 
body  of  Gaston  of  Orleans,  that  last 
representative  of  the  past ;  while  the 
bourgeois  of  the  city  were  making  his 
epitaph,  which  was  far  from  being  a  pan- 
eg^^ric  ;  while  Madame  the  dowager,  no 
longer  remembering-  that  in  her  j^oung 
days  she  had  loved  that  senseless  corpse 
to  such  a  degree  as  to  fly  the  paternal 
palace  for  his  sake,  was  making,  within 
tw^enty  paces  of  the  funeral  apartment, 
her  little  calculations  of  interest  and  her 
little  sacrifices  of  pride ;  other  interests 
and  other  prides  were  in  agitation  in  all 
the  parts  of  the  castle  into  which  a  living 
soul  could  penetrate.  Neither  the  lugu- 
brious sound  of  the  bells,  nor  the  voices  of 
the  chanters,  nor  the  splendor  of  the  wax- 
lights  through  the  windows,  nor  the  prep- 
arations 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  chamber  forming 
part  of  what  were  called  the  little  apart- 
ments. 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,  descended  upon  them, 
drawing  perfumes  from  the  neighboring 
flowers,  and  animating  the  walls  them- 
selves. These  two  persons,  so  occupied, 
not  by  the  death  of  the  due,  but  by  the 
conversation  which  was  the  consequence 
of  that  death,  these  two  persons  were  a 


THE    VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


297 


young-  woman  and  a  young"  man.  The 
latter  personage,  a  man  of  from  twenty- 
five  to  twenty-six  j^ears  of  age,  with  a 
mien  sometimes  lively  and  sometimes  dull, 
making"  good  use  of  two  immensely  large 
ej'es,  shaded  with  long-  eyelashes,  was 
short  of  stature  and  brown  of  skin  ;  he 
smiled  with  an  enormous,  but  well  fur- 
nished mouth,  and  his  pointed  chin,  which 
appeared  to  enjoy  a  mobility  which  nature 
does  not  ordinarily  g-rant  to  that  portion 
of  the  countenance,  leaned  from  time  to 
time  very  lovingly  toward  his  interlocu- 
trix, who,  we  must  say,  did  not  always 
draw  back  so  rapidly  as  strict  propriety 
had  a  right  to  require.  The  young-  g-irl — 
we  know  her,  for  we  have  already  seen 
her,  at  that  very  same  window,  by  the 
lig-ht  of  that  same  sun — the  young-  g-irl 
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  beau- 
tiful. The  two  persons  appeared  to  have 
attained  the  culminating-  point  of  a  dis- 
cussion— 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  eas}'. 
Mademoiselle  Aure,"  replied  the  young 
man. 

"  To  do  what  we  like,  when  we  can  onl3" 
do  what  we  are  able — " 

"  Good  !  "  said  the  young  man  ;  "  there 
she  is  bewildered  in  her  phrases." 

"Who,  I?" 

"  Yes,  you ;  leave  that  lawyer's  logic, 
my  dear." 

"Another  impossibility." 

"  Clerk,  I  am  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais." 

"  Demoiselle,  I  am  Monsieur  Malicorne." 

'•'Alas,  I  know  it  well,  and  you  over- 
whelm me  by  distance ;  so  I  will  sa}^  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  trul}^  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  insupport- 
able with  your  news  of  the  last  centur3\ 
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,  mademoi- 
selle." 

"You  want  to  make  yourself  of  conse- 
quence ;  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  honor,  which 
I  have  been  foolish  enough  to  ask  of  you, 
and  you  do  not  use  your  credit." 

"Who,  I?"  Malicorne  cast  down  his 
ej^es,  joined  his  hands,  and  assumed  his 
sullen  air.  "  And  what  credit  can  the 
poor  clerk  of  a  procureur  have,  pra}'  ?  " 

"  Your  father  has  not  twenty  thousand 
livres  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  cun- 
ning young  fellow  in  the  province  for 
nothing  ?  " 

"'  You  flatter  me." 

"Who,  I?" 

"Yes,  you." 

"How  so?" 

"  Since  I  maintain  that  I  have  no  credit, 
and  j^ou  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." 


298 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Where  is  it  then  ?  " 

"  In  my  pocket." 

"  How — in  your  pocket  ?  " 

''Yes."  And,  with  a  smile,  Malicorne 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  letter,  upon  wliich 
Montalais  seized  as  a  pre^',  and  which  she 
read  with  avidity.  As  she  read,  her  face 
brig-htened. 

"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  3'ou  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  j^ou,"  said  he.  It 
was  now  Montalais  who  was  disconcerted 
in  her  turn,  •■'  I  have  declared  my  sen- 
timents to  you,"  continued  Malicorne. 
"  You  have  told  me  three  times,  laug-hing- 
all  the  while,  that  you  did  not  love  me ; 
you  have  embraced  me  once  without  laugh- 
ing-, and  that  is  all  I  want." 

"All?"  said  the  proud  and  coquettish 
Montalais,  in  atone  through  which  wound- 
ed pride  was  visible. 

"Absolutely  all,  mademoiselle."  re- 
plied Malicorne. 

"Ah!" — And  this  monos^'llable  indi- 
cated as  much  anger  as  the  j'^oung  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  j'^ou." 

"  Indeed  ;  and  on  what  account  should 
I  have  had  you  turned  out  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  been  suflBciently  im- 
pertinent for  that." 

"Oh,  that— yes,  that's  true." 

"  You  see  plainh'  that  you  are  forced  to 
avow  it,"  said  Malicorne. 

"  Monsieur  Malicorne  !" 

"  Don't  let  us  be  angrj' ;  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  exe- 
crate me." 

"  Oh,  you  have  never  spoken  so  trul3\" 

"  Well,  on  my  part,  I  detest  you." 

"Ah,  I  take  the  act." 

"Take  it.  You  find  me  brutal  and 
foolish ;  on  m}'-  part  I  find  you  with  a 
harsh  voice,  and  your  face  distorted  with 
anger.  At  this  moment  you  would  allow 
yourself  to  be  thrown  out  of  that  window 
rather  than  allow  me  to  kiss  the  tip  of 
your  finger ; — I  would  precipitate  mj^self 
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  3'ou  laugh ;  when  it  suits  me  to  be 
loving,  I  look  at  you.  I  have  given  3'ou 
a  commission  of  lady  of  honor  which  you 
wished  for ;  3'ou  will  give  me,  presently, 
something  I  wish  for." 

"I  win?" 

"Yes,  3^ou  Avill;  but,  at  this  moment, 
m3'  dear  Aure,  I  declare  to  you  that  I  wish 
for  absolutel3'^  nothing;  so  be  at  ease." 

••You  are  a  frightful  man,  Malicorne; 
I  was  going  to  rejoice  at  getting  this  com- 
mission, and  thus  3'ou  take  awa3'  all  m3" 

joy." 

"'  Good  ;  there  is  no  time  lost — 3'ou  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  3'^our  good  humor — 3'ou  are 
ugly  when  3'ou  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  3"oung  man  leaned  with  his  elbow 
upon  the  window-frame  ; — Montalais  took 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


299 


a  book  and  opened  it.  Malicorne  stood 
up,  brushed  his  hat  with  his  sleeve, 
smoothed  down  his  black  pourpoint; — 
Montalais,  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  I  " 

"  What  w^ould  you  do  to  me  ?  " 

'•'  I  would  strangle  you." 

''  Ah  !  very  w^ell,  then,"  said  Malicorne  ; 
*' I  believe  I  begin  to  desire  something." 

''And  what  do  3'ou  desire.  Monsieur 
Demon  ?  That  I  should  lose  my  soul  from 
anger?  " 

Malicorne  was  rolling  his  hat  respect- 
fully between  his  fingers  ;  but,  all  at  once, 
he  let  fall  his  hat,  seized  the  young  girl 
by  the  two  shoulders,  pulled  her  toward 
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,  apparentl^^  angry, 
the  3'oung  girl  pushed  Malicorne  against 
the  wall. 

''Good!"  said  Malicorne,  philosophi- 
cally, "  that's  enough  for  six  weeks. 
Adieu,  mademoiselle,  accept  my  very 
humble  salutation."  And  he  made  three 
steps  toward  the  door. 

'"'  Well !  no — you  shall  not  go  !  "  cried 
Montalais,  stamping  with  her  little  foot. 
"Stay  where  you  are  !  I  order  3-0U  !  " 

"You  order  me  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  am  I  not  mistress  ?  " 

'•'  Of  my  heart  and  soul,  without  doubt." 

'•  A  pretty  property  !  ma  foi  !  The 
soul  is  silly  and  the  heart  dry." 

"Beware.  Montalais,  I  know  3'ou," 
said  Malicorne;  "  j^ou  are  going  to  fall 
in  love  with  j^our  humble  servant." 

"  Well,  \^es  !  "  said  she,  hanging  round 
his  neck  with  childish  indolence,  rather 
than  with  loving  abandonment.  "Well, 
yes  !  for  I  must  thank  3^ou,  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 — j-ou  are  going  there 
— we  are  going  there." 

''  And  so  it  was  for  that  motive  only 
3"ou  have  served  me  ;  selfish  fellow  !  " 

"  What  would  3'oa  have  me  sa3^,  Aure? 
I  cannot  live  w'ithout  3'ou." 

"  Well  !  in  truth,  it  is  just  so  with  me ; 
3'ou  are,  nevertheless,  it  must  be  confessed, 
a  ver3'  bad-hearted  young  man." 

,  "Aure,  m3^  dear  Aure,  take  care!  if 
3'OU  take  to  calling  names  again,  you 
know  the  effect  the3'  produce  upon  me, 
and  I  shall  adore  3'ou."  And  so  sa3ing, 
Malicorne  drew  the  3'oung  girl  a  second 
time  toward  him.  But  at  that  instant  a 
step  resounded  on  the  staircase.  The 
3'oung  people  were  so  close,  that  they 
would  have  been  surprised  in  the  arms 
of  each  other,  if  Montalais  had  not  vio- 
lentl3'  pushed  Malicorne,  with  his  back 
against  the  door,  just  then  opening.  A 
loud  cr3%  followed  b3"  angry  reproaches, 
immediate]3^  resounded.  It  was  Madame 
de  Saint--Rem3''  who  uttered  the  ^yx  and 
proffered  the  angr3'  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  lad3-.     "  Alwa3-s  here  !  " 

"Ah,  madame  !  "  replied  Malicorne,  in 
a  respectful  tone  ;  "it  is  eight  long  da3's 
since  I  was  here." 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

IN   WHICH   WE   AT    LENGTH    SEE   THE  TRUE 
HEROINE   OF   THIS   HISTORY   APPEAR. 

Behind  Madame  de  Saint-Remy  came 
up  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere.  She  heard 
the'  explosion  of  maternal  anger,  and  as 
she  divined   the  cause  of  it,  she  entered 


300 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


the  chamber  trembling-,  and  perceived  the 
unlucky  Malicorne,  whose  woful  counte- 
nance might  have  softened  or  set  laughing 
whoever  might  have  observed  it  coolly. 
He  had  promptly  intrenched  himself  be- 
hind a  large  chair,  as  if  to  avoid  the  first 
attacks  of  Madame  de  Saint-Remy ;  he  had 
no  hopes  of  prevailing  with  words,  for  she 
spoke  louder  than  he,  and  without  stop- 
ping ;  but  he  reckoned  upon  the  eloquence 
of  his  gestures.  The  old  lady  would 
neilher  listen  to  nor  see  anything ;  Mali- 
corne  had  long  been  one  of  her  antipathies. 
But  her  anger  was  too  great  not  to  over- 
flow 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  honor  ?  " 

**0h,  dear  mother!"  cried  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Valliere,  "  for  mercy's  sake, 
spare — " 

"  Hold  3'our  tongue,  mademoiselle,  and 
do  not  uselessly  trouble  j'^ourself  to  inter- 
cede for  unworthy  subjects  ;  that  a  young 
maid  of  honor  like  you  should  be  subjected 
to  a  bad  example  is,  certes,  a  misfortune 
great  enough ;  but  that  yon  should  sanc- 
tion it  by  3'our  indulgence  is  what  I  will 
not  allow." 

"But  in  truth,"  said  Montalacis,  rebell- 
ing again,  "  I  do  not  know  under  what 
pretense  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  Malicorne — ''is  he  here 
to  do  any  good,  I  ask  3'ou  ?  " 

''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,"  re- 
plied Montalais,  "  it  should  be  forbidden 
that  M.  Malicorne  should  have  intentions 
toward  me,  if  his  intentions  are  honor- 
able." 

"  Honorable  intentions  with  such  a 
face!"  cried  Madame  de  Saint-Rem3^ 

"  I  thank  you,  in  the  name  of  ray  face, 
piadarae,"  said  Malicorne. 


"  Come,  my  daughter,  come,"  con- 
tinued Madame  de  Saint-Remy  ;  "  we 
will  go  and  inform  Madame  that,  at  the 
vary  moment  she  is  weeping  for  her  hus- 
band, 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  honor  !  a  maid  of  honor  !  " 
cried  the  old  lady,  lifting  her  hands  to- 
ward heaven. 

"  Well,  it  is  that  in  which  3'ou  are  mis- 
taken, madame,"  said  Montalais,  highly 
exasperated  ;  "  I  am  no  longer  a  maid  of 
honor — of  Madame's,  at  least." 

"  Have  3^ou  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,  mad- 
ame ;  I  take  another  service  —  that  is 
all." 

"  In  the  bourgeoisie  or  in  the  robe?" 
asked  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  disdain- 
fully. 

"  Please  to  learn,  madame,  that  I  am 
not  a  girl  to  serve  either  bourgeoises  or 
robines  ;  and  that,  instead  of  the  misera- 
ble court  at  which  you  vegetate,  I  am 
going  to  reside  in  a  court  almost  royal." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  a  royal  court ! "  said  Mad- 
ame de  Saint-Remy,  forcing  a  laugh — "  a 
royal  court !  What  think  you  of  that, 
my  daughter  ?  ' ' 

And  she  turned  round  toward  Made- 
moiselle 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  ro^^al,  and  I 
spoke  correctl}^  since  she  will  be  sister-in- 
law  to  the  king." 

A  thunderbolt  falling  upon  the  castle  of 
Blois  would  not  have  astonished  Madame 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


301 


de  Saint-Remy  as  did  the  last  sentence  of 
Montalais. 

''  What  do  you  say  of  Son  Altesse 
Ro3'ale  Madame  Henrietta  ?  "  stammered 
out  the  old  lady. 

''  I  say  I  am  going-  to  belong  to  her 
household,  as  maid  of  honor;  that  is  what 
I  say." 

"As  maid  of  honor!"  cried,  at  the 
same  time,  Madame  de  Saint-Remy  with 
despair,  and  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere 
with  delight. 

"  Yes,  madame,  as  maid  of  honor." 

The  old  lad3''s  head  sunk  down  as  if  the 
blotv^  had  been  too  severe  for  her  ;  but,  al- 
most immediately  recovering  herself,  she 
launched  a  last  projectile  at  her  adver- 
sary. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  said  she,  '•  I  have  heard  of 
many  of  these  sorts  of  promises  before- 
hand, 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  pro- 
tector 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  gentle- 
man there,"  said  Montalais,  pointing  to 
Malicorne,  who  during  this  scene  had  pre- 
served the  most  imperturbable  coolness, 
and  the  most  comic  dignity. 

'•'Monsieur  !  "  cried  Madame  de  Saint- 
Remy,  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  replj'',  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  fort- 
unate 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 
enemj',  particularly  when  that  enemy  was 
the  mother  of  her  friend  ;  she  used,  then, 
but  did  not  abuse,  her  triumph.  Mali- 
corne was  less  generous  :  he  assumed 
noble  poses  m  his  fauteuil,  and  stretched 
himself  out  with  a  familiarity  which,  two 
hours  earlier,  would  have  drawn  upon  him 
threats  of  a  caning. 

•'Maid  of  honor  to  the  young  Madame  !" 
repeated  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  still  but 
half  convinced. 

"  Yes,  madame,  and  through  the  pro- 
tection of  M.  Malicorne,  moreover." 

'•'  It  is  incredible  !  "  repeated  the  old 
lady.  ''  Is  it  not  incredible,  Louise  ?  " 
But  Louise  did  not  reply ;  she  was  lean- 
ing, thoughtful,  almost  afflicted  ;  passing 
one  hand  over  her  beautiful  brow,  she 
sighed  heavily. 

''Well,  but,  monsieur,"  said  Madame 
de  Saint-Remy  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  pow- 
erful at  court  to  give  ^''ou  such  proofs  of 
their  credit  ?  " 

"  Dame  !  it  appears  so." 

"  And  ma}'^  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  ?  " 

"  Peste !  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." 

"  You  are  right,  monsieur,  to  be  silent 
as  to  that  name ;  for  I  think  it  would  be 
pretty  difficult  for  you  to  tell  it." 

"At  all  events,"  said  Montalais,  "if 
the  friend  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?" 


302 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"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  3^ou  these." 

"'  In  that  case,  let  us  be  gone,  Louise ; 
we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  retire. 
Well  !  " 

-'Madame!"  said  La  Valliere,  start- 
ing, "  did  3^ou  speak  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  appear  to  listen,  my  child." 
"  No,  madame,  I  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  bear  you  a  little  ill- 
will,  poor  girl,  sbe  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  mc  why  Louise  should  bear  me  ill- 
will." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  very  amusing 
for  her  to  be  buried  alive  at  Blois,  when 
3^ou  are  going  to  shine  at  Paris?  " 

"  But,  madame.  it  is  not  I  who  prevent 
Louise  foUowmg  me  thither  ;  on  the  con- 
trar3%  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  w'orse,  madame," 
said  Malicorne,  "ever3^  one  for  himself  in 
this  poor  world." 

"  Malicorne  !  Malicorne  !  "  said  Mon- 
talais. Then,  stooping  toward  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  grum- 
bling toward  Madame  de  Saint-Rem3%. 
while  Montalais  said  to  her  friend,  throw- 
ing one  arm  round  her  neck — 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Sa}^  ?  Is  it 
true  that  you  would  not  love  me,  if  I 
were  to  shine,  as  your  mother  sajj^s  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  ! "  said  the  j^oung  girl,  with 
difficulty  restraining  her  tears;  "on  the 
contrar^^  I  rejoice  at  your  good  fortuift." 

"  Rejoice  !  why,  one  would  say  you  are 
ready  to  cry  !  " 

"Do    people    never    weep    but    from 


envv 


?" 


"'  Oh  !  yes,  I  understand ;  I  am  going 
to  Paris,  and  that  word  Paris  recalls  to 
your  mind  a  certain  cavalier — " 

"Aure  !" 

"'  A  certain  cavalier  who  formerly  lived 
near  Blois,  and  who  now  resides  at  Paris." 

"  In  truth,  I  know  not  what  ails  me, 
but  I  feel  stifled." 

"  Weep,  then,  weep,  as  3'^ou  cannot  give 
me  a  smile  !  " 

Louise  raised  her  sweet  face,  which  the 
tears,  rolling  down  one  after  the  other, 
illumined  like  diamonds. 

"Come,  confess,"  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  3'ou  wish  to  come  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  To  remain  here  alone,  in  this  old  cas- 
tle, I,  who  have  enjo3'ed  the  delightful 
habit  of  listening  to  your  songs,  of  press- 
ing 3'our  hand,  of  running  about  the  park 
with  you.  Oh  !  how  I  shall  be  ennuyee  ! 
how  quicklj'  I  shall  die  I  " 

"  Do  you  wish  to  come  to  Paris  ?  " 
Louise  breathed  another  sigh. 

"  You  do  not  answer  me." 

••What  would  you  that  I  should  answer 
you?" 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


303 


"Yes  or  no  ;  that  is  not  very  difficult, 
I  think." 

"Oh  !  3'ou  are  very  fortunate,  Mon- 
talais  ! " 

"  That  is  to  sa}'-  you  would  like  to  be  in 
my  place." 

Louise  was  silent. 

"  Little  obstinate  thing  !  "  said  Monta- 
lais;  "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 
Raoul  again  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  confess  that." 

"  Then  you  are  wrong." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  Because —     Do  a-ou  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  the  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  pro- 
nounced twice  ;  he  was  delighted  at  hav- 
ing an  opportunity  of  coming  to  a  conclu- 
sion with  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  and 
he  turned  round — 

"  What  is  the  question,  mademoiselle  ?" 

"Come  hither,  Malicorne,"  said  Mon- 
talais,  with  an  imperious  gesture.  Mali- 
corne 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.  Mali- 
corne ?  "  said  Louise  with  her  sweet  soft 
voice. 

"  Dame !  if  it  is  for  you,  mademoi- 
selle—" 

"  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  endeavor  to  obey  j'ou, 
mademoiselle." 

"  And  you  will  have  her  named  ?  " 

"We  will  try." 

"  No  evasive  reply.  Louise  de  la  Val- 
liere  shall  be  maid  of  honor  to  Madame 
Henrietta  within  a  week — " 

"How  you  talk!" 

"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  Valliere  shall  be  a 
maid  of  honor." 

"Is  that  true?" 

"Quite  true." 

"  I  may  then  hope  to  go  to  Paris  ?  " 

"  Depend  upon  it." 

"  Oh  !  Monsieur  Malicorne,  what  grati- 
tude !"  cried  Louise,  clapping  her  hands, 
and  bounding  with  jo3^ 

"'  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 
3'ou  know  that  M.  Malicorne  is  going  to 
have  me  appointed  maid  of  honor  ?  " 

"M.  Malicorne  is  a  prince  in  disguise," 
replied  the  old  lad}';  "  he  is  all-powerful, 
seemingly'." 

"'  Should  3'ou  also  like  to  be  maid  of 
honor?"  asked  Malicorne  of  Madame 
de  Saint-Remy.  "  While  I  am  about  it, 
I  might  as  well  get  ever3'body  appointed." 

And  upon  that  he  went  awa3%  leaving 
the  poor  lady  quite  disconcerted,  as  Talle- 
mont  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." 


304 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


CHAPTER   LXXIX. 

MALICORNE   AND  MANICAMP. 

The  introduction  of  these  two  new  per- 
sonages into  this  historj^  and  that  mys- 
terious affinity  of  names  and  sentiments, 
merit  some  attention  on  the  part  of  the 
historian  and  the  reader.  We  will  then 
enter  into  some  details  concerning-  M. 
Malicorne  and  M.  Manicamp.  Malicorne, 
we  know,  had  made  the  journey  to  Or- 
leans in  search  of  the  brevet  destined  for 
Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  the  arrival  of 
which  had  produced  such  a  strong  feeling 
at  the  castje  of  Blois.  At  that  moment 
M.  de  Manicamp  was  at  Orleans.  A  singu- 
lar 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  gentle- 
man vassal  born,  of  the  house  of  Gram- 
mont.  M.  de  Manicamp,  with  his  acute- 
ness,  had  created  himself  a  revenue  in  the 
opulent  family  of  the  celebrated  marechal. 
From  his  infancy,  he  had,  by  a  calcula- 
tion much  above  his  age,  lent  his  name 
and  his  complaisance  to  the  follies  of  the 
Comte  de  Guiche.  If  his  noble  companion 
had  stolen  some  fruit  destined  for  Madame 
la  Marechale,  if  he  had  broken  a  mirror, 
or  put  out  a  dog's  eye,  Manicamp  declared 
himself  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  habili- 
ments as  his  paternal  fortunes  entitled 
him  to,  he  was  able  to  appear  brilliant, 
superb,  like  a  young  noble  of  fifty  thou- 
sand livres  a  year.  It  was  not  that  he  was 
mean  in  character  or  humble  in  spirit ; 
no,  he  was  a  philosopher,  or  rather  he  had 
the  indifference,  the  apathy,  the  extrava- 
gance which  banish  from  man  every  feel- 
ing 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  thor- 
oughly^ 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-fil]  those  pockets  and  that  purse, 
De  Manicamp  lost  all  his  energj'',  he  went 
to  bed,  remained  there,  ate  nothing,  and 
sold  his  handsome  clothes,  under  the  pre- 
tense 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  da3^s  of  penitence.  Provincial 
debauches,  petits  rnattres  of  six  hundred 
livres  a  year,  shared  the  fragments  of  his 
opulence. 

Among  the  admirers  of  these  splendid 
toilets,  our  friend  Malicorne  was  conspicu- 
ous ;  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 
enormous  interest.  M.  Malicorne  kept 
the  paternal  money  chest ;  that  is  to  say, 
that  in  those  times  of  easy  morals,  he  had 
made  for  himself,  by  following  the  exam- 
ple of  his  father,  and  lending  at  high  in- 
terest for  short  terms,  a  revenue  of  eigh- 
teen hundred  livres,  without  reckoning  six 
hundred  other  livres  furnished  by  the 
generosity  of  the  syndic;  so  that  Mali- 
corne was  the  king  of  the  gay  youth  of 
Orleans,  having  two  thousand  four  hun- 
dred livres  to  scatter,  squander,  and 
waste  on  follies  of  every  kind.  But,  quite 
contrary  to  Manicamp,  Malicorne  was 
terribly  ambitious.  He  loved  from  am- 
bition ;  he  spent  money  from  ambi- 
tion ;  and  he  w^ould  have  ruined  himself 
from  ambition.  Malicorne  had  deter- 
mined to  rise,  at  whatever  price  it  might 
cost;  and  for  this,  at  whatever  price  it 
did  cost,  he  had  given  himself  a  mistress 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


305 


and  a  friend.  The  mistress,  Mademoiselle 
de  Montalais,  was  cruel  as  regarded  the 
last  favors  of  love  :  but  she  was  of  a  noble 
famil3%  and  that  was  sufficient  for  Mali- 
corne.  The  friend  had  no  friendship,  but 
he  was  the  favorite  of  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  himself  the  friend  of  Monsieur, 
the  king^'s  brother;  and  that  was  suffi- 
cient for  Malicorne.  Onh^,  in  the  chapter 
of  charges,  mademoiselle  cost  per  an.  : — 
ribbons,  gloves  and  sweets  a  thousand 
livres.  De  Manicamp  cost — mone}'  lent, 
never  returned,  from  twelve  to  fifteen 
hundred  livres  ^er  an. 

So  that  there  was  nothing  left  for  Mali- 
corne. Ah  ;  yes,  we  are  mistaken  ;  there 
was  left  the  paternal  strong  box.  He 
emploj^ed  a  mode  of  proceeding,  upon 
which  he  preserved  the  most  profound 
secrecy,  and  which  consisted  in  advancing 
to  himself,  from  the  coffer  of  the  syndic, 
half  a  dozen  j^ears,  that  is  to  say,  fifteen 
thousand  livres,  swearing  to  hhiiself — ob- 
serve, quite  to  himself — to  repaj'  this  de- 
ficionc}^  as  soon  as  an  opportunit}'  should 
present  itself.  The  opportunity  was  ex- 
pected 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  famil}" 
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  the  means  which  M,  Mali- 
corne had  taken  to  make  his  revenues 
fructif3',  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  wo- 
man's side  ennobles,  not  onlj^  would  be 
dowered,  but  would  ennoble  Malicorne. 
But,  in  order  that  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais, who  had  not  a  large  patrimonial 
fortune,  although  an  only  daughter,  should 
be  suitablj^  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  while  the  hus- 


band was  on  the  other,  a  situation  which 
presents  serious  inconveniences,  particu- 
larly with  characters  like  those  of  the 
future  consorts — Malicorne  had  imagined 
the  idea  of  making  the  central  point  of 
union  the  household  of  Monsieur  the  king's 
brother.  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  would 
be  maid  of  honor  to  Madame.  M.  Mali- 
corne would  be  oflB.cer  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  brevet  of  maid 
of  honor  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche ;  and  the 
Comte  de  Guiche  had  asked  this  brevet  of 
Monsieur,  who  had  signed  it  without  hesi- 
tation. The  moral  plan  of  Malicorne — for 
we  may  well  suppose  that  the  combina- 
tions 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  this : — To  obtain  entrance 
into  the  household  of  Madame  Henrietta, 
for  a  woman  devoted  to  himself,  who  was 
intelligent,  j'oung,  handsome,  and  in- 
triguing ;  to  learn,  hy  means  of  this  wo- 
man, all  the  feminine  secrets  of  the  3'oung 
household ;  while  he,  Malicorne,  and  his 
friend  Manicamp,  should,  between  them, 
know  all  the  male  secrets  of  the  j'oung 
communit3\  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  Malicorne  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  mor- 
tal horns  had  caused  some  great  misfort- 
une, and  baptized  the  soil  with  the  blood 
it  had  spilt  ?  Certes,  this  plan  presented 
itself  bristling  with  difficulties;  but  the 
greatest  of  all  was  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais herself.  Capricious,  variable,  close, 
giddy,  free,  prudish,  a  virgin  armed  with 
claws,  Erigone  stained  with  grapes,  she 
sometimes  overturned,  with  a  single  dash 
of  iier  white  fingers,  or  with  a  single  puff 


306 


WOnKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


from  her  laug-hing  lips,  the  edifice  which 
had  employed  the  patience  of  Malicorne  a 
month  to  establish. 

Love  ap:irt,  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  Pro- 
tean female,  the  demon  would  overthrow 
him  and  laugh  at  him.  He  humbled  his 
mistress  by  disdaining-  her.  Burning  with 
desire,  when  she  advanced  to  tempt  him, 
he  had  the  heart  to  appear  ice,  persuaded 
that  if  he  opened  his  arms  she  would  run 
2i\\2iy  laug-liing-  at  him.  On  her  side, 
Montalais  believed  she  did  not  love  Mali- 
corne ;  while,  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  Mali- 
corne. If  she  tried  to  bring-  him  back  by 
coquetrj^  Malicorne  plaj^ed  the  coquette 
better  than  she  could.  But  what  made 
Montalais  hold  to  Mahcorne  in  an  indis- 
soluble fashion  was  that  Malicorne  was 
alwa3'S  come  cram  full  of  fresh  news 
brought  from  the  court  and  the  citj^ ;  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  favors  he 
burned  to  obtain.  On  her  side,  Monta- 
lais was  no  miser  with  stories.  By  her 
means  Malicorne  learned  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  idle- 
ness, took  readj^-made  to  M.  de  Guiche, 
who  carried  them  to  Monsieur. 

Such,  in  two  words,  was  the  woof  of 
petty  interests  and  pettj"^  conspiracies 
which  united  Blois  with  Orleans,  and  Or- 
leans 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  Valliere,  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 — v.'e  speak 


of  the  S3'ndic  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  gray 
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  Royal. 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

MANICAMP  AND  MALICORNE. 

Malicorne,  then,  left  Blois,  as  we  have 
said,  and  went  to  find  his  friend  Mani- 
camp, then  in  temporary  retreat  in  the 
city  of  Orleans.  It  was  just  at  the  mo- 
ment when  that  young  nobleman  was  em- 
ploj'ed  in  sellmg  the  last  piece  of  decent 
clothing  he  had  left.  He  had,  a  fortnight 
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  drawni  from  Malicorne,  three  days 
before,  fift}''  pistoles,  the  price  of  the  bre- 
vet obtained  for  Montalais.  He  had  then 
no  expectations  from  an^^thing  else,  hav- 
ing 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  admiration 
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-monej%  no  more 
walking-money,  nothing  but  sleep  to  take 
the  places  of  repasts,  companies,  and  balls. 
It  has  been  said — "  He  who  sleeps,  dines ;" 
but  it  has  not  been  said — He  who  sleeps, 
plaj-^s — or.  He  who  sleeps,  dances.  Mani- 
camp, reduced  to  this  extremity  of  neither 
playing  nor  dancing,  for  a  week  at  least, 
was,  consequently,  very  sad  ;  he  was  ex- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


30^ 


pecting-  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!  3'ou  are  very  polite!"  said 
Malicorne. 

*•'  A3' ;  but,  look  you,  I  was  expecting 
money,  and,  instead  of  the  money,  I  see 
you  come." 

"  And  suppose  I  brought  you  some 
monej'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  then  it  is  quite  another  thing". 
You  are  ver3'  welcome,  my  dear  friend  !  " 

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  monej'  ?  "  said  Manicamp. 

**M.y  dear  friend,  if  j-ou  wish  to  have  it, 
earn  it." 

*'  What  must  be  done  for  it  ?  " 

"  Earn  it,  parbleu  !  " 

"  And  after  what  fashion  ?  " 

'•'Oh,  that  is  rather  trj'ing,  I  warn 
j-^ou." 

"  The  devil !  " 

'•'You  must  get  out  of  bed,  and  go  im- 
mediately to  iVI.  le  Comte  de  Guiche." 

*•  I  get  up  !  "  said  Manicamp,  stretching 
himself  in  his  bed  voluptuouslj^ ;  "  oh,  no, 
thank  3'ou  ! " 

'•'  You  have,  then,  sold  a  11  A'our clothes  ?" 

"  No ;  I  have  one  suit  left — the  hand- 
somest even — but  I  expect  a  purchaser." 

'•'  And  the  chausses  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  3'ou  look,  3'ou  can  see  them  on 
that  chair." 

"  Very  well ;  since  3'ou  have  some 
chausses  and  a  pourpoint  left,  put  3'our 
legs  into  the  first  and  your  back  into  the 
other,  have  a  horse  saddled,  and  set  ofif." 

''Not  I." 

"  And  why  not  ?  " 

"Morbleu  !  don't  3'ou  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  thirt3^" 

"  You  are  a  wonderfull3'  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  3-ou  like,  but  I 
must  have  a  second  commission  of  maid 
of  honor." 

"  Good  !  For  whom  ?  Is  Montalais 
doubled,  then  ?  " 

"  Vile  fellow  !  It  is  3'ou  who  are 
doubled ;  3'ou  swallow  up  two  fortunes 
— mine,  and  that  of  M.  le  Comte  de 
Guiche." 

"  You  should  sa3^  that  of  M.  le  Comte 
de  Guiche  and  3'ours."' 

"  That  is  true — honor  where  it  is  due ; 
but  I  return  to  mx  brevet." 

"  And  3'ou  are  wrong." 

"Prove  me  that." 

'•'  M3'  friend,  there  will  onh^  be  twelve 
maids  of  honor  for  Madame ;  I  have 
already  obtained  for  3'ou  what  twelve 
hundred  women  are  tr3nng  for,  and  for 
that  I  was  forced  to  employ  m3''  di- 
plomacy." 

"  Oh,  3'es,  I  know  3'ou  have  been  quite 
heroic,  m3'  dear  friend." 

"We  know  what  we  are  about,"  said 
Manicamp. 

"To  whom  do  you  tell  that?  When  I 
am  king,  I  promise  3'ou  one  thing." 

"  What?     To  call  you  Malicorne  I.  ?  " 

"  No  ;  to  make  3'ou  surintendant  of  m3' 
finances.  But  that  is  not  the  question 
now." 

"Unfortunately." 

"  The  present  affair  is  to  procure  for  me 
a  second  place  of  maid  of  honor." 

"M3^  friend,  if  you  were  to  promise  me 
heaven  I  would  not  disturb  mvself  at  this 
moment."  Malicorne  chinked  the  money 
in  his  pocket. 

"There  are  twenty  pistoles  here,"  said 
Malicorne. 

"  And  what  would  you  do  with  twent3'' 
pistoles,  mon  Dieu  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Malicorne,  a  little  angril3% 
"  suppose  I  were  onl3'  to  add  them  to  the 
five  hundred  3'-ou  already  owe  me  ?" 

"You  arq  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 
onl3'  holding  out  your  hand  that  will  do*. 


308 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


if  I  g-ive  3'ou  the  twenty  pistoles,  shall  I 
have  my  brevet  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  you  shaD." 
''Soon?" 
"To-day." 

"  Oh,  take  care.  Monsieur  de  Manicamp ; 
you  undertake  much,  and  I  do  not  ask  that. 
Thirty  leag-ues  in  a  day  is  too  much  ;  you 
would  kill  yourself." 

"  I  think  nothing  impossible  when  oblig- 
ing' a  friend." 

"  You  are  quite  heroic." 
"  Where  are  the  twenty  pistoles  ?  " 
"  Here  they  are,"  said  Malicorne,  show- 
ing them. 

"That's  well." 

"  Yes ;  but,  my  dear  M.  Manicamp,  you 
would  consume  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  sous  the  post, 
sev^n  livres ;  seven  livres  the  courier,  four- 
teen ;  as  many  for  coming  back,  twenty- 
eight  ;  as  much  for  bed  and  supper — that 
makes  sixty  of  the  livres  which  this  com- 
plaisance would  cost  you." 

Manicamp  stretched  himself  like  a  ser- 
pent 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  pis- 
toles. 

"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 
Quiche." 

"  Go  on." 

"  And  an  hour  to  persuade  him  to  write 
a  letter  to  Monsieur." 

"  Just  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  3^ou  saying?  "  said  Mali- 
corne, putting  his  watch  quickly  back 
into  his  fob. 

"  Ah  !  true ;  1  was  offering  to  lay  3^ou 
twenty  pistoles  against  these  3^ou  have 
lent  me,  that  3^ou  will  have  the  Comte  de 
Guiche's  letter  in — " 

"  How  soon  ?  " 

"  In  eight  hours." 

"  Have  3^ou  a  winged  horse,  then  ?  " 

"That  is  no  matter.     Will  you  lay  ?  " 

"  I  shall  have  the  comte's  letter  in  eight 
hours  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"In  hand?" 

"  In  hand." 

"  Well,  be  it  so  ;  I  la}^"  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  honor 
to  Madame,  which  M.  le  Comte  de  Guiche 
will  take  upon  him  to  obtain  at  sight. 
"De  Manicamp." 

This  painful  task  accomplished,  he  laid 
himself  down  in  bed  again. 

"  Well !  "  asked  Malicorne,  "  what  does 
this  mean?" 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


309 


"  That  means  that  if  you  are  in  a  huriy 
to  have  the  letter  from  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  for  Monsieur,  I  have  won  my 
wag-er." 

'•  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  3^our  horses  to  their  best 
speed." 

"  Good  !  " 

'•  In  six  hours  you  will  be  at  Etampes  ; 
in  seven  hours  j^ou  have  the  letter  from  the 
comte,  and  I  shall  have  won  my  wager 
without  stirring-  from  my  bed,  which  suits 
me  and  3'ou  too,  at  the  same  time,  I  am 
very  sure." 

"  Decidedly,  Manicamp,  you  are  a  g-reat 
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  of  him — every- 
thing." 

"  Diable  !  the  exception  is  annoying; 
but  then,  if  instead  of  asking  him  for 
money,  3'ou  were  to  ask — " 

"What?" 

"Something-  important." 

"What  do  you  call  important?" 

"  Well !  suppose  one  of  your  friends 
asked  j'^ou  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  ex- 
change." 


"  Ah !  that,  perhaps,  is  fair.  Well, 
that  friend  speaks  to  you." 

"  What,  you,  Malicorne  !  " 

"Yes;  it  is  I." 

'•  Ah  I  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!" 

*'  An  order  for  a  place  in  the  household 
of  Monsieur." 

"Oh  I  "  said  Manicamp,  laying-  down 
the  pen,  "  a  place  in  the  household  of 
Monsieur  for  fifty  pistoles  ?  " 

• '  You  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  Malicorne  held  it 
at  a  distance. 

"  Eh  !  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  Five 
hundred  pistoles." 

"I  say  it  is  for  nothing,  my  friend," 
said  Manicamp,  taking  up  the  pen  again, 
"  and  you  will  wear  out  my  credit.  Dic- 
tate." 

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. 

"  In  that  case  give  me  the  recommen- 
dation back  again." 
"What  to  do?" 


310 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


•'To  add  two  words  to  it." 

"Two  words?" 

"  Yes  ;  two  words  only." 

"What  are  they?" 

"In  haste." 

Malicorne  returned  the  recommenda- 
tion :  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  I  that's  fair;"  and  he  gave  him 
the  twenty  pistoles. 

Manicamp  began  to  take  up  his  gold  hy 
handfuls,  and  pour  it  down  in  cascades 
upon  his  bed. 

"This  second  place,"  murmured  Mali- 
corne, while  dr^'ing  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  ex- 
pense, and  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere 
will  bring  me  back  more  than  Mademoi- 
selle de  Montalias,  or  else — or  else  mj' 
name  is  not  Malicorne.  Farewell,  Mani- 
camp ;"  and  he  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT. 

On  Malicorne's  arrival  at   Orleans,  he 
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  journey's  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.  Mali- 
corne 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  ar- 
rival from  England.  Malicorne  pronounced 
the  name  of  Manicamp,  and  was  immedi- 
ately 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  befoi-e  him.  The  count,  in  the 
presence  of  his  tradespeople  and  of  his  ser- 
vants, was  engaged  in  praising  or  blam- 
ing, 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  toward  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  himself  w^as  an- 
nounced to  you,  instead  of  which  it  is  only 
an  envo}'^  from  him." 

"Ah  !  "  exclaimed  De  Guiche,  coldly  : 
"'  and  what  do  you  bring  me  ?  " 

"A  letter.  Monsieur  le  Comte."  Mali- 
corne 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  honor  ?  Are  all  the  maids  of  honor  in 
France,  then,  under  his  protection?" 
Malicorne  bowed. 

"  Why  does  he  not  come  himself?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  He  is  confined  to  his  bed. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


311 


"The  deuce  !  he  has  no  money,  then,  I 
suppose,"  said  De  Guiche,  shrug-g-in.i?'  his 
shoulders.  "  What  does  he  do  with  his 
money  ?  " 

Malicorne  made  a  movement,  to  indicate 
tliat  upon  this  subject  lie  was  as  ignorant 
as  the  corate  himself.  '"'  Wh\'  does  he  not 
make  use  of  his  credit,  then  ?  "  continued 
De  Guiche. 

*•'  With  reg-ard  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  move- 
ment.    "But  every  one  will  be  there." 

"  I  trust,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  that  he 
will  not  neglect  so  excellent  an  oppor- 
tunity." 

"'  He  should  be  at  Paris  \iy  this  time." 

"  He  will  take  the  direct  road  there,  to 
make  up  for  lost  time." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"At  Orleans." 

"'  Monsieur,"  said  De  Guiche,  "you  seem 
to  be  a  man  of  very  good  taste." 

Malicorne  wore  Manicamp's  clothes. 
He  bowed  in  return,  saying,  "You  do 
me  a  very  great  honor.  Monsieur  le 
Comte.' 

"  Whom  have  I  the  pleasure  of  ad- 
dressing ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Malicorne,  monsieur." 

"  M.  de  Malicorne,  what  do  3'ou  think  of 
these  pistol-holsters  ?  " 

Malicorn  was  a  man  of  great  readiness, 
and  immediately  understood  the  position 
of  affairs.  Besides,  the  "'  de  "  which  had 
been  prefixed  to  his  name  raised  hitn  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  sad- 
dler, "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.  Mon- 


sieur le  Comte  ;  but  I  must  mount  it  be- 
fore I  give  you  my  opinion." 

"  Do  so,  M.  de  Malicoi'ne,  and  ride  him 
round  the  court  two  or  three  times." 

The  courtj^ard  of  the  hotel  was  so  ar- 
ranged, that  whenever  tliere  was  any 
occasion  for  it,  it  could  be  used  as  a 
riding-school.  Malicorne,  with  perfect 
ease,  arranged  the  bridle  and  sn.aflae- 
reins,  placed  his  left  hand  on  the  horse's 
mane,  and,  with  his  foot  in  the  stirrup, 
raised  himself  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 ;  lastl}^  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  Jiis  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  al- 
most make  me  doubt  the  purity  of  its 
German  breed,  and  I  think  there  is  En- 
glish blood  in  him.  He  stands  well  on  his 
legs,  but  he  trots  high,  and  ma}^  cut  him- 
self, 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,"  ex- 
claimed the  comte ;  "  you  are  a  judge 
of  horses,  I  perceive;"  then,  turning  to- 
ward him  again,  he  continued :  "'  You 
are  most  becomingly  dressed,  M.  de  Mali- 
corne. That  is  not  a  provincial  cut,  I  pre- 
sume. 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 
honor."' 


312 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  You  perceive  what  he  has  written, 
Monsieur  le  Comte." 

"For  whom  was  the  first  appoint- 
ment ?" 

Malicorne  felt  the  color  rise  in  his  face., 
as  he  answered  hurriedly,  "  A  charming- 
maid  of  honor.  Mademoiselle  de  Monta- 
lais." 

"Ah,  ah  !  you  are  acquainted  with  her  ?" 

"  We  are  affianced,  or  nearly'  so." 

"  That  is  quite  another  thing-,  then — 
a  thousand  compliments,"  exclaimed  De 
Guiche,  upon  whose  lips  a  courtier's  jest 
was  already'  flitting,  but  to  whom  the 
word  "affianced,"  addressed  by  Mali- 
corne with  respect  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais,  recalled  the  respect  due  to 
women. 

"  And  for  whom  is  the  second  appoint- 
ment destined  ?  "  asked  De  Guiche ;  "  is  it 
for  any  one  to  whom  Manicamp  may  hap- 
pen to  be  affianced  ?  In  that  case,  I  pity 
her,  poor  girl !  for  she  Avill  have  a  sad  fel- 
low for  a  husband  in  him." 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Comte :  the  second 
appointment  is  for  Mademoiselle  la  Baume 
le  Blanc  de  la  Valliere." 

"  Unknown,"  said  De  Guiche. 

"  Unknown  ?  yes,  monsieur,"  said  Mali- 
corne, smiling  in  his  turn. 

"  Very  good.  I  will  speak  to  Monsieur 
about  it.  By-the-by,  she  is  of  gentle 
birth?" 

"  She  belongs  to  a  very  good  family, 
and  is  maid  of  honor  to  Madame." 

"  That's  well.  Will  you  accompany  me 
to  Monsieur?  " 

"  Most  certainly,  if  I  may  be  permitted 
the  honor." 

"  Have  you  ^'■our  carriage  ?  " 

"No ;  I  came  here  on  horseback." 

"  Dressed  as  you  are  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur  ;  I  posted  from  Orleans, 
and  I  changed  my  traveling  suit  for  the 
one  I  have  on,  in  order  to  present  m3\self 
to  you." 

"True,  you  already  told  me  you  had 
come  from  Orleans;"  saying  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  yo\i  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  j^et  read. 

"I  suspected  it,"  he  continued — "an- 
other application  for  an  appointment  un- 
der Monsieur.  This  Manicamp  is  a  com- 
plete gulf— he  is  carrjang  on  a  trade  in  it." 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Comte ;  he  wishes  to 
make  a  present  of  it." 

"To  whom?" 

"To  m^'self,  monsieur." 

"  Why  did  you  not  say  so  at  once,  my 
dear  M.  Mauvaisecorne  ?  " 

"Malicorne,  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

"  Forg-ive  me ;  it  is  the  Latin  which 
bothers  me — that  terrible  habit  of  etymol- 
ogies. Why  the  deuce  are  young*  men  of 
family  taught  Latin  ?  Mala  and  inau- 
vaise  —  you  understand  it  is  the  same 
thing.  You  will  forgive  me,  I  trust,  M. 
de  Malicorne." 

"  Your  kindness  affects  me  much,  mon- 
sieur; but  it  is  a  reason  why  I  should 
make  you  acquainted  with  one  circum- 
stance without  any  delay." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  That  I  was  not  born  a  gentleman.  I 
am  not  without  courage,  and  not  alto- 
gether deficient  in  ability ;  but  my  name 
is  Mahcorne  simply." 

"Y'ou  appear  to  me,  monsieur,"  ex- 
claimed the  comte,  looking  at  the  astute 
face  of  his  companion,  "to  be  a  most 
agreeable  man.  Your  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 
3'ou  a  present  of  an^^thing.  Did  you  not 
say  that  he  intended  to  make  you  a  pres- 
ent of  some  appointment  in  the  king's 
household  ?  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  comte;  but  if  I 
succeed   in    obtaining    the    appointment. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


313 


3'ou,   and  not  he,   will  have  bestowed   it 
on  rae." 

'^'^  Besides,  he  will  not  have  given  it  to 
you  for  nothing,  I  suppose.  Stay,  I  have 
it ;. — there  is  a  Malicorne  at  Orleans  who 
lends  money  to  the  prince." 

"  I  think  that  must  be  my  fathor,  mon- 
sieur." 

''  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  saving  ^-ou  were 
either  a  saint,  or  very  much  resembled 
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  toward  the 
door,  desiring  Malicorne  to  follow  him. 
At  the  very  moment  they  were  about  to 
cross  the  threshold,  a  3'^oung  man  appear- 
ed on  the  other  side.  He  was  from  twenty- 
four  to  twentj'-five  years  of  age,  of  pale 
complexion,  bright  eyes,  and  brown  hair 
and  e3'ebrows. 

"  Good-day,"  he  said,  suddenly,  almost 
pushing  De  Guiche  back  into  the  court- 
yard 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.  MaUcorne,"  said  De  Guiche  to  his 
friend.     De  Wardes  bowed. 

"M.  de  Wardes,"  said  De  Guiche  to 
Malicorne,  who  bowed  in  return.  ''  By- 
the-by,  De  Wardes,"  continued  De 
Guiche,  "  3'ou  who  are  so  well  acquainted 
with  these  matters,  can  you  tell  us,  prob- 
abl\%  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  consid- 
eration, "  let  me  see — the  appointment  of 
the  master  of  the  horse  is  vacant,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"Oh,"  said  Malicorne,  "there  is  no 
question  of  such  a  post  as  that,  monsieur  ; 
m}^  ambition  is  not  nearl^'^  so  exalted." 

De  Wardes  had  a  more  penetrating  ob- 
servation than  De  Guiche,  and  understood 
Mahcorne  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  mis- 
fortune is  that  of  not  being  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  me  to  remark,  my  dear 
comte,  that,  without  rank  of  some  sort, 
one  can  hardl}'  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.  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte,"  said  Malicorne,  changing 
color  slightl}'-. 

"Yet  not  without  remedy,  I  hope,"  re- 
turned De  Guiche. 

"The  remedy  is  found  easil}^  enough," 
exclaimed  De  Wardes ;  "  j^ou  can  be  cre- 
ated 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  be- 
comes us  to  turn  such  matters  into  ridi- 
cule. Letters  of  nobility,  it  is  true,  are 
purchasable  ;  but  that  is  a  sufficient  mis- 
fortune without  the  nobles  themselves 
laughing  at  it." 

"  Upon  my  word,  De  Guiche,  you're 
quite  a  Puritan,  as  the  English  say,  " 


314 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


At  this  moment,  the  Vicomte  de  Brag-e- 
lonne  was  announced  by  one  of  the  ser- 
vants 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  ?  " 

Brag-elonne  approached  the  g-roup  of 
young-  men  and  saluted  them  with  that 
quiet  and  serious  manner  which  was 
peculiar  to  liim.  His  salutation  was  prin- 
cipally addressed  to  De  Wardes,  with 
whom  he  was  unacquainted,  and  whose 
features,  on  his  perceiving  Raoul,  had  as- 
sumed a  strang-e  sternness  of  expression. 
"  I  have  come,  De  Guiche,"  he  said,  "to 
ask  3^our  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^'oung 
men  saluted  each  other  in  a  restrained 
manner.  Their  two  natures  seemed,  froui 
the  ver3^  beginning,  disposed  to  take  ex- 
ception to  each  other.  De  Wardes  was 
pliant,  subtle,  and  full  of  dissimulation  ; 
Raoul  was  calm,  g-rave,  and  upright. 
*•'  Decide  between  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  distribu- 
tion 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  Brage- 
lonne, quietl3^ 

"  But,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  inter- 
Tupted  De  Wardes,  with  a  kind  of  obsti- 
nacy, "  I  aflBlrm  that  it  is  I  who  am 
correct." 

"  What  was  3'our  opinion,  monsieur  ?  " 

"  I  was  saying  that  everything  is  done 
in  France,  at  the  present  moment,  to  hu- 
miliate men  of  family." 


"  And  by  whom  ?  " 

"  By  the  king  himself.  He  surrounds 
himself  with  people  who  cannot  show  four 
qua  rte  rings." 

"Nonsense,"  said  De  Guiche;  "where 
could  you  possibly  have  seen  that,  De 
Wardes  ?  " 

"One    example    will    suffice,"    he    re- 
turned,   directing    his    look    fully    upon 
Raoul. 
"  "State  it,  then." 

"Do  you  know  who  has  just  been  nom- 
inated captain-general  of  the  musketeers 
—an  appointment  more  valuable  than  a 
peerage;  for  it  gives  precedence  over  all 
the  marechals  of  France." 

Raoul's  color  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  ver\'  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  famil}',  who  has  been 
trailing  his  sword  in  the  antechambers 
during  the  last  thirtj^  j^ears." 

"Forgive  me  if  I  interrupt  you,"  said 
Raoul,  darting  a  glance  full  of  severity 
at  De  Wardes  :  "  but  you  give  me  the 
impression  of  being  unacquainted  with 
the  gentleman  of  whom  3'ou  are  speaking." 

"  I  unacquainted  with  M.  d'Artagnan  ? 
Can  you  tell  me,  monsieur,  who  does  know 
him  ?  " 

"  Those  who  do  know  him,  monsieur," 
replied  Raoul,  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. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


315 


CHAPTER  LXXXII. 

THE  PORTEAIT  OF   MADAME. 

The  discussion  was  becoming-  full  of 
bitterness.  De  Guiche  perfectly  under- 
stood the  whole  matter,  for  there  was  in 
Bragelonue's  look  something-  instinctive!}' 
hostile,  while  in  that  of  De  Wardes  there 
was  something-  like  a  determination  to 
offend.  Without  inquiring-  into  the  differ- 
ent feelings  which  actuated  his  two  friends, 
De  Guiche  resolved  to  ward  off  the  blow 
which  he  felt  was  on  the  point  of  being- 
dealt  b\"  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,  Raoul,  will  remain  here  master  of 
the  house  ;  and  as  all  that  is  done  here  is 
under  your  advice,  you  will  bestow  the 
last  g-lance  upon  my  preparations  for  de- 
parture." 

Raoul,  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  Avhere  you  are, 
Raoul,  and  tell  them  to  show  you  the  two 
horses  I  have  just  purchased  :  3'ou  will 
give  me  your  opinion,  for  I  onl}-  bought 
them  on  condition  that  you  ratified  the 
purchase.  By-the-by,  I  have  to  beg- 
5'our  pardon  for  having-  omitted  to  inquire 
after  the  Comte  de  la  Fere."  While  pro- 
nouncing these  latter  words,  he  closely 
observed  De  Wardes,  in  order  to  perceive 
what  effect  the  name  of  Raoul's  father 
would  produce  upon  him.  "I  thank 
3'ou,"  answered  the  j^oung  man,  "the 
count  is  very  well."  A  g-ieam  of  deep 
hatred  passed  into  De  Wardes'  eyes.  De 
Guiche,  who  appeared  not  to  notice  the 
foreboding-  expression,  went  up  to  Raoul, 
and,  grasping-  him  by  the  hand,  said,  '•  It 
is  agreed,  then,  Bragelonne,  is  it  not,  that 
3'ou  will  rejoin  us  in  the  court3'ard  of  the 
Palais  Royal?"  He  then  signed  to  De 
Wardes  to  follow  him,  who  had  been  en- 
gaged in  balancing  himself,  first  on  one 
foot,  then  on  the  other.  ••'  We  are  go- 
ing," said  he;  -'come,  M.  Malicorne." 
This    name    made    Raoul    start ;    for   it 


seemed  that  he  had  already  heard  it  pro- 
nounced before,  but  he  could  not  remem- 
ber on  what  occasion.  While  trying  to 
do  so,  half-dreamingly,  j^et  half  irritated 
at  his  conversation  with  De  Wardes,  the 
three  young  men  were  on  their  way  to- 
ward 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  lie  ought  not  to  walk  in 
the  same  line  with  them  ;  and  therefore  be 
walked  behind.  '''Arej'ou  mad?"  said 
De  Guiche  to  his  companion,  as  soon  as 
they  had  left  the  Hotel  de  Grammont ; 
"3'ou  attack  M.  d'Artagnau,  and  that, 
too,  before  Raoul." 

"Well,"  said  De  Wardes,  "what 
then  ?  " 

"  What  do  3'ou  mean  b3^ '  what  then?'  " 

"'  Certainl3%  is  there  an}'  prohibition 
against  attacking  M.  d'Artagnau  ?  " 

"'  But  you  know  ver}'  well  that  M.  d'Ar- 
tagnau was  one  of  those  celebrated  and 
terrible  four  men  who  were  called  the 
musketeers." 

"'  That  ma}'  be  ;  but  I  do  not  perceive 
why,  on  that  account,  I  should  be  forbid- 
den to  hate  M.  d'Artagnau." 

"  What  cause  has  he  given  3'ou  ?  " 

••'  Me  !  personall3',  none." 

•^  Why  hate  him,  therefore  ?  " 

"Ask  m}'-  dead  father  that  question." 

"Realh-,  m3'  dear  De  Wardes,  3'ou  sur- 
prise me.  M.  d'Artagnau  is  not  one  to 
leave  unsettled  an}-  enmity  he  ma3'"  have 
to  arrange,  without  completeh'  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-thrust  loyally 
given." 

"Listen  to  me,  my  dear  De  Guiche: 
this  inveterate  dislike  existed  between 
my  father  and  M.  d'Artagnau,  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'Artagnau  alone  ?  " 

"As  for  that,  M.  d'Artagnau  was  too 


S16 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


intimatelj'  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,  the}^  shall  have  no 
occasion  to  complain  of  their  portion." 

De  Guiche  had  kept  his  e^'es  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  awaj^  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  no  longer  en- 
counter their  enemies,  save  by  the  means 
of  intrigue  or  treachery.  As,  therefore, 
it  certainly  was  not  Raoul  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 
De  Guiche's  countenance,  De  Wardes  had 
resumed  the  entire  mastery  over  himself. 

"  At  all  events,"  he  observed,  "  I  have 
no  personal  ill-will  toward  M.  de  Brage- 
lonne  ;  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,  al- 
though De  Guiche  tried  his  utmost  to 
draw  out  his  secret  from  him  ;  but  doubt- 
less De  Wardes  had  determined  to  say 
nothing  further,  and  he  remained  impene- 
trable. De  Guiche  therefore  promised 
himself  a  more  satisfactory  result  with 
Raoul.  In  the  meantime  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  o^ 
bringing  the  young  princess  to  Paris. 
The  brilliant  display  of  bores,  arms,  and 
rich  liveries,  afforded  some  compensation 
in  those  times,  thanks  to  the  kindl3'  feel- 
ings of  the  people,  and  to  the  traditions 
of  deep  devotion  to  their  sovereigns,  for 
the  enormous  expenses  charged  upon  the 
taxes.  Mazarin  had  said,  ''Let  them 
sing,  provided  they  paj^ ;  "  while  Louis 
XIV. 's  remark  was,  "Let  them  look." 
Sight  had  replaced  the  voice  :  the  people 
could  still  look,  but  the3^  could  no  longer 
sing.  De  Guiche  left  De  Wardes  and 
Malicorne  at  the  bottom  of  the  grand 
staircase,  while  he  himself,  who  shared 
the  favor  and  good  graces  of  Monsieur 
with  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  who  al- 
ways smiled  at  him  most  affectionately, 
while  he  could  not  endure  him,  went 
straight  to  the  prince's  apartments, 
whom  he  found  engaged  in  admiring  him- 
self 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,  perceiv- 
ing 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,  trem- 
blingly. 

"'  Well,  and  I  shall  tell  it  you." 

"Do  not  be  in  a  hurry,  Guiche  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  prince;  "3'ou  have  plenty 
of  time.  Look  at  me  attentively,  and  try 
and  recollect  Madame.  Besides,  her  por- 
trait is  there  ;  look  at  it."     And  he  held 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


317 


out  to  him  a  miniature  of  the  finest 
possible  execution.  De  Guiche  took  it, 
and  looked  at  it  for  a  long-  time  atten- 
tively. 

"  Upon  my  honor,  v^\  lord,  this  is  in- 
deed a  most  lovelj^  face." 

"But  look  at  me,  count,  look  at  me," 
said  the  prince,  endeavoring-  to  direct  upon 
himself  the  attention  of  the  count,  who 
was  completely  absorbed  in  contemplation 
of  the  portrait. 

'*  It  is  wonderful,"  murmured  Guiche. 

"  Reall}',  one  would  almost  imagine  you 
had  never  seen  this  girl  before." 

"  It  is  true,  my  lord,  I  have  seen  her, 
but  it  is  five  years  ago  :  there  is  a  great 
dilference  between  a  child  of  twelve  years 
old  and  a  young  girl  of  seventeen." 

"  Well,  what  is  j'our  opinion  ?  " 

'•'  My  opinion  is  that  the  portrait  must 
be  flattered,  my  lord." 

"  Of  that,"  said  the  prince  triumphant- 
h',  "there  can  be  no  doubt;  but  let  us 
suppose  that  it  is  not  flattered,  what 
would  your  opinion  be  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  your  higlmess  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  understood  how 
severe  toward  himself  this  opinion  of  the 
Comte  de  Guiche  was,  and  he  looked  some- 
what displeased,  sa3ing,  ''  M\'  friends  are 
not  overindulgent."  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  incomprehen- 
sible to  the  prince,  for  he  exclaimed  : 
'•'  Ver\'  well,  get  married  yourself."  Mon- 
sieur continued  rouging  himself,  and 
when  he  had  finished,  looked  at  the  por- 
trait ag-ain,  once  more  turned  to  admire 
himself  in  the  glass,  and  smiled,  and  no 
doubt  was  satisfied  with  the  comparison. 
**You  are  verj'^  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  dis- 
respect." 

•'  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  immediateh' 
displayed  the  greatest  attention,  for  he 
regarded  every  favor  conferred  upon  an- 
other as  a  robbery  committed  against  him- 
self. 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  honor." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  Guiche,  what  a  protector 
you  have  become  of  young  ladies,"  said 
the  prince,  "  you  never  speak  of  any  one 
else  now." 

The  Chevalier  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  I  who  am  directly  interested  in  the 
lad3'  of  whom  I  have  just  spoken ;  I  am 
acting  on  behalf  of  one  of  my  friends," 

'•  Ah  I  that  is  different;  what  is  the 
name  of  the  young  lad}"  in  whom  your 
friend  is  interested  ?  " 

"Mdlle.  de  la  Baume  le  Blanc  de  la 
Valliere ;  she  is  already  maid  of  honor  to 
the  dowager  princess." 

"Wh}',  she  is  lame,"  said  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Lorraine,  stretching  himself  on 
his  cushions. 

"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  con- 
duct is  ungenerous  ;  while  I  am  soliciting 
a  favor,  3'ou  do  me  all  the  mischief  you 
can." 


318 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Forg-ive  me,  comte,"  said  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Lorraine,  somewhat  uneasy  at  the 
tone  in  which  Guiche  had  made  his  re- 
mark, "but  I  had  no  intention  of  doing- 
so,  and  I  beg-in  to  believe  that  I  have  mis- 
taken 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,  m}'  lord." 

'•  Well,  3"ou  shall  have  it ;  but  ask  me 
for  no  more  appointments,  for  there  are 
none  to  g-ive  away." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  "  mid- 
day already,  that  is  the  hour  fixed  for  the 
departure." 

"You  dismiss  me,  monsieur  ?  "  inquired 
Guiche. 

"  Reall}'^,  comte,  you  treat  me  very  ill 
to-day,"  replied  the  chevalier. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  comte,  for  heav- 
en's sake,  chevalier,"  said  Monsieur,  "do 
you  not  see  how  you  are  distressing-  me." 

"'  My  sig-nature  ?  "  said  Guiche. 

"  Take  a  blank  appointment  from  that 
drawer,  and  give  it  to  me."  Guiche 
handed  the  prince  the  document  indi- 
cated, and  at  the  same  time  presented 
him  with  a  pen  already  dipped  in  ink  ; 
whereupon  the  prince  signed.  "Here," 
he  said,  returning-  hini  the  appointment, 
"but  I  g-ive  it  on  one  condition." 

"Name  it." 

"  That  3^ou  will  make  friends  with  the 
chevalier." 

"  Willingly,"  said  Guiche.  And  he  held 
out  his  hand  to  the  chevalier  with  an  in- 
difference 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  off  and  lose  no  time.  By-the- 
oy,  who  accompany  you  ?  " 

"  Bragelonne  and  De  Wardes." 

"  Both  excellent  and  fearless  compan- 
ions." 

"Too  fearless,"  said  the  chevalier  ;  "en- 
deavor to  bring  them  both  back,  comte." 

"Bad   heart,   bad    heart,"   murmured 


De  Guiche  ;  "  he  scents  mischief  every- 
where, 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.  Mali- 
corne  hurried  forward,  and  received  it 
trembling-  with  delig-ht.  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  I  asked  too  much 
at  once.     Wait  until  I  return.    Adieu." 

"  Adieu,  Monsieur  le  Comte ;  a  thou- 
sand thanks,"  said  Malicorne. 

"  Send  Manicamp  to  me.  B}'^  the  waj'^, 
monsieur,  is  it  true  that  Mdlle.  de  la 
Valliere  is  lame?"  As  he  said  this,  a 
horse  drew  up  behind  him,  and,  on  turn- 
ing- round,  he  noticed  that  Brag-elonne, 
who  had  just  at  that  moment  entered  the 
courtyard,  turned  suddenly  pale.  The 
poor  lover  had  heard  the  remark,  which, 
however,  was  not  the  case  with  Malicorne, 
for  he  w^as  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-  yon- 
der, 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  toilet,  appeared  at  the  win- 
dow, and  was  immediately  saluted  by  the 
acclamations  of  all  who  composed  the 
escort,  and  ten  minutes  afterward,  ban- 
ners, scarfs  and  feathers  were  fluttering 
and  waving  in  the  air,  as  the  cavalcade 
galloped  away. 


CHAPTER    LXXXIII. 

HAVRE. 

This  brilliant  and  animated  companj'^, 
the  members  of  which  were  inspired  by 
various  feelings,  arrived  at  Havre  four 
days  after  their  departure  from  Paris. 
It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


319 


and  no  intellisrence  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  recog- 
nized Manicamp.  It  was,  indeed,  Mani- 
camp  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  hy  his  features,  for  he  had 
very  frequenth'^  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  illuminated,  the  gate  by 
which  Havre  is  entered,  and  which  is  situ- 
ated close  to  the  tower  of  Francis  I.  The 
comte,  remarking  tlie  woe-begone  expres- 
sion of  Manicamp'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  place  of  which  I 
could  find  nothing  but  this  ;  and  I  was 
even  obliged  to  economize,  from  compul- 
sion, 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  3'ou  are,  and  that 
is  the  principal  thing." 

'^By  the  most  horrible  roads." 

"Where  are  you  lodging?  " 

"Lodging?" 

'•Yes.' 

"  I  am  not  lodging  anywhere." 

De  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  3'ou  mean  by  saying  j'ou 
don't  know  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  how  is  it  likely  I  should 
know  where  I  should  stay  ?  " 


"  Have  you  not  retained  a  hotel  ?  " 

"Yes,  you  or  the  prince." 

"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  suitable  house  in  a  good 
quarter — " 

"  Certainly,  there  are  some  very  excel- 
lent houses." 

"W^eil,  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?" 

"'B\'  the  Duke  of  Buckingham." 

"I  beg  3-our  pardon!"  said  Guiche, 
whose  attention  this  name  had  awakened. 

"'  Yes,  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 
His  grace  has  been  preceded  by  a  courier, 
who  arrived  here  three  days  ago,  and  im- 
mediately retained  all  the  houses  fit  for 
habitation  \vhich  the  town  possesses." 

"'  Come,  come,  Manicamp,  let  us  under- 
stand each  other." 

"  Well,  what  I  have  told  j^ou  is  clear 
enough,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  But  surelj^  Buckingham  does  not  oc- 
cupy the  whole  of  Havre  ?  " 

"  He  certainh'  does  not  occup.y  it,  since 
he  has  not  j^et  arrived;  but,  when  once 
disembarked,  he  will  occupy  it." 

"Oh!  oh  !" 

"  It  is  quite  clear  j^ou  are  not  acquainted 
with  the  English ;  the\'  have  a  perfect 
rage  for  monopolizing  everything." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  a  man  wlio  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  3'ou  Buckingham  has  hired  all  the 
houses  surroundinir  tlie  one  which  the 
queen-dowager  of  England  and  the  prin- 
cess her  daughter  will  inhabit." 


320 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


*'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  &\\\y  at  De  Guiche,  as  though  to 
interrogate  him  upon  the  degree  of  confi- 
dence to  be  placed  in  his  friend's  state  of 
mind.  During  this  discussion  the  night 
had  closed  in,  and  the  torches,  pages,  at- 
tendants, 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  townspeople,  who 
seemed  anxious  to  miss  nothing  of  the 
spectacle.  Amid  all  this  hesitation  of 
purpose,  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  supplj'^  of  lodgings  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  De  Wardes,  "what 
reason  has  he  ?  " 

"Avery  excellent  one,"  replied  Mani- 
camp. 

"  You  know  what  it  is,  then  ?  " 

"I  fancy  I  do." 

"Tell  us,  then." 

"Bend  your  head  down  toward  me." 

"  What !  can  it  not  be  said  except  in 
secrec}^  ?  " 

"  You  shall  judge  of  that  yourself." 

"Very  well."     De  Guiche  bent  down. 

"Love,"  said  Manicamp. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  at  all." 

"  Say,  rather,  you  cannot  understand 
me  ?/ef." 

"Explain  yourself." 

"  Very  well !  it  is  quite  certain,  count, 
that  his  royal  highness  will  be  the  most 
unfortunate  of  husbands." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"The  Duke  of  Buckingham—" 


"It  is  a  name  of  ill-omen  to  princes  of 
the  house  of  France." 

"  And  so  the  duke  is  madly  in  love  with 
Madame,  so  the  rumor  runs,  and  will  have 
no  one  approach  near  her  but  himself," 

De  Guiche  colored.  "  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  2iny  Frenchman  here ; 
for,  if  so,  swords  will  be  unsheathed  in 
this  country  which  do  not  fear  the  En- 
glish 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  circumstance 
for  the  French  nation.  Are  not  you  of 
my  opinion.   Monsieur  de  Bragelonne  ?  " 

"To  what  circumstance  do  you  al- 
lude ? "  inquired  De  Bragelonne,  with 
an  abstracted  air. 

"That  the  English  should  render  hom- 
age to  the  beauty  of  our  queens  and  our 
princesses." 

"  Forgive  me,  but  I  have  not  been  pay- 
ing attention  to  what  has  passed ;  will 
3'ou  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  French  court ;  and  it  seems  necessary, 
at  the  present  time,  that  Buckingham  the 
son  should  consecrate,  by  the  devotion  of 
his  v^orship,  the  beauty  of  a  princess  who 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


321 


has  French  blood  in  her  veins.  The  fact 
of  having-  inspired  a  passion  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Channel  will  henceforth  confer 
a  title  to  beauty  on  its  object." 

*'Sir,"  replied  De  Brag-elonne,  ''I  do 
not  like  to  hear  such  matters  treated  so 
lightly.  Gentlemen  as  we  are  should  be 
careful  g-uardians  of  the  honor  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  wa.y  3'ou  choose,  monsieur," 
replied  De  Bragelonne  coldh-. 

"  Bragelonne,  Brag-elonne  !  "  mur- 
mured  Guiche. 

"  M.  de  Wardes,"  exclaimed  Manicamp, 
noticing:  that  the  young  man  had  spurred 
his  horse  close  to  the  side  of  Raoul. 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen,"  said  De 
Guiche,  *'  do  not  set  such  an  example  in 
public,  in  the  street  too.  De  Wardes, 
you  are  wrong-." 

"■  Wrong ;  in  what  wa3%  may  I  ask 
you  ?  " 

"You  are  wrong,  monsieur,  because 
you  are  alwaj's  speaking  ill  of  some  one 
or  something,"  replied  Raoul,  with  un- 
disturbed composure. 

"Be  indulgent,  Raoul,"  said  De  Guiche, 
in  an  undertone. 

"  Pray  do  not  think  of  fighting-,  gentle- 
men," said  Manicamp,  "before  you  have 
rested  3'ourselves;  for  in  that  case  3'ou 
will  not  be  able  to  do  much." 

"Come,"  said  De  Guiche,  "forward, 
g-entlemen  !  "  and,  breaking  throug-h  the 
horses  and  attendants,  he  cleared  the 
way  for  himself  toward  the  center  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  Brage- 
lonne, 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  dig- 
nity 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- 
DUMAS — 11 


peared  to  Manicamp  rather  rash,  he  pro- 
posing instead  that  they  should  first  rest 
themselves.  This  was  the  wisest  thing  to 
do,  but,  unhappil^^  to  follow  his  advice, 
two  things  only  were  wanting ;  namely, 
a  house  and  beds.  De  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,  accom- 
panied by  a  crowd  of  people,  whose  ac- 
clamations and  delight  seemed  a  happy 
omen  for  the  success  of  the  project  with 
which  they  were  yet  unacquaint(;d.  The 
wind  was  blowing  loudlj^  from  the  harbor, 
and  moaning  in  fitful  gusts. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

AT    SEA. 

The  following  day  was  somewhat  calm- 
er, although  the  wind  still  continued  to 
blow.  The  sun  had,  how^ever,  risen 
through  a  bank  of  reddened  clouds,  ting- 
ing with  its  crimson  rays  the  crests  of 
the  black  waves.  Watch  was  impatiently 
kept  from  the  different  lookouts.  Toward 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  ship,  with 
sails  full  set,  was  signaled  as  in  view ; 
two  others  followed  at  the  distance  of 
about  half  a  knot.  They  approached  like 
arrows  shot  from  the  bow  of  a  skillful 
archer;  and  yet  the  sea  ran  so  high  that 
their  speed  was  as  nothing  compared  to 
the  rolling  of  the  billows  in  which  the  ves- 
sels were  plunging  first  in  one  direction 
and  then  in  another.  The  English  fleet 
was  soon  recognized  by  the  lines  of  the 
ships,  and  by  the  color  of  their  pennants  ; 
the  one  which  had  the  princess  on  board 
and  carried  the  admiral's  flag  preceded 
the  others. 

The  rumor  now  spread  that  the  princess 
was  arriving.     The  whole  French   court 


322 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


ran  to  the  harbor,  while  the  quays  and 
jetties  were  soon  covered  by  crowds  of 
people.     Two  hours  afterward,  the  other 
vessels  had   overtaken  the  flag-ship,  and 
the  three,  not  venturing-  perhaps  to  enter 
Ihe  narrow  entrance  of  the  harbor,  cast 
anchor    between    Havre   and    La   Heve. 
When  the  maneuver  had  been  completed, 
the  vessel  which  bore  the  admiral  saluted 
Prance  by  twelve  discharg-es  of  cannon, 
which  were  returned,  discharg-e  for  dis- 
charg-e,  from  Fort  Francis  the  First.  Im- 
mediately afterward  a  hundred  boats  were 
launched — they   w^ere  covered   with   the 
richest   stuffs,  and  destined  for  the  con- 
veyance of  the  different  members   of  the 
French   nobility    toward    the   vessels   at 
anchor.     But  when  it  was  observed  that 
even   inside   the  harbor   the  boats   were 
tossed  to  and  fro,  and  that  beyond  the 
jetty   the    waves   rose    mountains    high, 
dashing  upon  the  shore  with  a  terrible  up- 
roar, it  will  readily  be  believed  that  not 
one  of  those  frail  boats  would  be  able  with 
safet^^  to  reach  a  fourth  part  of  the  dis- 
tance between  the  shore  and  the  vessels  at 
anchor.     A  pilot-boat,  however,  notwith- 
standing the  wind  and  the  sea,  was  getting 
read^^  to  leave  the  harbor  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,  perceiving 
the  pilot  boat  getting  read}'  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  preciselj'^  the  \Qvy  reflection  I 
was  silently  making  to  myself,"  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, 
a,s  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  encounter  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  reaching  the 
ships,  I  should  not  be  inditTerent  to  the 
loss  of  the  onl3^  good  dress  which  I  have 
left — salt  water  would  splash  and  spoil 
It." 

"You,  then,  refuse  also?"  exclaimed 
De  Guiche. 

"Decidedlj^  I  do ;  I  beg  3'ou  to  under- 
stand that  most  distinctly." 

'•But,"  exclaimed  De  Guiche,  "look, 
De  Wardes — look,  Manicamp — look  3'^on- 
der,  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  ridic- 
ulous 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  ac- 
company you  ;  I  thought  it  was  under- 
stood we  should  do  so." 

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  3'our  boat ;" 
and  wrapping  five  or  six  pistoles  in  paper, 
he  threw  them  from  the  quay  into  the 
boat. 

"  It  seems  j^ou  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  j^ours." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


323 


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  toward 
the  jetties,  and  exevy  look  was  directed 
toward  the  little  bark  ;  at  one  moment  it 
remained  suspended  upon  the  crest  of  the 
foaming"     waves,    then     suddenly    glided 
downward  toward  the  bottom  of  a  roar- 
ing- 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  an- 
chored, and  from  the  side  of  which  two 
boats  had  already  been  dispatched  toward 
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  Duke  of  Norfolk,  stand- 
ing beside  them — watched  with  alarm  this 
slender  bark,  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  French  noble- 
men stood  forth  in  relief  like  two  luminous 
apparitions.     The   crew,  leaning   against 
the  bulwarks  and  clinging  to  the  shrouds, 
cheered  the  cournge  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  3'oung  man,  from 
twentj^-six  to  twenty-eight  3*ears  of  age, 
advanced  to  meet  them,  De  Guiche  and 
Bragelonne  lightly  mounted  the  ladder  on 
the  starboard  side,  and,  conducted  by  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  who  resumed  his  place 
near  them,  they  approached  to  offer  their 
homage  to  the  princesses.  Respect,  and 
3'et  more,  a  certain  apprehension,  for 
which  he  could  not  account,  had  hitherto 
restrained  the  Comte  de  Quiche  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  mis- 
take her  vanity  had  led  her  into,  and  had 


answered,  "No;  it  is  only  M.  de  Guiche, 
his  favorite."  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  e3-es  toward  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  animation, 
her  beautiful  nut-brown  hair,  her  expres- 
sive 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  moment, 
so  overcome,  that,  had  it  not  been  for 
Raoul,  on  whose  arm  h«  leaned,  he  would 
have  fallen.  His  friend's  amazed  look, 
and  the  encouraging  gesture  of  the  queen, 
restored  Guiche  to  his  self-possession.  In 
a  few  words  he  explained  his  mission,  ex- 
plained in  what  waj^  he  had  become  the 
envoj'  of  his  royal  highness  ;  and  saluted, 
according  to  their  rank  and  the  reception 
the^'  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  do  la  Fere  had  had  in  the  res- 
toration of  Charles  II.  was  known  to  all ; 
and,  more  than  that,  it  was  the  comte 
who  had  been  charged  with  the  negotia- 
tion of  the  marriage,  by  means  of  which 
the  granddaughter  of  Henry  IV.  was 
now  returning  to  France.  Raoul  spoke 
English  perfectl^^,  and  constituted  him- 
self his  friend's  interpreter  with  the 
young  English  noblemen,  who  w^ere  in- 
differently acquainted  with  the  French 
language.  At  this  moment  a  3'oung  man 
came  forward  of  extremely  handsome  feat- 
ures, and  whose  dress  and  arms  were 
remarkable  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  disembark,  your  royal  high- 
ness." The  younger  of  the  princesses  rose 
from  her  seat  at  this  remark,  and  was 


324 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


about  to  take  the  hand  which  the  young- 
nobleman  had  extended  to  her,  with  an 
eag-erness  which  arose  from  a  varietj^  of 
motives,  when  tlie  admiral  advanced  be- 
tween them,  observing":  "A  moment,  if 
you  please,  m}-  lord  :  it  is  not  possible  for 
ladies  to  disembark  just  now,  the  sea  is 
too  rough ;  it  is  probable  the  wind  may 
abate  toward,  four  o'clock,  and  the  land- 
ing: ^vill  not  be  effected,  therefore,  until 
this  evening-.'"' 

•'  Allow  rae  to  observe,  my  lord,"  said 
Bucking-ham,  with  an  irritation  of  manner 
^vhich  he  did  not  seek  to  disguise,  "  you 
detain  these  ladies,  and  you  have  no  right 
to  do  so.  One  of  them,  unhappilj^  now 
belongs  to  France,  and  you  perceive  that 
France  claims  them  b}"  the  voice  of  her 
ambassadors;"  and  at  the  same  moment 
he  indicated  Raoul  and  Guiche,  whom  he 
saluted. 

'-  I  cannot  suppose  that  these  gentle- 
men intend  to  expose  the  lives  of  their 
royal  highnesses,"  replied  the  admiral. 

"  These  gentlemen,"  retorted  Bucking- 
ham, ''arrived  here  safely,  notwithstand- 
ing- the  wind ;  allow  me  to  believe  that 
the  danger  will  not  be  greater  for  their 
Yoy[\\  highnesses  when  the  wind  will  be  in 
their  favor." 

"  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  possi- 
ble delaj'  to  Madame  and  her  illustrious 
mother,  induced  them  to  confront  the  sea, 
which  is  vQvy  tempestuous  to-day,  even 
for  sailors.  These  gentlemen,  however, 
whom  I  recommend  as  an  example  for 
m}^  officers  to  follow^  can  hardlj'  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  Buckingliam,  who  had  eyes  for 
nothing  but  watching  Norfolk,  of  whom 
he  was  evidently  ver3^  jealous,  and  seemed 
anxious  to  remove  the  princesses  from 
the  deck  of  a  vessel  where  the  admiral 
reigned   supreme.      ''In  that   case,"   re- 


turned Buckingham,  "  I  appeal  to  Mad- 
ame herself." 

•'And  I,  my  lord,"  retorted  the  ad- 
miral, •'  I  appeal  to  my  own  conscience, 
and  to  my  own  sense  of  responsibility.  I 
have  undertaken  toconve\'  Madame  safely 
and  soundh^  to  France,  and  I  shall  keep 
mj'  promise." 

"Yet,  sir — "  continued  Buckingham. 

"My  lord,  permit  me  to  remind  j^ou 
that  I  command  here." 

"  Are  you  aware  what  j'-ou  are  saying, 
mj'-  lord  ?  "  replied  Buckingham,  haught- 
ily. 

'•'  Perfectl}'^  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. 
Raoul  observed  its  effect  upon  Bucking- 
ham, who  trembled  from  head  to  foot, 
and  leaned  against  one  of  the  poles  of 
the  tent  to  prevent  himself  falling;  his 
eyes  became  suffused  with  blood,  and  the 
hand  which  he  did  not  need  for  his  sup- 
port wandered  toward  the  hilt  of  his 
sword. 

"M3'  lord,"  said  the  queen,  "permit 
me  to  observe  that  I  agree  in  every  par- 
ticular with  the  Duke  of  Norfolk ;  if  the 
heavens,  instead  of  being  clouded  as  they 
are  at  the  present  moment,  w' ere  perfectly 
serene  and  pi'opitious,  w^e  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,  w^here  he  is  to  take  leave  of  us." 

Buckingham,  instead  of  replying,secmed 
to  seek  counsel  from  the  expression  of 
Madame's  face.  She,  however,  half  con- 
cealed beneath  the  thick  curtains  of  vel- 
vet and  gold  which  sheltered  her,  had  not 
listened  to  the  discussion,-  having  been 
occupied  in  watching  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  who  was  conversing  with  Raoul. 
This  was  a  fresh  misfortune  for  Bucking- 
ham, 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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


325 


French,  "  and  that  may  possibly  be  his 
reason  for  wishing-  to  find  himself  on  firm 
land  ag-ain." 

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 
aflfection  and  his  new  hatreds.  The  ad- 
miral, however,  without  taking  any  fur- 
ther notice  of  the  duke's  ill-humor,  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  princess,  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  position  inferior  to  that 
which,  by  his  rank,  he  was  entitled  to  oc- 
cup3^  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  Henrietta  from 
the  table ;  but  this  time  it  w^as  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  voydX  highness  be- 
longs to  France,  and  when  her  royal  high- 
ness honors  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 
timidit3%  and,  at  the  same  time,  with  a 
nobleness  of  mien  so  intrepid,  that  a  mur- 
mur of  admiration  rose  from  the  English, 
while  a  groan  of  despair  escaped  from 
Buckingham's  lips.  Raoul,  w^ho  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.  Toward  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  the  sun  shone  forth,  the 
wind  subsided,  the  sea  became  smooth  as 
a  crj'stal  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  ren- 
dered 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  de- 
termined 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  \'et  in  any  w^ay  remarked 
the  animosit}'  which  appeared  to  infiuence 
that  young  nobleman  against  him,  but  he 
felt  instinctively  that  there  could  be  no 
sympathy  between  himself  and  the  favor- 
ite of  Charles  II.  The  queen-mother, 
with  greater  experience  and  calmer  judg- 
ment, perceived  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  impa- 
tience, addressed  himself  to  the  princess 
in  a  low  tone  of  voice  : 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  madame,  I  im- 
plore you  to  hasten  your  disembarkation. 
Do  you  .not  perceive  how  that  insolent 
Duke  of  Norfolk  is  killing  me  with  his 
attentions  and  devotions  to  3'ou  ?  " 

Henrietta  heard  this  remark ;  she 
smiled,  and,  without  turning  her  head 
toward  him,  but  giving  only  to  the  tone 
of  her  voice  that  inflection  of  gentle  re- 
proach and  languid  impertinence  which 
coquetrN'^  so  well  knows  how  to  assume, 
she  murmured  : 

"  I  have  already   told    you,    m3'  lord, 


326 


WORKS  ■  OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


that  A-ou  must  have  taken  leave  of  your 
senses." 

Not  a  sing-le  detail  escaped  Raoul's  at- 
tention :  he  had  heard  both  Bucking-ham's 
entreaty  and  the  princess's  reply ;  he  had 
remarked  Bucking-ham  retire,  had  heard 
his  deep  sigh,  and  saw  him  pass  his  hand 
across  his  face.  He  understood  every- 
thing-, 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,  g-ave  the 
last  directions  for  the  departure  of  the 
boats,  Buckmg-ham  heard  the  directions 
g-iven  with  such  an  exhibition  of  delig-ht, 
that  a  strang-er  would  almost  have  im- 
ag-ined  -the  young-  man's  reason  was 
affected.  As  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  g-ave 
his  orders,  a  larg-e  boat  or  barg-e,  decked 
with  flag-s,  and  capable  of  holding  about 
twenty  rowers  and  fifteen  "passengers, 
was  slowly  lowered  from  the  side  of  the 
admiral's  vessel.  The  barge  was  car- 
peted 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,  however,  ar- 
rested b\^  the  queen, 

"  My  lord,"  she  said,  "  it  is  hardly  be- 
coming that  you  should  allow  my  daughter 
and  myself  to  land,  without  having  pre- 
viously ascertained  that  our  apartments 
are  properl3'-  prepared.  I  beg  your  lord- 
ship to  be  good  enough  to  precede  us 
ashore,  and  to  give  directions  that  every- 
thing 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,  colored  vio- 
lently, but  could  not  repl.y.  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  fort- 
une 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  direc- 
tions were  executed  with  that  celerity 
which  distinguishes  every  maneuver  on 
board  a  man-of-war, 

Buckingham,  in  utter  hopelessness,  cast 
a  look  of  despair  at  the  princess,  of  sup- 
plication toward  the  queen,  and  directed 
a  glance  full  of  anger  toward  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  oft',  sir." 

The  young  duke  hesitated,  looked  around 
Him,  and  with  a  last  effort,  half-choked 
by  contending-  emotions,  said,  ''And  3^ou, 
gentlemen,  M.  de  Guiche  and  M.  de  Brage- 
lonne,  do  you  not  accompany  me  ?  " 

De  Guiche  bowed  and  said,  "Both  M.  de 
Bragelonne  and  myself  await  her  majes- 
ty's orders ;  whatever  vndiV  be  the  com- 
mands she  imposes  on  us,  we  shall  obey 
them."  Saying  this,  he  looked  toward 
the  princess,  who  cast  down  her  eyes. 

"  Your  grace  will  remember,"  said  the 
queen,  "  that  M.  de  Guiche  is  here  to  rep- 
rese'nt  Monsieur;  it  is  he  who  will  do  the 
honors  of  France,  as  3'ou  have  done  those 
of  England.  His  presence  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with ;  besides,  we  owe  him  this 
slight  favor  for  the  courage  he  displayed 
in  venturing  to  seek  us  in  such  terrible 
weather." 

Buckingham  opened  his  lips  as  if  he  were 
about  to  speak,  but,  whether  thoughts  or 
expressions  failed  him,  not  a  syllabic  es- 
caped them  ;  and  turning  away,  as  though 
he  was  out  of  his  mind,  he  leaped  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  re- 
bound had  almost  upset  the  boat, 

"His  grace  cannot  be  in  his  senses," 
said  the  admiral  aloud  to  Raoul. 

"  I  am  uneasy  on  his  grace's  account," 
replied  Bragelonne, 

While  the  boat  was  advancing  toward 
the  shore,  the  duke  kept  his  eyes  immov- 
ably fixed  upon  the  admiral's  ship,  like  a 
miser  torn  awav  from  his  coffers,  or  like 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


a  mother  separated  from  her  child,  about 
to  be  led  away  to  death.  No  one,  how- 
ever, acknowledg-ed  his  sig-nals,  his  ges- 
ticulations, or  his  pitiful  gestures.  In 
very  anguish  of  mind  he  sank  down  in  the 
boat,  bur3'ing  his  hands  in  his  hair,  while 
the  boat,  nnpelled  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  harbor  by  the  messenger  whom  he 
had  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  princesses  quitted  the 
aduiiral's  vessel  at  the  ver\^  moment 
Buckingham  had  landed.  It  was  followed 
b\-  another  boat,  filled  with  officers,  cour- 
tiers, and  zealous  friends.  Great  numbers 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Havre,  having  em- 
barked in  fishing-boats,  and  boats  of  every 
description,  set  ocf  to  meet  the  royal  barge. 
The  cannon  from  the  forts  fired  salutes, 
which  were  returned  by  the  fiag-ship  and 
the  two  other  vessels,  and  the  fiashes 
from  the  open  mouths  of  the  cannon 
floated  in  white  vapors  over  the  waves, 
and  then  disappeared  in  the  clear  blue 
sky. 

The  princess  landed  at  the  steps  of  the 
qua}'.  Bands  of  gay  music  greeted  her 
arrival,  and  accompanied  her  every  step 
she  took.  During  the  time  she  was  pass- 
ing through  the  center  of  the  town,  and 
treading  beneath  her  delicate  feet  the  rich- 
est carpets  and  the  gayest  flowers  which 
had  been  strewn  upon  the  ground,  De 
Guiche  and  Raoul,  escaping  from  their 
English  friends,  hurried  through  the  town 
and  hastened  rapidly  toward  the  place  in- 
tended for  the  residence  of  Madame. 

"  Let  us  hurry  forward,"  said  Raoul  to 
De  Guiche,  ''  for,  if  I  read  Buckingham's 
character  aright,  he  will  create  some  dis- 
turbance, when  he  learns  the  result  of  our 
deliberations  of  yesterday." 

"Never  fear,"  said  De  Guiche,  "  De 
Wardes  is  there,  who  is  determination  it- 
self, while  Manicamp  is  the  vavy  personi- 
fication of  gentleness." 

De  Guiche  was  not,  however,  the  less 


diligent  on  that  account,  and  five  minutes 
afterward  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  Ville, 
upon  the  wide  open  space  before  it,  eight 
tents  had  been  raised,  surmounted  by  the 
flags  of  France  and  England  united.  The 
hotel  was  surrounded  by  tents,  as  by  a 
girdle  of  variegated  colors ;  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. 
Fitted  up,  within  and  without,  with  the 
richest  materials  that  De  Guiche  had  been 
able  to  procure  in  Havre,  they  completely 
encircled  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  only 
passage  which  led  to  the  steps  of  the 
hotel,  and  which  was  nob  inclosed  by  the 
silken  barricade,  was  guarded  by  two 
tents,  resembling  two  pavilions,  the  door- 
way's of  both  of  which  opened  toward  the 
entrance.  These  two  tents  were  destined 
for  De  Guiclie  and  Raoul ;  in  whose  ab- 
sence thej'  were  intended  to  be  occupied, 
that  of  De  Guiche  by  De  Wardes,  and 
that  of  Raoul  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  obe^'  the  slig'htest  sign  either 
of  De  Guiche  or  Bragelonne,  the  two  lead- 
ers of  the  embass}'. 

At  the  very  moment  the  two  j'oung 
men  appeared  at  the  end  of  one  of  the 
streets  leading  to  the  square,  they  per- 
ceived 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  curi- 
ous lookers-on,  and,  at  the  sight  of  these 
unexpected  erections,  uttered  a  cry  of  an- 
ger and  dismay.  It  was  Buckingham, 
who  had  awakened  from  his  stupor,  in 
order  to  adorn  himself  with  a   costume 


328 


WORKS    OF    ALEXA2fDRE    DUMAS. 


perfectly  dazzling  from  its  beaut^^,  and  to 
await  the  arrival  of  the  princess  and  the 
queen-mother  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  At 
the  enti'ance  to  the  tents,  the  soldier 
barred  his  passage,  and  his  further  prog- 
ress was  arrested.  Buckingham,  com- 
pletely 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  the 
noise  made  b\'  Buckingham,  Manicamp, 
who  was  indolently  reclining  upon  the 
cushions  at  the  doorway  of  one  of  the  two 
tents,  rose,  with  his  usual  indifference, 
and,  perceiving  that  the  disturbance  con- 
tinued, made  his  appearance  from  under- 
neath the  curtains.  *'  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  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  re- 
stored, 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  ma\^  yon  be,  monsieur  ?  " 

Manicamp,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  gi- 
gantic 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  Ville, 
you  are  not  justified  in  preventing  me 
passing  to  it." 

"  But  who  prevents  you  passing,  mon- 
sieur?" inquired  Manicamp. 

"  Your  sentinels." 

"  Because  you  wish  to  pass  on  horse- 
back, and  orders  have  been  given  to  let 
onl}^  persons  on  foot  pass." 


"No  one  has  any  right  to  give  orders 
here  except  myself,"  said  Buckingham, 

"On  what  grounds?"  inquired  Mani- 
camp, with  his  soft  tone,  "'  will  you  do  me 
the  favor  to  explain  this  enigma  to  me  ?  " 

"Because,  as  I  have  alread}'  told  3'ou. 
I  have  hired  all  the  houses  looking  on  the 
square." 

"  We  are  very  well  aware  of  that,  since 
nothing  but  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  j^ou  are 
mistaken  there.  In  our  countrj^,  we  say, 
the  highway  belong's  to  the  king,  there- 
fore this  square  is  his  majesty's ;  and, 
consequently,  as  we  are  the  king's  am- 
bassadors, the  square  belongs  to  us." 

"  I  have  already  asked  ^^ou  who  you 
are,  monsieur  ?  "  exclaimed  Buckingham, 
exasperated  at  the  coolness  of  his  inter- 
locutor. 

"  M}'  name  is  Manicamp,"  replied  the 
young  man,  in  a  voice,  whose  tones  were 
as  harmonious  and  sweet  as  the  notes  of 
an  ^olian  harp. 

Buckingham  shrugged  his  shoulders 
contemptuously',  and  said,  "When  I  hired 
these  houses  which  surround  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  the  square  was  unoccupied  ;  these 
barracks  obstruct  my  sight,  let  them  be 
removed." 

A  hoarse  and  angry  murmur  rang 
through  the  crowd  of  listeners  at  these 
words.  De  Guiche  arrived  at  this  mo- 
ment; he  pushed  through  the  crowd 
which  separated  him  from  Buckingham, 
and,  followed  b}^  Raoul,  arrived  on  the 
scene  of  action  from  one  side  just  as  De 
Wardes  arrived  from  the  other.  "  Par- 
don 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  construc- 
tion of  these  tents." 

"  Moreover,  I  would  beg  you  to  observe, 
monsieur,  that  the  term  'barrack  '  is  ob- 
jected to,"  added  Manicamp,  graciousl3^ 

"You  were  saying,  monsieur — "  con- 
tinued De  Guiche. 

"I  was  saying.  Monsieur  le   Comte," 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


329 


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  3'ourself  to 
exercise." 

*'  Abuse  !  " 

"Most  assuredl3\  You  commission  a 
messenger,  who  hires  in  your  naaie  the 
whole  of  the  town  of  Havre,  without  con- 
sidering the  members  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  represen- 
tative 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  Bucking- 
liam,  in  so  violent  a  manner,  that  those 
who  were  present  drew  back,  expecting 
an  immediate  collision. 

"Which  means,  monsieur,"  replied  De 
Guiche,  turning  pale,  "  that  I  have  caused 
these  tents  to  be  raised  as  habitations  for 
mj^self  and  m^'^  friends,  as  a  shelter  for 
the  ambassadors  of  France,  as  the  oxAy 
place  of  refuge  which  3'our  exactions  have 
left  us  in  the  town ;  and  that  I  and  those 
who  are  with  me  shall  remain  in  them,  at 
least,  until  an  authority  more  powerful, 
and  particularity  more  supreme,  than  3'our 
own  shall  dismiss  me  from  them." 

"  In  other  words,  until  we  are  ejected, 
as  the  lawj'-erssay,"  observed  Manicamp, 
blandly. 

"  I  know  an  authorit^^  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  Bucking- 
ham's shoulder.  "One  word,  my  lord," 
he  said. 

"  My  right,  my  right,  first  of  all !  "  ex- 
claimed the  fiery  young  man. 

"  It  is  precisely  upon  that  point  I  wish 
to  have  the  honor  of  addressing  a  word  to 
you." 

"  Ver3^  well,  monsieur,  but  let  your  re- 
marks 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  granddaughter  of 
Henry  IV.  ?  " 

"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,  mon- 
sieur? "  inquired  Buckingham. 

'•' Your  question  is  a  sufficient  answer 
for  me.  You  admit,  then,  that  it  is  not 
you  who  are  going  to  marry  the  prin- 
cess." 

"  You  know  it  perfectly  well,  monsieur, 
I  should  imagine." 

"I  beg  3'our  pardon,  but  your  conduct 
has  been  such  as  to  leave  it  not  alto- 
gether certain." 

"  Proceed,  monsieur ;  what  do  you 
mean  to  convej'^  ?  " 

Raoul  approached  the  duke.  "  Are 
you  aware,  my  lord,"  he  said,  lowering 
his  voice,  "'  that  your  extravagancies 
very  much  resemble  the  excesses  of  jeal- 
ousy. These  jealous  fits,  w'lth  respect  to 
any  woman,  are  not  becoming  in  one  who 
is  neither  her  lover  nor  her  husband  ;  and 
lam  sure  3"0U  will  admit  that  my  remark 
applies  with  still  greater  force,  when  the 
lad}'  in  question  is  a  princess  of  royal 
blood." 

"Monsieur,"  exclaimed  Buckingham, 
"  do  you  mean  to  insult  Madame  Hen- 
rietta?" 

"Be  careful,  my  lord,"  replied  Brage- 
lonne  coldl^',  "  for  it  is  3'ou  who  insult 
her.  '  A  little  while  since,  when  on  board 


330 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


the  adrairal's  ship,  yoii  wearied  the  queen 
and  exhausted  the  admiral's  patience.  I 
was  observing-  j'ou,  m}^  lord  ;  and,  at 
first,  I  concluded  j^ou  were  not  in  posses- 
sion of  your  senses,  but  I  have  since  sur- 
mised the  real  character  of  youi-  mad- 
ness." 

"Monsieur!"  exclaimed   Bucking-ham. 

■'  One  moment  more,  for  I  have  yet  an- 
other word  to  add.  I  trust  I  am  the  onlj^ 
one  of  my  companions  who  have  guessed 
it." 

"  Are  you  aware,  monsieur,"  said  Buck- 
ingham, trembling  with  mingled  feelings 
of  anger  and  uneasiness,  "  are  you  aware 
that  you  are  holding  a  language  toward 
me  which  requires  to  be  checked." 

"Weigh  your  words  well,  my  lord," 
said  Raoul,  haughtily  ;  '*'  my  nature  is 
not  such  that  its  vivacities  need  check- 
ing; while  you,  on  the  contra iw,  are  de- 
scended from  a  race  whose  passions  are 
suspected  by  all  true  Frenchmen  :  I  re- 
peat, therefore,  for  the  second  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, 
m}'-  lord,  and  I  never  threaten,  because  I 
strike  first.  Therefore,  understand  me 
well,  the  threat  that  I  hold  out  to  3'ou 
is  this—" 

Bucking-ham  clenched  his  hands,  but 
Raoul  continued,  as  though  he  had  not 
ob.served  the  movement.  "At  the  very 
first  word,  beyond  the  respect  and  defer- 
ence due  to  her  ro.yal  hig-hness,  which  j^ou 
permit;  yourself  to  use  toward  her. — Be 
patient,  m.y  lord,  for  I  am  perfectly  so." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,  so  long  as  Madame  re- 
mained on  English  territory,  I  held  my 
peace ;  but  from  the  ver}'  moment  she 
stepped  on  French  g-round,  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  toward  the 
royal  house  of  France,  I  shall  have  one 
of  two  courses  to  follow  ; — either  I  de- 
clare, in  the  presence  of  everj^  one,  the 
madness  with  which  .you  are  now  affected, 
and  I  get  ,you  ig-nominiously  dismissed  to 


England  ;  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  I  will  run 
my  dagger  through  ^our  throat,  in  the 
presence  of  all  here.  This  second  alter- 
native seems  to  me  the  least  disagreeable, 
and  I  think  I  shall  hold  to  it." 

Buckingham  had  became  paler  than 
the  lace  collar  around  his  neck.  "M.  de 
Brag-elonne,"  he  said,  "is  it,  indeed,  a 
gentleman  who  is  speaking  to  me  ?  " 

''  Yes  ;  only  the  gentleman  is  speaking 
to  a  madman.  Get  cured,  my  lord,  and 
he  will  hold  quite  another  lang-uag-e  to 
you." 

"But,  M.  do  Bragelonne,"  nmrmured 
the  duke,  in  a  voice  half-choked,  and 
putting  his  hand  to  his  neck — "  Do  you 
not  see  lam  dying-  ?  " 

"If  your  death  were  to  take  place  at 
this  moment,  my  lord."  replied  Raoul, 
with  unruffled  composure,  "I  should,  in- 
deed, regard  it  as  a  great  happiness,  for 
this  circumstance  would  prevent  all  kinds 
of  evil  remarks  ;  not  alone  about  .yourself, 
but  also  about  those  illustrious  persons 
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  moment."  And  he  g-rasped 
a  beautiful  dagger,  the  handle  of  which 
was  inlaid  with  precious  stones,  and  which 
he  half  drew  from  his  breast. 

Raoul  thrust  his  hand  aside.  "Be  care- 
ful what  you  do,"  he  said,  "  if  you  do  not 
kill  yourself,  you  commit  a  ridiculous  ac- 
tion ;  and  if  you  were  to  kill  yourself,  you 
sprinkle  blood  upon  the  nuptial  robe  of 
the  princess  of  England," 

Buckingham  remained  a  minute  gasp- 
ing for  breath ;  during  this  interval  his 
lips  quivered,  his  features  w^orked  convul- 
sively, and  his  eyes  wandered,  as  though 
in  delirium.  Then  suddenly'',  he  said, 
"  M.  de  Brag'elonne,  I  know  nowhere  a 
nobler  mind  than  yours;  you  are,  indeed, 
a  worthy  son  of  the  most  perfect  gentle- 
man that  ever  lived.  Keep  .your  tents." 
And  he  threw  his  arms  round  Raoul's 
neck.  All  wlio  were  present,  astounded 
at  this  conduct,  which  was  such  as  thej^ 
could  hardl.y  have  expected,  considering 
the  violence  of  the  one  adversarv.  and  the 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


331 


determination  of  the  other,  began  imme- 
diately to  clap  their  hands,  and  a  thou- 
sand cheers  and  joyful  shouts  arose  from 
all  sides.  De  Guiche,  in  his  turn,  em- 
braced Buckingham  somewhat  against 
his  inclination  ;  but,  at  all  events,  he  did 
embrace  him.  This  was  the  signal  for 
French  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  meantime, 
the  procession  of  the  princess  arrived,  and, 
had  it  not  been  for  Braglonne,  two  armies 
would  have  been  engaged  together  in  con- 
flict, and  blood  have  been  shed  upon  the 
flowers  with  which  the  ground  was  cov- 
ered. At  the  appearance,  however,  of  the 
banners  borne  at  the  head  of  the  proces- 
sion, quiet  was  restored. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

NIGHT. 

Concord  had  returned  to  resume  its 
place  amid  the  tents.  English  and  French 
rivaled  each  other  in  their  devotion  and 
courteous  attention  to  the  two  illustrious 
travelers.  The  English  forwarded  to  the 
French  baskets  of  flowers,  of  which  thej' 
had  made  a  plentiful  provision  to  greet 
the  arrival  of  the  j^oung  princess ;  the 
French,  in  return,  invited  the  English  to 
a  supper,  which  was  to  be  given  the  next 
day.  Congratulations  were  poured  in 
upon  the  princess  ever3nvhere  during  her 
journey.  From  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  French  the  most  affec- 
tionate 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  countr\'  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  spectators  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  har- 
bor, the  town,  and  surrounding  countr3', 
De  Guiche,  still  excited  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  distress  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  Raoul. 

"Cruelly." 

"  Bodil3%  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  3'ou  have  first  answered  my  ques- 
tions." 

'*  Proceed  then." 

"  You  will  be  frank  with  me  ?  " 

"  As  I  always  am." 

"  Can  you  imagine  wh^-  Buckingham 
has  been  so  violent  ?  " 

"I  suspect  w^hy." 

"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,  Raoul; 
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  clearl}?^  enough." 

"'  Where  it  does  not  exist  ?  " 

"  Nay,  where  it  does  exist." 


332 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"•  Do  you  not  think  you  are  deceiving- 
yourself,  Guiche  ?  '' 

"  I  am  convinced  of  what  I  say,"  said 
the  count. 

•'Now,  inform  me,  count,'"  asked  Raoul, 
fixing-  a  penetrating  look  upon  him,  •'  what 
has  happened  to  render  j^ou  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,  g-enerally,  you  are  less 
out  of  spii-its  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  liorsebackfor  eighteen  hours  at  a  time, 
and  our  horses  even  d^'ing  from  fatigue, 
or  from  sheer  exhaustion,  or  hunger,  have 
fallen  beneath  us,  and  3'^et  we  have  laughed 
at  our  mishaps.  Believe  me,  it  is  not 
fatigue  which  saddens  you  to-night." 

"  It  is  anno3'ance,  then." 

"  What  annoyance  ?  " 

"  That  of  this  evening." 

"  The  mad  conduct  of  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, do  3'ou  mean  ?  " 

"Of  course  ;  is  it  not  vexatious  for  us, 
the  representatives  of  our  sovereign  mas- 
ter, to  witness  the  devotion  of  an  En- 
glishman to  our  future  mistress,  the 
second  lad\'^  in  point  of  rank  in  the  king- 
dom ?  "      ' 

"  Yes,  3^ou're  right ;  but  I  do  not  think 
anj^  danger  is  to  be  apprehended  from 
Buckingham." 

''No;  still,  he  is  intrusive.  Did  he 
not,  on  his  arrival  here,  almost  succeed  in 
creating  a  disturbance  between  the  En- 
glish 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  yow  s,^y 
to  him  ?  You  think  he  loves  her ;  3'ou 
admit  that  such  a  passion  does  not  give 


wa.v  readil3'.  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  3'^oung  man's  countenance  expressed 
a  displeasure  which  could  easilN'  be  read. 

"What  I  said  to  him,  count,"  replied 
Raoul.  "  I  will  repeat  to  3^ou.  Listen  to 
me.  I  said,  'You  are  regarding  with 
wistful  feelings,  and  with  most  injurious 
desire,  the  sister  of  3'our  prince — her  to 
whom  3^ou  are  not  affianced,  who  is  not, 
who  can  never  be,  an3thing  to  you;  3'ou 
are  outraging  those  wlio,  like  ourselves, 
have  come  to  seek  a  3'oung  girl  to  lead 
her  to  her  husband.'  " 

"You  spoke  to  him  in  that  manner?  " 
asked  Guiche,  coloring. 

"In  those  ver3^  terms;  I  even  added 
more.  'How  would  3'ou  regard  us,'  I 
said,  'if  3'OU  were  to  perceive  among  us  a 
man  mad  enough,  dislo3'al  enough,  to  en- 
tertain other  than  sentiments  of  the  most 
perfect  respect  for  a  princess,  who  is  tlie 
destined  wife  of  our  master  ?  '  " 

These  words  were  so  applicable  to  Dc 
Guiche  that  he  turned  pale,  and,  over- 
come by  a  sudden  agitation,  was  barelN" 
able  to  stretch  out  one  hand  mechanicall\- 
toward  Raoul,  as  he  covered  his  eyes  and 
face  with  the  other. 

"But,"  continued  Raoul,  not  inter- 
rupted b3^  this  movement  of  his  friend. 
"Heaven  be  praised,  the  French,  who  are 
pronounced  to  be  thoughtless  and  indis- 
creet, reckless  even,  are  capable  of  bring- 
ing 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  France  devote 
ourselves  to  our  sovereigns  b3'  sacrificing 
for  them  our  alTections,  as  Avell  as,  our 
fortunes  and  our  lives  ;  and  whenever  it 
ma.v  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  honor  of  three  persons  is  saved  :  our 
countr3'^'s,  our  master's,  and  our  own.  It 
is  thus  that  we  act,  your  grace  ;  it  is 
thus  that  every  man  of  honor  ought  to 
act.'     In  this  manner,  m3'^  dear  Guiche," 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


333 


continued  Raoul,  "  I  addressed  the  Duke 
of  Buckiug-ham  ;  and  he  admitted  and  re- 
signed himself  unresistingly  to  my  argu- 
ments." 

De  Guiche,  who  had  hitherto  sat  lean- 
ing forward  while  Raoul  was  speaking, 
drew  himself  up.  his  eyes  glancing  proud- 
ly :  he  seized  Raoul's  hand,  his  face,  which 
had  been  as  cold  as  ice,  seemed  on  fire. 
'•'And  3"ou  spoke  right  well,"'  he  said,  in 
a  voice  half  choked  ;  '^j^ou  are  indeed  a 
friend,  Raoul.  And  now,  I  entreat  you, 
leave  me  to  m^^self," 

"Do  you  wish  it?  " 

"Yes:  I  need  repose.  Man}'  things 
have  agitated  me  to-day  both  in  mind 
and  bodj' ;  when  yow  return  to-morrow  I 
shall  no  longer  be  the  same  man." 

"I  leave  3'ou,  then,"  said  Raoul,  as  he 
withdrew.  The  count  advanced  a  step  to- 
ward his  friend,  and  pressed  him  warmly 
in  his  arms.  But  in  this  friendly  pressure 
Raoul  could  detect  the  nervous  agitation 
of  a  great  internal  conflict. 

The  night  was  clear,  starlight,  and 
splendid  :  the  tempest  had  passed  awa^^, 
and  the  warmth  of  the  sun  had  I'estored 
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  bj^  a  gentle  breeze 
from  the  east.  Upon  the  large  square  in 
front  of  the  hotel,  the  large  shadows  of 
the  tents,  intersected  bj^  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  3'oung 
girl,  hardly  yet  sensible  of  existence,  and 
in  whom  the  flame  of  life  sinks  down  as 
sleep  steals  over  the  body.  Bragelonne 
quitted  the  tent  with  the  slow  and  meas- 
ured step  of  a  man  curious  to  observe,  but 
anxious  not  to  be  seen.  Sheltered  behind 
the  thick  curtains  of  his  own  tent,  em- 
bracing with  a  glance  the  whole  square, 
he  noticed  that,  after  a  few  moments' 
pause,  the.  curtains  of   De   Quiche'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  partiallj'  lighted  by  the  lamp  in  the 
inner  room.  That  soft  light  which  illu- 
mined the  windows  was  the  count's  star. 
The  fervent  aspirations  of  his  nature 
could  be  read  in  his  eyes.  Raoul,  con- 
cealed in  the  shadow,  divined  the  many 
passionate  thoughts  which  established, 
between  the  tent  of  the  young  ambassador 
and  the  balcony  of  the  princess,  a  mys- 
terious and  magical  bond,  of  sympathy — 
a  bond  created  by  thoughts  imprinted 
with  so  much  strength  and  persistence  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  Raoul  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  Buckingham  resided.  B}'  the  aid 
of  the  ra^'s  of  light  which  issued  from 
this  latter  wmdow,  the  profile  of  the  duke 
could  be  distinctly  seen,  as  he  indolently 
reclined  upon  the  carved  balcony  witli  its 
velvet  hangings  ;  he  also  was  breathing 
in  the  direction  of  the  princess's  apart- 
ment 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  besieged  ;"* 
and  then  added,  compassionately,  as  he 
thought  of  Monsieur,  "and  he  is  a  hus- 
band well  threatened  too  ;  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  him  that  he  is  a  prince  of  such 
high  rank,  and  that  he  has  an  armj'  to 
win  for  him  that  which  is  his  own.*' 
Bragelonne  watched  for  some  time  thc^ 
conduct  of  the  two  lovers,  listened  to  tht' 
loud  and  uncivil  slumbers  of  Manicamp, 
who  snored  as  imperiously  as  though  he 
had  his  blue  and  gold,  instead  of  his  violet 
suit,  and  then  turned  toward  the  night 
breeze  which  bore  toward  him,  he  seemed 
to  think,  the  distant  song  of  a  nightingale  : 
and,  after  having  laid  in  a  due  provision 
df  melancholy,  another  nocturnal  malady. 


334 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


he  retired  to  rest,  thinking-,  that  with  re- 
gard 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  hy 
no  means  a  very  safe  g-arrison,"  said  he 
to  himself,  as  he  sig-hed  aloud. 


CHAPTER   LXXXVII. 

FROM     HARVE     TO     PARIS. 

The  next  day  the  fetes  took  place,  ac- 
companied by  all  the  pomp  and  anima- 
tion which  the  resources  of  the  town  and 
the  natural  disposition  of^  men's  minds 
could  supply.  During-  the  last  few  hours 
spent  in  Harve,  every  preparation  for  the 
departure  had  been  made.  After  Mad- 
ame had  taken  leave  of  the  Eng-lish  fleet, 
and,  once  ag-ain,  had  saluted  the  country 
in  saluting  its  flags,  she  entered  the  car- 
riage prepared  for  her,  surrounded  by  a 
brilliant  escort.  De  Guiche  had  hoped 
tliat  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  would  ac- 
company the  admiral  to  England  ;  but 
Buckingham  succeeded  in  demonstrating 
to  the  queen  that  there  would  be  great 
impropriety  in  allowing  Madame  to  pro- 
ceed to  Paris  almost  entirely  alone.  As 
soon  as  it  had  been  settled  that  Bucking- 
ham 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  pro- 
ceeded toward  Paris,  scattering  gold,  and 
exciting  the  liveliest  demonstrations  as 
they  passed  through  the  different  towns 
and  villages  on  the  route.  The  weather 
was  ver^'  fine. 

France  is  a  beautiful  country,  especially 
along  the  route  by  which  the  procession 
passed.  Spring  cast  its  flowers  and  its 
perfumed  foliage  upon  their  path.  Nor- 
mandy, with  its  vast  variety  of  vegeta- 
tion, its  blue  skies  and  silver  rivers,  dis- 
plaj'ed  itself  in  all  the  loveliness  of  a 
Paradise  for  the  new  sister  of  the  king. 
Fetes  and  brilliant  displays  receivjd  them 
everywhere  along  the  line  of  march.  De 
Guiche   and   Buckingham    forgot   every- 


thing; De  Guiche  in  his  anxiety  to  pre- 
vent 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  daj'  to  da}',  more  and  more  effaced 
in  Madame's  mind,  in  exact  proportion 
as  her  affection  for  France  became  more 
deeply'  engraved  on  her  heart.  In  fact,  it 
was  not  difficult  to  perceive  that  his  most 
devoted  attention  av/akened  no  acknowl- 
edgment, and  that  the  grace  with  which 
he  rode  one  of  his  most  fiery  horses  was 
thrown  awaj^,  for  it  was  only  casually, 
and  by  the  merest  accident,  that  the 
princess's  eyes  were  turned  toward  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  address;  in  vain  did 
he,  by  exciting-  his  horse  almost  to  mad- 
ness, 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  hills.  Madame, 
whose  attention  had  been  aroused  hy  the 
noise,  turned  her  head  for  a  moment  to 
observe  the  cause  of  it,  and  then,  slightly 
smiling,  again  turned  round  to  her  faith- 
ful guardians,  Raoul  and  De  Guiche,  who 
were  quietly  riding-  at  her  carriage  doors. 
Buckingham  felt  himself  a  prey  to  all  the 
tortures  of  jealousy;  an  unknown,  un- 
heard-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  con- 
duct, 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  the  carriage,  amid  the  crowd  of 
courtiers.  Occasionally  he  obtained  a 
word  from  Madame  as  a  recompense,  and 
yet  this  word  seemed  almost  a  reproach 
to  him. 


THE     VlCOMTE    DK    BRAGELONNE. 


335 


"That  is  well,  vay  lord/""  she  said, 
"  now  3^ou  are  reasonable." 

Or  from  Raoul,  *'  Your  grace  is  killing- 
3^our  horse," 

Buckingham  listened  patiently  to 
Raoul's  remarks,  for  he  instinctively  felt, 
without  having  had  any  proof  that  such 
was  the  case,  that  Raoul  checked  the  dis- 
play of  De  Quiche's  feelings,  and  that, 
had  it  not  been  for  Raoul,  some  mad  act 
or  proceeding,  either  of  the  count,  or  of 
Buckingham  himself,  avouM  have  brought 
about  an  open  I'upture,  or  a  disturbance, 
and  perhaps  even  exile  itself.  From  the 
moment  of  that  excited  conversation  which 
the  two  \'Oung  men  had  had  in  front  of 
the  tents  at  Havre,  when  Raoul  had  made 
the  duke  perceive  the  impropriety'  of  his 
conduct,  Buckingham  had  felt  himself  at- 
tracted toward  Raoul  almost  in  spite  of 
himself.  He  often  entered  into  conversa- 
tion with  him,  and  it  was  nearh'  always 
to  talk  to  him  either  of  his  father  or  of 
D'Artagnan,  their  mutual  friend,  in  whose 
praise  Buckingham  was  nearly  as  enthu- 
siastic as  Raoul.  Raoul  endeavored,  as 
much  as  possible,  to  make  the  conversa- 
tion turn  upon  this  subject  in  De  Wardes' 
presence,  who  had,  during  the  whole  jour- 
ney, been  exceedingly  annoyed  at  the 
superior  position  taken  by  Bragelonne, 
and  especially  by  his  influence  over  De 
Guiche.  De  Wardes  had  that  keen  and 
observant  penetration  which  all  evil 
natures  possess  :  he  had  immediately^  re- 
marked De  Quiche's  melancholj^,  and  the 
nature  of  his  regard  for  the  princess.  In- 
stead, however,  of  treating  the  subject 
with  the  same  reserve  which  Raoul  had 
practiced  ;  instead  of  regarding  with  that 
respect,  which  was  their  due,  the  obliga- 
tions and  duties  of  societj^  De  Wardes 
resolutely  attacked  in  the  count  that  ever- 
sounding  chord  of  juvenile  audacity  and 
egotistical  pride.  It  happened  one  even- 
ing, during  a  halt  at  Nantes,  that  while 
De  Quiche  and  De  Wardes  were  leaning 
against  a  barrier,  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion, Buckingham  and  Raoul  were  also 
talking  together  as  they  walked  up  and 
down.  Manicamp  was  engaged  in  devo- 
tional attentions  to  the  princesses,  who 
already  treated  him  without  any  reserve, 


on  account  of  his  versatile  fancj',  his  frank 
courtesy  of  manner,  and  conciliator3'  dis- 
position. 

"  Confess,"  said  De  Wardes,  *'  that  you 
are  really  ill,  and  that  your  pedagogue 
of  a  fi'iend  has  not  succeeded  in  cui-ing" 
you." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  the 
count. 

"  And  yet  it  is  easy  enough  ;  3'ou  are 
djing  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  Brage- 
lonne  may  not  denounce  both  of  you." 

"  For  shame,  De  Wardes,  again  attack- 
ing De  Bragelonne." 

"■  Come,  come,  a  truce  to  child's  pla}^," 
replied  the  count's  evil  genius,  in  an  un- 
dertone;  "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  you  ; — you  can  tell,  b^^  the 
very  inflection  of  her  voice,  what  pleasure 
she  takes  in  listening  to  you,  and  can  feel 
how  thoroughly  slie  appreciates  the  verses 
3'ou  recite  to  her.  You  cannot  dem',  too, 
that  everA'  morning  she  tells  3'Ou  how  in- 
differently 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;  ^  when  I  am  a  witness  of 
things  which  are  enough  to  drive  one 
mad." 

"  Sta3%  sta3',"  said  De  Wardes ;  "look„ 
she  calls  3'^ou  ;  do  3'ou  understand  ?  Profit 
b3''  the  occasion,  for  3'our  pedagogue  is  not 
here." 

De  Quiche  could  not  resist ;  an  invin- 
cible attraction  drew  him  toward  the 
princess.  De  Wardes  smiled  as  he  saw 
him  withdraw. 

"You  are  mistaken,  monsieur,"  said 
Raoul,  suddenl3'^  stepping  across  the  bar- 
rier against  which,  the  previous  moment, 
the  'two  friends  had  been  leaning  :  "'  the 


336 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


pedagogue  is  here,  and  has  overheard 
you." 

De  Wardes,  at  the  sound  of  Raoul's 
voice,  which  he  recognized  without  having 
occasion  to  look  at  him,  half  drew  his 
sword. 

'*'  Put  up  3'our  sword,"  said  Raoul  ; 
"3^ou  know  perfect!}'-  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 
3'our  own  ?  As  regards  myself,  you  wish 
to  arouse  a  feeling  of  deep  dislike  against 
a  man  of  honor — 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  re- 
gard you  as  a  coward,  and  a  traitor  too, 
if  I  did  not,  with  greater  justice,  regard 
you  as  a  madman." 

"Monsieur,"  exclaimed  De  Wardes, 
exasperated,  "I  was  deceived,  I  find,  in 
terming  3^ou  a  pedag-ogue ;  the  tone  you 
assume,  and  the  style  which  is  peculiarly 
3'our  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  be- 
cause he  was  guilty  of  a  cowardly  act 
toward  my  father." 

"  You  lie,  monsieur ! "  said  Raoul, 
coolly. 

"You  give  me  the  lie,  monsieur?"  ex- 
claimed De  Wardes. 

"  Wh}'  not,  if  what  you  assert  be  un- 
true ?  " 

"  You  give  me  the  lie,  and  do  not  draw 
your  sword  ?  " 

"  I  have  resolved,  monsieur,  not  to  kill 
you  until  Madame  shall  have  been  deliv- 
ered up  into  her  husband's  hands." 

"  Kill  me  !  Believe  me,  monsieur,  your 
schoolmaster's  rod  does  not  kill  so  easily." 

"No,"  replied  Raoul,  sternh',  "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,  1 
shall  avenge  his  name — a  name  you  have 
so  dishonored." 

"  Take  care,  monsieur,"  exclaimed  De 
Wardes ;  "if  n'ou  do  not  immediately  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  3'ou  say,  my  lord?"  said 
De  Wardes,  turning  round   toward  him. 

"'  I  said,  monsieur,  that  the  words  you 
have  just  spoken  are  displeasing  to  my 
English  ears." 

"Very  well,  monsieur,  if  what  3^ou  say 
is  true,"  exclaimed  De  Wardes,  thorough- 
ly 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  be  understood,"  replied  Buck- 
ingham, with  that  haughty  tone  which 
characterized  him,  and  which,  even  in 
ordinar}'-  conversation,  gave  a  tone  of 
defiance  to  everything  he  said.  "M.  de 
Bragelonne  is  my  friend  j  you  insult  M. 
de  Bragelonne,  and  3'^ou  shall  give  me 
satisfaction  for  that  insult." 

De  Wardes  cast  a  look  upon  De  Brage- 
lonne, who,  faithful  to  the  character  he 
had  assumed,  remained  calm  and  un- 
moved, even  after  the  duke's  defiance. 

"  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  j^ou  insult  some  one  ?" 

"Yes,  I  insulted  M.  d'Artagnan,"  re- 
sumed De  Wardes,  wlio  had  observed 
that  this  was  the  onl}'  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'Artagnan's  friends 
to  defend  him." 

"  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,"  re- 
plied the  duke,  who  had  regained  all  his 
indifference  of  manner.  "  If  M.  de  Brage- 
lonne were  oftended,  I  could  not  reasonably 
be  expecteu  to  espouse  his  quarrel,  since 
he  is  himself  here  ;  but  when  yo\i  say  that 
it  is  a  quarrel  of  M.  d'Artagnan — " 

"  You  will  of  course  leave  me  to  deal 
with  the  matter,"  said  De  Wardes. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


337 


"  Nay,  the  very  contrary,  for  I  d raw- 
ray  sword,"  said  Bucking-ham,  unsheath- 
ing- it  as  he  spoke ;  "  for,  if  M.  d'Artag- 
nan  injured  3'our  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  Bucking- 
ham, *'is  the  bravest  g-entleman  I  know. 
I  shall  be  delighted,  as  I  owe  him  many 
personal  obUgations,  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  on  guard. 

De  Wardes  advanced  a  step  to  meet 
him. 

"Stay,  g-entlemen,"  said  Raoul,  ad- 
vancing toward  them,  and  placing  his 
own  drawn  sword  between  the  comba- 
tants ;  "  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'Artag-nan, 
with  whom  he  is  not  even   acquainted." 

"  What,  monsieur  !  "  said  De  Wardes, 
setting  his  teeth  hard  together,  and  rest- 
ing the  point  of  his  sword  on  the  toe  of 
his  boot,  "  do  you  assert  that  I  do  not 
know  M.  d'Artagnan  ?  " 

"  Certainh'-  not;  3^ou  do  not  know 
him,"  replied  Raoul,  coldl}'-,  ''and  j^ou 
are  even  not  aware  where  he  is  to  be 
found." 

''  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'Ar- 
tagnan is  :  he  is  now  in  Paris ;  when  on 
dut3%  he  is  to  be  met  with  at  the  Louvre  ; 
when  not  so,  in  the  Rue  des  Lombards. 
M.  d'Artagnan  can  be  easil}^  discovered 
at  either  of  those  two  places.  Having, 
therefore,  as  3'ou  assert,  so  manj'^  causes 
of  complaint  against  him,  you  do  not 
show  3'Our  courage  in  not  seeking  him 
out,  to  afford  him  an  opportunity'-  of  giv- 
ing 3'ou  that  satisfaction  you  seem  to  ask 
of  every  one  but  of  himself."  De  Wardes 
passed     his    hand    across    his    forehead,  | 


which  was  covered  with  perspiration. 
"  For  shame,  M.  de  Wardes  !  so  quarrel- 
some a  disposition  is  hardly  becoming 
after  the  publication  of  the  edicts  against 
duels.  Pray  think  of  that.  The  king 
will  be  incensed  at  our  disobedience,  par- 
ticularly at  such  a  time  ;  and  his  majestj' 
will  be  in  the  right." 

'•'Mere  excuses  !  "  murmured  De  War- 
des, '•'  mere  pretexts  !  " 

'•  Realh%  vtxy  dear  M.  de  Wardes," 
resumed  Raoul,  "such  remarks  are  the 
merest  idle  talk  ;  you  know  very  well 
that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  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 
foug-ht  at  Sens,  at  Bleneau,  at  the  Dunes 
in  front  of  the  artillerj^  a  hundred  paces 
in  front  of  the  line,  while  j^ou— I  say  this 
parentheticall3^  —  were  a  hundred  paces 
behind  it.  True  it  is,  that  on  that  oc- 
casion there  were  b3^  far  too  great  a 
concourse  of  persons  present  for  3^our 
courage  to  be  observed,  and  on  that  ac- 
count, perhaps,  3-ou  did  not  reveal  it ; 
while  here,  it  would  be  a  display,  and 
would  excite  remark  —  3'ou  wish  that 
others  should  talk  about  3-ou,  in  what 
manner  3'ou  do  not  care.  Do  not  depend 
upon  me,  M.  de  Wardes,  to  assist  3^ou  in 
3^our  designs,  for  I  shall  certainl3^  not 
afford  3^ou  that  pleasure." 

"  Sensibly  observed,"  said  Buckingham, 
putting  up  his  sword,  "and  I  ask  3'our 
forgiveness,  M.  de  Bragelonne,  for  having 
allowed  myself  to  yield  to  a  first  impulse." 

De  Wardes,  however,  on  the  contrar3% 
perfecth^  furious,  bounded  forward,  and 
raised  his  sword  threateningl3^  against 
Raoul,  who  had  scarcel3^  time  to  put  him- 
self in  a  posture  of  defense. 

"Take  care,  monsieur,"  said  Brage- 
lonne, tranquilh-,  "  or  you  will  put  out 
one  of  m3'  eyes." 

"You  will  not  fig-ht,  then  ?"  said  De 
Wardes. 

"  Not  at  this  moment;  but  this  I  promise 
to  do,  immediatel3'^  on  our  arrival  at  Paris: 
I  will  conduct  you  to  M.  d'Artagnan,  to 
whom  you  shall  detail  all  the  causes  of 


338 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


complaint  you  have  ag-ainst  him.  M. 
d'Artag-nan  will  solicit  the  king-'s  permis- 
sion to  measure  swords  with  you.  The 
king-  will  3'ield  his  consent,  and  when  j'^ou 
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  forg-etfulness  of  injuries."     . 

''Ah  !"  exclaimed  De  Wardes,  furious 
at  this  imperturbable  coolness,  "  one  can 
clearl}'  see  3'ou  are  half  a  bastard,  M.  de 
Bragelonne." 

Raoul  became  as  pale  as  death ;  his 
eyes  flashed  like  lightning,  and  made  De 
Wardes  fall  back.  Buckingham  also, 
who  had  perceived  their  expression,  tlirew 
himself  between  the  two  adversaries, 
whom  he  expected  to  see  precipitate  them- 
selves on  each  other.  De  Wardes  had 
reserved  this  injur\'  for  the  last  ;  he 
clasped  his  sword  tight  in  his  hand,  and 
awaited  the  encounter.  '•'  You  are  right, 
monsieur,"  said  Raoul,  mastering-  his 
emotion,  "  I  am  only  acquainted  with  m}'- 
father's  name  ;  but  1  know  too  well  that 
the  Comte  de  la  Fere  is  too  upright  and 
honorable  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  igno- 
rance, therefore,  of  my  mother's  name  is 
a  misfortune  for  me,  and  not  a  reproach. 
You  are  deficient  in  lo^'alt}'^  of  conduct ; 
3"0u  are  wanting  in  courtesj^  in  reproach- 
ing" me  with  misfortune.  It  matters  little, 
however,  the  insult  has  been  given,  and 
I  consider  m3"self  insulted  accordingh'. 
It  is  quite  understood,  then,  that  after 
you  shall  have  received  satisfaction  from 
M.  d'Artagnan,  you  Avill  settle  your  quar- 
rel with  me." 

"I  admire  jouy  prudence,  monsieur." 
replied  De  Wardes,  with  a  bitter  smile  ; 
"  a  little  w'hile  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 
Raoul,  with  concentrated  anger;  "in  all 
affairs  of  that  nature,  M.  d'Artagnan  is 
exceedingly  skillful,  and  I  will  beg  him  as 
a  favor  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 


recover^',  of  killing-  you  outright ;  for  you 
have  a  bad  heart,  M.  de  Wardes,  and  in 
\evy  truth,  too  many  precautions  cannot 
be  taken  against  you." 

•'I  shall  take  m}'  precautions  against 
you,"  said  De  Wardes,  "  be  assured  of  it." 

'•  Allow  me,  monsieur,"  said  Bucking- 
ham, ';'  to  translate  3'our  remark  by  a 
piece  of  advice  I  am  about  to  g-ive  M.  de 
Bragelonne  :  M.  de  Brag-elonne,  wear  a 
cuirass." 

De  Wardes  clenched  his  hands.  "  Ahl  " 
said  he,  "  you  two  gentlemen  intend  to 
wait  until  j^ou  have  taken  that  precaution 
before  3'ou  measure  your  swords  against 
mine." 

''Very  well,  monsieur,"  said  Raoul, 
'•  since  you  positively  will  have  it  so,  let 
us  settle  the  affair  now."  And,  draw- 
ing- his  sword,  he  advanced  toward  De 
Wardes. 

"  What  are  3'ou  g-oing-  to  do  ? "  said 
Buckingham. 

"  Be  eas}',"  said  Raoul,  "  it  will  not  be 
ver.y  long-," 

De  Wardes  placed  himself  on  his  g-uard; 
their  swords  crossed,  De  Wardes  flew 
upon  Raoul  with  such  impetuosity,  that 
at  the  first  clashing  of  the  steel  blades 
Buckingham  clearly  saw  that  Raoul  was 
only  trifling  with  his  adversary.  Buck- 
ingham stepped  aside,  and  watched  the 
struggle.  Raoul  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 
twentj' paces  the  other  side  of  the  barrier. 
Then  as  De  Wardes  stood  disarmed  and 
astounded  at  his  defeat,  Raoul  sheathed 
his  sword,  seized  him  by  the  collar  and 
the  waistband,  and  hurled  him  also  to 
the  other  side  of  the  barrier,  trembling 
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  Raoul,  "but  saj'-  the  same 
thing."  Then,  turning  toward  the  duke, 
he  said,  "  I  entreat  you  to  be  silent  about 
this  affair;  I  am  ashamed  to  have  gone 


THF:     VIC  0  MTU    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


339 


so  far,  but  ni}^  ang-er  carried  me  awaj^ 
and  I  ask  your  forg-iveness  for  it ; — forg-et 
it,  too." 

"Dear  viscount,"  said  the  duke,  press- 
ing- within  his  own  the  vig-orous  and 
valiant  hand  of  his  companion,  "allow 
me,  on  the  contrary,  to  remember  it,  and 
to  look  after  3'our  safetj-  ;  that  man  is 
dangerous — he  will  kill  you." 

"  My  fathei',"  replied  Raoul,  "'  lived  for 
twentj'  years  under  the  menace  of  a 
much  more  formidable  enemy,  and  he 
still  lives." 

"  Your  father  had  g-ood  friends,  vis- 
count," 

"Yes,"  sig-hed  Raoul,  "such  friends 
indeed  that  none  are  now  left  like  them." 

"  Do  not  say  that,  I  beg",  at  the  verj'- 
moment  I  offer  you  my  friendship,"  and 
Bucking-ham  opened  his  arms  to  embrace 
Raoul,  who  delig-htedl.y  received  the  prof- 
fered alliance,  "In  my  family,"  added 
Bucking:ham,  "  you  are  aware,  M,  de 
Brag-elonne,  that  we  die  to  save  those 
we  love," 

"  I  know  it  well,  duke,"  replied  Raoul. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVIII. 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  W^HAT  THE  CHEVALIER  DE 
LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  MADAME. 

Nothing  further  interrupted  the  jour- 
ney. Under  a  pretext  which  was  little 
remarked,  M.  de  Wardes  went  forward  in 
advance  of  the  others.  He  took  Mani- 
camp  with  him,  for  his  equable  and 
dreamj'  disposition  acted  as  a  counter- 
poise to  his  own.  It  is  a  subject  of 
remark,  that  quarrelsome  and  restless 
characters  invariably  seek  the  companion- 
ship of  g-entle,  timorous  dispositions,  as  if 
the  former  soug-ht,  in  the  contrast,  a  re- 
pose for  their  own  ill-humor,  and  the  lat- 
ter a  protection  ag-ainst  their  own  weak- 
ness, Buckingham  and  Brag-elonne,  ad- 
mitting- De  Guiche  into  their  friendship, 
joined,  in  concert  with  him,  the  praises  of 
the  princess  during-  the  whole  of  the  jour- 
ney, Bragelonne  had>  however,  insisted 
that   their  three  voices  should  be  in  con- 


cert, instead  of  singing-  in  solo  parts,  as 
De  Guiche  and  his  rival  seemed  to  have 
acquired  a  dang-erous  habit  of  doing-. 

This  style  of  harmony  pleased  the  queen- 
mother  exceedingly-,  but  it  was  not  per- 
haps so  ag-reeable  to  the  young-  princess, 
who  was  an  incarnation  of  coquetrj^,  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  g-rati- 
fication  in  an  excess  of  sensitiveness  of 
feeling-,  and  for  whom,  also,  dang-er  has  a 
certain  fascination.  And  so  her  g-lances, 
her  smiles,  her  toilet,  an  inexhaustible 
armory  of  weapons  of  offense,  were  show- 
ered down  upon  the  three  young-  men 
with  overwhelming-  force ;  and,  from  her 
well-stored  arsenal  issued  glances,  kindly 
recog-nitions,  and  a  thousand  other  little 
chai'ming-  attentions  which  were  intended 
to  strike  at  long-  range  the  g-entlemen 
who  formed  the  escort,  the  townspeople, 
the  officers  of  the  different  cities  she 
passed  throug-h,  pag-es,  populace,  and 
servants ;  it  was  wholesale  slaug-hter,  a 
g-eneral  devastation.  B}^  the  time  Madame 
arrived  at  Paris,  she  had  reduced  to 
slavery  about  a  hundred  thousand  lov- 
ers :  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  onl_y  person 
who  divined  the  power  of  this  woman's 
attraction,  and,  as  his  heart  was  already 
engag-ed,  he  arrived  in  the  capital  full  of 
indifference  and  distrust.  Occasionally 
during  the  journey  he  conversed  with  the 
queen  of  England  respecting  the  power  of 
fascination  which  Madame  possessed,  and 
the  mother,  whom  so  manj^  misfortunes 
and  deceptions  had  taught  experience,  re- 
plied :  "  Henrietta  was  sure  to  be  illus- 
trious in  one  waj''  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  cou- 
riers, had  announced  the  princess's  ar- 
rival. The  procession  was  met  at  Nanterre 
by  a  brilliant  escort  of  cavaliers  and  car- 
riages.    It  was   Monsieur    himself,  who, 


340 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


followed  b}^  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine 
and  by  his  favorites,  the  latter  being- 
themselves  followed  by  a  portion  of  the 
king-'s  miUtary  household,  had  arrived  to 
meet  his  affianced  bride.  At  St.  Germain, 
the  princess  and  her  mother  had  chang-ed 
their  heavj'  traveling-  carriag-e,  somewhat 
impaired  by  the  journey,  for  a  light, 
richly-decorated  chariot  drawn  by  six 
horses  with  white  and  g-old  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  princess,  on 
whose  beaming  face  were  reflected  the 
softened  rose-tints  which  suited  her  deli- 
cate skin  to  perfection.  Monsieur,  on 
reaching  the  carriage,  was  struck  by  her 
beauty;  he  showed  his  admiration  in  so 
marked  a  manner  that  the  Chevaliei-  de 
Lorraine  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he 
listened  to  his  compliments,  while  Buck- 
ingham andDe  Guichew^ere  almost  heart- 
broken. After  the  usual  courtesies  had 
been  rendered,  and  the  ceremony  com- 
pleted, the  procession  slowly  resumed  the 
road  to  Paris.  The  presentations  had 
been  carelessh'  made,  and  Buckingham, 
with  the  rest  of  the  English  gentlemen, 
had  been  introduced  to  Monsieur,  from 
whom  they  had  received  but  a  very  in- 
different attention.  But,  during  their 
progress,  as  he  observed  that  the  duke 
devoted  himself  with  his  accustomed  ear- 
nestness to  the  carriage-door,  he  asked 
the  Chevalier  de  Lon-aine,  his  inseparable 
companion,  '*  Who  is  that  cavalier?  " 

"■  He  was  presented  to  your  highness  a, 
short  time  since;  it  is  the  handsome Dnke 
of  Buckingham." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember." 

"Madame's  knight,"  added  ihe  favor- 
ite, with  an  inflection  of  the  voice  which 
envious  minds  can  alone  give  to  the  sim- 
plest phrases. 

"  What  do  3'ou  sav  ?  "  replied  the 
prince. 

''I  said,  'Madame's  knight.'" 

"Has  she  a  recognized  knight,  then  ?  " 

"  One  would  think  3'ou  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  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  De  Guiche  is  one 
of  the  party  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see.  But  what  does  that 
prove  ?  " 

"  That  Madame  has  two  admirers  in- 
stead of  one." 

"You  poison  ever^^thing,  viper." 

"  I  poison  nothing.  Ah  \  your  ro3'al 
highness's  mind  is  \(i\'y  perverted.  The 
honors  of  the  kingdom  of  France  are  be- 
ing paid  to  your  wife,  and  you  are  not 
satisfied." 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  dreaded  the  satir- 
ical humor  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  '  3'es  '  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  den3^  it.  She  has  a  noble 
appearance." 

"  Yes,  but  her  face  is  thin." 

"I  thought  her  teeth  beautiful." 

"  The}'^  can  easily  be  seen,  for  her  mouth 
is  large  enough.  Decidedl}'  I  was  wrong, 
m3^  lord  ;  you  are  certainly  handsomer 
than  3^our  wife." 

"  But  do  3'ou  think  me  as  handsome  as 
Buckingham  ?  " 

"  Certainl}^  and  he  thinks  so,  too  ;  for, 
look,  my  lord,  he  is  redoubling  his  atten- 
tions, to  Madame,  to  prevent  your  effacing 
the  impression  he  has  made." 

Monsieur  made  a  movement  of  impa- 
tience, but  as  he  noticed  a  smile  of  tri- 
umph 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  m^'^  cousin  ?  Do  I  not  al- 
ready'-know  her  ?  Were  w^e  not  brought 
up  together  ?  Did  I  not  see  her  at  the 
Louvre  when  she  was  quite  a  child  ?  " 

"  A  great  change  has  taken  place  in 
her  since  then,  prince.     At  the  period  you 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONXE. 


341 


allude  to,  she  was  somewhat  less  brilliant, 
and  somewhat  less  proud  too.  One  even- 
ing, particularly,  vou  ma3^  remember,  my 
lord,  the  king-  refused  to  dance  with  her, 
bacause  he  thought  her  plain  and  badh^ 
dressed  !  " 

These  words  made  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
frown.  It  was  \>\  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  car- 
riage to  join  the  prince.  He  had  re- 
marked the  prince  and  the  chevalier  to- 
gether, 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  im- 
prudence, did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
dissimulate.  "Count,"  he  said,  "'you're 
a  man  of  excellent  taste.'' 

"Thank  j'ou  for  the  compliment,"  re- 
plied De  Guiche  :  "'but  why  do  you  say 
that?" 

"  Well,  I  appeal  to  his  highness  I  " 

"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  princess's  society, 
count,  for  the  last  eight  days,  have  3'ou 
not?  " 

•'  Yes,"  replied  De  Guiche,  coloring  in 
spite  of  himself. 

"  Well,  then,  tell  us  frankh',  what  do 
you  think  of  her  personal  appearance  ?  " 

"  Of  her  personal  appearance  ?  "  re- 
turned De  Guiche,  stupefied. 

"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  frankh',  the  prince  commands 
it." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  prince,  "be 
frank." 

De  Guiche  stammered  out  a  few  unin- 
telligible words. 

"I  am  perfectlj^  well  aware,"  returned 
Monsieur,  "that  the  subject  is  a  delicate 


one,  but  3'ou  know  you  can  tell  me  every- 
thing.    What  do  you  think  of  her  ?  " 

In  order  to  avoid  betraying  his  real 
thoughts,  De  Guiche  had  recourse  to  the 
only  defense  which  a  man  taken  b3'-  sur- 
prise 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  I  count,"  exclaimed  the  cheva- 
lier, "you,  who  went  into  such  ecstasies, 
and  uttered  so  many  exclamations  at  the 
sight  of  her  portrait." 

De  Guiche  colored  violently.  Very 
fortunately  his  horse,  which  was  slightly 
restive,  enabled  him  by  a  sudden  plunge 
to  conceal  his  agitation.  "'  What  por- 
trait?" he  murmured,  joining  them 
again.  The  chevalier  had  not  taken  his 
eyes  off  him. 

"Yes,  the  portrait.  Was  not  the  mini- 
ature 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  im- 
pression upon  you,"  said  the  chevalier. 

"  That  is  not  unlikely." 

"Is  she  clever,  at  all  events?"  in- 
quired the  duke. 

"I  believe  so,  my  lord." 

"Is  M.  de  Buckingham  so  too?'*  said 
the  chevalier. 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"My  own  opinion  is  that  he  must  be."" 
replied  the  chevalier,  "for  he  makes  Mad- 
ame laugh,  and  she  seems  to  take  no  little 
pleasure  in  his  society,  which  never  hap- 
pens to  a  clever  woman  when  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  simpleton.'" 

"Of  course,  then,  he  must  be  clever," 
said  De  Guiche,  simply. 

At  this  moment  Raoul  opportunely  ar- 
rived, seeing  how  De  Guiche  was  pressed 
hy  his  dangerous  questioner,  to  whom  he 
addressed  a  remark,  and  so  changed  the 
conversation.  The  entree  was  brilliant 
and  jo3'ous. 

The  king,  in  honor  of  his  brother,  had 
directed  that  the  festivities  should  be  on  a 
scale  of  the  greatest  magnificence.  Mad- 
ame and  her  mother  alighted  at  the  Lou- 
vre, where  during  their  exile,  they  had  so 


342 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


gloomily  submitted  to  obscurity,  misery, 
and  privations  of  every  description.  That 
palace,  which  had  been  so  inhospitable  a 
residence  for  the  unhappy  daughter  of 
Henry  IV.,  the  naked  walls,  the  sunken 
floorings,  the  ceilings  covered  with  cob- 
webs, the  vast  but  broken  chimney-places, 
the  col.d  hearths  on  which  the  charity  ex- 
tended to  them  by  parliament  had  hardly 
permitted  a  fire  to  glow,  was  completel}'' 
altered  in  appearance.  The  richest  hang- 
ings and  the  thickest  carpets,  glistening 
flagstones,  and  pictures,  with  their  richly 
gilded  frames  ;  in  every  direction  could  be 
seen  candelabras,  mirrors,  and  furniture 
and  fittings  of  the  most  sumptuous  char- 
acter ;  in  every  direction  also  were  guards 
of  the  proudest  military  bearing  with 
floating  plumes,  crowds  of  attendants  and 
courtiers  in  the  antechambers  and  upon 
the  staircases.  In  the  courtyards,  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  ac- 
companiments of  a  fallen  monarchy ;  the 
immense  courtyards,  formerly  silent  and 
desolate,  were  now  thronged  with  cour- 
tiers, whose  horses  were  pacing  and  pranc- 
ing to  and  fro.  The  carriages  were  filled 
with  young  and  beautiful  women,  who 
awaited  the  opportunitly  of  saluting,  as 
she  passed,  the  daughter  of  that  daughter 
of  France,  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  cha- 
teau 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  recol- 
lections than  her  daughter,  whose  dispo- 
sition was  fickle  and  forgetful,  returned 
to  it  with  triumph  and  delight.  She 
knew  but  too  well  that  present  brilliant 
reception  was  paid  to  the  happ}'  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  prin- 
cesses had  been  installed  in  their  apart- 
ments and  had  rested  themselves,  the 
gentlemen  who  had  formed  their  escort 
having,  in  like  manner,  recovered  from 
their  fatigue,  they  resumed  their  accus- 
tomed habits  and  occupations.  Raoul 
began  b^^  setting  off  to  see  his  father, 
who  had  left  for  Blois.  He  then  tried  to 
see  M.  d'Artagnan,  who,  however,  being 
engaged  in  the  organization  of  a  military 
household  for  the  king,  could  not  be  found 
anywhere.  Brageloime  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  pur- 
chasing horses  after  horses,  diamonds 
upon  diamonds.  He  monopolized  every 
embroiderer,  jeweler,  and  tailor  that  Paris 
could  boast  of.  Between  De  Guiche  and 
himself  a  vigorous  contest  ensued,  inva- 
riably a  most  courteous  one,  in  which,  in 
order  to  insure  success,  the  duke  was 
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.  Why  will  not 
the  marechal  advance  me  a  portion  of  my 
patrimon}^  ?  " 

"  Because  you  will  throw  it  awa^^." 
said  Raoul. 

"  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 
Raoul. 

''I  do  not  wish  to  be  conquered  in  ele- 
gance by  an  Englishman." 

''My  dear  comte,"  said  Manicamp, 
"  elegance  is  not  a  costly  commodity,  it 
is  only  a  ver^^  difficult  one." 

"Yes,  but  difficult  things  cost  a  good 
deal  of  money,  and  I  have  onl^-  got  60,000 
francs." 

"  A  ver}'^  embarrassing  state  of  things, 
truly,"  said  De  Wardes  ;  "  spend  as  much 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


343 


as  Buckingham ;  there  is  only  940,000 
francs  difference." 

'•  Where  am  I  to  find  them?" 

"  Get  into  debt." 

''  I  am  so  ah'ead3^" 

"  A  g-reater  reason  for  getting  further." 

Advice  hke  this  resulted  in  De  Guiche 
becoming  excited  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  committed  extravagances  where  Buck- 
ingham only  incurred  expenses.  The  ru- 
mor of  this  extravagant  pi'ofuseness  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 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere.  He  had  al- 
readj^  dispatched  four  letters,  and  not  an 
answer  to  any  one  of  them  had  been  re- 
ceived, when,  on  the  very  morning  fixed 
for  the  marriage  ceremony,  which  was  to 
take  place  in  the  chapel  at  the  Palais 
Royal,  Raoul,  who  was  dressing,  heard 
his  valet  announce  M.  de  Malicorne. 
"What  can  this  Malicorne  want  with 
me,"  thought  Raoul ;  and  then  said  to 
his  valet,  '"Let  him  wait." 

"It  is  a  gentleman  from  Blois,"  said 
the  valet. 

"Admit  him  at  once,"  said  Raoul, 
eagerly. 

Malicorne  entered  as  brilliant  as  a  star, 
and  wearing  a  superb  sword  by  his  side. 
After  having  saluted  Raoul  most  grace- 
fully, he  said  :  "  M.  de  Bragelonne,  I  am 
the  bearer  of  a  thousand  compliments 
from  a  lady  to  you." 

Raoul  colored.  "  From  a  lady,"  said 
he,  "  from  a  lady  of  Blois  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur  ;  from  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais." 

"  Thank  you,  monsieur ;  I  recollect 
you  now,"  said  Raoul.  "  And  what 
does  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  require 
of  me  ?  " 

Malicorne  drew  four  letters  from  his 
pocket,  which  he  offered  to  Raoul. 

"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  ad- 
dressed, and  so  the}^  are  now  returned  to 
you." 

"  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  has  left 
Blois,  then?"  exclaimed  Raoul. 

"Eight  daj's  ago." 

"  Where  is  she,  then  ?  " 

"At  Paris." 

"  How  was  it  known  that  these  letters 
were  from  me  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  recognized 
3^our  handwriting  and  3^our  seal,"  said 
Malicorne. 

Raoul  colored  and  smiled.  "Mademoi- 
selle de  Montalais  is  exceedingly  amiable, " 
he  said  ;  "  she  is  always  kind  and  charm- 
ing." 

"  Always,  monsieur." 

"  Surely  she  could  give  me  some  precise 
information  about  Mademoiselle  de  la  Val- 
liere. I  could  never  find  her  in  this  im- 
mense 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  Mademoiselle  Aure, 
and  inclosed  were  these  words  : — "  Paris, 
Palais  Royal.  The  day  of  the  nuptial 
blessing." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  inquired 
Raoul  of  Malicorne  ;  "  yon  probabW 
know  ?  " 

"I  do,  monsieur." 

"For  pitj^'s  sake,  tell  me,  then." 

"  Impossible,  monsieur." 
.     "Why  so?" 

"  Because  Mademoiselle  Aure  has  for- 
bidden me  to  do  so." 

Raoul  looked  at  his  strange  companion, 
and  remained  silent  : — "At  least,  tell  me 
whether  it  is  fortunate  or  unfortunate." 

"  That  3^ou  will  see."  * 

"  You  are  v&ry  severe  in  your  reserva- 
tions." 

"  Will  you  grant  me  a  favor,  mon- 
sieur ?  "  said  Malicorne. 

••  In  exchange  for  that  you  refuse  me  ?  " 

"  Precisel3\" 

"What  is  it?" 

"'  I  have  the  greatest  desire  to  see  the 
ceremonj'^,  and  I  have  no  ticket  to  admit 
me,  in  spite  of  all  the  steps  I  have  taken 


344 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


to  secure  one.  Could  3'ou  get  me  ad- 
mitted ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

•*  Do  me  this  kindness,  then,  I  entreat." 

'''Most  willing-ly,  monsieur;  come  with 
me." 

"  I  am  exceedingly  indebted  to  you, 
monsieur,"  said  Malicorne. 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  friend  of  M.  do 
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  I  was  obliged  to  make 
my  escape.  That  is  the  reason  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  mis- 
chief as  far  as  3'OU  are  concerned ;  I  will 
but  fasten  my  cloak,  and  shall  then  be 
ready  to  serve  you,  not  onl}'^  as  a  guide, 
but  as  an  introducer  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.  How- 
ever, notwithstanding  the  marked  favor 
which  an  invitation  indicated,  Raoul,  faith- 
ful to  his  promise  to  Malicorne,  who  was 
so  anxious  to  witness  the  ceremony,  ob- 
tained admission  for  him.  After  he  had 
fulfilled  this  engagement  Raoul  approached 
De  Guiche,  who,  as  if  in  contrast  with  his 
magnificent  costume,  exhibited  a  counte- 
nance so  utterl}^  cast  down  by  intense 
grief,  that  the  Dulce  of  Buckingham  was 
the  only  one  present  who  could  contend 
with  him  as  far  as  extreme  pallor  and  de- 
jection were  concerned. 

"Take  care,  count,"  said  Raoul,  ap- 
proaching  his   friend,   and   preparing   to 


support  him  at  the  moment  the  archbishop 
blessed  the  manied  couple.  In  fact,  the 
Prince  of  Conde  was  attentivel^'^  scruti- 
nizing these  two  images  of  desolation, 
standing  like  car^^atides  at  either  side  of 
the  nave  of  the  church.  The  count,  con- 
sequently, kept  a  more  careful  watch  over 
himself. 

At  the  termination  of  the  ceremony,  the 
king  and  queen  passed  onward  toward  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  Bucking- 
ham, leaned  toward  Madame  de  Motte- 
ville  as  though  to  ask  her,  "  Do  you  not 
see  how  much  he  resembles  his  father  ?  " 
and  finally  it  was  remarked  that  Monsieur 
watched  everybody,  and  seemed  ver^^  dis- 
contented. After  the  reception  of  the 
princes  and  ambassadors,  Monsieur  so- 
licited the  king's  permission  to  present 
to  him,  as  well  as  to  Madame,  the 
persons  belonging  to  their  new  house- 
hold. 

"Are  3'ou  aware,  vicomte,"  inquired 
the  Prince  de  Conde  of  Raoul,  "  whether 
the  household  has  been  selected  hy  a  per- 
son of  taste,  and  whether  there  are  any 
faces  worth  looking  at  ?  " 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  idea,  mon- 
seigneur,"  replied  Raoul. 

"You  affect  ignorance,  surely." 

"  In  what  W2iy,  monseigneur  ?  " 

"  You  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 
toward  him  as  I  had  been  toward  De 
Guiche  ;  besides,  is  it  likely  that  Mani- 
camp should  know  anything  of  such  mat- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


345 


ters,  for  he  is  a  person  of  onl}^  secondary' 
importance  ?  " 

"■  My  dear  vicomte,  do  3^ou  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  everythino"  has  been  done  through 
Manicarap's  presentations  to  De  Guiche, 
and  through  De  Guiche  to  Monsieur." 

''I  assure  you,  monseigneur,  I  was 
completely  ignorant  of  that,"  said  Raoul, 
"and  what  yowv  highness  does  me  the 
honor  to  impart  is  perfectlj'^  new  to  me." 

"I  will  most  readih^  believe  you,  al- 
though it  seems  incredible;  besides,  we 
shall  not  have  long  to  wait.  See,  the 
flying  squadron  is  advancing,  as  good 
Queen  Catherine  used  to  sa3^  Ah,  ah  ! 
what  prett}^  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  assigned  him,  it  was  a  displaj' 
calculated  to  dazzle  those  who,  like  the 
prince,  could  appreciate  everx'^  character 
and  st\"le  of  beaut3\  A  3'oung  fair-com- 
plexioned  girl,  from  twenty  to  one-and- 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  whose  large 
blue  e3"es  flashed,  as  she  opened  them,  in 
the  most  dazzling  manner,  walked  at  the 
head  of  the  band,  and  was  the  first  pre- 
sented. 

"Mademoiselle  de  Tonna^^-Charente," 
said  Madame  de  Navailles  to  Monsieur, 
who,  as  he  saluted  his  wife,  repeated, 
"  Mademoiselle  de   Tonna^^-Charente." 

"Ah,  ah!"  said  the  Prince  de  Conde 
to  Raoul,  "she  seems  tolerable  enough." 

"Yes,"  said  Raoul,  "but  has  a  some- 
what haughty  stj'le." 

"Bah!  we  know  these  airs  ver\''  well, 
vicomte ;  three  months  hence  she  will  be 
tame  enough.  But  look — that  indeed  is  a 
prettj'  face  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Raoul,  "and  one  I  am  ac- 
quainted with." 

"Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais," 
said  Madame  de  Navailles.  The  name 
and  Christian  name  were  carefully  re- 
peated by  Monsieur. 


"  Great  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Raoul, 
fixing  his  bewildered  gaze  upon  the  en- 
trance-doorway. 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  the 
prince;  "was  it  Mademoiselle  Aure  de 
Montalais  who  made  3'^ou  utter  such  a 
'  Great  heavens  ?  '  " 

"  No,  monseigneur,  no,"  replied  Raoul, 
pale  and  trembling. 

"  Well,  then,  if  it  be  not  Mademoiselle 
Aure  de  Montalais,  it  is  that  pretty  blonde; 
who  follows  her.  What  beautiful  ej^es  ! 
She  is  rather  thin,  but  has  fascinations 
without  number." 

"  Mademoiselle  de  la  Baume  le  Blanc 
de  la  Valliere  !  "  said  Madame  de  Na- 
vailles; 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  in- 
spect somewhat  closer  the  beautiful  girls 
whom  his  first  glance  had  alread.v  par- 
ticularized. 

"  Louise  here  !  Louise  a  maid  of  honor 
to  Madame  !  "  murmured  Raoul,  and  his 
ej^es.  which  did  not  suffice  to  satisfy''  his 
reason,  wandered  from  Louise  to  Mon- 
talais. The  latter  had  already  emanci- 
pated herself  from  her  assumed  timiditj^ 
which  she  only  needed  for  the  presentation 
and  for  her  reverences. 

Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  from  the 
corner  of  the  room  to  which  she  had  re- 
tired, was  looking  with  no  slight  confi- 
dence at  the  different  persons  present  ; 
and,  having  discovered  Raoul,  she  amused 
herself  wath  the  profound  astonishment 
which  her  own  and  her  friend's  presence 
there  had  caused  the  unhappy  lover.  Her 
merry  and  malicious  look,  which  Raoul 
tried  to  avoid  meeting,  and  ^^et  which  he 
sought  inquiringly  from  time  to  time, 
placed  Raoul  on  the  rack.  As  for  Louise, 
whether  from  natural  timidity^  or  from 
an}''  other  reason  for  which  Raoul  could 
not  account,  she  kept  her  e3'es  constantl}^ 
cast  down,  and,  intimidated,  dazzled,  and 
with  impeded  respiration,  she  withdrew 
herself  as  much  as  possible  aside,  unaf- 
fected even  by  the  knocks   which  Mon- 


346 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


talais  g-ave   her  with    her    elbow.      The 
whole  scene   was   a   perfect   enig-ma    for 
Raoul,    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  per- 
sons of  g-ood  birth,  and  not  a  little  discour- 
agred   by  Montalais's  bantering-  g-lances, 
had  described  a  circle,  and  by  deg-rees  had 
succeeded  in  g-etting-  a  few  paces  from  the 
prince,    behind    the    g-roup   of    maids    of 
honor,  and  nearly  within  reach  of  Made- 
moiselle Aure's  voice,  she  being-  the  planet 
around  which  he,  her  attendant  satellite, 
seemed   compelled    to  g-ravitate.     As  he 
recovered  his  self-possession,   Raoul  fan- 
cied   he    recog-nized   voices    on    his   rig-ht 
hand  which  were  familiar  to  him,  and  he 
perceived  De   Wardes,    De   Quiche,    and 
the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  conversing-  to- 
g-ether.    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  bend- 
ing- down,  or  turning-  round,  or  looking-  at 
the  person   with  whom  one  mig-ht  be  en- 
g-ag-ed  in  conversation,  is  a  talent  which 
cannot   be   immediately   acquired  in  per- 
fection by  new  comers.     A  long-  study  is 
needed     for    such    conversations    which, 
without  a  look,  g-esture,  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  profound  silence, 
some  of  these  noiseless  conversations  took 
place,  in  which  adulation  was  not  the  pre- 
vailing   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  Valliere? 
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 
Valliere  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  uneasi- 
ness, "be  a  little  careful,  I  entreat  you." 
But  the  uneasiness  of  the  count,  in  ap- 
pearance at  least,  was  not  needed.  Raoul 
had  preserved  the  firmest  and  most  in- 
different countenance,  although  he  had 
not  lost  a  word  that  had  passed.  He 
seemed  to  keep  an  account  of  the  insolence 
and  license  of  the  two  speakers  in  order  to 
settle  mattei-s  with  them  at  the  earliest 
opportunit3^ 

De  Wardes  seemed  to  guess  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind,  and  continued,  "  Who 
are  these  young  ladies'  lovers  ?  " 

"Montalais's  lover  ?"  said  the  chevalier. 
"Yes,  Montalais  first." 
"You,  I,  or  De  Guiche — whoever  likes, 
in  fact." 

"And  the  other?" 
'•'  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  ^  " 
"Yes." 

"Take  care,  gentlemen,' 
De  Guiche,  anxious  to  put  a 
Wardes'  reply,  "take  care, 
listening  to  us." 

Raoul   thrust  his  hand  up  to  the  wrist 
into  his  justaucorps  coat  in  great  agita- 
tion.    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    honorable    object   in 
view,    and    under    honorable    protection  ; 
and    I   must   learn    what    that   object   is 
which  she  has  in  view,  and  who  it  is  that 
protects  her."    And  following  Mahcorne's 
maneuver,  he  made  his  way  toward  the 
group  of  the    maids  of  honor.     The  pre- 
sentations   soon   terminated.     The    king, 
who  had  done  nothing  but  look  at  aiTd 
admire  Madame,   shortly   afterward   left 
the  reception-room,  accompanied  by  the 
two  queens.     The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine 
resumed  his  place  beside  Monsieur,  and, 
as  he  accompanied  him,  insinuated  a  few 
drops  of  the  poison  which  he  had  collected 


exclaimed 
stop  to  De 
Madame   is 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BEAGELONNE. 


347 


during-  the  last  hour,  while  looking  at 
some  of  the  faces  in  the  court,  and  sus- 
pecting- that  some  of  their  hearts  mig-ht 
be  happy.  A  few  of  the  persons  present 
followed  the  king  as  he  quitted  the  apart- 
ment :  but  such  of  the  courtiers  as  as- 
sumed an  independence  of  character,  and 
professed  ag-allantry  of  disposition,  began 
to  approach  the  ladies  of  the  court.  The 
prince  paid  his  compliments  to  Mademoi- 
selle de  Tonnay-Charente,  Bucking-ham 
devoted  himself  to  Madame  Chalais  and 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette,  whom 
Madame  had  already'  distinguished  hx 
her  notice,  and  whom  she  held  in  high 
regard.  As  for  the  Comte  de  Guiche, 
wlio  had  abandoned  Monsieur  as  soon  as 
he  could  approach  Madame  alone,  he  con- 
versed, with  g-reat  animation,  with  Mad- 
ame de  Valenrinois,  and  with  Mesdemoi- 
selles  de  Creg-ny  and  de  Chatillon. 

Amid  these  varied  political  and  amorous 
interests,  Malicorne  was  anxious  to  gain 
Montalais's  attention  ;  but  the  latter  pre- 
ferred 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  Val- 
liere,  and  had  saluted  her  with  the  pro- 
foundest  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  ex- 
planation." 

Malicorne  approaclied  the  group  with 
his  most  fascinating  smile. 

"  Go  away,  Malicorne  ;  reality,  you  are 
exceeding-ly  indiscreet."  At  this  remark 
Malicorne  bit  his  lips  and  retired  a  few 
steps,  without  making-  any  repl3\  His 
smile,  however,  chang-ed  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  :  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Valliere  a  maid  of  honor  to 
Madame!" 

''Whv   should   not  she    be   a    maid  of 


honor,  as  well  as  myself?"  inquired  Mon- 
talais. 

'•  Pray  accept  mj^  compliments,  young- 
ladies,"  said  Raoul,  who  fancied  he  per- 
ceived they  were  not  disposed  to  answer 
him  in  a  direct  manner. 

"  Your  remark  was  not  made  in  a  very 
complimentary  manner,  vicomte." 

'^Mme?" 

"  Certainly  ;  I  appeal  to  Louise." 

"M.  de  Brag-elonne  probably  thinks 
the  position  is  above  mj  condition,"  said 
Louise,  hesitating-lj'. 

'•'  Assuredly  not,"  replied  Raoul,  eag-er- 
ly  ;  "  you  know  very  well  that  such  is  not 
my  feeling-;  were  you  called  upon  to 
occup3'  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  b\'  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  Brag-elonne  had  written 
several  letters  to  you,  but  your  mother 
was  the  only  person  who  remained  behind 
at  Blois,  and  it  Avas  necessary  to  pre- 
vent these  letters  falling-  into  her  hands. 
1  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  3'ou  had  risen  in  rank." 

"Did  you  not  inform  M.  Raoul,  as  I 
begg-ed  j'ou  to  do  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  to  g-ive  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  making-  some  of  his  severe  re- 
marks and  moral  reflections,  and  to  undo 
what  we  had  had  so  much  trouble  in  g-et- 
ting  done  ?  " 

•'  Certainly  not." 

'•  Am  I  so  Y(ivy  severe,  then  ?  "  said 
Raoul,  inquiringl^^ 

•'Besides,"  said  Montalais,  "it  is  suf- 
ficient to  say  that  it  suited  me.  I  was 
about  setting  off  for  Paris — you  were 
awaA' ;  Louise  was  weeping-  her  eyes  out : 
interpret  that  as  you  please  ;  I  beg-g-ed  a 
friend,  a  protector  of  mine,  who  had  ob- 
tained the  appointment  for  me,  to  solicit 
one  for  Louise  ;  the  appointment  arrived. 


348 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Louise  left  in  order  to  g-et  her  costume 
prepared ;  as  I  had  ray  own  ready,  I  re- 
mained 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.  Mali- 
corne,  it  is  now  time  to  leave  these  young- 
people  tog-ether:  they  have  many  things 
to  talk  about;  g-ive  me  your  hand;  I 
trust  that  you  appreciate  the  honor  which 
is  conferred  upon  you,  M.  Malicorne." 

'•  Forg-ive  me,"  said  Raoul,  arresting 
the  giddy  girl,  and  giving  to  his  voice  an 
intonation  the  gravity  of  which  contrast- 
ed with  that  of  Montalais  ;  ''  forg-ive  me, 
but  may  I  inquire  the  name  of  the  pro- 
tector you  speak  of ;  for  if  protection  be 
extended  toward  3'ou,  Mademoiselle  Mon- 
talais, and  for  which,  indeed,  so  many 
reasons  exist,"  added  Raoul,  bowing,  ■•'I 
do  not  see  that  the  same  reasons  exist 
wh}'  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  should 
be  similarh'  protected." 

"  But,  M.  Raoul,"  said  Louise,  innocent- 
ly, 'Hhere  is  no  difference  in  the  matter, 
and  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  not  tell  it 
3'ou  myself ;  it  was  M.  Malicorne  who  ob- 
tained 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  al- 
read3'  at  some  distance  from  them. 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Yalliere  attempted  to 
follow  her  friend,  but  Raoul,  with  gentle 
authorit}^,  detained  her. 

''Louise,  one  word  only,  I  beg." 

''But,  M.  Raoul,"  said  Louise,  blush- 
ing, "  we  are  alone.  Every  one  has  left. 
They  will  become  anxious,  and  will  be 
looking  for  us." 

"Fear  nothing,"  said  the  young  man, 
smiling,  "we  are  neither  of  sufficient  im- 
portance 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  min- 
utes are  at  your  disposal,  which  will   en- 


able 3'ou  to  give  me  the  information  I  am 
about  to  have  the  honor  to  askj^ou." 

"How  serious  you  are,  M.  Raoul  !" 
said  Louise. 

' '  Because  the  circumstance  is  a  serious 
one.     Are  you  listening  ?  " 

"  1  am  listening ;  I  would  only  repeat, 
monsieur,  that  we  are  quite  alone." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Raoul,  and,  of- 
fering her  his  hand,  he  led  the  young  girl 
into  the  gallery  adjoining  the  reception- 
room,  the  windows  of  which  looked  out 
upon  the  courtyard.  Every  one  hurried 
toward  the  middle  window,  which  had  a 
balcony  outside,  from  which  all  the  de- 
tails 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  vay 
troubles,  to  whom  I  have  intrusted  all 
my  hopes." 

"  Yes,  M.  Raoul,"  she  answered,  softly  ; 
"3^es,  M.  Raoul,  I  know  that." 

"You  used,  on  j'our  side,  to  show  the 
same  friendship  toward  me,  and  had  the 
same  confidence  in  me ;  why  have  j^ou 
not,  on  this  occasion,  been  my  friend,  and 
why  have  3'ou  shown  a  suspicion  of  me  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  de  la  Vallerie  did  not  an- 
swer. "  I  had  thought  3'ou  loved  me," 
said  Raoul,  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  hap- 
piness, at  the  time  when  we  wandered  up 
and  down  the  large  walks  of  our  Cour- 
Cheverny,  and  under  the  avenue  of  pop- 
lar-trees leading  to  Blois.  You  do  not 
answer  me,  Louise." 

"Is  it  possible,"  he  inquired,  breathing 
with  difficult^'',  "  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  centered  in  you, 
I  chose  3^ou  for  your  gentle  and  simple 
tastes.  Do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  daz- 
zled, Louise,  now  that  you  are  in  the 
midst  of  a  court  where  all  that  is  pure 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


349 


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 
vou.  Without  falsehood  or  subterfuge, 
Louise,  am  I  to  believe  what  Mademoiselle 
de  Montalais  stated?  Louise,  did  you 
come  to  Paris  because  I  was  no  longer  at 
Blois?" 

La  Valliere  blushed  and  concealed  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"Yes,  it  was  so,  then,"  exclaimed  Raoul, 
delightedly,  ''  that  was,  then,  your  reason 
for  coming  here.  I  love  3^ou  as  I  never 
yet  loved  you.  Thanks,  Louise,  for  this 
devotedness  ;  but  measures  must  be  taken 
to  place  3'ou  beyond  all  insult,  to  secure 
you  from  every  harm  ;  Louise,  a  maid  of 
honor,  in  the  court  of  a  young  princess,  in 
these  times  of  freedom  of  manners  and 
inconstant  affections— a  maid  of  honor  is 
placed  as  an  object  of  attack  without  hav- 
ing an}^  means  of  defense  afforded  her ; 
this  state  of  things  cannot  continue  ;  you 
umst  be  married  in  order  to  be  respected." 

•' Married?" 

'•  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." 

''Reflect,  M.  Raoul,  wait." 

"  Wait !  it  is  impossible;  reflect,  Louise, 
when  you  are  concerned,  it  would  be  in- 
sulting to  3'ou  ;  give  me  your  hand,  dear 
Louise,  I  am  my  own  master ;  my  father 
will  consent,  I  know  ;  give  me  j^our  hand, 
do  not  keep  me  waiting  thus  ;  one  woi'd  in 
answer,  one  word  only  ;  if  not,  I  shall  be- 
gin to  think  that,  in  order  to  change  you 
forever,  nothing  more  was  needed  than  a 
single  step  in  the  palace,  a  single  breath 
of  favor,  a  smile  from  the  queen,  a  single 
look  from  the  king." 

Raoul  had  no  sooner  pronounced  this 
latter  word,  than  La  Valliere  became  as 
pale  as  death,  no  doubt  from  her  fear  at 
seeing  the  j^oung  man  excite  himself. 
With  a  movement  as  rapid  as  thought,  she 


placed  both  her  hands  in  those  of  Raoul, 
and  then  fled  without  adding  a  syllable  ; 
disappeared  without  casting  a  look  behind 
her.  Raoul  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. 


CHAPTER    XC. 

THE  CONSENT   OF   ATHOS. 

Raoul  had  quitted  the  Palais  Royal 
full  of  ideas  which  admitted  of  no  delay  in 
their  execution.  He  mounted  his  horse  in 
the  court3'ard,  and  followed  the  road  to 
Blois,  while  the  marriage  festivities  of 
Monsieur  and  the  princess  of  Eng-land 
were  being  celebrated  with  great  anima- 
tion b}^  the  courtiers,  but  to  the  great  de- 
spair of  De  Guiche  and  Buckingham. 
Raoul  lost  no  time  on  the  road,  and  in 
sixteen  hours  he  arrived  at  Blois.  As  he 
traveled  along,  he  arrang-ed  his  argu- 
ments in  the  best  manner.  Fever  also 
is  an  argument  that  cannot  be  answered, 
and  Raoul  had  an  attack  of  fever.  Athos 
was  in  his  studj',  making  some  additions 
to  his  memoirs,  when  Raoul  entered,  ac- 
companied 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  mat- 
ter of  great  importance,"  said  he  to 
Raoul,  after  he  had  embraced  him,  and 
pointing  to  a  seat. 

"  Xes,  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 
unworth}'  of  3'ou.  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere  is  in  Paris  as  one  of  Madame's 
maids  of  honor.  I  have  pondered  deepl3^ 
on  the  matter  ;  I  love  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere  above  everything ;  and  it  is  not 
proper  to  leave  her  in  a  position  where 
her  reputation,  her  virtue  even,  may  be 


350 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


exposed.  It  is  013^  wish,  therefore,  to 
marry  her,  monsieur,  and  1  have  come  to 
solicit  your  consent  to  my  marriag-e." 

While  this  communication  was  being- 
made  to  him,  Athos  had  maintained  the 
profoundest  silence  and  reserve.  Raoul, 
Avho  had  beg-un  his  address  with  an  as- 
sumption of  self-possession,  finished  it  by 
allow^ing-  a  manifest  emotion  to  escape 
him  at  every  word.  Athos  fixed  upon 
Brag-elonne  a  searching-  look,  overshad- 
owed indeed  by  a  slight  sadness. 

''You  have  reflected  wx^ll  upon  it?  "  he 
inquired. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  I  believe  you  have  already  been  made 
acquainted  with  vny  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  ?  " 
Brag-elonne  stammered  out  an  almost 
unintellig-ible  assent. 

"Your  passion,"  continued  Athos, 
tranquilly,  "must,  indeed,  be  veryg-reat, 
since,  notwithstanding-  my  dislike  to  this 
union,  30U  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 
feeling-s  are  indifferent,  since  yours  are 
concerned ;  you  need  my  assistance,  I 
am  ready  to  give  it ;  tell  me  what  j^ou 
want." 

"Your  kind  indulg-ence,  first  of  all, 
monsieur,"  said  Raoul,  taking-  hold  of  his 
hand. 

"  You  have  mistaken  my  feeling-s, 
Raoul ;  I  have  more  than  mere  indul- 
g-ence for  3^ou  in  m3^  heart." 

Raoul  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  verj^  kind  if  you  would  take  the 
trouble  to  write  to  the  king-,  to  whom  I 


belong-,  and  solicit  his  majesty's  permis- 
sion for  me  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere." 

"  Well  thoug-ht,  Raoul  ;  after,  or  rather 
before  myself,  you  have  a  master  to  con- 
sult, that  master  being-  the  king-;  it  is 
loyal  in  you  to  submit  yourself  volun- 
tarily to  this  double  proof;  I  will  g-rant, 
your  request  without  dela.y,  Raoul." 

The  count  approached  the  window,  and, 
leaning-  out,  called  to  Grimaud,  who 
showed  his  head  from  an  arbor  covered 
with  jasmine,  which  he  was  occupied  in 
trimming-. 

"My  horses,  Grimand,"  continued  the 
count. 

"  Why  this  oi-der,  monsieur  ?  "  inquired 
Raoul. 

"  We  shall  set  off  in  a  few  hours." 
"Whither?" 
"  For  Paris." 
"  Paris,  monsieur?  " 
"  Is  not  the  king-  at  Paris  ?  " 
"Certainly." 

"  Well,  oug-ht  we  not  to  g-o  there  ?  " 
"Yes,   monsieur,"  said   Raoul,  almost 
alarmed  b^^  this  kind  condescension,  "  I 
do  not  ask  you  to  put  yourself  to  such  in- 
convenience, and  a  letter  merely — " 

"  You  mistake  my  position,  Raoul ;  it. 
is  not  respectful  that  a  simple  g-entleman 
such  as  I  am  should  write  to  his  sover- 
eig-n.  I  wish  to  speak,  and  I  ought  to 
speak,  to  the  king-,  and  I  will  do  so.  We 
will  g-o  tog-ether,  Raoul." 

"  You  overpower  me  with  your  kind- 
ness, monsieur." 

"How  do  you  think  his  majesty  is  af- 
fected ?" 

"Toward  me,  monsieui- ?" 
■    "Yes." 
"Excellently  w^ell  disposed." 
"You  know  that  to  be  so?"  continued 
the  count. 

"  The  king-  has  himself  told  me  so." 
"  On  what  occasion  ?" 
"  Upon  the  recommendation  of  M.  d'Ar- 
tag-nan,  I  believe,  and  on  account  of  an 
affair  in  the  Place  de  Greve,  when  I  had 
the  honor  to  draw  my  sword  in  the  king-'s 
service.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that, 
vanitj'  apart,  I  stand  well  with  his 
majesty." 


1 


THE     VICOMTE    DE     BRAGELONNE. 


351 


''  So  much  the  better." 
"But  I  entreat  ,you,  monsieur,"  pur- 
sued Raoul,  '^•'  not  to  maintain  toward  me 
your  present  g-rave  and  serious  manner. 
Do  not  make  me  bitterly  regret  having 
•  listened  to  a  feeling  stronger  than  any- 
thing else." 

"  That  is  the  second  time  you  have  said 
so,  Raoul ;  it  was  quite  unnecessary  ;  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, Raoul." 

Tlie  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  slowlj?^ 
pointed  out  to  him  the  grafts,  the  cnt- 
tings,  and  the  avenues  he  was  planting. 
This  perfect  repose  of  manner  disconcert- 
ed Raoul  extremely ;  the  affection  with 
which  his  own  heart  was  filled  seemed  so 
great  that  the  whole  world  could  hardlj'^ 
contain  it.  How,  then,  could  his  father's 
heart  remain  void,  and  closed  to  its  in- 
fluence? Bragelonne,  thereupon,  collect- 
ing all  his  courage,  suddenly  exclaimed  : 

*'  It  is  impossible,  monsieur,  you  can 
have  any  reason  to  reject  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Valliere ;  in  Heaven's  name,  she  is 
so  good,  so  gentle  and  pure,  that  j^our 
mind,  so  perfect  in  its  i^enetration,  ought 
to  appreciate  her  accordingly.  Does  any 
secret  repugnance,  or  an  hereditarj^  dis- 
like, exist  betweeii  you  and  her  famih'  ?" 

''  Look,  Raoul,  at  that  beautiful  lily  of 
the  valley,"  said  Athos  :  ''  observe  how 
the  shade  and  the  damp  situation  suit  it, 
particularly  the  shadow  which  that  sj'ca- 
raore  tree  casts  over  it,  so  that  the 
warmth,  and  not  the  blazing  heat  of  the 
sun,  filters  through  its  branches.'' 

Raoul  stopped,  bit  his  lips,  and  then, 
with  the  blood  mantling  in  his  face,  he 
said,  courageously — "^  One  word  of  ex- 
planation, 1  beg,  monsieur.  You  cannot 
forget  that  your  son  is  a  man." 

'*In  that  case,"  replied  Athos,  draw- 
ing himself  up  with  sternness,  •'  prove  to 
me  that  you  are  a  man,  for  you  do  not 
show  yourself  to  be  ar  son.  I  begged  j^ou 
to  wait  the  opportunity  of  forming  an  il- 


lustrious alliance.  I  should  have  obtained 
a  wife  for  you  from  the  first  ranks  of  the 
rich  nobility.  I  wish  you  to  be  distin- 
guished by  the  splendor  which  glory  and 
fortune  confer,  for  nobility  of  descent  you 
have  already." 

''Monsieur,"  exclaimed  Raoul,  carried 
away  by  a  first  impulse,  "I  was  re- 
proached the  other  da^'  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  !  "  mur- 
mured the  3'oung  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." 

"  Wh.y  did  you  suffer  him  to  live  ?  " 

"  The  king  has  prohibited  dueling,  and, 
at  that  moment,  I  was  an  ambassador  of 
the  king.'' 

"Verj-  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,  Raoul  ?  " 

"  Still,  the  permission  you  are  going  to 
ask  from  the  king  ?  ' ' 

"I  will  implore  bis  majesty  to  sign 
your  marriage  -  contract,  but  on  one 
condition." 

"Are  conditions  necessary'  with  me, 
monsieur?  Command,  and  you  shall  be 
obe^'^ed." 

"On  one  condition,  I  repeat,"  continued 
Athos  ;  "  that  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the 
man  who  spoke  of  3^our  mother  in  that 
way." 

"What  need  is  there  that  ,y on  should 
know  his  name  ;  the  offense  was  directed 
against  mj'^self,  and  the  permission  once 


352 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS, 


obtained  from  his  majest}',  to  reveng-e  it 
is  my  affair." 

"  Tell  me  his  name,  monsieur  ?  " 

''I  will  not  allow  you  to  expose  3'our- 
self." 

"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  Athosj  tranquilly, 
"  I  know  him.  But  our  horses  are  ready, 
I  see  ;  and,  instead  of  delaying-  our  de- 
parture for  a  couple  of  hours,  we  will  set 
off  at  once.     Come,  monsieur." 


CHAPTER  XCl. 

MONSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS  OP  THE  DUKE 
OF  BUCKINGHAM. 

While  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  was  pro- 
ceeding- on  his  way  to  Paris,  accompanied 
b}'  Raoul,  the  Palais  Royal  was  the  thea- 
ter wherein  a  scene  of  what  Moliere  would 
have  called  excellent  comedj^  was  being- 
performed.  Four  days  had  elapsed  since 
his  marriage,  and  Monsieur,  having  break- 
fasted very  hurriedly,  passed  into  his  ante- 
chamber, frowning  and  out  of  temper.  The 
repast  had  not  been  overagreeable.  Mad- 
ame 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  being  uttered.  Manicamp, 
who  was  less  intimate  with  his  royal  high- 
ness than  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  vainl.y 
endeavored  to  detect,  from  the  expression 
of  the  prince's  face,  what  had  made  him 
so  ill-humored.  The  Chevalier  de  Lor- 
raine, 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-humor  of  Monsieur  and  the 
vexation  of  Manicamp.  He  seemed  de- 
lighted,   while    he    went    on    eating,    to 


detain  the  prince,  who  was  very  impa- 
tient to  move,  still  at  table.  Monsieur 
at  times  repented  the  ascendency  which 
he  had  permitted  the  Chevalier  de  Loi-- 
raine  to  acquire  over  him,  and  which  ex- 
empted the  latter  from  any  observance 
of  etiquette  toward  him.  Monsieur  was 
now  in  one  of  those  moods,  but  he  dreaded 
as  much  as  he  liked  the  chevalier,  and 
contented  himself  b}^  indulging  his  anger 
without  betraying  it,  Everj'  now  and 
then  Monsieur  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceil- 
ing, then  lowered-  them  toward  the  slices 
of  pdte  which  the  chevalier  was  attack- 
ing ;  and  finall}'^,  not  venturing  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  breakfast  as  he 
pleased.  Seeing  Monsieur  rise  from  the 
table,  Manicamp,  napkin  in  hand,  rose 
also.  Monsieur  ran,  rather  than  walked, 
toward  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  inten- 
tion 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  engaged  in  writing 
as  Monsieur  entered.  The  queen-mother 
was  extremely  attached  to  her  son,  for  he 
was  handsome  in  person  and  amiable  in 
disposition.  He  was,  in  fact,  more  affec- 
tionate, and  it  might  be  more  effeminate 
than  the  king.  He  pleased  his  mother  by 
those  trifling  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  favorite  son,  the  atten- 
tions, solicitude,  and  playful  manners  of 
a  child  of  twelve  years  of  age.  All  the 
time  he  passed  with  his  mother  he  em- 
ployed in  admiring  her  arms,  in  giving 
his  opinion  upon  her  cosmetics,  and  re- 
ceipts for  compounding  essences,  in  which 
she  was  very  particular ;  and  then,  too. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


353 


he  kissed  her  hands  nnd  eyes  in  the  most 
endearing  and  child-like  manner,  and  had 
always  some  sweetmeats  to  offer  her,  or 
some  new  st^'le  of  dress  to  recommend. 
Anne  of  Austria  loved  the  king-,  or  rather 
the  reg-al  power  in  her  eldest  son  ;  Louis 
XIV,  represented  leg-itimacy  hy  divine 
right.  With  the  king,  her  character  was 
that  of  the  queen-mother,  with  Philip  slie 
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  quarreled  ;  often,  after  having 
struck  him,  which  constituted  the  crime 
of  high  treason  on  his  part,  after  certain 
engagements  with  hands  and  nails,  in 
whicli  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  re-en- 
forcements from  her,  or  at  least  the  assur- 
ance of  a  forgiveness,  which  Louis  XIV. 
granted  with  difficulty,  and  after  an  in- 
terval. Anne,  from  tliis  habit  of  peaceful 
intervention,  had  succeedrd  in  arranging 
the  different  disputes  of  both  her  sons, 
and  in  sharing,  at  the  same  time,  all 
their  secrets.  The  king,  somewhat  jeal- 
ous of  that  maternal  solicitude  which  was 
bestowed  particularly^  upon  his  brother, 
felt  disposed  to  show^  toward  Anne  of 
Austria  more  submission  and  attachment 
than  his  character  really  possessed. 

Anne  of  Austria  had  adopted  this  line 
of  conduct  especially  toward  the  young 
queen.  In  this  manner  she  ruled  with  al- 
most despotic  sway  over  the  royal  house- 
hold, and  she  was  already  preparing  all 
her  batteries  to  rule  with  the  same  abso- 
lute authority  over  the  household  of  her 
second  son.  Anne  experienced  almost  a 
feeling  of  pride  whenever  she  saw  any  one 
enter  her  apartments  with  woe-begone 
looks,  pale  cheeks,  or  red  e.yes,  gathering 
fiom  appearances  that  assistance  was  re- 
quited 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, 
Dumas — 12 


but  restless,  out  of  temper,  and  anno3'ed. 
With  an  absent  air  he  kissed  his  mother's 
arms,  and  sat  himself  down  before  receiv- 
ing her  permission  to  do  so.  Considering 
the  strict  rules  of  etiquette  established  at 
the  court  of  Anne  of  Austria,  this  forget* 
fulness  of  customar}'^  respect  was  a  sign 
of  preoccupation,  especially  on  Philip's 
part,  who,  of  his  own  accord,  obser.ved  a 
respect  toward  her  of  a  somewhat  exag- 
gerated character.  If,  therefore,  he  so 
notoriously  failed  with  regard  to  such 
principles  of  respect,  there  must  surel}'^ 
be  a  serious  cause  for  it.  ''  What  is  the 
matter,  Philip?"  inquired  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, turning  toward  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  re- 
ply. '•  Among  the  various  subjects  which 
occupy  your  mind,"  said  Anne  of  Austria, 
"  there  must  surelj^  be  one  which  occupies 
it  more  than  others." 

"  One  indeed  has  occupied  me  more  than 
an,y  other." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?     1  am  listening." 

Philip  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  express 
all  the  troubles  his  mind  was  filled  with, 
and  which  he  seemed  to  be  waiting  onh^ 
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  s^y  no,  madame." 

''Whom  do  you  wish  to  speak  about? 
Come,  take  courage." 

''In  fact,  madame,  what  I  might  pos- 
sibly' have  to  sa3'-  must  be  kept  a  perfect 
secret;  for  when  a  lady  is  in  the  case — " 

"Ah!  3^ou're  speaking  of  Madame, 
then  ?  "  inquired  the  queen-mother,  with 
a  feeling  of  the  liveliest  curiosity. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  if  3'ou  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  mv 


354 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


daughter-in-law,  be  assured  I  shall  be 
intetrsLed,  even  were  it  for  jonv  own 
sake  alone,  in  hearing"  all  you  may  have 
to  say  about  her.*' 

'•  Pra}"  tell  me,  madame,  in  your  turn, 
whether  you  have  not  remarked  some- 
thing- ?  " 

"Something!  Philip?  Your  words  al- 
most .frighten  me  from  tlieir  want  of 
meaning.  What  do  you  mean  by  some- 
thing !  " 

"Madame  is  pretty,  certainly.'' 

"No  doubt  of  it." 

**  Yet  not  altogether  beautiful." 

"No,  but  as  she  grows  older  she  will 
probably  become  very  strikingly  beau- 
tiful. You  must  have  remarked  the 
change  which  a  few  j^ears  have  already 
made  in  her.  Her  beauty  will  improve 
more  and  more ;  she  is  now  onlj-  sixteen 
years  of  age.  At  fifteen  I  was,  mj'self, 
very  thin  ;  but  even  as  she  is  at  present, 
Madame  is  ver}'  pretty." 

"  And  consequently  others  may  have 
remarked  it." 

"  Undoubtedh',  for  a  woman  of  ordinar}'^ 
rank  is  remarked,  and  with  still  greater 
reason  a  princess." 

"  She  has  been  well  brought  up,  I 
suppose?  " 

"  Madame  Henrietta,  her  mother,  is  a 
woman  somewhat  cold  in  her  manner, 
slightl}'  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  France  ;  tut  she  afterward 
returned  to  England,  and  I  am  ignorant 
of  what  may  have  occurred  there." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

*' Simply  that  there  are  some  heads 
naturally  giddy,  which  are  easily  turned 
b3'  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  per- 
sons 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." 

"That)kyou  extremely,  madame,"  said 
Philip,  with  some  temper;  "you  really 
have  drawn  some  very  alarming  pictures 
for  me." 

'•  In  what  respect  ?  "  asked  the  queen, 
witli  pretended  simplicity. 

"  You  know,  madame,"  said  Phihp, 
dolefullx',  "  whether  I  had  or  had  not  a 
very  great  dislike  to  getting  married." 

"  Now,  indeed,  you  alarm  me  ;  you  have 
some  serious  cause  of  complaint  against 
Madame?" 

"  I  do  not  precisely  say  it  is  serious." 

"  In  that  case,  then,  throw  aside  3-our 
present  mournful  looks.  If  you  show  your- 
self to  others  in  your  present  state,  people 
will  take  you  for  a  very  unhappy  hus- 
band." 

"The  fact  is,"  replied  Philip,  "I  am 
not  altogether  satisfied  as  a  husband,  and 
I  shall  be  glad  that  others  should  know 
it." 

"For  shame,  Philip!" 

"Well,  then,  madame,  I  will  tell  you 
franklj'^  that  I  do  not  understand  the  life 
I  am  required  to  lead." 

"Explain  j^ourself." 

"  My  wife  does  not  seem  to  belong  to 
me  ;  she  is  always  leaving  me  for  some 
reason  or  another.  In  the  mornings  there 
are  visits,  correspondences,  and  toilets  ;  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  annoj'ed." 

"  All  those  things  you  reproach  your 
wife  with  are  perfectly  innocent,  and  so 
long  as  you  have  nothing  of  greater  im- 
portance— 3'^et,  listen  :  without  being  very 
blamable,  a  woman  can  excite  a  good  deal 
of  uneasiness  ;  certain  visitors  ma}'  be  re- 
ceived, certain  preferences  shown,  which 
expose  3'oung  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  diffi- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


355 


cult3'-,  too.  You  speak  of  frequent  visits, 
and  certain  preferences — very  good  ;  for 
the  last  hour  we  have  been  beating-  about 
the  bush,  and  at  hist  you  have  broached 
the  true  question." 

'*  This  is  more  serious  than  I  thoug-lit. 
Is  it  possible,  then,  that  Madame  can  have 
given  you  g-rounds  for  these  complaints 
ag-ainst  her  ?  " 

"Precisely  so." 

"What!  3-our  wife,  married  only  four 
days  ag'o,  prefer  some  other  person  to 
yourself?  Take  care,  Philip,  you  exag- 
g"erate  your  grievances ;  in  wishing  to 
prove  everj^thing,  you  prove  nothing.'" 

The  prince,  bewildered  by  his  mother's 
serious  manner,  wished  to  repl3%  but  he 
could  onl\^  stammer  out  some  unintelligi- 
ble words. 

"You  draw  back,  then  ?  "  said  Anne  of 
Austria.  "I  prefer  that,  as  it  is  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  .your  mistake.'' 

"No  I"  exclaimed  Philip,  "I  do  not 
draw  back,  and  I  will  prove  all  I  asserted. 
I  spoke  of  preference  and  of  visits,  did  I 
noi,  ?     Well,  listen  to  them." 

Anne  of  Austria  prepared  herself  to 
listen  with  that  love  of  gossip  which  the 
best  woman  living  and  the  best  mothei", 
were  she  a  queen  even,  alwa3^s  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  con- 
vinced that  she  could  not  answer  the 
question. 

"  For  a  very  simple  reason,"  returned 
Anne  of  Austria — "'  because  tl^e  English 
are  her  countrymen,  because  the}^  have 
expended  large  sums  in  order  to  accom- 
pany her  to  France,  and  because  it  would 
be  hardly  polite — not  good  policy'',  cer- 
tainly—  to  dismiss  abruptly  those  mem- 
bers of  the  English  nobility  who  have  not 
shrunk  from  an^'  devotion  or  from  any 
sacrifice." 

"A  wonderful  saciifice,  indeed,"  re- 
turned   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  company  with 
a  woman  one  is  in  love  with  !  " 

"  In  love,  Philip  I  Think  what  you 
are  saying.  Who  is  in  love  with  Mad- 
ame ?  " 

"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  mur- 
mured. 

"  Yes ;  one  of  those  feather-bed  sol- 
diers— " 

"  The  Buckinghams  are  loyal  and 
brave,"  said  Anne  of  Austria,  cour- 
ageoush'. 

"  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  fam- 
ily, I  repeat,  are  loyal  and  discreet,  and 
the  rights  of  hospitality^  are  sure  to  be 
respected  by  them." 

"  The  Duke  of  Buckingham  is  an  En- 
glishman, madame,"  said  Philip,  "and 
may  I  ask  if  the  English  so  ver3'  relig- 
iousl.y  respect  what  belongs  to  princes  of 
France  ?" 

Anne  blushed  a  second  time,  cind  turned 
aside  under  the  pretext  of  taking  her  pen 
from  her  desk  again,  but  really  to  con- 
ceal her  blushes  from  her  son.  "  Really, 
Philip,"  she  said,  "  3'ou  seem  to  discovei 
expressions  for  the  purpose  of  embarrass- 
ing 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  OAvn  eyes." 

"  Well,  and  what  do  you  see  ?  " 

"That  Buckingham  never  quits  my 
wife.     He  presumes  to  make  presents  to 


356 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    BUM  AS. 


her,  and  she  ventures  to  accept  them. 
Yesterday'  she  was  talking-  about  sachets 
a  la  violette;  well,  our  French  perfumers, 
you  know  very  well,  madame,  for  3'ou  have 
over  and  over  again  asked  for  it  without 
success  —  our  French  perfumers,  I  sny, 
have  never  been  able  to  procure  this  scent. 
The  duke,  however,  wore  about  him  a  5a- 
chet  a  la  violette,  and  I  am  sure  that  the 
one  m3'  wife  has  came  from  him." 

"Indeed,  monsieur,"  said  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, "you  build  j'^our  pyramids  upon 
needle-points  ;  be  careful.  What  harm, 
I  ask  you,  can  there  be  in  a  man  g-iving- 
to  his  countr3Mvoman  a  receipt  for  a  new 
essence?  These  strangle  ideas,  I  protest, 
painfully  recall  yonv  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  deepl^y 
he  had  wounded  his  mother's  feelings. 
The  queen  turned  pale,  and  pressed  her 
clenched  hand  upon  her  bosom ;  but,  re- 
covering herself  immediately,  she  said, 
"You  came  hei'e  with  some  intention  or 
another,  I  suppose?  " 

"Certainly." 

"What  was  it  ?  " 

"'  I  came,  madame,  intending-  to  com- 
plain energeticall}',  and  to  inform  you 
that  I  will  not  submit  to  anything  from 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham." 

"  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  determination  on 
his  countenance,  which  offered  a  singular 
contrast  to  its  usual  gentleness.  "Very 
well.     I  will  right  myself !  " 

"  What  do  3'ou  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." 

"  You  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  Phijip,  in  tears;  ""do  you 
thi'eaten  me  in  the  midst  of  my  com- 
plaints? " 

"  I  do  not  threaten  you  ;  I  do  but  place 
an  obstacle  in  the  path  of  your  hasty 
ang-er.  I  maintain,  that,  to  adopt  to- 
ward the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  or  any 
other  Englishman,  any  rigorous  measure 
— to  take  even  a  discourteous  step  toward 
him,  would  be  to  hui-r^'  France  and  En- 
gland into  the  saddest  vai-iances.  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 
requii-es  it  ?  "  Philip  made  a  movement. 
"  Besides,"  continued  the  queen,  "  the  in- 
jury is  neither  true  nor  possible,  and  it  is 
merely  a  matter  of  silly  jealousx." 

"Madame,  I  know  what  I  know." 

"  W^hatever  you  ma^' know,  I  can  only 
advise  3'ou  to  be  patient." 

"  I  am  not  patient  by  disposition,  mad- 
ame." 

The  queen  rose,  full  of  severit}',  itnd 
with  an  icy  ceremonious  manner.  "  Ex- 
plain 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 
accoi-d,  discontinue  his  visits  to  my  apart- 
ments, I  shall  forbid  him  an  entrance." 

"That  is  a  point  you  will  refer  to  the 
king,"  said  Anne  of  Austria,  her  heart 
swellin.g  as  she  spoke,  and  her  voice 
trembling  with  emotion. 

"But,  madame,"  exclaimed  Philip, 
striking-  his  hands  tog-ether,  "'  act  as  my 
mother  and  not  as  the  queen,  since  I 
speak  to  3'ou  as  a  son;  it  is  simplj'  a 
matter  of  a  few  minutes'  conversation 
between  the  duke  and  myself." 

"'  It  is  that  conversation  that  I  f(n-bid," 
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  m^'  will  to 
Madame." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  queen-mother,  with  a 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


357 


melancholy  arising  from  reflection,  ''never 
tyrannize  over  a  wife — never  behave  too 
hauiilililj^  or  imperiously  toward  yours. 
A  woman,  unvviliing-ly  convinced,  is  un- 
convinced." 

"What  is  to  be  done,  then?  —  I  will 
consult  Vi\y  friends  about  it." 

"Yes,  your  hypocritical  advisers,  the 
Chevalier  de  Lorraine — your  De  Wardes. 
Intrust  the  conduct  of  this  affair  to  me. 
You  wish  the  Duke  of  Bucking-ham  to 
leave,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"As  soon  as  possible,  raadame." 
"  Send  the  duke  to  me,  then  ;  smile 
upon  your  wife  ;  behave  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  w^hich  is  trou- 
bled by  advisers." 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed,  madame." 
"And  you  will  be  satisfied  with  the  re- 
sult.    Send  the  duke  to  me." 
"That  will  not  be  difficult." 
"  Where  do  3'ou  suppose  him  to  be  ?  " 
"At  my  wife's  door,  whose  levee  he  is 
probably  awaiting-." 

"Very  well,"  siiid  Anne  of  Austria, 
calmly.  "  Be  g-ood  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  Bucking-ham. 


CHAPTER  XCII. 


FOREVER 


The  Duke  of  Bucking-ham,  obedient 
to  the  queen-mother's  invitation,  pre- 
sented himself  in  her  apartments  lialf  an 
hour  after  the  departure  of  the  Due  d'Or- 
leans.  When  his  name  was  announced 
b^''  the  g-entleman-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  received 
the  graceful  and  i-espectful  salutation 
which  the  duke  addressed  to  her.  Anne 
of  Austria  was  si  ill  beautiful.  It  is  well 
known  that  at  her  then  somewhat  ad- 
vanced age,  her  long  auburn  hair,  per- 
fectly  formed    hands,    and    bright   ruby 


lips,  were  still  the  admiration  of  all  who 
saw  her.  On  the  present  occasion,  aban- 
doned entirelj"^  to  a  remembrance  which 
evoked  all  the  past  in  her  iieart,  she  was 
as  beautiful  as  in  the  days  of  her  \outh, 
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 
Buckmgham  a  look  so  tender  in  its  ex- 
pression, that  it  denoted,  not  alone  the 
indulgence  of  maternal  affection,  but  a 
gentleness  of  expression  like  the  coquetry 
of  a  w^oman  who  loves. 

"  Your  majesty,"  said  Buckingham  re- 
spectfully, "desired  to  speak  to  me." 

"Yes,  duke,"  said  the  queen,  in  En- 
glish :  "  will  you  be  good  enough  to  sit 
down  ?  " 

The  favor  which  Anne  of  Austria  thus 
extended  to  the  young  man,  and  the  wel- 
come sound  of  the  language  of  a  countr^^ 
from  which  the  duke  had  been  estranged 
since  his  stay  in  France,  deepl.y  affected 
him.  He  immediately  conjectured  that 
the  queen  had  a  request  to  make  of  him. 
After  having  abandoned  the  few  first 
moments  to  the  irrepressible  emotion  she 
experienced,  the  queen  resumed  the  smil- 
ing air  with  wliich  she  had  received  him. 
"What  do  you  think  of  France?"  she 
said,  in  French. 

"It  is  a  lovel}' country-,  madame,"  re- 
plied the  duke. 

"  Had  you  ever  seen  it  before  ?" 

"Once  onl}'',  raadame." 

"But,  like  all  true  Englishmen,  you 
prefer  England?" 

"I  prefer  my  own  native  land  to 
France,"  replied  the  duke;  "but  if  your 
majesty  were  to  ask  me  which  of  the  two 
cities,  London  or  Paris,  I  should  prefer  as 
a  residence,  I  should  reply  Paris." 

Anne  of  Austria  observed  the  ardent 
manner  Avith  w  hich  these  words  had  been 
pronoimced.  "I  am  told,  my  lord,  you 
have  rich  possessions  in  your  own  coun- 
try, and  that  yon  live  in  a  splendid  and 
time-honored  palace." 

"  It,  was  my  father's  residence,"  replied 
Buckingham,  casting  down  his  e.yes. 


358 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Those  are  indeed  great  advantag-es 
and  souvenirs,"  replied  the  queen,  allud- 
ing", in  spite  of  hei-self,  to  recoUectioDS 
from  which  it  is  impossible  voluntaril3'  to 
detach  one's  self. 

••  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  follo\vs,  then, 
ray  lord,"  she  added,  '•'  that  you,  who  are 
a  man  of  feeling,  will  soon  quit  France  in 
order  to  shut  .yourself  up  with  \'our  wealth 
and  your  relics  of  the  past." 

Bucking-ham  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  3-ou  not  in  favor  w'ith  the  new 
king-?"'^ 

"Perfectl}^  so,  madame,  for  his  maj- 
esty's kindness  to  me  is  unbounded." 

"It  cannot,"  said  the  queen,  "be  be- 
cause your  fortune  has  diminished,  for  it 
is  said  to  be  enormous." 

"M3'  fortune,  madame,  has  never  been 
more  thriving-." 

"There  is  some  secret  cause,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  madame,"  said  Buckingham, 
eag-erly,  "  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  cour- 
tesy ;  I  like  the  amusements,  somewhat 
serious  in  their  nature,  which  are  not 
the  amusements  of  ni}^  own  country',  and 
which  are  met  with  in  France." 

Anne  of  Austria  smiled  shrewdly. 
"  Amusements  of  a  serious  nature  ?  "  she 
said.  "'  Has  your  grace  well  reflected  on 
their  seriousness  ?  "  The  duke  hesitated. 
"There  is  no  amusement  so  serious,"  con- 
tinued 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  forg-ive  me  for 
saying-  so,  it  is  tlie  second  time  you  have 
vaunted  the  attractions  of  Eng-land  at 
the  expense  of  the  delight  which  all  ex- 
perience who  live  in  France." 

Anne  of  Austria  approached  the  young- 
man,  and  placing-  her  beautiful  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  which  trembled  at  the  touch, 
said,  "Believe  me,  monsieur,  nothing- can 
equal  a  residence  in  one's  own  native 
countiy.  I  have  xevy  frequently  had  oc- 
casion toreg-ret  Spain.  I  have  lived  long-, 
my  lord,  very  long^  for  a  Avoman,  and  I 
confess  to  .you,  that  not  a  year  has  passed 
that  I  have  not  regretted  Spain." 

"Not  one  3'ear,  madame?"  said  the 
duke,  coldh'.  "Not  one  of  those  years 
when  you  reig-ned  queen  of  Beauty — as 
3^ou  still  are,  indeed  ?  " 

"A  truce  to  flattery,  duke,  for  I  am 
old  enough  to  be  your  mother."  She 
emphasized  these  words  in  a  manner, 
and  with  a  gentleness,  which  penetrated 
Bucking-ham's  heart.  "Yes,"  she  said, 
"I  am  old  enough  to  be  your  mothei- : 
and  for  this  reason,  I  will  give  you  a  word 
of  advice." 

"That  advice  being  that  I  should  re- 
turn to  London  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

The  duke  clasped  his  hands  with  a  ter- 
rified gesture,  which  could  not  fail  of  its 
effect  upon  the  queen,  already  disposed  to 
softer  feelings  by  the  tendei-ness  of  her 
own  recollections.  "It  must  be  so," 
added  the  queen. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  "am  I  seri- 
ously told  that  I  must  leave — that  I  must 
exile  myself — that  I  am  to  flee  at  once  ?  " 

"Exile  .yourself,  did  3'ou  say?  One 
would  fancy  France  was  your  native 
country." 

"Madame,  tlie  country  of  those  who 
love  is  the  country  of  those  whom  they 
love." 

"  Not  another  word,  my  lord  ;  you  for- 
g-et  whom  you  are  atldressing-." 

Buckingham  threw  himself  on  his  knees. 
"Madame,  3'ou  are  the  source  of  intelli- 
gence, of  goodness,  and  of  compassion ; 
you  are  the  flrst  person  in  this  kingdom, 
not  onl\'  by  your  rank,  but  the  flrst  per- 
son in  the  world  on  account  of  your  an- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


359 


g-elic  attributes.  I  have  said  nothing", 
madanie.  Have  I,  indeed,  said  anything 
for  whieii  you  could  aiiswei*  nie  by  such  a 
cruel  i-einark  ?  Can  I  have  betrayed  my- 
self?" 

•^YoLi  have  betrayed  yourself,"  said 
the  queen,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice. 

'■'  I  have  said  nothing — I  l-cnow  nothing." 

*' You  forget  you  have  spol<en  and 
tliought  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." 

"  1  have  been  betrayed  or  denounced, 
then  ?  " 

•'By  whom?" 

'•'  By  those  who,  at  Havre,  had,  with 
infernal  perspicacit}',  read  my  heart  like 
an  open  book." 

'•  1  do  not  know  whom  you  mean." 

"M.  de  Bragelonne,  for  instance." 

**  I  know  the  nanie  without  being  ac- 
quainted with  the  person  to  whom  it 
belongs.  M.  de  Bragelonne  has  said 
nothing." 

"  Whom  can  it  be  then  ?  If  any  one, 
madame,  has  had  the  boldness  to  notice 
in  me  that  which  1  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  3'ou  are,  still  lives; 
and,  what  is  more,  you  will  not  slay  him, 
for  he  is  armed  on  all  sides — he  is  a  hus- 
band, a  jealous  man — he  is  the  second 
gentleman  in  France — he  is  m3"  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  shad- 
ows, 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  toward  him  and  took  him  by 
the  hand.  "Vilhers,"  she  said,  in  En- 
glish, with  a  vehemence  of  tone  which 
nothing  could  resist,  "  what  is  it  you  ask  ? 
Do  you  ask  a  mother  to  sacrifice  her  son ; 
— a  queen  to  consent  to  the  dishonor  of 
her  house?  Child  that  3-ou  are,  do  not 
think  of  it.  What!  in  order  to  spare 
your  tears  am  I  to  commit  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;  the^^  carried  their 
despair  away  with  them  in  their  hearts, 
like  a  priceless  possession,  because  the 
despair  was  caused  \>y  the  woman  they 
loved,  and  because  death,  thus  deceptive, 
was  like  a  gift  or  a  favor  conferred  upon 
them." 

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 ;  the^^  were  entreated  to  leave,  and 
were  not  laughed  at." 

"No,"  murmured  Anne  of  Austria, 
"  they  w^ere  not  forgotten.  But  who  says 
you  are  driven  away,  or  that  a'ou  ai-e  ex- 
iled ?  Who  says  that  your  devotion  will 
not  be  remembered  ?  I  do  not  speak  on 
an}'  one's  behalf  but  my  own.  when  I  tell 
you  to  leave.  Do  me  this  kindness— grant 
me  this  favor;  let  me,  for  this,  also,  be 
indebted  to  one  of  your  name." 

"  It  is  for  3-our  sake,  then,  madame  ?" 
"  For  mine  alone." 

"'  No  one  whom  I  shall  leave  behind  me 
will  venture  to  mock — no  prince,  even, 
who  shall  sa\',  '  I  required  it.'  " 

"Listen  to  me,  duke,"  and  hereupon 
the  dignified  features  of  the  queen  assumed 
a  solemn  expression.  "I  swear  to  3'ou 
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  re- 
spect due  to  your  rank.  Rely  upon  me, 
duke,  as  I  rely  upon  you." 

"You  do  not  explain  yourself,  mad- 
ame •  ray  heart  is  full  of  bitterness,  and 
I  am  in  utter  despair  ;  no  consolation  how- 


360 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


ever  g-entle  and  aflFectionate  can  afford  me 
relief." 

"Do  3'ou  remember  3'our  mothei% 
duke?  "  replied  the  queen,  with  a  winning- 
smile. 

"  Very  slig"hth%  madnme  ;  yet  I  remem- 
ber how  she  used  to  cover  me  with  her 
caresses  and  her  tears  whenever  I  wept." 

"Viliiers/'  murmured  the  queeu,  pass- 
ing" her  armi  round  the  young*  man's  neck, 
**  look  upon  me  as  your  mother,  and  be- 
lieve 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  xwy  heart  for  a  gentler  and  nobler  senti- 
ment 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-da}',  as  you  would  doubt- 
less wish  to  do,  or  to-morrow,  as  others 
m\xy  have  expected,  leave  the  da,y  after 
to-morrow,  in  the  evening- ;  but  announce 
to-daN^  that  it  is  3'our  wish  to  leave." 

"My  wish?"  murmured  the  j'oung- 
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  m3' 
final  resting-place  at  Saint-Denis,  beside 
the  king,  m3'  husband." 

"Madame,  you  are  goodness  itself;  the 
tide  of  prosperity  is  setting-  in  on  3'ou  ; 
5'our  cup  brims  over  with  happiness,  and 
many  long-  3'ears  are  .yet  before  you." 

"  In  that  case  j^oa  will  not  come  for 
some  time,  then,"  said  the  queen,  endeav- 
oring I0  smile. 

"I shall  not  return,"  said  Buckingham, 
"young  as  I  am.  Death  does  not  reckon 
by  years  ;  it  is  impartial ;  some  die  ^oung-, 
others  live  on  to  old  age." 

"  I  will  not  allow  an}^  sorrowful  ideas, 
duke.    Let  me  comfort  you  :  return  in  two 


.years.  I  perceive  from  3'our  face  that  the 
vei'3'  ideas  which  sadden  3'ou  so  raucii  now, 
will  have  disappeared  before  six  months 
shall  have  passed,  and  will  be  all  dead  and 
forgotten  in  tlie  period  of  absence  I  have 
assig-ned  3'ou." 

"  I  think  3-ou  judged  me  better  a  little 
while  since,  madame,"  replied  the  young- 
man,  "  when  3'ou  said  that  time  is  power- 
less 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  forg-et  yourself  no  longer.  I  am 
the  queen  ;  you  are  the  subject  of  the  king 
of  England  ;  King  Charles  awaits  your 
return.     Adieu,  Villiers — farewell." 

"Forever!"  replied  the  young  man, 
and  he  fled,  endeavoring-  to  master  his 
emotion, 

Anne  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hands, 
and  then,  looking-  at  herself  in  the  g-lass, 
murmured,  "It  has  been  truly  said  that 
a  woman  is  always  young,  and  that  the 
age  of  twenty  years  alwa.ys  lies  concealed 
in  some  secret  corner  of  the  heart." 


CHAPTER    XCIII. 

KING  LOUIS  XIV.  DOES  NOT  THINK  MADE- 
MOISELLE DE  LA  VALLIERE  EITHER 
RICH  ENOUGH  OR  PRETTY  ENOUGH  FOR 
A  GENTLEMAN  OF  THE  RANK  OF  THE 
VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

Raoul  and  the  Comte  de  la  Fere 
reached  Paris  the  evening  of  the  same 
da}^  on  which  Buckingham  had  had  the 
conversation  with  the  queen-mother.  The 
count  had  scarcely  arrived,  when,  through 
Raoul,  he  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 
afterward,  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. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


361 


Raoul  entered  the  antechamber  at  the 
very  moment  the  two  minist('rs  quitted  it, 
and  the  king,  perceiving-  liim  through  the 
half-ck)sed  door,  said,  "  Wliat  do  you 
want,  M.  de  Bragelonne  ?  " 

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  3'^our  majesty-." 

"■  I  have  an  liour  to  spare  between  cards 
and  my  supper,"  said  the  king-  "Is  the 
Come  de  la  Fere  ready?" 

"  He  is  below,  and  awaits  your  maj- 
estx^'s  commands." 

'•'  Let  him  come  at  once,"  said  the  king, 
and  five  minutes  aftei-ward  Athos  entered 
the  presence  of  Louis  XIV.  He  was  re- 
ceived 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  favors.  "Let 
me  hope,  comte,"  said  the  king,  "that 
you  hnve  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  your  protege  what  you  refuse 
to  permit  me  to  do  for  3'ou." 

"Your  majestj^  encourages  me.  I  have 
come  to  speak  on  behalf  of  tlie  Vicomte  de 
Bragelonne." 

"  It  is  the  same  as  if  3"ou  spoke  on  your 
own  behalf,  comte." 

"  Not  altogether  so,  sire.  I  am  desir- 
ous of  obtaining  from  3'our  majesty  that 
which  I  cannot  do  lor  myself.  The  vi- 
comte thinks  of  marrying." 

"He  is  still  ver\'  young  ;  but  that  does 
not  matter.  He  is  an  eminently  dis- 
tinguished man.  I  will  choose  a  wife  for 
him." 

"He  has  already  chosen  one,  sire,  and 
only  awaits  yonv  majesty's  consent." 

"'It  is  only  a  question,  tiien,  of  signing 
the  marriage  contract?"  Athos  bowed. 
*'  Has  he  chosen  a  wife  whose  forlune  and 
position  accord  with  your  own  views  ?  " 


Athos  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  His 
affianced  wife  is  of  good  birth,  bub  has  no 
furtun(;." 

"That  is  a  misfortune  whicli  we  can 
remedy'." 

"You  overwhelm  me  with  gratitude, 
sire  ;  but  your  majest^^  will  permit  me  to 
offer  a  remark  ?  " 

"Do  so,  comte." 

"  Your  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  toward  your  majesty  should  be  at- 
tended by  this  result." 

"  No  false  delicacy,  comte  ;  what  is  the 
bride's  name  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle  de  la  Baume  le  Blanc  de 
la  Valliere,"  said  Athos,  coldly. 

"I  seem  to  know  that  name,"  said  the 
king,  as  if  reflecting  ;  "  there  was  a  Mar- 
quis de  la  Vallii're." 

"  Yes,  sire,  it  is  his  daughter." 

"But  he  died,  and  his  widow  married 
again  M.  de  St.-Remy,  I  think,  steward  of 
the  dowager  Madame's  household." 

"'  Your  majesty  is  correctl\^  informed." 

"Moi-e  than  that,  the  young  lady  has 
lately  become  one  of  the  princess's  maids 
of  lionor." 

"Your  majest}^  is  better  acquainted 
with  her  history  than  I  am." 

The  king  again  reflected,  and  glancing 
at  the  comte's  anxious  countenance,  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  tolerabl}'  good  ?" 

"'  Yes,  siie." 

"With  regard  to  beauty,  then,  the 
match  is  but  an  ordinary  one.  Now  for 
the  money  side  of  the  question." 

"Fifteen  to  twent-y  thousand  francs' 
dowry  at  the  very  outside,  sire;  the 
lovers  are  disinterested  enough;  for  my- 
self, I  care  little  lor  money." 


362 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAlS. 


''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  ;  I  will 
do  it  for  De  Brag-eionne."  The  king- 
ag-ain  remarked  the  coldness  with  which 
Athos  received  his  remark. 

"  Let  us  pass  from  the  question  of 
money  to  that  of  rank,"  said  Louis  XIV.; 
"  the  daug-hter  of  the  Mai^quis  de  la  Val- 
liere,  that  is  well  enoug-h  ;  but  there  is 
that  excellent  St.-Rem}-,  who  somewhat 
damag"es  the  credit  of  the  family  ;  and 
you,  comte,  are  rather  particular,  I  be- 
lieve, about  your  own  family." 

"  Sire,  I  no  long-er  hold  to  anything-  but 
m^''  devotion  to  your  majesty." 

The  king-  again  paused.  "A  moment, 
comte.  You  have  surprised  me  in  no  little 
deg-ree  from  the  beg-inning-  of  your  con- 
versation. You  came  to  ask  me  to  au- 
thorize a  marriage,  and  you  seem  grreatl3^ 
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-,  witli  others 
I  call  my  distrust  to  my  aid,  by  which  my 
discei-nment  is  increased.  I  repeat  that 
you  do  not  prefer  your  request  as  though 
you  wished  it  success." 
'   "  Well,  sire,  tiiat  is  true." 

"\  do  not  understand  you,  then;  re- 
fuse." 

"  Nay,  sire  ;  I  love  De  Bragelonne  with 
my  wliole  heart ;  he  is  smitten  with  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Valliere,  he  weaves  dreams 
of  bhss  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  ar 
being  at  court,  the  honor  of  being  in  the 
service  of  Madame,  counteract  in  her  head 
whatever  affection  she  may  happen  to 
have  in  her  heai-t ;  it  is  a  marriage;  snni- 
lar  to  many  others  which  alread3''  exist 


at  court ;  but  De  Bragelonne  wishes  it, 
and  let  it  be  so." 

•'  And  3^et  you  do  not  resemble  those 
eas3'-tempered  fathers  who  mala;  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.  Racul  is  suf- 
fering, and  is  in  great  distress  of  mind  ; 
his  disposition,  naturally  light  and  cheer- 
ful, 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,"  re- 
plied the  comte,  "to  tell  .your  majesty 
that  my  object  is  to  make  these  childi-en, 
or  rather  Raoul,  happ^'." 

"And  I,  too,  as  much  as  yourself, 
comte,  wish  to  secure  M.  de  Bragclonnt  "s 
happiness," 

"I  only  await  your,  maji'sty's  signa- 
ture. Raoul  will  have  the  honor  of  pre- 
senting himself  before  your  majesty  to 
receive  ^'our  consent." 

"You  are  niistaken,  comte,"  said  the 
];ing,  firn^ly  ;  "I  have  just  said  that  I 
desire  to  secure  M.  de  Bragelonne's  hap- 
piness, and  from  the  present  moment-, 
therefore,  I  oppose  his  marriage." 

"But,  sire,"  exclaiujed  At.hos,  "your 
majest\'  has  promised  !  " 

"  Not  so,  comte,  I  did  not  promise  you, 
for  it  is  opposed  to  my  own  views." 

"  I  appreciate  all  your  majesty's  con- 
siderate and  generous  intentions  in  my 
behalf ;  but  I  take  the  liberty  of  recallnig- 
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  Biagelonne." 

"My  hand  shall  deal  the  blow  ;  I  will 
speak  to  the  vicomte." 

"  Love,  sire,  is  overwhelming  in  its 
might." 

"Love  can  be  resisted,  comte  ;  I  my- 
self can  assure  vou  of  that." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


363 


"When  one  has  the  soul  of  a  king- — 
your  own,  for  instance,  sire." 

"  Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy  on  the 
suhject.  I  have  certain  views  for  De 
Brag-elonne.  I  do  nob  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  favor,  such  ns  I 
wish  to  confer  upon  him.  In  a  word, 
comte,  I  wish  them  to  wait." 

"Yet  once  more,  sii'e." 

"Comte,  you  told  me  you  came  to  re- 
quest a  favor." 

"  Assuredly,  sire." 

"Grant  me  one,  then,  instead:  let  us 
speak  no  longer  upon  this  raattei*.  It  is 
probable  that,  befoi'e  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"  g"irl,  a  perfect  strang-er  :  such  an 
act  would  sow  jealousy  among"  my  nobil- 
ity."    Alhos  bowed,  and  remained  silent. 

"'  Is  that  all  3'ou  had  to  ask  me  ?"  added 
Louis  XIV. 

"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  annoy- 
ance. Tell  the  vicomte  that  at  my  levee 
to-morrow  morning  I  will  speak  to  him. 
I  shall  expect  you  tins  evening",  comte,  to 
join  my  card-table." 

"  I  am  in  traveling-coslume,  sire." 

"A  day  will  come,  I  hope,  when  you 
will  leave  me  no  more.  Befoi"e  long, 
comte,  the  monarchy  will  be  established 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  enable  me  to  offer 
a  worthy  hospitality  to  all  men  of  j-our 
merit." 

"  Provided,  sii^e,  a  monarch  reigns  truly 
great  in  the  hearts  of  his  subjects,  the 
palace  he  inhabits  matters  little  since  he 
is  worshiped  in  a  temple."  With  these 
words  Athos  left  the  cabinet,  and  found 
De  Bi'agelonne,  who  awaited  his  return. 

"  Well,  monsieur  V  said  the  young  man. 

"  The  king",  Raoul,  is  well  disposed  to- 


ward us  both  ;  not,  perhaps,  in  the  sense 
3'ou  suppose,  but  he  is  kind,  and  gener- 
ousl3^  disposed  for  our  house." 

"You  have  bad  news  to  communicate 
to  me,  monsieur,"  said  the  young  man, 
turning  ver^'^  pale. 

"  The  king"  will  himself  inform  you  to- 
morrow morning"  that  it  is  not  bad  news." 

"' Tlie  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"  toward  3'ou." 

Raoul,  in  utter  consternation,  both  on 
account  of  his  knowledge  of  the  count's 
frankness,  as  well  as  of  his  tact,  remained 
plunged  in  a  dull  heavy  stupor. 

"'  Will  \  ou  not  go  with  me  to  \wy  lodg- 
ings ?  "  said  Athos. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur;  I  will 
follow  3'ou,"  he  stammered  out,  following- 
Athos  down  the  staircase. 

"Since  lam  here,"  said  Athos  sudden- 
ly, "  cannot  I  see  M.  d'Artag"nan  ?  " 

"Shall  I  show  you  his  apartment?" 
said  De  Bragelonne. 

"Do  so." 

"It  is  on  the  other  staircase." 

They  altered  their  course,  but  as  they 
reached  the  landing  of  the  grand  stair- 
case, Raoul  perceived  a  servant  in  the 
Comte  de  Quiche's  livery,  who  ran  toward 
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.  Iliavebeen  seeking"  3'ou 
for  the  last  hour." 

Raoul  approached  Athos  as  he  unsealed 
the  letter,  saying",  "With  your  permis- 
sion, monsieur." 

"Certainly." 

"Dear  Raoul,"  said  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  "I  have  an  affair  in  hand  which 
requires  immediate  attention.  I  know 
yuu  have  returned;  come  to  me  as  soon 
as  possible." 

H:,irdly  had  he  finished  reading-  it  when 
a   servant   in   the  livery  of  the  Duke   of 


364 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Bucking-ham,  tiirninfi:  out  of  the  gallerjs 
recoi^-nized  Raoul,  and  appi'oached  him  re- 
spec  ilullj^  saymor,  "  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'Artag-nan 
myself." 

•'You  will  excuse  me,  I  trust,"  said 
Raoul. 

"•Yes,  yes,  I  excuse  you  ;  adieu,  Raoul. 
You  will  find  me  at  my  apartments  until 
to-morrow  ;  during  the  day  I  may  set  out 
for  Blois,  unless  I  have  orders  to  the 
conti^ary." 

'•  I  shall  present  m.y  respects  to  you  to- 
morrow, monsieur." 

When  Athos  had  left  Raoul  opened 
Buckingham's  letter. 

"  Monsieur  de  Brag-elonne,"  said  the 
duke,  '-'j'ou  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  niessage,  written  in  very  good 
French.  As  I  am  an  Englishman,  I  am 
nfraid  of  not  comprehending  it  very 
clearly.  The  letter  has  a  good  name 
attaclicd  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  fi-om  Blois?  Your  devoted, 
"  ViLLiERS,  Duke  of  Buckingham." 

"  I  am  g-oing  now  to  see  your  master," 
said  Raoul  to  De  Guiche's  servant  as  he 
dismissed  him  ;  "  and  I  shall  be  with  the 
Dukf  of  Buckingham,  in  an  hour,"  ho 
addt'd,  dismissing  with  these  words  the 
duke's  messenger. 


CHAPTER   XCIV. 

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  imagined  that  nothing  at  all 
had  passed  between  them  ;  only  the}^  be- 
haved 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  impene- 
trable, and  Manicamp  seemed  absoi-bed 
in  the  contemplation  of  some  trimming'  to 
his  dress.  De  Guiche  led  Raoul  to  an  ad- 
joinmg  cabinet,  and  made  him  sit  down, 
saying,  ''  How  well  you  look  !  " 

"  That  is  singular,"  replied  Raoul,  "  for 
I  am  far  from  being  in  good  spirits." 

''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 
3-ou  are  concerned;  the  worst  nevi-s,  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  unhappy,  but, 
what  is  more,  I  see  others  about  me  who 
are  happy." 

"Really,  I  do  not  understand  3'OU," 
replied  Raoul ;   "  explain  3'ourself." 

"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.  I  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  ab3^ss  1  am  well 
aware,  but  it  matters  little,  for  /  shall 
pursue  my  own  course." 

"  That  is  madness,  De  Guiche,  you  can- 
not advance  another  step  without  risking- 
your  o-.vn  ruin  to-day,  perhaps  your  life 
to-morrow." 

''  Whatever  maj^  happen,  I  have  done 
with  reflections  :  listen." 

"  And  you  hope  to  succeed  ;  you  believe 
that  Madame  will  love  you  ?  " 

"  Raoul,  1  believe  nothing  ;  I  hope,  be- 
cause hope  exists  in  man,  and  never  aban- 
dons him  till  he  dies." 

"But,  admitting  that  you  obtain  the 
happiness  you  covet,  even  then    you  are 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


365 


more  certainly  lost  than  if  you  had  failed 
in  obtaining-  it." 

"  I  beseech  3^ou,  Raoul,  not  to  interrupt 
me  any  more  ;  you  could  never  convince 
me,  for  I  tell  you  beforehand,  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  convinced  ;  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  httle.  This  is 
what  I  claim  from  you,  my  friend,  my  al- 
most brother.  Dui'ing*  the  last  three  days, 
Madame  has  been  living-  in  a  perfect  in- 
toxication of  gaj'ety.  On  the  first  day,  I 
dared  not  look  at  her;  I  hated  her  for  not 
having  been  as  unhappy  as  myself.  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 
wiih  pit}'-,  at  least  with  gentleness.  But 
between  her  looks  and  mine,  a  shadow 
intervened:  another's  smile  invited  her 
smiie.  Beside  her  horse  another's  alwa^^s 
gallops,  which  is  not  mine  ;  in  her  ear 
another's  caressing  voice,  not  mine,  un- 
ceasingly vibrates.  Raoul,  for  three  days 
past  \x\.Y  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,"  ex- 
claimed Raoul. 

'•'No,  no,  I  am  not  jealous  of  the  hus- 
band ;  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  Buck- 
ingham ?  " 

y-  To  the  very  death  !  " 

"  Again  jealous  ?  " 

"This  time  the  affair  will  be  easy  to 
arrange  between  us  ;  I  have  tais'en  the 
initial ive.  and  liave  sent  him  a  letter." 

"  It  wrisyou,  then,  who  wrote  to  him  !" 

'•  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

•'•'I  know  it,  because  he  told  me  so. 
Loolv  :it  this;"  and  he  handed  to  De 
Guiche  the  letter  which  he  had  received 


nearh'  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  j'ou 
call  on  him  on  my  behalf." 

"  But  that  is  almost  out  of  the  ques- 
tion." 

'•'  What  is  ?  " 

"That  I  should  call  on  him  for  that 
purpose." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  The  duke  consults  me  as  3'ou  do." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  give  me  the  prefer- 
ence. Listen  to  me,  Raoul,  I  wish  you  to 
tell  his  grace — it  is  a  ver\'  simple  matter 
— that  to-day,  to-morrow,  the  following 
day,  or  an.y  other  day  he  mas'  choose,  I 
wish  to  meet  him  at  Vincennes," 

"Reflect,  De  Guiche," 

"  I  thought  1  had  alreadj'^  said  that  I 
had  reflected." 

"  The  duke  is  a  stranger  here  ;  he  is  on 
a  mission  which  renders  his  person  in- 
violable, ,  ,  ,  Vincennes  is  close  to  the 
Bastille," 

"The  consequences  concern  me," 

"'  But  the  motive  for  this  meeting. 
What  motive  do  you  wish  me  to  as- 
sign ?" 

"  Be  perfectlj^  eas^^  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  m\' 
offer,  I  will  do  so," 

"  That  is  useless.  The  duke  has  already 
infoi-med  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  sufiB.- 
cient." 

"'  That  is  well  arranged.  I  shall  take 
De  Wardes  to  keep  me  in  countenance." 

"Why  not  Manicamp?  De  Wardes 
can  rejoin  us  at  any  time  ;  we  can  leave 
him  here," 

"Yes,  that  is  true," 

"He  knows  nothing*  ?  " 


366 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'^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  g-o,  then." 

The  four  descended  the  stairs.  De 
Guiche's  carriag-e  was  waiting  at  the 
door,  and  took  them  to  the  Palais  Royal. 
As  they  were  going-  along,  Raoul  was 
eng-ag-ed  in  framing-  some  scheme.  The 
sole  depositary  of  two  secrets,  lie  did  not 
despair  of  concluding-  some  arrang-ement 
between  the  two  parties.  He  knew  the 
influence  he  exercised  over  Bucking-ham, 
and  the  ascendency  he  had  acquired  over 
De  Guiche,  and  affairs  did  not  look  ut- 
terly despairing-  to  him.  On  their  arrival 
in  the  g-allery,  dazzling  with  the  blaze  of 
light,  where  the  most  beautiful  and  illus- 
trious women  of  the  court  moved  to  and 
fro,  like  stars  in  their  atmosphere  of 
lig-ht,  Raoul  could  not  prevent  himself 
for  a  moment  forgetting-  De  Guiche  in 
order  to  seek  out  Louise,  who,  amid  her 
companions,  like  a  dove  completely  fas- 
cinated, g-azed  long  and  fixedly  upon  the 
royal  circle,  which  g-littered  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  w-ere 
admiring-  his  haughty  carriage  and  the 
incomparable  mag-niftcence  of  his  cos- 
tume. Some  few  of  the  older  courtiers 
remembered  having:  seen  the  father,  and 
their  remembrance  was  in  no  way  preju- 
dicial to  the  son. 

Bucking-ham  was  conversing  with  Fou- 
quet,  who  was  talking  with  him  aloud  of 
Belle-Isle.  "  I  cannot  speak  to  him  at 
present,"  said  Raoul. 

"Wait,  then,  and  choose  3'our  oppor- 
tunity, but  finish  everything  speedily.  I 
am  on  thorns." 

"  See,  our  deliverer  approaches,"  said 
Raoul,  perceiving  D'Artagnan,  who,  mag- 
niiicently  dressed  in  his  new  uniform  of 
captain  of  the  musketeers,  had  just  made 


his  victorious  entry  in  the  g-allery  ;  and 
he  advanced  toward  D'Arlagnan. 

"The  Comte  de  la  Fere  has  been  look- 
ing- for  3'ou,  chevalier,"  said  Raoul. 

"  Yes,"  replied  D'Artagnan,  "  I  have 
just  left  him." 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  passed  a 
portion  of  the  evening-  tog-ether." 

"  We  have  art-ang-ed  to  meet  ag-ain." 

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  disting-uish  at  whom  the  cap- 
tain's inquiring  and  haug-htj^  glance  was 
directed. 

"  Chevalier,"  said  Raoul,  "there  is  no 
one  here  but  j'ourself  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  under- 
stand that  it  would  not  do  for  me  to 
throw  myself  into  the  middle  of  the 
conversation." 

"Ah,  ah,  is  M.  Fouquet  there?"  in- 
quired 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  person- 
age." 

"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  m^''  dignity." 

"You  will  do  me  the  service,  wnll  ypu 
not  ?  " 

"  M.  Fouquet— the  deuce  !  " 

"  Are  von  not  on  good  terms  with  him?" 

"It  is  rather  he  who  inaN^  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DB    BRAGELONNE. 


367 


indeed  me  for  whom  this  honor  is  in- 
tended." 

'•  The  opportunity  is  a  good  one,  then." 

'•  Do  3^ou  think  so  ?  " 

''  Pra}'-  g"o." 

"  Well,  I  Avill." 

De  Guiche  had  rot  removed  his  e^^es 
from  Raoul,  who  made  a  sig-n  to  him  that 
all  was  arraniied.  D'Artag-nan  walked 
straig-lit  up  to  Lhe  group,,  and  civilly 
saluted  M.  Fouquet  as  well  as  the  others. 

"Good  evening,  M.  d'Artagnan ;  we 
were  speaking  of  Belle-Isle,"  said  Fou- 
quet, with  that  usage  of  society,  and 
that  perfect  knowledge  of  the  language  of 
looks,  which  require  half  a  lifetime  thor- 
oughly to  acquire,  and  which  some  per- 
sons, notwithstanding  all  their  study, 
never  attain. 

'-  Of  Belle-Isle-en-Mer  !  Ah,  ah  !  "  said 
D'Artagnan.  "It  belongs  to  you,  I  be- 
lieve, M.  Fouquet  ?  " 

"  M.  Fouquet  has  just  told  me  that  he 
had  presented  it  to  the  king,"  said  Buck- 
ingham. 

"Do  3^ou  know  Belle-Isle,  chevalier?" 
inquired  Fouquet. 

'•  I  have  only  been  there  once,"  replied 
D'Artagnan,  with  readiness  and  good 
humor. 

"  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  ob- 
servation as  keen  as  yours,"  said  Fou- 
quet; at  which  D'Artagnan  bowed. 

During  this  Raoul  made  a  sign  to  Buck- 
ingham. "  M.  Fouquet,"  said  Bucking- 
ham, '•  I  leave  the  captain  wiih  you ;  he 
is  more  learned  than  I  am  in  bastions, 
scarps,  and  counter-scarps,  and  I  will 
join  one  of  my  friends,  who  has  just  beck- 
oned to  me."  Saying  this,  Buckingham 
disengaged  himself  from  the  group,  and 
advanced  toward  Raoul,  stopping  for  a 
moment  at  the  table  wiiere  the  queen- 
mother,  the  young  queen,  and  the  king 
were  playing  together.  "Now,  Raoul," 
said  De  Guiche,  "there  he  is  ;  be  firm  and 
quick," 

Buckingham,  having*  made  some  com- 


plimentary remark  to  Madame,  continued 
his  way  toward  Raoul,  who  advanced  to 
meet  him,  while  De  Guiche  remained  in 
his  place,  though  he  followed  him  with 
his  eyes.  The  maneuver  was  so  ar- 
ranged that  the  young  men  met  in  an 
open  space  which  was  left  vacant  be- 
tween the  group  of  players  and  the  gal- 
lery, 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  mo- 
ment when  the  two  lines  were  about  to 
unite,  they  were  broken  by  a  third.  It 
was  Monsieur,  who  advanced  toward  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham.  Monsieur  had  his 
most  engaging  smile  on  his  red  and  per- 
fumed lips. 

"My  dear  duke,"  said  he,  with  the 
most  affectionate  politeness,  "' is  it  reall3'^ 
true  what  I  have  just  been  told  ?  " 

Buckingliani  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  ^  ou  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  depart- 
ure." 

"  Precisely." 

Guiche  had  overheard  the  conversation 
fi'om  \vhere  he  was  standing,  and  started 
in  his  turn.  "His  departure,"  he  mur- 
mured.    "  What  does  he  sa.y  ?  " 

Philip  continued,  with  the  same  gra- 
cious air,  "I  can  easily  conceive,  mon- 
sieur, whj^  the  king  of  Great  Britain 
recalls  you,  we  all  know  that  King 
Charles  II.,  who  appreciates  true  gentle- 
men, cannot  dispense  with  3'ou.  But  it 
cannot  be  supposed  we  can  let  j^ou  go 
without  great  regret;  and  I  beg  you  to 
receive  the  expression  of  my  own." 

"  Believe  me,  monseigneur,"  said  the 
duke,  "'  that  if  I  quit  the  court  of 
France — " 

"It  is  because   you  are  recalled;    but. 


368 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


if  \'ou  should  suppose  that  the  expression 
of  my  own  wish  on  the  subject  mii^lit 
possibly  have  some  influence  with  the 
king-,  I  will  gladly  volunteer  to  entreat 
his  nuijesty  Charles  II.  to  leave  you  with 
us  a  little  while  long-er.'' 

"lam  overwhelmed,  monseig-neur,  by 
so  much  kindness,"  replied  Bucking-ham  ; 
"but  I  have  received  positive  commands. 
My  residence  in  France  was  limited  ;  I 
have  prolong-ed  it  at  the  risk  of  displeas- 
ing- m^'  g-racious  sovereig-n.  It  is  onl^'^ 
this  very  day  that  I  recollected  I  oug-ht 
to  have  set  off  four  d;iys  ag-o." 

'•' Indeed,"  said  Monsieur. 

''Yes;  but,"  added  Bucking-ham,  rais- 
ing- 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  delig-litful  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,  mj'  lord  ;  but  at  last  I  wake  and 
leave  it.  I  shall  be  unable,  therefore,  to 
prolong-  my  residence  as  your  hig-hness 
has  so  kindl3'  invited  me." 

"  When  do  .you  leave  ?"  inquired  Philip, 
with  an  expression  full  of  interest. 

"To-morrow,  monseig-neur.  My  car- 
riag:es  have  been  ready  for  three  days 
past." 

The  Due  d 'Orleans  made  a  movement  of 
the  head,  which  seemed  tosig-nify,  "  Smce 
you  are  determined,  duke,  there  is  nothing- 
to  be  said."  Buckingham  returned  tlie 
g-eslure,  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.  Raoul  feared 
that  the  impatient  young-  man  mig-ht  pos- 
sibly make  the  proposition  himself,  and 
hurried  forward  before  him. 

"No,  no,  Raoul,  all  is  useless  now," 
said  Guiche,  holding-  both  his  hands  to- 
ward tlie  du.ke,  and  leading-  him  himself 
behind  a  column.  "Forgive  me,  duke, 
for  what  I  wrote  to  you,  I  was  mad  ;  give 
nie  back  m}'  letter." 


"It  is  true,"  said  the  duke,  "you  can- 
not owe  me  a  grudge  any  longer  now." 

"  Forgive  me,  dulve  ;  m.v  fiiendship,  my 
lasting-  friendship  is  yours." 

"There  is  certainly  no  reason  why  you 
should  bear  me  any  ill-will  from  the  mo- 
ment I  leave  her  never  to  see  her  again." 

Raoul  heard  these  words,'and  compre- 
hending that  his  presence  was  now  useless 
between  the  two  young  men,  who  had  now 
only  friendly'  words  to  exchange,  witiidrew 
a  few  paces;  a  movement  which  brouglit 
him  closei-  to  De  Wat-des,  who  was  con- 
versing with  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine 
respecting-  the  departure  of  Buckingliam. 

"A  wise  retreat,"  said  De  Waides. 

"  Wi)y  so  ?  " 

"  Because  the  dear  duke  saves  a  sword- 
thrust  by  it."  At  which  reph'  both  began 
to  laugh. 

Raoul,  indignant,  turned  round  frown- 
ingly,  flushed  with  anger,  and  his  lip 
curling-  with  disdain.  The  Clievalier  de 
Lorraine  turned  awaj"^  upon  his  heel,  but 
De  Wardes  remained  firm  and  w^aited. 
"'  You  will  not  break  yourself  of  the  habit ," 
said  Raoul  to  De  Wardes,  "of  insulting 
the  absent ;  yesterday  it  was  M.  d'Artag- 
nan,  to-da}'  it  is  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham." 

"You  know  veiy  well,  monsieur,"  re- 
turned De  Wardes,  "that  I  sometimes 
insult  those  who  are  present." 

De  Wardes  touched  Raoul,  their  shoul- 
ders met,  their  faces  were  bent  toward 
each  other,  as  if  mutually  to  inflame  each 
other  by  the  lire  of  their  breath  and  of 
their  anger.  It  could  be  seen  that  tlie  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  roimd  and  saw  D'Artag- 
nan,  who,  wit  ii  a  smiling  eye,  and  a  cheer- 
ful face,  had  just  placed  his  hand  on  De 
Wardes.'  shoulder.  Raoul  stepped  back 
to  make  room  for  the  musketeer.  De 
Wai-des  trembled  from  head  to  foot, 
turned  pale,  but  did  not  move.  D'Ar- 
tagnan.  still  with  the  same  smile,  took 
the  place  which  Raoul  abandoned  to  him. 
"Thank   you,  ray  dear  Raoul,"  he  said. 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


369 


**  M.  de  Wardes,  I  wish  to  talk  with  you. 
Do  not  leave  us,  R;ioul ;  evet-y  one  can 
hear  what  I  have  to  say  to  M.  de  War- 
des." His  smile  immediately  faded  away, 
and  his  g-lance  became  cold  and  sharp  as  a 
sword. 

"  I  am  at  3'our  orders,  monsieur,"  said 
De  Wardes. 

"  For  a  very  long  time,"  resumed  D'Ar- 
tagnan,  "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,  wliich  are  on  the  stair- 
case at  the  end  of  tliis  gallery." 

'•'I  follow  \'oa,  monsieur,"  said  De 
Wardes. 

'*  Are  3'ou  alone  here  ?  "  said  D'Artag- 
nan. 

*•  No  ;  I  have  M.  Manicamp,  and  M.  de 
Guiche,  two  of  my  friends." 

"  Th.it's  well,"  said  D'Artagnan  ;  "'but 
two  persons  are  not  sufficient;  you  will 
be  al)le  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  plea.se." 

**  Are  the3'  friends  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

*'Real  friends?  " 

"  No  doubt  of  it." 

"Very  well,  get  a  good  supply,  then. 
Do  you  conie  too,  Raoul;  bring  M.  de 
Guiche   and  the  Duke   of   Buckingham." 

"What  a  disturbance,"  replied  De 
Wai-des,  attempting  to  smile.  The  cap- 
lain  slightly  signed  lo  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  un- 
occupied ;  for  the  Comte  de  la  F<M'e,  seated 
in  the  recess  of  a  window,  awnited  him. 
"  Well,"  said  he  to  D'Artagnan,  as  he 
saw  liim  enter. 


"  Well,"  said  the  latter,  "  M.  de  Wardes 
hns  done  me  the  honor  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- 
c:imp,  followed  by  De  Guiche  and  Buck- 
ingham, who  looked  surprised,  not  know- 
ing" what  was  expected  of  them.  Raoul 
was  accompanied  b\'  two  or  three  gentle- 
men;  and,  as  he  entered,  glanced  I'ouiid 
the  room,  and  perceiving  the  comte,  he 
went  and  placed  himself  by  his  side. 
D'Artagnan  received  his  visitors  with  all 
the  courtesy  he  was  capable  of ;  he  pre- 
served his  unmoved  and  unconcerned 
looiv.  All  the  persons  present  were  men 
of  distinction,  occupying  posts  of  honor 
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  toward  De  Wardes,  who,  in  spite 
of  his  great  self-command,  could  not  pre- 
vent his  face  betraN'ing  some  surprise 
mingled  with  not  a  little  uneasiness. 
"Now,  monsieur,"  said  D'Artagnan, 
"'  since  we  are  no  longer  within  the  pre- 
cints  of  the  king's  palace,  and  since  we 
can  speak  out  without  failing  in  respect 
to  propriHt3%  1  will  inform  you  why  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  to  request  3'ou  to 
visit  me  here,  and  why  I  have  invited 
these  gentlemen  to  be  present  at  the  same 
time.  My  friend,  the  Comte  de  la  Fere, 
has  acquainted  me  with  the  injurious  re- 
ports you  are  spreading  about  myself. 
You  have  stated  that  3"ou  i-egard  me  as 
your  mortal  enemy,  because  I  was,  so 
3'ou  affirm,  that  of  3'our  father." 

"Perfectly  true,  monsieur,  I  have  said 
so,"  rephed  De  Wardes,  w^hose  pallid  face 
became  slightly  tinged  with  color. 

"  You  accuse  me,  therefore,  of  a  crime, 
or  a  fault,  or  of  some  mean  and  coward  13'' 
act.  Have  the  goodness  to  state  3'our 
charge  against  me  in  precise  terms." 

"'  In  the  presence  of  witnesses?  " 

"  Most  certainl3'-  in  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses :  and  3'-ou  see  I  have  selected  them 
as  being  experienced  in  affairs  of  honor." 

"You  do  not  appreciate  my  delicacy, 
monsieur.  I  have  accused  3^ou.  it  is  true; 
but  I  have  kept  the  nature  of  the  accusa- 
tion a  perfect  secret.     I  have  not  entered 


3ro 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


into  any  details  ;  but  liave  rested  satisfied 
b3'  expressing-  m^^  hatred  in  the  presence 
of  those  on  whom  a  duty  was  almost  im- 
posed to  acquaint  you  with  it.  You  have 
not  taken  the  discreetness  I  have  shown 
ini-o  consideration,  although  you  were  in- 
terested in  remaining-  silent.  lean  hardly 
recog-nize  your  habitual  prudence  in  that, 
M.  d'Artag-nan." 

D'Artag-nan,  who  was  quietly  biting 
the  corner  of  his  mustache,  said,  *'  I 
have  already  had  the  honor  to  beg:  you 
to  state  the  particulars  of  the  grievauces 
3'ou  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  pei-sonal  injury  toward  myself,  but 
of  one  toward  m}^  father." 

"  That  you  have  alread}'^  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  tliis  scene 
had,  at  first,  looked  at  each  otiier  with  a 
good  deal  of  uneasiness.  They  were  re- 
assured, however,  when  they  saw  that 
D'Artagnan  manifested  no  emotion  what- 
ever. De  Wardes  still  maintained  the 
same  unbroken  silence.  "Speak,  mon- 
sieur," said  the  musketeer;  "  3'ou  see 
you  are  keeping  us  waiting." 

"Listen,  then: — My  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 
indicated  a  rendezvous,  substituted  him- 
self, under  a  disguise,  for  the  person  who 
was  expected,  and  took  advantage  of  the 
darkness." 

"  Tliat  is  perfectly  true,"  said  D'Artag- 
nan. 

A  slight  murmur  was  heard  from  those 
present.       "Yes,    I   was    guilty    of   tliat 


dishonorable  action.  You  should  have 
added,  monsieur,  since  you  are  so  im- 
partial, that,  at  the  period  when  thecir-* 
cumstance  wliich  3'ou  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  com- 
mitting any  act  of' indelicacy." 

A  renewed  murmur  was  heard,  but  this 
time  of  astonishmeht,  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  bit- 
terly too.  Age  has,  however,  made  me 
more  reasonable,  and  above  all,  more  up- 
right:  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  your- 
selves, known  to  you  by  tradition  only,  at 
a  period  when  love  was  not  overscrupu- 
lous, 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  whoui  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  toward  De  Wardes, 
with  a  peculiar  smile  upon  his  face,  "  you 
are  mistaken ;  she  was  seen  ;  and  there 
are  persons  even  now  present,  who,  hav- 
ing- often  heard  her  spoken  of,  will  easily 
recognize  her  \)y  the  description  I  am 
about  to  give.  She  was  about  five-and- 
twenty  years  of  age,  slender  in  form,  of  a 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


371 


pale  complexion,  and  fair-haired  ;  she  was 
married  in  England." 

'•  Married  ?  " '  exclaimed  De  Wardes. 

"So  .you  were  not  aware  she  was  mar- 
ried ?  You  see  we  are  far  better  informed 
than  yourself.  Do  you  happen  to  know 
she  was  usually  stj'led  Mnilady,'  without 
the  addition  of  any  name  to  that  descrip- 
tion ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know  that." 

"  Good  lieavens  !"  murmured  Bucking- 
ham. 

"Ver}''  well,  monsieur.  That  woman, 
who  came  fiom  England,  returned  to  En- 
gland after  having-  thrice  attempted  M. 
d'Artag-nan's  life.  That  was  but  just, 
you  will  say,  since  M.  d'Artug-nan  had 
insulted  her.  But  that  which  was  not 
just  was,  that,  when  in  Eng-lnnd,  this 
woman,  b\'  her  seductions,  completely 
enslaved  a  young  man  in  the  service 
of  Lord  Winter,  hy  name  Felton.  You 
change  color,  mv  lord,"  said  Athos,  turn- 
ing- to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  "  and 
your  eyes  kindle  wiili  anger  and  sorrow. 
Let  your  grace  finish  the  recital,  then, 
unci  tell  M.  de  AVardes  who  this  woman 
was  who  placed  the  knife  in  the  hand  of 
your  fathei-'s  murderer." 

A  cry  escaped  from  the  lips  of  all  pres- 
ent. The  young  duke  passed  his  hand- 
kerchief across  his  forehead,  which  was 
covered  with  perspiration.  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  mj  crime  did  not 
cause  the  destruction  of  an.y  one's  soul, 
and  that  the  soul  in  question  may  fairlj- 
be  considered  to  have  been  altogether  lost 
before  my  regret.  It  is,  however,  an  act 
of  conscience  on  my  part.  Now  this  mat- 
ter is  settled,  therefore,  it  remains  for  me 
to  ask,  with  the  greatest  humility,  yoxxv 
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  3'^ou  consider  it  completely 
settled  ?" 

De  Wardes  bowed  and  muttered  to  him- 
self inarticulateh'. 

"I  trust  also,"  said  D'Artagnan,  ap- 
proaching 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  con- 
scientious as  3'ou  are,  who  can  reproach 
an  old  soldier  for  a  youthful  freak  II ve- 
and-thirty  3'^ears  after  it  has  happened, 
will  allow  me  to  ask  whether  3'ou,  who 
advocate  such  excessive  purity  of  con- 
science, will  undertake  on  your  side  to 
do  nothing  contrary  either  to  conscience 
or  a  principle  of  honor.  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  m.y  ear." 

"Monsieur,"  said  De  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  curios- 
it}',  drew  closer  together.  "You  spske 
just  now  of  the  honor  of  a  woman  and  of 
tiie  honor  of  your  father.  We  were  g-lad 
to  hear  you  speak  in  that  manner;  for  it  is 
pleasing  to  think  that  such  a  sentiment 
of  delicacy  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 
honor  of  women,  respect  and  defend  it." 

De  Wardes  bit  his  lips  and  clenched  his 
hands,  evidently  much  disturbed  to  learn 
how  liiis  discourse,  the  comln^^ncement  of 
which  was  announced  in  so  threatening  a 
manner,  would  terminate. 

"  How  did  it,  happen,  then,  that  you 
allowed  yourself  to  say  to  M.  de  Brage- 
lonne  that  he  did  not  know  who  his 
mother  was  ?  " 

Raoul's  eye  fiashed,  as,  darting  for- 
ward, he  exclaimed — "  Chevalier,  this  is  a 
personal  affair  of  my  owm  !  "     At  which 


372 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


exclamation  a  smilo  full  of  malice  passed 
across  De  Wardes'  face.  D'Artagnan 
pufc  Raoul  aside,  saving— "  Do  not  inter- 
rupt me,  3'oung-  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  tlie  swoi'd  ;  I  discuss  it  before  men  of 
honor,  all  of  whom  have  more  than  once 
had  their  swords  in  their  hands  in  affairs 
of  honor.  I  selected  them  expi^essl^'. 
These  gentlemen  well  know  tliat  every 
secret  for  which  men  fight  ceases  to  be  a 
secret.  I  ag-ain  put  my  question  to  M. 
de  Wardes.  What  was  tlie  subject  of 
conversation  when  you  oflFended  this  young- 
man,  in  offending  his  father  and  mother 
at  the  same  time?  " 

"  It-  seems  to  me,"  returned  De  Wardes, 
"tliai,  liberty  of  speech  is  allowed,  when 
it  is  ready  to  be  supported  b\'  every  means 
which  a  man  of  courage  has  at  his  dis- 
posal." 

"  Tell  me  what  the  means  are  b}'  which 
a  man  of  courage  can  sustain  a  slanderous 
expression." 

"The  sword." 

"You  fail,  not  only  in  logic,  in  your 
argument,  but  in  religion  and  honor.  You 
expose  the  lives  of  many  others,  without 
refei-ring  to  3'our  own,  which  seems  to  be 
full  of  hazard.  Besides,  fashions  pass 
awa}',  monsieur,  and  the  fashion  of  duel- 
ing has  passed  awaj-,  without  referring 
in  an\'  wa}^  to  the  edicts  of  his  majesty 
which  forbid  it.  Therefore,  in  order  to 
be  consistent  \vith  3'our  own  chivalrous 
notions,  j'ou  will  at  once  apologize  to  M. 
de  Bragelonne ;  3'ou  will  tell  him  how 
much  you  regret  having  spoken  so  light- 
13',  and  that  the  nobility'  and  purity  of  his 
race  arc  inscribed,  not  in  his  heart  alone, 
but,  still  more,  in  every  action  of  his  life. 
You  will  do  :ind  say  this,  M.  de  Wardes, 
as  I,  an  old  officei-,  did  and  said  just  now 
to  your  boy's  mustache." 

"And  if  I  refuse  ?  "  inquired  De  Wardes. 

"In  that  case  the  result  will  be — " 

"  That  wliicli  you  think  you  will  pre- 
vent," said  De  Wardes.  laughing ;  "the 
result  will  be  that  your  conciliatory  ad- 
di-ess  will  end  in  a  violation  of  the  king's 
prohibition." 


"Not  so,"  said  the  captain,  "you  are 
quite  mistaken." 

"  What  will  be  the  result,  tlien  ?  " 

"The  result  will  be  that  1  shall  go  to 
the  kmg,  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  ortler  in  blank  for  M.  Baisemeaux  de 
Monllezun,  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  majest\^  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  to- 
ward De  Wardes.  Remarking  that  the 
\oung  man  was  not  quite  convinced,  and 
received  the  warning  as  an  idle  threat, 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  walked 
leisurely  toward  the  table,  upon  which  lay 
a  writing-case  and  a  pen,  the  length  of 
which  would  have  terrified  the  topograph- 
ical Porthos.  De  Wardes  Ihen  saw  that 
nothing  could  well  be  more  seriouslj''  in- 
tended than  the  threat  in  question,  for  the 
Bastille,  even  at  that  period,  was  already 
held  in  dread.  He  advanced  a  step  to- 
ward Raoul,  and,  in  an  almost  unintelli- 
gible voice,  said — "I  offer  m\-  a[)<)logies 
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  tranquillity, 
"you  mistake  the  terms  of  the  apology. 
I  did  not  say,  'and  w'hich  I  am  forced  to 
make  ; '  I  said,  '  and  which  my  conscience 
induces  me  to  make.'  This  latter  expres- 
sion, 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  De  Wardes; 
"but  admit,  gentlemen,  that  a  Ihr-ust  of 
a  sword  through  the  bod^y,  as  was  the 
custom  formerly,  was  far  better  than 
tyranny  like  this." 

"No,  monsieur,"  replied  Buckingham; 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


373 


"  for  t\\Q  sword-thrusl,  when  received, 
was  no  indication  that  a  particular  per- 
son was  right  or  wroni;- ;  it  only  showed 
that  he  w-as  more  or  less  skillful  in  the 
use  of  the  weapon." 

"Monsieur!  *'  exclaimed  Di?  Wardes. 

"  There  now,"  interrupted  D'Artag'nan, 
'•'you  are  g'oing"  to  say  something-  very 
rude,  and  I  am  rendering-  you  a  service  in 
stopping  you  in  time." 

'•Is  that  all,  monsieur?"  inquired  De 
Wardes. 

"  Absolutel3'  everything,"  replied  D'Ar- 
tagnan  ;  "  and  these  gentlemen,  as  well  as 
n\ysi'lf,  are  quite  satisfied  with  you." 

"  Believe  me,  monsieur,  that  3'our  rec- 
oncihations  are  not  successful." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 
.    *•  Because,  as  we  are  now  about  to  sep- 
arate, I  would  w^ager  that  M.  de  Brage- 
lonne   and    myself    are    greater    enemies 
than  ever." 

"  You  are  deceived,  monsieur,  as  far  as 
I  am  concerned,"  returned  Raoul  ;  ''for 
I  do  not  retain  the  slightest  animosity  in 
ray  heart  against  3'ou." 

This  last  l)lo\v  overwhelmed  De  War- 
des; he  cast  his  e.yes  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  towai'd  De  Wardes.  "  Oli  !  " 
exclaimed  the  young  man,  abandoning 
himself  to  the  rage  which  consumed  him, 
"can  I  not  find  some  one  on  whom  to 
wreak  m\"  vengeance  ?  " 

'•'  You  can,  monsieur,  for  I  am  here  !  " 
whispered  a  voice  full  of  menace  in  his 
ear. 

De  Wardes  turned  round,  and  saw  the 
Duice  of  Buckingham,  who,  having  proba- 
bly remained  behind  with  that  intention, 
hail  just  approached  him.  "  You,  mon- 
sieur? "  exclaiineil  De  Wardes, 

"Yes,  I !  I  am  no  subject  of  the  king 
of  France  ;  I  am  not  going  to  i*einaiii  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  lo  revenge 
mj'self    upon    some    one.     I  approve   M. 


d'Artagnan's  principles  extremely,  but  I 
am  not  bound  to  apply  them  to  3'ou.  I 
am  an  Englishman,  and,  in  m}'  turn, 
I  propose  to  you  what  3'ou  proposed  to 
others  to  no  purpose.  .  Since  you,  tliere- 
fore,  are  so  terribh-  incensed,  take  me  as 
a  remedy.  In  thirt.y-four  hours'  time  I 
shall  be  at  Calais.  Come  with  \\\v. ;  tiie 
journey  will  appear  shorter  if  tog-ether 
than  if  alone.  We  will  fight,  when  we 
get  there,  upon  the  sands  which  are  cov- 
ered by  the  i-ising  tide,  and  which  form 
part  of  the  French  territory  during  six 
hours  of  the  day,  but  belong  to  the  terri- 
tory^ of  Heaven  during  the  other  six." 

"I  accept  willingly,"  said  De  Wardes. 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  the  duke,  "  that, 
if  you  kill  me,  3'ou  will  be  I'endering  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  3'^ou 
off  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  at  your  commands.  I  re- 
quired some  real  danger  and  some  mortal 
risk  to  run,  to  tranquilize  me." 

"In  that  case,  I  think  you  have  met 
with  what  you  are  looking  for.  Fare- 
well, M.  de  Wardes  ;  to-morrow  morning 
mj''  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  !  "  Bucking- 
ham saluted  De  Wardes,  and  returned 
toward  the  king's  apartments.  De 
Wardes,  irritated  beyond  measui-e,  left 
the  Palais  Royal,  and  hurried  through 
the  streets  homeward  to  the  house  where 
he  lodged. 


CHAPTER    XCVI. 

BAISEMEAUX    DE    MONTLEZUN. 

After  the  i-ather  severe  lesson  admin- 
istered to  De  Wardes,  Athos  and  D'Ar- 
tagnan together  descended  the  staircase 
wliich  led  to  the  courtyard  of  the  Palais 
Royal. 

"  You  perceive,"  said  Athos  to  D'Ar- 
tagnan, "that  Raoul  cannot,  sooner  or 
later,  avoid  a  duel  with  De  Wardes  ;  for 


374 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


De  Wardes  is  as  brave  as  he  is  vicious 
and  wicked." 

'•  T  know  these  fellows  well,"  replied 
D'Artiig-nan  ;  "  I  have  had  an  affnir  wit  h 
the  father.  I  assure  you  tliat,  althou.nh 
at  that  Lime  I  liad  good  muscles  and  a  sort 
of  bi"ute  courage — I  assure  you  the  father 
did  me  some  mischief.  But  j^ou  should 
liave  seen  liow  I  foug"ht  it  out  with  him  ; 
ah,  Athos,  such  encounters  never  take 
place  in  these  limes  !  I  had  a  hand  which 
could  never  I'emain  at  i-est — a  hand  like 
quicksilver  ;  ^^ou  know  its  quality,  for  you 
have  seen  me  at  woik.  M}^  sword  was  no 
long'er  a  piece  of  st(,'el;  it  w^as  a  serpent 
which  assumed  ever}^  form  and  every 
leng-th,  seeking'  where  it  might  thrust  its 
head — in  other  words,  where  it  mig'ht  fix 
its  bite.  I  advanced  half  a  dozen  paces, 
then  three,  and  then,  body  to  body,  I 
pressed  my  antag"onist  closeh^ ;  then  I 
darted  back  again  ten  paces.  No  human 
power  could  resist  that  ferocious  ardor. 
Well.  De  Wardes,  the  father,  with  the 
bravery  of  his  race,  with  his  doggvd 
courag-e.  occupied  a  g"Ood  deal  of  my 
time :  and  my  fing-ers  at  the  end  of  the 
engagement  were,  I  well  remember,  tired 
enough." 

"  It  is,  then,  as  I  said,"  resumed  Athos  : 
"  tiio  son  will  always  be  looking"  out  for 
Raoul,  and  will  end  by  meeting-  him  ;  and 
Raoul  can  easil}^  be  found  when  he  is 
sought  for." 

'•Agreed.  But  Raoul  calculates  well: 
he  bears  no  grudg-e  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  lo 
get  out  of  tem|)er  about  the  matter  ;  be- 
sidi's,  we  shall  know  liow  to  pacify  his 
majesty.  But  why  so  full  of  these  feai's 
and  anxieties?  You  don't  easily  g-et 
alarmed." 

"\  will  tell  you  what  makes  me  anx- 
ious. Raoul  is  to  see  the  Icing*  to-morrow, 
when  his  majesty  will  infoiau  him  of  his 
wishes  respecting'  a  certain  marriage. 
Raoul,  lovina*  as  he  does,  will  g-et  out  of 
temper;  and  once- in  an  angry  mood,  if 
he  were  to  meet  De  Wardes,  the  shell 
will  explode." 

"  We  will  pi-event  the  explosion." 


'•'Not  I,"  said  Athos,  "fori  must  re- 
turn to  Blois.  All  this  g-ilded  elegance  of 
the  court,  all  these  intrigues,  disgust  me ; 
I  am  no  long-er  a  ^oung"  man  who  can 
make  his  terms  with  the  meannesses  of  the 
present  day.  I  have  read  in  the  g-reat 
Book  of  God  man}'  things  too  beautiful 
and  too  compi-ehensive  to  take  any  inter- 
est in  the  little  trifling-  phrases  which 
these  men  whisper  among  themselves 
when  they  wish  to  deceive  others.  In  one 
woid,  I  am  sick  of  Paris  wherever  and 
whenever  you  are  not  with  me  ;  and,  as  I 
cannot  have  3'ou  always,  I  wish  to  return 
to  Blois." 

'•  How  wrong-  you  are,  Athos — how  aou 
gainsa}^  your  origin  and  the  destiny'  of 
3'our  noble  nature  !  Men  of  your  stamp 
are  created  to  continue,  to  the  very  last 
moment,  in  full  possession  of  their  gi-eat 
faculties.  Look  at  m^^  sword,  a  Spanish 
blade,  the  one  I  wore  at  Rochelle  ;  it 
served  rae  for  thirty''  j'ears  without  fail. 
One  day  in  the  winter  it  fell  upon  the 
marble  floor  of  the  Louvre  and  was 
bi'oken.  I  had  a  hunting-knife  made  of  it 
which  will  last  a  hundred  years  yet.  You, 
Athos,  with  your  loyalty,  your  frankness, 
your  cool  courag-e,  and  .youi-  sound  in- 
formation, are  the  very  man  kings  need 
to  warn  and  direct  them.  Remain  here  ; 
Monsieur  Fouquet  will  not  last  so  long-  as 
my  Spanish  blade." 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Athos,  smiling-ly, 
"that  m^'  friend,  D'Artag-nan,  who,  after 
having-  raised  me  to  the  skies,  making-  me 
an  object  of  worship,  casts  me  down  from 
the  top  of  Olympus,  and  hurls  me  to  the 
ground?  I  have  more  exalted  ambition, 
D'Ai-tag-nan.  To  be  a  minister— to  be  a 
slave,  never  !  Am  I  not  still  g-reater?  I 
am  nothing.  I  remember  ha\'ing  heard 
you  occasionally  call  me  '  the  g-reat  A  ihos;' 
I  defy  yon,  therefore,  if  I  were  ininistei", 
to  continue*  to  bestow  that  title  upon  me. 
No,  no  ;  I  do  not  yield  m3^self  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'  hand  warm- 
ly.    "No,  no  ;  renounce  everytliing-  with- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


375 


out  fear.  Raoul  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-niori-ow  at  daybreak  I  shall  be  on  m}^ 
horse  ag-ain." 

'•  You  cannot  return  to  your  hotel  alone; 
why  did  you  not  bring-  Griniaud  with 
you?-"' 

•'Grimaud  takes  his  rest  now  ;  he  g-oes 
to  bed  carl.y,  for  m}^  poor  old  servant  g-ets 
easily  fatig-ued.  He  came  from  Blois  with 
me,  and  I  compelled  him  to  remain  within 
doors;  for  if,  in  retracing-  the  forty  leag-ues 
which  separate  us  from  Blois,  he  needed 
to  draw  breath  even,  he  would  die  without 
a  murmur.  But  I  don't  want  to  lose  Gri- 
maud." 

"•  You  shall  have  one  of  my  musketeers 
to  carry  a  torch  for  you.  Hola!  someone 
there,"  called  out  D'Artagnan,  leaning- 
over  the  gilded  balustrade — the  heads  of 
seven  or  eight  musketeers  appeared — ''I 
wish  some  gentleman  who  is  so  disposed, 
to  escort  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,"  cried 
D'Artag-nan. 

•'•  Thank  3'ou  for  3^our  readiness,  g-entle- 
men,"  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,  "\i  I  had  not  to 
speak  to  Monsieur  d'Artagnan." 

•'Who  is  that?"  said  D'Artag-nan, 
looking-  into  the  darkness. 

"  I,  Monsieur  d'Artagnan." 

"  Heaven  forg-iveme,  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,  mj'^  dear 
Monsieur  d'Artagnan." 

•'Wretch  that  I  am,"  thoug-ht  D'Ar- 
tag-nan ;  "true,  you  have  been  told,  I 
suppose,  that  some  one  was  to  be  arrested, 
and  have  come  yourself,  instead  of  send- 
ing an  officer  ?  " 

'•  I  ca  me  because  I  had  occasion  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  You  did  not  send  to  me  ?  " 

'•  T  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. 

••Surely  3^ou  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  cardinal's  time." 

'•' Perfectly,"  said  Athos,  taking  leave 
of  him  with  affabilit\'. 

"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  Baise- 
meaux, shall  we  talk  now  ?  " 

'•  If  3'ou  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,  laugh- 
ing. 

•'•'No  doubt  of  it,"  returned  the  gov- 
ernor, "  m\^  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  ad- 
mirable situation  youi's  is,  captain,"  he 
continued,  after  a  pause,  "ca[)tain-lieu- 
tenant  of  the  musketeers." 

"  Oh,  it  is  good  enough  ;  but  I  don't  see 
why  3'ou  should  envy  me  ;  .you,  governor 
of  the  Bastille,  the  first  castle  in  France." 

'•  I  am  well  aware  of  that,"  said  Baise- 
meaux, in  a  sorrowful  tone  of  voice. 

'•'You  say  that  like  a  man  confessing 
his  sins.  I  would  willingly  exchange  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  oh  the  other,  as  if  you  were  afraid  of 


376 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


being"  arrested  3'^ourseir,  vou  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  to  arrest  otliers  ?  " 

'•  I  was  looking-  to  see  wliether  an^^  one 
could  see  or  listen  to  us;  it  would  be  safer 
to  confer  more  in  private,  if  3'ou  would 
grant  me  such  a  favor." 

"Baisemeaux,  a-ou  seem  to  forg-et  we 
are  acquaintances  of  flve-and-thirty  years' 
stantling.  Don't  assume  sucli  sanclified 
airs;  make  yourself  quite  comfortable ;  I 
don't  eat  governors  of  the  Bastille  raw." 

'-  Heaven  be  praised  !  " 

'•'  Come  into  the  courtyard  with  me ; 
it's  a  beautiful  moonliglit  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-humored 
way,  cried  :  "Out  with  it,  rattle  away, 
Bai.semeaux;  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  3'our  pigeons 
in  the  Bastille." 

"Would  to  Heaven  that  were  the  case, 
M.  d'Artagnan." 

"You  surprise  me,  Baisemeaux:  just 
look  at  yourself,  vous  faites  Vhomme 
contrit.  I  should  like  to  show  you  your 
face  ill  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  wrinkle  you  try  to  cultivate  on  3'our 
forehead,  3'ou  would  hardh'^  look  fifty 
3'ears  old,  and  3'ou  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  ^^ou 
make;"  at  which  remark  Baisemeaux 
stamped  on  the  ground. 

"Well,  well,"  said  D'Artagnan,  "I 
will  run  up  youi'  account  for  you  :  you 
were  captain  of  M.  Mazarin's  guards; 
and  12,000  francs  a  .year  would  in  twelve 
years  amount  to  144,000  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  fift3'  pistoles  as  a  gratification; 
so  that,  if  it  were  not  for  my  lit,tle  estate 
at  Montlezun,  which  brings  me  in  12,000 
francs  a  3'ear,  I  could  not  have  met  my 
engagements." 

"  Well,  then,  how  about  the  nO.OOO 
francs  from  the  Bastille?  There,  I  trust, 
you  arc  boarded  and  lodged,  and  get  your 
6,000  francs  salary  besides." 

"Admitted  !  " 

"'Whether  the  3'ear  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  is  at  once  an  income  of 
50,000  francs ;  you  have  held  the  post 
three  j^ears,  and  must  have  received  in 
that  time  150.000  francs." 

"  You  forget  one  circumstance,  dear  M. 
d'Artagnan." 

"What  is  that?" 

"That  while  \'ou  received  3'our  appoint- 
ment as  captain  from  the  king  himself,  I 
received  mine  as  governor  from  Messrs. 
Tremblay  and  Lou  vie  re." 

"  Quite  right,  and  Tremblay  was  not  a 
man  to  let  3'ou  have  the  post  for  nothing." 

"Nor  was  Louviere  either;  the  result 
was  that  I  gave  75,000  francs  to  Trem- 
blay as  his  share." 

"Very  agreeable  that!  and  to  Lou- 
viere ?  " 

"  The  same." 

"Money  down  ?  " 

"'  No  ;  that  would  have  been  impossible. 
Tile  king  did  not  wish,  or  rather  M.  Maz- 
arin  did  not  wish,  to  have  the  appear- 
ance of  removing  those'  two  gentlemen, 
who  had  sprung  from  the  barricades  ;  he 
pei-mitted  them,  therefore,  to  make  cer- 
tain extravagant  conditions  for  their  re- 
tirement." 

"  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?" 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


377 


"A  sum  of  150,000  francs,  or  15,000 
pistoles,  whichever  you  please,  in  three 
payments." 

"Exorbitant  enoug-h." 
"  Yes,  but  that  is  not  all." 
'•What  besides?  " 

"In  default  of  the  fulfillment  by  me  of 
anv  one  of  those  conditions,  those  g-entle- 
men  enter  upon  their  functions  ag-ain. 
The  king-  has  been  induced  to  sign  that." 

"  It  is  enormous,  incredible  I  " 

/'  Such  is  the  fact,  however." 

"  I  do  indeed  pit\"  3^ou,  Baisemeaux. 
But  why,  in  the  name  of  fortune,  did  M. 
Mazarin  grant  you  this  pretended  favor  ; 
it  would  have  been  far  better  to  have  re- 
fused you  altog-ether." 

"Certainly,  but  he  was  strongly  per- 
suaded to  do  so  b\^  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  toward 
me." 

"  Kind  I  to  make  you  enter  into  such  a 
bargain  !  " 

"  Listen  !  I  w-ished  to  leave  the  cardi- 
nal's service.  M.  d'Herblay  spoke  on  m\' 
behalf  to  Louviere  and  Tremblay — thej- 
objected;  I  wished  to  have  the  appoint- 
ment very  much,  for  I  knew  what  it  could 
be  made  to  produce;  in  my  distress  I  con- 
fided in  M.  d'Herblay,  and  he  offered  to 
bec^ome  my  surety  for  the  different  pay- 
ments." 

"You  astound  me!  Aramis  become 
3'our  surety  ?" 

"Like  a  man  of  honor;  he  procured 
the  signature  ;  Tremblay  and  Louviere  re- 
signed their  appointments ;  I  have  paid 
every  year  25,000  francs  to  these  two 
gentlemen ;  on  the  31st  of  May,  every 
year,  M.  d'Herbia}^  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  onl\'  owe  him 
100,000." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"  He  has  been  only  two  3'ears.    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  g-eutlemen 
can,  b^'  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  noth- 
ing, absolutely'  for  nothing  at  all,  dear 
M.  d'Artagnan." 

"This  is  ver}^  strange,"  nmrmured 
D'Artag-nan. 

"  You  can  now  imagine  that  I  may  well 
have  Avrinkles  on  m\'  forehead;  can  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  indeed  !" 

"And  3'ou  can  imagine,  too,  that  not- 
withstanding- I  may  be  as  round  as  a 
cheese,  with  a  complexion  like  an  apple, 
and  my  e3'es  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  siiall  only  have  my  eyes  left  me 
to  weep  with." 

"  It  is  really'  a  \evy  grievous  affair." 

"I  have  come  to  you,  M.  d'Artagnan, 
for  you  are  the  onl^'  one  who  can  get  me 
out  of  my  trouble." 

"'  In  what  way  ?" 

"You  are  acquainted  with  the  Abbe 
d'Herbkn',  and  3'ou  know  that  he  is  some- 
what m3'sterious." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  3'ou  can,  perhaps,  give  me  the 
address  of  his  presb3'ter\-,  for  I  have  been 
to  Noisy-le-Sec,  and  he  is  no  long-er  there.'* 

"I  should  think  not,  indeed.  He  is 
bishop  of  Vannes." 

"What  !     Vannes  in  Bretagne  ?" 

"Yes." 

The  little;  man  beg-an  to  tear  his  hair, 
saying",  "  How  can  I  get  to  Vannes  froui 
here  by  midda3'^  to-morrow  ?  lama  lost 
man." 

"Your  despair  quite  distresses  me." 

"Vannes,  Vannes,"  cried  Baisemeaux, 

"But,  listen  ;  a  bishop  is  not  always  a 
resident.  M.  d'Herblay  ma3'-  not  possiblj^ 
be  so  far  awa3'  as  3'ou  fear." 

"  Pra3'  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." 


378 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"But,  Baisemeaux,  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve what  you  tell  me  ;  besides,  since  the 
Bastille  is  capable  of  producin.ir  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'Artag-nan,  and  because  my  prisoners 
are  fed  like  potentates." 

'*  Well,  you  are  in  a  fair  wa^'-  to  get  out 
of  your  difficulties;  g'ive  yourself  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  honor,  do  so,  that  you  will  not 
open  your  lips  to  any  one  about  what  I 
am  going  to  say  to  you." 

''Never,  never  1  " 

"You  wish  to  put  your  hand  on  Ara- 
mis  r 

"At  any  cost." 

"  Well,  g-o  and  see  where  M.  Fouquet 
is."- 

'•'  Why,  what  connection  can  there 
be—" 

"  How  stupid  you  are.  Don't  you  know 
that  Vannes  is  in  the  diocese  of  Belle- 
Isle,  or  Belle-Isle  in  the  diocese  of  Van- 
nes? Belle-Isle  belongs  to  M.  Fouquet, 
and  M.  Fouquet  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. 
Fouquet  very  simply  that  you  wish  to 
speak  to  M.  d'Herblay." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  exclaimed 
Baisemeaux,  delighted h'. 

"But,"  said  D'Artagnan,  checking  him 
by  a  severe  look,  "your  word  of  honor  ?" 

"I  give  you  my  sacred  word  of  honor," 
replied  the  little  man,  about  to  set  off 
running. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  M.  Fouquet's  house." 

"It  is  useless  doing  that;  M.  Fouquet 
is  playing  at  cards  with  the  king.  All 
you  can  do  is  to  pay  M.  Fouquet  a  visit 
early  to-morrow  morning." 

"i  will  do  so.     Thank  you." 


"'  Good  luck  attend  you,"  said  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

"Thank  you." 

"  Tins  is  a  strange  affair,"  murmured 
D'Artagnan,  as  he  slowly  ascended  the 
staircase  after  he  had  left  Baisemeaux. 
"  What  possible  interest  can  Ara  mis  have 
in  obliging  Baisemeaux  in  this  manner? 
Well,  I  suppose  we  shall  learn  some  day 
or  another." 


CHAPTER    XCVII. 

THE     king's     card-table, 

Fouquet  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  liearts 
of  the  previous  evening.  Monsieur,  radi- 
ant with  delight,  made  a  thousand  ciffec- 
tionate  signs  to  his  mother.  The  Count 
de  Guiche  could  not  separate  himself  from 
Buckingham,  and  wliile  playing,  conversed 
with  him  upon  the  circumstances  of  his 
projected  voyage.  Buckingham,  thought- 
ful, and  kind  in  his  manner,  like  a  man 
who  has  adopted  a  resolution,  listenetl  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  ht^r  atten- 
tion between  the  king,  who  was  playing" 
with  her,  Monsieur,  who  quieth-  joked  her 
about  her  enormous  winnings,  and  De 
Guiche,  who  exhibited  an  extravagant 
delight.  Of  Buckingham  she  took  but 
little  notice,  for  her,  this  fugitive,  this 
exile,  was  now  simpl^y  a  remembrance, 
and  no  longer  a  man.  Light  hearts  are 
thus  constituted  ;  while  they  themselves 
continue  untouched,  they  roug-hly  break 
off  with  every  one  who  may  possibly  in- 
terfere 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  g-ood  of  sighing,  smiling  and 
kneeling  at  a  distance  ?  Can  one  tell  in 
v.-hat  direction  the  winds  in  the  Channel, 
which  toss  the  might^'-  vessels  to  and  fro, 
carr^''  such   sighs   as    these  ?    The  duke 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


379 


could  not  conceal  this  change,  and  his 
heart  was  cruellj'  hurt  at  it.  Of  a  sensi- 
tive 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  \)y  de- 
grees 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  liis heart. 

In  exact  proportion,  however,  as  Mad- 
ame 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  dis- 
played in  brilliant  flashes  of  wit  and  hu- 
mor. At  any  cost,  she  felt  that  she  must 
be  remarked  above  ever^'thing  and  every 
one,  even  above  the  king  himself.  And 
she  was  so,  for  the  queens,  notwithstand- 
ing their  dignit3-,  and  the  king,  despite 
the  respect  which  etiquette  required,  were 
all  ecUpsed  by  her.  The  queens,  statelj' 
and  ceremonious,  were  softened,  and  could 
not  restrain  their  laughter.  Madame 
Henrietta,  the  queen-mother,  was  dazzled 
by  the  brilliancy  which  cast  distinction 
upon  lier  family,  thanks  to  the  wit  of  the 
granddaughter  of  Henry  IV.  The  king, 
so  jealous,  as  a  3'oung"  man  and  as  a  mon- 
arch, of  the  superiorit3'  of  those  who  sur- 
rounded him,  could  not  resist  admitting 
himself  vanquished  by  that  petulance  so 
thoroughly  French  in  its  nature,  and 
whose  energy  was  more  than  ever  in- 
creased by  its  English  humor.  Like  a 
child,  he  was  captivated,  by  her  radiant 
beauty,  which  her  wit  made  still  more  so. 
Madame's  exes  flashed  like  lightning. 
Wit  and  humor  escaped  from  her  ruby 
lips,  like  persuasion  from  the  lips  of  Nestor 
of  old.  The  whole  court,  subdued  by  her 
enchanting  grace,  noticed,  for  the  first 
time,  that  laughter  could  be  indulged  in 
before  the  greatest  monarch  in  the  world, 
like  peopk  Avho  merited  their  appellation 
of  the  wittiest  and  most  polished  people 
in  the  world. 

Madame,  from  that  evening,  achieved 
and  enjoyed  a  success  capable  of  bewil- 
dering whomsoever  it  might  be,  who  had 
not  been  born  in  those  elevated  regions 


termed  a  throne,  and  which,  in  spite  of 
their  elevation,  are  sheltered  from  similar 
vertigoes.  From  that  very  moment  Louis 
XIV.  acknowledged  Madame  as  a  person 
who  might  be  recognized.  Buckingham 
regarded  her  as  a  coquette  de.serving  the 
cruelest  tortui-es,  and  De  Guiche  looked 
upon  her  as  a  divinity  :  the  courtiers  as  a 
star  whose  light  might  become  the  focus 
of  all  favor  and  power.  And  yet  Louis 
XIV.,  a  few  years  previously',  liad  not 
even  condescended  to  offer  his  hand  to 
that  "'uglj'  girl"  for  a  ballet;  and  yet 
Buckingham  had  w^orshiped  this  co- 
quette in  the  humblest  altitude  ;  and  yet 
De  Guiche  had  looked  upon  this  divinity 
as  a  mere  woman  ;  and  ^yet  the  courtiers 
had  not  dared  to  extol  this  star  in  her  up- 
ward progress,  fearful  to  displease  liie 
monarch  v.hom  this  star  had  formerh' 
displeased. 

Let  us  see  what  was  taking  place  dur- 
ing this  memorable  evening  at  the  king's 
card-table.  The  young  queen,  although 
Spanish  by  birth,  and  the  niece  of  Anne 
of  Austria,  loveel  the  king,  and  could 
not  conceal  her  affection.  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, a  keen  observer,  like  all  women, 
and  imperious,  like  e\evy  queen,  was 
sensible  of  Madame's  power,  and  acqui- 
esced in  it  immediately,  a  circumstance 
which  induced  the  young  queen  to  raise 
the  siege  and  retire  to  her  apartments. 
The  king  hardly  paid  any  attention  to 
her  departure,  notwithstanding  the  pre- 
tended 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  disturb  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  remai-ked,  that  at 
the  thresliold  of  the  door,  his  majesty, 
freed  from  every  restraint,  or  less  strong 
than  the  situation,  sighed  xevy  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 
"Madaine    sighed   too."     This  had   been 


380 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


indeed  the  case.  Madame  had  sig-hed 
very  noiselessly,  but  with  an  accompani- 
ment 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  mournfulness 
of  expression,  she  had  raised  them  toward 
the  king,  whose  face  at  that  moment  liad 
visibly  heightened  in  color.  The  conse- 
quence of  these  blushes,  of  these  inter- 
changed sighs,  and  of  this  royal  agita- 
tion, was,  that  Montalais  had  committed 
an  indiscretion,  which  had  certainly  af- 
fected her  companion,  for  Mademoiselle 
do  la  Valliere,  less  clear-sighted  perhaps, 
turned  pale  when  the  king  blushed  ;  and 
her  attendance  being  required  upon  Mad- 
ame, 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  involun- 
tarily fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  king,  who, 
as  he  retired  backward,  had  his  face  to- 
ward 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  tiiat  his  mind 
was  absent.  He  jumbled  different  ac- 
counts together,  which  was  taken  advan- 
tage of  by  some  of  the  noblemen  who  had 
retained  those  habits  since  the  time  of 
Monsieur  Mazarin,  he  who  had  memory, 
but  was  a  good  calculator.  In  this  way, 
Monsieur  Manicamp,  with  a  thoughtless 
and  absent  air — for  Monsieur  Manicamp 
was  the  honestest  man  in  the  world,  ap- 
propriated simply  20,000  francs,  which 
were  littering  the  table,  and  the  owner- 
ship of  which  did  not  seem  legitimately  to 
belong  to  any  person  in  particular.  In 
the  same  way.  Monsieur  de  Wardes,  whose 
head  w-as  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  dnke,  incapable, 
like  his  father,  of  soiling  his  hands  with 


coin  of  an}'  sort,  had  left  lying  on  the 
tal)le  before  him.  The  king  only  re- 
covered 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  persever- 
ance, whispered  a  counsel  of  some  sort 
into  the  still  tingling  ears  of  the  king. 
The  king,  at  the  suggestion,  listened  with 
renewed  attention,  and  immediatel.y  look- 
ing around  him,  said,  "  Is  Monsieur  Fou- 
quet  no  longer  here?" 

''Yes,  sire,  I  am  here,"  replied  the 
suiintendant,  who  was  engaged  with 
Buckingham,  and  approached  the  king, 
who  advanced  a  step  toward  him  with 
a  smiling  yet  negligent  air.  "Forgive 
me,"  said  Louis,  "  if  I  interrupt  3'our  con- 
versation ;  but  I  claim  3'our  attention 
wherever  I  may  require  your  services." 

'•'I  am  alwa3'S  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  an^'thing 
else,"  said  Fouquet,  coldl3^ 

"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  Col- 
bert'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  expression  of  his  face  re- 
maining 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,  triumph- 
antly. 

"' The  time,  monsieur,"  said  the  surin- 
tendant,  with  the  haughtiest  disdain, 
"  simply  to  count  the  mone}^ ;  a  million 
only  can  be  drawn  and  weighed  in  a 
day." 

"  Four  daj'S,  then,"  said  Colbert. 

"  My  clerks,"  replied  Fouquet,  address- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


381 


ing-  himself  to  the  king,  "  will  perform 
wonders  for  his  majesty's  service,  and  the 
sum  shall  be  ready  in  three  days."' 

It  was  for  Colbert  now  to  turn  pale. 
Louis  looked  at  him  astonished.  Fouquet 
withdrew  without  any  parade  or  weak- 
ness, smiling-  at  his  numerous  friends,  in 
whose  countenances  alone  he  read  the  sin- 
cei-it\^  of  their  friendship — an  interest  par- 
taking" of  compassion.  Fouquet,  however, 
should  not  be  judg-ed  bj^  his  smile,  for,  in 
realit3%  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  stricken 
by  death.  Drops  of  blood  beneath  his 
coat  stained  the  fine  linen  Avhich  covered 
his  ciiest.  His  dress  concealed  the  blood, 
and  his  smile  the  rag-e  which  devoured 
him.  His  domestics  perceived,  by  the 
manner  in  which  he  approached  his  car- 
riaii'e,  that  their  master  was  not  in  the 
best  of  humors;  the  result  of  their  dis- 
cernment was,  that  his  orders  were  exe- 
cuted with  that  exactitude  of  maneuver 
wiiich  is  found  on  board  a  man-of-war, 
commanded  during"  a  storm  by  a  passion- 
ate captain.  The  carriag-e,  therefore,  did 
not  simply  roll  along,  but  flew.  Fouquet 
had  hardly  had  time  to  recover  himself 
dui"ing  the  drive ;  on  his  arrival  he  went 
at  once  to  Aramis,  who  had  not  yet  re- 
tired for  the  night.  As  for  Porthos,  he 
had  supped  very  agreeably  from  a  roast 
leg-  of  mutton,  two  pheasants,  and  a  per- 
fect 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  com- 
pleted, he  was  wrapped  in  flannels  and 
placed  in  a  warm  bed.  Aramis,  as  we 
have  alread}'^  said,  had  not  retired.  Seated 
at  his  ease  in  a  velvet  dressing-g-own,  he 
wrote  letter  after  letter  in  that  fine  and 
hurried  handwriting-,  a  page  of  which  con- 
tained a  quarter  of  a  volume.  The  door 
was  thrown  hurriedlj^  open,  and  the  sur- 
intendant  appeared,  pale,  agfitated,  and 
anxious.  Aramis  looked  up  :  ''Good-even- 
ing-," said  he;  and  his  searching- look  de- 
tected his  host's  sadness  and  disordered 
state  of  mind.  ''Was  the  play  g-ood  at 
his  majesty's?"  asked  Aramis,  as  a  way 
of  beg-innmg:  the  conversation. 

Fouquet  threw  himself  upon  a  couch, 
and  then  pointed  to  the  door  to  the  ser- 


vant who  had  followed  him ;  when  the 
servant  had  left  he  said,  •'  Excellent." 

Aramis,  who  had  followed  every  move- 
ment with  his  eyes,  noticed  that  he 
stretched  himself  upon  the  cushions  with 
a  sort  of  feverish  impatience.  "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  bad 
player  I  " 

"  There  is  play  and  pla}',  Monsieur 
d'Herblay." 

"  How  much  have  you  lost  ?  "  inquired 
Aramis,  wdth  a  slight  uneasiness. 

Fouquet  collected  himself  a  moment, 
and  then,  without  the  slightest  emotion, 
said,  "  The  evening-  has  cost  me  four 
millions,"  and  a  bitter  laug-h  drowned  the 
last  vibration  of  these  words, 

Aramis,  who  did  not  expect  such  an 
amount,  dropped  his  pen.  "  Four  mil- 
lions !  "  he  said  ;  "  you  have  lost  four 
millions — impossible  I  " 

"  Monsieur  Colbert  held  vciy  cards  for 
me,"  replied  the  surintendant,  with  a 
similar  bitter  laug-h. 

"  Ah,  now  I  understand  ;  so,  so,  a  new 
apphcation  for  funds  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  from  the  king-'s  own  lips.  It 
is  impossible  to  destroy  a  man  with  a  more 
charming-  smile.  What  do  3'ou  think  of 
it?" 

"  It  is  clear  that  3'our  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  mil- 
lions." 

"  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  Monsieur  Fouquet." 

"  M^^  dear  D'Herblay,  if  you  knew  the 
contents  of  my  coffers,  you  would  be  less 
easy," 

"  And  3'ou  promised  ?  " 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  " 

'^That's  true." 


383 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  The  ver3'  da\'  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 
man3'  days  hence  have  you  promised  these 
four  millions  ?  " 

*•  In  thr-ee  days;  the  king  seemed  ex- 
ceed in.cly  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 
wortli  the  trouble,"  said  Aramis,  calmly, 
sprinkling  some  sand  over  the  letter  he 
had  just  written. 

•*  Suggest  a  I'emedy,  then,  for  this  evil 
without  a  remedy." 

"There  is  onh^  one  remedj^  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  tiie  revenue,  is  rare.  Besides, 
admitting  that  I  pa^'  this  time,  how  can 
I  do  so  on  another  occasion  ?  "When 
kinas  have  tasted  money,  they  are  like 
tigers  who  have  tasted  flesh,  the^'  devour 
everything.  The  day  will  arrive — must 
arrive — when  I  shall  have  to  say,  'Im- 
possible, sire,'  and  on  that  vQvy  da^-  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  strug- 
gled successfully  with  the  Cardinal  Riche- 
lieu, who  was  king  of  France — nay  more 
— cardinal." 

"Where  are  m\'  armies,  m3^  troops,  m\' 
treasures?     I  have  not  even  Belle-Isle." 

"  Bah  !  necessity  is  the  mother  of  in- 
vention, 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  m^'  office  of  inventor." 

"Then  I  will." 

"  Be  it  so.  But  then,  set  to  Avork  with- 
out dekn"." 

"  Oh  !  we  have  time  enough  !  " 

"  You  kill  me,  D'Herblay,  with  3-our 
calmness,"  said  the  surintendant,  passing 
his  handkerchief  over  his  face. 

"  Do  3'ou  not  remember  that  I  one  day 
told  you  not  to- make  3'ourself  uneas3', 
if  3^ou  possess  but  courage.  Have  3'ou 
any  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  Then  don't  make  3^ourself  uneas3^" 

"It  is  decided  then,  that,  at  the  last 
moment,  3'ou  will  come  to  my  assistance." 

"It  will  onl3'  be  the  repa3anent  of  a 
debt  I  owe  30U.'' 

"  It  is  the  vocation  of  financiers  to  an- 
ticipate tlie  wants  of  men  such  as  your- 
self, D'Herblay." 

"  If  obligingness  is  the  vocation  of  finan- 
ciers, charity  is  a  virtue  of  the  clerg3'. 
Onl\',  on  this  occasion,  do  yon  act,  mon- 
sieur. You  ai'e  not  3'et  sufficientl3'  re- 
duced, and  at  the  last  moment  we  shall 
see  what  is  to  be  done." 

"We  shall  see  then  in  a  ver3''  short 
time." 

"  Ver3^  well.  However,  permit  me  to 
tell  3'Ou  that  personall3'",  I  regret  exceed- 
ing! 3^  that  3'ou  are  at  present  so  short  of 
mone3',  because  I  was  myself  about  to  ask 
3^0 u  for  some." 

"  For  yourself  ?" 

"  For  m3self,  or  some  of  m3''  people,  for 
mine  or  for  ours." 

"How  much  do  3^0 u  want  ?  " 

"Be  eas3'^  on  that  score;  a  roundish 
sum,  it  is  true,  but  not  too  exorbitant." 

'•Tell  me  the  amount." 

"  Fift3'  thousand  francs." 

"  Oh  !  a  mere  nothing.  Of  course  one 
has  always  50,000  francs.  Wh3'  the  deuce 
cannot  that  knave  Colbert  be  as  easil3' 
satisfied  as  3"ou  are  ;  and  I  should  give 
myself  far  less  ti'ouble  than  I  do.  When 
do  3'Ou  need  this  .sum  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning  ;  but  3'ou  require 
to  know  its  destination." 


THE     VI  CO  MTU    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


383 


"Naj',  nay,  chevalier,  I  need  no  ex- 
planation." 

•'  To-tnorrow  is  tlie  first  of  June." 

'-'Well?" 

"  One  of  our  bonds  becoines  due." 

'•'  I  did  not  know  \ve  had  any  bonds." 

'•'  Certainly  ;  to-morrow  we  paN^  our  last 
third  instalment," 

''  What  third  ?  " 

"  Of  the  150,000  to  Baisemeaux." 

"  B;nsemeaux — who  is  he  ?  " 

"The  g-overnor  of  the  Bastille." 

"  Yes,  I  remember ;  on  what  g-rounds 
am  I  to  pay  150,000  for  that  man  ?  " 

"  On  account  of  the  appointment  which 
he,  or  rather  Ave,  purchased  from  Louviere 
and  Tremblay." 

*•'!  have  a  very  vague  recollection  of 
the  whole  matter." 

"  Tliat  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  afterward  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  under- 
stand 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  g-ov- 
ernor of  the  Bastille." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,  monseig- 
neur :  we  are  ver}''  much  exposed  to  pay- 
ing- the  Bastille  a  visit,"  added  the  pre- 
late, 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  mone}''  at  bet- 
ter interest  than  that." 

"  The  day  will  come  when  you  will  ad- 
mit 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  Baise- 
meaux has  not  a  courtier's  heart.  lam 
certain,  my  lord,  that  he  will  not  remain 
ungrateful  for  that  money,  without  taking 
into  account,  I  repeat,  that  I  retain  the 
acknowledg-ments." 

"  It  is  a  stransre  affair,  usury  in  a  mat- 
ter of  benevolence  ! " 

"  Do  not  mix  yourself  up  with  it,  mon- 
seig-neur ;  if  there  be  usury,  it  is  I  who 
practice  it,  and  both  of  us  reap  the  advan- 
tage 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  accom- 
plices 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  130,- 
000  francs  will  never  pa 3"  m}'  four  millions 
for  me  !  " 

"  AYhy  not,  monseigneur  ?  " 

"  Good-night ;  I  have  business  to  trans- 
act with  my  clerks  before  I  retire." 

"A  good  night's  rest,  monseigneur." 

"D'Herblay,  3^ou  wish  that  which  is 
impossible." 

"Shall  I  have  my  50,000  francs  this 
evening-?  " 

"Yes." 

"Go  to  sleep,  then,  in  perfect  safety;  it 
is  I  v.ho  tell  you  to  do  so." 

Notwithstanding  this  assurance,  and  the 
tone  in  which  it  was  g-iven,  Fouquet  left 
the  room  shaking  his  head,  and  heaving- a 
sigh. 


CHAPTER  XCVin, 

M.     BAISEMEAUX     DE     MONTLEZUN's 
ACCOUNTS. 

The  clock  of  St.   Paul's  was   striking 
seven   as   Aramis,  on  horseback,  dressed 


384 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


as  a  simple  citizen — that  is  to  say,  in  a 
colored  suit,  with  no  distinctive  marl^ 
about  him,  except  a  kind  of  hunting-- 
knife  by  his  side — passed  before  theSti-eet 
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  difiicultj'  about 
admitting-  Aramis,  who  entered  without 
dismounting,  and  the3''  pointed  out  the  way 
he  was  to  go  by  a  long  passage  with  build- 
ings on  both  sides.  This  passage  led  to 
the  drawbridge,  or,  in  other  words,  to  the 
real  entrance.  The  drawbridge  was  down, 
and  the  duty  of  the  day  w^as  about  being 
entered  upon.  The  sentinel  on  duty  at 
the  outer  guard-house  stopped  Aramis' 
further  progress,  asking  him,  in  a  rough 
tone  of  voice,  what  had  brought  him  there. 
Aramis  explained,  wnth  his  usual  polite- 
ness, that  a  wish  to  speak  to  M.  Baise- 
meaux  de  Montlezun  had  occasioned  his 
visit.  The  first  sentinel  then  suuimoned  a 
second  sentinel,  stationed  within  an  inner 
lodge,  who  showed  his  face  at  the  grating, 
and  inspected  the  new  arrival  very  atten- 
tiveh".  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  in  a  toler- 
ably' spacious  courtj^ard,  and  who,  in  his 
turn,  on  being  informed  of  liis  object,  ran 
to  seek  one  of  the  officers  of  the  governor's 
staff. 

The  latter,  after  having  listened  to 
Aramis'  request,  begged  him  to  wait  a 
moment,  then  went  away  a  short  dis- 
tance, but  returned  to  ask  his  name.  "  1 
cannot  tell  it  you,  monsieur,"  said  Aramis; 
''I  would  onl3'  mention  that  I  liave  mat- 
ters of  such  importance  to  communicate 
to  tlie  governor,  that  I  can  only  rel^'  be- 
foreliand  upon  one  thing,  that  M.  de  Baise- 
meaux  will  be  delighted  to  see  me ;  na.y, 
more  than  that,  when  you  shall  have  told 
him  that  it  is  the  person  whom  he  ex- 
pected on  the  1st  of  June,  lam  convinced 
he  will  hasten  here  himself."  The  officer 
could  not  possibly  believe  that  a  man  of 
the  governor's  importance  should  put  him- 
self 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  just  going 
out,  and  you  can    perceive  his  carriage, 
witii  the  horses  already  harnessed,  in  the 
courtj^ard  yonder  ;  there"  will  be  no  occa- 
sion for  him  to  come  to  meet  you,  as  he 
will  see  you  as  he  passes  by."     Aramis 
bowed   to  signif}'  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 
hardl3''  elapsed  when  the  govei-nor's  car- 
riage w^as  observed  to  move.     The  gov- 
ernor appeared  at  the  door,  got  into  the 
carriage,  which  immediately  prepared  to 
start.     The  same  ceremony  was  observed 
for  the  governor  himself  as  had  been  the 
case  w'ith  a  suspected   stranger  :  the  sen- 
tinel at  the  lodge  advanced  as  the  carriage 
was   about   to  pass  under  the  arch,  and 
the  g'overnor   opened   the   carriage- door, 
himself  setting  the  example  of  obedience 
to  orders ;  so  that,  in  this  way,  the  senti- 
nel could    convince    himself  that  no  one 
quitted  the  Bastille  improper]3\     The  car- 
riage r-oUed  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  some- 
thing to  the  governor,  who  immediately 
put  his  head  out  of  the  doorwaj^  and  per- 
ceived 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  his  carriage,    run- 
ning  toward   Aramis,    whose    hands    he 
seized,  making  a  thousand  apologies.    He 
almost   kissed   him.     "'  What   a   difficult 
matter  to  enter  the  Bastille  !  "  said  Ara- 
mis.    "^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,  m,y  lord.  How 
deligiited  I  am  to  see  your  grace." 

"Hush!  What  are  you  tliinking  of, 
1113'  dear  M.  Baisemeaux,  what  do  30U 
suppose  would  be  thought  of  a  bishop  in 
1113'  present  costume  ?  " 

'•Pra3'  excuse  .  me,  1  had  forgotten. 
Take  this  gentleman's  horse  to  the 
stables,"  cried  Baisemeaux, 

"  No,  no,"  said  Aramis,  "  I  have  5,000 
pistoles  in  the  pormanteau," 


>     li 


I 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


385 


The  g-overnor's  countenance  became  so 
radiant,  that  if  the  prisoners  had  seen 
him,  they  would  have  imagined  some 
prince  of  the  blood  ro3^al  had  arrived. 
•'Yes,  3'ou  are  right,  the  horse  shall  be 
taken  to  the  government  house.  Will 
you  get  into  tl)e  carriage,  my  dear  M. 
d'Herblay,  and  it  shall  take  us  back  to 
my  house.'' 

'•  Get  into  a  carriage  to  cross  a  court- 
yard I  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  ac- 
cept it.  The\'  arrived  in  this  manner  at 
the  government  house,  Baisemeaux  rub- 
bing 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  gov- 
ernor'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  court- 
yard and  the  stables.  Baisemeaux  in- 
stalled the  prelate  with  that  obsequious 
politeness  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  gover- 
nor 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  de- 
votion ;  and  the  soldier  having  left  the 
room,  Baisemeaux  himself  closed  the 
door  after  him.  drew  aside  one  of  the 
window-curtains,  and  looked  stead fastl}^ 
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 
ov\y,  but  a  duty  as  well." 

"  Yes,  in  matters  of  business,  certainly; 
but  what  3'ou  have  with  me  is  not  of  that 
Dumas — 13 


character,  it  is  a  service  you  are  render- 
ing me." 

'•  Come,  confess,  dear  M.  de  Baise- 
meaux, that,  notwithstanding  this  exacti- 
tude, you  have  not  been  without  a  little 
uneasiness." 

''About  your  health,  I  certainly  have," 
stammered  out  Baisemeaux. 

"  I  wished  to  come  here  yesterday,  but 
I  was  not  able,  as  I  was  too  fatigued," 
continued  Aramis.    Baisemeaux  a nxiousl^^ 
slipped  another  cushion  behind  his  guest's 
back.       "But,"    continued    Aramis,    "I 
pi-omised  mj'self  to  come  and  pay  you  a 
visit  to-da3%  earl}'  in  the  morning." 
"  You  are  really  very  kind,  my  lord." 
"  And  it  was  a  good  thing  for  me  that  I 
was  punctual,  I  think." 
"  W^hat  do  3'ou  mean  ?  " 
"Yes,  \'ou  were  g"oing  out." 
At   which   latter    remaik   Baisemeaux 
colored  and  said,  "  Yes,  it  is  true  I  was 
going  out." 

"Then  I  prevent  you,"  said  Aramis; 
whereupon  the  embarrassment  of  Baise- 
meaux became  visibly  greater.  "  I  am 
putting  you  to  inconvenience,"  he  con- 
tinued, fixing  a  keen  glance  upon  the  poor 
governor;  "  if  1  had  known  that,  I  should 
not  have  come." 

"How  can  your  lordship  imagine  that 
\'ou  could  ever  inconvenience  me  ?  " 

"  Confess  3'ou  were  going  in  search  of 
money." 

"No,"  stammered  out  Baisemeaux, 
"no  I  I  assure  you  I  was  going  to — " 

"  Does  the  governor  still  intend  to  go 
to  M.  Fouquet,"  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.  Fou- 
quet? ate  you  drunk  below  there;  \\\\y 
am  I  interru-pted  when  I  am  engaged  on 
business  ?  " 

"You  were  going  to  M.  Fouquet's," 
said  Aramis,  biting  his  hps,  "to  M.  Fou- 
quet, the  abbe,  or  the  surintendant  ?  " 

Baisemeaux  almost  made  up  his  mind 
to  tell  an  untruth,  but  he  could  not  sum- 
mon courage  to  do  so.  "  To  the  surin- 
tendant," he  said. 

"It  is  true,  then,  that  3'ou  were  in  want 


386 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


of  money,  since  you  were  g'oing-  to  the 
person  who  gives  it  away  ?  " 

"  I  assure  ^'ou,  my  lord — " 

"  You  are  suspicious  of  me." 

'•  M}'  dear  lord,  it  was  the  uncertainty 
and  ig-norance  in  which  I  was  as  to  where 
you  were  to  be  found." 

''  You  would  have  found  the  money  you 
require  at  M.  Fouquet's,  for  he  is  a  man 
whose  hand  is  always  open." 

"  I  swear  that  I  should  never  have 
ventured  to  ask  M.  Fouquet  for  money. 
I  only  wished  to  ask  him  for  your  ad- 
dress." 

'''  To  ask  M.  Fouquet  for  my  address  ?  " 
exclaimed  Aramis,  opening  his  e3^es  in  real 
astonishment. 

''Yes,"  said  Baisemeaux,  g-reatly  dis- 
turbed b}'  the  g-lance  which  the  prelate 
fixed  upon  him,  "  at  M.  Fouquet's,  cer- 
tainh'. " 

"There  is  no  harm  in  that,  dear  M. 
Baisemeaux,  onh"  I  would  ask,  why  ask 
my  address  of  M.  Fouquet  ?  " 

"  That  I  might  write  to  you." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Aramis,  smiling, 
"but  that  is  not  what  I  meant ;  I  do  not 
ask  you  w^hat  you  required  mj^  address 
for,  I  onl}^  ask  why  you  should  g-o  to  M. 
Fouquet  for  it  ?  " 

"Oh!"  said  Baisemeaux,  "as  Belle- 
Isle  is  the  propert^^  of  M.  Fouquet,  and 
as  Belle-Isle  is  in  the  diocese  of  Vannes, 
and  as  you  are  bishop  of  Vannes — " 

"But,  my  dear  Baisemeaux,  since  yon 
knew  I  was  bishop  of  Vannes,  you  had  no 
occasion  to  ask  M.  Fouquet  for  my  ad- 
dress." 

"Weil,  monsieur,"  said  Baisemeaux, 
completeU'  at  bay,  "  if  1  have  acted 
indiscreetl3',  I  beg  your  pardon  most 
sincerely." 

"  Nonsense,"  observed  Aramis,  calmly  ; 
"  how  can  you  possibly  have  acted  indis- 
creetly ?  "  And  while  he  composed  his 
face,  and  continued  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," 
he  said  to  himself  :  and  then  speaking 
aloud,  added,  "Well,  my  dear  governor, 
shall  we  now  arrangre  our  little  accounts  ?" 


"  I  am  at  your  orders,  my  lord  ;  but  tell 
me  beforehand,  my  lord,  whether  you  will 
do  me  the  honor  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  accordingl}'." 

"  And  30U  rang  thrice.  Reality,  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  wwj  I  can." 

"  But  why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  not  a  prince,  even,  could  have 
done  what  you  have  done  for  me." 

"Nonsense,  nonsense  !  " 

"'  Na}',  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." 

"  Yes,  I  see ;  3'ou  require  a  gfovern- 
ment  full  of  suspicion — like  that  of  the 
old  cardinal,  for  instance." 

"Yes;  mattei's  went  on  better  under 
him.  The  brother  of  his  '  gray  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  car- 
dinal. 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  3'ou  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  g-entlemen,  I 
assure  you  that  I  give  them  everything 
I  gain.  I  told  M.  d'Artagnan  so  yester- 
dav  evening." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


381 


"Ah  1  ■'  exclaimed  Aram  is,  whose  eyes 
sparkled  for  a  moment,  but  became  im- 
mediately afterward  as  unmoved  as  be- 
fore ;  "  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  g-overnor, 
not  perceiving-  his  own  thoughtlessness: 
•'•'I  told  him  that  I  fed  my  prisoners  too 
well." 

'•'How  many  have  j'ou  ?  "  inquired 
Aramis,  in  an  indifferent  tone  of  voice. 

•'••  Sixty." 

'•'  "Well,  that  is  a  tolerably  round  num- 
ber." 

'•'  In  former  j^ears,  vaj  lord,  there  w^ere, 
during  cei'tain  years,  as  many  as  two 
hundred." 

"  Still  a  minimum  of  sixty  is  not  to  be 
grumbled  at." 

''Perhaps  not:  for,  to  an^^bod}'  but 
myself,  each  prisoner  would  bring  in  two 
hundred  and  fiily  pistoles ;  for  instance, 
for  a  prince  of  the  blood  I  have  fift}* 
francs  a  da3\"' 

'•  Only  3'ou  have  no  prince  of  the  blood  ; 
at  least,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Aramis,  with 
a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"  No,  thank  Heaven  I — I  mean,  no,  un- 
f  ortunatel\\  " 

"What  do  3'ou  mean  by  unfortunately?" 

"  Because  my  appointment  would  be 
improved  hj  it.  So,  fifty  francs  per  day 
for  a  prince  of  the  blood,  thirt^^-six  for  a 
marechal  of  France — " 

"But  you  have  as  many  marechals  of 
France,  I  suppose,  as  you  have  princes  of 
the  blood  ?" 

"  Alas  I  yes ;  it  is  true  that  lieutenant- 
generals  aad  brigadiers  pay  twenty-six 
francs,  and  I  have  two  of  them.  After 
hat  come  the  councilors  of  the  parlia- 
nent,  who  bring  me  fifteen  francs,  and  I 
have  six  of  them." 

"  I  did  not  know,"  said  Aramis,  "  that 
councilors  were  so  productive." 

"Yes;  but  from  fifteen  francs,  I  sink 
at  once  to  ten  francs:  namely,  for  an 
ordinary"  judge,  or  for  an  ecclesiastic." 

"  And  3'ou  have  seven,  jou  say :  an 
excellent  affair." 


'•'  Na3',  a  bad  one,  and  for  this  reason. 
How  can  I  possibly  treat  these  poor  fel- 
lows who  are  of  some  good,  at  all  events, 
otherwise  than  as  a  councilor  of  the  par- 
liament ?"• 

••  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  frahcs  for  it ;  if  I  get  a 
fine  fowl,  it  costs  me  a  franc  and  a  half.  I 
fatten  a  good  deal  of  poultrj-,  but  I  have 
to  buy  grain,  and  3'ou  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  w^ay  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  ap- 
petites; the}"  eat  as  much  as  a  prisoner 
of  the  fifth  order,  without  taking  into 
account  the  rabbits  and  fowis  they  kill." 

Was  Aramis  really  listening  or  not  ? 
Xo  one  could  have  told ;  his  downcast 
eyes  showed  the  attentive  man,  but  tlie 
restless  hana  ^^e^ra^-ed  the  man  absorbed 
in  thought — Aramis  was  meditating. 

"  I  was  saying,"  continued  Baise- 
meaux, "that  a  tolerable-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  I  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  gov- 
ernor ;  but  have  you  no  prisoners  below 
ten  francs  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  I  w^e  have  citizens  and  bar- 
risters taxed  at  five  francs." 

"  And  do  they  eat,  too  ?  " 

'•'Not  a  doubt  about  it  :  onlvvou under- 


388 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


stand  they  do  not  get  fish  or  poultry,  nor 
rich  wines  at  every  meal ;  but  at  all  events 
thrice  a  week  they  have  a  good  dish  at 
their  dinner." 

' '  Really,  you  are  quite  a  philanthropist, 
my  dear  g-overnor,  and  you  Avill  ruin  your- 
self." 

''No  ;  undei'stand  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  chari- 
table, 3^ou  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  bailiff's 
clerks,  who  are  rated  at  three  francs. 
Those  do  not  often  see  Rhine  carp  or 
Channel  sturg-eon." 

"  But  do  not  the  five-franc  g-entlemen 
sometimes  leave  some  scraps  ?  " 

"  Oh  :  my  lord,  do  not  believe  I  am  so 
sting-y  as  that  :  I  delig-ht  the  heart  of 
some  poor  little  trades'".irn  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  ex- 
cept 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  Bas- 
tille ;  with  a  couple  of  bottles  of  cham- 
pagne, 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  j^ou 
know  that  I  have  remarked,  and  it  does 
me  infinite  honor,  that  certain  prisoners, 
who  have  been  set  at  liberty,  have,  almost 
immediately  afterward,  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. 

"You  smile,"  said  Baisemeaux. 

*'I  do,"  returned  Aramis. 

"  I  tell  you  that  we  have  names  which 
have  been  mscribed  on  our  books  thrice  %n 
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." 

'•  Ver}'  well,"  said  Baisemeaux,  and  he 
took  out  of  a  cupboard  a  large  register. 
Aramis  followed  him  most  anxiousl}^  with 
his  eyes,  and  Baisemeaux  retui-ned,  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,  166 1.  Mazarinades, 
etc.;  you  understand  it  was  only  a  pre- 
text ;  people  were  not  sent  to  the  Bastille 
for  jokes  against  M.  Mazarin ;  the  fellow 
denounced  himself  in  order  to  get  impris- 
oned here." 

"  And  what  was  his  object  ?  " 

"  None  other  than  to  return  to  ray 
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,  continuing  to  read 
the  names,  but  without  appearing  to  take 
any  interest  in  the  names  he  read. 

"  In  1661,  you  perceivie,"  said  Baise- 
meaux, "eighty  entries;  and  in  1659, 
eighty  also." 

"Ah  !  "  said  Aramis.  "  Seldon  ;  I  seem 
to  know  that  name.  Was  it  not  you  who 
spoke  to  me  about  a  certain  3'^oung  man?" 

"  Yes,  a  poor  devil  of  a  student,  who 
made — What  do  you  call  that  where  two 
Latin  verses  rhj^me  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  punish- 
ment seems  ver,y  severe." 

"  Do  not  pity  him  ;  last  year  you 
seemed  to  interest  j'ourself  in  hi;n." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


389 


"Yes,  I  did  so." 

"  Well,  as  3^oui'  interest  is  all-powerful 
here,  1113^  lord,  I  have  treated  him  since 
that  time  as  a  prisoner  at  fifteen  francs.'' 

''The  same  as  this  one,  then,"  said 
Aramis,  who  had  continued  turning-  over 
the  leaves,  and  wiio  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  fing-er  to  the 
name  which  had  attracted  his  attention. 

"Hush  !  "  said  Baisemeaux. 

"Wh^Miush?"  said  Aramis,  involun- 
tarily' clenching-  his  white  hand. 

"I  thought  I  had  alread3'  spoken  to 
3^ou  about  that  Marchiali." 

"  No  ;  it  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard 
his  name  pronounced." 

"  Tliat  ma}'  be  ;  but  I  ma}'  have  spoken 
to  3'ou  about  him  without  naming  him.'" 

"Is  he  an  old  offender?"  asked  Ara- 
mis, attempting  to  smile. 

"On  the  contrar}',  he  is  quite  young." 

"  Is  his  crime,  then,  ver3'  heinous  ?  " 

"'  Unpardonable." 

"  Has  he  assassinated  an3'  one  ?  " 

"  Bah  !  " 

"  An  incendiar\-,  then  ?  " 

"Bah!" 

"  Has  he  slandered  an3'  one  ?  " 

"' No,  no  !  It  is  he  who — "  and  Baise- 
meaux approached  Aramis'  ear,  making- 
a  sort  of  ear-trumpet  of  his  hands,  and 
whispered,  "  It  is  he  who  presumes  to  re- 
semble the — " 

"Yes,  3'es,"  said  Aramis,  "I  now  re- 
member vou  alread3'  spoke  about  it  last 
3-ear  to  me  ;  but  the  crime  appeared  to 
me  so  slight." 

"'  Slight,  do  3'ou  sa3'  ?  " 

"Or  rather,  so  involuntary." 

"  M3'  lord,  it  is  not  involuntarily  that 
such  a  resemblance  is  detected." 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  I  had  forgotten  it. 
But,  m\'  dear  host,"  said  Aramis,  closing 
the  register,  "  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  we 
are  summoned." 

Baisemeaux  took  the  reg-ister,  hastil}' 
restored  it  to  its  place  in  the  closet,  which 
he  closed,  and  put  the  ke3'  in  his  pocket. 
*'  Will  it  be  agreeable  to  your  lordship  to 
breakfast  now  ?  "  said  he  :   "  for  vou  are 


right   in   supposing-   that    breakfast   was 
announced." 

"  Assuredl3',   m3'   dear  governor,"  and 
they  passed  into  the  dining--room. 


CHAPTER  XCIX. 

THE    BREAKFAST    OF    MONSIEUR   DE 
BAISEMEAUX. 

Aramis  was  generall}'  temperate  ;  but, 
on  this  occasion,  while  taking  ever3'  care 
with  regard  to  himself,  he  did  ample  jus- 
tice to  Baisemeaux's  breakfast,  which,  in 
ever3'  respect,  was  most  excellent.  The 
latter,  on  his  side,  was  animated  with  the 
wildest  gaN'et}';  the  sig'ht  of  the  five  thou- 
sand pistoles,  which  he  g-lanced  at  from 
time  to  time,  seemed  to  open  his  heart. 
Ever}'  now  and  then  he  looked  at  Aramis 
with  .  an  expression  of  the  deepest  g-rati- 
tude ;  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  e\'es  ;  "  happ}^  are  the  prison- 
ers who  can  g-et  only  half  a  bottle  of  this 
Burg-und}'  everx'  da\'." 

"'  All  those  at  fifteen  francs  drink  it," 
said  Baisemeaux.  "  It  is  ver3'  old  Vol- 
nay." 

"'  Does  that  poor  student,  Seldon,  drink 
such  g-ood  wine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  " 

"I  thought  I  heard  3'ou  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  neighbor  who  is 
at  fifteen  francs." 

"'  Which  neighbor  ?  " 

"'  The  other,  the  second  Bertaudiere." 

"  Excuse  me,  m3'  dear  g-overnor  :  but 
3'ou  speak  a  languag-e  which  requires  an 
apprenticeship  to  understand." 

"'  Ver}'  true,"  said  the  governor.  "  Al- 
low me  to  explain  : — the  second  Bertau- 
diere is  the  person  who  occupies  the  second 
fioor  of  the  tower  of  the  Bertaudiere." 

"'  So  'that  Bertaudiere  is  the  name  of 


390 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


one  of  the  towers  of  the  Bastille  ?  The 
fact  is,  I  think  I  recollect  hearing-  that 
each  tower  has  a  name  of  its  own.  Where- 
abouts 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,  nearl3^" 

"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  Lou- 
viere  or  Tremblay  would  have  told  you." 

"The  secrets  of  the  Bastille  are  never 
handed  over  with  the  ke3^s  of  the  gover- 
norship of  it." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  the  cause  of  his  im- 
prisonment is  a  mystery — a  state  secret." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  do  not  suppose  it  is  a  state 
secret,  but  a  secret  like  everything  else 
that  happens  at  the  Bastille." 

"But,"  said  Aramis,  "why  do  3'ou 
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  3^our  pris- 
oners? " 

"  Of  course." 

"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  j^ou 
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,  m}^  dear 
M.  Baisemeaux.  Let  me  give  you  another 
taste  of  this  Volnay." 

"  Not  a  taste  merely,  a  full  glass  ;  fill 
yours,  too." 

"  Naj',   nay !      You   are    a    musketeer 


still,  to  the  very  tips  of  3'our  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  Ara- 
mis, looking  with  fixed  attention  at  the 
rubj^-colored  wine  he  had  raised  to  the 
level  of  his  e^^es,  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  resem- 
blance of  3^ our  own  creation." 

"  Upon  my  honor,  it  is  not  so." 

"  Sta}',"  continued  Aramis.  "I  have 
seen  many  persons  verj^  like  the  one  we 
are  speaking-  of ;  but,  out  of  respect,  no 
one  ever  said  anything  about  it." 

"Very  likely;  because  there  is  resem- 
blance and  resemblance.  This  is  a  strik- 
ing 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  m.y  foot 
inside  one  of  those  horrible  dungeons,  I 
should  fancy  I  was  buried  there  forever." 

"No,  no;  the  cells  are  very  good  as 
places  to  live  in." 

"  I  reaUy  do  not,  and  cannot,  believe  it, 
and  that  is  a  fact." 

"Pray  do  not  speak  ill  of  the  second 
Bertaudiere.  It  is  reall.y  a  good  room, 
ver3'^  nicely  furnished  and  carpeted.  The 
3^oung  fellow  has  bv  no  means  been  un- 
happy there  ;  the  best  lodging  the  Bastille 
affords  has  been  his.  There  is  a  chance 
for  you." 

"  Na.y,  nay,"  said  Aramis,  coldlj^ ;  "  yow 
will  never  make  me  believe  there  are  any 
good  rooms  in  the  Bastille  ;  and,  as  for 
your  carpets,  .thej'- exist  onl\' in  your  im- 
agination. I  should  find  nothing  but 
spiders,  rats,  and  perhaps  toads,  too." 
"  Toads  ?  "  said  Baisemeaux. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


391 


"  Yes,  in  the  dung-eons." 

"  Ah  !  I  don't  say  tliere  are  not  toads 
in  the  dungeons,"  repUed  Baisemeaux. 
'*  But  —  will  you  be  convinced  by  your 
own  eyes?"  he  continued,  with  sudden 
impulse. 

"  No,  certainh^  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  3'oung  fellow  as  ever  lived." 

'•'Melancholy  and  ill-tempered,  then  ?  " 

"Not  at  all ;  very  gay  and  lively." 

"  Nonsense  ;  you  are  joking." 

"Will  you  follow  me?"  said  Baise- 
meaux. 

'•What  for?" 

"To  go  the  round  of  the  Bastille." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"You  will  thini  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  bolts  makes 
me  shudder.  You  will  onl}"  have  to  for- 
get me  in  the  second  or  fourth  Bertau- 
diere,  and  then — " 

"  You  are  refusing  an  opportunity  that 
ma\'  never  present  itself  again.  Do  you 
know  that,  to  obtain  the  favor  I  propose 
to  you  gratis,  some  of  the  princes  of  the 
blood  have  offered  me  as  much  as  fift}- 
thousand  francs." 

"'  Realh'  !  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  curiosit}-,  it  would 
be  to  see  the  poor  author  of  the  dis- 
tich." 

'•  Verj^  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  ver3''  commonplace  ;  and 


a  face  with  no  expression  in  it  offers  little 
or  no  interest," 

"But  a  boarder  at  fifteen  francs  is  al- 
ways interesting." 

"  By-the-by,  I  forgot  to  ask  you  about 
that,  Wh\-  fifteen  francs  for  him,  and 
onl3^  three  francs  for  poor  Seldon  ?  " 

"  The  distinction  made  in  that  instance 
was  a  truly  noble  act,  and  one  which  dis- 
played the  king's  goodness  of  heart  to 
great  advantage." 

"  The  king's,  you  say  ?  " 

"The  cardinal's,  1  mean;  'This  un- 
happy man,'  said  M.  Mazarin,  'is  des- 
tined to  remain  in  prison  forever,'  " 

•'Why  so?" 

"Why  it  seems  that  his  crime  is  a  last- 
ing one  ;  and,  consequentlj^  his  punish- 
ment 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  im- 
pure air  here." 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  ingenious  than 
3'our  train  of  reasoning,  ni}'  dear  M.  de 
Baisemeaux.  Do  you,  however,  mean  to 
sa3^  that  this  unfortunate  man  must  suffer 
without  interruption  or  termination  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  sa}^  he  was  to  suffer,  my 
lord  :  a  fifteen-franc  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  craw-fish 
from  the  river  Marne,  of  which  we  have 
hardly  taken  anj-,  and  which  are  almost 
as  large  as  lobsters  ;  all  these  things  will 
at  once  be  taken  to  the  second  Bertau- 
diere,  with  a  bottle  of  that  Volnay  which 
you  think  so  excellent.  After  you  have 
seen  it,  you  will  believe  it,  I  hope." 

"Yes,  my  dear  governor,  cei-tainly ; 
but  all  this  time  yo\i  are  thinking  only 
of  your  very  happy  fifteen-francs  pris- 
oner, and  you  forget  poor  Seldon,  my 
protege," 


392 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Well,  out  of  consideration  for  you,  it 
shall  be  a  g-ala  day  for  him  ;  he  shall  have 
some  biscuiis  and  preserves  with  this 
small  bottle  of  port." 

"•'  You  are  a  g"ood-heartod  fellow  ;  I  have 
said  so  already',  and  I  repeat  it,  m^'  dear 
Baiscmeaux. " 

"Well,  let  us  set  off,  then,"  said  the 
g-overnor,  a  litt  le  bewildered,  partly  from 
the  wine  he  had  drunk,  and  parth'  from 
Aramis'  praises. 

"Do  not  forget  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 
jailer,"  said  Baisemeaux,  as  he  struck 
the  bell  twice  ;  at  which  summons  a  man 
appeared.  "  I  am  going  to  visit  the  tow- 
ers," said  the  governor.  "No  guards, 
no  drums,  no  noise  at  all." 

"If  I  were  not  to  leave  m^^ cloak  here," 
said  Aramis,  pretending  to  be  alarmed, 
"  I  should  really  think  I  was  going  to 
prison  on  m^^  own  account."  The  jailer 
preceded  the  governor,  Aramis  walking 
on  his  right  hand;  some  of  the  soldiers 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  courtyard 
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  es- 
planade ;  thence  they  arrived  at  the 
drawbridge,  where  the  sentinels  on  dut}^ 
received  the  governor  with  the  proper 
honors.  The  governor  turned  toward 
Aramis,  and,  speaking  in  such  a  tone 
that  the  sentinels  could  not  lose  a  word 
he  said,  observed — "  I  hope  you  have  a 
good  inemory,  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  engineer  at 
Belle-Isle."  Then,  he  added  aloud,  "  Be 
easy  on  that  score,  monsieur  ;  in  our  pro- 


fession, a  mere  glance  and  a  good  mem- 
ory  are  quite   sufficient." 

Baisemeaux  did  not  change  counte- 
nance, and  the  soldiers  took  Aramis  for 
what  he  seemed  to  be.  "  Very  well :  we 
will  first  visit  la  Bertaudiere,"  said  Baise- 
meaux, still  intending  the  sentinels  to 
hear  him.  Then,  turning  to  the  jailer, 
he  added.  "  You  will  take  the  opportunity 
of  caiTxing  to  No.  2  the  few  dainties  I 
pointed  out." 

"  Dear  M.  de  Baisemeaux,"  said  Ara- 
mis, "you  are  alwaj^s  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  sensi- 
tive 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  j-ears  of  age  is,  who  has  been 
frequenth^  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  unhap- 
P3^  wretches  had  passed,  when  he  felt  him- 
self impregnated,  as  it  were,  with  the 
atmosphere  of  those  gloom}^  dungeons, 
moistened  with  tears,  there  could  be  but 
little  doubt  he  was  overcome  b\'  his  feel- 
ings, for  his  head  was  bowed  and  his  eyes 
became  dim,  as  he  followed  Baisemeaux 
without  uttering  a  syllable. 


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  j^ou  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,  eagerh^ 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


393 


"  higher,  if  you  please ;  the  one  above  is 
the  more  urg-ent."  They  continued  their 
ascent.  ''Ask  the  jailer  for  the  ke,vs  ?  " 
whispered  Aram  is.  Baisemeaux  did  so, 
took  the  ke\-s,  and,  himself,  opened  the 
door  of  the  third  room.  The  jailer  was 
the  first  to  enter ;  he  placed  upon  the 
table  the  provisions,  which  the  kind- 
hearted  g^overnor  called  dainties,  and  then 
left  the  room.  The  prisoner  had  not 
stirred  ;  Baisemeaux  then  entered,  while 
Aramis  remained  at  the  threshold,  from 
which  place  he  saw  a  youth  about  eig-hteeh 
years  of  age,  who,  raising  his  head  ai  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  be- 
trayed such  deep  distress,  that  Aramis, 
despite  his  command  over  himself,  felt  a 
shudder  pass  through  his  frame.  ''My 
dear  bo\',"  said  Baisemeaux,  endeavoring 
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." 

'•'Ob,  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  ni}' 
mother  again." 

"  But  I  have  heard  you  say  that  your 
mother  was  K^vy  poor,  and  that  3'ou  were 
ver3^  badly  lodged  when  you  were  living 
with  her,  while  here — upon  \ny  word  !  " 

"  If  she  were  poor,  monsieur,  the  greater 
reason  to  restore  her  only  means  of  sup- 
port to  her.  Badl\^  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  un- 
happ3"  distich — " 

'•  But  without  anj"  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,  "\'ou  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. 
"Unhappj-,  wretched  man  I  "  he  mur- 
mured. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  he  is  indeed  very 
wretched,"  said  the  jailer;  "but  it  is  his 
parents'  fault." 

"In  what  way?" 

"No  doubt.  Why  did  they  let  him  learn 
Latin  ?  Too  much  knowledge,  3'ou  see  ; 
it  is  that  which  does  harm.  Now  I,  for 
instance,  can't  read  or  write,  and  there- 
fore I  am  not  in  prison."  Aramis  looked 
at  the  man,  who  seemed  to  think  that 
being  a  jailer  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  jailer. 

"  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  3'ou  do  not  succeed,"  said 
Baisemeaux,  "at  least  beg  that  he  ma^^ 
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  Ara- 
mis, "  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 
he  never  says  a  word." 

"Let  us  go  in,  then,"  said  Aramis, 
gloomil3\ 

"  Are  \'ou  the  architect  of  the  prisons, 
monsieur  ?  "  said  the  jailer. 

'•I  am." 

'•  It  is  odd,  then,  that  \-ou  are  not  more 
accustomed  to  all  this." 

Aramis  perceived  that,  to  avoid  giving 
rise  to  an\'  suspicions,  he  must  summon 
all  his  strength  of  mind  to  his  assistance. 


394 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Baisemeaux,  who  carried  the  keys,  opened 
the  door.  '•  Stay  outside,"  he  said  to  the 
jailer,  "and  wait  for  us  at  the  bottom  of 
the  steps."  The  jailer  obe3'ed  and  with- 
drew. 

Baiseineaux  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  armchair,  and  all  the  npper  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  throug-h  a  shirt  of 
the  very  finest  cambric.  As  the  g-overnor 
entered,  the  young  man  turned  his  head 
with  a  look  full  of  indifference ;  and  on 
recognizing  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. 
Baisemeaux,  habituated  to  the  presence 
of  his  prisoner,  did  not  seem  to  share  an3' 
of  the  sensations  which  Aramis  experi- 
enced, but,  with  all  the  zeal  of  a  good  ser- 
vant, he  busied  himself  in  arranging-  on 
the  table  the  pastj^  and  crawfish  he  had 
brought  with  him.  Occupied  in  this  man- 
ner, he  did  not  remark  how  disturbed  his 
guest  had  become.  When  he  had  finished, 
however,  he  turned  to  the  3"0ung  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  al- 
most to  overpower  Aramis,  and,  notwith- 
standing his  command  over  himself,  he 
advanced  a  few  steps  toward  him,  with 
his  eyes  wide  open  and  his  lips  trembling. 
The  movement  he  made  was  so  marked 
that  Baisemeaux,  notwithstanding  his  oc- 
cupation, observed  it.  ''This  g-entleman 
is  an  architect  who  has  come  to  examine 
your  chimnej","  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  pi-ison ;  here,  however,  is  one 
who  is  so.  You  have  nothing-  to  complain 
of,  I  hope  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"Do  3'ou  ever  feel  wearied?"  said 
Aramis. 

"Never." 

"  Ha,  ha!  "  said  Baisemeaux,  in  a  low 
tone  of  voice  ;  ''  was  I  riglit  ?  " 

"Well,  m3'  dear*  governor,  it  is  impossi- 
ble not  to  yield  to  evidence.  Is  it  allowed 
to  put  any  questions  to  him  ?  " 

"  As  many  as  you  like." 

"  Very  well ;  be  g-ood  enough  to  ask 
him  if  he  knows  why  he  is  here." 

"This  gentleman  requests  me  to  ask 
3'ou,"  said  Baisemeaux,  "  if  you  are  aware 
of  the  cause  of  .your  imprisonment  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur,"  said  the  3-oung  man, 
unaffectedly,  "I  am  not." 

"  That  is  hardlj^  possible,"  said  Aramis, 
carried  away  by  his  feelings,  in  spite  of 
himself  ;  '"  if  j^ou  were  really  ig-norant  of 
the  cause  of  your  detention,  j^ou  would  be 
furious." 

"  I  w^as  so  during-  the  earlier  days  of 
my  imprisonment." 

"  Whj'^  are  j^ou  not  so  now  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  reflected." 
.  "That  is  strange,"  said  Aramis. 

•'  Is  it  not  odd  ?  "  said  Baisemeaux. 

"May  one  venture  to  ask  3'ou,  mon- 
sieur, on  what  3  ou  have  reflected  ?  " 

"  I  felt  that,  as  I  liad  committed  no 
crime.  Heaven  could  not  punisli  me." 

"What  is  a  prison,  then,"  inquired 
Aramis,  "jf  it  be  not  a  punishment?" 

"Alas  !  I  cannot  tell,"  said  the  3'oung- 
man  ;  "  all  that  I  can  tell  3'OU  now  is  the 
very  opposite  of  w^hat  I  felt  seven  years 
ago." 

"To  hear  3^ou  converse,  to  witness 
3'-our  resignation,  one  might  almost  be- 
lieve that  3-ou  liked  3^our  imprisonment." 

"  I  endure  it," 

"  In  the  certaint3^  of  recovering  your 
freedom  some  da3'^,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  certaint3'' ;  hope  I  have,  and 
that  is  all ;  and  yet  I  acknowledge  that 
this  hope  becomes  less  ever3'^  day." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


395 


"  Still,  wh}'  should  you  not  ag-aiu  be 
free,  since  you  have  already'  been  so  ?  " 

"' That  is  preciseh' the  reason,"  replied 
the  j'oung- man,  "which  prevents  me  ex- 
pecting- liberty  :  why  should  I  have  been 
imprisoned  at  all,  if  it  had  been  intended 
to  release  me  afterward  ?  " 

'•  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

••  I  do  not  know.'" 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

''I  have  forgotten  the  name  by  which  1 
was  called." 

'*  Who  are  your  parents  ?  " 

'•'  I  never  knew  them." 

"  But  those  who  brought  3-ou  up  ?  " 

'•'They  did  not  call  me  their  son." 

''  Did  you  ever  love  any  one  before 
coming  here  ?  " 

"■  I  loved  my  nurse,  and  my  flowers." 

*' W^as  that  all  ?  " 

"I  also  loved  my  valet." 

*'Do  you  regret  your  nurse  and  your 
valet?" 

"I  wept  \'evj  much  when  they  died." 

'•  Did  they  die  since  30U  have  been  here, 
or  before  3'ou  came  ?  " 

''  The}^  died  the  evening  before  I  was 
carried  off." 

'•  Both  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,  both  at  the  same  time." 

"  In  what  manner  were  you  carried 
off?" 

''A  man  came  for  me,  directed  me  to 
get  into  a  carriage,  which  was  closed  and 
locked,  and  broug"ht  me  here." 

"  Would  3'^ou  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  mur- 
mured. 

'•  But  what  is  still  more  extraordinary^ 
is,  that  he  has  never  told  me  so  much  as 
he  has  just  told  3'ou." 

"Perhaps  the  reason  may  be  that  j'ou 
have  never  questioned  him,"  said  Aramis. 

"It's  possible,"  replied  Baisemeaux: 
"  I  have  no  curiosity.  Have  3'ou  looked 
at  the  room  ;  it's  a  fine  one,  is  it  not  ?  " 

«<  Yery  much  so." 

"A  carpet — " 


"'  Beautiful." 

"  I'll  wager  he  had  nothing  like  it  be- 
foi'c  he  came  here." 

"  I  think  so,  too."  And  then,  again 
turning  toward  the  young  man,  he  said, 
"  Do  you  not  remember  to  have  been  vis- 
ited, 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  car- 
riage, and  entered  covered  with  a  veil, 
which  she  raised  when  we  were  tog'ether 
and  alone." 

"  Do  you  remember  that  woman  ?  " 

"Yes." 

••  What  did  she  say  to  you  ?  " 

The  3^oung  man  smiled  mournfully,  and 
then  replied  :  "She  inquired,  as  3'ou  have 
just  done,  if  I  were  happy,  and  if  I  were 
getting  wear3\" 

"  AVhat  did  she  do  on  arriving,  and  on 
leaving-  3'ou  ?  " 

"  She  pressed  me  in  her  arms,  held  me 
in  her  embrace,  and  kissed  me." 

"  Do  3'ou  remember  her?  " 

"Perfectly." 

"'  Do  you  recall  her  features  distinctly'  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  would  recognize  her,  then,  if  ac- 
cident brought  her  before  3"0U,  or  led  you 
into  her  presence  ?  " 

"Most  certainl}'." 

A  flush  of  fleeting  satisfaction  passed 
across  Aramis'  face.  At  this  moment 
Baisemeaux  heard  the  jailer  approach- 
ing-. "  Shall  we  leave  ?  "  he  said,  hastilj', 
to  Aramis. 

Aramis,  who  probably  had  learned  all 
that  he  cared  to  know,  replied,  "  When 
3'ou  like." 

The  young  man  saw  them  prepare  to 
leave,  and  saluted  them  politely.  Baise- 
meaux replied  merely  by  a  nod  of  the  head ; 
while  Aramis,  with  a  respect  arising,  per- 
haps, from  the  sight  of  such  misfortune, 
saluted  the  prisoner  profoundly.  They 
left  the  room,  Baisemeaux  closing-  the 
door  behind  them. 

"Well,"  said  Baisemeaux,  as  they  de- 
scended the  staircase,  "'  what  do  you  think 
of  it  all  ?  " 

"I, have  discovered  the  secret,  my  dear 
governor,"  he  said. 


396 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


''  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-  man  is  an 
assassin  ?  " 

•'Who  said  that?  What  makes  you 
think  that  poor  young  fellow  could  be  an 
assassin  ?  " 

'•  The  very  thing- 1  was  saying-.  A  crime 
was  committed  in  this  house,"  said  Ara- 
mis,  "  and  that  was  quite  sufficient ;  per- 
haps he  saw  the  criminals,  and  it  was 
feai'ed  he  might  say  something." 

''  The  deuce  !  if  I  onl3'  thought  that — " 

"Well?" 

"\  would  redouble  the  surveillance." 

"  Oh,  he  does  not  seem  to  wish  to  es- 
cape." 

"  You  do  not  know  Avhat  prisoners  are." 

"  Has  he  any  books  ?  " 

"  None ;  they  are  sti-ictly  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  ?  " 

"  I  sliould,  for  I  like  to  look  at  auto- 
graphs." 

"  Well,  then,  this  one  is  of  the  most 
unquestionable  autlienticit.y ;  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  canceled 
the  zero,  and  has  added  a  1  before  the  5. 
But,  by-the-by— " 

"What?" 

"  You  do  not  speak  of  the  resemblance." 

"  I  do  not  speak  of  it,  dear  M.  de  Baise- 
uieaux,  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." 

'•  Really." 

"The  king,  Louis  XIV. — you  under- 
stand— would  be  excessively  angry  with 
you,  if  he  were  to  learn  tliat  3^ou  contrib- 
uted, in  any  waj'',  to  spread  the  report 
that  one  of  his  subjects  has  the  efi'ronter^^ 
to  resemble  him." 

"It  is  true,  quite  true,"  said  Baise- 
meaux,  thoroughly  alarmed  ;  "but  I  have 
not  spoken  of  the  circumstance  to  any  one 
but  3'ourself,  and  you  understand,  mon- 
seigneur,  that  I  perfectly  rely  on  3'our 
being  discreet." 

"'  Oh,  be  easy." 

"  Do  you  still  wnsh  to  see  the  note  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

While  engaged  in  this  manner  in  con- 
versation, they  had  returned  to  the  gov- 
ernor's apartments  ;  Baisemeaux  took 
from  the  cupboard  a  private  register,  like 
the  one  he  had  already  shown  Aramis, 
but  fastened  by  a  lock,  the  ke}'^  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  Ai-amis  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  ;  alwa\-s  the  same  jailer;  no 
communications  with  an}-  one.  Musical 
instruments  ;  every  libert}^  and  every  in- 
dulgence, 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  hand- 
writing ;  I  recognize  it  well.  Now,  my 
dear  governor,"  he  continued,  as  if  this 
last  communication  had  exhausted  his  in- 
terest, "  let  us  now  turn  to  our  own  little 
affairs." 

"Well,  what  time  for  payment  do  you 
wish  me  to  take.     Fix  it  3'ourself." 

"There    need    not   be    any   particular 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


397 


period  fixed  :  give  me  a  simple  acknowl- 
edg-iuent  for  150,000  francs.*' 

■•  When  to  be  made  payable  ?  " 

"  When  I  require  it.  Bat  3'ou  under- 
stand, I  shall  onh^  wish  it  when  \o\x  your- 
self do  so." 

"Oh,  I  am  quite  easj^  on  that  score," 
said  Baisemeaux,  smiling- :  "  but  I  have 
alread.y  given  you  two  receipts." 

"  Which  I  now  destroy,"  said  Aramis  • 
and,  after  having  shown  the  two  receipts 
to  Baisemeaux,  he  destro3'ed  them.  Over- 
come by  so  great  a  mark  of  confidence, 
Baiseuieaux  unhesitatingly  wrote  out  an 
acknowledgment  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  acknowledg- 
ment into  his  pocket  without  seeming  to 
have  read  it,  which  made  Baisemeaux 
perfectly  eas3^  "Now,"  said  Aramis, 
"you  will  not  be  angry  with  me  if  I  were 
to  carrN'  off  oi]e  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,  car- 
rving  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  3'oung  woman  alighted,  her  head 
muffled  in  a  silk  hood.  At  the  moment 
the  servants  announced  Madame  Vanel  to 
Madame  de  Belliere,  the  latter  was  en- 
gaged, or  rather  was  absorbed,. in  reading 
a  letter,  which  she  hurriedly  concealed. 
She  had  hardly  finished  her  morning  toi- 
let, her  w^oman   being   still   in    the  next 


room.  At  the  name — at  the  footsteps  of 
Marguerite  Vanel,  Madame  de  Belliere 
ran  to  meet  her.  She  fancied  she  could 
detect  in  her  friend's  eye  a  brightness 
which  was  neither  that  of  health  nor 
of  pleasure.  Marguerite  embraced  her, 
pressed  her  hands,  and  hardl3'  allowed 
her  time  to  speak.  "Dearest,"  she  said, 
"'  are  you  forgetting  me  ?  Have  3'ou  quite 
given  3'ourself  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  3'ou  so  dis- 
posed.    Button  are  pale." 

"  No,  I  am  perfectly  well." 

"  So  much  the  better  ;  I  was  becoming 
uneasy  about  yow..  You  do  not  know 
what  I  have  been  told." 

"  People  sa}'  so  man^'  things." 

"  Yes,  but  this  is  vety  singular." 

"'  How  well  3'ou  know  how  to  excite 
curiosity-.  Marguerite." 

"'  Well,  I  was  afraid  of  vexing"  3'ou." 

"  Never  ;  3-ou  have  yourself  always  ad- 
mired me  for  vax  evenness  of  temper." 

"Well,  then,  it  is  said  that — no.  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  tell  \ou." 

"Do  not  let  us  talk  about  it,  then," 
said  Madame  de  Belliere,  who  detected 
the  ill-nature  which  was  concealed  b3'  all 
these  prefaces,  3'et  felt  the  most  anxious 
curiosit3'  on  the  subject. 

"Well,  then,  m3"  dear  marquise,  it  is 
said  that,  for  some  time  past,  3-ou  no 
longer  continue  to  regret  Monsieur  de 
Belliere  as  30U  used  to  do." 

"  It  is  an  ill-natured  report.  Marguerite. 
I  do  regret,  and  shall  alw-ays  regret,  my 
husband  ;  but  it  is  now  two  3'ears  since 
he  died.  I  am  onh'  twent3'-eight  3^ears 
old,  and  m3^  grief  at  his  loss  ought  not 
alwa3's  to  control  ever3'-  action  and 
thought  of  m3'  life.  You,  Marguerite, 
w^ho  are  the  model  of  a  wife,  would  not 
believe  me  if  I  were  to  say  so." 


398 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Why  nut  ?  Your  heart  is  so  soft  and 
yiekUng-/'  she  said,  spitefully. 

"  Yours  is  so  too,  Marg-uerite,  and  yet  I 
did  not  perceive  that  you  allowed  yourself 
to  be  overcome  bj'  grief  when  your  heart 
was  wounded, ''  These  words  were  in  direct 
allusion  to  Marg-uerite's  rupture  with  the 
surintendant,  and  were  also  a  veiled  but 
direct  reproach  made  ag-ainst  her  friend's 
heart. 

As  if  she  only  awaited  this  signal  to 
discharge  her  shaft.  Marguerite  exclaim- 
ed, "  Well,  Eliza,  it  is  said  you  are  in 
love,"  And  she  looked  fixedly  at  Mad- 
ame deBelliere,  who  blushed  without  being 
able  to  prevent  it. 

"Women  never  escape  slander,"  re- 
plied the  marquise,  after  a  moment's 
pause, 

"  No  one  slanders  you,  Eliza." 

"  What ! — people  say  that  I  am  in  love, 
and  3"et  thej-  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  I  was  saying- 
— the  public  does  not  assert  that  3'ou  have 
abandoned  yourself  to  this  passion.  It 
represents  you,  on  the  contrary,  as  a  vir- 
tuous but  loving  woman,  defending  her- 
self with  claws  and  teeth,  shutting-  your- 
self up  in  your  own  house  as  in  a  fortress, 
in  other  respects  as  impenetrable  as  that 
of  Danae,  notwithstanding  Danae's  tower 
was  made  of  brass." 

''You  are  witty,  Marg-uerite,"  said 
Madame  de  Belliere,  trembhngly. 

"  You  always  flatter  me,  Eliza.  To  be 
brief,  however,  you  are  reported  to  be  in- 
corruptible and  unapproachable.  You  can 
decide  whether  people  calumniate  you  or 
not ; — but  what  is  it  you  ai-e  musing  about 
while  I  am  speaking  to  you  ?  " 

"  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  com- 
paring- me  to  Danae." 


''  You  were  trying  to  guess  that,''  said 
Marguerite,  laughing. 

"Yes;  do  3'ou  not  remember  that  at 
the  convent,  when  we  were  solving  our 
problems  in  arithmetic — ah  !  what  I  have 
to  tell  you  is  learned  also,  but  it  is  my 
turn — do  3^ou  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  in  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, 
tliat  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  assig-n 
me — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  am  your  friend, 
and  assign  you  no  one," 

"  That  may  be ;  but  those  who  are 
evilly'  disposed  toward  me," 

"  Do  you  wish  to  hear  the  name  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  waiting  this  half  hour 
for  it." 

"  Well,  then,  you  shall  hear  it.  Do 
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,"  con- 
tinued Marguerite;  "the  wealthiest,  it 
may  be.    ^n  a  word,  it  is — " 

The  marquise  closed  her  e3^es  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  It  is  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,"  said 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


399 


Marguerite,  bursting-  into  laug-hter.  The 
perfidiousness  had  been  calculated  with 
extreme  ability ;  the  name  that  was  pro- 
nounced, instead  of  the  name  which  the 
mai-quise  awaited,  had  precisel}^  the  same 
effect  upon  her  as  the  badly-sharpened 
axes,  which  had  hacked,  without  destroy- 
ing-. Messieurs  de  Chalais  and  De  Thou  on 
their  scaffolds,  had  upon  them.  She  re- 
covered 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  ni}'  own  house 
since  the  duke  has  been  at  Paris." 

'^Oh!"  resumed  Madame  Vanel,  stretch- 
ing out  her  foot  toward  a  paper  which 
was  lying  on  the  carpet  near  the  window ; 
"  it  is  not  necessary  for  people  to  see  each 
other,  since  they  can  write."  The  mar- 
quise 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  w^hich  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  mo,  is  it  to  tell  me  all 
these  foolish  reports  that  you  have  come 
to  see  me  so  early  in  the  da3'?" 

"  No  :  I  came  to  see  3^ou  in  the  first 
place,  and  to  remind  you  of  those  habits 
of  our  earlier  days,  so  delightful  to  re- 
member, when  we  used  to  wander  about 
together  at  Vincennes,  and,  sitting  be- 
neath an  oak,  or  in  some  sylvan  shade, 
used  to  talk  of  those  we  loved,  and  w^ho 
loved  us." 

"  Do  3^ou  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  mar- 
quise, for  I  wanted  to  pour  out  m3''  whole 
heart  into  3'ours. '' 

"I  repeat  again.  Marguerite,  m^^  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 
3'onder." 

"■  It  is  not  the  same  thing  for  me.  In 
approaching  nearer  to  Vincennes,  mar- 
quise, m^^  ardent  aspirations  approach 
nearer  to  that  object  toward  which  the}"^ 
have  for  some  daj^s  past  been  directed." 
The  marquise  suddenh^  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. 

"  You,  so  proud  too  !"  said  the  marquise 
disdainfullj'. 

"  I  so  proud  !"  replied  Madame  Vanel. 
'•  Such  is  my  nature.  I  do  not  forgive 
neglect ;  I  cannot  endure  infidelity.  When 
I  leave  an}^  one  who  weeps  at  nw  aban- 
donment, I  feel  induced  still  to  love  him; 
but  when  others  forsake  me,  and  laugh  at 
their  infidelit}^  I  love  distractedly." 

Madame  de  Belliere  could  not  restrain 
an  involuntary  movement. 

"She  is  jealous,"  said  Marguerite  to 
herself.  "Then,"  continued  the  marquise, 
'''3'ou  are  quite  enamored  of  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham — I  mean  of  M.  Fouquet  ?  " 
Eliza  felt  the  allusion,  and  all  her  blood 
seemed  to  have  flowed  toward  her  heart. 

"And  you  wished  to  go  to  Vincennes — 
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  for- 
give as  you  do.  I  am  less  loving,  perhaps; 
but  wiien  \\\\  heart  has  been  once  wounded, 
it  remains  so  always." 

"But  M.  Fouquet  has  not  wounded 
you,"  said  Marguerite  Vanel,  with  the 
most  perfect  simplicity. 


400 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"You perfectly  understand  what  I  mean. 
M.  Fouquet  has  not  wounded  me;  I  do  not 
know  him  either  from  anj^  obhg-ation  or 
any  injury  received  at  liis  hands;  but  3'ou 
have  reason  to  complain  of  him  ;  you  are 
my  friend,  and  I  am  afraid  I  should  not 
advise  you  as  you  would  like." 

"Ah,  3^ou  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  collecting- her  whole 
strength,  like  a  wrestler  preparing-  for  a 
last  strug-gle ;  "you  take  only  my  evil 
dispositions  and  my  weaknesses  into  cal- 
culation, and  do  not  speak  of  the  pure  and 
g-enerous  feelings  which  I  have.  If,  at 
this  moment,  I  feel  instinctivel3'  attracted 
toward  the  surintendant,  if  I  even  make 
an  advance  to  him,  and  which,  I  confess, 
is  very  probable,  my  motive  for  it  is,  that 
M.  Fouquet'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,  "something-  new, 
then,  has  occurred." 

"  Do  you  not  know  it  ?  " 

"I  am  utterly  ig-norant  of  every thing- 
about  him,"  said  Madame  de  Belliere, 
with  that  palpitation  of  ang-uish  which 
suspends  thoug-ht  and  speech,  and  even 
life  itself. 

'•  In  the  first  place,  then,  the  king-'s 
favor  is  entirely  withdrawn  from  M.  Fou- 
quet,  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. 
Fouquet's  honor." 

Marg-uerite  beg-an  to  laugh  in  so  cruel  a 
manner,  that  Madame  de  Belliere  could 
at  that  moment  have  delightedW  plunged 
a  dag-grer  in  her  bosom.  "  Dearest,"  con- 
tinued Marg-uerite,  "there  is  no  longer 
any  question  of  M.  Fouquet's  honor  ;  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  m3'self  with  a  hope ;  but  most 
certainly  the  catastrophe  will  not  extend 
beyond  twenty-four  liours." 

"Why  so?" 

"  For  the  simplest  of  all  reasons — that 
M.  Fouquet  has  no  more  mone3^" 

"In  matters  of  finance,  mj^  dear  Mar- 
guerite, some  are  without  mone.y  to-daj', 
w'ho  to-morrow  can  procure  millions." 

"  That  might  be  M.  Fouquet's  case 
when  he  had  two  wealth.v  and  clever 
friends  who  amassed  money  for  him,  and 
wrung  it  from  ever^'  source ;  but  these 
friends  are  dead." 

"Monej"  does  not  die.  Marguerite — it 
may  be  concealed ;  but  it  can  be  looked 
for,  bought,  and  found." 

"  You  see  things  on  the  bright  side,  and 
so  much  the  better  for  3'ou.  It  is  reall^^ 
very  unfortunate  that  you  are  not  the 
Egeria  of  M.  Fouquet ;  3'ou  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  b}^  her  friend's  merci- 
less delight. 

"  M.  Fouquet,  I  should  think,  must  cer- 
tainly have  four  millions,"  she  replied, 
courageously". 

"If  he  has  those  which  the  king  re- 
quires 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  m,y  reason  for 
saying  that  the  ruin  of  this  poor  M.  Fou- 
quet 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  trem- 
blinglj^  "  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.  Col- 
bert is  powerful ;  he  improves  on  close 
acquaintance;  he  has  gigantic  ideas,  a 
strong  will,  and  discretion  ;  he  will  make 
great  strides." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


401 


"  He  will  be  surintendant  ?  *' 

'•'  It  is  probable.  Such  is  the  reason, 
my  dear  marquise,  why  I  felt  myself  im- 
pressed in  favor  of  that  poor  man,  who 
once  loved — na^',  even  adored  me;  and 
why,  when  I  see  him  so  unfortunate_,  I 
forg-ive  his  infidelity,  which  I  have  reason 
to  believe  he  also  reg-rets  ;  and  why,  more- 
over, 1  should  not  have  been  disinclined  to 
afford  him  some  consolation,  or  some  g-ood 
advice;  he  would  have  understood  the 
step  I  had  taken,  and  would  have  thoug-ht 
kindly  of  me  for  it.  It  is  g-ratifying-  to  be 
loved,  you  know.  Men  value  love  hig-hl}^ 
when  they  are  no  long-er  blinded  by  its 
influence." 

The  marquise,  bewildered,  and  overcome 
by  these  cruel  attacks,  wliich  had  been 
calculated  with  the  greatest  correctness 
and  precision  of  aim,  hardh^  knew  what 
answer  to  return  :  she  even  seemed  to 
have  lost  all  power  of  thoug-ht.  Her  per- 
fidious 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  Bel- 
liere,  wiio  had  a  vag-ue  hope  that  Mar- 
guerite would  cease  to  overwhelm  a 
vanquished  enemy,  "  why  do  you  not  g"0 
and  see  M.  Fouquet  ?  " 

''Decidedly,  marquise,  j^ou  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  af- 
front ....  besides,  I  have  my  husband 
to  consider.  You  say  nothing-  to  me. 
Very  well,  I  shall  consult  M.  Colbert  on 
the  subject."  Marg-uerite  rose  smiling-ly, 
as  thoug-h  to  take  leave,  but  the  marquise 
had  not  the  streng-th  to  imitate  her. 
Marg-uerite  advanced  a  few  paces,  in 
order  that  she  mig-ht  continue  to  enjoj' 
the  humiliating  grief  in  which  her  rival 
was  plunged,  and  then  said,  suddenh', 
"  You  do  not  accompany  me  to  the  door, 
then?"  The  marquise  rose,  pale  and 
almost  lifeless,  without  thinking  of  the 
envelope,  which  had  occupied  her  atten- 
tion so  greatly  at  the  commencement  of 
the  conversation,  and  which  was  revealjed 
at  the  first  step  she  took.  She  then 
opened  the  door  of  her  oratory,  and  with- 


out even  turning  her  head  toward  Mar- 
guei-ite  Vanel,  entered  it,  closing  the  door 
after  her.  Marguerite  said,  or  rather 
muttered,  a  few  words,  which  Madame 
de  Belliere  did  not  even  hear.  As  soon, 
however,  as  the  marquise  had  disappeared, 
her  envious  enem3%  not  being  able  to  resist 
the  desire  to  satisfy  herself  that  her  sus- 
picions were  really  founded,  advanced 
stealthih^  toward  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  mar- 
quise, 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 
Marguerite'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  unexpected.  It  w^as 
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  that 
wa3%  to  that  train  of  ideas  which  her  re- 
lentless friend  had  forced  her  to  pursue. 
Treason,  then — dark  menaces  concealed 
under  the  semblance  of  public  interest — 
such  were  Colbert's  maneuvers.  A  de- 
testable delight  at  an  approaching  down- 
fall, untiring  efforts  to  attain  this  object, 
means  of  seduction  no  less  wicked  than 
the  crime  itself — such  were  the  means 
which  Marguerite  employed .  The  crooked 
atoms  of  Descartes  triumphed ;  to  the 
man  without  compassion  was  united  a 
woman  without  a  heart.  The  marquise 
perceived,  with  sorrow  rather  than  with 


402 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


indig-nation,  that  the  king-  was  an  accom- 
pUce  in  a  plot  which  betrayed  the  duphc- 
it3''  of  Louis  XIII.,  in  his  advanced  ag"e, 
and  the  avarice  of  Mazarin,  at  a  period  of 
Ufe  when  he  had  not  had  the  opportunity^ 
of  g-org-ingr  himself  with  French  g-old.  The 
spirit  of  this  courag-eous  woman  soon  re- 
sumed its  energy,  and  was  no  long-er  in- 
terrupted by  a  mere  indulgence  in  com- 
passionate lamentations.  The  mai^quise 
was  not  one  to  weep  when  action  was 
necessary,  nor  to  waste  time  in  bewailing- 
a  misfortune  when  means  still  existed  of 
relieving-  it.  For  some  minutes  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  ic}^  hands,  and  then,  rais- 
ing- her  head,  rang-  for  her  attendants 
with  a  steady  hand,  and  with  a  g-esture 
betraying-  a  fixed  determination  of  pur- 
pose.    Her  resolution  w^as  taken. 

"  Is  everything-  prepared  for  my  de- 
pai'ture.'"'  she  inquired  of  one  of  her 
female  attendants  who  entered. 

"  Yes,  madame  ;  but  it  was  not  expected 
that  your  ladyship  would  leave  for  Bel- 
liere  for  the  next  few  daj-s." 

"  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  ladj'ship  does  not  g-enerally  take 
your  jewels  with  you  into  the  country." 

"  But  the}'  are  all  in  order,  you  say  ?  " 

"Yes,  in  your  ladyship's  own  room." 

"The  g-old  plate?" 

"In  the  chest." 

"  And  the  silver  plate  ?  " 

"  In  the  larg-e  oaken  closet. 

The  marquise  remained  silent  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  said  calmU^  "Let  my 
g-old  smith  be  sent  for." 

Her  attendants  quitted  the  room  to  exe- 
cute the  order.  The  marquise,  however, 
had  entered  her  own  room,  and  inspected 
her  casket  of  jewels  with  the  g-reatest  at- 
tention. 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  selec- 
tion according  to  the  settings  or  their 
colors.  On  this  occasion,  however,  she 
admired  the  size  of  the  rubies  and  the 
brilliancy  of  the  diamonds;    she  g-rieved 


over  ever}'  blemish  and  every  defect ;  she 
thoug-ht  the  g-old  light  and  the  stones 
wretched.  The  g-oldsmith,  as  he  entered, 
found  her  thus  occupied.  *•  M.  Faucheux," 
she  said,  "  I  believe  you  supplied  me  with 
my  g-old  service  ?  " 

'•  I  did,  3'our  ladyship." 

"  I  do  not  now  remember  the  amount  of 
the  account." 

"•Of  the  new  service,  madame,  or  of 
that  which  M.  de  Belliere  presented  you 
on  your  marriag-e  ?  for  I  furnislied  both." 

"  First  of  all,  th.e  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  3'our 
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  chas- 
ings, and  new  patterns." 

"  What  proportion  of  the  cost  does  the 
workmanship  form  ?  Do  not  hesitate  to 
tell  me." 

"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  workman- 
ship in  that  than  in  the  other.  Its  in- 
trinsic value  does  not  exceed  thirt}'  thou- 
sand francs." 

"Thirt}'  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,  un- 
like 3'our  ladyship,  might  not  be  in  a  po- 
sition 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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


403 


vases  for  the  butfet,  which  alone  weigh 
five  thousand  livres,  or  ten  thousand  the 
two." 

•'  One  hundred  and  thirty,"  murmured 
the  marquise.  "  You  are  quite  sure  of 
yoiir  fig-ures,  M.  Faucheux?  *' 

*' Positive,  madame.  Besides,  there  is 
no  difficuly  in  weig-hing-  them." 

'•'The  amount  is  entered  in  my  books." 

''  Your  lad3^ship  is  extremely  methodi- 
cal, 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.  The^'  are  the  most 
beautiful  in  the  whole  court.  No,  I  am 
mistaken  ;  Madame  de  Chatillon  has  the 
most  beautiful  set ;  she  had  them  from 
Messieurs  de  Guise;  but  your  set,  mad- 
ame, are  next." 

"  What  are  they  worth  ?  " 

"  Mounted  ?  " 

'•'  No ;  supposing  I  wished  to  sell  them." 

"  I  know  very  well  who  would  hwv 
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  jeweler 
mentioned.  "The  ruby  necklace?"  she 
said. 

"  Are  the}'  Balass  rubies,  madame  ?  " 

"  Here  the^"^  are." 

"The}' are  beautiful  —  magnificent.  I 
did  not  know  that  your  ladj'ship  had  these 
stones." 

"What  is  their  value?" 

"Two  hundred  thousand  francs.  The 
center  one  is  alone  worth  a  hundred." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  marquise. 
"  As  for  diamonds.  I  have  them  in  num- 


bers :  rings,  necklaces,  sprigs,  ear-rings, 
clasps.  Tell  me  their  value,  M.  Fau- 
cheux," 

The  j(!\veler  took  his  magnifying-glass 
and  scales,  weighed  and  inspected  them, 
and  then  silently  made  his  calculations. 
"  These  stones,"  he  said,  "must  liave  cost 
your  ladyship  an  income  of  forty  thousand 
francs." 

"  You  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  be  satis- 
fied 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." 

"  Ver}'  so,  madame." 

"  Will  you  accept  that  profit,  then,  on 
condition  of  converting  the  jewels  into 
money  ?  " 

"But  you  do  not  intend  to  sell  your  dia- 
monds, I  suppose,  madame?  "  exclaimed 
the  bewildered  jeweler. 

"  Silence,  M.  Faucheux,  do  not  disturb 
30urself  about  that ;  give  me  an  answer 
simply.  You  are  an  honorable  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 
mone\'  to  be  placed  in  my  hands  ?  " 

"  Eight  hundred  thousand  francs  I  it  is 
enormous  I  " 

•■  I  know  it." 

"Impossible  to  find." 

"Not  so." 

"  But  reflect,  madame,  upon  the  effect 
which  will  be  produced  by  the  sale  of  j'our 
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' 


404 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


as  single  stones,  for  Ma  dame's  toilet. 
There  will  be  a  competition  for  them.  I 
can  easily  dispose  of  r, 00,000  francs'  worth 
to  Monsieur.  I  am  certain  yours  are  the 
most  beautiful.'* 

"  When  can  you  do  so  ?  '"' 

"  In  less  than  three  daj's'  time." 

*'Ver3'^  well,  the  remainder  you  will 
dispose  of  among  private  individuals. 
For  the  present  make  ine  out  a  contract 
of  sale,  payment  to  be  made  in  fourda3'^s." 

''  I  entreat  you  to  reflect,  madame  ;  for 
if  you  force  the  sale,  you  will  lose  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs." 

"  If  necessary,  I  will  lose  two  hundred  ; 
I  wish  everything  to  be  settled  this  even- 
ing.    Do  you  accept  ?  " 

"■  I  do,  your  ladj^ship.  I  will  not  con- 
ceal from  you  that  I  shall  make  fifty 
thousand  francs  b^^  the  transaction." 

"  So  much  the  better.  In  what  way 
shall  I  have  the  money  ?  " 

"Either  in  gold,  or  in  bills  of  the  bank 
of  ^yons,  payable  at  M.  Colbert's." 

"  I  agree,"  said  the  marquise,  eagerly; 
"  return  home  and  bring  the  sum  in  ques- 
tion in  notes,  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  madame,  but  for  Heaven's 
sake — " 

"  Not  a  word,  M.  Faucheux.  By-the- 
b3'',  I  was  forgetting  the  silver  plate. 
What  is  the  value  of  that  which  I  have  ?" 

"  Ffty  thousand  francs,  madame." 

"■  That  makes  a  million,"  said  the  mar- 
quise to  herself.  '"  M.  Faucheux,  you  will 
take  away  with  a^ou  both  the  gold  and  sil- 
ver plate,  I  can  assign,  as  a  pretext,  that 
I  wish  it  remodeled  for  patterns  more  in 
accordance  with  m^'  own  taste.  Melt  it 
down,  and  return  me  its  value  in  monej', 
at  once." 

'-'It  shall  be  done,  j^our  ladyship." 

"  You  will  be  good  enough  to  place  the 
money  in  a  chest,  and  direct  one  of  your 
clerks  to  accompany-  the  chest,  and  with- 
out my  servants  seeing  him  ;  and  direct 
him  also  to  wait  for  me  in  a  carriage." 

'•'In  Madame  de  Faucheux's  carriage?" 
said  the  jewelar. 

'•  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 


convcA^  the  plate  to  your  house."  The 
marquise  rung.  '•  Let  the  small  van  be 
placed  at  M.  Faucheux's  disposal,"  she 
said.  The  jeweler  bowed  and  left  the 
house,  directing  that  the  van  should  fol- 
low him  closely,  saying  aloud  that  the 
marquise  was  about  to  have  her  plate 
melted  down  in  order  to  have  other  plate 
manufactured  of  a  more  modern  st3ie. 
Three  hours  afterward  she  went  to  M. 
Faucheux's  house  and  received  from  him 
eight  hundred  thousand  francs  in  gold 
inclosed  in  a  chest,  vvhich  one  of  the  clerks 
could  hardly  carry  toward  Madame  Fau- 
cheux'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  dui-ing 
twenty  j^ears.  The  jeweler,  though  a 
millionaire,  w-as  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  quai'ter  in  which  he  resided  ;  it 
was  covered  wdth  allegorical  paintings, 
and  clouds  scattered  over  with  stars. 
The  marquise  entered  this  somewhat  ex- 
traordinaiy  vehicle,  sitting*  opposite  to 
the  clerk,  who  endeavored  to  put  his 
knees  out  of  the  way,  afraid  even  of 
touching  the  marquise's  dress.  It  was 
the  clerk,  too,  who  told  the  coachman, 
who  was  very  proud  of  having  a  mar- 
quise to  drive,  to  take  the  road  to  Saint 
Mande. 


CHAPTER    cm. 


THE    DOWRY. 


Monsieur  Faucheux's  horses  were  ser- 
viceable animals,  with  thick  knees,  and 
legs  which  they  had  some  difficulty  in 
moving.  Like  the  carriage,  thej'  belonged 
to  the  earlier  part  of  the  century.  They 
were  not  as  fleet,  therefore,  as  the  En- 
glish horses  of  M.  Fouquet,  and  conse- 
quently^   took    two    hours    to    get    to    St. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


40.') 


Mande.  Their  progress,  it  mig-ht  be  said, 
was  majestic.  Majesty,  however,  pre- 
cludes hurry.  The  marquise  stopped  the 
carriag-e  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  wliich  brouglit  her 
to  it  again  on  the  present  occasion.  She 
drew  a  \\ey  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  g'reat  that  the  clerk  was 
obliged  to  get  the  coachman  to  assist  him 
with  it.  They  placed  it  in  a  small  cab- 
inet, anteroom,  or  boudoir  i*ather,  ad- 
joining the  saloon  where  we  once  saw 
M.  Fouquet  at  the  marquise's  feet.  Mad- 
ame de  Belliere  gave  the  coachman  a 
louis,  smiled  gracefullj'  at  the  clerk,  and 
dismissed  them  both.  She  closed  the 
door  after  them,  and  waited  in  the  room, 
alone  and  barricaded.  There  was  no  ser- 
vant to  be  seen  about  the  rooms,  but 
everything*  was  prepared  as  thoug-li  some 
invisible  genius  had  divined  the  wishes 
and  desires  of  the  guest  who  was  ex- 
pected. The  fire  was  laid,  the  candles  in 
the  candelabra,  refreshments  upon  the 
table,  books  scattered  about,  fresh-cut 
flowers  in  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 
w^as  soon  plunged  in  profound  thoug-ht. 
Her  deep  musings,  melancholy  though 
they  were,  were  not  untinged  with  a  cer- 
tain sweetness.  Spread  out  before  her 
was  a  treasure,  a  million  wrung"  from  her 
fortune,  as  a  gleaner  plucks  the  blue  coi"n- 
flower  from  her  crown  of  flowers.  She 
conjured  up  the  sweetest  dreams.  Her 
principal  thought,  and  one  that  took  pre- 
cedence 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  al- 
though, on  refleciion,  it  appeared  difficult 
to  carry  out,  slie  did  not  despair  of  suc- 
cess.    She  would,  then,  ring-   to  summon 


M.   Fouquet,  and   make  her  escape,  hap- 
pier if,  instead  of  having-  g-iven  a  million, 
she   had   herself   found    one.      But    being- 
there,  and  having-  seen  the  boudoir  so  co- 
quettishly  decorated  that  it  might  almost 
be  said  the  least  pai-ticle  of  dust  had  but 
the  moment  before  been  removed  by  the 
servants;  Imving-  observed  the  drawing-- 
room  so  perfectly  arranged   that  it  mig-ht 
almost  be   said   her   presence   there   had 
driven   away  the  fairies  who  were  its  oc- 
cupants, she  asked  herself  if  the  g-lance  or 
g-aze  of  those  whom  she  had  driven  awa^^ 
— whether  spirits,  fairies,  elves,  or  human 
creatures — had    not    already    recog-nized 
her.     To  secure  success,  it  was  necessary 
that  some  steps  should  be  sei-iously  taken  ; 
and  it  w^as  necessary,  also,  that  the  surin- 
tendant   should   comprehend    the  serious 
position  in  which  he  was  placed,  in  order 
to  yield    compliance    with    the    g-enerous 
fancies  of  a  woman.     All  the  fascinations 
of   an  eloquent   friendship   would    be   re- 
quired to  persuade  him ;  and  should  this 
be  insufficient,  the  maddening-  influence  of 
a  devoted  passion,  which,  in  its  resolute 
determination  to  carr\'  conviction,  would 
not  be  turned  aside.     Was  not  the  surin- 
tendant,  indeed,   known  for   his  delicac}' 
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   resistance,  it 
would  be  the  voice  of  the  woman  he  loved. 
Another  doubt,  and  that  a  cruel  one,  sug-- 
gested  itself  to  Madame  de  Belliere  with  a 
sharp,   acute  pain,  like  a  dagg-er-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  g-aze  upon  an  ang-el  ?     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  im- 
pulses, and  full  of  alloy?     Who  can  tell  if 
that  mind,  when  the  touchstone  is  applied 
to  it,  will  not  be  found  of  a  mean  and  vul- 


406 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


gar  character?  Come,  come,"  she  said, 
"this is  doubting: and  hesitating"  too  much ; 
to  the  proof  I  "  Slie  looked  at  the  time- 
piece. "^  It  is  now  seven  o'clock,"  she 
said:  "Mie  must  have  arrived;  it  is  tlie 
hour  for  sig-ning*  his  papers/'  With  a 
feverish  impatience  she  rose  and  walked 
toward  the  mirror,  in  which  she  smiled 
with  a  resolute  smile  of  devotedness.  She 
touched  the  spring",  and  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  face  in  her 
trembling  hands. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  she  heard  the 
spring  of  the  door  sound.  The  door  moved 
upon  invisible  hinges,  and  Fouquet  ap- 
peared. He  looked  pale,  and  seemed 
bowed  down  by  the  weight  of  some  bitter 
reflection.  He  did  not  hurrj-,  but  simply 
came  at  the  summons.  The  preoccupa- 
tion of  his  mind  must  indeed  have  been 
xevy  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  exes. 
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  surintendant,  full 
of  dreamy  reflection,  were  fixed  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  room  which  he  had  so 
frequently  approached  in  search  of  ex- 
pected happiness.  This  gloomy  gentle- 
ness 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  everj'-  expres- 
sion of  suffering  ;  it  might  almost  be  said 
that  Heaven  has  graciously  granted  to 


women,  on  account  of  their  very  weak- 
ness, 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  di- 
vined 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  be- 
\'ond  everything  else.  She  rose  and  ap- 
proached him,  saying,  ''You  wrote  to  me 
this  morning  to  say  you  were  beginning 
to  forget  me,  and  that  I,  whom  j^ou  had 
not  seen  lateh%  had  no  doubt  ceased  to 
think  of  3''0u.  I  have  come  to  undeceive 
3'ou,  monsieur,  and  the  more  completely 
so,  because  there  is  one  thing  I  can  read 
in  3'^our  eyes." 

"  What  is  that,  madame  ?  "  said  Fou- 
quet, astonished. 

"  That  you  have  never  loved  me  so  much 
as  at  this  moment ;  in  the  same  manner 
you  can  read,  in  m^^  present  step  toward 
you,  that  I  have  not  forgotten  j'ou." 

"  Oh  !  madame,"  said  Fouquet,  whose 
face  was  for  a  moment  lighted  up  by  a 
sudden  gleam  of  jo\",  "you  are  indeed  an 
angel,  and  no  man  can  suspect  yow.  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  here,  by  my  side. 
Ah  !  that  is  an  evil  thought  which  has 
just  crossed  your  mind." 

"  How  do  3'ou  detect  it,  madame  ?  " 

"  By  a  smile  which  has  just  injured  the 
expression  of  your  countenance.  Be  can- 
did, 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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


407 


house  is  watched  ;  because  the  same  e^^es 
which  have  alread}^  seen  you  mig-ht  see 
you  again  ;  because  I  tliink  it  less  danger- 
ous for  3^ou  that  I  should  come  here  than 
that  you  should  come  to  my  house ;  and, 
lastly,  because  I  know  yoxx  to  be  already 
unhapp3^  enough  not  to  wish  to  increase 
your  unhappiness  further,"' 

Fouquet  started,  for  these  words  re- 
called 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 
unhappj^  ?  "  he  said,  endeavoring  to  smile; 
'•'  indeed,  marquise,  you  will  almost  make 
me  believe  that  I  am  so,  judging  from 
your  own  sadness.  Are  3'our  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,  mar- 
quise ;  but  it  is  from  overwork  ;  the  king 
3'esterday  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  3'ou 
have  learned  it  ?  It  was  after  the  de- 
parture of  the  queen,  and  in  the  presence 
of  one  person  onl}',  that  the  king — " 

"  You  perceive  that  I  do  know  it ;  is 
not  that  sufficient  ?  Well,  go  on,  mon- 
sieur, the  money  the  king  has  required 
you  to  suppl}^ — " 

"  You  understand,  marquise,  that  I 
have  been  obliged  to  procure  it,  then  to 
get  it  counted,  afterward  registered — al- 
together a  long  affair.  Since  Monsieur  de 
Mazarin's  death,  financial  affairs  occasion 
some  little  fatigue  and  embarrassment. 
M3'  administration  is  somewhat  over- 
taxed, and  this  is  the  reason  wh3'  I  have 
not  slept  during  the  past  night." 

"So  that  you  have  the  amount?  "in- 
quired the  marquise,  with  some  anxiety. 

"  It  would  indeed  be  strange,  marquise," 
replied  Fouquet,  cheerfully,  "  if  a  surin- 
tendant 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  re- 
quired to  furnish  two  millions." 

"On  the  contrar3%  to  me  it  seems  al- 
most an  age  :  but  do  not  let  us  talk  of 
mone^'  matters  an}'  longer," 

"  On  the  contrarj',  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  sur- 
intendant an  irremovable  one  ?  " 

"You  surprise  me,  marchioness,  for  you 
speak  as  if  you  had  some  motive  or  inter- 
est in  putting  the  question." 

"  M3'  reason  is  simple  enough;  I  am 
desirous  of  placing  some  mone^^  in  j^our 
hands,  and  naturally  I  wish  to  know  if 
3'ou  are  certain  of  your  post." 

"'  Reall}',  marquise,  I  am  at  a  loss  what 
to  repl}'',  and  I  cannot  conceive  j^our  mean- 
ing." 

"Seriousl}''  then,  dear  M.  Fouquet,  I 
have  certain  funds  which  somewhat  em- 
barrass me,  I  am  tired  of  investing  my 
mone}'  m  land,  and  am  anxious  to  intrust 
a  friend  to  turn  it  to  account." 

"  Surel}'  it  does  not  press,"  said  M. 
Fouquet. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  very  pressing." 

"Very  well,  we  will  talk  of  tliat  by-and- 
by," 

"  By-and-by  will  not  do,  for  my  money 
is  there,"  returned  the  marquise,  pointing 
out  the  coffer  to  the  surintendant,  and 
showing  him,  as  she  opened  it,  the  bun- 
dles of  notes  and  heaps  of  gold.  Fouquet, 
who  had  risen  from  his  seat  at  tlie  same 
moment  as  Madame  de  Belliere,  remained 
for  a  moment  plunged  in  thought ;  then, 
suddenlj^  starting  bacl\,  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  3'ou  !  "  returned  the  marquise. 
"  Tell  me,  rather,  what  you  3'^ourself 
think  of  the  step  I  have    taken." 

"  Vou  bring  me  this  money  for  mj'self. 


408 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  3'our 
heart?" 

"  If  you  know  my  heart,  then,  can  you 
not  see  that  it  is  my  heart  which  I  offer 
you  ?  " 

"I  have  g-uessed  rightly,  then,"  ex- 
claimed Fouquet.  *'  In  truth,  madame, 
I  have  never  j^et  given  3-ou  the  rig-ht  to 
insult  me  in  this  manner." 

'•  Insult  .you,"  she  said,  turning-  pale, 
"what  sing-ular  delicacy  of  feeling-.  You  tell 
me  you  love  me  ;  in  the  name  of  that  affec- 
tion you  wished  me  to  sacrifice  my  reputa- 
tion and  my  lionor,  yet,  wlien  I  offer  you 
money,  which  is  m\'  own,  j^ou  refuse  me." 

'•'Madame,  3'ou  were  at  liberty  to  pre- 
serve what  you  term  yoxxv  reputation  and 
your  honor.  Permit  me  to  preserve  mine. 
Leave  me  to  my  ruin,  leave  me  to  sink 
beneath  the  weig-ht  of  the  hatreds  which 
surround  me,  beneath  the  faults  I  have 
committed,  beneat'Fi  the  load  even  of  m}- 
remorse ;  but,  for  Heaven's  sake,  mad- 
ame, do  not  overwhelm  me  under  this 
last  infliction." 

"  A  short  while  since,  M.  Fouquet,  3'ou 
were  wanting-  in  judg-raent,  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  repl\\" 

"I  offered  you  m^'  friendship,  M.  Fou- 
quet." 

"Yes,  madame,  and  3'ou  limited  j-our- 
self  to   that." 

"  And  what  I  am  now  doing  is  the  act 
of  a  friend." 

"No   doubt   it   is." 

"  And  3-ou  reject  this  mark  of  my 
friendship  ?  " 

"  I  do  reject  it." 

"Monsieur  Fouquet,  look  at  me,"  said 
the  marquise,  with  g-listening-  eyes,  "  I 
now   offer  you   my  love." 

"  Oh  !  madame,"  exclaimed  Fouquet. 

"I  have  loved  3'ou  for  a  long-  while 
past  :  women,  like  men,  have  a  false 
delicacy  at  times.  For  a  long  time  past 
I  have  loved  3'ou,  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  soug-ht,  it  is  my  love  that  I  now  offer 
you." 

"Oh  !  madame,  you  overwhelm  me  be- 
neath the  weig-ht  of  my  happiness." 

"Will  you  be  happy,  then,  if  I  am 
3'ours — yours  entirely  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  the  supremest  happiness  for 
me." 

"  Take  me,  then.  If,  however,  foryour 
sake  I  sacrifice  a  "prejudice,  do  .you,  for 
mine,  sacrifice  a  scruple." 

"  Do  not  tempt  me." 

"  Do  not  refuse  me." 

"Think  seriously' of  what  3'ou  are  pro- 
posing-." 

"  Fouquet,  but  one  word.  Let  it  be  No, 
and  I  open  this  door,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  door  which  led  into  the  street,  "and 
3-ou  will  never  see  me  again.  Let  that 
word  be  Yes,  and  I  am  yours  enlireh'." 

"  Elise  :  Elise  !     But  this  coffer  ?  " 

"  It  contains  m.3^  dowr3'." 

"It  is  3^our  ruin,"  exclaimed  Fouquet, 
turning  over  the  g-old  and  papers,  "  there 
must  be  a  million  here." 

"  Yes,  m3^  jewels,  for  which  I  care  no 
longer  if  .3^ou  do  not  love  me,  and  for 
which,  equalh^  I  care  no  longer  if  3-ou 
love  me  as  I  love  3'ou." 

"  This  is  too  much,"  exclaimed  Fouquet, 
"I  3ield,  I  yield,  even  were  it  onl3^  to 
consecrate  so  much  devotion.  I  accept 
tlie  dowry." 

"  And  take  the  woman  with  it,"  said 
the  marquise,  throwing-  herself  into  his 
arms. 


CHAPTER  CIV. 

LE   TERRAIN   DE   DIEU. 

During  the  progress  of  these  events, 
Buckingham  and  De  Wardes  traveled  in 
excellent  companionship,  and  made  the 
journey  from  Paris  to  Calais  in  undis- 
turbed harmon^-^  tog-ether.  Buckingham 
had  hurried  his  departure,  so  that  the 
best  part  of  his  adieux  were  ver.y  hastil3'^ 
made.     His  visit  to  Monsieur  and  Mad- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


409 


ame,  to  the  young  queen,  and  to  the 
queen-dowag-er,  had  been  paid  collectively 
— a  precaution  on  the  part  of  the  queen- 
mother,  which  saved  him  the  distress  of 
any  private  conversation  with  Monsieur, 
and  saved  him  also  from  the  danger  of 
seeinii-  Madame  again.  The  carriag-es  con- 
taining' the  luggag-e  had  already  been 
sent  on  beforehand,  and  in  the  evening-  he 
set  off  in  his  traveling  carriage  witli  his 
attendants. 

De  Wardes,  irritated  at  finding  himself 
dragged  awa^^  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  an}"  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  w'hom  he  had 
been  able  to  confide,  had,  in  their  charac- 
ter 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  dueling. 
Others,  again,  and  the\':  the  larger  num- 
ber, who  from  Christian  charity,  or  na- 
tional vanit3%  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  de- 
parture which  might  end  in  a  massacre 
on  a  small  scale.  The  result  was,  that, 
after  having  iuWy  deliberated  upon  the 
matter,  De  Wardes  packed  up  his  luggage, 
took  a  couple  of  horses,  and  followed  only 
by  one  servant,  made  his  way  toward  the 
barrier,  where  Buckingham's  carriage 
was  to  await  him. 

The  duke  received  his  adversary  as  he 
u  ould  have  done  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, made  room  beside  him  on  the  same 
seat  with  himself,  offered  him  refresh- 
ments, and  spread  over  his  knees  the 
sable  cloak  Avhich  had  been  thrown  upon 
the  front  seat.  They  tlien  conversed  of 
tlie  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  ;illuding  to  her  dnug-hter-in-law  ; 
of  the  king  of  England,  without  alluding 


to  his  sister-in-law  ;  of  the  state  of  the 
affections  of  either  of  the  travelers,  with- 
out 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  traveling  com- 
panion. Elegant,  repasts  were  served,  of 
which  they  partook  but  lightly  ;  trials  of 
horses  in  the  beautiful  meadows  wiiich 
skirted  the  road  ;  coursing,  for  Bucking- 
ham had  his  gre3'hounds  with  him ;  and 
in  such  and  other  various  ways  did  they 
pass  awa}'  the  time.  The  duke  somew^liat 
resembled  the  beautiful  river  Seine,  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  com- 
mand over  himself,  he  was  lost  in  thought, 
De  Wardes  left  him  entirely  to  his  mus- 
ings. This  delicacy  might  have  touched 
Buckingham,  and  changed  his  feelings 
toward  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  relent- 
less ;  nothing  appeases  them  ;  a  few  asi:es 
may,  sometimes,  apparently  extinguish 
them  ;  but,  beneath  those  ashes,  the 
smothered  flames  rage  more  furiously. 
Having  exhausted  all  the  means  of  amuse- 
ment which  the  route  offered,  they  arrived, 
as  we  have  said,  at  Calais,  tow^ard  the 
end  of  the  sixth  day.  The  duke's  atend- 
ants  had  already,  since  the  previous  even- 
ing, been  in  advance,  and  had  chartered 
a  boat,  for  the  purpose  of  joining  the 
yacht,  which  had  been  tacking  about  in 
sight,  or  bore  broadside  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  em- 
barked,   having  been    hoisted   from    the 


410 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


boat  upon  the  deck  in  baskets,  expressh' 
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  alTorded,  and  their  coats 
were  not  even  turned.  Eig-ht  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  equipag-e  was 
transported  on  board  the  yacht ;  he  was 
then  informed  that  everything"  was  in 
readiness,  and  that  they  onl^'  waited  for 
him,  whenever  he  would  be  disposed  to 
embark  with  the  French  gentleman.  For 
no  one  could  possibly  imagine  that  the 
French  g-entleman  would  have  any  other 
accounts  to  settle  wath  his  g-race  than 
those  of  friendship.  Buckingham  desired 
the  captain  to  be  told  to  hold  himself  in 
readiness,  but  that,  as  the  sea  was  beau- 
tiful, 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  magnificent 
spectacle  which  the  sk}'-  presented,  of  a 
deep  purple  color  in  the  horizon,  and  an 
amphitheater  of  fleecy  clouds  ascending 
from  the  sun's  disk  to  the  zenith,  assum- 
ing- the  appearance  of  a  range  of  moun- 
tains, whose  summits  were  heaped  one 
upon  another.  The  whole  amphitheater 
was  tinged  at  its  base  b\'  a  kind  of  blood- 
like foam,  fading  away  into  opal  and 
pearl-like  tints,  in  proportion  as  the  gaze 
was  carried  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,  hke  a 
rubb}^  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  i-igging  traced  upon  the 
empurpled  background  of  the  sk^' — while, 
dotting-  the  hoi'izon,  might  be  seen,  here 
and  there,  vessels  with  their  trimmed 
sails,  like  the  wings  of  a  sea-g"ull  about 
to  plung-e.  The  spectacle,  indeed,  well 
merited  admiration.  A  crowd  of  curi- 
ous idlers  followed  the  richly  dressed 
attendants,  among  whom  they  mistook 
the  intendant  and  the  secretary  for  the 
master  and  his  friend.  As  for  Bucking-- 
ham,  who  dressed  very  simph^  in  a  g"ra\^ 
satin  vest,  and  doublet  of  violet-colored 
velvet,  wearing  his  hat  thrust  over  his 
eyes,  and  without  orders  or  embroider}', 
he  was  taken  no  more  notice  of  than  De 
Wardes,  who  was  dressed  in  black  like  an 
attornej'. 

The  duke's  attendants  had  received 
directions  to  have  a  boat  in  readiness  at 
the  jctt^'-head,  and  to  watch  the  embar- 
kation of  their  master,  without  approach- 
ing him  until  either  he  or  his  friend  should 
summon  them.  "  Whatever  may  hap- 
pen," he  had  added,  laying  a  stress  upon 
these  words,  so  that  they  mig-ht  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,  j^ou 
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  wait  your  orders,  my  lord,  but — " 

"  But,  3'ou  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-  everj' 
minute,  and  the  isle  is  graduallj'  disap- 
pearing. This  island,  indeed,  belongs  to 
Heaven,  for  it  is  situated  between  two 
seas,  and  is  not  shown  on  the  king's  maps. 
D,o  you  observe  it  ?  " 

''  Yes  :  but  we  can  hardl}'^  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. 
W^e  shall  be  admirably  placed  upon  that 


THU     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


411 


little  theater.  What  do  \o\x  think  of 
it?"' 

'••  I  shall  be  perfects  happy  wherever  I 
may  have  the  honor  of  crossing-  ray  sword 
with  your  lordship's."' 

*'•  Very  well,  then,  lam  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  terri- 
tory.' Perhaps  the  distinction  is  some- 
what subtle,  but,  since  Port-Royal,  j^ou 
abound  in  subtleties  of  expression.  Do 
not  let  us  complain  of  this,  ho'wever,  for 
it  makes  your  wit  very  brilliant,  and  of  a 
style  peculiarly  3'our  own.  If  you  do  not 
object,  we  will  hurrj^  ourselves,  for  the 
sea,  I  perceive,  is  rising  fast,  and  night  is 
setting  in." 

'•'  Mj""  reason  for  not  walking  faster  was, 
that  I  did  not  wish  to  precede  yourg-race. 
Are  you  still  on  dr^"  land,  my  lord  ?"' 

'*  Yes,  at  present  I  am.  Look  yonder: 
\ny  servants  are  afraid  we  should  be 
drowmed,  and  have  converted  the  boat 
into  a  cruiser.  Do  you  remark  how  curi- 
ously- it  dances  upon  the  crests  of  tlie 
waves  ?  But,  as  it  makes  me  feel  sea- 
sick, would  3"ou  permit  me  to  turn  m}" 
back  toward  them  ?  " 

''You  will  observe,  \\\\  lord,  that  in 
turning"  \o\xv  back  to  them  you  will  have 
the  sun  full  in  j^our  face." 

"  Oh,  its  rays  are  veiy  feeble  at  this 
hour,  and  it  will  soon  disappear.  Do  not 
be  uneasj'  at  that." 

"As  you  please,  my  lord.  It  was  out 
of  consideration  for  your  lordship  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  3'ou  please,  my  lord."  ' 

''Do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me,  M.  de 
Wardes,  if  3'ou  do  not  feel  comfortable 
upon  the  wet  sand,  or  if  yon  think  your- 
self a  little  too  close  to  the  French  terri- 
tory. We  could  fight  in  England,  or  else 
upon  m}'  yacht." 

"  We  are  exceedingly  well  placed  here, 
my  lord  :  only  I  have  the  honor  to  re- 
mark that,  as  the  sea  is  rising  fast,  we 
have  hardly  time — " 


Buckingham  made  a  sig'n  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 
throwm  strongly  into  relief  by  a  dark- 
red,  violet-colored  shadow  with  which  the 
sk}^  became  overspread. 

"  Upon  n\j  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  reckoning  that 
the  water  even  is  now  breaking  in  upon 
us." 

"  It  has  alread}^  reached  me.  As  soon 
as  3'ou  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  3^ou — because 
you  have  wounded  me  in  ridiculing  a 
certain  devotional  regard  I  have  enter- 
tained, and  one  Avhich  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  3'ou 
survive  this  engagement,  jom  will,  in  the 
future,  work  great  mischief  toward  m}'- 
friends.  That  is  all  I  have  to  remark, 
M.  de  Wardes,"  continued  Buckingham, 
as  he  saluted  him. 

"And  I,  ni}'  lord,  have  only  this  to 
reply  to  3^ou  :  I  have  not  disliked  j^ou 
hitherto,  but  since  you  have  divined  my 
character  I  hate  you,  and  will  do  all  I 
possibl.y  can  to  kill  you  ;  "  and  De  AVardes 
saluted  Buckingham. 

Their  swords  crossed  at  the  'same  mo- 
ment, like  two  flashes  of  lightning  in  a 
dark  night.  The  swords  seemed  to  seek 
each  other,  guessed  their  position,  and 
met.  Both  were  practiced  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  instinc- 
tively.     Suddenly   De   Wardes    felt    his 


412 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


sword  arrested  —  he  had  just  touched 
Bucking-ham's  shoulder.  The  duke's 
sword  sunk,  as  his  arm  was  lowered. 

"  You  aie  touched,  my  lord,"  said  De 
Wardes,  drawing-  back  a  step  or  two. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  but  onl}^  slightl3^" 

*'' Yet  3^ou  quitted  j'our  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. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but,  observing-  that 
your  shirt  was  stained — "  said  Bucking-- 
ham . 

"Well."  said  De  Wardes,  furiousl}^ 
*•'  it  is  now  your  turn." 

And,  with  a  terrible  lunge,  he  pierced 
Buckingham's  arm  through,  the  sword 
passing  between  the  two  bones.  Bucking-- 
ham,  feeling-  his  right  arm  paralyzed, 
stretched  out  his  left  arm,  seized  his 
sword,  which  was  about  falling-  from  his 
nerveless  grasp,  and  before  De  Wardes 
could  resume  his  guard,  he  thrust  him 
through  the  breast.  De  Wardes  tottered, 
his  knees  gave  waj'  beneath  him,  and, 
leaving  his  sword  still  fixed  in  the  duke's 
arm,  he  fell  into  the  water,  which  was 
soon  crimsoned  with  a  more  genuine  re- 
fiection  than  that  which  it  had  assumed 
from  the  clouds.  De  Wardes  was  not 
dead  ;  he  felt  the  terrible  danger  wiiich 
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  toward  De  War- 
des, said,  "  Are  you  dead,  marquis  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied   De  Wardes,  in   a  voice 
choked  by  the  blood  which  rushed  from 
.  Ijis  lungs   to  his  tliroat,  "but  verj' near 
it." 

"Well,  wliat  is  to  be  done  ?  Can  3'ou 
walk  ?  "  said  Buckingham,  supporting  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  oyer  the  waves,  but  the 
sea  rose  faster  than  the  boat  could  ap- 
proach. Bucking:ham  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  bodj',  and  raised 
him  up.  The  wave  ascended  to  his  middle, 
but  could  not  move  him.  The  duke  imme- 
diately began  to  walk  toward  the  shore. 
He  had  hardh^  g-one  ten  paces,  when  a 
second  wave,  rushing  onward,  higher, 
more  furious,  more  menacing  than  the 
former,  struck  him  at  the  heig'ht  of  his 
chest,  threw  him  over,  and  buried  him  be- 
neath the  water.  At  the  reflux,  however, 
the  duke  and  De  Wardes  were  discovered 
lying  on  the  strand.  De  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  ob- 
served how  their  master  became  covered 
with  blood  in  proportion  as  the  water, 
with  which  it  was  impregnated,  flowed 
toward  his  knees  and  feet.  They  w'ished 
to  carry  bim  away. 

"No,  no,"  exclaimed  the  duke;  "take 
the  marquis  on  shore  first." 

"  Death  to  the  Frenchman  !  "  cried  the 
English,  sullenl3\ 

"Wretched  knaves!"  exclaimed  the 
duke,  drawing-  himself  up  with  a  haughty 
g-esture,  which  sprinkled  them  with  blood, 
"  obey  directly.  M.  de  Wardes  on  shore  I 
M.  de  Wardes'  safet.y  to  be  looked  to 
first,  or  I  will  have  you  all  hanged  !  " 

The  boat  had  by  this  time  reached 
them  ;  the  secretary  and  intendant  leaped 
into  the,  sea,  and  approached  the  mar- 
quis, who  no  longer  showed  an3'  sign  of 
life.  I  commit  him  to  j^our  care,  as  3'ou 
value  3'our  lives,"  said  the  duke.  "  Take 
M.  de  Wardes  on  shore."  Thej^  took  him 
in  their  arms,  and  carried  liim  to  the  dr^^ 
sand,  Avhere  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  fig-hting 
with  the  Avater  up  to  their  knees.  The 
fishermen,  observing-  a  group  of  men  ap- 
proaching carr\'ing  a  w'ounded  man,  en- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


413 


tered  the  sea  until  the  water  was  up  to 
the  middle  of  their  bodies.  The  EnD:lish 
transferred  the  wounded  man  to  them  at 
the  very  moment  the  latter  began  to  open 
his  e3'es  ag"ain.  The  salt  water  and  the 
fine  sand  had  g-ot  into  his  wounds,  and 
caused  him  the  acutest  pain.  The  duke's 
secretarj^  drew  out  a  purse  filled  with  g-old 
from  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  one 
among  those  present  who  appeared  of 
most  importance,  saying: — "From  my 
master,  his  grace  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, in  order  that  every  conceivable  care 
may  be  taken  of  the  Marquis  de  AVardes." 
Then,  followed  by  those  who  had  ac- 
companied him,  he  returned  to  the  boat, 
whicli  Buckingham  had  been  enabled  to 
reach  with  the  greatest  difficult}-,  but 
onh^  after  he  had  seen  De  Wardes  out  of 
danger.  By  this  time  it  was  high  tide  : 
the  embroidered  coats  and  silk  saslies 
were  lost ;  many  hats,  too,  had  been  ca  r- 
ried  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  the.y  car- 
ried him  in  their  arms  toward  the  town. 


CHAPTER  CV. 

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  jealous}^, 
and  who,  besides,  permitted  himself  to 
be  monopolized  by  the  Chevalier  de  Lor- 
raine, allowed  as  much  liberty  and  free- 
dom in  his  house  as  the  most  exacting 
person  could  desire.  The  king,  on  his 
side,  who  had  conceived  a  strong  predi- 
lection for  Ma  dame's  society,  invented  a 
variety  of  amusements,  in  quick  succes- 
sion 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  Fontainebleau  should  be  pre- 
pared for  the  reception  of  the  court,  and 
every  one  was  using  his  utmost  interest 
to  get  invited.  Madame  led  a  life  of  in- 
cessant occupation,  neither  her  voice  nor 
her  pen  were  idle  for  a  monjent.  The 
conversations  with  De  Guiche  were  grad- 
ually assuming  a  tone  of  interest  which 
might  unmistakably  be  recognized  as  the 
preludes  of  a  deep-seated  attachment. 
When  eyes  look  languishingh'  while  the 
subject  under  discussion  happens  to  be 
the  colors  of  materials  for  dresses  ;  when 
a  whole  hour  is  occupied  in  analyzing  the 
merits  of  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  and  sighs 
which  ever}'  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  plaj'ed,  wrote  verses,  or  selected 
mottoes  or  emblematical  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,  3'oung,  and  of 
unequaled  gallantr\-.  All  women  were 
passionately  loved  b\'  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  confessed 
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  an}-  pref- 
erence shown  her  beyond  that  shown  to 
others.  It  might  be  foretold  that  the  day 
when  his  real  character  would  be  dis- 
plaj'ed  would  be  the  dawn  of  a  new  sov- 
ereignty; but  as  yet  he  had  not  declared 
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  Montalais  : 
that  he  had  been  assiduoush''  attentive  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Chatillon;  but  now  he 
was  not  even  barely  civil  to  any  of  the 
court  beauties.     He  had  eves  and  ears  but 


414 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


for  one  person  alone.  In  this  manner^ 
and,  as  it  were,  without  desig^n,  he  de- 
voted himself  to  Monsieur,  who  had  a 
g-reat  reg-ard  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  ]\Iadame,  but,  after  her  ar- 
rival, he  did  not  estrang-e  himself  suffi- 
ciently. This  conduct,  which  everj^  one 
had  observed,  had  been  particularly  re- 
marked by  the  evil  genius  of  the  house, 
the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  for  whom  Mon- 
sieur exhibited  tlie  warmest  attacliment, 
because  he  was  of  a  very  cheerful  disposi- 
tion even  in  his  remarks  most  full  of  malice, 
and  because  he  was  never  at  a  loss  how  to 
make  the  time  pass  aw^ay.  The  Chevalier 
de  Lorraine,  therefore,  having-  noticed 
that  he  was  threatened  with  being  sup- 
planted b}''  De  Guiche,  resorted  to  strong- 
measures.  He  disappeared  from  the 
court,  leaving-  Monsieur  much  embar- 
rassed. The  first  day  of  his  disappear- 
ance. Monsieur  hardl^^  inquired  about  him, 
for  he  had  De  Guiche  with  him,  and,  ex- 
cept the  time  devoted  to  conversation  with 
Madame,  his  days  and  nights  ^vere  rig-or- 
ousl}'  devoted  to  the  prince.  On  the  sec- 
ond 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 
fring"es  with  Madame,  went  to  console 
the  pnnce.  But  after  dinner,  as  there 
were  tulips  and  amethj^sts  to  look  at, 
De  Guiche  returned  to  Madame's  cabi- 
net. Monsieur  was  left  quite  to  himself 
during-  all  the  time  he  devoted  to  dress- 
ing- and  decorating  himself ;  he  felt  that 
he  was  the  most  miserable  of  men,  and 
ag-ain  inquired  whether  there  was  any 
news  of  the  chevalier,  in  reply  to  wiiich 
he  was  told  that  no  one  knew  where  the 
chevalier  Avas  to  be  found.  Monsieur, 
hardly  knowing-  in  what  direction  to  in- 
flict his  weariness,  went  to  Madame's 
apartments  dressed  in  his  morning--g-OAvn. 
He  found  a  larg-e  assemblage  of  people 
there,  laug-hing-  and  whispering-  in  ever^'^ 
part  of  the  room  ;  at  one  end,  a  g-roup  of 
women  around  one  of  the  courtiers,  talk- 


ing- tog-ether,  amid  smothered  bursts  of 
laug-hter;  at  the  other  end,  Manicamp 
and  Malicorne  were  being-  pillaged  by 
Montalais  and  Mademoiselle  .de  Tonnay- 
Charente,  while  two  otliers  were  stand- 
ing- by,  laug-hing-.  In  anotlier  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 
fing-er,  pointed  out  such  among-  them  as 
pleased  her  the  most.  Again,  in  another 
corner  of  the  room,  a  g-uitar-player  was 
playing-  some  of  the  Spanish  sequedillas, 
to  which  Madame  had  taken  the  greatest 
fanc3^  ever  since  she  had  heard  them  sung- 
by  the  ^''oung-  queen  with  a  melanchol3^  ex- 
pression of  voice.  But  the  songs  which 
the  Spanish  princess  had  snng-  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  the  \'oung-  Eng-lishwoman  was 
humming-  with  a  smile  which  displayed 
her  beautiful* pearl-like  teeth.  The  cabi- 
net presented,  in  fact,  the  most  perfect 
representation  of  unrestrained  pleasure 
and  amusement.  As  he  entered.  Mon- 
sieur was  struck  at  beholding  so  many 
persons  enjoying-  themselves  without  him. 
He  was  so  jealous  at  the  sig-ht  that  he 
could  not  resist  saying,  like  a  child, 
"  Wliat !  3^ou  are  amusing  3'ourselves 
here,  while  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  being 
alone  !  " 

The  sound  of  his  voice  was  like  a  clap 
of  thunder  which  interrupts  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'S 
dress.  Manicamp  stood  bolt  upright,  and 
assumed  a  very  ceremonious  demeanor. 
The  guitar-player  thrust  his  guitar  under 
a  table,  covering  it  with  a  piece  of  carpet 
to  conceal  it  from  the  prince's  observa- 
tion. Madame  was  the  only  one  who  did 
not  move,  and,  smiling  at  her  husband, 
said,  ''  Is  not  this  the  hour  j^ou  usually 
devote  to  your  toilet  ?  " 

"An  hour  which  others  select,  it  seems, 
for  amusing  themselves,"  replied  the 
prince,  grumblingl3^ 

This  untoward  remark  was  the  signal 
for  a  general  rout ;  the  women  fled  like  a 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELON^E. 


415 


flight  of  terrified  birds,  the  guitar-player 
vanished  hke  a  shadow  ;  MaUcorne,  still 
protected  by  JVIontalais,  who  purposely 
widened  out  her  dress,  glided  behind  the 
hanging  tapestry.  As  for  Manicamp,  he 
went  to  the  assistance  of  De  Guiche,  who 
naturall3^  remained  near  Madame,  and 
both  of  them,  with  the  princess  herself, 
courageoush"  sustained  the  attack.  The 
corate  was  too  happj^  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,  fur- 
nished 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  grim- 
ace, 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  \qvj 
soon  left  off,  but  his  anger  had  increased. 
He  was  still  more  furious  from  having  al- 
lowed himself  to  laugh  than  from  having 
seen  others  laugh.  He  looked  at  Mani- 
camp steadih',  not  venturing  to  show  his 
anger  toward  De  Guiche  ;.  but  at  a  sign 
Avhich  displayed  no  little  amount  of  an- 
noyance, Manicamp  and  De  Guiche  left 
the  room,  so  that  Madame,  left  alone, 
began  sadly  to  pick  up  her  pearls,  no 
longer  laughing,  and  speaking  still  less. 

"  I  am  very  happv,"  said  the  duke,  "  to 
find  myself  treated  as  a  stranger  here, 
madame,"  and  he  left  the  room  in  a  pas- 
sion. On  his  way  out,  he  met  Mont  alais, 
who  was  in  attendance  in  the  anteroom. 
''It  is  XQvy  agreeable  to  pay  you  a  visit 
here,  but  outside  the  door." 

Montalais  made  a  very  low  obeisance. 
"  I  do  not  quite  iinderstand  what  your 
royal  highness  does  me  the  honor  to  say." 

"  I  say  that  when  you  are  all  laughing 


together  in  Madame's  apartment,  he  is  an 
unwelcome  visitor  who  does  not  remain 
outside." 

"  Your  royal  highness  does  not  think, 
and  does  not  speak  so,  of  j^ourself." 

''  On  the  contrar3%  it  is  on  my  own  ac- 
count that  I  do  speak  and  think.  I  have 
no  reason,  certainly,  to  flatter  mj-self 
about  the  receptions  I  meet  with  here  at 
any  time.  How  is  it  that,  on  the  ver^^ 
day  there  is  music  and  a  little  societj^  in 
Madame's  apartments — in  my  own  apart- 
ments, indeed,  for  they  are  mine — on  the 
very  day  that  I  wish  to  amuse  myself  a 
little  in  m}-  turn,  everj'  one  runs  away  ? 
Are  they  afraid  to  see  me,  that  they  all 
took  to  flight  as  soon  as  I  appeared  ?  Is 
there  anj'thing  wrong,  then,  going  on  in 
m}^  absence  ?  " 

'•'Yet  nothing  has  been  done  to-day, 
monseigneur,  which  is  not  done  everv 
day." 

"  What  !  do  tliej^  laugh  like  that  every 
day?" 

"Why,  yes,  monseigneur." 

"  The  same  group  of  people,  and  the 
same  scraping,  going  on  eveiy  daj'  ?  " 

"  The  guitar,  monseigneur,  was  intro- 
duced to-day  ;  but  when  we  have  no  gui- 
tars, we  have  violins  and  flutes ;  women 
get  wearied  without  music." 

"  The  deuce  ! — and  the  men  I  " 

"  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  apart- 
ments, full  of  thought. 

He  threw  himself  into  the  largest  of 
his  armchairs,  without  looking  at  him- 
self in  the  glass. 

•'•' W^herecan  the  chevalier  be  ?  "  said  he. 

One  of  the  prince's  attendants  hap- 
pened to  be  near  him,  overheard  his  re- 
mark, and  replied  : 

'•'  No  one  knows,  A^our  highness." 

'•'  Still  the  same  answer.  The  first  one 
who  answers  me  again,  'I  do  not  know,' 
I  will  discharge."  Ever^^  one  at  this  re- 
mark , hurried  out  of  his  apartments,  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  others  had  fled 


416 


WOliKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


from  Madame's  apartments.  The  prince 
then  flew  into  the  wildest  rag-e.  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  enameled  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  g-uards,  timidl3\ 

'•  I  am  treating  mj'self  to  some  music," 
replied  the  prince,  gnashing  his  teeth. 

The  captain  of  the  guards  desired  his 
roj^al  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  CVI. 

M.    DE   LORRAINE'S   JEALOUSY. 

The  Due  d 'Orleans  uttered  a  cry  of 
delight  on  perceiving  the  Chevalier  de 
Lorraine.  •'  This  is  fortunate,  indeed," 
he  said;  "by  what  happ3^  chance  do  I 
see  you  ?  Had  you  indeed  disappeared, 
as  ever^'  one  assured  me?" 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

'*'  Some  caprice  ?  " 

"  I  to  venture  upon  caprices  with  j^our 
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  amusmg  than  I  can  ever 
be.  I  felt  that  I  was  not  strong  enough 
to  enter  into  a  contest  Avith  them,  and  I 
therefore  withdrew." 

'•  This  extreme  diffidence  shows  a  want 
of  common  sense.  Who  are  those  with 
whom  3'ou  cannot  contend  ?  De  Guiche  ?" 

"  I  name  no  one." 


"This  is  absurd.  Does  De  Guiche  an- 
noy 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  chevalier  knew 
perfectly  well  that  curiosity  is  excited  in 
the  same  way  as  thirst — by  removing 
that  which  quenches  it ;  or,  in  other 
words,  b3' delaying  the  explanation. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  prince,  "I  wish  to 
know  why  you  went  awaA'." 

"  In  that  case,  monseigneur,  I  will  tell 
you  ;  but  do  not  be  angr3\  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  verj' 
probably  jealous  of  the  regard  you  are 
good  enough  to  testify  for  me." 

"  Has  she  shown  it  to  3'ou  ?  " 

"  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  agreeable  lo 
her  than  I  could,  she  receives  him  at 
every  and  any  hour." 

The  duke  colored.  "  At  any  hour,  chev- 
alier ;  Avhat  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"You  see,  your  highness,  I  have  al- 
ready 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  saj'  no  more,"  said  the  cheva- 
lier, saluting  the  prince  ceremonioush^ 

"  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,  mon- 
seigneur, when  one  loves.  Is  not  your  royal 
highness  jealous  of  Madame  ?  Would  not 
your  roj'al  highness,  if  you  saw  some  one 
alwaj's  near  Madame,  and  always  treated 
with  great  favor,  take  umbrage  at  it? 
One's  friends  are  as  one's  lovers.     Your 


THKIIl  SWOKDS  CUOSSKU   AT  THE    SAME    MOMK 
DARK  XIGHT.-Par/C411. 


CNT,    I.IKE    TWO   FLASHES  OF   LIGHTNING   IN  A 


Dumas,  Vuluine  Tlnee. 


TH£:     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


411 


royal  highness  has  sometimes  conferred 
the  disting-uished  honor' upon  me  of  call- 
ing-me  3'our  friend." 

"  Yes,  yes;  but  .you  used  a  phrase  which 
has  a  very  equivocal  signification  ;  you 
are  unfortunate  in  your  remarks." 

"What  phrase,  monseigneur  ?  " 

''You  .said  'treated  with  great  favor.' 
What  do  you  mean  bj''  favor?  " 

"Nothing  can  be  more  simple,"  said 
the  chevalier,  with  an  expression  of  great 
frankness;  "for  instance,  whenever  a 
husband  remarks  that  his  wife  summons 
such  and  such  a  man  near  her — whenever 
this  man  is  alwaj^s  to  be  found  \)y  her  side, 
or  in  attendance  at  the  door  of  her  car- 
riage ;  whenever  the  bouquet  of  the  one 
is  always  the  same  color  as  the  ribbons  of 
the  other — when  music  and  supper  parties 
are  held  in  the  private  apartments — when- 
ever a  dead  silence  takes  place  immedi- 
ately the  husband  makes  his  appearance  in 
his  wife's  rooms — and  when  the  husband 
suddenly  finds  that  he  has,  as  a  com- 
panion 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  saj^,  monseigneur,  one 
possibl}'^  ma}'  get  jealous.  But  all  these 
details  hardly  apply  ;  for  our  conversa- 
tion had  nothing  to  do  with  them." 

The  duke  was  evidenth'  much  agitated, 
and  seemed  to  struggle  within  himself  a 
good  deal.  "  You  have  not  told  me,"  he 
then  remarked,  "  wh}^  you  absented  your- 
self. A  little  while  ago  you  said  it  was 
from  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  noth- 
ing but  what  was  very  inofTensive." 

"  At  all  events,  yow  remarked  some- 
thing." 

"You  embarrass  me,  monseigneur." 

"What  does  that  matter?  Answer 
me.  If  you  speak  the  truth,  wh}^  should 
you  feel  embarrassed  ?  " 

"  I  always  speak  the  truth,  monseig- 
neur ;  but  I  also  always  hesitate  when  it 
Dumas — 14 


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  angr^' 
air,  as  he  replied,  "  Monseigneur,  you  are 
subjecting  me  to  the  question ;  you  treat 
me  as  a  criminal  at  the  bar ;  and  the  lu- 
mors  which  idh'  pass  b}"  a  gentleman's 
ears  do  not  remain  there.  Your  high- 
ness wishes  me  to  magnify  the  rumor 
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  harm- 
less, I  repeat,  and  more  than  that, 
permissible.  But  do  not  be  unjust,  mon- 
seigneur, and  do  not  attach  an  undue  im- 
portance 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.  Ox\\y,  you  understand, 
what  I  am  afraid  of — I  am  afraid  of  being 
thought  jealous  of  the  favor  shown,  when 
I  am  only  jealous  as  far  as  friendship  is 
concerned.  I  know  your  disposition  ;  I 
know  that  when  yow  bestow  your  affec- 
tions 3^ou  become  exclusively  attached. 
You  love  Madame  —  and  who,  indeed, 
would  not  love  her?  Follow  me  atten- 
tively, 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  alreadj'-  bad  enough  to  have  to  sup- 
port Madame's  indifference.  I  have,  there- 
fore, made  up  my  mind  to  give  way  to  the 
favorite  whose  happiness  I  envj',  even 
while  I  acknowledge  my  sincere  friendship 
and   sincere   admiration   for  him.     Well, 


418 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


monseig-neur,  do  you  see  anything-  to  ob- 
ject to  in  this  reasoning  ?  Is  it  not  that 
of  a  man  of  honor  ?  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  si- 
lence, long  enough  to  enable  the  chevalier 
to  judge  of  the  etfect  of  his  oratorical  dis- 
play, the  duke  rose,  saying,  "Come,  be 
candid." 

"As  I  always  am." 

"  Very  well.  You  know  that  we  al- 
ready' observed  something  respecting"  that 
mad  fellow,  Buckingham." 

"Do  not  say  anything  against  Mad- 
ame, monseigneur,  or  I  shall  take  mj^ 
leave.  Is  it  possible  3'ou  can  be  suspicious 
of  Madame?" 

"No,  no,  chevalier;  I  do  not  suspect 
Madame  ;  but,  in  fact,  I  observe — I  com- 
pare— " 

"  Buckingham  was  a  madman,  mon- 
seigneur." 

"A  madman  about  whom,  however, 
you  opened  m.^  eyQS  thoroughly." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  chevalier,  quickly; 
"it  was  not  I  who  opened  yonv  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  jealous3\" 

"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, 
haughtil}^,  thoroughly  roused  by  this  in- 
sidious jest. 

"  Am  I  not  right  ?  for  does  not  M.  de 
Guiche  hold  the  chief  post  of  honor  in 
your  household?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  duke,  somewhat 
calmed,  "had  this  passion  of  Bucking- 
ham been  remarked  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

"Very  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." 


"  Very  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  3'ou  to  conjure  up,  b3'^  the 
aid  of  any  scruples  I  may  have  had,  sus- 
picions which  Madame  will  regard  as 
crimes,  and  she  will  be  right,  too." 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"Act  reasonabl3^" 

"In  what  way  ?  " 

"' I  should  not  pay  the  slig-htest  atten- 
tion to  the  society  of  these  new  Epicurean 
philosophers  ;  and,  in  that  w^a}',  the  ru- 
mors will  cease." 

"Well,  I  shall  see;  I  shall  think  over  it." 

"  Oh,  you  have  time  enoug'h  ;  the  dan- 
ger is  not  great ;  and  then,  besides,  it  is 
not  a  question  either  of  danger  or  of  pas- 
sion. It  all  arose  from  a  fear  I  had  to  see 
your  friendship  for  me  decrease.  From 
the  \Qvy  moment  you  restore  it  me,  with 
so  kind  an  assurance  of  its  existence,  I 
have  no  longer  anj^  other  idea  in  vaj 
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 
liour,  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  mj^  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  chev- 
alier, with  a  sigh  ;  "'  I  regret  De  Guiche 
is  not  here." 

"  Oh  !  De  Guiche  will  not  remain  long- 
in  the  sulks  ;  he  is  a  Yery  g-ood-natured 
fellow," 

"Monseigneur,"  said  the  chevalier, 
suddenl}',  "an  excellent  idea  has  struck 
me,  in  our  conversation  just  now.  I  may 
have  exasperated  j'^our  highness,  and 
caused  j^ou  some  dissatisfaction.  It  is 
but  fitting  that  I  should  be  the  mediator. 
I  will  go  and  look  for  the  comte,  and 
bring  him  back  with  me." 

"  Ah  !  chevalier,  3'ou  are  really  a  \evy 
g-ood-natured  fellow." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


419 


"You  say  that  as  if  you  were  sur- 
prised.'' 

*•'  Well,  you  are  not  so  tender-hearted 
ever3'^  day." 

**  That  may  be ;  but  confess  that  I 
know  how  to  repair  a  wrong-  I  may 
have  done." 

"  I  confess  that." 

"  Will  3''0ur  highness  do  me  the  favor  to 
wait  here  a  few  minutes  ?  " 

'' Willing! 3^  ;  be  otf,  and  I  Avill  tr^'  on 
my  Fontainebleau  costume." 

The  chevalier  left  the  room,  called  his 
different  attendants  witli  the  greatest 
care,  as  if  he  was  giving-  them  different 
orders.  All  went  off  in  various  directions, 
but  he  retained  his  valet -de-chambre. 
"  Ascertain,  and  immediately  too,  if  M.  de 
Guiche  is  not  in  Madame's  apartments. 
How  can  one  learn  it?  " 

"^Very  easily'-,  monsieur.  I  will  ask 
Malicorne,  who  will  learn  it  from  Mdlle. 
de  Montalais.  I  may  as  well  tell  3^ou,  how- 
ever, that  the  inquiry  will  be  useless  :  for 
all  M.  de  Guiche's  attendants  are  g-one, 
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  toward  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  :  "  \\\\y  so  many  precautions  ?  " 

•'•'Look,  monsieur,"  said  the  valet,  "  look 
.yonder,  under  the  walnut-tree." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  chevalier,  "'  I  see  Mani- 
camp  there.     What  is  he  waiting  for  ?  " 

"You  will  see  in  a  moment,  monsieur, 
if  3^ou  wait  patiently.  There,  do  you  see 
now  ?  " 

"I  see  one,  two,  four  musicians  with 
their  instruments,  and  behind  them,  urg-- 
ing  them  on,  De  Guiche  himself.  "WHiat 
is  he  doing-  there,  though  ?  " 

"  He  is  waiting  until  the  little  door  of 
the  staircase,  belonging  to  the  ladies  of 
honor,  is  opened  ;  hy  that  staircase  he 
will  ascend  to  Madame's  apartments, 
where  some  new  pieces  of  music  are  g-oing- 
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 
househpld." 

"  And  most  certain^  he  shall.  How 
much  did  he  give  j^ou  for  that  ?  " 

'•  The  secret  which  I  now  dispose  of  to 
yow,  monsieur." 

"  And  which  I  buy  for  a  hundred  pis- 
toles.    Take  them." 

"  Thank  you,  monsieur.  Look,  look, 
the  little  door  opens,  a  woman  admits  the 
musicians." 

"It  is  Montalais." 

"Hush,  raonseig-neur ;  do  not  call  out 
her  name ;  whoever  says  Montalais  says 
Malicorne.  If  you  quarrel  with  the  one, 
3^ou  will  be  on  bad  terms  with  the  other." 

"Very  well ;  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  splendid  13^  dressed 
and  radiant  with  303%  as  with  good  looks. 
"I  am  told,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  the 
king-  has  taken  the  sun  as  his  device ; 
reall3^,  monseigneur,  it  is  3^ou  whom  this 
device  would  best  suit." 

"Where  is  De  Guiche?" 

"^He  cannot  be  found.  He  has  fled — 
has  evaporated  entirel3\  Your  scolding- 
of  this  morning  terrified  him.  He  could 
not  be  found  in  his  apartments." 

"'  Bah  !  the  hare-brained  fellow  is  capa- 
ble of  setting  off  post-haste  to  his  own 
estates.  Poor  fellow  !  we  will  recall  him. 
Come,  let  us  dine  now." 

"  Monseigneur.  to-da3^  is  a  da3'  of  ideas ; 
I  have  another." 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  Madame  is  angry  with  3"0U,  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  dut3^  of  a  g-ood  husband  to 
do  so.     The  princess  is  no  doubt  wearied 


420 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


enough ;  she  will  be  weeping-  in  her  plate, 
and  her  eyes  will  get  quite  red.  A  hus- 
band who  is  the  cause  of  his  wife's  e3'es 
g-etting-  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  ap- 
pear, 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  merrj'.  You  were 
wrong  this  morning." 

^'  Well,  perhaps  I  was." 

"  There  is  no  perhaps  at  all,  for  it  is  a 
fact  3^0 u  were  so." 

"Chevalier,  chevalier,  your  advice  is 
not  good." 

'•'Nay,  my  advice  is  good:  all  the  ad- 
vantages are  on  your  own  side.  Your 
violet-colored  suit,  embroidered  with  gold, 
becomes  you  admirably.  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 
\)y  the  chevalier,  and  went  toward  Mad- 
ame's apartments.  The  chevalier  hast- 
ily whispered  to  his  valet,  "  Be  sure  that 
there  •  are  some  people  before  the  little 
door,  so  that  no  one  can  escape  in  that 
direction.  Run,  run  !  "  And  he  followed 
the  duke  toward  the  antechambers  of 
Madame's  suite  of  apartments,  and  when 
the  ushers  were  about  to  announce  them, 
the  chevalier  said,  laughing,  '"'His  hig-h- 
ness  wishes  to  surprise  Madame," 


CHAPTER  CVII. 

MONSIEUR   IS   JEALOUS   OF   GUICHE. 

Monsieur  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 
raelanchol}'  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,  un- 
finished. Her  partner  was  M.  de  Guiche, 
who,  with  his  arms  raised  and  his  ej^es 
half  closed,  was  kneeling  on  one  knee, 
like  the  Spanish  dancers,  with  looks  full  of 
passion,  and  gestures  of  the  most  caress- 
ing character.  The  princess  was  dancing 
round  him  with  a  responsive  smile,  and 
the  same  air  of  alluring  seductiveness. 
Montalais  stood  by  admiringly ;  La  Val- 
liere,  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  impos- 
sible to  describe  the  effect  which  the  sight 
of  their  happinees  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  liked  a  man  in  the  very 
height  of  the  frankest  admiration.  The 
pallor  of  the  prince,  and  the  convulsive 
trembling  of  his  hands  and  limbs,  were 
the  first  S3^mptoms  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 
respectfull}',  affecting  to  join  them  to- 
gether in  his  reverences,  as  though  they 
were  the  master  and  mistress  of  the 
house.  Monsieur  then  approached  them, 
sa3'ing,  in  a  hoarse  tone  of  voice,  "  I  am 
delighted.  I  came  here  expecting  to  find 
you  ill  and  low-spirited,  and  I  find  j'ou 
abandoning  yourself  to  new  amusements. 
Really,  it  is  most  fortunate ;  my  house  is 
the  merriest  in  the  whole  kingdom." 
Then,  turning  toward  De  Guiche, 
"Comte,"  he  said,  "I  did  not  know 
you  were  so  good  a  dancei'."  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,  unfortunatel\%  very  much  neg- 
lected." 

Guiche    had    now    recovered   his    self- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


421 


possession,  and  with  the  spirited  boldness 
which  was  natural  to  him,  and  which  so 
well  became  him,  he  said  :  ''  Your  high- 
ness 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-da^',  as  it  is  only  a  question  of  danc- 
ing to  music,  I  dance." 

''And  you  are  perfectly  right,"  said 
the  prince,  coldly.  "  Bat,  madame,"  he 
continued,  "'you  do  not  remark  that  3'our 
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  m^^  gentlemen.  Do  not  strip 
me  of  everything." 

Madame  felt  the  reproach  and  the  les- 
son, and  the  color  rushed  to  her  face. 
"Monsieur,"  she  replied,  '''I  was  not 
aware,  when  I  came  to  the  court  of 
France,  that  princesses  of  my  rank  were 
to  be  regarded  as  the  women  in  Turkey 
are — I  was  not  aAvare  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  jow  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 !  "  mur- 
mured the  chevalier  in  the  duke's  ear, 
in  such  a  manner  that  ever^^  one  could 
observe  he  was  endeavoring  to  calm 
him. 

"  Come,"  replied  the  prince,  as  his  only 
answer  to  the  remark,  hurrying  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  toward  the  ceiling,  joined 
his  hands  together,  and  said  not  a  word. 

"  Give  me  your  opinion  !"  exclaimed  the 
prince. 

•'Upon  what?" 


"  Upon  what  is  taking  place  here." 

'•  Oh,  monseigneur,  it  is  a  very  serious 
matter." 

"It  is  abominable  !  I  caimot  live  in 
this  manner." 

'•How  unhappy  all  this  is,"  said  the 
chevalier.  "  We  hoped  to  enjoj'  tran- 
quillity, after  that  madman  Buckingham 
had  left." 

"  And  this  is  worse." 

"  I  do  not  say  that,  monseigneur." 

"  Yes,  but  I  saj^  it,  for  Buckingham 
would  never  have  ventured  upon  a  fourth 
part  of  what  we  have  just  now  seen." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  To  conceal  one's  self  for  the  purpose 
of  dancing,  and  to  feign  indisposition  in 
order  to  dine  tete-a-tete." 

"No,  no,  monseigneur." 

"Yes,  3"es,"  exclaimed  the  prince,  ex- 
citing 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  waj',  when  people  show 
so  little  consideration  for  me  !  Wait  for 
me  here,  chevalier,  wait  for  me  here." 
The  prince  disappeared  in  the  neighboring 
apartment,  and  inquired  of  the  gentlemen 
in  attendance  if  the  queen-mother  had  re- 
turned 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  as- 
sured ;  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  awaj^  as  a  hard- 
hearted step-mother,  and  she  sighed  as 
she  thought  of  him. 

Suddenly,  the  Due  d'Orleans  entered 
her  room.  "  Dear  mother,"  he  exclaimed 
hurriedly,  closing  the  door,  "things  can- 
not go  on  as  the^^  now  are." 

Anne  of  Austria  raised  her  beautiful 
ej^es  toward  him,  and  with  an  unmoved 
gentleness  of  manner,  said,  "  What  things 
do  you  allude  to  ?  " 


422 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  I  wish  to  speak  of  Madame." 

'^  Your  wife?" 

'^Yes,  ma  da  me." 

''I  suppose  that  silly  fellow  Bucking-- 
ham  has  been  writing'  a  farewell  letter  to 
her." 

"Oh  !  3'es,  madame  ;  of  course,  it  is  a 
question  of  Bucking-ham." 

"  Of  whom  else  could  it  be,  then  ?  for 
that  poor  fellow  was,  wrong-l^^  enough,  the 
object  of  3'our  jealousy,  and  I  thoug-ht — " 

'•'  M}'^  wife,  madame,  has  already  re- 
placed the  Duke  of  Buckingham." 

"  Philip,  what  are  you  saying"  ?  You 
are  speaking-  ver^'^  heedlessly." 

"No,  no.  —  Madame  has  so  managed 
matters,  that  I  am  still  jealous." 

"  Of  whom,  in  Heaven's  name?  " 

"  Is  it  possible  3^ou  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  beg-an  to  laug-h.  "Pliilip,"  she  said, 
"  3'our  jealousy  is  not  merely  a  defect,  it 
is  a  positive  disease." 

"Whether  a  defect  or  a  disease,  mad- 
ame, I  am  the  sufferer  from  it." 

"  And  do  3'ou  imagine  that  a  complaint 
which  exists  only  in  3'our  own  imagina- 
tion can  be  cured  ?  You  wish  it  to  be 
said  3^ou  are  rig-ht  in  being-  jealous,  when 
there  is  no  ground  whatever  for  yowv 
jealous3^" 

"'Of  course  you  will  beg-in  to  saj^  for 
this  one  what  you  always  said  on  behalf 
of  the  other." 

"  Because,  Philip,"  said  the  queen,  dry- 
ly, "  what  you  did  for  .the  other,  3^ou  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  jeal- 
ousy, I  would  believe  you  without  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." 

"  Far  from  it ;  as  you  are  my  son,  I  owe 
you  a  mother's  indulgence." 

"Oh,   say   what  3'ou   think;  3'ou    owe 


me  as  much  indulgence  as  a  madman 
deserves." 

"Do  not  exaggerate,  Philip,  and  take 
care  how  j^ou  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  apart- 
ments." 

"  No  harm  in  that,  surel3\" 

"  M.  de  Guiche  was  talking  with  her 
alone — Ah  !  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that,  dur- 
ing 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  offense. 
To  reproach  them  for  an  error  they  have 
not  committed  is,  sometimes,  almost  the 
same  as  telling  them  they  might  do  it." 

"  Very  good,  very  good  ;  but  wait  a 
minute.  Do  not  forget  what  you  have  just 
this  minute  said,  that  this  morning's  les- 
son ought  to  have  been  sufficient,  and 
that  if  they  had  been  doing  what  w^as 
wrong,  they  would  have  concealed  them- 
selves." 

"  Yes,  I  said  so." 

"'  Well,  just  now,  repenting  of  my  hasti- 
ness of  this  morning,  and  knowing  that 
De  Guiche  was  sulking  in  his  own  apart- 
ments, I  went  to  pay  Madame  a  visit. 
Can  you  guess  what,  or  whom,  I  found 
there? — Another  set  of  musicians;  more 
dancing,  and  Guiche  himself — he  was  con- 
cealed there." 

Anne  of  Austria  frowned.  "It  was 
imprudent,"  she  said.'  "What  did  Mad- 
ame say  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"And  Guiche?" 

"  As  much — oh,  no  !  he  muttered  some 
impertinent  remark  or  another." 

"  Well,  what  is  your  opinion,  Philip  ?  '* 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


423 


"  That  I  have  been  made  a  fool  of ;  that 
Bucking"ham  was  only  a  pretext,  and  that 
Guiche  is  the  one  who  is  really  g-uilt}'." 

Anne  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Well," 
she  said,  "what  else?  " 

•'  I  wish  De  Guiche  to  be  dismissed 
from  my  household,  as  Buckingham  was, 
and  I  shall  ask  the  king,  unless — " 

"■  Unless  what  ?  " 

"  Unless  3"ou,  my  dear  mother,  who  are 
so  clever  and  so  kind,  will  execute  the 
commission  yourself.*' 

"  I  shall  not  do  it,  Philip." 

"  What,  madame  ?  " 

"  Listen,  Philip ;  I  am  not  disposed  to 
paj^  people  ill  compliments  every  da}- ;  I 
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  uneasi- 
ness. ''  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  "  she 
said. 

''  I  will  have  him  drowned  in  my  reser- 
voir the  next  time  I  find  him  in  my  apart- 
ments 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,  ''  Ever^'  one  betra3's  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  usijalh'  pays  me  a  visit ;  explain 
the  matter  to  him  yourself." 

She  had  hardly  finished  when  Philip 
heard  tlie  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  prepara- 
tions for  the  journey  to  Fontainebleau 
were  complete.  Seeing  her  laugh,  his 
uneasiness  on  her  account  diminished,  and 
he  addressed  her  in  a  laughing  tone  him- 
self. 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  ?  " 

'•'  Wh3',  madame  ?  " 

"  Because  Spanish  women  are  worth 
more  than  English  womeji  at  least." 

"  Explain  yourself." 

"Since  your  marriage,  you  have  not,  I 
believe,  had  a  single  reproach  to  make 
against  the  queen." 

"Certainly  not." 

"  And  3'ou,  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." 

"  Realh',  Madame  is  a  coquette,  then." 

"I  fear  so." 

"My  poor  brother,"  said  the  king, 
laughing'., 

"You  do  not  mind  coquetting,  it 
seems  ?  " 

"  In  Madame,  certainh^  I  do  ;  but  Mad- 
ame is  not  a  coquette  at  heart." 

"That  may  be,  but  your  brother  is 
excessively  angr^^  about  it." 

"'  What  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  He  wishes  to  drown  Guiche." 

"That  is  a  violent  measure  to  resort 
to." 

"Do  not  laugh,  he  is  extremely  irri- 
tated.    Think  of  what  can  be  done." 

"To  save  Guiche — certainly." 

"  Oh,  if  3-our  brother  heard  you,  he 
would  conspire  against  you  as  your  uncle 
Monsieur  did  against  your  father." 


424 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRA    DUMAS. 


"  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  ex- 
alted idea  of  sovereign  power.  To  reform 
a  woman  !  not  to  say  a  word  about  re- 
forming 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." 

"You  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  apart- 
ment." 

"Would  that  not  seem  a  somewhat 
serious  step  to  take  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  seriousness  is  not  unbecom- 
ing in  preachers,  and  the  music  of  the 
ballet  would  drown  one  half  of  my  argu- 
ments. Besides,  the  object  is  to  prevent 
any  violent  measures  on  mj''  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  assidu- 
ity ;  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  possibl3'  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  emplo}'^  an  ambassador," 
said  Louis  :  "  which  is  as  much  as  to  say 
that  I  shall  succeed."  He  laughed  as  he 
left  the  room,  and  carefully  dusted  his 
dress  as  he  went  along. 


CHAPTER  CVIII. 


THE   MEDIATOR. 


When  the  king  made  his  appearance 
in  Madame's  apartments,  the  courtiers, 
whom  the  news  of  a  conjugal  misunder- 
standing had  dispersed  in  the  various 
apartments,  began  to  entertain  the  most 
serious  apprehensions.  A  storm,  too,  was 
brewing  in  that  direction,  the  ^elements  of 
which  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  in  the 
midst  of  the  different  groups,  was  ana- 
lyzing with  dehglit,  contributing  to  the 
weaker,  and  acting,  according  to  his  own 
wicked  designs,  in  such  a  manner  with 
regard  to  the  stronger,  as  to  jjroduce  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


4^5 


intervention  in  the  private  affairs  of  Mon- 
sieur, 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,  lield  aloof  from 
him,  with  a  sort  of  nervous  apprehension; 
and  the  comte  himself,  infected  b3''  the 
g-eneral  panic,  retired  to  his  own  apart- 
ments alone.  The  king-  entered  Mad- 
ame's  private  apartments,  acknowledging- 
and  returning  the  salutations,  as  he  was 
alwa3's  in  the  habit  of  doing-.  The  ladies 
of  honor  were  rang-ed  in  a  line  on  his  pas- 
sage along  the  g-aller3\  Although  his 
majesty  was  very  much  preoccupied,  he 
g-ave  the  glance  of  a  master  at  the  two 
rows  of  3^oung-  and  beautiful  g-irls,  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  beau- 
tiful skin  imaginable,  was  pale,  and  could 
hardh^  sustain  herself,  notwithstanding- 
the  knocks  which  her  companion  gave 
her  with  her  elbow.  It  was"  La  Valliere, 
whom  Montalais  supported  in  that  man- 
ner, by  whispering  some  of  that  courage 
to  her  with  which  she  herself  was  so 
abundantlj^  provided.  The  king-  could 
not  resist  turning-  round  to  look  at  them 
ag'ain.  Their  faces,  which  had  already'' 
been  raised,  were  ag-ain  lowered,  but  the 
onl}'  fair  head  among  them  remained 
motionless,  as  if  all  the  streng-th  and  in- 
telligence 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 
honor  she  was  receiving-.  She  then  re- 
sumed her  seat,  overcome  b}^  a  sudden 
weakness,  which  was  no  doubt  assumed, 
for  a  delightful  color  animated  her  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes,  still  red  from  the  tears  she 
had  recentU^  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  character- 
ized him,  the  disorder  of  the  apartment, 
a*nd  the  no  less  great  disorder  of  Mad- 
ame's countenance,  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  graciouslj'^  excuse  my  ap- 
pearance at  the  repetition  ;  I  was  about 
to  send  to  inform  your  majesty  that  I 
could  not  attend   to-da3\" 

•  •  Indeed, ' '  said  the  king  in  apparent 
surprise  ;  "  are  you  not  well  ?  " 

"  No^sire." 

"  I  will  summon  your  medical  attend- 
ants, then." 

'^No,  for  they  can  do  nothing  for  my 
indisposition." 

''You  alarm  me." 

''Sire,  I  wish  to  ask  your  majesty's 
permission  to  return  to  England." 

The  king  started.  "Return  to  Eng- 
land," he  said,  "  do  you  really  say  what 
3'ou  mean  ?  " 

"I  say  it  reluctantly,  sire,"  replied 
the  granddaughter  of  Henry  IV.,  firmly, 
her  beautiful  black  e3"es  flashing.  "1  re- 
gret to  have  to  confide  such  matters  to 
3^our  majestj^,  but  I  feel  myself  too  un- 
happy- at  3'our  majesty's  court ;  and  I 
wish  to  return  to  m\''  own  famih'." 

"Madame,  madame,"  exclaimed  the 
king  as  he  approached  her. 

"  Listen  to  me,  sire,"  continued  the 
3^oung  woman,  acquiring  by  degrees  that 
ascendencj^  over  her  interrogator  which 
her  beaut}'  and  her  nervous  nature  con- 
ferred ;  "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 
colored. 

"Then,"  she  continued,  "I  have  rea- 
soned 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 
mj^  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  labor. 


426 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  all3^ing  myself  with  a  French 
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 ;  3'ou 
whom  I  respect,  and  whom  I — love — " 
The  king  started  ;  never  had  an^^  voice 
so  gratified  his  ear. 

''  You,  sire,  who  know  all,  since  you 
have  come  here ;  you  will,  perhaps,  un- 
derstand me.  If  you  had  not  come,  I 
should  have  gone  to  3^ou.  I  wish  for  per- 
mission to  pass  freely".  I  leave  it  to  ^our 
delicacy  of  feeling  to  exculpate  and  to 
protect  me." 

^'My  dear  sister,"  murmured  the  king, 
overpowered  by  this  bold  attack,  "  have 
you  reflected  upon  the  enormous  difficult}^ 
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  3'ou  ?  "  said  the  king. 

The  princess,  it  will  have  been  seen,  by 
this  peculiarl}"  feminine  maneuver,  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  notwith- 
standing that,  all  women,  even  the  least 
clever  of  tl>e  sex,  invariabl}^  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  saj'ing  to  her,  "What 
have  they  done  to  3^ou  ?  " 

"  What  have  they  done  to  me,"  replied 
Madame;  "one  must  be  a  woman  to  un- 
derstand it,  sire — thej  have  made  me 
weep ;"  and,  with  one  of  her  fingers, 
whose  slenderness  and  perfect  whiteness 
were  unequaled,  she  pointed  to  her  bril- 
liant eyes  swimming  in  tears,  and  again 
began  to  weep. 

••I  implore  you,  m\''  dear  sister,"  said 
the  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  agree- 
able, cheerful  visitor,  m}-  own  counti-y- 
man,  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  Villiers  was  in  love  with  you." 

"A  pretext!  What  does  it  matter," 
she  said  seriously,  "whether  the  duke 
was  in  love  with  me  or  not  ?  Is  a  man  in 
love  so  very  dangerous  for  me  ?  Ah,  sire, 
it  is  not  suflicient  for  a  man  to  love  a 
woman."  And  she  smiled  so  tenderh', 
and  with  so  much  archness,  that  the  king* 
felt  his  heart  beat  and  throb  within  his 
breast. 

'•  At  all  events,  if  my  brother  were  jeal- 
ous ?  "  interrupted  the  king-. 

"  Ver3^  well,  I  admit  that  is  a  reason  ; 
and  the  duke  was  sent  away  accordingl3\" 

"No,  not  sent  away." 

"Driven  awa^^,  expelled,  dismissed, 
then,  if  3'ou  prefer  it,  sire.  One  of  the 
first  gentlemen  of  Europe  w^as  obliged  to 
leave  the  court  of  the  king  of .  France,  of 
Louis  XIV.,  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  speak- 
ing thus,  I  am  attacking  your  sovereign 
power." 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  sister,  it  was 
not  I  who  dismissed  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham; I  was  very  charmed  with  him." 

"'  It  was  not  you  ?  "  said  Madame  ;  "  ah, 
so  much  the  better  !  "  and  she  emphasized 
the  "so  much  the  tjetter  "  as  if  she  had 
instead  said,  "  so  much  the  worse." 

A  few  minutes'  silence  ensued.  She 
then  resumed:  "The  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham having  left,  I  now  know  whj^  and  by 
whose  means.  I  thought  I  should  have 
recovered  my  tranquillity  ;  but  not  at  all, 
for  all  at  once  Monsieur  finds  another  pre- 
text— all  at  once — " 

"  All  at  once,"  said  the  king,  playfully, 
"  some  one  else  presents  himself.  It  is 
but  natural ;  you  are  beautiful,  and  will 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


m 


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  he  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-  the}'  ma\'  be  re- 
g-arded  as  my  lovers.  Shame  !  it  is  a  dis- 
g-raceful  suspicion,  and  unworthy  a  gen- 
tleman. Monsieur  has  lost  everything  in 
my  estimation,  since  he  has  shown  me  he 
can  be  the  t3'rant  of  a  woman." 

"Nay,  nay  ;  m^^  brother's  only  fault  is 
that  of  loving-  3'ou." 

"  Love  me  !  Monsieur  love  me  !  Ah, 
sire  ;  "  and  she  burst  out  laughing.  "Mon- 
sieur willneverlove  any  woman,"  she  said ; 
^-  Monsieur  loves  himself  too  much.  No, 
unhappily  for  me.  Monsieur's  jealousy  is 
of  the  worst  kind — he  is  jealous  Avithout 
love." 

"  Confess,  however,"  said  the  king-,  who 
began  to  be  excited  by  this  varied  and 
animated  conversation  —  '•'  confess  that 
Guiche  loves  3'ou." 

''  Ah,  sire,  I  know  nothing-  about  that." 

"You  must  have  perceived  it;  a  man 
who  loves  readily  betr-ays  himself." 

"■  M.  de  Guiche  has  not  betrayed  him- 
self." 

"My  dear  sister,  j'ou  are  defending-  M. 
de  Guiche." 

"  I,  indeed  !  Ah,  sire,  I  only  needed  a 
suspicion  from  j'ourself  to  complete  my 
w^retchedness." 

"No,  madame,  no,"  returned  the  king-, 
hurriedlj" ;  "'  do  not  distress  yourself — 
na}^  you  are  weeping.  I  implore  you  to 
calm  j'ourself." 

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  sadh',  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  disturbed  than 
became  his  character  of  mediator. 

"None,  absolutel}'^  none." 

"Then  1  can  reassure  my  brother  in 
that  respect  ?  ' ' 


"  Nothing  will  satisfy  him,  sire.  Do 
not  beheve  he  is  jealous ;  Monsieur  has 
been  badlj'  advised  b^'  some  one,  and  he 
is  of  an  anxious  disposition." 

"He  may  well  be  so  when  you  are  con- 
cerned," said  the  king. 

Madame  cast  down  her  eyes  and  was  si- 
lent; the  king  did  so  likewise,  still  holding- 
her  hand  all  the  while.  His  momentary 
silence  seemed  to  last  an  ag-e.  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  societj^  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  g-oing  somewhat  too  far." 

"  I  only  say  what  is  the  fact.  Do  you 
observe  for  3'ourself,  sire,  and  you  will  see 
that  I  am  rig-ht." 

"I  will  observe  ;  but,  in  the  meantime, 
w^hat  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  thoroug-hly 
chang-ed. 

"  Sire,  I  cannot  be  happ3^  here  any 
longer,"  she  said.  "  M.  de  Guiche  annoj'-s 
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-b}',  I  shall  reg-ret — I  warn  j'^ou, 
sire." 

"  Ah,  you  will  regret  him?" 

"  Certainly  ;  he  is  amiable,  he  has  a 
g-reat  friendship  for  me,  and  he  amuses 
me." 

"  If  Monsieur  were  onh' to  hear  you,'' 
said  the  king,  slightl}^  annoyed,  "  do  you 
know,  I  would  not  undertake  to  make  it 
up  ag-ain  between  you ;  na}-,  I  would  not 
even  attempt  it." 

"  §ire,  can  j'ou,  even  now,  prevent  Mon- 
sieur from  being  jealous  of  the  first  person 


438 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


who  may  approach  ?  I  know  very  well 
that  M.  de  Guiche  is  not  the  first." 

' '  Ag-ain  I  warn  you  that,  as  a  good 
brother,  I  shall  take  a  dislike  to  De 
Guiche." 

''  Ah,  sire,  do  not,  I  entreat  30U,  adopt 
either  the  sympathies  or  the  dislikes  of 
Monsieur.  Remain  the  king- ;  far  better 
for  3'ourself  and  for  every  one  else." 

''You  jest  most  charmingly,  madame; 
and  I  can  well  understand  how  those 
Avhom  you  attack  must  adore  you." 

'•'  And  is  that  the  reason  why  you,  sire, 
whom  I  had  reg-arded  as  my  defender, 
are  about  to  join  those  who  persecute 
me  ?  "  said  Madame. 

"  I  your  persecutor  !     Heaven  forbid  !  " 

"Then,"  she  continued,  languishingly, 
"grant  me  a  favor." 

"Whatever  you  wish." 

"  Let  me  return  to  England." 

"  Never,  never  !  "  exclaimed  Louis  XIV. 

"  I  am  a  prisoner,  then  ?  " 

"In  France,  yes." 

"  What  must  I  do,  then  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you.  Instead  of  devoting 
yourself  to  friendships  which  are  some- 
what 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 
ver^^  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  gen- 
tlemen." 

"  I  am  sure,  sire,  that  you  do  not  be- 
lieve a  single  word  you  are  saying." 

The  king  looked  at  Madame,  tenderlj^ 
and  said,  "  Will  you  promise  me  one 
thing?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  you  will  no  longer  waste  upon 
strangers,  in  your  own  apartments,  the 
time  which  3'ou  owe  us.  Shall  we  make  an 
offensive  and  defensive  alliance  against  the 
common  enemy?" 

"  An  alhance  ?     With  you,  sire  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  Are  you  not  a  sovereign 
power  ?  " 


"But  are  you,  sire,  a  very  faithful 
ally  ?  " 

"You  shall  see,  madame." 

"And  when  shall  this  alliance  com- 
mence ?  " 

"  This  ver}^  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  ^our  appearance  everything 
will  be  resplendent." 

"  Oh,  madame,  madame,"  said  Louis 
XIV.,  "  you  know  well  that  there  is  no 
brilliancy  which  does  not  proceed  from 
yourself,  and  that  if  I  assume  the  sun  as 
my  device,  it  is  onl}'  an  emblem." 

"  Sire,  you  flatter  your  ally,  and  you 
wish  to  deceive  her,"  said  Madame, 
threatening  the  king  with  her  finger 
raised  menacingl}'. 

' '  What  !  you  believe  I  am  deceiving* 
you,  when  I  assure  you  of  my  affection  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  makes  3^ou  so  suspicious  ?  " 

"One  thing." 

"  What  is  it  ?  I  shall  indeed  be  un- 
happ3'^  if  I  do  not  overcome  it." 

"  That  one  thing  in  question,  sire,  is  not 
in  3^our  power,  not  even  in  the  power  of 
Heaven." 

"Tell  me  what  it  is?" 

"The  past." 

"I  do  nob  understand,  madame,"  said 
the  king,  precisely  because  he  had  under- 
stood her  but  too  well. 

The  princess  took  his  hand  in  hers. 
"Sire,"  she  said,  "I  have  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  displease  3^ou  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  displeaseo 
me?" 

"  Na3%  do  not  deny  it,  for  I  remember 
it  well." 

"  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  3^ou  ?  I  m3'self 
am  resolved  that  I  will  not.  I  shall  al- 
wa3^s   remember  the   present;  I  have  it 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAOELONNE. 


429 


before  my  eyes  :  look."  And  he  led  the 
princess  before  a  mirror,  in  which  she  saw 
herself  reflected,  blushing-  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. 

"Ob,  I  do  not  refuse  a  g-ood  oath," 
said  Madame,  "  it  has  always  the  sem- 
blance 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 
imag-ine,  gave  him  both  her  hands,  in 
which  he  hid  his  burning  face.  Neither 
of  them  could  utter  a  sj^llable.  The  king 
felt  Madame  withdraw  her  hands,  caress- 
ing his  face  while  she  did  so.  He  rose 
immediately  and  left  the  apartment.  The 
courtiers  remarked  his  heightened  color, 
and  concluded  that  the  scene  had  been 
a  stormy  one.  The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine, 
however,  hastened  to  say,  "  Nay,  be  com- 
forted, 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  diffi- 
cult even  for  himself  to  have  explained. 
It  is  impossible,  in  fact,  to  explain  the 
secret  play  of  those  strange  sjanpathies, 
which  suddenly,  and  apparently  without 
2My  cause,  are  excited,  after  many  years 
passed  in  the  greatest  calmness  and  indif- 
ference, by  two  hearts  destined  to  love 
each  other.  Why  had  Louis  formerly 
disdained,  almost  hated,  Madame  ?  Why 
did  he  now  find  the  same  woman  so  beau- 
tiful, so  captivating  ?  And  why,  not  only 
were  his  thoughts  occupied  about  her,  but 
still  more,  why  were  they  so  occupied 
about  her  ?  Why,  in  fact,  had  Madame, 
whose  eyes  and  mind  were  sought  for  in 
another  direction,  shown  during  the  last 


week  toward  the  king  a  semblance  of 
favor,  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  Mad- 
ame 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  down- 
ward path  of  those  passions  in  which  the 
heart  rejoices,  toward  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  an- 
other's submission.  As  far  as  Madame 
was  concerned,  her  regard  for  the  king 
ma^'  easil^'^  be  explained  :  she  was  young, 
a  coquette,  and  ardently  fond  of  admira- 
tion. 

Hers  was  one  of  those  buoyant,  impetu- 
ous natures,  Avhich  upon  a  theater  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  Buck- 
ingham, by  De  Guiche,  who  was  superior 
to  Buckingham,  even  if  it  were  only  from 
that  great  merit,  so  much  appreciated  by 
women,  that  is  to  say,  novelty — it  was 
not  surprising,  we  say,  that  the  princess 
should  raise  her  ambition  to  being  ad- 
mired by  the  king,  who  not  only  was  the 
first  person  in  the  kingdom,  but  was  one 
of  the  handsomest  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  ex- 
planation of  it  by  some  hackneyed  com- 
monplace reasons,  and  nature  from  some 
of  her  mysterious  affinitj'  of  characters. 
Madame  had  the  most  beautiful  black 
eyes  in  the  world  :  Louis,  eyes  as  beauti- 
ful, but  blue.  Madame  was  laughter- 
loving  and  unreserved  in  her  manners : 
Louis,  melancholy  and  diflQdent.  Sum- 
moned to  meet  each  other,  for  the  first 
time,  upon  the  grounds  of  interest  and 
common  curiosity,  these  two  opposite  nat- 
ures were  mutually  influenced  by  the  con- 
tact of  their  reciprocal  contradictions  of 
character.  Louis,  when  he  returned  to 
his  own  rooms,  acknowledged  to  himself 
that   Madame   was  the   most   attractive 


430 


W0RE8    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


woman  of  his  court.  Madame,  left  alone, 
delightedly  thought  that  she  had  made  a 
great  impression  on  the  king-.  This  feel- 
ing- with  her  must  remain  passive,  while 
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  an- 
nounce to  Monsieur  that  everything  was 
quietl}'  arranged  ;  that  Madame  had  the 
greatest  respect,  the  sincerest  affection 
for  him  ;  hut  that  she  was  of  a  proud, 
impetuous  character,  and  that  her  sus- 
ceptibilities 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  un- 
derstand the  susceptibilities  of  a  woman 
Avhose  conduct  might,  in  his  opinion,  ex- 
pose her  to  censorious  remarks,  and  that 
if  an}"  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  ad- 
mit," 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  cer- 
tainly is  heedless  and  singular,  but  pro- 
fesses the  best  feelings.  The  English 
character  is  not  always  well  understood 
in  France,  and  the  liberty  of  English 
manners  sometimes  surprises  those  who 
do  not  know  the  extent  to  which  this 
libert}'  is  enriched  b}^  innocence." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Monsieur,  more  and  more 
piqued,  "  from  the  very  moment  that  your 
majest}^  absolves  my  wife,  whom  I  accuse, 
my  wife  is  not  guilty,  and  I  have  nothing 
more  to  say." 

"  Philip,"  replied  the  king  hastil}-,  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   com- 


plained of  a  want  of  confidence  or  atten- 
tion on  Madame's  part,  and  I  did  not 
wish  3'our  uneasiness  to  be  prolonged  Suny 
further.  It  is  part  of  my  duty  to  watch 
over  3^our  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  in- 
terrogative tone  of  voice,  and  fixing  his 
eyes  upon  his  brother,  ''what  your  maj- 
esty has  discovered  for  Madame — and  I 
bow  myself  to  ^-our  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," 

These  words  comprised  an  order  as  well 
as  a  consolation ;  the  prince  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  per- 
ceived, at  the  very  first  words  he  pro- 
nounced, 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  apprentice- 
ship ;  already  for  more  than  a  year  past 
he  had  been  king,  and  during  that  j^ear 
he  had  learned  how  to  dissemble.  Listen- 
ing to  Anne  of  Austria,  in  order  to  permit 
her  to  disclose  her  own  thoughts,  testify- 
ing his  approval  only  by  look  and  by  gest- 
ure, he  became  convinced,  from  certain 
profound  glances,  and  from  certain  skillful 
insinuations,  that  the  queen,  so  clear- 
sighted in  matters  of  gallantry,  had,  if 
not  guessed,  at  least  suspected,  his  weak- 
ness for  Madame.  Of  all  his  auxiliaries, 
Anne  of  Austria  would  be  the  most  im- 
portant to  secure ;  of  all  his  enemies, 
Anne  of  Austria  would  have  been  the 
most  dangerous.  Louis  therefore  changed 
his  maneuvers.  He  complained  of  Mad- 
ame, absolved  Monsieur,  listened  to  what 
his  mother  had  to  sa^^  of  De  Guiche,  as  he 
had  previously  listened  to  what  she  had 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


431 


had  to  say  of  Bucking-ham,  and  then, 
when  he  saw  that  she  thought  she  had 
g-ained  a  complete  victory  over  him,  he 
left  her.  The  whole  of  the  court,  that  is 
to  say,  all  the  favorites  and  more  intimate 
associates,  and  the}^  were  numerous,  since 
there  were  already'  five  masters,  were  as- 
sembled in  the  evening  for  the  repetition 
of  the  ballet.  This  interval  had  been  oc- 
cupied 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  Gui- 
che "s  rooms.  His  looks  were  of  the  most 
assuring  character.  "Monsieur,"  said  he 
to  De  Guiche,  •'  was  in  an  excellent  humor, 
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  char- 
acter—  an  uncertain,  irresolute  charac- 
ter ;  impulsively  good,  evill}'  disposed  at 
bottom  :  but  certainh'  a  cipher  for  his 
friends.  He  had  especially  cheered  De 
Guiche  \i\  pointing  out  to  him  that  Mad- 
ame would  before  long  succeed  in  govern- 
ing her  husband,  and  that,  consequentl.y, 
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 
not  ver^^  passionately- 
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  b\^  jeal- 
ousy." 

"Deep  !  deep  !  "  exclaimed  the  cheva- 
lier. 


that  Monsieur  is 
inclined    toward 


"  But  true,"  replied  De  Guiche.  But 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  expressed 
his  real  thought.  De  Guiche,  at  the  ver^^ 
moment  he  thus  attacked  Madame's  char- 
acter, mentally  asked  her  forgiveness 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  The  cheva- 
lier, while  admiring  De  Guiche's  penetra- 
tion, led  him,  blindfolded,  to  the  brink  of 
the  precipice.  De  Guiche  then  questioned 
him  more  directly  upon  the  effect  produced 
by  the  scene  of  that  morning,  and  upon 
the  still  more  serious  effect  produced  b\' 
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,  precisel}^  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  ar- 
rangements of  the  day,"  said  the  cheva- 
lier. 

"  And  is  there  a  repetition  of  the  ballet 
this  evening  ?" 
•'  Certainh'." 
"  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  Quite  so,"  returned  the  chevalier. 
At  this  moment  of  the  conversation  be- 
tween the  two  young  men,  Raoul  entered, 
looking  full  of  anxiety.  As  soon  as  the 
chevalier,  who  had  a  secret  dislike  for  him, 
as  for  every  other  noble  character,  per- 
ceived hnn  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  per- 
fect tranquillity,  my  dear  comte." 

"  And   my   advice,    De    Guiche,"   said 
Raoul,  "  is  the  very  opposite." 
"What  is  that?" 

•'To  mount  your  horse  and  set  off  at 
once  for  one  of  your  estates;  on  your  ar- 
rival, follow  the  chevalier's  advice,  if  you 
like  :  and,  what  is  more,  you  can  sleep 
there  as  long  and  as  tranquillj^  as  j^ou 
please." 

"  What  1  set  off  !"  exclaimed  the  cheva- 


432 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS, 


lier,  feigning-  surprise ;  "  wh}^  should  De 
Guiche  set  off  ?" 

"  Because,  and  you  cannot  be  ignorant 
of  it — 3'ou  particularlj'^  so — because  ever^'' 
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  Raoul, 
''and  the  advice  I  give  De  Guiche  is  that 
of  a  friend." 

During  this  discussion,  De  Guiche,  some- 
what shaken,  looked  alternately  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, 
'Ms  it  not  the  fact,  De  Guiche,  the  scene 
was  not  so  tempestuous  as  the  Vicomte 
de  Bragelonne  seems  to  think,  and  who, 
moreover,  was  not  himself  there  ?" 

"  Whether  tempestuous  or  not,"  per- 
sisted Raoul,  "it  is  not  preciselj^  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, 
"  this  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  in- 
formed than  yourself,  chevalier,  that  I 
insist  upon  De  Guiche  leaving." 

"No,  no;  I  regret  to  differ  from  you, 
vicomte ;  but  his  departure  is  unneces- 
sary. Why,  indeed,  should  he  leave?  tell 
us  why  ?  " 

"The  king!" 

"  The  king  !  "  exclaimed  De  Guiche. 

"  Yes;  I  tell  you  the  king  has  taken  up 
the  affair." 

"Bah  !  "  said  the  chevalier,  "  the  king 
Ukes  De  Guiche,  and  particularly  his 
father;   reflect,   that,  if  the  comte  were 


to  leave,  it  would  be  an  admission  that 
he  had  done  something  which  merited  re- 
buke." 

"Why  so?" 

"'  No  doubt  of  it ;  when  one  runs  away, 
it  is  either  from  guilt  or  from  fear." 

"Or,  because  a  man  is  offended;  be- 
cause 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  3'ou.     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  op- 
posite to  your  own." 

"  And  you  are  at  perfect  liberty  to 
maintain  it,  monsieur;  but  be  assured 
that  the  exile  which  De  Guiche  will  vol- 
untarily impose  upon  himself  will  be  of 
short  duration.  He  can  terminate  it  when- 
ever 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  wiiich  did  not 
escape  the  comte,  who  dreaded,  if  he  quit- 
ted the  court,  to  seem  to  jaeld  to  a  feeling 
of  fear. 

"  No,  no  ;  I  have  decided,  Bragelonne, 
I  stay." 

"  I  prophesy,  then,"  said  Raoul,  sadl}^ 
"  that  misfortune  will  befall  you,  De 
Guiche." 

"  I,  too,  am  a  prophet,  but  not  a  pro- 
phet 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." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


433 


''  Well,  3'ou  see,  Raoul,"  continued  De 
Guiche,  endeavoring  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  as- 
siduity. 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, 
^vho  am  one  of  the  prince's  most  intimate 
companions  ?  " 

*'  To  such  a  declaration  I  submit.  You 
certainly  ought  to  be  perfectly  well  in- 
formed, I  admit ;  and,  as  a  man  of  honor 
is  incapable  of  sajang  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  him- 
self upon  a  large  couch,  while  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 
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  Po- 
mona." 

"Yes, that  is  so,"  exclaimed  the  comte. 

''And  she  has  just  given  directions  in 
consequence,"  continued  the  chevalier. 
"  You  know.  Monsieur  de  Bragelonne, 
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  \-ou  have  yet  given,  be- 
cause I  am  to  appear  as  Autumn,  and 
shall  have  to  dance  with  Madame.  I  can- 
not absent  myself  without  the  king's  or- 
ders, since  my  departure  would  interrupt 
the  ballet." 

"I,"  said  the  chevalier,  "am  to  be 
only  a  simple  Egypan  ;  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,  delight- 
edly, "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  danger- 
ous enterprise.  I  know  3'ou  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  I  "  exclaimed  De  Guiche. 

"  Why  do  you  say  ne^'^er  ?  " 

"Because  it  would  be  a  great  misfort- 
une for  both  of  us." 

"In  that  case,  instead  of  regarding  you 
as  simply  imprudent,  I  cannot,  but  con- 
sider you  as  absolutely  mad." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Are  3^ou  perfectly  sure,  mind,  answer 
me  frankly,  that  you  do  not  wish  her 
whom  3'OU  love  to  make  an}'  sacrifice  for 
you?" 

"Yes,  yes;  quite  sure." 

"  Love  her  then  at  a  distance." 

"What!  at  a  distance  !" 

"  Certainly  ;  what  matters  being  pres- 
ent or  absent,  since  you  expect  nothing 
from  her.  Love  a  portrait,  a  remem- 
brance." 

"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  ap- 
proach :  I  shall  say  no  more.  In  good  or 
bad  fortune,  De  Guiche,  depend  upon  me." 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  do  so." 

"  Ver}^  well ;  that  is  all  I  had  to  say  to 
you.  Spare  no  pains  in  your  person,  De 
Guiche,  and  look  3' our  very  best.    Adieu." 

"  You  will  not  be  present,  then,  at  the 
repetition,  vicomte  ?  " 


434 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  No ;  I  shall  have  a  visit  to  paj'  in 
town.     Farewell,  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  carefully  selected,  occupied  the  time 
before  the  dancing-  commenced,  in  con- 
versing, as  people  knew  how  to  converse 
in  those  times.  None  of  the  ladies  who 
liad  received  invitations  appeared  in  the 
costumes  of  the  fete,  as  the  Chevalier  de 
Lorraine  had  predicted,  but  manj^  con- 
versations took  place  about  the  rich  and 
ing-enious  toilets  desig-ned  by  different 
painters  for  the  ballet  of  "The  Demi- 
Gods,"  for  thus  were  termed  the  kings 
and  queens,  of  which  Fontainebleau  was 
about  to  become  the  Pantheon.  Monsieur 
arrived,  holding  in  his  hand  a  drawing 
representing  his  character ;  he  looked 
somewhat  anxious  ;  he  bowed  courteouslj^ 
to  the  young  queen  and  his  mother,  but 
saluted  Madame  almost  cavalierly.  His 
notice  of  her  and  his  coldness  of  manner 
were  observed  b}'-  all.  M.  de  Guiche  in- 
demnified the  princess  by  a  look  of  pas- 
sionate devotion,  and  it  must  be  admitted 
that  Madame,  as  she  raised  her  eyes,  re- 
turned it  to  him  with  usury.  It  is  un- 
questionable that  De  Guiche  had  never 
looked  so  handsome,  for  Madame's  glance 
had  had  the  effect  of  lighting  up  the  feat- 
ures of  the  son  of  the  Marshal  de  Gram- 
mont. 

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,  toward  one 
who  loved  her  with  such  a  depth  of  devo- 
tion. In  her  e3^es  the  moment  seemed  to 
have  arrived  for  an  acknowledgment  to 
the  poor  victim  of  the  injustice  of  the 
morning.  Her  heart  spoke,  and  mur- 
mured 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  mo- 
ment reigned  without   a   rival.     But  al- 


thoug-h  Monsieur  also  looked  very  hand- 
some, still  he  could  not  be  compared  to 
the  comte.  It  is  well  known — indeed  all 
women  say  so — that  a  very  wide  differ- 
ence invariably  exists  between  the  good 
looks  of  a  lover  and  those  of  a  husband. 
Besides,  in  the  present  case,  after  Mon- 
sieur 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  luotives  g-ave  the  lover  the  advan- 
tage over  the  husband.  Monsieur  was 
too  g-reat  a  personag'e  to  notice  these  de- 
tails. Notliing  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  be- 
stir the  world,  like  the  brow  of  Jupiter 
Tonans.  Louis  had  none  of  his  brother's 
gloominess,  but  was  perfectly  radiant. 
Having  examined  a  g-reater  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  happ}'' 
and  others  unhappy  by  a  single  word. 
Suddenly,  his  glance,  which  was  smilingly 
directed  toward  Madame,  detected  the 
silent  correspondence  which  was  estab- 
lished between  the  princess  and  the  comte. 
He  bit  his  lip,  but  when  he  opened  them 
again  to  utter  a  few  common-place  re- 
marks, he  said,  advancing  toward  the 
queens : 

''I  have  just  been  informed  that  every- 
thing is  now  prepared  at  Fontainebleau, 
in  accordance  with  my  directions."  A 
murmur  of  satisfaction  arose  from  the 
different  groups,  and  the  king  perceived 
on  every  face  the  greatest  anxietj''  to  re- 
ceive an  invitation  for  the  fetes.  "  I  shall 
leave  to-morrow,"  he  added.  Whereupon 
the  profound  est  silence  immediately  en- 
sued. "And  I  invite,"  said  the  king, 
finishing,  "all  those  who  are  now  present 
to  get  ready  to  accompany  me." 

Smiling  faces  were  now  everywhere  vis- 
ible, with  the  exception  of  Monsieur,  who 
seemed  to  retain  his  ill-humor.    The  differ- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGEL0:NNE. 


435 


ent  noblemen  and  ladies  of  the  court  there- 
upon defiled  before  the  king-,  one  after  the 
other,  in  order  to  thank  his  majest}'  for 
the  g-reat  honor  which  had  been  conferred 
upon  them  b^^  the  invitation.  When  it 
came  to  De  Quiche'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  is  the  season  for  farm- 
ing- purposes  in  the  country" ;  I  am  sure 
your  tenants  in  Normandy  will  be  g-lad  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  ad- 
vanced a  few  steps  toward  the  king,  for- 
g-etting  that  the  king  is  never  spoken  to 
except  in  reply  to  questions  addressed. 
''I  have  perhaps  misunderstood  \o\xv 
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  slowh^one  by  one.  A  cold 
perspiration  bedewed  the  corate's  face, 
his  hands  convulsively^  opened,  and  his 
hat,  which  he  held  between  his  trembling 
fingers,  fell  to  the  ground.  Louis  soug-ht 
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  ven- 
geance taken;  and  lastly,  his  eyes  fell 
upon  Madame;  but  the  princess  was  laugh- 
ing and  smiling  with  Madame  de  N'oailles. 
She  had  heard  nothing,  or  rather  had 
pretended  not  to  hear  at  all.  The  Chev- 
alier de  Lorraine  looked  on  also,  with  one 
of  those  looks  of  settled  hostility,  which 
seem  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  hav- 
ing departed.  Shadows  seemed  to  dance 
before  his  eyes.  He  suddenly  broke 
through  the  fixed  despair  which  over- 
whelmed him,  and  flew  to  hide'  himself 
in  his  own  rooms,  where  Raoul  awaited 


him,  confident  in  his  own  sad  presen- 
timents. 

"Well?"  he  murmured,  seeing  his 
friend  enter,  bareheaded,  with  a  wild 
gaze   and  tottering  gait. 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  true,"  said  De  Guiche, 
unable  to  utter  more,  and  falling  ex- 
hausted upon  the  couch. 

"  And  she  ?  "  inquired  Raoul. 

"She,"  exclaimed  his  unhappy  friend, 
as  he  raised  his  hand,  clenched  in  anger 
toward  heaven.     "  She  I — " 

"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  backward,  com- 
pletely overcome. 


CHAPTER  ex. 

FONTAINEBLEAU. 

For  four  days,  every  kind  of  enchant- 
ment brought  together  in  the  magnificent 
gardens  of  Fontainebleau,  had  converted 
the  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,  pro- 
grammes, essays,  enlistments,  pa3^ments. 
M.  Colbert  had  amassed  four  millions  of 
francs,  and  dispersed  them  with  a  pru- 
dent economy.  He  was  horrified  at  the 
expenses  which  mvtholog}^  involved;  ewevj 
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  sul- 
phur for  fireworks  amounted,  every  night, 
to  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  In  addi- 
tion to  these,  the  illuminations  on  the 
borders  of  the  sheet  of  water  cost  thirty 
thousand  francs  ever-}'  evening.  The  fetes 
had  been  magnificent ;  and  Colbert  could 
not  restrain  his  delight.  From  time  to 
time,  he  noticed  Madame  and  the  king 
setting-  forth  on  hunting  expMitions,  or 
preparing  for  the  reception  of  different 
fantastic  personages,  solemn  ceremonials, 
which  had  been  extemporized  a  fortnight 


436 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


before,  and  in  Avhich  Madame's  sparkling- 
wit  and  the  king's  magnificence  were 
equalW  displa3^ed. 

For  Madame,  the  lieroine  of  the  fete, 
replied  to  the  addresses  of  the  deputations 
from  unknown  races — Garamanths,  Scj'- 
thians,  Hj^perboreans,  Caucasians,  and 
Patagonians,  w^ho  seemed  to  issue  from 
theg-round  for  the  purpose  of  approaching- 
her  with  their  congratulations ;  and  upon 
every  representative  of  these  races  the 
king  bestow^ed  a  diamond,  or  some  other 
article  of  great  value.  Then  the  deputies, 
in  verses  more  or  less  amusing,  compared 
the  king  to  the  sun,  Madame  to  Phoebe, 
the  sun's  sister,  and  the  queen  and  Mon- 
sieur were  no  more  spoken  of  than  if  the 
king  had  married  Madame  Henrietta 
of  England,  and  not  Maria  Theresa  of 
Austria. 

The  happ3^  pair,  hand  in  hand,  imper- 
ceptibly pressing  each  other's  fingers, 
drank  in  deep  draughts  the  sweet  bev- 
erage of  adulation,  by  which  the  attrac- 
tions of  youth,  beaut}',  power,  and  love, 
are  enhanced.  Every  one  at  Fontaine- 
bleau  was  amazed  at  the  extent  of  the 
influence  which  Madame  had  so  rapidl}'^ 
acquired  over  the  king,  and  whispered 
among  themselves  that  Madame  was,  in 
point  of  fact,  the  true  queen  ;  and,  in 
effect,  the  king  himself  proclaimed  its 
truth  by  his  every  thought,  word,  and 
look.  He  formed  his  washes,  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  ques- 
tion she  herself  could  hardly  answer;  but 
what  she  did  know  was,  that  she  could 
frame  no  wish,  and  that  she  felt  herself 
to  be  perfect!}'  happy.  The  result  of  all 
these  changes,  the  source  of  which  ema- 
nated from  the  royal  will,  was  that  Mon- 
sieur, instead  of  being  the  second  person 
in  the .  kingdom,  had,  in  reality,  become 
the  third.  And  it  was  now  far  worse 
than  in  tl^e  time  when  De  Guiche's  gui- 
tars were  heard  in  Madame's  apartments; 
for,  then,  at  least.  Monsieur  had  the  satis- 
faction of  frightening  those  who  annoyed 


him.  Since  the  departure,  however,  of 
the  enemj',  who  had  been  driven  away  b}"- 
means  of  his  alliance  with  the  king,  Mon- 
sieur had  to  submit  to  a  burden,  heavier, 
but  in  a  ver}'  different  sense,  to  his  for- 
mer one.  Every  evening,  Madame  re- 
turned home  quite  exhausted.  Horse- 
riding,  bathing  in  the  Seine,  spectacles, 
dinners  under  the  leaf}'  covert  of  the 
trees,  balls  on  the  banks  of  the  grand 
canal,  concerts,  etc.,  etc.  ;  all  this  would 
have  been  sufficient  to  have  killed,  not 
a  slight  and  delicate  woman,  but  the 
strongest  porter  in  the  chateau.  It  is 
perfectly  true,  that,  Avith  regard  to  danc- 
ing, concerts,  and  promenades,  and  such 
matters,  a  woman  is  far  stronger  than 
the  most  robust  porter  of  the  chateau. 

But,  however  great  a  woman's  strength 
may  be,  there  is  a  limit  to  it,  and  she  can- 
not hold  out  long  under  such  a  system. 
As  for  Monsieur,  he  had  not  even  the 
satisfaction  of  witnessing  Madame's  abdi- 
cation of  her  royalty  in  the  evening,  for 
she  lived  in  the  royal  pavilion  with  the 
young  queen  and  the  queen-mother.  As 
a  matter  of  course,  the  Chevalier  de  Lor- 
raine 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  —  Avho  had  at  first 
been  in  the  highest  spirits,  and  com- 
pletely restored  since  Guiche's  departure 
—  subsided  into  his  melancholy  state, 
three  days  after  the  court  was  installed 
at  Fontainebleau.  It  happened,  how- 
ever, that  one  da}',  about  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  Monsieur,  who  had 
risen  late,  and  had  bestowed  upon  his 
toilet  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,  where  he  possessed  a  charming 
country  house.  He,  accordingly,  went 
to  the  queen's  pavilion,  and  was  aston- 
ished, 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 


THE     YICOMTE    DE    BRAGELOXXE. 


437 


young  queen's.  In  his  wife's  apartment, 
Monsieur  was  informed,  by  a  seamstress 
who  was  working  there,  that  every  one 
had  left  at  eleven  o'clock,  for  the  purpose 
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. 

"Ver}'  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.  Mon- 
sieur, pale  with  anger,  again  descended 
toward  the  queen's  apartments,  and  pene- 
trated as  far  as  Anne  of  Austria's  orator\-, 
where  he  perceived,  through  the  half- 
opened  tapestry-hangings,  his  3'oung  and 
beautiful  sister  on  her  knees  before  the 
queen-mother,  who  appeared  weeping  bit- 
terly. He  had  not  been  either  seen  or 
heard.  He  cautiously  approached  the 
opening,  and  listened,  the  sight  of  so 
much  grief  having  aroused  his  curiosity. 
Not  only  was  the  young  queen  weeping, 
but  she  \vas  complaining  also.  "Yes," 
she  said,  ''the  king  neglects  me;  the 
king  devotes  himself  to  pleasures  and 
amusements  only,  in  whicli  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  under- 
stand. The  queen  replied  by  accusations, 
mingled  with  sighs  and  sobs,  among 
which  Monsieur  often  distinguished  the 
word  banos,  whicli  Maria  Theresa  accen- 
tuated with  spiteful  anger. 

"The  baths,"  said  Monsieur  to  himself, 
"  it  seems  it  is  the  baths  that  have  put 
her  out."  And  he  endeavored  to  put  to- 
gether the  disconnected  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  endeav- 
ored 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  3'oung  queen  rose 
precipitately,  and  dried  her  tears.  Mon- 
sieur, however,  knew  the  people  he  had 
to  deal  with  too  well,  and  was  naturalh^ 
too  polite  to  remain  silent,  and  he  accord- 
ingly saluted  them.  The  queen-mother 
smiled  pleasantly  at  him,  saying,  "What 
do  3^ou  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  3^ou,  madame,"  said  Monsieur. 

"Oh,  I,"  said  the  young  queen — "I 
seem  to  terrifj''  all  those  who  amuse  them- 
selves." Anne  of  Austria  made  a  sign  to 
her  daughter-in-law,  who  withdrew,  weep- 
ing. 

Monsieur's  brows  contracted  as  he  re- 
marked aloud,  "  What  a  cheerless  house  I 
What  do  3'ou  think  of  it,  mother  ?  " 

"  Whj',  no  ;  every  bod  3'  here  is  pleasure- 
hunting." 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  that  is  the  ver3^  thing 
that  makes  those  dull  who  do  not  care  for 
pleasure." 

"  In  what  a  tone  3'ou  sa3'  that,  Philip  !" 

'*Upon  m3"  word,  madame,  I  speak  as 
I  think." 

"  Explain  3'ourself.  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  " 

"  Ask  m3'  sister-in-law,  rather,  who  just 
now  was  detailing  all  her  grievances  to 
3'ou." 

"  Her  grievances  I     What — " 

"Yes,  I  was  listening — accidentalh^,  I 
confess,  but  still  I  listened;  so  that  I 
heard  onh^  too  well  m3'  sister  complain  of 
those  famous  baths  of  Madame — " 


438 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  What  folly  !  " 

"No,  no,  no;  people  are  not  always 
foolish  when  they  weep.  The  queen  said 
hanos,  which  means  baths." 

"I  repeat,  Philip,"  said  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, "thatj'^our  sister  is  most  childishly 
jealous." 

"In  that  case,  madame,"  replied  the 
prince,  "  I  too  must,  with  great  humility, 
accuse  m^^self  of  possessing-  the  same  de- 
fect as  she  has." 

"You  also,  Philip  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Are  3^ou  really  jealous  of  these  baths?" 

"  And  wli3^  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  honor  to  tell  me 
of  it  ?  And  you  require  my  sister-in-law 
to  be  satisfied,  and  require  me  to  be  satis- 
fied, too." 

"You  are  raving,  mj-  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  3^ou  now  wish  to  send 
the  king  away  from  Fontainebleau  ?  " 

"  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  jeal- 
ous, too." 

"  Reall\%  monsieur,"  exclaimed  Anne 
of  Austria,  affecting  to  be  indignant  and 
angr3%  "  I  begin  to  believe  you  ar*  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  pas- 
sion. He  remained  for  a  moment  com- 
pletely bewildered  ;  then,  recovering  him- 
self, he  again  went  to  the  stables,  found 
the  groom,  once  more  asked  him  for  a 
carriage  or  a  horse,  and,  upon  his  reply- 
ing 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  beauti- 
ful specimens  of  porcelain,  and  then  got 
into  bed,  booted  and  spurred  as  he  was, 
crying  out  for  some  one  to  come  to  him. 


CHAPTER  CXI. 


THE   BATH. 


At  Valvins,  beneath  the  impenetrable 
shade  of  flowering  osiers  and  willows, 
which,  as  they  bent  down  their  green 
heads,  dipped  the  extremities  of  their 
branches  in  the  blue  waters,  a  long  and 
flat-bottomed  boat,  with  ladders  covered 
with  long  blue  curtains,  served  as  a  ref- 
uge for  the  bathing  Dianas,  who,  as  the}-- 
left  the  water,  were  watched  by  twentj'' 
plumed  Acteons,  who,  eagerly,  and  full 
of  desire,  galloped  up  and  down  the  moss-, 
grown  and  perfumed  banks  of  the  river. 
But  Diana  herself,  even  the  chaste  Diana, 
clothed  in  her  long  chlam3's,  was  less 
beautiful — less  impenetrable,  than  Mad- 
ame, as  3'oung  and  beautiful  as  that  god- 
dess herself.  For,  notwithstanding  tlie 
fine  tunic  of  the  huntress,  her  round  and 
delicate  knee  can  be  seen  ;  and,  notwith- 
standing the  sonorous  quiver,  her  brown 
shoulders  can  be  detected  ;  whereas,  in 
Madame's  case,  a  long  white  veil  en- 
veloped her,  wrapping  her  round  and 
round  a  hundred  times,  as  she  resigned 
herself  into  the  hands  of  her  female  at- 
tendants, and  thus  was  rendered  inacces-  \ 
sible  to  the  most  indiscreet,  as  well  as  to 
the  most  penetrating  gaze.  When  she 
ascended  tlie  ladder,  the  poets  who  were 
present — and  all  were  poets  when  Mad- 
ame 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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


439 


in  the  happy  river.  The  king-,  the  center 
of  these  effusions,  and  of  this  respectful 
liomage,  imposed  silence  upon  those  ex- 
patiators,  for  ^vhom  it  seemed  impossible 
to  exhaust  their  raptures,  and  he  rode 
away,  from  fear  of  offending-,  even  under 
the  silken  curtains,  the  modesty  of  tlie 
woman  and  the  dignity  of  the  princess. 
A  great  blank  thereupon  ensued  in  the 
scene,  and  a  perfect  silence  in  the  boat. 
From  the  movements  on  board — from  the 
flutterings  and  agitations  of  the  curtains 
— the  g-oing-s  to  and  fro  of  the  female  at- 
tendants engaged  in  their  dutie*,  could 
be  guessed. 

The  king  smilingly  listened  to  the  con- 
versation of  the  courtiers  around  him,  but 
it  could  easily  be  perceived  that  he  g-ave 
but  little,  if  any,  attention  to  their  re- 
marks. 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,  g-ave  the 
signal  for  all  those  to  approach  whose 
attendance  or  pleasure  summoned  them 
^10  Madame's  side.  The  pages  hurried 
forward,  conducting  the  led  horses ;  the 
carriages,  which  had  remained  sheltered 
under  the  trees,  advanced  toward  the 
tent,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  servants, 
bearers,  and  female  attendants  who,  while 
their  masters  had  been  bathing,  had  mu- 
tuall}^  exchanged  their  own  observations, 
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  eter- 
nity. A  crowd  of  people  swarming  upon 
the  banks  of  the  river,  without  reckoning 
the  g-roups  of  peasants  drawn  together 
by  their  anxiet}^  to  see  the  king  and  the 
princess,  was,  for  many  minutes,  the  most 
disorderly,  but  the  most  agreeable,  pell- 
mell  imaginable.  The  king  dismounted 
from  his  horse,  a  movement  which  was 
imitated  bv  all  the  courtiers,  and  offered 


his  liand  to  Madame,  whose  rich  riding- 
habit  displayed  her  fine  figure,  which  was 
set  off  to  great  advantage  \)j  that  gar- 
ment, made  of  fine  woolen  cloth,  embroid- 
ered with  silver.  Her  hair,  still  damp 
and  blacker  than  jet,  hung-  in  heavy 
masses  upon  her  white  and  delicate  neck. 
Jo3^  and  health  sparkled  in  her  beautiful 
eyes  ;  composed,  and  yet  full  of  energ-y, 
she  inhaled  the  air  in  deep  draughts,  un- 
der the  embroidered  parasol,  which  was 
borne  \)y  one  of  her  pag-es. 

Nothing-  could  be  more  charming-,  more 
graceful,  more  poetical,  than  these  two 
figures  buried  under  the  rose-colored  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-  re- 
flection of  the  changing  hues  of  the  silk. 
When  Madame  had  approached  her  horse, 
a  magnificent  animal  of  Andalusian  breed, 
of  spotless  white,  somewhat  heavy,  per- 
haps, but  with  a  spirited  and  slender  head, 
in  which  the  mixture  so  happih'  combined 
of  Arabian  and  Spanish  blood  could  be 
readily  traced,  and  whose  long-  tail  swept 
the  ground ;  and  as  the  princess  affected 
difficult}^  in  mounting,  the  king-  took  her 
in  his  arms  in  such  a  manner  that  Mad- 
ame's arm  was  clasped  like  a  circlet  of  fire 
around  the  king's  neck ;  Louis,  as  he  with- 
drew, involuntaril}'-  touched  with  his  lips 
the  arm,  which  was  not  withheld,  and  the 
princess  having-  thanked  her  ro3'^al  equerr}^ 
every  one  sprang  to  his  saddle  at  the  same 
moment.  The  king-  and  Madame  drew 
aside  to  allow  the  carriag-es,  the  out-rid- 
ers, and  runners,  to  pass  by.  A  fair  pro- 
portion 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  tlie 
maids  of  honor,  as  blooming  as  so  many 
Oreades  around  Diana,  and  the  whirlwind, 
laug-hing,  chattering,  and  noisy,  passed 
onward. 

The  king  and  Madame,  however,  kept 
their  horses  in  hand  at  a  footpace.  Be- 
hind his  majesty'  and  his  sister-in-law, 
certain  of  the  courtiers — those,  at  least, 
who  were  seriousl\'  disposed,  or  were  anx- 
ious to  be  within  reach,  or  under  the  ej^es 


440 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRA    DUMAS. 


of  the  king — followed  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, restraining-  their  impatient  horses, 
reg-ulating-  their  pace  b^^  that  of  the  king- 
and  Madame,  and  abandoned  themselves 
to  all  the  delight  and  g-ratification  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  neighbors.  In  their 
stifled  laug-hter,  and  in  the  little  reticences 
of  their  sardonic  humor,  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  con- 
cerned, 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  part3^ 

To  the  conversations  beneath  the  shade 
of  trees — to    the    remarks  made   in   the 
shape  of  confidential  communications,  and 
to  the  observations  which  had  been  mys- 
teriously exchang'ed,  succeeded  the  noisiest 
bursts  of  laughter  ; — from  the  very  out- 
riders to  roj'alty  itself,  merriment  seemed 
to  spread.     Every  one  began  to  laugh  and 
to  cry  out.    The  magpies  and  the  jays  flew 
awaj^  uttering  their  guttural  cries,  be- 
neath 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 
forward  from  the  midst  of  the  thickets. 
This  crowd,   spreading  wildly  jo}^,  confu- 
sion  and  light  wherever  it   passed,  was 
preceded,  it  ma}^  be  said,  to  the  chateau 
by  its  own  clamor.    As  the  king  and  Mad- 
ame entered  the  village,  the}^  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  re- 
join the  queen  ;  he  knew  he  owed  them — 
one    especially — a    compensation   for   his 
long  absence.     But  Madame  was  not  ad- 
mitted to  Monsieur's  apartments,  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  bj'  the  hand, 
led  him  to  her  own  apartment.  No  one 
ever  knew  what  was  the  nature  of  the  con- 
versation which  took  place  between  them, 
or  rather  what  it  was  that  the  queen- 
mother  had  said  to  Louis  XIV.  ;  but  it 
certainly  might  easilj^  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^e  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  apart-, 
ments  to  give  some  directions  and  to  ar- 
range his  ideas,  found  on  his  toilet-glass 
a  small  note,  the  handwriting  of  which 
seemed  disguised.  He  opened  it  and 
read  —  ''  Come  quickly,  I  have  a  thou- 
sand things  to  say  to  you."  The  king 
and  Madame  had  not  been  separated  a 
sufficiently  long  time  for  these  thousand 
things  to  be  the  result  of  the  three 
thousand  which  they  had  been  saying  to 
each  other  during  the  route  which  sep- 
arated Valvins  from  Fontainebleau.  The 
confused  and  hurried  character  of  the 
note  gave  the  king  a  great  deal  to  re- 
flect upon.  He  occupied  himself  but 
slightly  with  his  toilet,  and  set  oft"  to 
pa}^  his  visit  to  Madame.  The  princess, 
who  did  not  wish  to  have  the  appear- 
ance of  expecting  him,  had  gone  into 
the  gardens  with  the  ladies  of  her  suite. 
When  the  king  was  informed  that  Mad- 
ame had  left  her  apartments,  and  had 
gone  for  a  walk  in  the  gardens,  he  col- 
lected  all  the  gentlemen    he   could    find. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


441 


and  invited  them  to  follow  him.  He 
found  Madame  eng-aged  in  chasing-  hut- 
terflies,  on  a  larg-e  lawn  bordered  with 
heliotrope  and  flowering-  broom.  She  was 
looking-  on,  as  the  most  adventurous  and 
young-est  of  hei'  ladies  ran  to  and  fro,  and 
■with  her  back  turned  to  a  high  hedge, 
verv  impatiently^  awaited  the  arrival  of 
the  king-,  to  whom  she  had  given  the 
rendezvous.  The  sound  of  man}^  feet 
upon  the  gravel  walk  made  her  turn 
round.  Louis  XIV.  was  bareheaded  ;  he 
had  struck  down  with  his  cane  a  pea- 
cock-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  to- 
ward those  who  had  accompanied  him, 
said,  ''  Gentlemen,  see  if  each  of  you  can- 
not obtain  as  much  for  these  ladies,"  are- 
mark  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  hats  as  they  ran,  and  with  their 
raised  canes  cutting  down  the  mj'^rtles 
and  the  furze,  as  they  would  have  done 
the  Spaniards. 

The  king-  offered  Madame  his  arm,  and 
the}^  both  selected,  as  the  center  of  ob- 
servation, a  bench  with  a  roofing  of  moss, 
a  kind  of  hut  roughh'  designed  by  the 
modest  genius  of  one  of  the  gardeners 
who  had  inaugurated  the  picturesque  and 
the  fanciful  amid  the  formal  style  of  gar- 
dening 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  ever}-  side,  but  could  not  be  heard, 
without  perceiving  those  who  might  ap- 
proach for  the  purpose  of  listening. 
Seated  thus,  the  king  made  a  sign  of  en- 
couragement 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  conversation." 


"  Yes,  sire,  for  I  wished  to  be  heard 
b}'  you  alone,  and  3'et  to  be  seen  by  ever}'- 
one." 

'*  And  I  also."  said  Louis. 

"  My  note  surprised  3'ou  ?  " 

"  Terrified  me,  rather.  But  what  I 
have  to  tell  you  is  more  important." 

"  It  cannot  be,  sire.  Do  you  know  that 
Monsieur  refuses  to  see  me  ?  " 

''Why  so?" 

"  Can  you  not  guess  why  ?  " 

"Ah,  madame  I  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,  "  the  matter  is  serious, 
then?" 

"  Indeed  it  is,  for  she  told  me  ...  . 
but,  in  the  first  place,  allow  me  to  preface 
what  I  have  to  saj'^  with  one  remark. 
Has  Monsieur  ever  spoken  to  you  about 


me 


p  " 


"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  jealous\'  of  myself." 

"Really,"  replied  the  princess,  smihng 
archly. 

"  And  it  really  seems  to  me,"  continued 
the  king,  "  that  we  have  never  given  anj^ 
ground — " 

"Never  !  at  least  I  have  not.  But  who 
told  you  that  Monsieur  was  jealous  ?  " 

"My  mother  represented  to  me  that 
Monsieur  entered  her  apartments  like  a 
madman,  that  he  had  uttered  a  thousand 
complaints  against  3^ou,  and — forgive  me 
for  saying  it— against  your  coquetry.  It 
appears  that  Monsieur  indulges  in  injus- 
tice, too." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sire." 

"  My  mother  reassured  him ;  but  he 
pretended  that  people  reassure    him   too 


442 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


often,  and  that  he  had  had  quite  enoug-h 
of  it." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  for  him  not 
to  malve  himself  uneasy  in  any  way  ?" 

"  The  very  thing- 1  said." 

'•'  Confess,  sire,  that  the  world  is  verj^ 
wicked.  Is  it  possible  that  a  brother  and 
sister  cannot  converse  tog'ether,  or  take 
pleasure  in  each  other's  society,  without 
giving  rise  to  remarks  and  suspicions  ? 
For,  indeed,  sire,  we  are  doing-  no  harm, 
and  have  no  intention  of  doing  any."  And 
she  looked  at  the  king  wit  h  that  proud 
and  provoking-  glance  which  kindles  desire 
in  the  coldest  and  wisest  of  men. 

"  No  !"  sighed  the  king,  'Hhat  is  true." 

''You  know  very  well,  sire,  that  if  it 
w^ere  to  continue,  I  should  be  obliged  to 
make  a  disturbance.  Do  you  decide  upon 
our  conduct,  and  say  Avhether  it  has,  or 
has  not,  been  perfectly  correct." 

'•'  Oh  certainly,  perfectly  coi^rect." 

'•  Often  alone  together — for  we  delight 
in  the  same  things,  we  mig-ht  possibly  be 
led  away  into  error,  but  have  we  done 
so  ?  I  regard  you  as  a  brother,  and  noth- 
ing- more."  The  king  frowned.  She  con- 
tinued : 

"  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  3^ou.  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- — m.v  affec- 
tion—" 

"Enough,  Henrietta,  I  ag-ain  entreat 
you.  If  you  believe  me  to  be  marble,  as 
3^ou  are,  undeceive  yourself." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sire." 

"Very  well,"  sighed  the  king,  casting 
down  his  eyes.  "And  so  our  meetings, 
the  pressure  of  each  other's  hand,  the 
looks  we  have  exchanged — Yes,  yes  ;  j^ou 
are  right,  and  I  understand  vour  mean- 
ing-,'   and  he  buried  his  face  in  his  Wands. 

"Take  care,  sire,"  said  Madame,  hur- 
riedly, "  Monsieur  de  Saint- Aignan  is  look- 
ing at  you." 


"  Of  course,"  said  Louis,  angrily  ; 
"  never  even  the  shadow  of  liberty  !  never 
any  sincerit}'  in  my  intercourse  with  any 
one  I  I  imagine  I  have  found  a  friend, 
who  is  nothing  but  a  spy  ; — a  dearer 
friend,  who  is  o\\\y  a — sister  !'* 

Madame  was  silent  and  cast  down  her 
eyes.  "  My  husband  is  jealous,"  she  mur- 
mured 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,  "  3'ou 
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  Avith  jealousy  !  Mon- 
sieur's jealousy  arises  from  hers ;  she 
was  weeping  and  complaining-  to  my 
mother,  and  was  reproacliing  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  listening,  heard  the 
word  '  banos/  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 
m3'  mother  so  bitterh',  that  she  was 
obliged  to  leave  him  ;  so  that,  while  you 
have  a  jealous  husband  to  deal  with,  1 
shall  have  perpetuall}''  present  before  me 
a  specter  of  jealousy  with  swollen  eyes,  a 
cadaverous  face,  and  sinister  looks." 

"Poor  king,"  murmured  Madame,  as 
she  lightl}^  touched  the  king-'s  hand.  He 
retained  her  hand  in  his,  and,  in  order  to 
pass  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  mat- 
ters, and  who  perceived  clearly  enough 
that  there  was  some  mysterj^  in  the  king's 
and  Madame's  conversation,  Louis  placed 
the  dying  butterfly  before  his  sister-in- 
law,  and  both  bent  over  it  as  if  to  count 
the  thousand  eyes  of  its  wing-s,  or  the  par- 


THE     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


443 


tides  of  g-olden  dust  which  covered  it. 
Neither  of  them  spoke ;  however,  their 
hair  min.^led,  tlieir  breath  united,  and 
their  hands  feverishly  throbbed  in  each 
other's  grasp.  Five  minutes  passed  b3Mn 
this  manner. 


CHAPTER    CXIII. 

WHAT   WAS   CAUGHT    IN   THE   HAND   AFTER 
THE   BUTTERFLIES. 

The  two  5'oung  people  remained  for  a 
moment  with  their  heads  bent  down, 
bowed,  as  it  were,  beneath  the  double 
thoug-ht  of  the  love  which  was  springing- 
up  in  their  hearts,  and  which  gives  birth 
to  so  many  happy  fancies  in  the  imagina- 
tion.s  of  twenty  years  of  age.  Madame 
Henrietta  gave  a  side  glance,  from  time 
to  time,  at  the  king.  Hers  w^as  one  of 
those  finely  organized  natures  capable  of 
looking  inwardly  at  itself,  as  well  as  at 
others,  at  the  same  moment.  She  per- 
ceived love  lying  at  the  bottom  of  Louis' 
heart,  as  a  skillful  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  re- 
turn  to  the  resolution  I  had  formed." 

"  To  what  resolution  ?  " 

"  To  that  which  I  have  already  sub- 
mitted to  your  majesty." 

"When?" 

"  On  the  very  day  we  had  a  certain  ex- 
planation about  Monsieur's  jealousies." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  me  then  ?  "  in- 
quired Louis,  with  some  anxiety. 

"  Do  you  not  remember,  sire  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  if  it  be  another  cause  of  un- 
happiness,  I  shall  recollect  it  soon 
enough." 

''  A  cause  of  unhappiness  for  myself 
alone,  sire,"  replied  Madame  Henrietta; 
"but  as  it  is  necessarj^,  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  necessaiy  I  should  return 
to  England."  ' 

"Never,  never  will  I  permit  3'ou  to 
leave  France,"  exclaimed  the  king. 

''  And  yet,  sire,"  said  Madame,  affect- 
ing a  gentle  3'et  sorrowful  determination, 
"  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  ver}''  strange  expression  to  use  to 
me." 

'•'Still,"  replied  Madame  Henrietta, 
smilingly,  "  are  you  not  happy  in  submit- 
ting to  the  wishes  of  so  good  a  mother  ?  " 

"Enough,  I  implore  you  ;  you  rend  my 
very  soul." 

•a?" 

"  Yes  ;  for  you  speak  of  3^our  departure 
wath  tranquillity'." 

"I  was  not  born  for  happiness,  sire," 
replied  the  princess,  dejectedly ;  "  and  I 
acquired,  in  very  early  life,  the  habit 
of  seeing  m}'  dearest  thoughts  disap- 
pointed.'" 

"Do  you  speak  truly  ?  "  said  the  king. 
•'Would  your  departure  gainsay  -mij  one 
of  your  cherished  thoughts?  " 

••  If  I  were  to  say  '  yes,'  would  you  be- 
gin to  take  your  misfortune  patiently?'^ 

"How  cruel  you  are  !  " 

"  Take  care,  sire ;  some  one  is  com- 
ing." 

The  king  looked  all  round  him  and  said, 
"  No,  there  is  no  one,"  and  then  con- 
tinued :  "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  saj^  Instead  of  fixing  your 
mind  on  this  departure,  does  not  3'our 
imagination  —  or  rather,  does  not  your 
heart — suggest  some  expedient  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  my  heart  to  sug- 
gest ?  "    ' 


444 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"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  3'ou  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  happiness  is  attained. 
As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  swear  I  will 
give  the  lie  to  those  w-ho  are  jealous  of 
me,  b}'  pretending  to  treat  you  like  any 
other  woman." 

"A  bad  as  well  as  an  unsafe  means," 
said  the  j^oung  princess,  shaking  her 
pretty  head. 

"  You  seem  to  think  everything  bad, 
dear  Henrietta,"  said  Louis,  discontent- 
edly. "You  destroy  everything  I  pro- 
pose. Suggest,  at  least,  something  else 
in  its  stead.  Come,  try  and  think.  I 
trust  implicith'^  to  a  woman's  invention. 
Do  you  invent,  in  3'^our  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  m^^  husband  intended  to  put  me  on  the 
wrong  scent  with  regard  to  another  wo- 
man, one  thing  would  reassure  me  more 
than  anything  else." 

"  What  would  that  be?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  to  see  that  he  never 
took  an3'^  notice  of  the  woman  in  question. ' ' 

"Exactly.  That  is  precisely''  what  I 
said  just  now." 

"  Ver^^  well;  but  in  order  to  be  perfectly' 
reassured  on  the  subject,  I  should  like  to 
see  him  occupy'  himself  wuth  some  one 
else." 

"Ah!  I  understand  you,"  replied  Louis, 
smiling.  "But  confess,  dear  Henrietta, 
if  the  means  is  at  least  ingenious,  it  is 
hardly  charitable." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  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  enemj'^ ;  he  does 
no  prejudice  to  love  itself;  he  concen- 
trates all  his  strength  on  the  side  where 
his  strength  will  do  no  injur^^  to  an,ything 
or  any  one.  In  a  word,  sire,  my  plan, 
which  I  confess  I  am  surprised  to  find  3'ou 
dispute,  is  mischievous  to  jealous  people, 
it  is  true ;  but  to  lovers  it  is  full  of  advan- 
tage. Besides,  let  me  ask,  sire,  who,  ex- 
cept 3'ourself,  has  ever  thought  of  pit3ang 
jealous  people  ?  Are  they  not  a  melan- 
chol3^  set  of  creatures,  always  equall3' 
unhapp3%  whether  with  or  without  a 
cause  ?  You  ma3^  remove  that  cause, 
but  3^ou  do  not  remove  their  sufferings. 
It  is  a  disease  which  lies  in  the  imagina- 
tion, and,  like  all  imaginar3^  disorders,  it 
is  incurable.  B3^-the-b3%  I  remember  an 
aphorism  upon  this  subject,  of  poor  Dr. 
Dawle3%  a  clever  and  amusing  man,  who, 
had  it  not  been  for  m3'  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  affec- 
tions, choose  that  which  will  give  you  the 
least  trouble,  and  I  will  allow  you  to  re- 
tain it;  for  it  is  positive,'  he  said,  'that 
that  ver3'-  one  is  of  the  greatest  service  to 
me,  in  order  to  enable  me  to  get  rid  of  the 
other.'" 

"  Well  and  judiciousl3'  remarked,  dear 
Henrietta,"  replied  the  king,  smiling. 

"  Oh  !  we  have  some  clever  people  in 
London,  sire." 

"  And  those  clever  people  produce  ador- 
able pupils.  I  will  grant  this  Daley^  Dar- 
\ey,  Dawle3^,  or  wiiatever  3'ou  call  him,  a 
pension  for  his  aphorism ;  but  I  entreat 
3''ou,  Henrietta,  to  begin  by  choosing  the 
least  of  3^our  evils.  You  do  not  answer — 
you  smile.  I  guess  that  the  least  of  3'our 
evils  is  3'our  stay  in  France.  I  will  allow 
3'ou  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." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


445 


"  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  Tonnaj-Charente, 
who  displaj^'ed  it  with  some  pride  to  her 
less  successful  rivals.  The  queen  of  the 
chase  had  seated  herself  some  twent}' 
paces  from  the  bank  on  which  Louis  and 
Madame  Henrietta  were  reclining ;  and 
leaned  her  back  against  a  magnificent 
oak-tree  entwined  w-ith  ivy,  and  stuck 
the  butterfl}^  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  chil- 
dren— 

^'  They  seem  to  be  amusing  themselves, 
there,"  said  the  king. 

''  Greatly,  sire  ;  I  have  al\va3'S  found 
that  people  are  amused  wherever  youth 
and  beauty  are  to  be  found." 

''  What  do  you  think  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Tonnay-Charente,  Henrietta  ?  "  in- 
quired the  king. 

'•'  I  think  she  is  rather  fair  in  complex- 
ion," 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. 

"Rather  fair,  yes;  but  beautiful,  I 
think,  in  spite  of  that." 

"  Is  that  your  opinion,  sire  ?  " 

^' Yes,  really." 

"  Verj^  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  but- 
terflies,   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  ver3^  efficacious  remedy," 
said  Madame,  with  a  sigh.  "She  would 
cure  a  jealous  man,  certainly ;  but  she 
might  possibly  make  a  woman  jealous, 
too." 

"Henrietta,"  exclaimed  Louis,  "you 
fill  my  heart  with  J03-  I  Yes,  yes  ;  Made- 
moiselle de  Tonnay-Charente  is  far  too 
beautiful  to  serve  as  a  cloak." 

"A  king's  cloak,"  said  Madame  Hen- 
rietta, smiling,  "ought  to  be  beautiful." 

"  Do  3^ou  advise  me  to  do  it,  then  ?  " 
inquired  Louis. 

"  I !  What  should  I  sa\^,  sire,  except 
that  to  give  such  an  advice  would  be  to 
suppl}^  arms  against  myself?  It  would 
be  folh^  or  pride  to  advise  you  to  take, 
for  the  heroine  of  an  assumed  affection, 
a  Avoman  more  beautiful  than  the  one  for 
whom  3'ou  pretend  to  feel  real  regard." 

The  king  tried  to  take  Madame's  hand 
in  his  own ;  his  e.yes  sought  hers ;  and 
then  he  murmured  a  few  w^ords  so  full  of 
tenderness,  but  pronounced  in  so  low  a 
tone,  that  the  historian,  who  ought  to 
hear  ever\-thing,  could  not  hear  them. 
Then,  speaking  aloud,  he  said,  "Do  j^ou 
yourself  choose  for  me  the  one  who  is  to 
cure  our  jealous  friend  ?  To  her  then,  all 
m}""  devotion,  all  ray  attention,  all  the 
time  that  I  can  spare  from  my  occupa- 
tions, shall  be  devoted.  For  her  shall  be 
the  flower  that  I  maj^  pluck  for  3'ou,  the 
fond  thoughts  with  which  you  have  in- 
spired me.  Toward  her  the  glance  that 
I  dare  not  bestow  upon  3"0u,  and  which 
ought  to  be  able  to  arouse  you  from  jowv 
indifference.  But  be  careful  in  your  selec- 
tion, lest,  in  offering  her  the  rose  which  I 
may  have  plucked,  I  should  find  niA'self 
conquered  b}'  j^^ourself  ;  and  lest  m^^  looks, 
my  hand,  my  lips,  should  not  turn  im- 
mediateh'  toward  you,  even  were  the 
whole  world  to  guess  my  secret." 

While   these  words   escaped   from  the 


446 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


king-'s  lips,  in  a  strfiam  of  wild  affec- 
tion, Madame  blushed,  breathless,  happy, 
proud,  almost  intoxicated  with  delig'ht. 
She  could  find  nothing-  to  say  in  reply ; 
her  pride  and  her  thirst  for  homage  were 
satisfied.  "I  shall  fail,"  she  said,  rais- 
ing" her  beautiful  black  eyes,  "  but  not 
as  you  beg-  me,  for  all  this  incense  which 
you  wish  to  burn  on  the  altar  of  another 
divinit3^  Ah,  sire,  I  too  shall  be  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  wa3^  Therefore, 
sire,  with  j^our  royal  permission,  I  will 
choose  one  who  shall  appear  to  me  the 
least  likely  to  distract  your  attention, 
and  who  will  leave  m}'^  imag-e  pure  and 
unsullied  in  3'our  heart." 

''Happily  for  me,"  said  the  king-, 
"your  heart  is  not  hard  and  unfeeling". 
If  it  were  so,  I  should  be  alarmed  at  the 
threat  you  hold  out.  Our  precautions 
have  been  taken  on  this  point,  and  around 
3^ou,  as  around  myself,  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  meet  with  a  disag-reeable-looking 
face." 

While  the  king-  was  speaking,  Madame 
had  risen  from  her  seat,  looked  around 
the  greensward,  and,  after  a  careful  and 
silent  examination,  she  called  the  king  to 
her  side,  and  said  :  "  See,  yonder,  sire, 
upon  the  declivity  of  that  little  hill,  near 
that  group  of  Guelder  roses,  that  beau- 
tiful 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  ?  " 

"Whj^,  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  be  able  to  escape 
Apollo." 

"  Henrietta,"  said  the  king,  out  of  tem- 
per, "  of  all  your  maids  of  honor,  you 
have  really  selected  for  me  the  one  most 
full  of  defects." 

"  Still,  she  is  one  of  mj'  maids  of  honor." 

"  Of  course  ;  but  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean  that,  in  order  to  visit  this  new 
divinit.y,  3'ou  will  not  be  able  to  do  so 
without  pacing  a  visit  to  my  apartments, 
and  that,  as  proprietj'^  will  forbid  your 
conversing-  with  her  in  private,  3'ou  will 
be  compelled  to  see  her  in  my  circle,  to 
speak  to  me  while  speaking  to  her.  I 
mean,  in  fact,  that  those  who  ma^^  be 
jealous  will  be  wrong  if  the}^  suppose  you 
come  to  my  apartments  for  my  sake,  since 
3^ou  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, 
display's  a  beautiful  set  of  teeth." 

"  Who  may  serve  as  a  model  for  an 
osteologist." 

"Your  favor  will  change  her  appear- 
ance." 

"  Henrietta  !  " 

"  At  all  events,  yoM  have  allowed  me  to 
be  thp  mistress." 

"Alas  !  yes." 

"  Well,  my  choice  is  made  ;  I  impose 
her  upon  3'ou,  and  j^ou  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  contradict  you  when 
3'ou  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  ?" 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


447 


'^  I  will  preserve  for  3'ou  a  heart  which 
has  already  become  accustomed  to  beat 
only  at  your  command." 

"  Very  well.     Do  3'ou  not  see  how  we 
have    g-uaranteed     the      future    by    this 
means  ?  " 
"  I  hope  so." 

"  Will  your  mother  cease  to  regard  me 
as  an  enemy  ?  '" 
"Yes." 

"  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,"  con- 
tinued the  princess,  ''  will  people  persist 
in  attributing-  a  wrong-ful  affection  to  the 
king,  when  the  truth  is,  we  can  be  noth- 
ing to  each  other,  except  such  as  maj^ 
arise  from  sympath}'-,  free  from  all  mental 
reservation  ?  " 

'^  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  king,  hesitating-- 
ly,  '^'But  yet  other  things  may  still  be 
said  of  us." 

"  What  can  be  said,  sire  ?  shall  we 
never  be  left  in  tranquillit3'-  ?  " 

'•'  People  will  say  I  am  deficient  in  taste  ; 
but  what  is  my  self-respect  in  comparison 
with  3'our  tranquillitj^  ?  " 

''  In  comparison  with  my  honor,  sire, 
and  that  of  our  family'-  j'-ou  mean.  Be- 
sides, 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  j^et  make  me  pay 
dearer  for  j^our  sta^'  in  France." 

*'  Sire,  some  one  approaches." 

^'W^ell!" 

^'  One  last  word." 

^'Say  it." 

'•'  You  are  prudent  and  judicious,  sire  ; 
but  in  the  present  instance  3'ou  will  be 
obliged  to  summon  to  3'our  aid  all  your 
prudence,  and  all  3"our  judgment." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Louis,  laughing-, 
*'  from  this  very  evening  I  shall  begin  to 
act  m3'  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  ardor  of  m3' passion  shall  blaze 
more  brilliantly  than  the  fireworks,  shall 
shine  more  steadil3'^  than  the  lamps  of  our 
friend  Colbert ;  it  shall  shine  so  dazzlingly 
that  the  queens  and  Monsieur  shall  be 
almost  blinded  b3'  it." 

"  Take  care,  sire,  take  care." 

"In  Heaven's  name,  what  have  I  done, 
then?" 

"  I  shall  begin  to  recall  the  compliments 
I  paid  3'OU  just  now.  You  prudent  I  you 
wise !  did  I  sa3'  ?  wh3'-  you  beg-in  by  the 
most  reckless  inconsistencies?  Can  a 
passion  be  kindled  in  this  manner,  like  a 
torch,  in  a  moment?  Can  a  monarch, 
such  as  3'^ou  are,  without  an3^  preparation, 
fall  at  the  feet  of  a  g-irl  like  La  Valliere?  " 

"  Ah  !  ♦Henrietta,  now  I  understand 
3'ou.  We  have  not  3'et  begun  the  cam- 
paig-n,  and  yo\x  are  plundering  me  al- 
read3'." 

"No,  I  am  onl3'^  recalling  3-0U  to  com- 
mon-sense ideas.  Let  3'our  passion  be 
kindled  graduall3',  instead  of  allowing-  it 
to  burst  forth  so  suddenl3'.  Jove's  thun- 
ders and  lig-htnings  are  heard  and  seen 
before  the  palace  is  set  on  fire.  Every- 
thing has  its  commencement.  If  3'ou  are 
so  easil3^  excited,  no  one  will  believe  3'ou 
are  really  captivated,  and  ever3'  one  will 
think  3"ou  out  of  3'our  senses — unless,  in- 
deed, the  truth  itself  be  not  g'uessed. 
People  are  not  alwa3^s  so  foolish  as  thcA' 
seem." 

The  king  was  oblig-ed  to  admit  that 
Madame  was  an  angel  for  sense,  and  the 
ygpy  reverse  for  cleverness.  He  bowed, 
and  said  :  "  Ag-reed,  madame,  I  will  Ihink 
over  m3'-  plan  of  attack  :  great  militar3' 
men — m3^  cousin  De  Conde  for  instance — 
grow  pale  in  meditation  upon  their  stra- 
teg-ical  plans,  before  the3'  move  one  of 
the  pawns,  which  people  call  armies  ;  I 
therefore  wish  to  d  raw  up  a  complete  plan 
of  attack,  for  vou  know,  that  the  tender 
passion  is  subdivided  in  a  varietj''  of  ways. 
Well,  then,  I  shall  stop  at  the  villag-e  of 
Little  Attentions,  at  the  hamlet  of  Love 
Letters,  before  I  follow  the  road  of  Visi- 


448 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


ble  Affection;  the  way  is  clear  enough 
you  know,  and  poor  Madame  de  Scud- 
ery  would  never  forgive  me  for  passing 
through  a  halting  place  without  stop- 
ping." 

"  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  Hen- 
rietta, "  the^'-  are  bringing  Mademoiselle 
de  Tonnay-Charente  and  her  sphinx  but- 
terfly in  grand  procession  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  awa3^" 

"  Very  well !  I  will  speak  to  her  when 
she  is  with  her  companions,  and  I  will 
then  discharge  my  first  arrow  at  her." 

"Be  skillful,"  said  Mad  a  me,  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  imi- 
tated 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  necessarj'  to  insure  fine 
weather  and  a  favorable  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  visi- 
ble 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  contem- 
plated the  magnificent  picture  before  him, 
gave  the  order  which  De  Villeroy  and  De 
Saint-Aignan  awaited  ;  but,  with  the  view 
of  insuring  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  everj'thing  with  M.  Colbert." 
"  Ah  !  \GYy  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  ki-ng. 
"  Gentlemen,  to  your  posts;  "  whereupon 
Saint-Aignan  and  Villeroy  took  their 
leave.  The  king  seated  himself  in  an  easy 
chair  near  the  window,  saying  :  "  The  bal- 
let will  take  place  this  evening,  M.  Col- 
bert." 

"  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." 


o 

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53 

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0=2 
<  > 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


449 


"  Certainly,  sire;  but  I  must  have  money 
to  do  that." 

'■'  Wliat  I  have  not  the  four  millions, 
which  M.  Fouquet  promised,  been  sent  ? 
I  had  forg-otten  to  asl^  you  about  it." 

'•  Sire,  the3^  were  sent  at  the  hour  prom- 
ised." 

"Well?" 

''Well,  sire,  the  colored  lamps,  the  fire- 
works, the  musicians,  and  the  cooks  have 
swallowed  up  four  millions  in  eight  days." 

'•'  Entirely  ?  " 

'■'To  the  last  penny.  Every  time  j'our 
majesty  directed  the  banks  of  the  g-rand 
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  alread}^  made  M.  Fouquet 
advance  six  millions.  He  has  given  them 
with  too  much  grace  not  to  have  others 
still  to  give,  if  the3'  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  financier'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. 
Fouquet  has  furnished  six  millions,  that 
is  a.  g"ood  sum." 

Colbert  turned  pale.  "And  3'et,"  he 
said,  "3''0ur  majesty  did  not  use  this  lan- 
g-uag-e  some  time  ag-o,  when  the  news 
about  Belle-Isle  arrived,  for  instance." 

"You  are  right,  M.  Colbert." 

"Nothing,  however,  has  changed  since 
then  ;  on  the  contrar3%  indeed." 

"  In  my  thoughts,  monsieur,  everything 
is  changed." 

"  Does  3-our  majesty,  then,  no  longer 
believe  the  attempts." 

"  My   own    affairs    concern   me   alone, 
monsieur ;  and  I  have  already  told  j^ou  I 
transact  them  myself." 
Dumas — 15 


"Then,  I  perceive,"  said  Colbert,  trem- 
bling from  ang-er  and  from  fear,  "'  that  I 
have  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  into  dis- 
grace with  your  majest3\" 

"  Not  at  all ;  3'ou  are,  on  the  contrary-, 
most  ag-reeable  to  me." 

"Yet,  sire,"  said  the  minister,  with  a 
certain  aft'ected  bluntness,  so  successful 
when  it  was  a  question  of  flattering  Louis's 
self-esteem,  *''  what  use  is  there'  in  being 
agreeable  to  j^our  majestj',  if  one  can  no 
long-er  be  of  an^'-  use  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  mone^^,  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  mat- 
ter for  j-ou,  notwithstanding-  3'our  econo- 
mj',  to  defray,  with  so  limited  a  sum,  the 
expenses  which  I  intend  to  incur,  I  will  at 
once  sig-n  an  order  for  three  millions." 

The  king-  took  a  pen  and  sig-ned  an  order 
immediately,  then  handed  it  to  Colbert. 
"  Be  satisfied,  M.  Colbert,  the  plan  1  have 
adopted  is  one  worthy  of  a  king-,"  said 
Louis  XIV.,  who  pronounced  these  words 
with  all  the  majestj^  he  knew  how  to  as- 
sume in  such  circumstances ;  and  he  dis- 
missed Colbert  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
an  audience  to  his  tailors. 

The  order  issued  \>y  the  king-  was  known 
in  the  whole  of  Fontainebleau  ;  it  was  al- 
ready known,  too,  that  the  king-  was  try- 
ing on  his  costume,  and  that  the  ballet 
would  be  danced  in  the  evening-.  The  news 
circulated  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning- ; 
during-  its  progress  it  kindled  every  variety'- 
of  coquetry-,  desire,  and  wild  ambition.  At 
the  same  moment,  as  if  by  enchantment, 
every  one  who  knew  how  to  hold  a  needle, 
every  one  who  could  disting-uish  a  coat 
from  a  pair  of  trousers,  was  summoned  to 
the  assistance  of  those  who  had  received 
invitation.  The  l^i|H?  ^'^^^  completed  his 
toilet  at  nine  ©'.^ck  ;  he  appeared  in  an 
open  carriage  decorated  with  branches  of 
_trees  and  flowers.  The  queens  had  taken 
their  seats  upon   a   magnificent  dais  or 


450 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


platform,  erected  upon  the  borders  of  the 
lake,  in  a  theater  of  wonderful  elegance  of 
construction. 

In  the  space  of  five  hours  the  carpenters 
liad  put  tog-ether  all  the  different  parts 
connected  with  the  theater;  the  uphol- 
sterers had  laid  down  the  carpets,  erected 
the  seats  ;  and,  as  if  at  the  sig-nal  of  an 
enchanter's  wantl,  a  thousand  arms,  aid- 
ing-, instead  of  interfering-  with  each  other, 
had  constructed  the  building  on  this  spot 
amid  the  sound  of  music;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  other  workmen  illuminated 
the  theater  and  the  shores  of  the  lake  with 
an  incalculable  number  of  lamps.  As 
the  heavens,  set  with  stars,  were  perfect- 
h^  unclouded,  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  the- 
ater had  been  left  open  ;  so  that,  behind 
the  foreground  of  the  scenes,  could  be 
seen  as  a  background  the  beautiful  sky, 
glittering  with  stars  ;  the  sheet  of  water, 
illumined  by  the  lights  which  were  re- 
flected in  it ;  and  the  bluish  outline  of  the 
grand  masses  of  woods,  with  their  rounded 
tops.  When  the  king  made  his  appear- 
ance, the  whole  theater  was  full,  and  pre- 
sented 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 
nmch  brilliancy,  the  rarest  beauties  ap- 
peared 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  theater  represented  a  grove  of 
trees  :  a  few  fauns  lifting  up  their  cloven 
feet  were  jumping  about :  a  dr^^ad  made 
her  appearance  on  the  scene,  and  was  im- 
mediately pursued  by  them  ;  others  gath- 
ered round  her  for  her  defense,  and  they 
quarreled  as  they  danced.  Suddenly,  for 
the  purpose  of  restoring  peace  and  order. 
Spring,  accompanied  b.y  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    aUies    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  descript- 
ive of  the  rural  delights.  The  king  had 
already  made  his  appearance,  amid  thun- 
ders of  applause.  He  w-as  dressed  in  a 
tunic  of  flowers,  which  set  off  his  easy 
and  w^ell-formed  figure  to  advantage. 
His  legs,  the  best-shaped  at  the  court, 
were  also  displa3-ed  to  great  advantage 
in  flesh-colored  silken  hose,  of  silk  so  flne 
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  fresh- 
ness of  his  complexion  v/as  enhanced  by 
the  brilliancy  of  his  beautiful  blue  eyes, 
which  softl}''  kindled  all  hearts  ;  a  mouth 
wnth  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  en- 
trance had  produced,  therefore,  the  most 
brilliant  effect.  Suddenly  the  Comte  de 
Saint-Aignan  was  observed  endeavoring 
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  handsof  the  skill- 
ful Mechlin  workers,  her  knee  occasionall3^ 
revealed  beneath  the  folds  of  the  tunic, 
and  her  little  feet  encased  in  silken  shoes 
— advanced,  radiant  with  beauty,  accom- 
panied 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  cour- 
tier, as  pale  as  death  ;  "  but  your  majesty 
has  not  thought  of  the  Fruits." 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  suppressed." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


451 


"  Far  ft'om  it,  sire  ;  your  majesty  hav- 
ing- given  no  directions  about  it,  the  musi- 
cians have  retained  it.*' 

*•'  How  excessively  annoying,''  said  ihe 
king-.  '*'  This  fig-ure  cannot  be  performed, 
since  M.  de  Guiche  is  absent.  It  must  be 
suppressed." 

"  Oh,  sire,  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  music 
without  an}'  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  mis- 
fortune ;  for,  after  all,  the  orchestra  could 
still  just  as  well  cut  it  out,  if  it  wei'e  neces- 
sary ;  but — " 

"But  what?" 

'■'  Why,  M.  de  Guiche  is  here." 

'•'Here?"  replied  the  king-,  frowning-, 
"here?     Are  3'ou  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire :  and  ready-dressed  for  the 
ballet." 

The  king  felt  himself  color  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  toward  the  side, 
and  in  fact,  on  his  right,  brilliant  in  his 
character  of  Autumn,  De  Guiche  awaited 
until  the  king  should  look  at  him,  in  order 
that  he  might  address  him.  To  describe 
the  stupefaction  of  the  king,  that  of  Mon- 
sieur, who  was  moving  about  restlessl^^  in 
his  box — to  describe  also  the  agitated 
movement  of  the  heads  in  the  theater, 
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  astonish- 
ment as  he  looked  at  the  comte,  who, 
bowing-  lowly,  approached  his  majesty 
with  the  profoundest  respect. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  "your  majestj^'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  majest^^'s  elegance, 
skill,  and  graceful  address ;   and  I  have 


left  my  tenants  in  order  to  place  my  ser- 
vices at  your  majest.y's  commands." 

Every  word  fell  distinctlj',  in  perfect 
harmony  and  eloquence,  upon  Louis  XIV.  's 
ears.  Their  flattery  pleased,  as  much  as 
De  Guiche's  courage  had  astonished  liim, 
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  f)ass- 
ing-  away,  that  if  tlie  scene  were  prolonged 
it  might  complicate  everything-,  and  that 
a  sing-le  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  in- 
spiration from  the  eloquent  glances  of 
Madame.  Her  look  had  said  to  him, 
"'  Since  they  are  jealous  of  3-ou,  divide 
their  suspicions,  for  the  man  who  dis- 
trusts two  rivals  does  not  distrust  either 
in  particular."  So  that  Madame,  b}'  this 
clever  diversion,  decided  him.  The  king- 
smiled  upon  De  Guiche,  who  did  not  com- 
prehend a  word  of  Madame's  dumb  lan- 
guage, but  only  remarked  that  she  pre- 
tended 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  understand  anj'thing  about  the 
matter.  The  ballet  began  ;  the  effect  was 
more  than  beautiful.  When  the  music,  by 
its  bursts  of  melodj',  carried  away  these 
illustrious  dancers,  when  the  simple,  un- 
tutored pantomime  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 
theater  almost  shook  with  the  tumultu- 
ous applause. 

De  Guiche  shone  like  a  sun,  but  like  a 
courtly  sun,  which  is  resigned  to  fill  a  sub- 
ordinate part.  Disdainful  of  a  success  of 
which  Madame  showed  no  acknowledg- 
ment, he  thought  of  nothing  but  of  boldly 
regaining  the  marked  preference  of  the 
princess.  She,  however,  did  not  bestow  a 
single  glance  upon  him.  B3'"  degrees  all 
his  happiness,  all  his  brillianc}'"  subsided 
into  regret  and  uneasiness ;  so   that  his 


452 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


limbs  lost  their  power,  his  arms  hung- 
heavilj'  by  his  side,  and  his  head  seemed 
stupefied.  The  king,  who  had  from  this 
moment  become  in  realit}'^  the  principal 
dancer  in  the  quadrille,  cast  a  look  upon 
his  vanquished  rival.  De  Guiche  soon 
ceased  to  sustain  even  the  character  of 
the  courtier  :  without  applause,  he  danced 
indifferently,  and  ver3'  soon  could  not 
dance  at  all,  by  which  means  the  triumph 
of  the  kins'  and  of  Madame  was  assured. 


CHAPTER    CXV. 

THE   NYMPHS   OF  THE   PARK   OF  FONTAINE- 
BLEAU. 

The  king  remained  for  a  moment  to 
enjoy  a  triumph  which  was  as  complete 
as  it  could  possibly  be.  He  then  turned 
toward  Madame,  for  the  purpose  of  ad- 
miring her,  also,  a  little,  in  her  turn. 
Young'  persons  love  with  more  vivacity, 
perhaps  with  greater  ardor  and  deeper 
passion,  than  others  more  advanced  in 
A^ears ;  but  all  the  other  feelings  are  at 
the  same  time  developed  in  proportion  to 
their  youth  and  vigor;  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-thirtj'-  years  of  age.  Louis 
thought  of  Madame,  but  onh'  after  he 
had  carefulh^  thought  of  himself;  and 
Madame  carefully  thoug-ht  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  ob- 
.serve  his  agitation  and  prostration  —  a 
prostration  which  was,  indeed,  the  more 
remarkable  since  people  were  not  accus- 
tomed to  see  him  with  his  arms  hanging- 
listlessh^  by  his  side,  his  head  bewildered, 
and  his  eyes  with  their  bright  intelligence 
gone.  It  rarely  happened  that  any  un- 
easiness was  excited  on  his  account,  when- 
ever a  question  of  elegance  or  taste  was 
under  discussion,  and  De  Guiche's  defeat 


was  accordingly  attributed  hy  the  g-reater 
number  present  to  his  courtier-like  tact 
and  abilit^^  But  there  were  others  — 
keen-sig-hted  observers  are  alwaj-s  to  be 
met  with  at  court  —  who  remarked  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 
suffering-s,  successes,  and  remarks,  were 
blended,  confounded,  and  lost  in  the  up- 
roar of  applause. 

When,  liowever,  .the  queens  had  ex- 
pressed their  satisfaction  and  the  specta- 
tors their  enthusiasm,  when  the  king  had 
retired  to  his  dressing--room  to  change  his 
costume,  and  while  Monsieur,  dressed  as 
a  woman,  as  he  delig-hted  to  be,  was,  in 
his  turn,  dancing  about,  De  Guiche,  who 
had  now  recovered  himself,  approached 
Madame,  who,  seated  at  the  back  of  the 
theater,  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  chorographic 
effects ;  and  it  will  be  perfectly  under- 
stood that,  absorbed  in  deep  meditation, 
she  did  not  see,  or  rather  she  pretended 
not  to  see,  anj^thing  that  was  passing- 
around  her.  De  Guiche,  observing-  that 
she  was  alone,  near  a  thicket  constructed 
of  painted  cloth,  approached  her.  Two  of 
her  maids  of  honor,  dressed  as  hama- 
dryads, seeing  De  Guiche  advance,  drew 
back  out  of  respect,  whereupon  De  Guiche 
proceeded  toward  the  middle  of  the  circle 
and  saluted  her  ro^'^al  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  unprepared  for 
so  utter  an  indifference,  for  he  had  neither 
seen  nor  been  told  of  anj'thing-  that  had 
taken  place,  and  consequently  could  guess 
nothing-.  Remarking,  therefore,  that  his 
obeisance  obtained  him  no  acknowledg- 
ment, he  advanced  one  step  further,  and 
in  a  voice  which  he  tried,  thoug'h  use- 
lessly, to  render  calm,  said  : 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  present  my  most 
humble  respects  to  your  royal  highness." 

Upon  this  Madame  deig-ned  to  turn  her 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


453 


eyes    languishingly    toward    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  thinlc  so  ?  "  she  replied,  with 
indifference. 

"  Yes;  the  character  which  3'our  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  ob- 
served— "  But,  comte,  3^ou,  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  no- 
ticed." 

With  this  remark,  accompanied  by  one 
of  those  deep  sighs  which'  affect  the  re- 
motest fibers  of  one's  being,  his  heart  bur- 
dened with  sorrow  and  throbbing  fast,  his 
head  on  fire,  and  his  gaze  wandering,  he 
bowed  breathlessly  and  withdrew  behind 
the  thicket.  The  oxAy  reply  Madame  con- 
descended to  make  was  by  slightly  raising 
her  shoulders,  and,  as  her  ladies  of  honor 
had  discreetly  retired  while  the  conversa- 
tion lasted,  she  recalled  them  \)j  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  reallj^  is  very  singular,"  she  con- 
tinued, in  a  compassionate  tone,  "  how 
exile  has  affected  poor  M.  de  Guiche's 
wit."  And  then,  in  a  louder  voice,  fear- 
ful lest  her  unhappy  victim  might  lose  a 
syllable,  she  said — "  In  the  first  place  he 


danced   badly,    and    then   afterward    his 
remarks  were  very  silly." 

She  then  rose,  humming  the  air  to 
which  she  was  presentl}'  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,  mul- 
berr}^  and  almond  trees,  with  all  the  other 
artificial  attributes  of  his  divinit3^  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  afterward  he  had  re- 
turned to  the  theater ;  but  it  will  be 
readil^^  believed  that  it  was  only  a  power- 
ful effort  of  reason  over  his  great  excite- 
ment that  had  enabled  him  to  return  ;  or 
perhaps,  for  the  heart  is  so  constituted, 
he  found  it  impossible  even  to  remain 
much  longer  separated  from  the  presence 
of  one  who  had  broken  that  heart.  Mad- 
ame was  finishing  her  figure.  She  saw, 
but  did  not  look  at,  De  Guiche,  ^vho,  irri- 
tated and  furious,  turned  his  back  upon 
her  as  she  passed  him,  escorted  by  her 
njmiphs,  and  followed  by  a  hundred  flat- 
terers. During  this  time,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  theater,  near  the  lake,  a  young 
woman  was  seated,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  one  of  the  windows  of  the  theater, 
from  which  were  issuing  streams  of  light, 
the  window  in  question  being  that  of  the 
royal  box.  As  De  Guiche  quitted  the 
theater  for  the  purpose  of  getting  into 
the  fresh  air  he  so  much  needed,  he 
passed  close  to  this  figure  and  saluted 
her.  When  she  perceived  the  A'oung 
man,  she  rose,  like  a  woman  surprised 
in  the  midst  of  ideas  she  was  desirous 
of  concealing  from  herself.  De  Guiche 
stopped  as  he  recognized  her,  and  said 
hurriedh' — "  Good-evening,  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Valliere  ;  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  toward 
her,  '^forj'^ou  would  be  contradicting  the 
kind    words  you   have  just   pronounced. 


454 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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 
jow.  never  find  them  dull  or  lonelj^  when 
removed  from  the  giddy  vortex  of  these 
exciting-  amusements.  Oh  !  heavens  !  " 
he  exclaimed  suddenly. 

''  What  is  the  matter,  Monsieur  le 
Comte  ? "  inquired  La  Valliere,  with 
some  anxiet3^     ''  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  ver^'^  first  opportunit3^ 
It  is  to  your  recommendation,  1  am 
aware,  that  I  owe  my  admission  among- 
the  number  of  Madame's  maids  of  honor," 

"  Indeed  !  Ah  !  I  remember  now,  and 
I  congratulate  m\'self.  Do  you  love  anj^ 
one?" 

"  I  !  "  exclaimed  La  Valliere. 

"  Forgive  me,  I  hardly  know  what  I 
am  saying;  a  thousand  times  forgive 
me  ;  Madame  was  right,  quite  right,  this 
brutal  exile  has  completely  turned  my 
brain." 

"  And  3'et  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
king  received  you  w'ith  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  3'ou  are 
right.  But  have  you  not  seen  M.  de 
Bragelonne  here?" 

La  Valliere  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  greatl}^  to  be  pitied." 

"Yes,  very  unhappy,  and  very  much 
to  be  pitied.  Monsieur  de  Guiche,  for  yon 
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  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,  of  whom 
3'ou  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  Valliere,  farewell."  And  he  fled, 
like  one  possessed,  along  the  banks  of  the 
lake.  His  dark  shadow  glided,  lengthen- 
ing, as  it  disappeared  among  the  illumined 
yews  and  glittering  undulations  of  the 
water.  La  Valliere  looked  after  him, 
saA'ing — "  Yes,  yes  ;  he,  too,  is  suflFering, 
and  I  begin  to  understand  w^hy." 

She  had  hardly  finished  when  her  com- 
panions, Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Charente,  ran 
forward.  They  were  released  from  their 
attendance,  and  had  changed  their  cos- 
tumes of  nj'inphs ;  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  Valliere. 

"  Did  not  the  dancing  amuse  you  ?  " 

'•'  No." 

"  But  surely  the  whole  spectacle  ?  " 

"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  color,  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  amus- 
ing ourselves  with  anything.  La  Valliert' 
begins  to  cry ;  whenever  w^e  girls  have 
reason  to  cr^'^,  because,  perhaps,  we  have 
mislaid  our  dresses,  or  because  our  van- 
ity has  been  wounded,  or  our  costume 
fails  to  produce  any  effect.  La  Valliere 
laughs." 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  that  is 
not  my  character,"  said  Mademoiselle 
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 — " 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


455 


'•'  Well !  "  said  Montalais,  "'you  do  not 
finish." 

'•'It  is  too  difficult,"  replied  Mademoi- 
selle de  Tonna^'-Charente,  laughing-  loud- 
ly. '•'  Do  you,  who  are  so  clever,  finish 
for  me." 

'"'And  3^ou,  Louise?"  said  Montalais, 
*'  does  an^^  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,  mesdemoi- 
selles,  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  slowh'  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  3'our  friend- 
ship confers  upon  me  I  let  us  walk  arm- 
in-arm  toward  those  large  trees.  Out 
yonder  all  are  at  this  moment  seated  at 
table  and  full}'  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  re- 
member, Montalais.  the  woods  of  Chever- 
ney  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  when  Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Cha- 
rente  thinks,  Athenais  is  the  only  one 
who  knows  it." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Mademoiselle  de  Ton- 
nay-Charente,  "I  hear  steps  approaching 
from  this  side." 

"Quick,  quick,  then,  among  the  high 
reed-grass,"  said  Montalais,  "stoop,  Athe- 
nais, you  are  so  tall." 


Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay  -  Charente 
stooped  as  she  was  told,  and,  almost  at 
the  same  moment,  they  saw  two  gentle- 
men 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,"  whis- 
pered the  latter  to  La  Valliere. 

The  two  young  men  approached  still 
closer,  conversing  in  animated  voices. 
"  She  was  here  just  now,"  said  the  count, 
"  if  I  had  only  seen  her,  I  should  have 
declared  it  to  be  a  vision,  but  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  un- 
derstood what  I  was  saying,  and  must 
have  become  alarmed." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Bragelonne,  "  do  not  make 
yourself  uneas}'- :  she  is  all  kindness,  and 
will  excuse  you  ;  she  is  clear-sighted,  and 
will  understand." 

"Yes,  but  if  she  should  have  under- 
stood, 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  Made- 
moiselle de  Tonnay-Charente,  "  that  the 
Vicomte  de  Bragelonne  spoke  of  you  as 
Louise  ?  " 

"We  were  brought  up  together."  re- 
plied Louise,  blushing;  "  M.  de  Brage- 
lonne has  honored  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  ?  "  exclaimed  Aure 
sharph^     "  Good  gracious  !  has  the  king 


456 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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,  3'ou  love  M.  de  Bragelonne, 
marry  him,  I  give  my  consent." 

Athena  is  began  to  laugh. 

"  Oh  !  I  speak  seriousl^^"  replied  Mon- 
talais,  "  and  my  opinion  in  this  case  is 
quite  as  good  as  the  king's,  I  suppose  ; 
is  it  not,  Louise  ?  " 

"Come,"  said  La  Valliere,  "these 
gentlemen  have  passed ;  let  us  take  ad- 
vantage of  our  being  alone  to  cross  the 
open  ground,  and  so  take  refuge  in  the 
woods." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Athenais, 
"  because  I  see  the  torches  setting  out 
from  the  chateau  and  the  theater,  which 
seem  as  if  they  were  preceding  some  per- 
son of  distinction." 

"Let  us   run,    then,"    said   all   three. 

And,  gracefully  lifting  up  tlie  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 
(jpy  grass,  and,  now  and  then,  some  bold 
Acteon  might,  b}'  the  aid  of  the  faint 
light,  have  perceived  their  straight  and 
well-formed  limbs  somewhat  displaj^ed 
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  lame- 
ness 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 
of  the  chateau. 

The  three  3'oung  girls,  on  their  side, 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  park,  ever}-^ 
path  of  which  they  well  knew.  The  ditches 
were  bordered  by  high  hedges  full  of  flow- 
ers, which  on  that  side  protected  the  foot- 
pascengers  from  being  intruded  upon  b\' 
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  dry  ground  of  the  roads, 


followed  by  the  mounted  cavaliers.  Dis- 
tant music  was  heard  in  response,  and 
when  the  soft  notes  died  awa3%  the  night- 
ingale, with  his  song  full  of  pride,  poured 
forth  his  melodious  chants,  and  his  most 
complicated,  learned,  and  sweetest  com- 
positions, to  those  who  he  perceived  had 
met  beneath  the  thick  covert  of  the  woods. 
Near  the  songster,  in  the  dark  back- 
ground of  the  large  trees,  could  be  seen 
the  glistening  eyes  of  an  owl,  attracted 
by  the  harmon3^  In  this  way  the  fete, 
for  the  whole  court  was  a  fete  also  for 
the  m^^'sterious  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  sj'lvan  nymphs  uttered  a 
slight  cry,  but  reassurred  immediately 
afterward,  they  laughed  and  resumed 
their  walk.  In  this  manner  they  reached 
the  ro3'al  oak,  the  venerable  relic  of  an 
oak  which  in  its  earlier  days  had  listened 
to  the  sighs  of  Henr^"^  the  Second  for  the 
beautiful  Diana  of  Poictiers,  and  later 
still  to  those  of  Henrj'^  the  Fourth  for  tht' 
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  luxuriousl3''  reposed  the 
wearied  limbs  of  an3^  monarch.  The  trunk 
of  the  tree,  somewhat  rough  to  recline 
against,  was  sufficiently  large  to  accom- 
modate the  three  3"oung  girls,  whose 
voices  were  lost  among  the  branches, 
which  stretched  downward  toward  the 
trunk. 


CHAPTER   CXVI. 

WHAT  WAS  SAID  UNDER  THE  ROYAL  OAK. 

The  softness  of  the  air,  the  stillness  of 
the  foliage,  tacitl3'  imposed  upon  these 
3'oung  girls  an  engagement  to  change  im- 
mediatel3'  their  giddy  conversation  for  one 
of  a  more  serious  character.  She,  indeed, 
wliose  disposition  was  the  most  lively — 
Montalais,  for  instance — was  the  first  to 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


457 


yield  to  ibs  influence :  and  she  began  by 
heaving  a  deep  sig-h,  and  saying  :  "  What 
happiness  to  be  here  alone,  and  at  liberty, 
with  ever}^  right  to  be  frank,  especially 
toward  each  other." 

*'Yes,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay- 
Charente;  ''for  the  court,  however  bril- 
liant it  may  be,  has  always  some  false- 
hood concealed  beneath  the  folds  of  its 
velvet  robes,  or  beneath  the  blaze  of  its 
diamonds." 

''I,"  replied  La  Valliere,  ''  I  never  tell 
a  falsehood  ;  when  I  cannot  speak  the 
truth,  I  remain  silent." 

''You  will  not  remain  long  in  favor," 
said  Montalais  ;  "  it  is  not  here  as  it  was 
at  Blois,  where  we  told  the  dowager  Mad- 
ame all  our  little  anno.yances,  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  related  to  us  her  flirtations 
with  Monsieur,  and  we  told  her  of  the 
flirtations  she  had  had  with  others,  or,  at 
least,  the  rumors  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  Mon- 
talais j  "  cried  La  Valliere  ;  "  you  see  you 
are  sighing  again  ;  the  woods  inspire  you, 
and  you  are  almost  reasonable  this  even- 
ing." 

"You  ought  not,  either  of  3'^ou,"  said 
Athenais,  '"'  to  regret  the  court  at  Blois 
so  much,  unless  you  do  not  feel  happy 
with  us.  A  court  is  a  place  where  men 
and  women  resort  to  talk  of  matters 
which  mothers,  guardians,  and  especially 
confessors,  so  severely  denounce." 

"Oh,  Athenais!"  said  Louise,  blush- 
ing. 

"  Athenais  is  frank  to-night,"  said  Mon- 
talais ;   "  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  m^'  eyes." 

"  There  now,  3'ou  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  moss}'  bank. 

"A  deer  which  hurried  by,  perhaps." 

"I  am  onh'  afraid  of  men,"  said  Athe- 
nais. 

''When  the}"  do  not  resemble  M.  de 
Montespan  ?" 

"  A  truce  to  this  raillery,  M.  de  Mon- 
tespan 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  sufJiciently 
beautiful,  and  of  sufiiciently  high  rank,  I 
suppose  ?" 

La  Valliere  shook  her  head  sorrowfully, 
saying :  "  When  one  loves,  it  is  neither 
beauty  nor  rank ;  when  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  Val- 
liere. 

"  Noble  sentiments,"  said  Athenais, 
with  an  air  of  protection,  but  with  indif- 
ference. 

'•  Are  the}'  not  3'our  own  ?  "  said  Louise. 

"  Perfectly  so  ;  but,  to  continue,  how 
can  one  pity  a  man  who  bestows  his  at- 
tentions upon  such  a  woman  as  Madame  ? 
If  an}"  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  her- 
self 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 


458 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Guiche  will  love  this  illustrious  personage, 
but  she  Avill  never  love  him."' 

Athenais  laughed  disdainfully.  "  Do 
people  really  love?"  she  said.  "Where 
are  the  noble  sentiments  3^ou  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, 
b\'  them,  and  say,  at  the  ver}^  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." 

"Certainly,  he  as  well  as  every  one 
else.  What !  have  I  not  said  that  I  ad- 
mit he  possesses  a  certain  superioritj^, 
and  would  not  that  be  enough  ?  My  dear 
child,  a  woman  is  a  queen  during  the 
whole  period  nature  permits  her  to  enjoj' 
sovereign  power — from  fifteen  to  thirt^'- 
flve  3'ears  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  3'ou  not  approve  of  what  I  say  ?  " 

"Completely,"  replied  her  laughing 
companion. 

"  You  are  not  serious,  Montalais  ?  " 
said  Louise. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  approve  everything  Athe- 
nais 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  disap- 
point me  in  everything :  I  dream  of  em- 
perors, and  I  find  onl}' — " 

"  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  affec- 
tion." 

"Oh,  I  do  not  trouble  mj^self  much 
about  that ;  those  who  love  me  are  suffi- 
ciently happy  that  I  do  not  dismiss  them 
altogether.  So  much  the  worse  for  my- 
self if  I  have  a  weakness  for  any  one ;  but 
so  much  the  worse  for  others  if  I  revenge 
mj'self  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  par- 
ticularly so  in  confounding,  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  pre- 
tension 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  flatter}^ ; 
the^^  would  be  lost  were  it  not  for  that 
most  fortunate  principle  of  instinct  which 
urges  them  to  change  suddenl}'^,  and  pun- 
ish the  man  whose  devotion  thej'  had  so 
recently  accepted." 

"A  very  learned  dissertation,"  said 
Montalais,  in  the  tone  of  thorough  enjoy- 
ment. 

"It  is  odious  !  "  murmured  Louise. 

"Thanks  to  this  sort  of  coquetry,  for 
indeed  that  is  genuine  coquetr3',"  con- 
tinued Mademoiselle  Tonnay-Charente  ; 
"the  lover  who,  a  little  while  since,  was 
puffed  up  with  pride,  in  a  minute  after- 
ward is  suffering  at  every  pore  of  his 
vanity  and  self-esteem.  He  was,  perhaps, 
already  beginning  to  assume  the  airs  of  a 
conqueror,  but  now  he  recedes ;  he  was 
about  to  assume  an  air  of  protection  to- 
ward us,  but  he  is  obliged  to  prostrate 
himself  once  more.  The  result  of  all 
which  is,  that,  instead  of  having  a  hus- 
band   who    is   jealous    and    troublesome. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


459 


from  restraint  in  liis  conduct  toward  us,, 
we  have  a  lover  alvva3's  trembling-  in  our 
presence,  alwaj'S  fascinated  by  our  at- 
tractions, and  always  submissive  ;  and  for 
this  simple  reason,  that  he  finds  the  same 
woman  never  the  same.  Be  convinced, 
therefore,  of  the  advantages  of  coquetry. 
Possessing  that,  one  reig-ns  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  jow  understand  the  duty 
women  owe  themselves." 

"I  am  only  settling  a  case  of  individ- 
ual happiness,"  said  Athenais,  modestly  ; 
"  and  defend  myself,  like  all  weak,  loving- 
dispositions,  ag-ainst  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  theor}',  then  ;  will  j^ou 
tell  us  how  you  intend  to  resist  yielding 
to  temptation,  if  you  allow  yourself  to  be 
hurried  awaj''  by  feelings  of  affection  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  3'oung-  girl,  rais- 
ing toward  the  dark  heavens  her  beauti- 
ful eyes  filled  with  tears,  "  if  j^ou  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  j'our  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  them- 
selves adored  bj''  coquettes.  A  j^oung 
man  is  conscious  of,  and  knows,  them  :  if 
he  has  a  fancy,  or  a  strong  desire,  or  an 
absorbing  passion,  for  a  coquette,  he  can- 
not  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  per- 
fect sacrifice  ;  but  it  is  not  the  sacrifice 
of  one  only  of  the  two  persons  who  are 
united.  It  is  the  perfect  abneg-ation  of 
two  who  are  desirous  of  blending-  their 
beings  into  one.  If  I  ever  love,  I  shall 
implore  ray  lover  to  leave  me  free  and 
pure ;  I  will  tell  him,  what  he  will  under- 
stand, that  m}'  heart  was  torn  by  mj'  re- 
fusal, and  he,  in  his  love  for  me,  aware  of 
the  mag-nitude  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  w^hen  I  shall  have  fallen, 
as  3'ou  said  just  now,  when  uttering  j^our 
blasphemies  against  love,  such  as  I  under- 
stand it.  That  is  my  idea  of  love.  And 
now  you  will  tell  me,  perhaps,  that  m}'^ 
lover  will  despise  me ;  I  defy  him  to  do 
so,  unless  he  be  the  vilest  of  men,  and  m^'' 
heart  assures  me  that  it  is  not  such  a  man 
I  should  choose,  A  look  from  me  will  re- 
pa}"  him  for  the  sacrifices  he  makes,  or  it 
will  inspire  him  with  virtues  which  he 
would  never  think  he  possessed," 

"But,  Louise,"  exclaimed  Montalais, 
''  3^ou  tell  us  this,  and  do  not  carry  it  into 
practice," 

*'  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"You  are  adored  b^^  Raoul  de  Brage- 
lonne,  who  worships  you  on  both  his  knees. 
The  poor  fellow  is  made  the  victim  of  yonv 
virtue,  just  as  he  would  be— nay,  more 
than  he  would  be  even,  of  my  coquetrj^ 
or  of  Athenais's  pride." 

"This  is  simply  a  different  shade  of  co- 
quetry," 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  sensibilit}^  exquisite  re- 
finement of  feeling-,  perpetual  display  of 
unrestrained  outbreaks  of  affection  which 
end  in  nothing-.  It  is  ver}^  artful  too,  and 
ver}'-  effective.  I  should  even,  now  that  I 
reflect  on  it,  have  preferred  this  sj'^stem 
of  tactics  to  my  own  pride,  for  wag'ing- 
war  with  members  of  the  other  sex,  be- 
cause it  offers  the  advantage  sometimes 
of  thoroughly  convincing-  them  ;  but   at 


460 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


the  present  moment,  without  utterly  con- 
demning- myself,  I  declare  it  to  be  su- 
perior to  the  simple  coquetr}'^  of  Monta- 
iais.'"'  And  the  two  young-  g-irls  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  presence  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  g-rief  where 
I  am  now." 

"Very  well;  die,  poor  tender  little 
darling-,"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  Ton- 
na^'-Charente ;  "for,  if  there  are  no  men 
here,  there  are  at  least  two  women,  your 
own  friends,  who  declare  you  to  be  at- 
tainted and  convicted  of  being  a  coquette 
from  instinct ;  in  other  words,  the  most 
dangerous  kind  of  coquette  which  the 
world  possesses." 

"  Oh  !  mesdemoiselles,"  replied  La  Val- 
liere, blushing,  and  almost  ready  to  weep. 
Her  two  companions  ag-ain  burst  out 
laug-hing. 

"  Very  well !  I  shall  ask  Bragelonne 
to  tell  me." 

"  Bragelonne  ?  "  said  Athenais. 

"Yes!  Bragelonne,  who  is  as  coura- 
geous as  Csesar,  and  as  clever  and  witt^^ 
as  M.  Fouquet.  Poor  fellow  !  for  twelve 
3^ears  he  has  known  3'ou,  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  denj'^  the  exist- 
ence 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  Vallerie. 

"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  se- 
verity." 

"How  can  that  be,  since  twelve  years 
ago.  I  was  only  five  years  old.  The  free- 
dom of  the  child  cannot  surely  be  added  to 
the  3'oung-  girl's  account." 

"■  Well !  you  are  now  seventeen  ;  three 
years  instead  of  twelve.  During  those 
three  years  you  have  remained  constantly 
and  unchangeably  cruel.  Against  3'ou 
are  arrayed  the  silent  shades  of  Blois,  the 
meetings  when  3'ou  diligently  conned  the 
stars  together,  the  evening  wanderings 
beneath  the  plantain  trees,  his  impas- 
sioned twenty  years  speaking  to  your 
fourteen  summers,  the  fire  of  his  glances 
addressed  to  j^ourself." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  so  it  is  !  " 

"  Impossible  !  " 

"  But  why  impossible  ?  " 

"  Tell  us  something  credible,  and  we  will 
believe  3^ou." 

"  Yet  if  you  w^ere  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  3'et  come." 

"  Louise,  Louise,"  said  Montalais,  "take 
care,  or  I  will  remind  you  of  the  remark 
3^ou  made  just  now.  Raoul  is  not  here  ; 
do  not  overwhelm  him  while  he  is  absent ; 
be  charitable,  and  if,  on  closer  inspection, 
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  Val- 
liere, sadly;  "upbraid  me  as  you  like, 
since  you   do   not   understand   me." 

"Oh!  oh!"  replied  Montalais,  "tem- 
per, sorrow,  and  tears  ;  we  are  laughing, 
Louise,  and  are  not,  I  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  Montes- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELOXNE. 


461 


pan  were  not  to  love  her.  Look  at  me  ;  I 
laugh  at  M.  MaUcorne,  but  the  poor  fel- 
low whom  I  laugh. at  knows  very  well 
when  he  ma}'  be  permitted  to  press  his 
lips  upon  my  hand.  And  3'et  the  eldest 
of  us  is  not  twenty  yet.  What  a  future 
for  us  !  " 

''Silly,  silly  girls  !  "  murmured  Louise. 

'•'You  are  quite  rig'ht,"  said  Montalais; 
'•'  and  you  alone  have  spoken  words  of  wis- 
dom." 

"Certainly." 

"I  do  not  dispute  it,"  replied  Athenais. 
"  And  so  it  is  positive  j^ou  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 
Brag'elonne  becomes  free,  I  will  g"ive 
you  a  little  friendl}^  advice." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  To  look  at  him  well  before  you  decide 
in  favor  of  M.  de  Montespan." 

"  Oh !  in  that  w^ay  of  considering-  the 
subject,  M.  de  Bragelonne  is  not  the  onlj^ 
one  whom  one  could  look  at  with  pleasure ; 
M.  de  Guiche,  for  instance,  has  his  value 
also." 

'•'  He  did  not  distingTiish  himself  this 
evening,"  said  Montalais;  "and  I  know 
from  very  g-ood  authority  that  Madame 
thoug-ht  him  unbearable." 

'•'  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  3'ou 
not  think  so,  La  Valliere  ?  " 

"Wh.y  do  you  ask  me?  I  did  not  see 
him,  nor  do  I  know  him." 

"What!  you  did  not  see  M.  de  Saint- 
Aig-nan  ?     You  do  not  know  him  ?  " 

"No." 

"Come,  come,  do  not  affect  a  virtue 
more  extravagantly  excessive  than  our 
fiertes  ;  you  have  ej'es,  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. " 

"Very    well:    now,    among-    all    those 


gentlemen  whom  you  saw,  which  do  you 
prefer." 

"Yes,"  said  Montalais,  "is  it  M.  de 
St.-Aignan,  or  M.  de  Guiche,  or  M.  ?" 

"  I  prefer  no  one ;  I  thoug-ht  them  all 
about  the  same." 

"  Do  you  mean,  then,  that  among  that 
brilliant  assembly,  the  first  court  in  the 
world,  no  one  pleased  3'ou  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  say  that." 

"  Tell  us,  then,  who  your  ideal  is  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  an  ideal  being." 

"'He  exists,  then?  " 

"  In  very  truth,"  exclaimed  La  Valli- 
ere, aroused  and  excited,  "  I  cannot  under- 
stand 3'ou  at  all.  What  !  you  who  have 
a  heart  as  I  have,  eyes  as  I  have,  and  yet 
you  speak  of  M.  de  Guiche,  and  of  M.  de 
Saint-Aig-nan,  when  the  king-  was  there." 
These  words,  uttered  in  a  precipitate  man- 
ner, and  in  an  agitated,  fervid  tone  of 
voice,  made  her  two  companions,  between 
whom  she  was  seated,  exclaim  in  a  man- 
ner which  terrified  her,  "'  The  king- !  " 

La  Valliere  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  rig-ht  just  now  in  saying- 
you  had  excellent  eyes,  Louise,  for  you  see 
a  g-reat  distance ;  too  far,  indeed.  Alas  ! 
the  king-  is  not  one  upon  whom  our  poor 
eyes  have  a  rig-ht  to  be  fixed." 

"  That  is  too  true,"  cried  La  Valliere  ; 
"it  is  not  the  privileg-e  of  all  eyes  to  graze 
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  Val- 
liere's  lips,  a  rustling-  of  leaves,  and  of 
that  which  sounded  like  some  silken  ma- 
terial, was  heard  behind  the  adjoining- 
bush.  The  young  girls  hastily  rose,  al- 
most terrified  out  of  their  senses.  They 
distincth'  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  g-irls, 
in  the  very  extremity  of  terror,  fled  by 
the  first  path  which  presented  itself,  and 
did  not  stop  until  thej'-  had  reached  the 
verge  of  the  wood.  There,  breathless, 
leaning-  against  each  other,  feeling  their 


462 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


hearts  throb  wildly,  they  endeavored  to 
collect  their  senses,  but  could  only  succeed 
in  doing-  so  after  the  lapse  of  some  min- 
utes. Pei'ceiving-  at  last  the  lig-hts  from 
the  windows  of  the  chateau,  they  decided 
to  walk  toward  them.  La  Valliere  was 
exhausted  with  fatig-ue,  and  Aure  and 
Athenais  were  oblig-ed  to  support  her. 

''We  have  escaped  well,"  said  Mon- 
talais. 

"I  am  g-reatly  afraid,"  said  La  Val- 
liere, '•'  that  it  was  something-  worse  than 
a  wolf.  For  my  part,  and  I  speak  as  I 
think,  I  should  have  preferred  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  thoug-ht,  how  could  I 
have  said  what  I  did."  And  sajang-  this, 
her  head  bowed  like  the  head  of  a  reed  ; 
she  felt  her  limbs  fail,  and  all  her  strength 
abandoning-  her,  she  g-lided  almost  inani- 
mate from  the  arms  of  her  companions, 
and  sank  down  upon  the  g-rass. 


CHAPTER  CXVH. 

THE    king's    uneasiness. 

Let  us  leave  poor  La  Valhere,  who  had 
fainted  in  the  arms  of  her  two  compan- 
ions, and  return  to  the  precincts  of  the 
ro3^al  oak.  The  young  g-irls  had  hardly 
run  twenty-  paces,  when  the  sound  which 
had  so  much  alarmed  them  was  renewed 
among-  the  branches.  A  man's  fig-ure 
mig-ht  indistinctly  be  perceived,  and  put- 
ting- the  branches  of  the  bushes  aside,  he 
appeared  upon  the  verg-e  of  the  wood, 
and  perceiving  that  the  place  was  emptj^, 
burst  out  into  a  peal  of  laughter.  It  is 
useless  to  saj"  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  timidlj^,  "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  recog- 
nized." 


"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  3'ou  are  ?  " 

"Why,  one  of  them  seems  to  have 
taken  a  fancj^  to  me,  and  another  com- 
pared 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  verj^  well,  I 
assure  you,  without  running  after  them." 

"■  By  what  means  ?  " 

"  By  their  voices,  of  course.  They  be- 
long 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  3'our  maj- 
esty confided  to  me,  already  forgotten  ?  " 

"Oh!  no,  indeed.  How  is  it  possible 
to  forget  such  beautiful  eyes  as  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Valhere  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  be- 
lieve 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." 


THE     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


463 


"  What  do  3'ou  mean,  sire  ?  " 

''  That  to-morrow  ever^^  one  will  know 
that  I  have  designs  upon  this  little  La 
Valliere;  but  be  careful,  Saint-Aig-nan,  I 
have  confided  vay  secret  to  no  one  but  you, 
and,  if  anj^  one  should  speak  to  me  about 
it,  I  shall  know  who  has  betrayed  my 
secret." 

"  You  are  angny,  sire." 

"No  ;  but  3"ou  understand  I  do  not  Avish 
to  compromise  the  poor  g-irl." 

''  Do  not  be  afraid,  sire." 

"You  promise  me,  then  ?  " 

"I  g^ive  you  my  word  of  honor." 

"Excellent,"  thoug-ht  the  king-,  laugh- 
ing- to  himself ;  "  now  every  one  will 
know  to-morrow  that  I  have  been  run- 
ning- about  after  La  Valliere  to-nig-ht." 

Then,  endeavoring-  to  see  where  he  was, 
he  said,  "'  Why,  we  have  lost  ourselves." 

"Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  sire." 

"  Where  does  that  g-ate  lead  to  ?  " 

"  To  the  g-reat  Road  Point,  sire.'" 

"  Where  we  were  going-  when  Ave  heard 
the  sound  of  women's  voices," 

"  Yes,  sire,  and  the  termination  of  a 
conversation  in  which  I  had  the  honor  of 
hearing  xxiy  own  name  pronounced  by  the 
side  of  5'our  majesty's." 

"  You  return  to  that  subject  very  fre- 
quentl}'',  Saint- Aignan," 

"'  Your  majestj^  will  forgive  me,  but 
I  am  delighted  to  know  that  a  w^oman 
exists  whose  thoughts  are  occupied  about 
me,  without  va.y  knowledge,  and  without 
having  done  anything  to  deserve  it.  Your 
majest}^  cannot  comprehend  this  satisfac- 
tion, for  your  rank  and  merit  attract  at- 
tention, 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  can- 
did confession,  this  perfectly  disinterested 
preference  of  one  who  Avill,  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  Valliere — " 

"Do  not  let  that  interfere  with  your 
majest3''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  curiositj^  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  anx- 
ious, but  he  had  a  part  to  play,  and  so  he 
walked  on  hurriedlj'.  Saint-Aignan  fol- 
lowed 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  cr^nng,  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  by-path,  the^'  ran  across  the  grass. 
As  they  approached,  the  cries  were  more 
distinctl}'  heard. 

"  Help  !  help  !  "  exclaimed  two  voices. 
The  king  and  his  companion  redoubled 
their  speed,  and,  as  they  approached 
nearer,  the  sighs  they  had  heard  Avere 
changed  into  loud  sobs.  The  oxy  of 
"  Help  !  help  !  "  Avas  again  repeated  ;  at 
the  sound  of  which,  the  king  and  Saint- 
Aignan  increased  the  rapidity-  of  their 
pace.  Suddenl3%  at  the  other  side  of  a 
ditch,  under  the  branches  of  a  AvilloAv, 
the3'  perceived  a  Avoman  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.  Per- 
ceiving two  gentlemen,  Avhose  rank  she 
could  not  tell,  her  cries  for  assistance 
were  redoubled.  The  king,  Avho  was  in 
adA-ance  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 
draAvn  to  the  spot  b3^  the  same  cries  Avhicli 
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  astonishment,  let- 


464 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


ting-  La   Valliere's    head    fall   upon    the 
ground. 

''Yes,  it  is  the  king;  but  that  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  abandon  3'oui- 
companion.     Who  is  she  ?  " 

''  It  is  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  sire." 
''Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  !  " 
"Yes,  sire,  she  has  just  fainted." 
"  Poor  child  !  "  said  the  king-.  "  Quick, 
quick,  feLch  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  accompanied 
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  Valliere, 
I  beg.  Send  for  a  surgeon.  I  will  hasten 
forward  and  inform  Madame  of  the  acci- 
dent which  has  befallen  one  of  her  maids 
of  honor."  And,  in  fact,  while  M.  de 
Saint-Aignan  was  busily  engaged  in  mak- 
ing' preparations  for  carrying  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Valliere  to  the  chateau,  the 
king  hurried  forward,  happ^'  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  approaching  Madame,  and 
of  speaking  to  her  under  some  colorable 
pretext.  Fortunatelj',  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 
Valliere.  The  current  of  fresh  air  pro- 
duced by  the  rapid  motion  of  the  car- 
riage soon  recalled  her  to  her  senses. 
Having  reached  the  chateau,  she  was 
able,  though  ver^^  weak,  to  alight  from 
the  carriage ;  and,  with  the  assistance  of 
Athenais,  and  of  Montalais,  to  reach  the 
inner  apartments.  They  made  her  sit 
down  in  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  ground- 
floor.  After  awhile,  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 
overhanaring  branches,  and  had  seated 
himself  by  her  side. 

•'Take  care,  sire,"  said  Henrietta  to 
him,   in   a   low   tone,  "you  do  not  show 


3^ourself  as  indifferent  as  you  should 
be." 

"  Alas  !  "  replied  the  king,  in  the  same 
tone,  "  I  much  fear  we  have  entered  into 
ah  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  1  had 
come  expressly  to  tell  you  of  it.  I  am, 
however,  painfull^'  affected  hy  it ;  one  of 
3'our  maids  of  honor.  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  undertone,  "You 
forget,  sir,  that  you  wish  others  to  believe 
in  your  passion  for  this  girl,  and  .yet  j'^ou 
remain  here  while  she  is  almost  dying, 
perhaps,  elsewhere." 

"Ah!  madame,"  said  the  king,  sigh- 
ing, "  how  much  more  perfect  3'ou  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  3'ou,  madame;  my  uneasiness  is  very 
great,  and  I  wish  to  be  quite  certain,  my- 
self, that  proper  attention  has  been  given 
to  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere."  And 
the  king  left  again  to  return  to  La  Val- 
liere, while  those  who  had  been  present 
commented  upon  the  king's  remark — 
"  My  uneasiness  is  very  great." 


CHAPTER  CXVIII. 

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-Aig- 
nan, *'  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


465 


have  just  met  one  of  our  three  loquacious 
wood-nymphs,  and  I  confess  that  my  at- 
tention has  been  taken  awaj^  from  other 
matters." 

"Ah!"  said  the  king-,  eagerl}^  "you 
have  found,  then — " 

"  The  one  who  deig-ned  to  speak  of  me 
in  such  advantag-eous  terms  ;  and,  having 
found  mine,  I  was  searching-  for  yours, 
sire,  when  I  had  the  happiness  to  meet 
3' our  majesty." 

"Very  well;  but  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere  before  everything-  else,"  said  the 
king-,  faithful  to  the  character  he  had  as- 
sumed. 

"Oh!  our  charming-  invalid,"  said 
Saint- Aig-nan  ;  "how  fortunately  her 
fainting-  came  on,  since  your  majesty 
had  already  occupied  j^ourself  about 
her." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  your  fair  lady, 
Saint- Aig-nan  ?     Is  it  a  secret  ?  " 

"It  oug-ht  to  be  a  secret,  and  a  very 
g-reat  one,  even ;  but  3^our  majesty  is 
well  aware  that  no  secret  can  possibly 
exist  for  you." 

"  Well,  what  is  her  name  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle  de  Tonna^^-Charente." 

"  Is  she  pretty  ?  " 

"  Exceedingly  so,  sire  ;  and  I  recognized 
the  voice  which  pronounced  vcij  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  ap- 
pearance of  a  wolf  or  a  robber  had  terri- 
fied 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  Bas- 
tille ?  " 

"What  for?" 

"Because  I  am  an  egotist  and  a  fool. 
M3'  surprise  was  so  great  at  such  a  con- 
quest, and  at  so  fortunate  a  discoverj^ 
that  I  went  no  further  in  my  inquiries. 
Besides,  I  did  not  think  that  your  maj- 
e^ty  would  attach  any  very  great  impor- 
tance  to  what  3'ou  heard,  knowing  how^ 


much  your  attention  was  taken  up  by 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere ;  and  then. 
Mademoiselle  de  Tonna^'^-Charente  left 
me  precipitately,  to  return  to  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Valliere." 

"Let  us  hope,  then,  that  I  shall  be 
as  fortunate  as  j^ourself.  Come,  Saint- 
Aignan." 

"  Your  majesty'  is  ambitious,  I  per- 
ceieve,  and  does  not  wish  to  allow  any 
conquest  to  escape  you.  Well,  I  assure 
you  that  I  will  conscientiously  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,  "  onl^^  require  to 
hear  her  voice  to  know  it  again.  Come, 
let  us  sa}'  no  more  about  it,  but  show^  me 
where  poor  La  Valliere  is." 

"Well,"  thought  Saint- Aignan,  "the 
king's  regard  is  beginning  to  display'  it- 
self, and  for  that  girl,  too.  It  is  extraor- 
dinary ;  I  should  never  have  believed  it." 
And  with  this  thought  passing  through 
his  mind,  he  showed  the  king  the  room 
Avhere  La  Valliere  had  been  taken  ;  the 
king  entered,  followed  hy  Saint-Aignan. 
In  a  low^  room,  near  a  large  window  look- 
ing out  upon  the  gardens.  La  Valliere, 
reclining  in  a  large  armchair,  inhaled 
in  deep  draughts  the  perfumed  evening 
breeze.  From  the  loosened  bodj'  of  her 
dress,  the  lace  fell  in  tumbled  folds,  min- 
gling with  the  tresses  of  her  beautiful  fair 
hair,  which  la}^  scattered  upon  her  shoul- 
ders. 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  mov- 
ing them,  and  closing  their  lips  with- 
out a  sound  escaping  them.  The 
pearl-like  pallor  of  La  Valliere  pos- 
sessed a  charm  which  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  describe.  Mental  and  bodih^ 
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,  th;in  n  living  being ; 
she  seemed  not  to  hear  either  the  whis- 
perings of  her  companions  or  the  distant 


466 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


murmurs  which  arose  from  the  neii^ii- 
borhood.  She  seemed  to  be  communing- 
within  herself ;  and  her  beautiful,  slender, 
and  delicate  hands  trembled,  from  time  to 
time,  as  thoug"h  from  the  contact  of  some 
invisible  touch.  She  was  so  completel3- 
absorbed  in  her  reverie,  that  the  king- 
entered  without  her  perceiving-  him.  At 
a  distance  he  g-azed  upon  her  lovely  face, 
upon  which  the  moon  shed  its  pure  silverj^ 
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  deig-ned  to  express  his  uneasi- 
ness on  your  account." 

"  The  king- !  "  exclaimed  Louise,  start- 
ing- 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 
Valliere,  not  venturing-  to  look  round  her. 

"  That  voice  !  that  voice  I  "  whispered 
Louis,  eag-erly,  to  Saint-Aig-nan. 

"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  Valliere,  he  said,  "  You 
are  not  well.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere? 
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,  eagerlj'-, 
answering  for  her  friend,  "it  could  not 
be  from  fatigue,  for  we  passed  part  of  the 
evening  seated  beneath  the  ro.yal  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." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  inquired 
Montalais. 

"  In  a  very  simple  wa}'.  Mademoiselle 
de  Tonnaj'-Charente  told  me  so." 

"  In  that  case,  she  probably  told  you 
the  cause  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere 
fainting?" 

' '  Why,  yes ;  she  told  me  something 
about  a  wolf  or  a  robber.  I  forget  pre- 
cisely which."  La  Valliere  listened,  her 
eyes  fixed,  her  bosom  heaving,  as  if,  gifted 
with  an  acuteness  of  perception,  she  fore- 
saw a  portion  of  the  truth.  Louis  im- 
agined this  attitude  and  agitation  to  be 
the  consequences  of  a  terror  but  partially 
removed.  "Na}^,  fear  nothing,"  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  listening." 

"  Suppose  it  were,  mademoiselle,  what 
great  evil  was  there  in  his  having  list- 
ened ?  Is  it  likelj'  that,  even  in  your 
own  opinion,  you  would  have  said  any- 
thing 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  toward  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  Valliere  uttered  a  loud  cry ;  for  the 
second  time  her  strength  forsook  her ; 
and,  cold,  moaning,  and  in  utter  despair, 
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  Ton- 
nay-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 
hy  the  presence  of  the  king,  who,  with 
one  knee  on  the  ground,  held  La  Valliere 
round  the  waist  with  his  arm. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


467 


•'You  heard,  sire  ?' *  murmured  Athe- 
nais.  But  the  king-  did  not  reply ;  he 
remained  witli  his  ej^es  fixed  upon  La 
Valliere's  half-closed  eyes,  and  held  her 
di-ooping-  hand  in  his  own. 

'•  Of  course,"  replied  Saint- Aig-nan, who, 
on  his  side,  hoping-  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Tonnay-Charente  would  faint,  advanced 
toward  her,  holding-  his  arms  extended, 
'•  of  course  ;  we  did  not  even  lose  a  word." 
But  the  haughty  Athenais  was  not  a  wo- 
man to  faint  easily  ;  she  darted  a  terrible 
look  at  Saint- Aig-nan,  and  fled.  Montalais, 
with  more  courage,  advanced  hurriedl}' 
toward  Louise,  and  received  her  from  the 
king's  hands,  who  was  already  fast  losing 
his  presence  of  mind,  as  he  felt  his  face 
covered  \>y  the  perfumed  tresses  of  the 
seemingl}^  dying  girl.  ''Excellent,"  said 
Saint- Aignan.  "This  is  indeed  an  ad- 
venture >  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  passionate  gesture, 
said,  "Not  a  syllable,  comte." 

The  poop  king  forgot  that,  only  an  hour 
before,  he  had  given  him  a  similar  recom- 
mendation, 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  afterward,  everj^body  in  Fontaine- 
bleau  knew  that  Mademoiselle  de  la  Val- 
liere  had  had  a  conversation  under  the 
royal  oak  with  Montalais  and  Tonnay- 
Charente,  and  that  in  this  conversation 
she  had  confessed  her  affection  for  tlie 
king.  It  was  known,  also,  that  the  king, 
after  having  manifested  the  uneasiness 
with  which  Mademoiselle  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  tl>e 
period  had  just  been  revealed  ;  that  his 
majesty  loved  Mademoiselle  de  la  Val- 
liere,  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  j'ou  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  yester- 
day, 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  confi- 
dential 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  disobe\'  his  mother's  injunc- 
tions. 

"'  Do  not  go  and  tell  any  one,  the  queen 
least  of  all,"  he  said  mysteriously,  "  what 
people  say  about  the  king." 

"What  do  t\\Qy  say  about  him?"  in- 
quired Madame. 

"  That  mj^  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  ?  " 

"  For  some  days,  so  it  seems.  But  that 
was  nothing  but  pure  nonsense,  it  is  only 
this  evening  that  he  has  revealed  his  pas- 
sion." 

"  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  ?  " 

"In  an}''  case  this  passion  will  make 
some  one  very  happ3',  even  if  it  be  only 
La  VaUiere  herself." 


468 


WORKS     OF    ALEXAJSDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Really,"  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  ag-rees  to  return  the 
king's  affection  ?  " 

"  And  who  has  told  3'ou  that  she  will 
not  return  it  ?  " 

"  She  loves  the  Vicomtede  Brag-elonne." 

"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  marriage,  he 
refused  his  permission." 

"Refused?  " 

"  Yes,  although  the  request  was  pre- 
ferred by  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  himself, 
for  whom  the  king"  has  the  greatest  re- 
gard, on  account  of  the  part  he  took  in 
3'our  brother's  restoration,  and  in  other 
events  also,  which  happened  a  long  time 
ago." 

"  Well !  the  poor  lovers  must  wait  un- 
til the  king-  is  pleased  to  chang-e  his  opin- 
ion; 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  3'^ou  say,  has  been  deeply 
touched  ?  " 

"To  the  very  heart." 

"  But  how  ? — in  what  manner  ? — tell  me 
directly." 

"  B}'  an  adventure,  the  romance  of 
wiiich  cannot  be  equaled." 

"You  know  how  I  love  such  advent- 
ures, and  yet  you  keep  me  waiting,"  said 
the  princess,  impatiently. 

"Well,  then — "  and  Monsieur  paused. 

"  I  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  I  "  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  w^hom  did  you  get  this  ab- 
surd tale  ?  " 

"  Wh}^,  as  ever3'body  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  with- 
out losing  a  single  word  of  it." 

Madame  felt  struck  to  the  heart,  saying 
incautiousl.y,  "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  j'ou  himself, 
since  he  recommended  every  one  not  to 
saj''  a  word  about  it  to  you." 

"  What  do  3'ou  mean?"  said  Madame, 
irritated. 

"  I  mean  that  t\iey  wished  to  keep  you 
in  ignorance  of  the  affair  altogether." 

"But  \\\\y  should  they  wish  to  conceal 
it  from  me  ?" 

"  From  the  fear  that  j^our  friendship 
for  the  young  queen  might  induce  you  to 
saj^  something  about  it  to  her,  nothing 
more." 

Madame  hung  down  her  head  ;  her  feel- 
ings were  grievously  wounded.  She  could 
not  enjoy  a  moment's  repose  until  she  had 


THE     VI  CO  Mr E    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


469 


met  the  king.  As  a  king-  is,  most  natur- 
all3%  the  ver^'^  last  person  in  his  kingdom 
who  knows  what  is  said  about  him,  in  the 
same  way  that  a  lover  is  the  onh'-  one  who 
is  kept  in  ignorance  of  what  is  said  about 
his  mistress,  therefore,  when  the  king  per- 
ceived Madame,  who  was  looking  for  him, 
he  approached  her  somewhat  disturbed, 
but  still  gracious  and  attentive  in  his 
manner.  Madame  waited  for  him  to  speak 
about  La  Valliere  first ;  but  as  he  did  not 
speak  of  her,  she  said,  ''And  the  poor 
girl  ?  " 

''  What  poor  girl  ?"  said  the  king. 

"  La  Valliere.  Did  3'ou  not  tell  me, 
sire,  that  she  had  fainted  ?" 

'•She  is  still  very  ill,"  said  the  king, 
affecting  the  greatest  indifference. 

"But  surely  that  will  prejudicially  af- 
fect the  rumor  you  were  going  to  spread, 
sire  ?" 

"What  rumor  ?" 

'•'  That  your  attention  was  taken  up  b^* 
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.  Mad- 
ame, on  her  side,  did  not  open  her  lips 
about  the  adventure,  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  onl}'  looked  for  worthier  ears 
than  others  he  had  found,  to  have  an  op- 
portunity' 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  j'ou  have 


told  it  to  me,  but  that  you  were  not 
there." 

"  Upon  my  honor,  madame,  I  was 
there." 

"  And  you  think  that  these  confessions 
may  have  made  an  impression  upon  the 
king  ?  " 

'•'  Certainh',  as  those  of  Mademoiselle 
Tonnay-Charente  did  upon  me,"  replied 
Saint-Aignan  ;  "  do  not  forget,  madame, 
that  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  com- 
pared the  king  to  the  sun  ;  that  was  flat- 
tering 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  Valliere  fell  into  his 
arms." 

''  La  Valliere  fell  into  the  king's  arms!" 

"  Oh,  it  was  the  most  graceful  picture 
possible  !  Just  imagine,  La  Valliere  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  mj'self — I  saw  that, 
when  La  Valliere  fell  into  his  arms,  the 
king  almost  fainted  himself." 

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  suf- 
focated by  her  feelings^  toward  the  cha- 
teau. 


CHAPTER  CXIX. 

COURSES    DE    NUIT.     . 

Monsieur  had  quitted  the  princess  in 
the  best  possible  humor,  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  care- 
ful attention,  which  displayed  itself  from 
time  to  time  in  paroxysms  of  satisfaction. 
Whi^e  his  attendants  were  engaged  in 
dressing  him,  he  sang  the  principal  airs 


-i:o 


WOUKS     OF    ALFA'AyDRE    DU}fAS. 


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,  how- 
ever, the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  who  had 
seen  the  prince  return  to  the  chateau,  en- 
tered the  room.  Monsieur  overwhelmed 
him  with  kindness.  The  former,  after 
having  saluted  the  prince,  remained  si- 
lent for  a  moment,  like  a  sharpshooter 
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,  monseigneur  ?  *  * 

"  Xo  ;  what  is  it  ?  " 

•'  The  bad  reception  which  his  maj- 
esty, in  appeai'ance.  gave  the  Comte  de 
Guiche." 

'•  In  appearance  ?  *' 

"  Yes,  certainly,  since,  iu  reality,  he 
has  restored  him  to  favor." 

••  I  did  not  notice  it,'"  said  the  prince. 

••  What !  did  you  not  remark  that,  in- 
stead of  ordering  him  to  return  to  his 
exile,  as  would  nave  been  natural,  he 
encouraged  him  in  his  opposition  by  per- 
mitting 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  cheva- 
lier :  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  inten- 
tion." 

'•Really,'*'  said  the  chevalier,  ••'as  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  I  confess  that  this 
magnanimity  astonishes  me  to  the  hig'h- 
est  degree." 

•'•  Why  so ?  '*  inquired  Philip. 

•*'  Because  I  should  have  thought  the 
king  had  been  more  jealous,''  replied  the 
chevalier,  spitefully. 

During  the  last  few  minutes  Monsieur 
had  felt  there  was  something  of  an  irri- 
tating nature  concealed  under  his  favor- 
ite's remark  :  this  last  word,  however, 
had  ignited  the  powder. 


■•  Jealous  I  "  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  endeavored,  there- 
fore, to  recall  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. ' ' 

••Did  your  royal  highness,'"  continued 
the  chevalier,  ••'solicit  dear  De  Guiche's 
pardon  ?  " 

*'*  No.  indeed."  said  Monsieur.  "  De 
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." 

The  chevalier  had  assumed  a  bitterness 
with  regard  to  De  Guiche,  as  he  had 
attempted  to  do  with  the  king  ;  but  he 
thought  that  he  perceived  that  the  time 
for  indulgence,  and  even  for  the  utmost 
indifterenco.  had  arrived,  and  that,  in 
order  to  throw  some  light  on  the  ques- 
tion, it  might  be  necessary  for  him  to  put 
the  lamp,  as  the  saying  is,  under  the  hus- 
band's nose  even. 

••Very  well,  very  well,"  said  the  cheva- 
lier to  himself,  •'•'  I  shall  wait  for  De  War- 
des :  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  dis- 
appears when  I  learn  that  De  Guiche  has 
returned  at  the  very  moment  Madame 
troubles  hereelf  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  matter  is. 
to  remain  perfectly  quiet,  and  await  the 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


471 


arrival  of  some  new  caprice,  and  let  that 
decide  tlie  whole  affair."  And  the  cheva- 
lier thereupon  settled  himself  resignedly  in 
the  armchair  in  which  Monsieur  permitted 
him  to  seat  himself  in  his  presence  ;  and, 
having-  no  more  spiteful  or  malicious  re- 
marks to  make,  the  consequence  was 
that  the  chevalier's  wit  seemed  to  have 
deserted  him.  Most  fortunately.  Monsieur 
was  endowed  with  great  good  humor,  and 
he  had  enough  for  two,  until  the  time  ar- 
rived for  dismissing  his  servants  and  gen- 
tlemen of  the  chamber,  and  he  passed  into 
his  sleeping  apartment.  As  he  withdrew, 
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  vent- 
ure out  again  into  the  park  during  the 
remainder  of  the  evening.  The  chevalier 
entered  the  princess's  apartments  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  communi- 
cation— 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  unemploj^ed  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  hardl^^  gone  a  hundred*  paces 
when  he  met  two  3^oung  men,  walking 
arm-in-arm,  with  their  heads  bent  down, 
and  idl3'  kicking  the  small  stones  out  of 
their  path  as  they  walked  on,  plunged  in 
thought.  It  was  De  Guiche  and  De 
Bragelonjie,  the  sight  of  whom,  as  it  al- 
waj^s  did,  produced  upon  the  chevalier, 
instinctiveh',  a  feeling  of  great  repug- 
nance. He  did  not,  however,  the  less, 
on  that  account,  salute  them  with  a  ver^^ 
low  bow,  and  which  they  returned  with 
interest.  Then,  observing  that  the  park 
was   becoming  thinner,    that  the    illumi- 


nations 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  courtj'ards.  The 
others  turned  aside  to  the  right,  and  con- 
tinued on  their  wa^^  toward  the  large 
park.  As  the  chevalier  was  ascending 
the  side  staircase,  which  led  to  the  private 
entrance,  he  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  in  the  darkness  of 
the  night.  The  stj'le  of  their  mantelets, 
their  graceful  figures,  a  mysterious  j'^et 
haughty  carriage  which  distinguished 
them  both,  especially''  the  one  who  walked 
first,  struck  the  chevalier. 

"  I  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." 

''  Verj^  well,"  said  the  chevalier,  "^  there 
is  time  enough  ;  to-morrow  will  do." 

''There  are  some  urgent  letters  which 
3^ou  would  be  glad  to  see,  perhaps." 

"Where  from?"  inquired  the  chev- 
alier. 

"  One  from  England,  and  the  other 
from  Calais ;  the  latter  arrived  by  ex- 
press, and  seems  of  great  importance." 

"  From  Calais !  Who  the  deuce  can 
have  to  write  to  me  from  Calais  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  can  recognize  the  hand- 
writing of  your  friend  the  Comte  de 
Wardes." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  the  chevalier,  forgetting 
his  intention  of  acting  the  sp3^,  "  in  that 
case  I  will  come  up  at  once."  This  he 
did,  while  the  two  unknown  ladies  disap- 
peared at  the  end  of  the  court  opposite  to 
the  one  b3'  which  the3'  had  just,  entered. 
We  shall  now  follow  them,  and  leave  the 
chevalier  undisturbed  to  his  correspond- 
ence. When  the3'^  had  arrived  at  the 
grove  of  trees,  the  foremost  of  the  two 
halted,'  somewhat    out   of    breath,    and. 


472 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


cautiously  raising-  her  hood,  said,    "Are 
we  still  far  from  the  tree  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,  more  than  five  liun- 
dred  paces ;  but  pray  rest  awhile  :  you 
will  not  he  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 
3^ou  ma3'^  have  said  under  the  oak  :  you 
are  afraid  of  having  offended  the  king, 
and  I  wish  to  tranquilize  you  by  ascer- 
taining myself  if  it  were  possible  j'^ou 
could  have  been  overheard." 

"  Oh,  yes,  madame,  the  king  was  so 
close  to  us." 

"  Still,  you  were  not  speaking  so  loud 
that  some  of  j^our  remarks  maj"-  not  have 
been  lost." 

"  We  thought  we  were  quite  alone, 
madame." 

"  There  were  three  of  you,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  La  Valliere,  Montalais,  and  my- 
self." 

"  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  m.y  peace  with  his  majesty  ?  " 

"  If  there  should  be  any  occasion  for  it, 
I  promise  you  to  do  so.  However,  as  I 
have  already  told  you,  it  wall  be  better 
not  to  anticipate  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  w^ere  recognized  by  the  king. 
To  inform  him  of  it,  by  being  the  first  to 
speak,  is -to  denounce  yourself." 

"  Oh,  madame,  madame  !  if  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Valliere  were  recognized,  I 
must  have  been  recognized  also.  Besides, 
M.  de  Saint- Aignan  did  not  leave  a  doubt 
on  the  subject." 


"  Did  3^ou,  then,  saj-^  anything  very  dis- 
respectful of  the  king?  " 

"  Not  at  all  so  :  it  was  one  of  the  others 
who  made  some  very  flattering-  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  Valliere  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 
3^ou,  I  will  tell  you  so." 

"Yes,  madame." 

"  If,  therefore,  you  really  spoke  suffi- 
ciently loud  for  the  king  to  have  heard 
you,  in  that  case — " 

Athenais  seemed  to  await  the  conclu- 
sion 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  in- 
creased her  pace.  Suddenly,  however, 
she  stopped.  "An  idea  occurs  to  me," 
she  said. 

"  A  good  idea,  no  doubt,  madame,"  re- 
plied Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Charente. 

"  Montalais  must  be  as  much  embar- 
rassed as  La  Valliere  and  j^ourself." 

"  Less  so,  for  she  is  less  compromised, 
having  said  less." 

"That  does  not  matter;  she  will  help 
3^ou,  I  dare  saj'-,  b}^  deviating  a  little  from 
the  exact  truth." 

"Especially  if  she  knows  that  3^our 
highness  is  kind  enough  to  interest  3'our- 
self  about  me." 

"  Very  well ;  I  think  I  have  discovered 
what  we  want." 
"How  delightful." 


THE     VICOMTE    DB    BRAGELONNE. 


473 


"  You  will  say  that  all  three  of  3'^ou 
were  perfect!}^  well  aware  that  the  king- 
was  behind  the  tree,  or  behind  the  thicket, 
whichever  it  mig-ht  have  been  ;  and  that 
3^ou  knew  M.  de  Saint- Aig-nan  was  there 
too.-' 

'•'  Yes,  madame." 

'•'  For  you  cannot  disg"uise  it  from  3'our- 
self,  Athenais,  Saint- Aignan  takes  advan- 
tage of  some  very  flattering-  remarks 
which  3'ou  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  verj" 
well,"  she  said;  "the  favor  the  king 
shows  him  almost  turns  his  brain,  and  he 
talks  at  random  :  not  only  that,  he  very 
often  invents.  That  is  not  the  question  ; 
the  fact  remains.  Did  or  did  not  the  king- 
overhear  ?  " 

"Oil,  yes,  madame,  he  did  hear,"  said 
Athenais,  in  despair. 

"  In  that  case,  do  what  I  said  :  main- 
tain boldl}'  that  all  three  of  j^ou  knew — 
mind,  all  three  of  j^ou,  for  if  there  is  a 
doubt  about  anj^  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  3'ou 
wished  to  amuse  yourselves  at  the  ex- 
pense of  those  who  were  listening." 

''Oh,  madame,  at  the  king's  expense; 
we  never  dare  saj'^  that  !  " 

"It  is  a  simple  jest;  an  innocent  de- 
ception 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  any- 
thing to  have  recalled." 

"  Are  3'ou  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"Perfectly  so." 

"Very  well,  an  additional  reason,  there- 
fore. 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  completel}'  put  out  of  countenance, 


he  will  be  laughed  at  instead  of  you  ;  and, 
lastlj',  the  king  will  be  punished  for  a  cu- 
riosity'- which  was  unworthy  of  his  rank. 
Let  people  laugh  a  little  at  the  king  in 
this  affair,  and  I  do  not  think  hewillcom- 
pk  in  of  it." 

"  Oh,  madame,  ^ow.  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  advan- 
tage to  spare  my  maids  of  honor  the  re- 
marks, annoyances,  and  perhaps  even 
calumnies,  which  might  follow  ?  Alas  ! 
3'ou  well  know  that  the  court  has  no  in- 
dulgence for  this  sort  of  peccadilloes. 
But  we  have  now  been  walking  for  some 
time,  shall  we  be  long  before  w^e  reach  it  ?" 

"About  fifty  or  sixty  paces  further; 
turn  to  the  left,  madame,  if  .you  please." 

"'  And  so  3'OU  are  sure  of  Montalais  ?  " 
said  Madame. 

"  Oh,  certainl3\" 

"  Will  she  do  what  3'ou  ask  her?" 

"Everything.     She  will  be  delighted." 

"As  for  La  Valliere?" — ventured  the 
princess. 

"Ah,  there  will  be  some  difilcult3''  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,  3^es,"  said  Madame,  "  I  have 
been  already  told  that ;  she  is  one  of  those 
overnice  and  affectedly  particular  per- 
sons, 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  jestings  of  the  w-hole 
court — as  she  will  have  annoyed  the  king 
b3"  a  confession  as  ridiculous  as  it  was  im- 
modest— Mademoiselle  le  Baume  le  Blanc 
de  la  Valliere  will  think  it  but  proper  that 
I  should  send  her  back  again  to  her  pigeons 
in  the  countr3',  in  order  that,  in  Touraine 
3^onder,  or  in  Le  Blaisois — I  know  not 
where  it  may  be,  she  may  at  her  ease 
stud3*  sentiment  and  a  pastoral  life  to- 
gether." These  words  were  uttered  with 
a  vehemence  and  harshness  which  terrified 
Madepnoiselle  de  Tonna3'-Charente ;  and 
the  consequence  was,  that,  as  far  as  she 


474 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


was  concerned,  she  promised  to  tell  as 
many  falsehoods  as  mig-ht  be  necessary. 
It  was  in  this  amiable  frame  of  mind,  re- 
spectively, 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  over- 
hear," replied  Madame. 

"  Hush  1  '■'  said  the  young-  g-irl,  holding- 
Madame  back  with  a  hurried  g-esture,  en- 
tirely forg-etful  of  her  companion's  rank. 
Madame  stopped. 

''You  see  that  you  can  hear,"  said 
Athenais. 

"How?" 

"Listen." 

Madame  held  her  breath,  and  in  fact, 
the  following-  words,  pronounced  by  a 
g-entle  and  melancholy  voice,  floated  to- 
ward them  — 

''  I  tell  you,  vicomte,  I  tell  you,  I  love 
her  madly  ;  I  tell  you  I  love  her  to  dis- 
traction." 

Madame  started  at  the  voice,  and,  be- 
neath her  hood,  a  bright  joyous  smile  illu- 
mined her  features.  It  was  she  who  now 
staj'ed  her  companion,  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,  m}^  dear 
Athenais,  and  let  no  one  surprise  us.  I 
think  it  may  be  you  the}''  are  conversing- 
about." 

"  Me,  madame  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  ;  or  rather  your  adventure. 
I  will  g-o  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  ag-ain 
said  "  Go ! "  in  a  voice  which  did  not 
admit  of  repl3^  Athenais  thereupon  ar- 
ranged her  dress  so  as  to  prevent  its  rust- 
ling- being  heard,  and,  by  a  path  which 
crossed  the  g-roup  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  anxiet^y  and  apprehension. 
*' Now,  "she  said,  "since   one  can   hear 


from  this  place,  .let  us  listen  to  what  M. 
de  Bragelonne  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  youthful  and  passionate  disclosures  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  in- 
deed." 

"You  do  not  understand  me,  Guiche. 
I  sa3'  that  it  is  a  great  misfortune  for  j'ou, 
not  that  of  loving,  but  that  of  not  know- 
ing how  to  conceal  3'our  love." 

"  What  do  3'ou  mean  ?  "  said  Guiche. 

"Yes,  3'ou  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 
3"0U  ;  3^ou  do  not  perceive,  I  say,  that  it  is 
no  longer  to  your  onl}'^  friend  that  you 
confide  \'our  passion,  but  to  the  first  one 
who  approaches  3^ou." 

"  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  \o\iy  eyes,  your  looks, 
3'our  sighs,  speak,  in  spite  of  yourself  ; 
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  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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


475 


this,  it  ver}'  rarely  happens  that  there  is 
not  alwaj'S  some  one  present  to  hear, 
especially'  those  verj-  thing's  which  oug-ht 
not  to  be  heard.*'  Guiche  uttered  a  deep 
sigh.  "  Nci3',''  continued  Brag-elonne, 
"you  distress  me  ;  since  your  return  here, 
you  have  a  thousand  times,  and  in  a  thou- 
sand different  ways,  confessed  your  love 
for  her ;  and  j'et,  had  you  not  said  anj-- 
thing",  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  af- 
fection, your  affection  will  be  an  accusa- 
tion against  her  in  tl>e  hands  of  her 
enemies." 

''Alas!"  murmured  Guiche;  and  a 
deep  sig-h  accompanied  the   exclamation. 

"That  is  not  answering-  me,  Guiche." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  Well,  what  reply  have  you  to  make  ?" 

"'  This,  that  when  that  daj''  arrives  I 
shall  not  be  less  a  living-  being-  than  I 
feel   myself  to  be  now." 

"I  do  not  understand  3'^ou." 

"  So  many  vicissitudes  have  worn  me 
out.  At  present,  I  am  no  more  a  think- 
ing-, acting-  being- ;  at  present,  the  most 
worthless  of  men  is  better  than  I  am ; 
therefore,  vay  remaining-  streng-th  is  now 
exhausted,  my  latest  formed  resolutions 
have  vanished,  and  I  abandon  myself  to 
my  fate.  When  a  man  is  out  campaign- 
ing, as  we  have  been  tog-ether,  and  he 
sets  off  alone  and  unaccompanied  for  a 
skirmish,  it  sometimes  happens  that  he 
may  meet  with  a  part}'  of  five  or  six  for- 
ag-ers,  and  although  alone,  he  defends 
himself ;  afterward,  five  or  six  others 
arrive  unexpectedly,  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 
liappen  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 ;  afterward, 
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  mj^self !  having  de- 
voted myself  to  the  service  of  that  affec- 
tion, I  will  lose  my  life  in  it," 

'•  It  is  not  her  you  ought  to  reproach," 
replied  Raoul ;  "it  is  yourself." 

"Why  so?" 

*•'  You  know  the  princess's  character — 
somewhat  giddy,  easily  captivated  by  nov- 
elt}',  susceptible  to  flattery,  whether  it 
come  from  a  blind  person  or  a  child,  and 
3'et  you  allow  your  passion  for  her  to  eat 
your  verj^  life  away.  Look  at  her — love 
her,  if  j'ou  will — for  no  one  whose  heart  is 
not  engaged  elsewhere  can  see  her  with- 
out loving  her.  Yet,  while  you  love  her,  re- 
spect,in  the  first  place,  her  husband's  rank, 
then  himself,  and  lastly',  3'our  own  safety." 

"Thanks,  Raoul," 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  Because,  seeing  how  mucli  I  suffer 
from  this  woman,  you  endeavor  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  noth- 
ing ;  but  when  I  speak  I  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,  endeavoring  to  pene- 
trate the  obscurit}',  thirstih'  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  sus- 
ceptible to  flatter}' — she  is  a  practiced  and 
cruel  coquette  ;  a  thorough  coquette  !  3'es, 
yes,  I  am  sure  of  it.  Believe  me,  Brage- 
lonne,  I  am  suffering  ail  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." 


476 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"A  victory,"  he  asked,  '''of  what  kind?" 

'*0f  what  kind,  you  ask  ?  " 

''Yes." 

"  One  day  I  will  accost  her,  and  will  ad- 
dress her  thus:  'I  was  young- — madly  in 
love;  I  possessed,  however,  sufficient  re- 
spect to  throw  myself  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  understood 
your  looks,  I  arose,  and  then,  without 
having"  done  anything-  toward  3'ou  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,  prin- 
cess of  the  royal  blood  thoug-h  j'ou  may 
be,  of  the  love  of  a  man  of  honor.  I  offer 
my  life  as  a  sacrifice  for  having-  loved  you 
too  tenderly,  and  I  die  hating  j'ou.'  " 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Raoul,  terrified  at  the 
accents  of  profound  truth  which  Guiche's 
words  betrayed,  "  I  was  right  in  saying 
you  were  mad.  Quiche." 

"Yes,  yes,"  exclaimed  De  Guiche,  fol- 
lowing out  his  own  idea,  "  since  there  are 
no  wars  here  now,  I  will  flee  j^onder  to  the 
north,  seek  service  in  the  Empire,  where 
some  Hungarian,  or  Croat,  or  Turk,  will 
perhaps  kindly  put  me  out  of  ray  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  tree  were  pushed 
aside,  and  a  woman,  pale  and  much  agi- 
tated, 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  loft}''  carriage,  by  her 
haughty  attitude,  and,  more  than  all,  bj^ 
the  throbbing  of  his  own  heart,  De  Guiche 
recognized  Madame,  and,  uttering  a  loud 
cr3%  he  removed  his  hands  from  his  tem- 
ples, and  covered  his  eyes,  with  them. 
Raoul,    trembling    and    out    of    counte- 


nance, 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  tone.  However,  as  he  himself  had 
just  said,  he  was  brave ;  and  as  in  the 
depths  of  his  own  heart  he  had  just  de- 
cisively made  up  his  mind,  De  Guiche 
arose,  and,  observing  Bragelonne's  hesi- 
tation, he  turned  toward  him  a  glance 
full  of  resignation  and  of  grateful  ac- 
knowledgment. '  Instead  of  immediately 
answering  Madame,  he  even  advanced  a 
step  toward  the  vicomte,  and,  holding 
out  toward  him  the  hand  which  the  prin- 
cess 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,  Avho,  in 
her  pride,  had  never  known  what  it  was 
to  wait,  now  waited  until  this  mute  col- 
loquy was  ended.  Her  royal  hand  re- 
mained suspended  in  the  air,  and,  when 
Raoul  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  noth- 
ing could  be  heard  but  Raoul's  hastily 
retreating  footsteps  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  manj^  things  to  be  heard,  dur- 
ing that  evening,  and,  leading  him  to  a 
neighboring  glade,  so  that  they  could  see 
a  certain  distance  around  them,  she  said, 
in  a  trembling  voice,  "  I  have  brought 
you  here,  because  yonder,  w^here  3^ou  were, 
everything  can  be  overheard." 

"  Everything    can    be    overheard,   did 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE, 


47' 


you  say,  raadarae  ?  "  replied  the  young 
man,  mechanicall}^. 

"Yes."" 

"  Which  means — '"  murmured  De 
Guiche. 

"Which  means  that  I  have  heard 
every  syllable  you  have  said." 

"Oh,  Heaven!  this  only  was  wanting- 
to  destroj-  me,"  stammered  De  Guiche; 
and  he  bent  down  his  head,  like  an  ex- 
hausted swimmer  beneath  the  w^ave  which 
eng-ulfs  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  gen- 
tleness ;  "  I  prefer  a  frankness  which 
wounds  me,  to  flattery  which  would  de- 
ceive me.  And  so,  according  to  j^our 
opinion,  M.  de  Guiche,  I  am  a  coquette 
and  a  worthless  creature  ?  " 

"  Worthless  !  "  cried  the  young  man — 
"^''ou  worthless  I  No,  no  ;  most  certainl}" 
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,  con- 
sumed 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  wh}'  should  3'ou 
even  trouble  yourself  to  know  whether  I 
exist  or  not  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  de  Guiche,  both  3-ou  and  I 
are  human  beings,  and,  knowing  you  as 
I  do,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  risk  your  life. 
W^ith  you  I  will  change  m^^  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  tc 
forget  utterly  that  I  have  ever  addressed 
a  word  or  a  glance  toward  you." 

De  Guiche  turned  round,  bending  a  look 
full  of  passionate  devotion  upon  her. 

"You."  he  said,  "you  excuse  your- 
self !  your  implore  me  I  " 

•  •  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  some- 
thing worse,  perhaps :  and  you  will  re- 
nounce your  idea  of  dying,  and  will  pre- 
serve for  3'our  famih',  for  the  king,  and 
for  our  sex,  a  cavalier,  whom  every  one 
esteems,  and  whom  man^^  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  stam- 
mered out. 

"Nay,  listen  further,"  she  continued. 
"'  When  you  shall  *have  renounced  all 
thought  of  me  forever,  from  necessitj'  in 
the  first  place,  and,  afterward,  because 
you  will  34eld  to  vay  entreatj^,  then  3'ou 
will  judge  me  more  favorably,  and  I  am 
convinced  you  will  replace  this  love — for- 
give 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  w-ith 
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  con- 
ditions." 

"'  What !  "  said  Madame,  "  do  you  re- 
fuse my  friendship,  then  ?  " 

"No,  no!  I  need  not  your  friendship, 
madame  ;  I  prefer  to  die  from  love  than 
to  live  for  friendship." 

"  Comte  !  " 

"  Oh !  madame,"  cried  De  Guiche, 
"'  the  present  is  a  moment  for  me  in  which 
no  other  consideration  and  no  other  re- 
spect exist,  than  the"  consideration  and 
respect  of  a  man  of  honor  toward  the 
woman  be  worships.  Drive  me  away, 
curse  me,  denounce  me,  you  will  be  per- 
fectly right ;  I  have  uttered  complaints 
against  you,  but  their  bitterness  has  been 
owing  to   my  passion   for  you  j    I   have 


478 


WOEKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


said  that  I  would  die,  and  die  I  shall.  If 
I  lived,  you  would  forg-et  me  ;  but  dead, 
you  would  never  forget  me,  I  am  sure.'" 

And  3'et  she,  who  was  standing-  buried 
in  thought,  and  as  agitated  as  De  Guiclie 
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  plaj^ful  manner  ;  ''  a  case  which 
must  be  treated  with  soothing*  applica- 
tions. Give  me  your  hand.  It  is  as  cold 
as  ice."  De  Guiche  knelt  down,  and 
pressed  to  his  lips,  not  one,  but  both  of 
Madame's  hands.      * 

''Love  me,  then,"  said  the  princess, 
"since  it  cannot  be  otherwise."  And 
almost  imperceptibl}'  she  pressed  his  fin- 
g-ers,  raising  him  thus,  partly  in  the  man- 
ner 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  pas- 
sion coursed  throug-h  every  fiber  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,  trem- 
bling and  bewildered  ;  *'  3'ou  have  discov- 
ered a  third  way  of  killing-  me." 

"  But,  happil}',  it  is  the  longest,  is  it 
not  ?  "  she  replied,  as  she  led  him  toward 
the  grove  of  trees  she  had  left. 


CHAPTER    CXXI. 

ARAMIS'   CORRESPONDENCE. 

While  De  Guiche's  affairs,  which  had 
been  suddenly  set  to  rights  without  his 
having  been  able  to  guess  the  cause  of 
their  improvement,  assumed  that  unex- 
pected change  which  we  have  seen,  Raoul, 
in  obedience  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  honor  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  in- 
formed him,  by  the  hand  of  his  valet,  of 
the  sword -thrust  received  at  Calais,  and 
of  all  the  details  of  the  adventure,  and  in- 
vited him  to  communicate  to  De  Guiche 
and  to  Monsieur,  whatever  there  might 
be  in  the  affair  likely  to  be  most  disagree- 
able to  both  of  them. 

De  Wardes  particularly'  endeavored  to 
prove  to  the  chevalier  the  violence  of  Mad- 
ame'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  xevy  much  behindhand,  as  nvdx  have 
been  seen.  De  Wardes  was  still  only  at 
Buckingham's  affair.  The  chevalier  threw 
the  letter  over  his  shoulder  upon  an  ad- 
joining 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  easN'  is  it  to  grow  rust3^  in  the  countr3'. 
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  mis- 
erable letter,  which  has  no  meaning  at  all 
in  it,  I  should  have  detected  in  the  g-rove 
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  Mon- 
sieur for  some  days  to  come." 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  It  is  now  too 
late,"  he  said.  -'One  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  ever3'  one  must  have  returned  to  the 
king's  apartments,  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  tem- 
per, 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  toward  the  chateau,  accom- 
panied by  a  man,  a  silk  mantle  of  a  dark 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


479 


color,  and  recognized  the  figure  wliichi  had 
strucl<  his  attention  half  an  hour  pre- 
viousl3^ 

''  Admirable  !  "  he  thought,  striking  his 
hands  together,  "this  is  1113^  mysterious 
affair."  And  he  started  out  precipitately 
along  the  staircase,  hoping  to  reach  the 
court.yaixi  in  time  to  recogifize  the  woman 
in  the  mantle,  and  her  companion.  But, 
as  he  arrived  at  the  door  in  the  little 
court,  he  nearly  knocked  against  Mad- 
ame, whose  radiant  face  seemed  full  of 
charming  revelations  beneath  the  mantle 
which  protected  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  perceived  that  she 
was  too  much  occupied  with  her  own 
thoughts  to  trouble  herself  about  him,  lie 
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 ;  onl}^  he  was  rapidly 
hurrying  toward  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, 
in  spite  of  the  diligence  he  used,  the  un- 
known had  disappeared  behind  the  flight 
of  steps  before  he  approached. 

It  was  evident,  how^ever,  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  b3^some  door  or  another, 
the  chevalier  could  not  fail  to  overtake 
him.  And  this,  certainly,  .would  have 
happened,  if,  at  the  very  moment  he 
turned  the  angle,  the  chevalier  had  not 
run  against  two  persons,  who  were  them- 


selves turning  it  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  chevalier  was  quite  read}"^  to  seek  a 
quarrel  with  these  two  troublesome  in- 
truders, when  looking  up  he  recognized 
the  surintendanl.  Fouquet  was  accom- 
panied b}^  a  person  whom  the  chevalier 
now  saw  for  the  first  time.  This  stranger 
was  his  grace  the  bishop  of  Vannes. 
Checked  b\'  the  important  character  of 
the  individual,  and  obliged  from  polite- 
ness to  make  his  own  excuses  when  he 
expected  to  receive  them,  the  chevalier 
stepped  back  a  few  paces  ;  and  as  Mon- 
sieur Fouquet  possessed,  if  not  the  friend- 
ship, at  least  the  respect  of  every  one ; 
as  the  king  himself,  although  he  was 
rather  his  enem}'-  than  his  friend,  treated 
M.  Fouquet  as  a  man  of  great  considera- 
tion, the  chevalier  did,  what  the  king 
would  have  done,  namely,  he  bowed  to 
M.  Fouquet,  who  returned  his  salutation 
with  kindl\"  politeness,  perceiving  that 
the  gentleman  had  run  against  him  by 
mistake  and  without  any  intention  of 
being  rude.  Then,  almost  immediately 
afterward,  having  recognized  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Lorraine,  he  made  a  few  civil  re- 
marks, to  which  the  chevalier  was  obliged 
to  repl3^  Brief  as  the  conversation  was, 
the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  saw,  with  the 
most  unfeigned  displeasure,  the  figure  of 
his  unknown  becoming  less  and  less  in 
the  distance,  and  fast  disappearing  in  the 
darkness.  The  chevalier  resigned  him- 
self, and,  once  resigned,  gave  his  entire 
attention  to  Fouquet:  —  "You  arrive 
late,  monsieur,"  he  said.  "Your  ab- 
sence has  occasioned  great  surprise,  and 
I  heard  Monsieur  express  himself  as  much 
astonished,  that,  having  been  invited  by 
the  king,  3'ou  had  not  come."  ^ 

"  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  do  so ; 
but  I  came  as  soon  as  I  was  free." 

*•'  Is  Paris  quiet?  " 

"' Perfectl3' so.  Paris  has  received  the 
last  tax  verN'^  well." 

"  Ah  !  I  understand,  3'ou  wished  to  as- 
sure 3^ourself  of  this  good  feeling  before 
you  came  to  participate  in  our  fetes." 

"  I  have  arrived,  however,  somewhat 
late  to  enjo3'^  them.  I  will  ask  3'ou,  there- 
fore, to  inform  me  if  the  king  is  within 
the  chateau  or  not,  if  I  shall  be  able  to 


480 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


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  nearl^^,"  said 
the  chevalier. 

'*  Perhaps  he  is  in  Madame's  apart- 
ments," 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 — "  and  the 
chevalier  paused,  hoping  that,  in  this 
manner,  he  might  learn  who  it  was  he 
had  been  hurrying  after.  But  Fouquet, 
whether  he  had  or  had  not  recognized  De 
Guiche,  simply  replied,  "'^o,  monsieur,  it 
was  not  he." 

The  chevalier,  disappointed  in  his  ex- 
pectation, saluted  them  ;  but  as  he  did 
so,  casting  a  parting  glance  around  him, 
and  perceiving  M.  Colbert  in  the  center 
of  a  group,  he  said  to  the  surintendant : 
"Staj'^,  monsieur;  there  is  some  one 
under  the  trees  j^onder,  who  will  be 
able  to  inform  you  better  than  myself." 

**  Who  ?  "  asked  Fouquet,  whose  near- 
sightedness prevented  liis  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  illumi- 
nations." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Fouquet,  with  an 
'  inclination  of  the  head,  which  indicated 
that  he  had  obtained  all  the  information 
Ij  he  Avished.  The  chevalier,  on  his  side, 
having,  on  the  contrar3%  learned  noth- 
ing at  all,  withdrew  with  a  profound 
salutation. 

He  had  scarcely  left,  when  Fouquet, 
knitting  his  brows,  fell  into  a  deep  reve- 
rie. 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  Fouquet,  dejectedly. 

"Why  not?  " 

"  Because  I  am  too  full  of  happiness  at 
this  present  moment,"  he  replied,  in  a 
trembling  voice.  "'  You,  my  dear  D'Her- 
bla}',  who  are*  so  learned,  will  remember 
the  history  of  a  certain  t\'^rant  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  happ}'^, 
that  I  wish  for  nothing  beyond  what  I 
have.  ...  I  have  risen  so  high.  .  .  .  You 
know  my  motto:  'Quo  non  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." 

Aramis  smiled  as  he  fixed  his  kind  and 
penetrating  glance  upon  him.  "  If  I  were 
aware  of  the  cause  of  3' our  happiness,"  he 
said,  "I  should  probablj''  fear  for  your 
disgrace  ;  but  you  regard  me  in  the  light 
of  a  true  friend  ;  I  mean,  3'^ou  turn  to  me 
in  misfortune,  nothing  more.  Even  that 
is  an  immense  and  precious  boon,  I  know  ; 
but  the  truth  is,  I  have  a  just  right  to  beg 
3^ou  to  confide  in  me,  from  time  to  time, 
an3'^  fortunate  circumstances  which  may 
befall  3^ou,  and  in  which  I  should  rejoice, 
you  know,  more  than  if  the3'-  had  befallen 
m3^self." 

"  My  dear  prelate,"  said  Fouquet, 
laughing,  "m3'^  secrets  are  of  too  profane 
a  character  to  confide  them  to  a  bishop, 
however  great  a  wordling  he  may  be." 

"Bah  !  in  confession." 

"  Oh  !  I  should  blush  too  much  if  3^ou 
were  m3^  confessor."  And  Fouquet  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  Fouquet,  "  that  venom- 
ous beast  has  recognized  us,  and  is  coming 
this  wa3^" 

"Colbert?" 

"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. 


THE     VIC'OMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


481 


"  What   need   have   I   of    his   friendship, 
while  you  are  here  ?  '' 

"Yes,  but  I  may  not  be  always  here," 
replied  Fouquet,  dejectedly-. 

*' On  that  day,  tben,  if  that  day  should 
ever  come,"  said  Aramis,  tranquilly, 
''  we  will  think  over  a  means  of  dispens- 
ing" with  the  friendship,  or  of  braving-  the 
dislike,  of  M.  Colbert.  But  tell  me,  my 
dear  Fouquet,  instead  of  conversing-  with 
this  fellow,  as  you  did  him  the  honor  to 
style  him,  a  conversation  the  utility'-  of 
which  I  do  not  pei'ceive,  why  do  you  not 
pa3'  a  visit,  if  not  to  the  king,  at  least  to 
Madame?" 

'•'  To  Madame  !  "  said  the  surintendant, 
his  mind  occupied  b}'^  his  souvenirs. 

"Yes,  certainly,  to  Madame." 

'•'You  remember,"  continued  Aramis, 
"  that  we  have  been  told  that  Madame 
stands  high  in  favor  during-  the  last  two 
or  three  da\'^s.  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  coun- 
teracting the  growing-  influence  of  M.  Col- 
bert. Present  j^ourself,  therefore,  as  soon 
as  possible,  to  Madame,  and,  for  our  sakes, 
treat  this  ally  with  consideration." 

"But,"  said  Fouquet,  "are  3'ou  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." 

"  Very  well !  I  g-o  there  at  once,  and, 
at  all  events,  I  shall  have  a  means  of  in- 
troduction, in  the  shape  of  a  mag-nificent 
pair  of  antique  cameos  set  round  with 
diamonds." 

"I  have  seen  them,  and  nothing  could 
be  more  costly  and  reg-al." 

At  this  moment  they  were  interrupted 
by  a  servant  followed  by  a  courier.  "  For 
you,  monseig-neur,"  said  the  courier  aloud, 
presenting  a  letter  to  Fouquet. 

"'  For  your  g-race,"  said  the  lackey  in  a 
low  tone,  handing-  Aramis  a  letter.  And 
as  the  lackey  carried  a  torch  in  his  hand, 
he  placed  himself  between  the  surinten- 
dant and  the  bishop  of  Vannes,  so  that 
both  of  them  could  read  at  the  same  time. 
As  Fouquet  looked  at  the  fine  and  delicate 
Dumas — 1 6 


writing  on  the  envelope,  he  started  with 
delight ;  they  who  love,  or  who  are  be- 
loved, 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  3'ou, 
it  is  an  age  since  I  told  3'ou  that  I  love 
3^ou."  And  that  was  all.  '  Madame  de 
Belliere  had,  in  fact,  left  Fouquet  about 
an  hour  previouslj^  after  having  passed 
two  days  with  him;  and,  apprehensive 
lest  his  remembrance  of  her  might  not  be 
effaced  for  too  long-  a  period  fr-om  the 
heart  she  reg-retted,  she  dispatched  a 
courier  to  him  as  the  bearer  of  this  im- 
portant communication.  Fouquet  kissed 
the  letter,  and  rewarded  the  bearer  with 
a  handful  of  g-old.  As  for  Aramis,  he,  on 
his  side,  was  eng-aged  in  reading,  but  with 
more  coolness  and  reflection,  the  follow- 
ing- letter  : 

"The  king  has  this  evening  been  struck 
with  a  strang-e  fancj" ;  a  woman  loves 
him.  He  learned  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  g-irl's  name  is 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  and  she  is 
sufHciently  pretty  to  warrant  this  caprice 
becoming  a  strong-  attachment.  Beware 
of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere." 

There  was  not  a  word  about  Madame. 
Aramis  slowly  folded  the  letter  and  put 
it  in  his  pocket.  Fouquet  was  still  en- 
g-aged 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 
3^ou  acquainted  with  a  j^oung  girl  of  the 
name  of  La  Valliere  ?  " 

"Not  at  all." 

"  Reflect  a  little." 

"  Ah  I  yes,  I  believe  so,  one  of  Mad- 
ame's  maids  of  honor." 

"That  must  be  the  one." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"  Well,  monseigneur,  it  is  to  that  young- 
girl  that  3'ou  must  pa}'  your  visit  this 
evening." 


ti82 


WOEKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Bah  !  why  so  ?  '" 

"Na^-,  more  than  that,  it  is  to  her  you 
must  [)resent  your  caineos." 

"■  Nonsense.'*' 

"  You  know,  monseiorneur,  that  my  ad- 
vice is  not  to  be  reg-arded  hg-hth'." 

'^  Yet  this  unforeseen — " 

''That  is  my- affair.  Pa  3^  your  court 
in  due  form.*  and  without  loss  of  time,  to 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere.  I  will  be 
your  g-uarantee  with  Madame  de  Belliere 
that  3^our  devotion  is  altogether  poUtic." 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  D'Her- 
blay,  and  whose  name  have  you  just  pro- 
nounced ?  " 

"  A  name  which  ought  to  convince  you 
that,  as  I  am  so  well  informed  about  your- 
self, I  may  possiblj'  be  as  well  informed 
about  others.  Pay  your  court,  therefore, 
to  La  Yalliere." 

''I  will  pay  m}""  court  to  whomsoever 
you  like,"  replied  Pouquet,  his  heart  filled 
with  happiness. 

''  Come,  come,  descend  again  to  the 
earth,  traveler  of  the  seventh  heaven," 
said  Aramis  ;  '•'  M.  de  Colbert  is  ap- 
proaching. He  has  been  recruiting-  while 
we  wei'e  reading;  see,  how  he  is  sur- 
rounded, praised,  cong-ratulated ;  he  is 
decidedly  becoming-  powerful."  In  fact, 
Colbert  was  advancing-,  escorted  by  all 
the  courtiers  who  remained  in  the  g-ar- 
dens,  everN'  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  Pou- 
quet, smiling-,  "what  an  admirable  op- 
portunity for  him  to  recite  his  fable  of 
'  The  Prog  that  wished  to  make  itself  as 
big  as  the  Ox.'  " 

Colbert  arrived,  in  the  center  of  a  circle 
blazing  with  light ;  Pouquet  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  ap- 
proaching him  gradually.  Colbert's  smile 
was  a  presage  of  hostility. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  said  Aramis,  in  a  low  tone 
to  the  surintendant ;  "the  .scoundi-el  is 
going  to  ask  you  again  for  a  few  more 
millions  to  pay  for  his  fireworks  and  his 


coloi-ed  lamps."  Colbert  was  the  first  to 
salute  them,  and  with  an  aii-  w^hich  he 
endeavored  to  render  respectful.  Pou- 
quet hardly  moved  his  head. 

"  Well,  monseigneur,  what  do  j^our  eyes 
say  ?     Have  we  shown  our  good  taste  ?" 

"Perfect  taste,"  replied  Pouquet,  with- 
out permitting  the  slightest  tone  of  rail- 
lery to  be  remarked  in  his  words. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Colbert,  maliciously,  "3'ou 
are  treating  us  with  indulgence.  We  are 
poor,  we  other  servants  of  the  king,  and 
Pontainebleau  is  no  way  to  be  compared 
as  a  residence  with  Yanx." 

"Quite  true,"  replied  Pouquet.,  cooll3^ 

"But  what  can  we  do,  monseigneur?" 
continued  Colbert;  "'we  have  done  our 
best  with  oui-  slender  resources."  Pou- 
quet made  a  gesture  of  assent. 

"But,"  pursued  Colbert,  "it  would  be 
onl3'  a  proper  dis[)la3"  of  3'our  magnifi- 
cence, monseigneur,  if  3-ou  were  to  oiler  to 
his  majesty  a  fete  in  30ur  wonderful  gar- 
dens— in  those  gardens  which  have  cost 
3'Ou  sixtN'  millions  of  francs." 

"  Sevent3^-two,"  said  Pouquet. 

"An  additional  reason,"  returned  Col- 
bert ;  "'  it  would,  indeed,  be  trul3^  magnifi- 
cent." 

"But  do  you  suppose,  monsieur,  that 
his  majesty  would  deign  to  accept  m3^  in- 
vitation ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  of  it,"  cried 
Colbert,  hastil3%  "I  will  guarantee  that 
he  docs." 

"You  are  exceedinglN^  kind,"  said  Pou- 
quet.    "  I  ma.v  depend  on  it,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  monseigneur;  yes,  certainly." 

"Then  I  will  consider  of  it,"  said  Pou- 
quet. 

"Accept,  accept,"  whispered  Aramis, 
eagerl\'. 

"You  will  consider  of  it?"  repeated 
Colbert. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Fouqu(>t ;  "in  order  to 
know  what  da3''  I  shall  submit  m3^  invita- 
tion to  the  king." 

"  This  verv  evening,  monseigneur,  this 
ver3'  evening." 

"Agreed,"  said  the  surintendant.  "Gen- 
tlemen, I  should  wish  to  issue  ra3'^  invita- 
tions; but  3'ou  know,  that,  wherever  the 
king  goes,  the  king  is  in  his  own  palace  ; 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONXE. 


483 


it  is  by  his  majesty,  therefore,  that  you 
must  be  invited."  A  murmur  of  dehg-ht 
immediatel}'"  arose.  Fouquet  bowed  and 
left. 

''Proud  and  haug-hty  man,"  said  Col- 
bert, '-you  accept,  and  you  know  it  will 
cost  you  ten  millions." 

"You  have  ruined  me/' said  Fouquet, 
in  a  low  tone  to  Aramis. 

"  I  have  saved  you,"  replied  the  latter, 
while  Fouquet  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  apartments,  where  M.  de  Saint- 
Aignan  had,  after  his  conversation  with 
Madame,  g-one  to  meet  him.  This  con- 
versation has  already  been  related.  The 
favorite,  vain  of  his  twofold  importance, 
and  feeling  that  he  had  become,  during- 
tlie  last  two  hours,  the  confidant  of  the 
king-,  beg-an  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  garlands  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  Made- 
moiselle de  Tonnay-Charente  for  himself, 
was  not  all  this,  truly,  more  than  enough 
to  turn  the  head  of  any  courtier?  Be- 
sides, Saint-Aignan  Avas  the  model  of  all 
CdUt-tiers,  past,  present,  and  future;  and, 
moreover,  Saint-Aignan  showed  himself 
such  an  excellent  narrator,  and  so  dis- 
cerningly appreciative,  that  the  king  list- 
ened 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  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere. 
When  the  king  no  longer  experienced  for 


Madame  an}-  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  gratifica- 
tion 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  mo- 
ment, alarmed  at  what  Madame  might, 
or  might  not,  think  of  this  adventure. 
When,  however,  Saint-Aignan  had  fin- 
ished, the  king,  while  preparing  to  retire 
to  rest,  asked,  ''Now,  Saint-Aignan,  you 
know  what  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  is, 
do  3'ou  not?" 

"Not  only  what  she  is,  but  what  she 
will  be." 

"  What  do  ,you  mean  ?  " 

'•'  I  mean,  that  she  is  everything  that  a 
woman  can  wish  to  be,  that  is  to  sa.y,  be. 
loved  b\'  your  majesty  ;  I  mean,  that  she 
will  be  ever3'thing  your  majestj'  may  wish 
her  to  be." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  am  asking.  I  do 
not  wish  to  know  what  she  is  to-daj^,  or 
what  she  will  be  to-morrow  ;  as  a'ou  have 
remarked,  that  is  my  affair.  But  tell  me 
wiiat  others  say  of  her." 

"  The}'  say  she  is  well-conducted." 

"Oh  !  "  said  the  king,  smiling,  "  that  is 
but  report." 

"But  rare  enough,  at  court,  sire,  to  be- 
lieve it  when  it  is  spread." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  Is  she  well- 
born ?  " 

"Excellently  so;  the  daughter  of  the 
Marquis  de  la  Valliere,  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  mj'^self,  that  I  did  not,  on  that 
occasion,  pay  her  all  the  attention  she  de- 
served." 

"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  Valliere  never  had  a 
lover." 

"In  any  case,  I  do  not  think  your 
majesty  would  be  much  alarmed  at  the 
rivalry." 


484 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRA    DUMAS. 


•'Yet  sta3',"  said  the  king-,  in  a  very 
serious  tone  of  voice. 

"  Your  majesty  ?  " 

"  1  r'emeniber." 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  If  she  has  no  lover,  she  has,  at  least, 
a  betrothed."' 

*' A  betrothed  !" 

"  What !  count,  do  you  not  know  that  ?" 

''No." 

"You,  the  man  who  knows  all  the 
news  ?  " 

"Your  majesty  will  excuse  me.  Your 
majesty  knows  this  betrothed,  then  ?  " 

"Assuredlj'  I  his  lather  came  to  ask  me 
to  sign  the  marriage  contract ;  it  is — " 

The  king-  was  about  to  pronounce  the 
Vicomte  de  Brag-elonne's  name,  when  he 
stopped,  and  knitted  his  brows. 

"It  is — "  repeated  Saint- Aignan,  in- 
quiringly. 

"  I  don't  remember  now,"  replied  Louis 
XIV.,  endeavoring  to  conceal  an  anno,y- 
ance  which  he  had  some  trouble  to  dis- 
guise. 

"  Can  I  put  your  ma  jestj'  in  the  way  ?  " 
inquired  the  Comte  de  Saint- Aignan, 

"No;  for  I  no  longer  remember  to 
whom  I  intended  to  refer ;  indeed,  I  only 
remember,  very  indistinctly^  that  one  of 
the  maids  of  honor  was  to  marrj^ — the 
name,  however,  has  escaped,  me." 

"Was  it  Mademoiselle  de  Tonnaj^- 
Charente  he  was  going  to  marry?"  in- 
quired Saint-Aignan. 

"Very  likel}',"  said  the  king. 

"  In  that  case  the  i-ntended  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  Valliero.  Saint-Aig- 
nan. I  i-ely  upon  you  to  procure  me  some 
information  about  her." 

"  Yes,  sire,  and  when  shall  I  have  the 
honor  of  seeing  j'^our  majesty  again,  to 
give  you  the  information  ?  " 

"  Whenever  you  shall  have  procured 
it." 

"  I  shall  obtain  it  speed ilj'',  then,  if 
the  information   can   be   as    quickly   ob- 


tained as  my  wish  to  see  3^our  majesty 
again." 

"  Well  said,  count  !  By-the-by,  has 
Madame  displayed  any  ill-feeling  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,  sajang,  "  Sire,  it  is  M.  Fou- 
quet  who  has  this  moment  arrived,  by 
\-our  majesty's  orders,  he  says.  He  pre- 
sented himself,  but  because  of  the  ad- 
vanced hour,  he  does  not  press  for  an 
audience  this  evening,  and  is  satisfied  to 
have  his  presence  here  formally  an- 
nounced." 

"  M.  Fouquet  !  I  wrote  to  him  at  three 
o'clock,  inviting  him  to  be  at  Fontaine- 
bleau  the  following  morning,  and  he  ar- 
rives at  Fontainebleau  at  two  o'clock. 
This  is,  indeed,  zeal  !  "  exclaimed  the 
king,  delighted  to  see  himself  so  prompt- 
ly" obeyed.  "  On  the  contrary,  M.  Fou- 
quet shall  have  his  audience.  I  sum- 
moned 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.  Fouquet,  who, 
thereupon,  entered  the  king's  apartment. 
Louis  rose  to  receive  him. 

"  Good-evening,  M.  Fouquet,"  he  said, 
smiling  graciously;  "  I  congratulate  you 
on  your  punctuality;  and  yet  my  mes- 
sage must  have  readied  j'ou  late  ?  " 

"At  nine  in  the  evening,  sire." 

"  You  have  been  working  ver3'-  hard, 
lately,  M.  Fouquet,  for  I  have  been  in- 
formed that  you  have  not  left  your  rooms 
at  Saint-Mande  during  the  last  three  or 
four  da^'S." 

"It  is  perfectly  true,  your  majesty, 
that  I  have  kept  myself  shut  up  for  the 
past  three  days,"  replied  Fouquet. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


485 


'•  Do  you  know,  M.  Fouquet,  that  I  had 
a  ^reat  main'  things  to  say  to  you  ?  " 
continued  t4ie  king-,  with  a  most  gracious 

air. 

"  Your  majesty  overwhelms  me,  and 
since  3'ou  are  so  gracioush'  disposed  to- 
ward me,  will  your  majest}'^  pei-mit  me  to 
remind  you  of  the  promise  your  majest^^ 
made  to  grant  me  an  audience  ?  " 

'•'Ah  !  yes  ;  some  church  dignitary,  who 
thinks  he  has  to  thank  me  for  something-, 
is  it  not  ?  " 

'•Pi-ecisely  so,  sire.  The  hour  is,  per- 
haps, badly  chosen  ;  but  the  time  of  the 
companion  whom  I  have  broug-ht  with  me 
is  valuable,  and  as  Fontainebleau  is  on 
the  way  to  his  diocese — " 

''Who  is  it,  then?  " 

"The  last  bishop  of  Yannes,  whose  ap- 
pointment your  majesty,  at  my  recom- 
mendation, deigned,  three  months  since, 
to  sign." 

"That  is  ver}'  possible,"  said  the  king-, 
who  had  sig-ned  without  reading-;  "and 
is  he  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  sire;  Yannes  is  an  important 
diocese  ;  the  flock  belonging-  to  this  pas- 
tor 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  unequaled  in 
such  kind  of  missions." 

"M.  d'Herblay  !  "  said  the  king-,  mus- 
inglj',  as  if  his  name,  heard  long-  since, 
was  not,  however,  unknown  to  him. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Fouquet,  promptlj^  "your 
majest\-  is  not  acquainted  with  the  obscure 
name  of  one  of  j-our  most  faithful  and 
most  valuable  servants  ?  " 

"  No,  I  confess  I  am  not.  And  so  he 
wishes  to  set  off  again  ?  " 

'•  He  has  this  very  da.y  received  letters 
which  will,  perhaps,  compel  him  to  leave; 
so  that,  before  setting  off  for  that  un- 
known 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 
tapestr}'.     The  door  opened,  and  Aramis 


entered.  The  king  allowed  him  to  finish 
the  compliments  wiiich  he  addressed  to 
him,  and  fixed  a  long-  look  upon  a  coun- 
tenance which  no  one  could  forget,  after 
having  once  beheld  it. 

"  Yannes  !  "  he  said  :  "  you  are  bishop 
of  Yannes,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire." 

"Yannes  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 
leag-ues,  I  believe.'* 

''Six  leag-ues;  a  mere  step,  then,"  said 
Louis  XIY. 

"Not  for  us  poor  Bretons,  sire,"  replied 
Aramis;  "six  leagues,  on  the  co.ntrary, 
is  a  g-reat  distance,  if  it  be  six  leag-ues  on 
land ;  and  an  immense  distance,  if  it  be 
leag-ues  on  the  sea.  Besides,  I  have  the 
honor  to  mention  to  3'our  majesty  that 
tliere  are  six  leag-ues  of  sea  from  the  river 
to  Belle-Isle." 

"  It  is  said  that  M.  Fouquet  has  a  very 
beautiful  house  there  ? "  inquired  the 
king-. 

"Yes,  it  is  said  so,"  said  Aramis,  look- 
ing- quietlj'  at  Fouquet. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'it  is  said 
so  ?  '  "  exclaimed  the  king-. 

"'  He  has,  sire." 

"Really,  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 
g-iving-  Fouquet  time  to  answer,  "  we  poor 
Breton  prelates  seldom  leave  our  resi- 
dences." 

"M.  de  Yannes,"  said  the  king-,  "  I  will 
punisliM.  Fouquet  for  his  indifference." 

"  In  what  wa^',  sire  ?  " 

"  I  will  change  your  bisliopric." 

Fouquet  bit  his  lips,  but  Aramis  only 
smiled. 

"What  income  does  Yannes  bring  you 
in  ?  "  continued  the  kins:. 


48(i 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'"'Sixty  Ihousand  livres.  siiv,""  said 
Aram  is. 

''  So  trifling-  an  amount  as  that ;  but 
you  possess  otiier  propert3-.  Monsieur  de 
Vannes  ?  " 

"I  have  nothing-  else,  sire;  only  M. 
Fouquet  pays  me  one  thousand  two  hun- 
dred 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  manner,  as  he  was 
alwa^^s  accustomed  to  do  toward  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  Fouquet,  "  if  that  bishop 
had  been  educated  early  in  life,  no  prelate 
in  the  kingdom  would  deserve  the  hig-hest 
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  majest}^  will 
permit  me  to  speak  of  M.  de  Vannes  again 
on  another  occasion — " 

"  I  beg  you  to  do  so.  But,  before  speak- 
ing of  him,  let  us  speak  of  yourself,  M. 
Fouquet." 

"  Of  me,  sire?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  to  pay  you  a  thousand 
compliments." 

"  I  cannot  express  to  your  majesty  the 
delight  with  which  you  overwhelm  me." 

"  I  undei'stand  you,  M.  Fouquet.  I  con- 
fess, however,  to  have  had  certain  preju- 
dices against  you." 

'•  In  that  case,  I  was  indeed  unhappy, 
sire." 

"But  the}^  exist  no  longer.  Did  you 
not  p.-rceive — " 

'•  I  did  indei'd,  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  dis- 
grace with  me  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  sire,  I  perceived  it." 

•'  And  do  \'ou  know  the  reason  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well ;  your  majesty  thouglit 
that  I  had  been  wastefullj^  lavish  in  ex- 
penditure." 

"Not  so;  far  ffom  that." 

"  Or,  rather,  an  indifferent  administra- 
tor. In  a  word,  j^our  majesty  thought 
that,  as  the  people  had  no  money,  tliere 
would  be  none  for  your  majesty  either.'" 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so ;  but  I  was  de- 
ceived."    Fouquet  bowed. 

"  And  no  disturbances,  no  complaints  ?'" 

"  And  mono}'-  enough,"  said  Fouquet. 

"  The  fact  is,  that  you  have  been  pro- 
fuse with  it  during  the  last  month." 

"I  have  more  still,  not  onl}"^  for  your 
majesty's  requirements,  but  for  all  your 
caprices." 

"  I  thank  you.  Monsieur  Fouquet,"  re- 
plied the  king,  seriousl}'.  "  I  will  not  put 
you  to  the  proof.  For  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  mone\'  in  hand  in  case  of 
war." 

"  Five  or  six  millions  !^" 

"For  the  expenses  of  your  majesty's 
household  onl^^  be  it  understood." 

"  You  think  war  is  probable,  M.  Fou- 
quet ?  " 

"  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  mone^" 
these  few  days  past.  Monsieur  Fouquet: 
will  you  not  scold  me  for  it  ?  " 

"'  Sii-e,  your  majesty  has  still  twent^-^ 
years  of  youth  to  enjoy,  and  a  thousand 
million  of  francs  to  spend  in  those  twenty 
3'ears." 

"That  is  a  great  deal  of  money,  M. 
Fouquet,"  said  tlie  king. 

•'  I  will  economize,  sire.  Besidc^s.  your 
majesty  has  two  valuable  men  in  M.  Col- 
bert and  mvself.     The  one  will  encourage 


THE     VICVMTB    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


487 


I 


you  to  be  prodig-al  with  your  treasures— 
and  this  sliall  be  myself,  if  my  services 
should  continue  to  be  agreeable  to  your 
majesty;  and  the  other  will  economize 
money  for  you.  and  this  will  be  M.  Col- 
bert's province." 

''  M.  Colbert  ?  "  returned  the  king-,  as- 
tonished. 

'•Certainly,  sire;  M.  Colbert  is  an  ex- 
cellent accountant." 

At  this  commendation,  bestowed  by  the 
enemy  on  the  enemy  himself,  the  king-  felt 
himself  penetrated  with  confidence  and 
admiration.  There  \vas  not,  moreover, 
either  in  Fouquet's  voice  or  look,  anything 
which  injuriously  affected  a  single  syllable 
of  the  remarlc  he  had  made;  he  did  not 
pass  one  eulogium,  as  it  were,  in  order 
to  acquire  the  right  of  making  two  re- 
proaches. 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  mone^^  come 
in  :  he,  the  man  who  is  needed  to  prevent 
it  leaving." 

'•'  Nay,  nay,  Monsieur  le  Surintendant, 
you  will  presentl}"  sa\'  something  which 
will  correct  this  good  opinion  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  as  far  as  administrative 
abilities  are  concerned,  sire  ?  " 

''Yes." 

"Not  in  the  slightest." 

"  Really  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  honor,  sire,  I  do  not  know 
throughout  France  a  better  clerk  than  M. 
Coll)ert." 

This  word  "clerk  "  did  not  possess,  in 
1661,  the  somewhat  subservient  significa- 
tion which  is  attached  to  it  in  the  present 
day;  but,  as  spoken  by  Fouquet,  whom 
the  king  had  addressed  as  the  surintend- 
ant, it  seemed  to  acquire  an  insignilicant 
and  pett}'  character,  which  served  admir- 


ably to  restore  Fouquet  to  his  place,  and 
Colbert  to  his  own. 

"And  3'et,"  said  Louis  XIV.,  "it  was 
he,  however,  who,  notwithstanding  his 
economj^  had  the  arrangement  of  my 
fetes  here  at  Fontainebleau  ;  and  I  assure 
3'ou,  Monsieur  Fouquet,  that  in  no  w^ay 
has  he  interfered  with  the  expenditure  of 
money."  Fouquet  bowed,  but  did  not 
reph-. 

"  Is  it  not  your  opinion,  too  ?  "  said  the 
king. 

"  I  think,  sire,"  he  rephed,  "  that  M. 
Colbert  has  done  what  he  ha^i  to  do  in  an 
exceedingly  orderl}"  manner,  and  that  he 
deserves,  in  this  respect,  all  the  praise 
your  majest}^  may  bestow  upon  him." 

The  word  "orderly  "  was  a  proper  ac- 
companiment for  the  word  "clerk."  The 
king  ]iossessed  that  extreme  sensitive- 
ness of  organization,  that  delicacy  of  per- 
ception, which  pierced  through  and  de- 
tected the  regular  order  of  feelings  and 
sensations,  before  the  actual  sensations 
tiiemselves,  and  he  therefore  compre- 
hended that  the  clerk  had.  in  Fouquet's 
opinion,  been  too  full  of  method  and  order 
in  his  arrangements  ;  in  other  words,  that 
the  magnificent  fetes  of  Fontainebleau 
might  have  been  rendered  more  magnifi- 
cent still.  The  king  consequently  felt 
that  there  was  something  in  the  amuse- 
ments he  had  pi'ovided  with  which  some 
person  or  another  might  be  able  to  find 
fault ;  he  experienced  a  little  of  the  an- 
noyance felt  by  a  person  coming  from  the 
provinces  to  Paris,  dressed  out  in  the 
very  best  clothes  which  Jiis  wardi-obe  can 
furnish,  and  finds  tiiat  the  fashionabh- 
dressed  man  there  looks  at  him  either  too 
much  or  not  enough.  This  part  of  the 
conversation,  which  Fouquet  had  carried 
on  with  so  much  moderation,  yet  with 
such  extreme  tact,  inspired  the  king  with 
the  highest  esteem  for  the  character  of 
the  man  and  the  capacity  of  the  minister. 
Fouquet  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 
tlie  embroideries,  the  tapestries,  the  bills 


488 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


of  fare  of  the  vai^ious  banquets,  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  triumphal  arches,  the  ar- 
rang'eraents  for  the  iUuminations  and  fire- 
works, 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  eig-ht  days,  and  decided  that 
faults  could  be  found  in  his  fetes.  But 
Fouquet,  by  his  politeness,  his  thoughtful 
consideration,  and  his  generosity',  had  in- 
jured Colbert  more  deeplj'^  than  the  latter 
by  his  artifice,  his  ill-will,  and  his  perse- 
vering hatred,  had  ever  succeeded  in  in- 
juring Fouquet. 


CHAPTER   CXXIII. 

FONTAINEBLEAU  AT  TW^O   O'CLOCK  IN  THE 
MOKNING. 

As  we  have  seen,  Saint-Aignan  had 
quitted  the  king's  apartment  at  tlie 
verj''  moment  the  surintendant  entered 
it.  Saint-Aignan  was  charged  with  a 
mission  which  required  dispatch,  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  person- 
age ;  he  was  one  of  those  valuable  cour- 
tiers whose  vigilance  and  acuteness  of 
perception  threw  all  past  and  future  fa- 
vorites into  the  shade,  and  counter-bal- 
anced, b,y  his  close  attention,  the  servility 
of  Dangeau,  who  was  not  the  favorite,  but 
the  toady  of  the  king.  M.  de  Saint-Aignan 
began  to  think  what  was  to  be  done  in  the 
present  position  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  re- 
turned to  his  own  apartments,  had  not 
entered  the  chateau.  Saint-Aignan,  there- 
fore, went  in  quest  of  him,  and  after  having 
tui-ncd,  and  twisted,  and  searched  in  every 
direction,  he  perceived  something  like  a 
human  form  leaning  against  a  tree.  This 
figui-e  v;as  as  motionless  as  a  statue,  and 
seemed  deeply  engaged   in   looking  at   a 


window,  although  its  curtains  were  closel}' 
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  awaj^  such  a  weight  of 
happiness,  that  all  his  strength  of  mind 
was  hardly  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  sup- 
port it.  On  his  side,  Saint-Aignan  knew 
that  De  Guiche  had  had  something  to  do 
with  La  "Val here's  introduction  to  Mad- 
ame's household,  for  a  courtier  knows 
everything  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  sin- 
gular 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  per- 
sistence in  attaining  an  object  of  which 
he  was  capable. 

Saint  Aignan's  plan  was  the  following  : 
— if  the  information  obtained  was  satis- 
factory, 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  ro^^al  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  altogether,  and  thereb}!- 
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  ob- 
tained, 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  grati- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


489 


tude  and  apprehension,  to  such  an  extent 
as  to  make  her  a  friend  at  court,  in- 
terested, as  an  accompHce,  in  makini^-  her 
accompHce's  fortune,  while  she  was  mak- 
ing- her  own.  As  far  as  concerned  the 
day  when  the  bomb-shell  of  the  past 
should  burst,  if  ever  there  should  be  an.y 
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  personification  of  generos- 
ity. 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,  deter- 
mined to  get  De  Guiche  into  conversa- 
tion; 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  whe^  Saint-Aig- 
nan  perceived  De  Guiche,  standing  mo- 
tionless, leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  with  his  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
lighted  window.  One  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, that  is,  the  softest  hour  of  night-time, 
that  which  painters  crown  with  myrtles 
and  budding  poppies,  the  hour  when  e^^es 
are  heavy,  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  ad- 
dresses a  loving  greeting  to  the  dawning 
hght.  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  un- 
interrupted indulgence  in  his  dreams. 
It  was  precisely  at  this  hour  that  Saint- 
Aignan,  badly  advised  —  selfishness  al- 
wa3'S  counsels  badlj'^  —  came  and  struck 
him  on  the  shoulder,  at  the  verj^  moment 
he  was  murmuring  a  word  or  rather  a 
name. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  cried  loudly,  ''  I  was  looking 
for  3''ou." 

"  For  me  ?  "  said  De  Guiche,  starting, 
"Yes  ;  and  I  find  you  seemingly  moon- 
struck.    Is  it  likely,  my  dear  comte,  you 


have  been  attacked  b^'  a  poetical  malady, 
and  are  making  verses  ?  " 

The  young  man  forced  a  smile  upon  his 
lips,  while  a  thousand  conflicting  sensa- 
tions were  muttering  against  Saint-Aig- 
nan  in  the  deep  recesses  of  his  heart. 
''Perhaps,"  he  said;  "but  by  what 
happy  chance — " 

"  Ah,  your  remark  shov/s  that  you  did 
not  hear  what  I  said." 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  I  began  by  telling  j'ou  I  was 
looking  for  3^ou." 

"  You  were  looking  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  find  3'ou  now  in  the  very 
act." 

"  Of  doing  what,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"Of  singing  the  praises  of  Phyllis." 

"Well,  I  do  not  denj^  it,"  said  De 
Guiche,  la  ughing.  •' '  Yes,  m^^  dea  r  comte, 
I  was  celebrating  Phjdlis'  praises." 

"'  And  3'ou  have  acquired  the  right  to 
do  so." 

"You;  no  doubt  of  it;  you,  the  in- 
trepid protector  of  everj^  beautiful  and 
clever  woman." 

"  In  the  name  of  goodness,  what  storj' 
have  3^ou  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  Saint- Aignan  might  perhaps 
presently  observe  the  window  where  the 
light  was  still  burning,  took  the  comte's 
arm,  and  endeavored  to  lead  him  away. 

"Oh,"  said  the  latter,  resisting,  "do 
not  take  me  toward  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  him- 
self, "  lead  me  where  3"ou  like,  and  ask  me 
what  you  please." 

''It  is  impossible  to  be  more  agreeable 
than  you  are."  And  then,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  Saint-Aignan  continued, 
"  I  wish  you  to  tell  me  something  about 


490 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


a  certain  person  in  whom  a'ou  have  inter- 
ested 3'ourself."' 

"  And  with  wlioin  yon  are  in  love  ?  " 

"I  will  neither  admit  nor  deny  it.  You 
understand  that  a  man  does  not  ver^- 
readily'  place  his  heart  where  there  is  no 
hope  of  return,  and  that  it  is  most  essen- 
tial he  should  take  measures  of  securit\^ 
in  advance." 

''You  are  rig-ht,"  said  De  Guiche,  with 
a  sig"h  ;  '•'  a  heart  is  a  precious  gift.'- 

''  Mine  particularly  is  very  tender,  and 
in  that  light  I  present  it  to  you.'' 

"  Oh,  3'ou  are  well  known,  comte. 
Well?" 

"  It  is  simpl}^  a  question  of  Mademoi- 
selle de  Tonnay-Charente." 

"  Wh.y,  my  dear  Saint-Aig-nan,  you  are 
losing:  your  senses,  I  should  think." 

"Why  so?" 

"1  have  never  shown  or  taken  any  in- 
terest in  Mademoiselle  de  Tonna3^-Cha- 
rente." 

''Bah!" 

"Never." 

"  Did  ,you  not  obtain  admission  for 
Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Charente  into 
Madame's  household  ?" 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Tonna.y-Charente — 
and  30U  ought  to  know  it  better  than 
an3^  one  else,  m3'  dear  comte — is  of  a  suf- 
flcienth^  g-ood  fainil3^  to  make  her  presence 
here  desirable,  and  a  greater  reason 
therefore  to  render  her  admittance  ver3' 
eas3-." 

*'  You  are  jesting-." 

"No;  and  upon  m3'^  honor  I  do  not 
know  what  3^ou  mean." 

"And  3^ou  had  nothing-,  then,  to  do 
with  her  admission  ?  " 

"No." 

"  You  do  not  know  her  ?  " 

"I  saw  her  for  the  first  time  the  da3' 
she  was  presented  to  Madame.  There- 
fore, as  I  have  never  taken  an3'  interest 
in  her,  as  I  do  not  know  her,  I  am  not 
able  to  g-ive  3'^ou  the  information  3'ou  re- 
quire." And  De  Guiche  made  a  move- 
ment as  thoug-h  he  were  about  to  leave 
his  questioner. 

"  Na3%  na3'',  one  moment,  my  dear 
comte,"  said  Saint-Aig-nan;  "  j'-ou  shall 
not  escape  me  in  this  manner." 


"  W^h3',  reall3^  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is 
now  time  to  relurn  to  our  apartments." 

"  And  3-et  3U)u  were  not  going-  in  when 
I — did  not  meet,  but  found  you." 

•'  Therefore,  m3'  dear  comte,"  said  De 
Guiche,  "as  long-  as  you  have  anything  to 
sa3'  to  me,  I  place  m3-self  entirel3^  at  3"our 
service." 

"  And  3'ou  are  quite  i-ight  in  doing  so. 
What  matters  half  an  hour  more  or  less? 
Will  3-ou  sw'ear  that  you  have  no  injurious 
communications  to  make  to  me  about  her, 
and  that  an3'  injurious  communications 
3-ou  might  possibly  have  to  make  are  not 
the  cause  of  3'our  silence  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  believe  the  poor  child  to  be  as 
pure  as  cr3'stal." 

"  You  overwhelm  me  with  jo3\  And 
3et  I  do  not  wish  to  have  toward  3'ou  the 
appearance  of  a  man  so  badly  informed 
as  I  seem.  It  is  quite  certain  that  3^ou 
supplied  the  princess's  household  with  the 
ladies  of  honor;  naj^  a  song-  even  has 
been  written  about  it." 

"You  know  that  song-s  are  written 
about  ever3' thing." 

"  Do  you  know  it?  " 

"No;  sing:  it  to  me,  and  I  shall  make 
its  acquaintance." 

"I  cannot  tell  3^ou  how  it  beg-ins;  I 
onl3^  remember  how  it  ends." 

"  Ver3'  well ;  at  all  events,  that  is  some- 
thing." 

"  '  Guiche  is  the  furnisher 
Of  the  maids  of  honor.' " 

"  The  idea  is  weak,  and  the  rh3^me 
poor,"  said  De  Guiche. 

"  What  can  3'ou  expect,  m3^  dear  fellow  ? 
It  is  not  Racine  or  Moliere,  but  La  Feuil- 
lade's  ;  and  a  g-reat  lord  cannot  rhyme 
like  a  beg-g-arl3^  poet." 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate,  though,  that 
3'ou  onh'  remember  the  termination." 

"  Stay,  stay  ;  I  have  just  recollected  the 
beginning-  of  the  second  couplet : 

"  '  He  has  stock'd  the  bird-cage  ; 
Montahiis  and — '  " 

"  And  La  Valliere  !"  exclaimed  Guiche, 
impatiently,  and  completel3'  ignorant,  be- 
sides, of  Saint- Aignan's  object. 

"  Yes,  yes,  3'ou  have  it — j^ou  have  hit 
upon  the  word  La  Valliere." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


491 


'•A  grand  discovery,  indeed."' 

''Monlalais  and  La  Valliere  —  these, 
then,  arc  the  two  j^oung  girls  in  wlioni 
you  interested  yourself,"  said  Saint-Aig- 
nan,  laughing. 

"  And  so  Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay- 
Cha  rente's  name  is  not  to  be  met  with 
lu  tlie  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  3'ou ng  lad3^" 

"  You  know  her?" 

"  Indirectly.  She  was  the  protegee  of  a 
man  named  Malicorne,  who  is  a  protegee 
of  Manicamp's  ;  Manicamp  asked  me  to 
get  the  situation  of  maid  of  honor  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  j'ou  sought  ?" 

"  For  Montalais,  yes ;  for  Malicorne, 
yes  and  no ;  for  as  yet  he  is  only  toler- 
ated there ;  do  3^ou  wish  to  know  any- 
thing else?" 

•'The  last  word  of  the  couplet  still  re- 
mains. La  Valliere,"  said  Saint- Aignan, 
resuming  the  smile  which  had  so  tor- 
mented Guiche, 

"Well,"  said  the  latter,  •'•'it  is  true 
that  I  obtained  admission  for  her  in  Mad- 
ame's household." 

"Ah,  ah  !  "  said  Saint- Aignan. 

"But,"  continued  Guiche,  assuming  a 
great  coldness  of  manner,  "you  will 
oblige  me,  comle,  not  to  jest  about  that 
name.  Mademoiselle  la  Baume  le  Blanc 
de  la  Valliere  is  a  young  lady  perfectly 
well-conducted." 

"  Perfectlj'  well-conducted,  do  vou 
say?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  have  not  heard  the  last 
rumor?  "  exclaimed  Saint- Aignan. 

"  No,  and  ^''ou  will  do  me  a  service, 
my  dear  comte,  in  keeping  this  report 
to  yourself,  and  to  those  who  circulate 
it." 


"  Ah  1  bah  I  3'ou  take  the  matter  up 
very  seriously." 

"Yes  ;  Mademoiselle  de  Valliere  is  be- 
loved hy  one  of  my  best  friends." 

Saint- Aignan  started. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  he  said. 

''  Yes,  comte,"  continued  Guiche;  "and 
consequently,  you,  the  most  distinguished 
man  in  France  for  his  polished  courtesy 
of  manner,  will  understand  that  I  cannot 
allow  m}^  friend  to  be  placed  in  a  ridiculous 
position." 

Saint-Aignan  began  to  bite  his  nails, 
partial)}^  from  vexation,  and  partially 
from  disappointed  curiosity.  Guiche  made 
him  a  very  profound  bow. 

"  You  send  me  away  ? "  said  Saint- 
Aignan,  who  was  dying  to  learn  the  name 
of  the  friend. 

"'I  do  not  send  3'ou  away,  my  dear  fel- 
low.— I  am  going  to  finish  m^'  lines  to 
Phyllis." 

"  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  jet  three 
and  a  half  to  make,  I  need  my  undivided 
attention." 

'•'I  quite  understand.  Adieu!  comte. 
By-the-by— " 

•-•'What?" 

''  Are  3'ou  quick  at  making- verses  ?  " 

"  Wonderfully  so." 

"'  Will  3'ou  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  accordinglj'-  did  so,  and 
disappeared  behind  the  hedge.  Their  con- 
versation had  led  Guiche  and  Saint-Aig- 
nan a  good  distance  from  the  chateau. 

Ever3'  mathematician,  ewerj  poet,  and 
every  dreamer,  has  his  means  of  divert- 
ing his  attention;  Saint-Aignan,  then,  on 
leaving  Guiche,  found  himself  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  grove — at  the  very  spot 
where  the  outbuildings  for  the  servants 
begin^  and  where,  behind  thickets  of  aca- 
cias and  chestnut  trees  interlacing  their 


492 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


branches,  which  were  hidden  by  masses  of 
clematis  and  young-  vines,  the  wall  which 
separated  the  woods  from  the  courtyard 
of  these  outbuilding-s  was  erected.  Saint- 
Aignan,  alone,  took  the  path  whicli  led 
toward  these  buildings  ;  Guiche  g-oing- off 
in  the  very  opposite  direction.  The  one 
proceeded  toward  the  flower-garden,  wliile 
the  other  bent  his  steps  toward  the  walls. 
Saint- Aignan  walked  on  between  rows  of 
the  mountairt-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  deliberating  over  a  means  of 
taking  his  revenge,  which  it  seemed  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  carry  out,  and  was  vexed 
with  himself  for  not  having  learned  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  hu- 
man 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  them 
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    CXXIV. 

THE    LABYRINTH. 

Saint- Aignan,  who  had  only  been  seek- 
ing for  information,  had.  met  with  an  ad- 
venture. This  was  indeed  a  piece  of  good 
luck.     Curious  to  learn  wh.y,  and  particu- 


larly about  what,  this  man  and  woman 
were  conversing  at  such  an  liour  and  in 
such  a  singular  position,  Saint- Aignan 
made  himself  as  small  as  he  possibl3' 
could,  and  approaclied  almost  under  the 
rounds  of  the  ladder.  And  taking  meas- 
ures 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,  notwithstanding 
the  reproaches  she  addressed  to  him,  pre- 
served a  marked  tone  of  coquetry,  ''really. 
3'our  iniliscreetness  is  of  a  ver3^  dangerous 
character.  We  cannot  talk  long  in  this 
manner  without  being  oiaserved." 

"  That  is  verj'  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  silh',  and  I 
do  not  believe  ,you  capable  of  it." 

"  It  nlight  have  been  different  if  there 
had  been  anything  between  us  ;  but  to  do 
an  injurj'  to  m3^self  gratuitously  is  reall}^ 
ver^^  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 
prettj'^  little  feet  covered  with  blue  satin 
shoes. 

"  Na\',  nay,  for  pit^^'s  sake,  m.y  dear 
Montalais,"  cried  Manicamp,  "deuce 
take  it,  do  not  go  away  ;  I  have  a  great 
man}'^  things  to  say  to  you,  of  the  very 
greatest  importance,  still." 

"Montalais,"  said  Saint-Aignan  to  him- 
self, "one  of  the  thi'ee.  Each  of  the 
three  gossips  had  lier  adventure,  only  I 
had  thought  that  the  hero  of  this  one's 
adventure  was  Malicorne  and  not  Mani- 
camp." 

At  her  companion's  appeal,  Montalais 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  her  descent,  and 
Saint-Aignan  could  observe  the  unfortu- 
nate Manicamp  climb  from  one  branch  of 
the  chestnut  tree  to  another,  either  to  im- 
prove his   situation   or  to   overcome  the 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELOXNE. 


493 


fatig-ue   consequent    upon   his    indifferent 
position. 

^•Now  listen  to  me/*  said  he;  "you 
quite  understand,  I  hope,  that  my  inten- 
tions are  perfectly  innocent." 

''Of  course.  But  why  did  you  write  me 
a  letter  stimulating  my  g-ratitude  toward 
you  ?  Why  did  you  ask  me  for  an  inter- 
view at  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a  place 
as  this?" 

"  I  stimulated  your  gratitude  in  remind- 
ing- you  that  it  was  I  who  bad  been  the 
means  of  your  becoming-  attached  to 
Madame's  household  ;  because  most  anx- 
iously desirous  of  obtaining-  the  interview 
which  you  have  been  kind  enoug-h  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  localit\^,  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  I  " 

"But  everything  in  the  most  perfect 
lionor,  I  assure  3'ou." 

"I  think.  Monsieur  Manicamp,  that  it 
will  be  more  becoming  in  me  to  take  mj' 
leave." 

"  Nay,  listen  to  me,  or  I  shall  jump 
from  my  perch  here  to  yours,  and  be  care- 
ful how  you  set  me  at  defiance  ;  for  a 
branch  of  this  chestnut  tree  causes  me  a 
good  deal  of  anno\'ance,  and  ma}?^  provoke 
me  to  extreme  measures.  Do  not  follow 
the  example  of  this  branch,  then,  but  listen 
to  me." 

"I  am  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  j'ou,  I  wish  j^ou  to  understand  that 
one  of  the  rounds  of  the  ladder  is  hurting 
the  soles  of  mN'^  feet,  and  my  shoes  are 
being  cut  through." 

'•  Do  me  the  kindness  to  give  me  your 
hand?" 

"Wliy?" 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  do  so?  " 

"There  is  m}"  hand,  then  :  but  what  are 
you  going  to  do?  " 

"  To  draw  you  toward  me." 


"  What  for  ?  You  surelj^  do  not  wish 
me  to  join  you  in  the  tree  ?" 

"  ]Slo  ;  but  I  wish  j'ou  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  be- 
side you." 

"  No,  no  ;  j^ou  are  verN'  well  where  you 
are  ;  we  should  be  seen." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  said  Mani- 
camp, 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  wander- 
ing away  from  the  subject." 

"You're  right ;  we  are  so." 

"You  wrote  me  a  letter?  " 

"I  did." 

"  Why  did  you  write  ?  " 

"Fanc\',  that  at  two  o'clock  to-daj', 
De  Guiche  left." 

"What  then?" 

"  Seeing  him  set  off,  I  followed  him,  as 
I  usualh'  do." 

"'  Of  course,  I  see  that,  since  you  are 
here  now." 

"Don't  be  in  a  huny.  You  are  aware, 
I  suppose,  that  De  Guiche  is  up  to  his 
ver3'  neck  in  disgrace  ?  " 

"Alas!  yes." 

"  It  was  the  very  height  of  imprudence 
on  his  part,  then,  to  come  to  Fontaine- 
bleau  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  mj^  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  honor 
of  speaking  to  j^ou,  has  just  torn  a  cer- 
tain portion  of  my  dress." 

"It  is  quite  dark,"  replied  Montalais, 
laughing;  "so,  pray  continue,  M.  Mani- 
camp." 

■•'De  Guiche   set   off   on   horseback   as 


494 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


hard  as  he  could,  I  follo\ving-  liini,  at;  a 
slower  pace.  You  quite  understand  that 
to  tlirow  one's  self  into  the  water,  for 
instance,  with  a  friend  with  the  same 
head  Ion  ii"  speed  as  he  himself  would  do  it, 
would  be  the  act  eitlier  of  a  fool  or  a  mad- 
man. I  therefore  allowed  De  Guiche  to 
liet  in  advance,  and  I  proceeded  on  my 
way  witli  a  commendable  slowness  of 
pace,  feelmg-  quite  sure  that  m3^  unfortu- 
nate friend  would  not  be  received,  or,  if 
he  had  been,  that  he  would  ride  oft"  again 
at  the  ver3'  first  cross,  disagreeable  an- 
swer; and  that  I  should  see  him  return- 
ing much  faster  than  he  had  gone,  with- 
out having,  myself,  gone  farther  than 
Ris  or  Melun — and  that  even  was  a  good 
distance,  you  will  admit,  for  it  is  eleven 
leagues  to  get  there  and  as  man.y  to  re- 
turn." 

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,  as- 
pire to  descend." 

''  Be  patient,  m}'  dear  M.  Manicamp,  a 
few  minutes  will  soon  pass  away;  you 
were  saying,  1  tliink,  that  you  had  gone 
beyond  Ris  and  Melun." 

"Yes;  I  went  through  Ris  and  Melun, 
and  I  continued  to  go  on,  more  and  more 
surprised  that  I  did  not  see  him  return- 
ing;  and  here  I  am  at  Fontainebleau  ;  I 
look  for,  and  inquire  after  De  Guiche 
everj'^where,  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,  inquii-ing  for 
De  Guiche  in  every  dii-ection,  but  no  De 
Guiche  can  be  found.  I  am  dying  from 
uneasiness.  You  understand  that  I  liave 
not  been  running  my  head  into  the  lion's 
den,  in  entering  the  chateau,  as  my  im- 
prudent friend  has  done;  I  came  at 
once  to  the  servants'  offices,  and  I  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a  letter  conveyed  to 
you ;  and  now,  for  Heaven's  sake,  my 
dear  young  lady,  relieve  me  from  ray 
anxietv." 


••There  will  be  no  difficulty  in  that,  my 
dear  M.  Manicamp  ;  your  f  fiend  De  Guiche 
has  been  admirably  received." 

"Bah!" 

••  The  king  made  quite  a  fuss  with  him." 

''  The  king  who  exiled  him  !  " 

•'Madame  smiled  upon  bim,  and  Mon- 
sieur appears  to  like  him  better  than 
ever." 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  "  said  Manicamp,  •'  that  ex- 
plains to  me,  then,  why  and  how  he  has 
remained.  And  did  he  not  say  anj'thing 
about  me  ?  " 

"Not  a  word." 

"  Tliat  is  very  unkind.  What  is  he  do- 
ing 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  tiiis 
hour  ;  and  as  for  spending  the  night  upon 
this  branch,  I  possibly  might  not  object 
to  do  so,  but  I  declare  that  it  is  impossible 
for  any  other  animal  than  a  papegai  to 
doit." 

"  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  Monta- 
lais, "  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  Monta- 
lais ?  "  incjuired  Malicorne, 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


495 


"I  needed  but  this  I''  said  Montalais, 
in  despair. 

••'Oh!  Mademoiselle  Montalais,''  mur- 
mured Malicorne  ;  "'  do  not  be  so  severe, 
I  beseech  you.'' 

'•In  fact,"  said  Manicamp,  ''we  are 
3'our  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  lo  deatli." 

''  Oh  !  "  said  Montalais.  ''  Monsieur 
Malicorne  is  so  robust  that  a  nig-ht  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 
lie  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  bend- 
ing down  the  famous  branch  against  which 
lie  had  directed  such  bitter  complaints,  he 
succeeded,  by  the  assistance  of  his  hands 
and  feet,  in  seating  himself  side  \ij  side 
with  Montalais,  who  tried  to  push  him 
back,  while  he  endeavored  to  maintain  his 
position,  and  in  which,  moreover,  he  suc- 
ceeded. Having  taken  possession  of  the 
ladder,  he  stepped  on  it,  and  then  gal- 
lanth'  offered  his  hand  to  his  fair  antago- 
nist. 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. 

Suddenl3'  Malicoriie's  voice  was  heard 
in  tones  of  entreaty  : 

'•  I  entreat  you,  Mademoiselle  Monta- 
lais, not  to  leave  me  here.  My  j^osition  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  mattei-  if  Manicamp  tears  his  clothes, 
for  he  can  make  use  of  M,  de  Guiche's 
wardrobe  ;  but  I  sliall  not  be  able  to  use 
even  those  belonging  to  M.  Manicamp, 
for  they  will  be  torn." 

••'  My  opinion,"  said  Manicamp,  without 
taking  anj^  notice  of  Malicorne's  lamenta- 
tions, '•'  is  that  the  best  thing  to  be  done 
is  to  go  and  look  for  De  Guiche  without 


delay,  for,  b^-and-by,  perhaps,  I  may  not 
be  able  to  get  to  his  apartments." 

"That  is  my  own  opinion,  too,"  replied 
Montalais  ;  '*  so  go  at  once.  Monsieur 
Manicamp." 

'•  A  thousand  thanks.  Adieu,  Made- 
moiselle Montalais, "  said  Manicamp, 
jumping  to  the  ground,  ''3'our  kind- 
ness  cannot   possibl.y   be   exceeded." 

''Farewell,  M.  Manicamp;  I  am  now 
going   to  get  rid   of  M.  Malicorne." 

'Malicorne  sighed.  Manicamp  \vent 
away  a  few  paces,  but  returning  to  the 
foot  of  the  ladder,  he  said,  "  By-the-by, 
which  is  the  way  to  M.  de  Guiche's  apart- 
ments ?  " 

"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  Avith." 

"  But  M.  de  Guiche  is  not  in  Madame's 
apartments,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"No,  indeed." 

"AVell,  then,  the  path  which  leads  to 
Madame's  apartments  is  of  no  use  to  me, 
and  T  would  willingh'  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, 
it  is  quite  impossible." 

"Well,  let  us  suppose  that  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  that  fortunate  path." 

"In  that  case  you  are  almost  there,  for 
3'ou  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  cross 
the  labyrinth." 


496 


W0RK;S     of    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Nothing-  more  than  that  ?  The  deuce  ! 
so  there  is  a  labyrinth  as  well  ?  " 

''Yes,  and  complicated  enough,  too; 
even  in  da\'lig"ht,  one  may  sometimes  be 
deceived — there  are  turning's  and  wind- 
ing's without  end  ;  in  the  first  place,  j'^ou 
must  turn  three  times  to  the  rig-ht,  then 
twice  to  the  left,  then  turn  once — staj^  is 
it  once  or  twice,  though  ?  at  all  events, 
when  you  get  clear  of  the  labyrinth,  you 
will  see  an  avenue  of  sycamores,  and  this 
avenue  leads  straight  to  the  pavilion  in 
which  M.  de  Guiche  is  lodging." 

''Nothing  could  be  more  clearly  indi- 
cated,'" said  Manicarap;  "and  I  have  not 
the  slightest  doubt  in  the  world  that  if  I 
were  to  follow  your  directions,  I  should 
lose  m}'  way  immediately.  I  have  there- 
fore a  slight  service  to  ask  of  you." 

"  What  may  that  be  ?  " 

'^  That  3'ou  will  offer  me  your  arm  and 
guide  me  3'ourself,  like  another — like  an- 
other— I  used  to  know  m3^tholog'3'',  but 
other  important  matters  have  made  me 
forget  it;  praj^  come  Avith  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,  sententiousl3\ 

"Impossible,  monsieur,  impossible." 

"In  that  case,  let  me  assist  Malicorne 
to  get  down;  he  is  a  very  intelligent  fel- 
low, 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  Ave  had  some  matter  of  business  in 
hand ;  Avhile  alone  I  should  have  the  ap- 
pearance either  of  a  lover  or  a  robber. 
Come,  Malicorne,  here  is  the  ladder." 

Malicorne  had  already  stretched  out 
one  of  his  legs  toward  the  top  of  the 
wall,  when  Manicamp  said,  in  .a  whisper, 
^'  Hush  ! " 

"What's  the  matter ?"  inquired  Mon- 
talais. 

^'  I  hear  footsteps." 

"Good  heavens  !  " 


In  fact,  the  fancied  footsteps  soon  be- 
came a  reality;  the  foliage  was  pushed 
aside,  and  Saint-Aignan  appeared,  with  a 
smile  on  his  lips,  and  his  hand  stretched 
out  toward  them,  taking  every  one  by 
surprise ;  that  is  to  say,  Malicorne  upon 
the  tree  with  his  head  stretched  out,  Mon- 
talais 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  gla^  to  see  jow, 
\x\y  dear  fellow  ;  we  missed  you  this  even- 
ing, and  a  good  many  inquiries  have  been 
made  about  j^ou.  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais, 3'our  most  obedient  servant." 

Montalais  blushed.  "  Good  heavens  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  hiding'  her  face  in  both  her 
hands. 

"  Pra3^  reassure  yourself  ;  I  know  how 
perfectly  innocent  3'ou  are,  and  I  shall 
give  a  good  account  of  yon.  Mani- 
camp, do  you  follow  me ;  the  hedge,  the 
cross-paths,  and  labyrinth,  I  am  well  ac- 
quainted Avitli  them  all;  I  will  be  3'our 
Ariadne.  There  now,  3'our  mythological 
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  vc\j  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  Manicamp's  arm,  the  comte  led 
him  rapidly'  awaj'  in  the  direction  of  the 
road  which  Montalais  knew  so  well  and 
indicated  so  badly.  Montalais  followed 
them  with  her  eyes  as  long  as  she  could 
perceive  them. 


CHAPTER   CXXV. 

HOW  MALICORNE  HAD  BEEN  TURNED  OUT 
OF  THE  HOTEL  OF  THE  "BEAU  PAON." 

While  Montalais  was  engaged  in  look-     ■ 
ing  after  the  comte  and  Manicamp,  Mali- 


THE     VWOMTE    DE    BRAGELONXE. 


497 


corne  had  taken  advantage  of  the  3-oung- 
girl's  attention  being  drawn  awaj^  to  ren- 
der his  position  somewhat  raoi'e  tolerable, 
and  when  she  turned  round,  she  imme- 
diateU'  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  the  honeysuckle  curled  round  his 
head  liUe  a  Faun,  while  the  twisted  ivy 
branches  represented  tolerabl}^  enough 
his  cloven  feet.  Montalais  required 
nothing  to  make  her  resemblance  to  a 
Dr3'ad  as  complete  as  possible.  ••'Well," 
she  said,  ascending  another  round  of  the 
ladder;  "are  you  resolved  to  render  me 
unhappj^  ?  Have  you  not  persecuted  me 
enough,  tyrant  that  you  are  ?  " 

"la  tyrant !  "  said  Malicorne. 

"Yes,  3'ou  are  alvvaj's  compromising 
me,  Monsieur  Malicorne ;  3'ou  are  a  per- 
fect monster  of  wickedness." 

"  I  ?  " 

"  What  have  3'ou  to  do  with  Fontaine- 
bleau?  Is  not  Orleans  your  place  of 
residence  :  " 

"Do  you  ask  me  what  I  have  to  do 
here  ?     1  wanted  to  see  you." 

"Ah,  great  need  of  that." 

"  Not  as  far  as  concerns  j-ourself,  per- 
haps, but  as  far  as  I  aiH  concerned.  Made- 
moiselle Montalais,  you  know  very  well 
that  I  have  left  my  home,  jwid  that,  for 
the  future,  I  have  no  other  place  of  resi- 
dence than  that  which  3-ou  ma}^  happen 
to  have.  As  3'ou,  therefore,  are  staying 
at  Fontainebleau  at  the  present  moment, 
I  have  come  to  Fontainebleau." 

Montalais  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  You  wished  to  see  me,  did  j^ou  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   3'ou  as  well  as  to  see  you." 

"  Veiy  well,  we  will  talk  by-and-by,  and 
in  another  place  than  this." 

"  By-and-by  !  Heaven  onl^'  knows  if  I 
shall  meet  you  bj^-and-by  in  another  place. 
We  shall  never  find  a  more  favorable  one 
than  this." 


"  But  I  cannot  this  evening,  nor  at  the 
present  moment." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  a  thousand  things  have  hap- 
pened 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,  tran- 
quilly, "she  will  wait  a  few  minutes 
longer." 

"Monsieur  Malicorne,"  said  Montalais, 
••'j^ou  are  forgetting  yourself." 

"  You  should  rather  sa^'  that  it  is  you 
who  are  forgetting  me,  and  that  I  am 
getting  impatient  at  the  pai^t  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  mj  presence  here." 

"  Have  you  been  prowling  about  here 
for  a  week,  M.  Malicorne  ?  " 

"  Like  a  wolf ;  sometimes  I  have  been 
burned  by  the  fireworks,  which  have 
singed  two  of  ni}'  wigs  ;  at  others,  I  have 
been  completely  drenched  in  the  osiers  by 
the  evening  damps,  or  the  spray  from  the 
fountains — always  half-famished,  alwaj's 
fatigued  to  death,  with  the  view^  of  a  wall 
alwa.5's  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 
3'ou  drive  j^our  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  remain,  un- 
less hy  superior  orders." 

"  Well,  then,  tell  me,  what  do  3'ou  wish 
— what  do  you  require — what  do  you  in- 
sist upon  ?"  said  Montalais,  in  a  submis- 
sive tone. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  did 
not  know  I  was  at  Fontainebleau  ?  " 

"I?" 

•'•'Nay,  be  frank." 

"  I  suspected  so." 


498 


WORKS     OF    ALEXA^^DI!I■J    DUMAS. 


"Well,  then,  could  you  not  have  con- 
trived during"  the  last  week  to  have  seen 
nie  once  a  day,  at  least  ?  " 

"I  have  always  been  prevented,  M. 
Malicorne. " 

"Fiddlestick!  '' 

"Ask  my  companion,  if  you  do  not  be- 
lieve me." 

"  I  shall  ask  no  one  to  explain  matters 
which  I  know  better  than  any  one." 

"  Compose  yourself,  M.  Malicorne ; 
thing-s  will  chang-e." 

"They  must  indeed." 

"  You  know  that,  whether  I  see  3'ou  or 
not,  I  am  thinking-  of  3^ou,"  said  Monta- 
lais,  in  a  coaxing  tone  of  voice. 

"  Oh,  3^ou  are  thinking  of  me,  are  you  ! 
well,  and  is  there  an3'thing  new  ?  " 

"What  about?" 

"'  About  my  post  in  Monsieur's  house- 
hold." 

"  Ah,  ray  dear  Monsieur  Malicorne,  no 
one  has  ventured  lately  to  approach  his 
royal  hig-hness." 

"Well,  but  now?" 

"  Now,  it  is  quite  a  different  thing ;  since 
yesterda3^  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  traquilized  immediateh'." 

"  And  who  spread  the  report?" 

Montalais  lowered  her  voice.  "  Between 
ourselves,"  she  said,  "I  think  that  Mad- 
ame and  the  king  have  come  to  an  under- 
standing about  it." 

"Ah,  ah  !"  said  Malicorne ;  "  that  was 
the  onl3'  wa^'-  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,  certainl3'  not ;  I  have  not  seen  a 
pen  in  either  of  their  hands  for  the  last 
week." 

"  On  what  terms  are  you  with  Mad- 
ame ?" 

"The  very  best." 

"  And  with  the  king  ?" 


"  The  king  always  smiles  at  me  when- 
ever I  pass  him." 

"Good.  Now  tell  me  whom  have  the 
two    lovers    selected   to   serve    for   their 


screen 


V" 


"La  Vallierc." 

"  Oh,  oh,  poor  girl  I  We  must  prevent 
that." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because,  if  M.  Raoul  de  Bi-agelonne 
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  aflections,"  said 
Malicorne,  "and  the}' 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  Valliere 
to  such  a  degree  that,  if  she  pretended 
to  deceive  him,  he  would,  I  repeat,  either 
kill  himself  or  kill  her." 

"  But  the  king  is  there  to  defend  her,'' 
said  Montalais. 

"The  king  I  "  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  thie  contrar\^,  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  I'ound  of  the  ladder,  so  as  to  ap- 
proach Malicorne  more  closely,  "  do  not 
open  your  lips  to  poor  Raoul." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"'  Because,  as  j'et,  you  know  nothing  at 
all." 

"What  is  the  matter  then  ?  " 

"  Wh}',  this  evening  —  but  no  one  is 
listening,  I  hope  ?  " 

"No." 

••  This  evening",  then,  beneath  the  royal 
oak.  La  Valliere  said  aloud,  and  inno- 
centl}'^  enough,  '  I  cannot  conceive  that 
when  one  has  once  seen  the  king,  one  can 
ever  love  another  man.' 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


499 


Malicorne  almost  jumped  off  the  wall. 
'•'Unhappy  g'iii  !  did  she  really  say 
that:-'-' 

'•  Word  for  word."' 

"And  she  thinks  so?  " 

"  La  Valliere  alwa^'s  thinks  what  she 
says." 

••That  positively  cries  aloud  for  ven- 
^•eaiice.  Why,  women  are  the  veriest 
serpents,"  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  ?  " 

"La  Valliere's  remark,  which  was  in- 
tended for  the  king-,  reached  its  destina- 
tion." 

'•  Tije  king  knoAvs  it,  then  ?  The  king- 
was  told  of  ir.,  1  suppose  ?  " 

"  The  king  heard  it." 

"  Ohime!  as  the  cardinal  used  to  say." 

"The  king  was  hidden  in  the  thicket 
close  to  the  royal  oak." 

"It  follows,  then,"  said  Malicorne, 
"that,  for  the  future,  the  plan  which  the 
king  and  Madame  have  arranged  will  go 
as  easil}'^  as  if  it  were  on  wheels,  and  will 
pass  over  poor  Bragelonne's  body." 

"  Precisely  so." 

"  Well,"  said  Malicorne,  after  a  mo- 
ment'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  ver3''  thing  I  was  going  to  say  to 
you." 

"'  Let  us  think  of  ourselves,  then." 

"My  own  idea." 

"  Open  your  beautiful  eyes,  then.'" 

"  And  you  j'^our  large  ears." 

"Approach  j'our  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  Mad- 
ame ;  then  La  Valliere,  who  is  in  love  with 
the  king;  next,  the  king,  who  is  in  love 
both  with  Madame  and  La  Valliere;  lastly, 


Monsieur,  who  loves  no  one  but  himself. 
Among  all  these  loves,  a  noodle  would 
make  his  fortune;  a  greater  reason,  there- 
fore, for  sensible  people  like  ourselves  to 
do  so." 

"There  you  are  with  3'our  dreams 
again." 

"Nay,  rather  Avilh  realities.  Let  me 
lead  you,  darling.  I  do  not  think  you 
have  been  verj^  badly  off  hitherto.*' 

••No." 

"  Well,  the  future  is  guaranteed  by  the 
past.  Only  since  all  here  think  of  them- 
selves 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.''* 

"  All  for  Malicorne.'" 

•''And  I,  'All  for  Montalais,'  "  replied 
Malicorne,  stretching  out  his  hand  in  his 
turn. 

"  And  now,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

•'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-b3^" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  'good-by  '  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  you  can  now  return  to  your 
inn." 

"  To  xny  inn  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  are  you  not  lodging  at  the  sign 
of  the  'Beau  Paon '  ?  " 

"Montalais,  Montalais.  you  now  see 
that  you  were  aware  of  my  being  at  Fon- 
tainebleau." 

•'  Well,  and  w^hat  does  that  prove  ex- 
cept that  I  occupied  myself  about  j^ou 
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." 


500 


WORKS     OF    ALEXAJSWRE    DUMAS. 


"Who  has  taken  it  from  you,  then  ?  " 

''I  will  tell  3'ou.  Some  little  time  ag-o 
I  was  returning'  there,  after  I  had  been 
running-  about  after  you  ;  and,  having- 
reached  m^^  hotel  quite  out  of  breath,  I 
perceived  a  litter,  upon  which  four  peas- 
ants were  carrying-  a  sick  monk.'- 

"  A  monk  ?  " 

"Yes,  an  old  g-ray-bearded  Franciscan, 
As  I  was.  looking-  at  the  monk,  they  en- 
tered the  hotel ;  and  as  they  were  carry- 
ing- him  up  the  staircase,  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  vay  own  apartment.  Sup- 
posing- it  to  be  a  mistake,  I  summoned  the 
landlord,  who  sa3'S  that  the  room  which 
had  been  let  to  me  for  the  past  eig-lit 
days  was  let  to  the  Franciscan  for  the 
ninth." 

"  Oh,  oh  !  " 

"  That  was  exactl^'^  what  I  said ;  na}^ 
I  did.  even  more,  for  I  was  inclined  to  g-et 
out  of  temper.  I  went  upstairs  again  ;  I 
spolve  to  the  Franciscan  himself,  and 
wished  to  prove  to  him  the  impropriety 
of  the  step,  when  this  monk,  d.ying-thoug-li 
he  seemed  to  be,  raised  himself  upon  his 
arm,  fixed  a  pair  of  blazing-  eyes  upon  me, 
and,  in  a  voice  that  was  admirably  suited 
for  commanding-  a  charg-e  of  cavalr}^,  said: 

'•'  Turn  this  fellow  out  of  doors  !  "  which 
was  done  immediately  by  the  landlord 
and  the  four  porters,  who  made  me  de- 
scend the  staircase  somewhat  faster  than 
was  agreeable.  This  is  how  it  happens, 
dearest,  that  I  have  no  lodg-'mg-." 

"  Who  can  this  Franciscan  be  ?  "  said 
Montalais.     "  Is  he  a  g-eneral  ?  " 

"  That  is  exactly  the  very  title  that  one 
of  the  bearers  of  the  litter  g-ave  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  ? "  said 
Montalais. 

"Nothing  easier,"  said  a  third  voice, 
whereupon    Montalais  and  Malicorne  ut- 


tered a  simultaneous  cry,  and  Saint- Aig- 
nan  appeared.  "Dear  Monsieur  Mali- 
corne," said  Saint- Aignan,  "a  very  lucky 
accident  has  brougiit  me  back  to  extri- 
cate you  from  your  embarrassment. 
Come,  I  can  ofl'er  you  a  room  in  my  own 
apartments,  which,  I  can  assure  you,  no 
Franciscan  will  deprive  you  of.  As  for 
3^011,  m}^  dear  .young  lady,  bo  easj'.  I 
alread}'  knew  Mademoiselle  de  la  Val- 
liere's  secret,  and  that  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Tonnay-Charente  ;  j^our  own  3'ou  have 
just  been  kind  enougli  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  sav/  a  great  advantage  in  the 
proposition  W'hich  had  been  made  to  him, 
he  gave  Montalais  a  sign  of  resignation, 
which  she  returned.  Malicorne  then  de- 
scended the  ladder,  round  by  round,  re- 
flecting at  every  step  upon  tlie  means  of 
obtaining  piecemeal  from  M.  de  Saint- 
Aignan  all  he  might  possibly  know  about 
the  famous  secret.  Montalais  had  alread^'^ 
darted  away  as  fleet  as  a  deer,  and  nei- 
ther cross-road  nor  labj'rinth  was  able  to 
deceive  her.  As  for  Saint- Aignan,  he  car- 
ried off  Malicorne  with  him  to  his  apart- 
ments, showing  him  a  thousand  atten- 
tions, enchanted  to  liave  close  at  hand 
the  very  tw^o  men  who,  supposing  that 
De  Guiche  were  to  remain  silent,  could 
give  him  the  best  information  about  the 
maids  of  honor. 


CHAPTER    CXXVI. 

WHAT   ACTUALLY   DID   OCCUR  AT   THE    INN 
CALLED  THE    "BEAU   PAON." 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  supply  our  read- 
ers with  a  few  details  about  the  inn  called 
tiie  "Beau  Paon."  It  owed  its  name  to 
its  sign,  wiiich  represented  a  peacock 
spreading  out  its  tail.  But,  in  imitation 
of  some  painters  who  had  bestowed  the 
face  of  a  handsome  j^oung  man  upon  the 
serpent  which  tempted  Eve,  the  painter 
of  this  sign  had  conferred  upon  the  pea- 


THt:     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONME. 


501 


cock  the  features  of  a  woman.  This  inn, 
a  livins;-  epigram  ag-ainst  that  half  of  the 
human  race  which  renders  existence  de- 
h"-htful,  was  situated  at  Fontainebleau, 
in  the  first  turning-  on  the  left  hand  side, 
which  divides,  on  the  road  from  Paris, 
that  large  arter^^  which  constitutes  in  it- 
self alone  the  entire  town  of  Fontaine- 
bleau.  The  side-street  in  question  was 
then  known  as  the  Rue  de  Lyon,  doubt- 
less because,  geographicall}^  it  advanced 
in  the  direction  of  the  second  capital 
of  the  kingdom.  The  street  itself  was 
composed  of  two  houses  occupied  by  per- 
sons of  the  class  of  trades-people,  the 
houses  being  separated  by  two  large  g-ar- 
dens  bordered  with  hedg-es  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 
toward  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  re- 
ception of  all  classes  of  travelers,  whether 
on  foot  or  on  horseback,  or  even  with 
their  own  carriages ;  and  in  which  could 
be  supplied,  not  only  board  and  lodging, 
but  also  accommodation  for  exercise,  or 
opportunities  of  solitude  for  even  the 
wealthiest  courtiers,  whenever,  after  hav- 
ing- received  some  check  at  the  court,  they 
wished  to  shut  themselves  up  with  their 
own  societj'^,  either  to  devour  an  affront, 
or  to  brood  over  their  revenge. 

From  the  windows  of  this  part  of  the 
building  the  travelers  could  perceive,  in 
the  first  place,  the  street  with  the  g-rass 
g-rowing-  between  the  stones,  which  were 
being  g-radually  loosened  by  it;  next,  the 
beautiful  hedges  of  elder  and  thorn,  which 
embraced,  as  though  within  two  green 
and  flowering  arms,  the  houses  of  Avhich 
we  have  spoken  ;  and  then,  in  the  spaces 
between  those  houses,  forming  the  ground- 
work 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 
Fontainebleau.  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-bj'-  and  the  fetes  ; 
and,  by  the  Rue  de  Lyon,  to  look  upon 
and  to  enjoy  the  calm  of  the  countr\'. 
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  Lj'on,  and,  creeping  along  the  gardens 
of  the  private  houses,  attain  the  out- 
skirts of  tlie  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  ab- 
sorbed in  liis  own  affairs,  had  not  told 
Montalais  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  Franciscan  friar,  he  had  not 
given  any  particulars  about  the  travelers 
who  were  sta3dng  in  the  inn.  The  man- 
ner in  which  the}^  had  arrived,  the  manner 
in  which  they  lived,  tlie  difficulty  which 
existed  for  every  one  but  certain  priv- 
ileged travelers,  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  s^x,  really  did  so.  But  Mali- 
corne, as  we  have  already  said,  had  some 
personal  matters  of  his  owm  to  occup}''  his 
attention,  which  prevented  him  from  pay- 
ing much  attention  to  others.  In  fact, 
all  the  apartments  of  the  hotel  were  en- 
gaged and  retained  b}^  certain  strangers, 
who  never  stirred  out,  who  were  incom- 
municative in  their  address,  with  counte- 
nances full  of  thoughtful  occupation,  and 
not  one  of  whom  was  known  to  Malicorne. 
Every  one  of  these  travelers  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  hav- 
ing inquired,  in  an  indirect  manner,  ab<nit 
it,  he  had  been  informed  that  the  host  had 
given  as  a  reason  for  this  extreme  vigi- 
lance, that,  as  the  town  was  so  full  of 
wealtliy  noblemen,  it  must  also  be  as  full 
of    cle<'er    and   zealous   pickpockets,  and 


502 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


thiit  the  reputation  of  an  honest  inn  hke 
that,  of  the  ''Beau  Paon"  was  concerned 
in  not  allowing"  its  visitors  to  be  robbed. 
It  occasionally  liappened  that  Maiicorne 
asked  himself,  as  he  thought  matters 
carcCully  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,  while  he  had  ob- 
served, since  his  residence  there,  admis- 
sion refused  to  so  many.  He  asked  him- 
self, too,  how  it  was  that  Maiiicarap,  who, 
in  his  ofiinion,  must  be  a.  man  to  be  looked 
upon  with  veneration  by  everj'bod.y,  hav- 
ing- wished  to  bait  his  horse  at  the  "  Beau 
Paon,"  on  arriving*  there,  both  horse  and 
rider  had  been  incontinently  led  awaj^ 
with  a  nescio  vos  of  the  most  positive 
character.  All  this  for  Maiicorne,  whose 
mind  being"  fully  occupied  by  his  own  love 
affair  and  his  personal  ambition,  was  a 
prohlem  he  had  not  applied  himself  to 
solve.  Had  he  wished  to  do  so,  we  should 
hardly  venture,  notwithstanding-  the  in- 
tellig-ence  we  have  accorded  as  his  due, 
to  say  he  would  have  succeeded.  A  few 
words  will  prove  to  the  reader  that  noth- 
ing" less  than  QEdipus  in  person  could  have 
solved  the  enigma  in  question.  During" 
the  week,  seven  travelers  had  taken  up 
their  abode  in  the  inn,  all  of  them  having" 
arrived  i  here  the  day  after  the  fortunate 
day  on  which  Maiicorne  had  fixed  his 
choice  on  the  "  Beau  Paon."'  These  seven 
persons,  accompanied  by  a  suitable  ret- 
inue, were  the  following" : — First  of  all,  a 
brigadier  in  the  German  arm3%  his  secre- 
tary, physician,  three  servants,  and  seven 
horses.  The  brig"adier's  name  was  the 
Comte  de  Wostpur. — A  Spanish  cardinal, 
with  two  nephews,  two  secretaries,  an  of- 
ficer of  his  household,  and  twelve  horses. 
The  cardinal's  name  was .  Monseigneur 
Herrabia. — A  rich  merchant  of  Bremen, 
witii  his  man-servant  and  two  horses. 
This  merchant's  name  was  Meinheer  Bon- 
stett. — A  Venetian  senator,  with  his  wife 
and  daug"hter,  both  extremely  beautiful. 
The  senator's  name  was  Sig"nor  Marini. 
— A  Scotch  laird,  with  seven  Highlanders 
of  his  clan,  all  on  foot.  The  laird's  name 
was  Mac  Cumnor. — An  Austrian  ft"om 
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  Councilor, — 
And,  finally,  a  Flemish  lad}',  with  a  man 
servant,  a  lady's  maid,  and  a  female  com- 
panion, a  large  retinue  of  servants,  great 
display,  and  immense  horses.  She  was 
called  the  Flemish  ladj'. 

All  these  travelers  had  arrived  on  the 
same  day,  and  yet  their  arrival  had  occa- 
sioned 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 
pi-evious  evening  or  the  same  morning. 
Maiicorne,  who  had  arrived  the  previous 
day,  and  riding  an  ill-conditioned  horse, 
wuth  a  slender  valise,  had  announced  him- 
self 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  immediatel.y.  The  landlord, 
on  hearing  these  words,  had  smiled  as  if 
he  v»^ere  perfectly  well  acquainted  either 
with  Maiicorne  or  his  friend  the  nobleman, 
and  had  said  to  him,  ''  Since  j'ou  are  the 
first  arrival,  monsieur,  choose  what  apart- 
ment you  please."  And  this  was  said 
with  that  obsequiousness  of  manners,  so 
full  of  meaning  with  landlords,  which 
means,  '*  Make  yourself  perfectly  easy, 
monsieur  ;  we  know  with  whom  we  have 
to  do,  and  3^ou  will  be  treated  accord- 
ingly." These  words,  and  their  accom- 
panying gesture,  Maiicorne  had  thought 
very  friendly,  but  rather  obscure.  How- 
ever, as  he  did  not  wish  to  be  very  extrav- 
agant in  his  expenses,  and  as  he  thought 
that  if  he  were  to  ask  for  a  small  apart- 
ment he  would  doubtless  have  been  re- 
fused, on  account  of  his  want  of  conse- 
quence, 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  grayest  room  in  the 
house." 

"  With  a  stable  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  a  stable." 

•'•  And  when  will  j'ou  take  it  ?  " 

'•'  Immediatel3^  if  it  be  possible." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELO}iNE. 


503 


^' Quite  so." 

•'^i I,"  said  Malicorne,  *' I  shall  leave 
the  larg"e  room  unoccupied  for  the  pres- 
ent."' 

•'Very  good  !"  said  the  landlord,  with 
an  air  of  intelligence. 

'"Certain  reasons,  which  yow  will  un- 
derstand 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  oc- 

ciip3^   the   large    apartment;    and,    as    a 

matter  of  course,  as  this  large  apartment 

will  be  his  own  affair,  he  will  settle  for  it 

■     himself." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  landlord,  "cer- 
tainl}' ;  let  it  be  understood  in  that  man- 
ner." 

'•'It  is  agreed,  then,  that  such  shall  be 
the  terms?  " 

"Word  for  word." 

"It  is  extraordinarj^"  said  Malicorne 
to  himself.  "  You  quite  understand, 
then  ?  " 

'•'Yes." 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said. 
Since,  then,  you  understand — for  you  do 
clearly  understand,  do  3'OU  not?  " 

"Perfectly." 

"  Very  well ;  and  now^  show  me  to  my 
room." 

The  landlord,  cap  in  hand,  preceded 
Malicorne,  who  installed  himself  in  his 
room,  and  became  more  and  more  sur- 
prised to  observe  that  the  landlord,  at 
ever^^  ascent  or  descent,  looked  and 
winked  at  him  in  a  mannerwhich  indicat- 
ed the  best  possible  intelligence  between 
them.  '•  There  is  some  mistake  here," 
said  Malicorne  to  himself;  "but  until  it 
is  cleared  up,  I  shall  take  the  advantage 
of  it,  which  is  the  best  thing  I  can  pos- 
sibly do."  And  he  darted  out  of  his 
room  like  a  hunting-dog  following  up  a 
scent,  in  search  of  all  the  news  and  curi- 
osities of  the  court,  getting  himself  burned 
in  one  place,  and  drowned  in  another,  as 
he  had  told  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais. 
The  day  aftei'  he  had  been  installed  in  his 
room,  he  had  noticed  the  seven  travel- 
ers arrive  successiveh%  who  speedily  filled 
the  whole  hotel.  When  he  saw  all  this 
number  of  people,  of  carriages,  and  ret- 


inue, Malicorne  rubbed  his  hands  delight- 
edly, thinking  that,  one  da3^  later,  he 
should  not  have  found  a  bed  to  ho  upon 
after  his  return  from  his  exploring  expe- 
ditions. When  all  the  travelers  were 
lodged,  the  landlord  entered  Malicoi-ne's 
room,  and  with  his  accustomed  courteous- 
ness,  said  to  him,  "You  arc  aware,  my 
dear  monsieur,  that  the  large  room  in  the 
third  detached  building  is  still  reserved 
for  3'ou?" 

"Of  course  I  am  aware  of  it." 

"I  am  really  making  you  a  present  of 
it." 

"Thank  you." 

"So  that  when  your  friend  comes — " 

"Weill" 

"He  will  be  satisfied  with  mo,  I  hope; 
or,  if  he  be  not,  he  will  be  veiy  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  sa}^  that  I  do  not  positively 
assure  you  that  he  will  come." 

"'  Yet  he  told  3'ou— " 

"He  certainly  did  tell  me ;  but  you 
know  that  man  proposes  and  God  dis- 
poses— verba  volant,  scripta  maiient." 

"  W^hich  is  as  much  as  to  say — " 

"That  what  is  spoken  flies  away,  and 
w'hat  is  written  remains  ;  and,  as  he  did 
not  write  to  me,  but  contented  himself  by 
saying  to  me,  'I  will  autViorize  you,  yet 
without  speciall}^  inviting  you,'  you  must 
feel  that  it  places  me  in  a  verj'-  embarrass- 
ing position." 

"  What  do  you  authorize  me  to  do, 
then?" 

"  Why,  to  let  your  rooms  if  you  find  a 
good  tenant  for  them." 

"  1?  " 


504 


WOE  AS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Yes,  you." 

"Never  will  I  do  such  a  thing",  mon- 
sieur. If  he  has  not  wi-itten  to  you,  he 
has  written  to  me." 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  what  does  he  sa3^  ?  Let 
us  see  if  his  letter  agrees  with  his 
words." 

"These  are  almost  his  very  woi^ds. 
•To  the  landlord  of  the  "Beau  Paon  " 
Hotel — You  will  have  been  informed  of 
tlie  meeting-  arrang-ed  to  take  place  in 
your  inn  between  some  people  of  impor- 
tance ;  I  shall  be  one  of  those  who  will  meet 
the  others  at  Fontainebleau.  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,  interrupting-  his  reading-  of  the 
letter.  Malicorne  bowed  modestl3^  The 
landlord  continued:  —  "'And  a  larg-e 
apartment  for  myself.  The  larg-e  apart- 
ment is  m^'^  own  affair,  but  I  wish  the 
price  of  the  smaller  room  to  be  moder- 
ate, as  it  is  destined  for  a  fellow  who  is 
deucedl}^  poor.'  It  is  still  you  he  is 
speaking  of,  is  he  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 
3^ou  satisfied  with  the  name  ?  " 

"  With  what  name  ?  " 

"  With  the  name  at  the  end  of  the 
letter.  Does  it  g-ive  you  the  guarantee 
3'ou  require  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  his  name  ?  " 

"What  !  was  not  the  letter  signed  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  landlord,  opening  his 
eyes  very  wide,  full  of  mystery  and  curi- 
osit3'. 

"In  that  case,"  replied  Malicorne,  imi- 
tating his  gesture  and  his  mysterious 
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  therefore  I  do  not 
insist  upon  it." 

"  I  appreciate  j^our  delicacy.  As  for 
m3'self,  as  m^^  friend  told  yon,  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  tlie  stable  for  my  horse,  and  his  feed. 
How  much  per  day  ?  " 

"  Four  livres,  monsieur." 

"  Which  will  make  twelve  livres  for  the 
three  daj's  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  mysterj^  because  he  saw  that  the  m^'s- 
terious  had  succeeded,  "because  if  Iliad 
to  set  off  suddenly,  to  decamp  at  -Any 
moment,  my  account  would  be  already 
settled." 

"  You  are  right,  monsieur." 

*  ■'  I  ma}'^  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  fel- 
low ;  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  his  commission.  And 
De  Guiche  or^Manicamp  will  have  argued 
in  this  manner.  The  large  apartment  in 
which  one  could  receive,  in  a  benefiting 
manner,  a  lady  very  thickh'  veiled,  re- 
serving 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  Mani- 
camp for  a  time,  who  is  De  Guiche's  con- 
fidant, and  would  be  the  vigilant  keeper 
of  the  door,  or  for  De  Guiche  himself, 
acting,  for  greater  safet3^,  the  part  of 
master  and  of  confidant  at  the  same  time. 
Yet,"   he    continued,    "how   about   this 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


505 


meeting-  which  is  to  take  place,  and  which 
indeed  has  actually-  taken  place,  in  this 
hotel  ?  No  doubt  the\'  are  persons  who 
are  going-  to  he  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  simplj'^  the  length  of  one's  purse 
strings  between  Manicamp  and  Mali- 
corne."  After  he  had  thus  reasoned  the 
matter  out,  Malicorne  had  slept  soundly, 
leaving-  the  seven  travelers  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 
investigations,  tired  of  writing  letters 
which  he  could  never  find  an  opportunity 
of  delivering  to  whom  they  were  intended, 
he  then  returned  home  to  his  comfortable 
little  room,  and  leaning-  upon  the  balcon\^, 
which  was  filled  with  nasturtiums  and 
white  pinks,  he  began  to  think  over  these 
strange  travelers,  for  whom  Fontaine- 
bleau  seemed  to  possess  no  attractions 
in  its  illumination*^,  or  amusements,  or 
fetes.  Tilings  went  on  in  this  manner 
until  the  seventh  day,  a  da^^  of  which 
we  have  given  such  full  details,  with  its 
night  also,  in  the  preceding  chapters.  On 
that  night  Malicorne  was  enjo\'ing  the 
fresh  air,  seated  at  his  window,  toward 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  Mani- 
camp 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  imme- 
diately recognized  Malicorne. 

'•'Ah  !  by  Jove  !  "  said  the  former,  his 
countenance  clearing  up,  "glad  to  see 
you,  Malicorne.  I  have  been  wandering 
about  Fontainebleau,  looking  for  three 
things  I  cannot  find  :  De  Guiche,  a  room, 
and  a  stable." 

"Of  M.  de  Guiche  I  cannot  give  j^ou 
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  the}'  have  been  retained  for  you." 

"  Retained — and  by  whom  ?  " 

"  B3'  yourself,  I  suppose." 

"By  me?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  not 
taken  lodgings  here  ?  " 

*'•  By  no  means,"  said  Manicamp. 

At  this  nioment  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  ?  " 

"  An3'thing  you  please." 

"  By  letter?  "  inquired  the  landlord. 

Malicorne  nodded  aflBrmatively  to  Mani- 
camp. 

"Of  course  by  letter,"  said  Manicamp. 
"  Did  3'ou  not  receive  a  letter  from  me  ?  " 

"  What  w^as  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 
ver3'  same  moment,  a  traveler,  wrapped 
up  in  a  large  Spanish  cloak,  appeared  at 
the  porch,  near  enough  to  hear  the  con- 
versation. 

"I  ask  you  what  was  the  date  of  the 
letter  you  wrote  to  me  to  retain  apart- 
ments here  ? "  repeated  the  landlord, 
again  pressing  his  question. 

"Last  Wednesday'-  was  the  date,"  said 
the  m3'sterious  stranger,  in  a  soft  and 
polished  tone  of  voice,  touching  the  land- 
lord on  the  shoulder. 

Manicamp  drew  back,  and  it  -was  now 
Malicorne's  turn,  wdio  appeared  on  the 
threshold,,  to  scratch  his  ear.  The  land- 
lord saluted  the  new  arrival  as  a  man 
who  recognizes  his  true  guest. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  to  him,  with 
civilitv,  "3'our  apartment  is  ready  for 
3'ou,  and  the  stables,  too,  onlv — " 

He  looked  round  him,  and  inquired  : 

"Your  horses  ?  " 


506 


WORKU     OF    ALEXAiWHE    DUMAS. 


"  My  horses  ma}-  or  may  not  arrive. 
That,  however,  matters  but  little  to  .voii, 
provided  you  are  paid  lor  what  has  been 
eng-a  ged . '  * 

The  landlord  bowed  still  lower. 

"You  have,"  continued  the  unknown 
traveler,  '•'  kept  for  me,  besides,  the  small 
room  I  asked  for?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Malicorne,  endeavoring-  to 
hide  himself. 

•'•'  Your  friend  has  occupied  it  during- 
the  last  week,"  said  the  landlord,  point- 
ing- to  Malicorne,  who  was  trying  to  make 
himself  as  small  as  possible.  The  trav- 
eler, diawing-  his  cloak  around  him  so  as 
to  cover  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  cast  a 
rapid  glance  at  Malicorne,  and  said,  "This 
g-entleman  is  no  friend  of  mine." 

The  landlord  almost  started  off  his  feet, 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  this  g-entle- 
man," continued  the  traveler, 

•'  What !  ■'  exclaimed  the  host,  turning 
to  Malicorne,  "are  3-ou  not  this  g-entle- 
man's  friend,  then  ?  " 

"What  does  it  matter  whether  I  am  or 
not,  provided  3-0U  are  paid?"  said  MaU- 
corne,  parodying-  the  strang-er's  remark 
in  a  very  majestic  manner, 

"It  matters  so  far  as  this,"  said  the 
landlord,  who  beg-an  to  perceive  that  one 
person  had  been  taken  for  another,  "  that 
I  beg-  you,  monsieur,  to  leave  the  rooms, 
which  had  been  engag-ed  beforehand,  and 
by  some  one  else  instead  of  you." 

"Still,"  said  Malicorne,  "this  g-entle- 
man 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  sat- 
isfied with  the  room," 

"I  am  exceedingly  distressed,  mon- 
sieur," said  the  traveler,  in  his  soft  voice, 
"  but  I  need  both  the  room  and  the  apart- 
ment." 

"  At  least,  tell  me  for  whom  ?"  inquired 
Malicorne. 

"  The  apartment  I  require  for  mj'^self," 

"  Ver.y  well ;  but  the  room  ?  " 

"Look,"  said  the  traveler,  pointing  to- 
ward a  sort  of  procession  which  was  ap- 
proaching, 

Malicorne  looked  in  the  direction  indi- 


cated, and  observed,  borne  upon  a  litter, 
the  arrival  of  the  Franciscan,  whose  in- 
stallation in  his  apartment  he  had,  with 
a  few  details  of  his  own,  related  to  Mon- 
tahiis,  and  whom  he  had  so  uselessly  en- 
deavored to  convert  to  humbler  views. 
The  result  of  the  arrival  of  the  stranger, 
and  of  tiie  sick  Franciscan,  was  Mali- 
corne's  expulsion,  without  udv  corisidera- 
tion  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  t  his 
expulsion;  of  Manicamp's  conversation 
with  Montalais;  how  Manicamp,  with 
greater  cleverness  than  Malicorne  had 
shown,  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  news 
of  T>e  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  Malicorne.  It  remains  for  us  to  in- 
form our  readers  who  were  the  traveler 
with  the  cloak — the  principal  tenant  of 
the  double  apartment  of  which  Malicorne 
had  onl}'^  occupied  a  portion  —  and  the 
Franciscan,  quite  as  mysterious  a  per- 
sonage, whose  arrival,  together  with  that 
of  the  stranger  with  the  cloak,  had  been 
unfortunate  enough  to  upset  the  two 
friends'  plans. 


CHAPTER   CXXVII, 

A  JESUIT   OF  THE   ELEVENTH   YEAR, 

In  the  first  place,  in  order  not  to  wear}'^ 
the  reader's  patience,  we  will  liasten  to 
answer  the  first  question.  The  traveler 
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  cava- 
lier's complete  costume,  had  quitted  the 
chateau,  and  had  gone  to  the  hotel  of  the 
•'  Beau  Paon,"  where  by  letters,  seven 
or  eight  days  previously,  he  had,  as  the 
landlord  had  stated,  directed  a  room  and 
an  apartment  to  be  retain(^d  for  him. 
Immediately  Malicorne  and  Manicamp  had 
been  turned  out,  Ararais  approached  the 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BllAGELOXNE. 


5u: 


Franciscan,  and  asked  him  whether  he 
would  prefer  the  apartment  or  the  room. 
The  Franciscan  inquired  where  the\^  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,  but, 
with  g-reat  submissiveness,  said  to  the 
landlord,  '*'  The  room  ;  '"  and,  bowing-  with 
respect,  he  withdrew  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 
siuiple  monk — for  one,  too,  belong-ing"  to 
a  mendicant  order — to  whom  was  given 
up,  without  a  request  for  it  even,  a  room 
which  so  man}''  travelers  were  desirous  of 
obtaining-  ?  How,  too,  explain  the  unex- 
pected arrival  of  Aramis  at  the  liotel — he 
who  had  entered  the  chateau  with  M.  Fou- 
quet,  and  could  have  remained  at  the  cha- 
teau wit.h  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  cari-ied  him,  ''Help 
me  to  place  myself  on  that  armchair." 
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  benig- 
nit}'-  of  gesture  and  tone,  "  desire  the  land- 
lord to  come." 

They  obej'-ed,  and  five  minutes  after- 
ward the  landlord  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Be  kind  enough,"  said  the  Franciscan 
to  liim,  "  to  send  these  excellent  fellows 
away ;  the}--  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  extiMid  to  a 
sick  man,  and  I  preferred  this  hotel, 
where,  moreover,  I  was  expectetl." 

Tlie  landlonl  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.  Thi^ 
host  replied  b.y  making  a.  similar  sign  on 
his  left  shoulder.  "Yes,  indeed,"  he 
said,  "  we  did  expect  you,  but  we  hoped 
that  3'ou  would  arrive  in  a  better  stale  of 
health."  And  as  the  peasants  were  look- 
ing at  the  innkeeper,  usually  so  super- 
cilious, and  saw  how  respectful  he  had  be- 
come in  the  presence  of  a  poor  monk,  tlie 
Franciscan  drew  from  a  deep  pocket  three 
or  four  pieces  of  gold,  which  he  lield  out. 

'•'M^^  friends,"  said  he,  •' here  is  some- 
thing to  repay  3'ou  for  the  care  you  have 
taken  of  me.  So  make  yourselves  per- 
fectly eas}',  and  do  not  be  afraid  of  leav- 
ing me  here.  The  order  to  which  I  belong, 
and  for  which  I  am  traveling,  does  not 
require  me  to  beg  ;  onlj^  as  the  attention 
you  have  shown  me  deserves  to  be  re- 
warded, 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  tlien  closed, 
and,  while  the  innkeeper  stood  respect- 
full}^  near  it,  the  Franciscan  collected 
himself  for  a  moment.  He  then  p:issed 
across  his  sallow  face  a  h;ind  which 
seemed  dried  up  by  fever,  and  rubbed  his 
nervous  and  agitated  fingers  across  his 
beard.  His  large  eyes,  hollowed  hy  sick- 
ness and  inquietude,  seemed  to  pursu\  in 
the  vague  distance,  a  mournful  and  fixed 
idea. 

"What  physicians  have  you  at  Fon- 
tainebleau  ? "  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  ?  " 


508 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


'•'A  secular  member,  named  Grisart." 

"  All  !  Grisart  ?  ''  murmured  the  monk. 
''Send  foi"  M.  Grisart  immediatelj'." 

The  landlord  moved  in  prompt  obe- 
dience to  tiie  direction. 

"  Tell  me,  whatpi-iests  are  there  here  ?" 

"What  priests?" 

"  Yes  ;  belonging-  to  what  orders  ?  " 

''There  are  Jesuits,  Aug'ustiiies,  and 
Cordeliers  ;  but  the  Jesuits  are  the  closest 
at  hand.  Shall  I  send  for  a  confessor 
belong-ing-  to  the  order  of  Jesuits  ?  " 

"Yes,  immediatel3\" 

It  will  be  iuiagrined  that,  at  the  sign  of 
the  cross  Avhich  they  had  exchang-ed,  the 
landlord  and  the  invalid-monk  had  recog- 
nized each  other  as  two  affiliated  members 
of  the  well-known  Societj^  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  atten- 
tion. The  violence  of  his  disorder,  how- 
ever, overcame  his  courag-e ;  his  eyes 
rolled  in  their  sockets,  a  cold  sweat 
poured  down  his  face,  and  he  nearly 
fainted,  and  la^^  with  his  head  thrown 
backward,  and  his  arms  hang-ing"  down 
on  both  sides  of  his  chair.  For  more 
than  five  minutes  he  remained  without 
any  movement,  when  the  landlord  re- 
turned, bring-ing-  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,  re- 
stored the  Franciscan  to  his  senses.  He 
Imrriedly  seized  hold  of  the  papers  which 
were  Ij'ing-  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  phy- 
sician together. 

"Come  here.  Monsieur  Grisart,"  said 
the  Franciscian  to  the  doctor  ;  "  approach 
closer,  for  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Trj^, 
by  touch  and  sound,  and  consider  and 
pronounce  your  sentence." 

"The  landlord,"  i-eplied  the  doctor, 
"told  me  that  I  had  the  honor  of  attend- 
ing 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." 


The  phj'sician  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  imperi- 
ous look. 

"To  an  affiliated  member  of  the  first 
or  second  j'ear,"  replied  the  physician, 
looking  inquiringly  at  the  monk,  "  I 
should 'say — a  fever  that  m'a.y  be  cured." 

"But  to  me  ?  "  said  the  Franciscan. 

The  physician  hesitated. 

"  Look  at  my  gray  hair,  and  m3^  fore- 
head, full  of  anxious  thought,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  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,  accordingl3\" 

"  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 ; 
"  3^et,  considering  the  disordered  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  symp- 
toms of  your  case,  1  must  tell  you  that 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BllAGELONNE. 


509 


I 


your  condition  is  desperate."  The  Fran- 
ciscan smiled  in  a  strange  manner. 

"  Wliat  30U  have  just  told  me  is,  per- 
haps, sufficient  for  what  is  due  to  an 
affiliated  member,  even  of  the  eleventh 
year;  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  j^our  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,  dis- 
playing 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  Societ^^  of  Jesus. 

Grisart  uttered  a  loud  exclamation. 

"  The  general  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Silence,"  said  the  Franciscan,  '^j^ou 
now  understand  that  the  truth  is  every- 
thing." 

"  Monseigneur,  monseigneur,"  mur- 
mured Grisart,  ''  send  for  the  confessor, 
for  in  two  hours,  at  the  next  seizure,  3'ou 
will  be  attacked  by  delirium,  and  will 
pass  away  in  the  course  of  it." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  patient,  for  a 
moment  contracting  his  eyebrows;  "1 
have  still  two  hours  to  live  then  ?  " 

''  Yes  ;  particularly  if  you  take  the  po- 
tion I  shall  send  you  presently," 

"  And  that  will  give  me  two  hours 
more  !  " 

''  Two  hours." 

'^  I  would  take  it,  were  it  poison,  for 
those  two  hours  are  necessar^^  not  only  for 
myself,  but  for  the  glory  of  the  order." 

"  What  a  loss,  Avhat  a  catastrophe  for 
us  all !  "  murmured  the  physician. 

"  It  is  the  loss  of  one  man,  and  noth- 
ing more,"  replied  the  Franciscan,  ''and 
Heaven  will  enable  the  poor  monk,  w'ho 
IS  about  to  leave  you,  to  find  a  worth^^ 
successor.  Adieu,  Monsieur  Grisart ;  al- 
ready even,  through  the  goodness  of 
Heaven,  I  have  met  with  yon.  A  phy- 
sician who  had  not  been  one  of  our  \\o\y 
order  would  have  left  me  in  ignorance  of 
m.y  condition  ;  and,  relying  that  m}'  ex- 


istence 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  confers 
an  honor  upon  us  all ;  it  would  have  been 
repugnant  to  my  feelings  to  have  found 
one  of  our  order  of  little  standing  in  his 
profession.  Adieu,  Monsieur  Grisart; 
send  me  the  cordial  immediately-." 

"  Give  me  your  blessing,  at  least,  mon- 
seigneur." 

•'In  my  mind,  I  do;  go,  go; — in  my 
mind,  I  do  so,  I  tell  3'ou — animo,  Maitre 
Grisart,  viribus  impossibileJ'  And  he 
again  fell  back  on  the  armchair,  in  an 
almost  senseless  state.  M.  Grisart  hesi- 
tated, whetlier  he  should  give  him  imme- 
diate assistance,  or  should  run  to  prepare 
the  cordial  he  had  promised.  He,  doubt- 
less, decided  in  favor  of  the  cordial,  for 
he  darted  out  of  the  room  and  disappeared 
down  the  staircase. 


CHAPTER   CXXVm. 

THE   STATE   SECRET. 

A  FEW  moments  after  the  doctor's  de- 
parture, 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  infirm- 
ity." The  confessor,  on  his  side,  regarded 
the  dying  man  with  astonishment,  almost 
wnth  terror.  He  had  never  beheld  eyes 
so  burningly  bright  at  the  Yevy  moment 
they  were  about  to  close,  nor  looks  so  ter- 
rible at  the  moment  they  were  about  to 
be  quenched  in  death.  The  Franciscan 
made  a  rapid  and  imperious  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,  jielded  to 
the  superiority  assumed  by  the  penitent. 

"There  are  several  persons  staying  in 
this  hotel,"  continued  the  Franciscan. 


:.i(i 


WORKS     OF    A  LEX  A. \1)  lit:    DUMAS. 


''  But,"'  inquired  the  Jesuit,  ''  I  tlioug-lit 
I  had  been  summoned  to  i-eceive  confes- 
sion.   Is  your  remai'k,  then,  a  confession  ?" 

"  Why  do  3'ou  ask  me  ?  " 

"  In  order  to  know  whether  I  am  to 
keep  your  words  secret." 

"  My  rernarks  are  part  of  uiy  confession  ; 
I  confide  tliem  to  you  in  3'our  character  of 
a  confessor." 

''Verj'  well/'  said  the  priest,  seating- 
himself  on  the  chair  which  the  Francis- 
can 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." 

"  Thc}^  ought  to  be  eight  in  number." 

The  Jesuit  made  a  sign  that  he  under- 
stood him. 

"  The  first  to  whom  I  wish  to  speak," 
said  tlie  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." 

Tlie  confessor,  astounded,  looked  at  his 
penitent ;  the  confession  seemed  a  singu- 
lar one. 

"  Obey,"  said  the  Franciscan,  in  a  tone 
of  couimand  impossible  to  resist. 

The  good  Jesuit,  completely  subdued, 
rose  and  left  the  room.  As  soon  as  he 
had  gone,  the  Franciscan  again  took  up 
tlie  papers  which  a  crisis  of  the  fever  had 
already,  once  before,  obliged  him  to  put 
aside. 

"  The  Baron  d(;  Wostpur?  Good  !  "  he 
said  ;  '•'  ambitious,  a  fool,  and  straitened 
in  his  means." 

He  folded  up  the  papers,  which  he  thrust 
under  bis  pillow.  Rapid  footsteps  were 
heard  at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  The 
c<mfessor  returned,  followed  by  the  Baron 
de  Wostpur,  who  walked  along  with  his 
head  raised,  as  if  he  were  discussing  with 
himself  the  propriet}^  of  touching  the  ceil- 
ing with  the  feather  in  his  hat.  There- 
fore, at  the  appeai-anceof  the  Franciscan, 
at  his  melancholy  look,  and  at  the  plain- 
ness of  the  room,  he  stopped,  and  in- 
quu'ed  : 

''  Who  summoned  me  ?  " 


''I,"  said  the  Franciscan,  who  turned 
toward  the  confessor,  saying  :  "  My  good 
father,  leave  us  for  a  moment  together ; 
when  this  gentleman  leaves,  30U  will 
return  hei-e." 

The  Jesuit  left  the  room,  and,  doubtless, 
availed  himself  of  this  momentary  exile 
from  the  presence  of  the  dj-ing  man  to  ask 
the  host  for  some  explanation  about  this 
strange  penitent,  .who  treated  his  con- 
fessor 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,  hurriedl3^  '*  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  mon- 
archs,  the  equal  of  popes  ?  " 

''Who  are  you,"  inquired  the  baron. 
'•  to  subject  me  to  these  interrogatories  ?" 

"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  Avhich  glittered  the  ring-  of  the  g-eneral 
of  the  order.  The  baron  drew  back  in 
surprise  ;  and  then,  immediately  after- 
ward, bowing  with  the  profoundest  re- 
spect, 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  suc- 
cessor ! " 

"Do  not  distress  yourself  about  that, 
monsieur,  but  fulfill  immediately  tlie  prin- 
cipal condition,  of  furnishing  the  order 
with  a  secret  of  importance,  such  as  one 
of  the  g'reatest  courts  of  Europe  can,  by 
your  instrumentality,  forever  confer  upon 
the  order.  Well  !  do  you  possess  the 
secret  which  you  promised,  in  your  re- 
quest, addressed  to  the  g-rand  council  ?  " 

"  Monseigneur — " 


THE     VJCOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


511 


"Let  us  proceed,  however,  in  due  order," 
said  the  monk.  "  You  are  the  Baron  de 
Wostpur  ?  " "Yes,  monseig-neur." 

"  And  this  letter  is  from  you  ?  " 

The  general  of  the  Jesuits  drew  a  paper 
from  his  bundle,  and  presented  it  to  the 
baron,  who  g-lanced  at  it,  and  made  a  sign 
in  the  affirmative,  saj'ing-,  "  Yes,  mon- 
seigneur,  this  letter  is  mine." 

"  Can  3^ou  show  me  the  reply  which  the 
secretary  of  the  grand  council  returned 
to  you  ?  " 

"This  is  it,"  said  the  baron,  holding 
toward  the  Franciscan  a  letter,  bearing 
simply  the  address,  "To  his  excellenc}' 
the  Baron  de  Wostpur,"  and  containing- 
only  this  phrase,  "'  From  the  15th  to  the 
22d  May,  Fontainebleau,  the  hotel  of  the 
'  Beau-Paon.'— A.M.D.G."* 

"Right!"  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 
claj^s  I  can  overthrow  the  emperor,  who 
is,  as  you  are  aware,  opposed  to  the  prog 
ress  of  our  order,  and  can  replace  him  b}- 
whichever  of  the  princes  of  his  family  the 
order  may  determine  upon."  The  Fran- 
ciscan listened  unmoved. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  he  said. 

"  A  revolution  throughout  Europe  is 
included  in  my  plan,"  said  the  baron. 

"  Vei'y  well,  Monsieur  de  Wostpur,  3'ou 
will  receive  a  reply  ;  ret  urn  to  j^our  room, 
and  leave  Fontainebleau  within  a  quarter 
of  an  hour." 

The  baron  withdrew  backward,  just  as 
obsequiously  as  if  he  were  taking  leave  of 
the  emperoi-  he  was  read}'"  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  Ihe  cardinal,"  he  said  ;  "  we 
ought  to  g'et  something  more  serious  from 
the  side  of  Spain." 

*Ad  majoretn  Dei  gloriam. 


Raising  his  head  he  perceived  the  con- 
fessor, who  was  awaiting  his  orders  as 
submissively  as  a  schoolboy. 

"Ah,  ah  !  "  he  said,  noticing  his  sub- 
missive air,  "you  have  been  talking  with 
the  landlord." 

"  Yes,  mon seigneur  ;  and  to  the  phy- 
sician." 

"  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,  inonseigneur." 

"Then  go  and  fetch  me  the  Spanish 
Cardinal  Herrebia.  Make  haste.  Only, 
as  3'ou  now  understand  the  matter  in 
hand,  30U  will  remain  near  me,  for  I 
begin  to  feel  faint." 

"  Shall  I  summon  the  phj^sician  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet  .  .  .  the  Spanish 
Cardinal  ...  no  one  else.     Fly  !"  < 

Five  minutes  afterward,  the  cardinal, 
pale  and  disturbed,  entered  the  little  room. 

"'  I  am  informed,  monseigneur — "  stam- 
mered out  the  cardinal. 

"To  the  iDoint,"  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  g-arb  of 
the  poor  Franciscan,  w'ho  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  exercised  his 
influence. 

"'  Quick,  the  secret,  the  secret !"  said  the 
d3'ing  man,  leaning*  upon  his  confessor. 

''Coram  isto?"  inquired  the  Spanish 
cardinal. 

"Speak  in  Spanish,"  said  the  Francis- 
can, showing  the  liveliest  attention. 

'"You  are  aware,  monseigneur,"  said  the 
cardinal,  continuing  the  conversation  in 
the  Castilian  dialect,  "that  the  condition 
of  the  marriage  of  the  Infanta  with  the 


512 


WOBAS     OF    ALEXAXDRE    DUMAS. 


king-  of  France  is  the  absolute  i-einincia- 
tion  of  the  rights  of  the  said  Infanta,  as 
well  as  of  King-  Louis  XIV.,  to  all  claim 
to  the  crown  of  Spain.''  The  Franciscan 
made  a  sign  in  the  afflrraative. 

'*' The  consequence  is,"  continued  the 
cardinal,  '*that  the  peace  and  alliance 
between  the  two  kingdoms  depend  upon 
the  observance  of  that  clause  of  the  con- 
tract." A  similar  sig-n  from  the  Fran- 
ciscan. ''Not  only  France  and  Spain," 
continued  the  cardinal,  "but  the  whole 
of  Europe  even,  would  be  violently  rent 
asunder  by  the  faithlessness  of  either 
party."  Another  movement  of  the  d^ang 
man's  head. 

•'It  furtlier  results,"  continued  the 
speaker,  "  that  the  man  who  might  be 
able  to  foresee  events,  and  to  render  cer- 
tain that  which  is  no  more  than  a  vag-ue 
idea  floating  in  the  mind  of  man  ;  that  is 
to  say,  the  idea  of  future  good  or  evil, 
would  preserve  the  world  from  a  g-reat 
catastrophe;  and  the  event,  which  has  no 
•  fixed  certainty  even  in  the  brain  of  him 
who  originated  it,  could  be  turned  to  the 
advantag-e  of  our  order." 

"Pronto,  pronto!"  murmured  the 
Franciscan,  who  suddenh'  became  paler, 
and  leaned  upon  the  priest.  The  cardinal 
approached  the  ear  of  the  dj-ing-  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  b}^  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  j-ou  have 
constructed  your  plan  ?  " 


"  I  have  the  under  servants  of  the  king 
of  France  in  m^^  pay,  and  I  obtain  from 
them  all  the  waste  papers,  which  have 
been  saved  from  being-  burned." 

"  Ver\Mngenious,"  murmured  the  Fran- 
ciscan, endeavoring  to  smile;  "you  will 
leave  this  hotel,  cardinal,  in  a  quai-ter  of 
an  hour,  and  a  reph-  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  Fran- 
ciscan, instead  of  striking  out  the  cardi- 
nal's name,  as  he  had  done  the  baron's, 
made  a  cross  at  the  side  of  it.  Then,  ex- 
hausted by  the  effort,  he  fell  back  on  his 
bed,  murmuring  the  name  of  Doctor  Gri- 
sart. 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  hy  the 
physician,  while  the  Venetian  and  the  con- 
fessor were  standing-  close  to  the  door. 
The  Venetian  submitted  to  the  same 
formalities  as  his  two  predecessors,  hesi- 
tated 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  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  pontiff's  auxiliaries,  his 
means  of  action,  and  indicated  the  par- 
ticular locality'  in  the  Archipelag-o  where, 
by  a  sudden  surprise,  two  cardinals,  adepts 
of  the  eleventh  year,  and,  consequent]}-, 
high  in  authorit}^  were  to  be  transported, 
together  with  thirty-two  of  the  principal 
affiliated  members  of  Rome.  The  Fran- 
ciscan thanked  the  Signor  Marini.  It  was 
by  no  means  a  slight  service  he  had  ren- 
dered the  society  by  denouncing-  this  pon- 
tifical project. 

The  Venetian  thereupon  received  direc- 
tions to  set  off  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  left  as  radiant  as  if  he  already  pos- 
sessed the  ring-,  the  sig-n  of  the  supreme 
authority  of  the  societ3\  As,  however, 
he  was  departing-,  the  Franciscan  mur- 
mured to  himself: — "All  these  men  are 
either  spies,  or  a  sort  of  police,  not  one  of 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


513 


them  a  general :  the.v  have  all  discovered 
a  plot,  but  not  one  of  them  a  secret.  It 
is  not  by  means  of  ruin,  or  war,  or  force, 
that  the  Society  of  Jesus  is  to  be  gov- 
erned, but  hx  that  mysterious  influence 
which  a  moral  superiority^  confers.  No, 
the  man  is  not  3-et  found,  and,  to  com- 
plete the  misfortune.  Heaven  strikes  me 
down,  and  I  am  dying-.  Oh  I  must  the 
society  indeed  fall  Avith  me  for  want  of 
a  column  to  support  it  ?  Must  death, 
which  is  waiting"  for  me,  sw^allow  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  splendor.'' 
These  words,  which  had  been  half-re- 
flected, half-pronounced  aloud,  w^ere  list- 
ened to  by  the  Jesuit  confessor  with  a 
terror  similar  to  that  with  which  one 
listens  to  the  wanderings  of  a  person 
attacked  by  fever,  while  Grisart,  with  a 
mind  of  a  higher  order,  devoured  them  as 
the  revelations  of  an  unknown  world,  in 
which  his  looks  were  plunged  without 
abilit3'-  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  bot- 
tle he  had  upon  his  person. 

"  Call  the  Scotchman  !  "  exclaimed  the 
Yanciscan  ;   '•'  call  the  Bremen  merchant. 
11,  call,   quickly.     I  am  dying.     I  am 
)cated." 

e  confessor  darted  forward  to  seek  for 

fcance,  as  if  there  had  been  any  human 

gth  which  could  hold  back  the  hand 

o     •  ^ath,  which  was  weighing  down  the 

s)        man  ;  but,  at  the  threshold  of  the 

dc         he   found    Aramis,    who,    with   his 

fir     '-  on  his  lips,  like  the  statue  of  Harpo- 

cra     s,  the  god  of  silence,  'by  a  look  mo- 

tior    I  him  back  to  the  end  of  the  apart- 

men       The  physician  and  the  confessor 

Dumas — 17 


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  dif- 
ferent manner,  transfixed  them  both  in 
their  places. 

"  A  chief  !  "  the^"  both  murmured. 

Aramis  slowlj'  advanced  into  the  room 
where  the  dA'ing  man  was  struggling 
against  the  first  attack  of  the  agon^'^  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  move- 
ment, 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  stifling  ;  the  win- 
dows were  closed  ;  the  flre  was  burning 
upon  the  hearth  ;  a  pair  of  candles  of 
yellow  wax  were  guttering  down  in  the 
copper  candlesticks,  and  still  further  in- 
creased, by  their  thick  smoke,  the  tem- 
perature of  the  room.  Aramis  opened  the 
window,  and  fixing*  upon  the  dying  man  a 
look  full  of  intelligence  and  respect,  said 
to  him  :  "Monseig-neur,  praj^  forgive  my 
coming  in  this  manner,  before  you  sum- 
moned 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  for- 
merl3'  called  Aramis,  and  since,  the  Chev- 
alier d'Herbla^'  ?  You  are  the  bishop  of 
Vannes,  then  ?  " 

'^•' Yes,  my  lord." 

"  I  know  you,  I  have  seen  you." 

"At  the  last  jubilee  w^e  were  with  the 
Holy  Father  together." 

*'  Yes,  yes,,  I  remember  ;  and  j^ou  place 
3'ourself  on  the  list  of  candidates." 

"  Monseigneur,  I  have  heard  it  said  that 
the  order  required  to  become  possessed  of 
a  great  state  secret,  and  knowing  that 
from  modest}"  you  had  in  anticipation 
resigned  your  functions  in  favor  of  the 
person  who  should  be  the  depositarj'^  of 
this  secret,  I  wrote  to  sa}'^  that  I  was 
ready  to  compete,  possessing  alone  a 
secret  which  I  believe  to  be  important." 


514 


WOEKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"Speak,"  said  the  Franciscan,  ''lam 
read^'  to  listen  to  you,  and  to  judge  of  the 
importance  of  the  secret." 

^'  A  secret  of  the  value  of  that  which  I 
have  the  honor  to  confide  to  3^ou  cannot  be 
communicated  by  word  of  mouth.  Any 
idea,  which,  when  once  expressed,  has 
t  iiereby  lost  its  safeguard,  and  has  become 
vulg-arizcd  ,b,y  any  manifestation  or  com- 
munication of  it  whatever,  no  long-er  is 
the  property  of  him  who  gave  it  birth. 
M}'  words  may  be  overheard  by  some  list- 
ener, or  perhaps  by  an  enemj^;  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 
j'^our  secret  ?  "  inquired  the  dying  monk. 

With  one  hand  Aramis  signed  to  the 
physician  and  the  confessor  to  withdraw, 
and  Avith  the  other  he  handed  to  the  Fran- 
ciscan a  paper  inclosed  in  a  double  enve- 
lope. "  Is  not  writing  more  dang-erous 
still  than  language?" 

''No,  my  lord,"  said  Aramis,  "for  you 
will  find  within  this  envelope  characters 
which  you  and  I  alone  can  understand." 
The  Franciscan  looked  at  Aramis  with' 
an  astonishment  which  momentarily  in- 
creased. 

"It  is  a  cipher,"  continued  the  latter, 
"  w^hich  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  gracefulness  full  of 
respect,  and  advancing  toward  the  door 
as  if  to  leave  the  room ;  but  a  gesture  of 
the  Franciscan,  accompanied  by  a  q,yj  for 
him  to  remain,  retained  him. 

"  Eccc  homo  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  then  read- 
ing the  paper  a  second  time,  he  called  out, 
"Approach,  approach  quickly  !" 

Aramis  retui^ned  to  the  side  of  the 
Franciscan,  with  the  same  calm  counte- 
nance and  the  same  respectful  manner, 
unchanged.  The  Franciscan,  extending 
his  arm,  burned  by  the  flame  of  the  candle 
the  paper  which  Aramis  had  handed  him. 
Then,  taking  hold  of  Aramis'  hand,  he 
drew  him  toward  him,  and  inquired  :  "In 


what  manner  and  by  whose  means  could 
you  possibly  become  acquainted  with  such 
a  secret." 

"  Through  Madame  de  Chevreuse,  the 
intimate  friend  and  confidante  of  the 
queen." 

"  And  Madame  de  Chevreuse — " 

"Is  dead." 

"  Did  any  others  know  it?" 

"  A  man  and  woman  ou\y,  and  they  of 
the  lower  classes." 

"Who  are  they?" 

"  Persons  wiio  had  brought  him  up." 

"  What  has  become  of  them  ?" 

"  Dead  also.   The  secret  burns  like  fire." 

"  And  3'ou  have  survived  ?" 

"  No  one  is  aware  that  I  know  it." 

"  And  for  what  length  of  time  have  you 
possessed  this  secret  ?" 

'•  For  the  last  fifteen  years." 

"  And  you  have  kept  it  ?" 

"I  wished  to  live," 

"And  you  give  it  to  the  order  without 
ambition,  without  acknowledgment  ?" 

"  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 
Franciscan,  "  I  constitute  you  my  suc- 
cessor ....  Thus."  And  drawing  off 
the  ring,  he  passed  it  on  Aramis'.  finger. 
Then,  turning  toward  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  freelj^ 
and  voluntarily  bestowed  this  ring,  the 
token  of  supreme  authority,  upon  Mon- 
seigneur  d'Herblay,  bishop  of  Vannes, 
whom  I  nominate  my  successor,  and  be- 
fore whom  I,  a  humble  sinner,  about  to 
appear  before  Heaven,  prostrate  mj'self 
the  first,  as  an  example  for  all  to  follow." 
And  the  Franciscan  bowed  lowly  and  sub- 
missivel}-,  while  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  toward  his 
heart. 

"We   must    lose    no    time,"  said  the 


THE     VI  CO  MTU    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


515 


Franciscan  ;  ''  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  Franciscan, 
and  then  turning  toward  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  f  " 

"  Close  the  door,"  continued  the  Fra>n- 
ciscan,  after  a  pause.  Aramis  shut  and 
bolted  the  door,  and  returned  to  the  side 
of  the  Franciscan. 

"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  Bonstett,  w'ho  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  discovered,  by  the 
indiscreetness  of  one  of  the  affiliated  of 
the  eleventh  year,  the  three  mj^steries ; 
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:  the.y  are  condemned.  Here  are 
their  names." 

"  I  will  see  that  the  sentence  be  carried 
out." 

"Lastly,  there  is  a  lady  at  Anvers, 
grand-niece  of  Ravaillac ;  she  holds  cer- 
tain papers  in  her  hands  which  compro- 
mise 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.  Redeem  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  choco- 
late, in  reality  with  gold.  Everj'  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." 

"' To  Avhat  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  affirmative,  for  he  could  no 
longer  speak ;  the  blood  rushed  to  his 
throat  and  his  head,  and  gushed  from 
his  mouth,  his  nostrils,  and  his  e3^es. 
The  dying  man  had  barely  time  to  press 
Aramis'  hand,  when  he  fell  in  convul-, 
sions  from  his  bed  upon  the  floor.  Ara- 
mis placed  his  hand  on  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 
Franciscan  had  escaped  being  burned. 
He  picked  it  up  and  burned  it  to  the  last 
atom.  Then,  summoning*  the  confessor 
and  the  phj'sician,  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,  turn- 
ing toward  the  ph3^sician,  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  backward  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. 


516 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


CHAPTER  CXXIX. 

MISSION. 

The  next  daj^,  or  rather  the  same  daj^ 
(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  tw^o  queens ;  as  Monsieur, 
with  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  and  a 
few^  other  intimate  companions,  was 
mounting  his  horse  to  set  ofT  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  ex- 
ception of  Madame,  who,  under  the  pre- 
text 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  honor, 
leading  La  Vailiere  after  her,  w^ho  tried 
to  conceal  herself  as  much  as  possible, 
and  both  of  them,  hurrying  secreth' 
through  the  gardens,  succeeded,  looking 
round  tliem  at  every  step  they  took,  in 
reaching  the  thicket.  The  weather  was 
cloud\',  a  hot  air  bowed  the  flowers  and 
the  shrubs  before  its  blast ;  the  burning 
dust,  swept  along  in  clouds  by  the  wind, 
w-as  whirled  in  eddies  toward  the  trees. 
Montalais,  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  approach- 
ing, said  to  her  companion,  "Thank good- 
ness, we  are  quite  alone  !  Since  j^esterdaj- 
ever^'  one  spies  us  here,  and  a  circle  seems 
to  be  drawn  round  us,  as  if  we  were  plague- 
stricken."  La  Vailiere  bent  down  her 
head  and  sighed,  "It  is  positively  unheard 
of,"  continued  Montalais  ;  "from  M.  Mal- 
icorne  to  M.  de  Saint-Aignan,  ever^^  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  Vailiere  lifted  up  toward  her  com- 
panion her  beautiful  eyes,  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 


apartment  ?  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,  wath  respect 
to  us  both  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Louise,  j^ou  answer  my  ques- 
tion by  another,  or  rather,  by  ten  others, 
which  is  not  answering  me  at  all.  I  will 
tell  yon  all  you  want  to  know  later,  and, 
as  they  are  matters  of  secondary  impor- 
tance, you  can  wait.  What  I  ask  j^ou — 
for  everything  will  depend  upon  that — is, 
whether  there  is  or  is  not  anj'-  secret  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  if  there  is  any  secret," 
said  La  Vailiere ;  "  but  I  do  know,  for  my 
own  part  at  least,  that  there  has  been 
great  imprudence  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 
Tonna3'-Charente;  for  both  of  you  made 
your  declarations  of  love  to  the  skies,  and 
which  unfortunately  were  intercepted." 

La  Vailiere  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 
contrar}^  I  did  not  drag  you  out  of  the 
chateau  ;  I  did  not  miss  attending  mass  ; 
I  did  not  pretend  to  have  a  cold,  as  Mad- 
ame 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.  Fouquet,  in  order 
to  find  means  of  confiding  m}'^  perplexities 
to  you,  for  the  sole  end  and  purpose  that 
when,  at  last,  we  are  alone,  and  no  one 
can  listen  to  us,  3^ou  are  to  deal  hyiDocriti- 
cally  with  me.  No,  no  ;  believe  me,  that 
when  I  ask  you  any  questions,  it  is  not 
from  curiosity  alone,  but  realh^  because 
the  positicfn  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     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


517 


the  honor  last  nig-ht,  and  you  have  it  still 
to-cla3%  of  occupying-  the  whole  court,  my 
dear  Louise ;  and  the  number  of  tender 
and  witty  remarks  which  have  been  as- 
cribed to  you  would  make  Mademoiselle 
de  Scudery  and  her  brother  burst  from 
very  spite,  if  they  were  faithf ull}'-  reported 
to  them." 

''But,  dearest  Montalais,"  said  the 
poor  g-irl,  "j'ou  know  better  than  an}-- 
one  what  I  did  say,  since  you  were  pres- 
ent when  I  said  it." 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  that  is  not  the 
question.  I  have  even  not  forgotten  a 
single  syllable  3^ou  said  ;  but  did  j'ou  think 
what  you  were  saying-  ?  " 

Louise  became  confused.  ''What,"  she 
exclaimed,  "more  questions  still!  Oh, 
heavens  !  when  I  would  g"ive  the  whole 
world  to  forg-et  what  I  did  say,  how  does 
it  happen  that  every  one  does  all  he  pos- 
sibly can  to  remind  me  of  it  ?  Oh,  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  volun- 
tarily'^, and  in  no  other  way  ;  for  the  ques- 
tion does  not  concern  j^our  own  affairs 
onl3^  but  ours  also  ;  and  Tonna^'-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  collo- 
quies had  terminated,  when  I  learned  on 
my  return,  rather  late  it  is  true,  that 
Madame  had  sequestrated  her  maids  of 
honor,  and  that  we  are  to  sleep  in  her 
apartments,  instead  of  our  own  room. 
Moreover,  Madame  has  sequestrated  her 
maids  of  honor  in  order  that  thej'^  should 
not  have  the  time  to  concert  any  meas- 
ures together,  and  this  morning  she  was 
closeted  with  Tonnay-Charente  with  the 
same  object.  Tell  me,  then,  to  what  ex- 
tent Athenais  and   I  can  rely  upon  you. 


as  we  will  tell  you  in  what  way  you  can 
rely  upon  us  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  clearl3^  understand  the  ques- 
tion 3-ou  have  put,"  said  Louise,  much  agi- 
tated. 

"  Hum  !  and  yet,  on  the  contrary,  you 
seem  to  understand  me  very  well.  How- 
ever, 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  be- 
sieged town,  Louise  started.  "You  ask 
me,"  she  exclaimed,  "  if  I  love  Raoul,  the 
friend  of  nw  childhood — my  bt^other  al- 
most ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  Again  \-ou  evade  me,  or 
rather,  you  wish  to  escape  me.  I  do  not 
ask  you  if  3'ou  love  Raoul,  j^our  child- 
hood'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  3'ou,  so  answer  it." 

"  You  certainl}^  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 
ever^'thing  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  \qvj  well.  If  I  had  read 
it,  I  should  not  interrogate  you  as  I  have 
done  ;  I  should  simply  say — '  Mj-  good 
Louise,  3^ou  hav^e  the  happiness  of  an  ac- 
quaintance with  M.  de  Bragelonne,  who  is 
an  excellent  young  man,  and  an  advan- 
tageous match  for  a  girl  without  any 
fortune.  M.  de  la  Fere  will  leave  some- 
thing like  fifteen  thousand  livres  a  year  to 
his  son.  At  a  future  day,  then,  you,  as 
this  son's  wife,  will  have  fifteen  thousand 
livr^es  a  year,  which  is  not  bad.  Turn, 
then,  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the 


518 


WORKS     OF    ALEXAJNDRE    DUMAS. 


left,  but  go  frankly  to  M.  de  Bragelonne  : 
that  is  to  say,  to  the  altar  to  which  he 
will  lead  you.  Afterward,  why — after- 
ward, according  to  his  disposition,  3'ou 
will  be  emancipated  or  enslaved  ;  in  other 
words,  3^ou  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  j^our  heart.'' 

"And  I  should  have  thanked  you," 
stammered  out  Louise,  "  although  the  ad- 
vice does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  altogether 
good." 

"Wait,  wait.  But  immediately  after 
having  given  3'ou  that  advice,  I  should 
add  :  '  Louise,  it  is  very  dangerous  to 
pass  whole  days  with  j^our  head  reclin- 
ing on  your  bosom,  your  hands  unoccu- 
pied, your  eyes  restless  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  dan- 
gerous, Louise,  to  write  with  the  point 
of  3'our  foot,  as  you  do,  upon  the  gravel, 
certain  letters  which  it  is  useless  for  3'ou 
to  efface,  but  which  appear  again  under 
3'our  heel,  particularl}^  when  those  letters 
rather  resemble  the  letter  L,  than  the 
letter  B ;  and,  lastl\%  it  is  dangerous 
to  allow  the  mind  to  dwell  on  a  thou- 
sand 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  un- 
usual, 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  Valliere,  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  auN'  of  my  words, 
then,  to  yourself,  except  sucli  as  you 
think  you  deserve.  Stay,  1  hardly 
know  what  story  recurs  to  my  mem- 
ory of  some  silly  or  melancholy  young 
girl,  who  was  gradually  pining  away  be- 


cause she  fancied  that  the  prince,  or  the 
king,  or  the  emperor,  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,  which  ever  you 
please,  was  plainly  in  love  with  some 
one  else,  and — a  singular  circumstance, 
one,  indeed,  which  she  could  not  perceive, 
although  everN^  one  around  and  about  her, 
perceived  it  clearl3''  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  mis- 
chief that  such  a  melancholy  would  create 
in  your  brain — a  melancholy,  I  mean,  of 
that  kind.  For  mj'  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 
easilj'  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,  be- 
tween "young  girls  exposed  to  such  a 
danger  as  the  one  in  question,  the  most 
perfect  confidence  should  exist,  in  order 
that  those  hearts  which  are  not  disposed 
toward  melanchoh',  maj'^  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  ?  Everybod^'^  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 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


519 


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.  deBrag-elonnel"  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  fervor 
of  a  prayer,  effaced  all  trace  of  irony,  if 
not  from  Montalais's  heart,  at  least  from 
her  face. 

"  Whj',  you  are  as  handsome  as  Ama- 
dis.  Monsieur  de  Bragelonne,''  she  cried 
to  Raoul,  ''  and  armed  and  booted  like 
him  !  " 

"A  thousand  compliments,  young 
ladies,"  replied  Raoul,  bowing. 

"  But  wh}',  I  ask,  are  you  booted  in 
this  manner?  "  repeated  Montalais  ;  while 
La  Valliere,  although  she  looked  at  Raoul, 
with  a  surprise  equal  to  that  of  her  com- 
panion, nevertheless  uttered  not  a  word. 

"  Whj'  ?  "  inquired  Raoul. 

"Yes,"  ventured  Louise. 

"Because  I  am  about  to  setoff,"  said 
Bragelonne,  looking  at  Louise. 

The  young  girl  seemed  as  though  smit- 
ten by  some  superstitious  feeling  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  En- 
gland ?" 

*'  The  king  has  sent  me  there." 

"The  king  I  "  exclaimed  Louise  and 
Aure  together,  involuntarily  exchanging 
glances,  the  conversation  which  had  just 
been  interrupted  recurring  to  them  both. 

Raoul  intercepted  the  glance,  but  he 
could  not  understand  its  meaning,  and, 
naturall}'-  enough,  attributed  it  to  the  in- 
terest which  both  the  young  girls  took  in 
him. 

"His   majest}^,"    he   said,    "has  been 


good  enough  to  remember  that  the  Comte 
de  la  Fere  is  high  in  favor  with  King 
Charles  IL  This  morning,  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 
parah'zed  hy  this  unforeseen  event. 

"  Properl}^  to  obey-  those  whom  we  re- 
spect," said  Raoul,  "it  is  necessary-  to 
obe}^  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  honor  of  intrusting  to  me.  In  the 
meantime,  learning  from  Mademoiselle  de 
Tonnay-Charente  that  it  was  likely  you 
would  be  in  this  direction,  I  came  here, 
and  am  happy  to  find  3-ou  both." 

"  And.  both  of  us  very  suflFering,  as  j^ou 
see,"  said  Montalais,  going  to  Louise's 
assistance,  whose  countenance  was  visibly 
altered. 

"Suffering?"  repeated  Raoul,  pressing 
Louise's  hand  with  a  tender  curiosity. 
"Your  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  \ny  heart  will  never  be  cold 
toward  a  friend  like  yourself.  Monsieur  de 
Bragelonne." 

"  Thank  you,  Louise.  I  know  both  your 
heart  and  j^our  mind,  and  it  is  not  by  the 
touch  of  the  hand  that  one  can  judge  of  an 


520 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


affection  like  yours.  You  know,  Louise, 
how  devotedly  I  love  you,  with  what  per- 
fect and  unreserved  confidence  I  have  re- 
sig'ned  mj'life  to  you  ;  will  you  not  forgive 
me,  then,  for  speaking-  to  you  Avith  some- 
thing' like  the  frankness  of  a  child  ?  " 

"  Speak,  Monsieur  Raoul,"  said  Louise, 
trembling-  xevy  much  ;  *'  I  am  listening-." 

"  I  cannot  part  from  \'ou,  carrying-  away 
with  me  a  thought  which  torments  me. 
Absurd  I  know  it  to  be,  and  ^-et  one  which 
rends  m^^  very  heart." 

"Are  3-ou  going  away,  then,  for  any 
length  of  time?"  inquired  La  Valliere, 
with  a  thickened  utterance,  while  Monta- 
lais  turned  her  head  aside. 

''ISTo  ;  and  probabh'  I  shall  not  be  ab-' 
sent  more  than  a  fortnight."  La  Valliere 
pi'essed  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  which 
felt  as  though  it  were  breaking. 

"It  is  strange,"  pursued  Raoul,  look- 
ing at  the  young  girl  with  a  melancholy 
expression,  "  I  have  often  left  3'ou  when 
setting  off  on  adventures  fraught  with 
danger.  Then  I  started  jox-oush'  enough 
— my  heart  free,  my  mind  intoxicated  b}' 
the  thought  of  happiness  in  store  for  me, 
of  hopes  of  which  the  future  was  full; 
and  3'et,  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 
m  search  of  a  glorious  recompense,  which 
tliis  mark  of  the  king's  favor  seems  to 
indicate;  for  I  am,  perhaps,  going  to  win 
you,  Louise.  What  other  favor,  more 
precious  than  yourself,  could  the  king  con- 
fer upon  me?  Yet,  Louise,  in  very  truth, 
I  know  not  how'  or  wh}^  but  this  happi- 
ness and  this  future  seem  to  vanish  from 
my  eyes  like  smoke — like  an  idle  dream  ; 
and  I  feel  here,  here,  at  the  ver}''  bottom 
of  TCij  heart,  a  deep-seated  grief,  a  dejec- 
tion which  I  cannot  overcome — something 
heavy,  passionless,  death-like,  resembling 
a  corpse.  Oh,  Louise,  too  well  do  I  know 
whj'^ ;  it  is  because  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  verj^  easil}'  impressed,  felt  the 
tears  rush  to  her  ej-es.  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  tendei*- 
l}'-  kissed  her  hand  ;  and  it  was  evident 
that  in  tliat  kiss  he  poured  out  liis  whole 
heart  before  her. 

"Rise,  rise,"  said  Montalais  to  him, 
herself  ready  to  cr}- :  "for  Athenais  is 
coming." 

Raoul  rose,  brushed  his  knee  with  the 
back  of  his  hand,  smiled  again  upon  Louise, 
whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground,  and, 
having  pressed  Montalais's  hand  grate- 
fullj',  he  turned  round  to  salute  Mademoi- 
selle de  Tonnay-Charente,  the  sound  of 
whose  silken  robe  was  already  heard  upon 
the  gravel-walk.  "  Has  Madame  finished 
her  letter?  "  lie  inquired,  when  the  young 
girl  came  within  reach  of  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  the  letter  is  finished,  sealed,  and 
her  royal  highness  is  read^*  to  receive  you." 

Raoul,  at  this  remark,  hardly  gave  him- 
self 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  3'oung 
girls,  on  their  side,  had,  with  very  differ- 
ent feelings,  w^atched  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  understanding 
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  pos- 
sible, in  the  first  place,  our  own  dut^^ 
such  as  I  imagine  it  to  be,  and  if  you  do 
not  understand  a  hint,  what  is  Madame's 
desire  on  the  subject."  And  Mademoi- 
selle de  Tonnay-Charente  pronounced 
these  words  in  such  a  tone  as  to  leave 
no  doubt,  in  her  companions'  minds,  upon 
the  official  character  with  wliich  she  was 
invested . 

"Madame's  desire  I  "  exclaimed  Mon- 
talais and  La  Valliere  together. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


521 


"■  Her  ultimatum,"  replied  Mademoiselle 
de  TonnaA^-Charente,  diplomatically. 

"But/"'  murmured  La  Valliere,  ''does 
Madame  know,  then — "' 

"  Madame  knows  more  about  the  mat- 
ter 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  ?  " 

"Oh  !  do  not  frighten  yourself  in  that 
manner,"  said  Athenais  ;  "  we  have  found 
a  remed}^  for  it."  So,  seating  herself  be- 
tween her  two  companions,  and  taking 
each  of  them  b}'  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  en- 
tering the  chateau,  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  Malicorne  had  met  Manicamp  ? 
Nothing  more  simple,  for  he  had  awaited 
his  return  from  mass,  where  he  had  ac- 
companied M.  de  Saint-Aignan.  When 
they  had  met,  they  congratulated  each 
other  upon  their  good  fortune,  and  Mani- 
camp had  availed  himself  of  the  circum- 
stance to  ask  his  friend  if  he  had  not  a 
few  crowns  still  remaining  at  the  bottom 
of  his  pocket.  The  latter,  without  ex- 
pressing any  surprise  at  the  question,  and 
which  he  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,  unhappilj',  abuse  had 
produced  barrenness.  To  this  remark, 
Manicamp,  deep  in  thought,  had  replied, 
"Quite  true!" 

"  The  question,  then,  is  how  to  fill  it  ?  " 
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  with- 
out money." 

"Quite  ti'ue,"  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  pres- 
ent moment,  we  cannot  ask  Monsieur  for 
anything. ' ' 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because  we  are  not  on  good  terms 
with  him." 

"A  great  absurdity',  too,"  said  Mali- 
corne promptly. 

"'  Bah  !  and  if  we  were  to  show  Madame 
any  attention,"  said  Manicamp,  "frankly- 
speaking,  do  you  think  we  should  please 
Monsieur  ?  " 

"  Precisely ;  if  we  show  Madame  an3' 
attention,  and  do  so  adroitly.  Monsieur 
ought  to  adore  us." 

"Hum!" 

"Either  that,  or  we  are  great  fools: 
make  haste,  therefore,  M.  Manicamp,  you 
who  are  so  able  a  politician,  to  make  M. 
de  Guiche  and  his  ro^'al  highness  friendly 
again." 

"  Tell  me,  what  did  M.  de  Saint-Aignan 
tell  you,  Malicorne  ?  " 


522 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  Tell  me  ?  nothing" ;  he  asked  uie  sev- 
eral 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  Mali- 
corne,  ironically;  "and  everj'bodN'  talks 
about  it  loud  enough  for  every  one  to 
know  it;  but  in  the  meantime,  do  what  I 
advise  you ;  speak  to  M.  de  Guiche,  and 
endeavor  to  g-et  hiin  to  make  an  advance 
toward  Monsieur.  Deuce  take  it !  he  owes 
his  ro3^al  highness  that,  at  least." 

''  But  we  must  see  De  Guiche,  then  ?  " 

"Tliere  does  not  seem  to  be  any  great 
difficult}^  in  that ;  try  to  see  .  him  in  the 
same  way  I  tried  to  see  jon  ;  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 ;  j'ou  will  find  him  walking 
about  on  the  side  of  the  chateau  where 
her  apartments  are." 

"  Stay,  my  dear  Malicorne,  3^011  were 
not  mistaken,  for  here  he  is  coming." 

"  Why  should  I  be  mistaken  ?  Have 
3'^ou  ever  noticed  that  I  am  in  the  habit 
of  making  a  mistake  ?  Come,  we  only 
need  to  understand  each  other.  Are  j^ou 
in  want  of  mone^^  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Manicamp,  mourn- 
fully. 

"Well,  I  want  my  appointment.  Let 
Malicorne  have  the  appointment,  and 
Manicamp  shall  have  the  money.  There 
is  no  greater  difficult}'  in  the  way  than 
that." 

' '  Very  well ;  in  that  case  make  your- 
self easy.     I  will  do  m}^  best." 

"Do  so." 

De  Guiche  approached,  Malicorne 
stepped  aside,  and  Manicamp  caught 
hold  of  De  Guiche,  who  was  thoughtful 
and  melancholy.  "  Tell  me,  ray  dear 
comte,  what  rhj^me  3'ou  were  trying  to 
find,"  said  Manicamp.  "I  have  an  excel- 
lent one  to  match  3'ours,  particularly  if 
yours  ends  in  a/ne." 


De  Guiche  shook  his  head,  and,  recog- 
nizing- a  friend,  he  took  him  by  the  arm. 
"  M}^  dear  Manicamp,"  he  said,  "I  am 
in  search  of  something-  very  different  from 
a  rhyme." 

"What  is  it  \'ou  are  looking-  for?" 

'■  You  will  help  me  to  find  what  I  am 
in  search  of,"  continued  the  comte  ;  "3'ou, 
who  are  such  an  idle  fellow,  in  other 
words,  a  man  with  a  mind  full  of  ing-en- 
ious  devices  ?  " 

"  I  am  getting- .  my  ingenuity  read}', 
then,  ni}'  dear  comte." 

"  This  is  the  state  of  the  case,  then  :  1 
wish  to  approach  to  a  particular  house, 
where  I  have  some  business." 

"You  must  g-et  near  to  the  house, 
then,"  said  Manicamp. 

"  Ver}^  good  ;  but  in  this  house  dwells 
a  husband  who  happens  to  be  jealous." 

"  Is  he  more  jealous  than  the  dog  Cer- 
berus? " 

"  Not  more,  but  quite  as  much  so." 

"  Has  he  three  mouths,  as  that  obdur- 
ate guardian  of  the  infernal  regions  had  ? 
Do  not  shrug-  your  shoulders,  vay  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,  the  light  of 
realit}',  I  sa}' :  one  cake  is  very  little  for 
three  mouths.  If  your  jealous  husband 
has  three  mouths,  comte,  g-et  three 
cakes." 

"Manicamp,  I  can  get  such  advice  as 
that  from  M.  de  Beautru." 

"In  order  to  g-et  better  advice,"  said 
Manicamp,  with  a  comical  seriousness  of 
expression,  "3'ou  will  be  obig-ed  to  adopt 
a  more  precise  formula  than  3'ou  have 
used  toward  me." 

"If  Raoul  were  here,"  said  De  Guiche, 
"  he  would  be  sure  to  understand  me." 

"So  I  think,  particular!}^  if  you  said  to 
him:  'I  should  ver}'  much  like  to  see 
Madame  a  little  nearer,  but  I  fear  Mon- 
sieur, because  he  is  jealous." 

"Manicamp!"  cried  the  comte,  an- 
grily, and  endeavoring  to  overwhelm  his 
I  tormentor  b}^  a  look,  who  did  not,  how- 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


523 


ever,  appear  to  be  in  the  slig-htest  deg-ree 
disturbed  b3-  it. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now,  my  dear 
comte  ?  "  inquired  Manicamp. 

'•■  What  I  is  it  thus  that  you  bias  heme 
the  most  sacred  of  names  ?  " 

'''  What  names  ?  '' 

"Monsieur!  Madame!  the  highest  names 
in  the  kingdom." 

''  You  are  very  strangeh'  mistaken,  vaj 
dear  comte,  I  never  mentioned  the  high- 
est names  in  the  kingdom.  I  merely  an- 
swered 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, 
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 ;  vers'  well,  I  shall  say  : 

Let  us  get  into  the  house  in  some  wa}'  or 
another;  for  that  is  a  tactic  which  cannot 
in  any  case  be  unfavorable  to  your  love 
affair." 

^' Ah  !  Manicamp,  if  you  could  find  me 
a  pretext,  a  good  pretext." 

"  A  pretext ;  I  can  find  3'ou  a  hundred, 
naj'^,  a  thousand.  If  Malicorne  were  here, 
he  would  have  already  hit  upon  fifty  thou- 
sand excellent  pretexts." 

"  Who  is  Malicorne?"  replied  De  Guiche, 
half  shutting  his  eyes  like  a  person  refiect- 
ing ;  "  I  seem  to  know  that  name." 

"  Know  him  !  I  should  think  so ;  you 
owe  his  father  thirt}^  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  Mali- 
corne is  such  an  inventive  genius,  let  him 
find  me  a  means  of  being  adored  by  Mon- 
sieur, and  a  pretext  to  make  my  peace 
with  him." 

"  Very  good  ;  I'll  talk  to  him  about  it." 

'•'  But  who  is  that  cominer?  " 


"The  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne." 

"  Raoul !  yes,  it  is  he,"  said  De  Guiche, 
as  he  hastened  forward  to  meet  him. 
"  You  here,  Raoul !  "  said  De  Guiche. 

"  Yes,  I  was  looking  for  you  to  say 
farewell,"  replied  Raoul,  warmly  pressing 
the  comte's  hands.  "  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  ma  jest  \-  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  Mon- 
sieur's gentlemen  in  waiting,  will  under- 
take to  make  m}'  excuses  to  him.  I  should 
have  waited  in  order  to  receive  any  direc- 
tions he  might  have  to  give  me,  if  the 
desire  for  my  immediate  departure  had 
not  been  intimated  to  me  by  M.  Fouquet 
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,  Raoul.'' 
And  the  two  friends  thereupon  took  a 
warm  leave  of  each  other.  Five  minutes 
afterward  Raoul  entered  Madame's  apart- 
ments, 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-colored  taper  which  she  had  used 
to  seal  it.  Only  in  her  deep  reflection,  for 
Madame  seemed  to  be  buried  in  thought, 
she  had  forgotten  to  extinguish  the  taper. 
Bragelonne  was  expected,  and  was  an- 
nounced, therefore,  as  soon  as  he  ap- 
peared. Bragelonne  was  a  very  model  of 
elegance  in  every  way  ;  it  was  impossible 
to  see  him  once  without  always  remember- 
ing him  :  and,  not  only  had  Madame  seen 


524 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


him  once,  but  it  will  not  be  forgotten  he 
was  one  of  the  veiy  first  who  liad  gone  to 
meet  her,  and  had  accompanied  her  from 
Havre  to  Paris.  Madame  had  preserved, 
therefore,  an  excellent  recollection  of  him. 

"Ah!  M.  de  Brag-elonne,"  she  said  to 
him,  "  you  are  g'oing  to  see  m\'  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  ren- 
der the  king,  by  the  kindness  which  the 
king  manifested  toward  him,  and  it  is  I 
who  will  have  to  convey  to  his  majest}^ 
the  assurance  of  the  respect,  devotion, 
and  gratitude  of  father  and  son." 

"  Do  you  know  my  brother  ?  " 

'^No,  your  highness;  I  shall  have  the 
honor  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  unhesitatingly  for  j^our  surety." 

"  Your  royal  highness  overwhelms  me 
with  your  kindness." 

''  No  !  M.  de  Bragelonne,  I  well  remem- 
ber that  we  were  fellow-travelers  once, 
and  that  I  remarlced  j^our  extreme  pru- 
dence in  the  midst  of  the  extravagant 
absurdities  committed,  on  both  sides,  b}' 
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 tliere  permanently'? 
Forgive  my  inquiry,  but  it  is  not  curiosity, 
but  a  desire  to  be  of  service  to  you  in  an^-- 
thing  that  I  can  do." 

"No,  madame  ;  I  am  going  to  England 
to  fulfill  a  mission  which  his  majesty  has 
been  kind  enough  to  confide  to  me — noth- 
ing 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  ver}--  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  beforehand  entieat 
3-our  royal  highness  to  have  the  goodness 
to  ren'iind  the  king  of  France  that  one  of 
his  devoted  servants  is  far  awaj'^  from 
him." 

"Take  care  that  at  the  time  you  are 
recalled  jow  do  not  consider  his  command 
as  an  abuse  of  power." 

"  I  do  not  understand  3'ou,  madame." 

"'  The  court  of  France  is  not  easilj'^ 
matched,  I  am  aware ;  but  yet  we  liave 
some  prett}'  women  at  the  court  of  En- 
gland also."     Raoul  smiled. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Madame,  "yours  is  a  smile 
which  portends  no  good  to  m}'  countrj^- 
women.  It  is  as  though  3'ou  were  telling 
them.  Monsieur  de  Bragelonne  :  '  I  visit 
3'ou,  but  I  leave  my  heart  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Channel.'  Did  not  3'our  Fmile 
indicate  that  ?  " 

"  Your  highness  is  gifted  with  the  power 
of  reading  the  inmost  depths  of  the  soul, 
and  you  will  understand,  tlierefore,  wlw, 
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." 

"In  that  case,  do  not  delay  3'our  de- 
parture, Monsieur  de  Bragelonne,  and 
delay  not  3^our  return,  for  on  xour  return 
we  shall  see  two  persons  happ3' ;  for  I 
hope  no  obstacle  exists  to  3' our  felicity." 

"There  is  a  great  obstacle,  madame." 

"Indeed  !  what  is  it?" 

"The  king's  wishes  on  the  subject." 

"  The  king  opposes  3'our  marriage  ?" 

"  He  postpones  it,  at  least.  I  sohcited 
his  majest3''s  consent  through  the  Comte 
de  la  Fere,  and  without  absolutel3'  refus- 
ing it,  he  at  least  positiveh'  said  it  must 
be  deferred." 

"  Is  the  3'oung  lad3'-  whom  3'ou  love  un- 
worth3''  of  3^ovi  then  ?" 

"She  is  worthy  of  a  king's  affection, 
madame." 

"  I  mean,  she  is  not,  perhaps,  of  birth 
equal  to  3'our  own." 

''  Her  famil3'^  is  excellent." 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


525 


"  Is  she  3'Oimi?-,  beautiful  V 
"  She  is  seventeen,  and,  in  m3'  opinion, 
exceedingly  beautiful." 

"  Is  she  in  the  country,  or  at  Paris  ?" 
''She  is  here,  at   Fontainebieau,  mad- 
ame." 

"  At  the  court  ?" 

''  Yes." 

'•'  Do  I  know  her  ?" 

"  She  has  the  honor  to  form  one  of  your 
highness's  household." 

"Her  name?"  inquired  the  princess, 
anxiousl}^ ;  "  if>  indeed,"  she  added  hastily, 
*'her  name  is  not  a  secret." 

"  No,  madame,  vay  affection  is  too  pure 
for  me  to  make  a  secret  of  it  for  any  one, 
and  with  still  greater  reason  for  your 
ro3^al  highness,  whose  kindness  toward  me 
has  been  so  extreme.  It  is  Mademoiselle 
Louise  de  la  Valliere." 

Madame  could  not  restrain  an  exclama- 
tion, in  which  a  feeling  stronger  than  sur- 
prise might  have  been  detected,  ''Ah  I" 
she  said,  "  La  Valliere — she  who  yester- 
day— "  she  paused,  and  then  continued, 
"  she  who  was  taken  ill,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,  madame  ;  it  was  only  this  morn- 
ing that  I  heard  of  the  accident  which 
had  befallen  her." 

"  Did  3'ou  see  her  before  you  came  to 
me  ?  " 

"  I  had  the  honor  of  taking  leave  of 
her." 

"  And  you  saj'-,"  resumed  Madame, 
making  a  powerful  effort  over  herself, 
"that  the  king  has — deferred  your  mar- 
riage with  this  young  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  Brage- 
lonne  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  j'ou  in  the  king's  name."  And 
Madame  rose  to  place  her  letter  in  Brage- 
lonne's  hands.  Raoul  understood  that  his 
audience  was  at  an  end  ;  he  took  the  let- 
ter, 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 
this  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  pressing  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  ad- 
vanced to  meet  Monsieur,  who,  having 
just  finished  bathing,  was  returning  to- 
ward the  chateau,  wearing  a  woman's  veil 
to  protect  his  face  from  getting  burned  by 
the  sun,  which  was  already  ver}^  power- 
ful. Monsieur  was  in  one  of  those  fits  of 
good  humor  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  bodj'^  with 
that  of  his  courtiers,  and,  thanks  to  the 
care  which  his  royal  highness  took  of  him- 
self, 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  healtl\v  im- 
mersion in  the  cool  water,  he  was  in  a 
light  and  cheerful  state  of  mind  and  body. 
So  that,  at  the  sight  of  Guiche,  who  ad- 
vanced to  meet  him  at  a  hand  gallop, 
mounted  upon  a  magnificent  white  horse, 
the  prince  could  not  restrain  an  exclama- 
tion of  delight. 

"  I  think  matters  look  well,"  said  Mani- 
camp, who  fancied  he  could  read  this 
friendly  disposition  upon  his  royal  high- 
ness's  countenance. 

"Good-day,  De  Guiche,  good-da^^"  ex- 
claimed the  prince. 

"  Long  life  to  your  royal  highness  !  "  re- 


526 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


plied  De  Guiche,  cncourag-ed  b^^  the  tone 
of  Philip's  voice  ;  "  health,  joy,  happiness, 
and  prosperity  to  your  highness." 

"  Welcome,  De  Guiche,  come  on  013' 
right  side,  but  keep  j^our  horse  in  hand, 
for  I  wish  to  return  at  a  walking"  pace, 
under  the  cool  shade  of  these  trees." 

"  As3^ou  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  m}^ 
wife." 

Guiche  blushed  to  theverj'-  whites  of  his 
eyes,  while  Monsieur  burst  out  laughing, 
as  though  he  had  made  the  wittiest  re- 
mark in  the  world.  The  few  privileged 
courtiers  who  surrounded  Monsieur 
thought  it  their  duty  to  follow  his  ex- 
ample, although  the}^  had  not  heard  the 
remark,  and  a  noisy  burst  of  laughter  im- 
mediatel}^  followed,  beginning  with  the 
first  courtier,  passing  on  through  the 
whole  company,  and  only  terminating 
with  the  last.  De  Guiche,  although 
blushing  extremely,  put  a  good  counte- 
nance on  the  matter  :  Manicamp  looked 
at  him. 

'*' Ah  !  monseigneur,"  replied  De  Gui- 
che, "show  a  little  charity  toward  such 
a  miserable  fellow  as  I  am  ;  do  not  hold 
me  up  to  the  ridicule  of  the  Chevalier  de 
Lorraine." 

"  How  do  3"ou  mean  ?  " 

"  If  he  hears  you  ridicule  me,  he  will  go 
beyond  3'our  highness,  and  will  show  no 

pity." 

"  About  3'our  passion  and  the  princess, 
do  3'ou  mean  ?  " 

"For  mercy's  sake,  monseigneur." 

"  Come,  come,  De  Guiche,  confess  that 
3'OU  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  3'ou  from  3^our  respect,  De 
Guiche.  Confess,  as  if  it  were  simply  a 
question  about  Mademoiselle  de  Chalais 
and  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere." 

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.  1  hit  you  and  my  brother 
at  the  same  time,  Chalais  and  La  Val- 
liere, 3'-our  affianced  bride  and  his  future 
lady-love." 

"  Reall3^,  monseigneur,"  said  the  comte, 
"  3^ou  are  in  a  most  brilliant  humor  to 
day." 

"  The  fact  is,  I  feel  well,  and  then  I  am 
pleased  to  see  you  again.  But  3^0 u  were 
angr3'  with  me,  were  you  not  ?  " 

"  I,  monseigneur  ?  Wh3^  should  I  have 
been  so  ?  " 

"  Because  I  interfered  with  3^our  sara- 
bands and  your  other  Spanish  amuse- 
ments. !N'a3%  do  not  den3''  it.  On  that 
da3^  3"ou  left  the  princess's  apartments 
with  3^our  e3'^es  full  of  fury;  that  brought 
3'ou  ill-luck,  for  3^ou  danced  in  the  ballet 
3^esterday  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  attentivel3^  yesterday,  I  am  quite 
sure  of  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that,  monseigneur  ?  Your 
highness  alarms  me." 

"She  has  quite  forsworn  3'ou  now," 
said  the  prince,  with  a  burst  of  loud 
laughter. 

"Decidedl3^,"  thought  Manicamp,  "rank 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  all  men  are 
alike." 

The  prince  continued  :  "At  all  events, 
3^ou  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  jeal- 
ous of  3'ou." 

"  Bah  !  it  is  not  possible." 

"It  is  the  case,  though." 

"He  does  me  too  much  honor,  then." 

"The  fact  is,  that  when  you  are  here 
he  is  full  of  kindness  and  attention,  but 
when  3'ou  are  gone  he  makes  me  suffer  a 
perfect  mart3'rdom.  I  am  like  a  see-saw. 
Besides,  3^ou  do  not  know  the  idea  which 
has  struck  me  ?  " 

"I  do  not  even  suspect  it." 

"  Well,  then  ;  when  3'ou  were  in  exile. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


521 


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,  certainh^  my  dearcomte," 

replied  his   royal   highness,    "upon     my 

honor,  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 
g-oes,  I  do  not  say  it  is  not  the  case. 
Why,  what  the  deuce  did  you  do  or  say 
to  Madame  ?  " 

"  Really,  monseigneur—" 
''Women,  I  know,  have  their  grudges, 
and  my  wdle  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,  monseig-neur,"  said  De 
Guiche,  "  I  am  not  unhappy  altogether," 
Manicamp,  who  w^as  following  closely 
behind  De  Guiche,  and  who  did  not  lose 
a  word  of  what  the  prince  w^as  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  un- 
disturbed—began to  bully  me,  I,  observ- 
ing that  my  wife,  in  the  most  perfect  con- 
trast to  him,  was  most  kind  and  amiable 
toward  me,  who  had  neglected  her  so 
much,  the  idea  occurred  to  me  of  becom- 
ing a  model  husband — a  rarity,  a  curios- 
it3',  at  the  court;  and  I  had  an  idea  of 
getting  very  fond  of  my  wife." 

De  Guiche  looked  at  the  prince  with  a 
stupefied  expression  of  countenance,  which 
was  not  assumed. 

"  Oh  !  monseigneur,"  De  Guiche  stam- 
mered 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  France  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  wiiere  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  shud- 
der, monseigneur,"  replied  De  Guiche,  who 
shuddered  in  reality^ 

"  Ah  !  I  see  you  would  never  be  able  to 
endure  being  exiled  a  second  tune." 
•'  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  disUke  to  the  court  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  do  not  let  that  make  any  differ- 
ence, monseigneur;  I  would  follow  your 
highness  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

"  Clumsy  fellow,  that  you  are  !  "  said 
Manicamp,  grumblingly,  pushing  his  horse 
toward  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  w^hispered,  "For  goodness' 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,  monseig- 
neur," replied  De  Guiche,  in  a  joyous 
tone,  "  whenever  you  like,  and  at  once, 
too.     Are  \'ou  ready  ?  " 

And  De  Guiche,  laughingly,  gave  his 
horse  the  rein,  and  galloped  forward  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  proj- 
ect of  conjugal  affection,  it  is  necessary  I 
should  take  ray  wife  with  me." 

"In  that   case,    monseigneur,"  replied 
the  comte,  "'  I  am  greatly  concerned,  but 
no  De  Guiche  for  you." 
"  Bah  !  " 
"  Yes.— Why  do  you  take  Madame  with 


vou 


9  " 


528 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


*' Because  I  beg-in  to  see  that  I  love 
her,"  said  the  prince. 

De  Guiche  turned  shg-htly  pale,,  but  en- 
deavored to  preserve  his  seeming-  cheer- 
fulnesSo 

"  If  you  love  Madame,  monseig-neur," 
he  said,  *' that  ought  to  be  quite  enoug-h 
for  you,  and  you  have  no  further  need  of 
your  friends." 

''Not  bad,  not  bad,"  murmured  Mani- 
camp. 

"There,  3'our  fear  of  Madame  has  be- 
g-un  ag-ain,"  replied  the  prince. 

''Why,  monseig-neur,  I  have  experi- 
enced 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  mal- 
ice." 

"  I  should  like  the  case  to  be  your  own, 
monseig-neur." 

'-'  Decidedly,  then,  that  was  the  reason 
why  you  danced  so  badly  yesterday  ;  you 
wished  to  reveng-e  3-ourself,  I  suppose,  by 
trying  to  make  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, 
monseig-neur,  for  her  hig-hness  cannot  hate 
me  more  than  she  does." 

"Nonsense,  you  are  exag-g-erating- ;  and 
this  because  merely  of  the  fortnight's  so- 
journ in  the  country  she  imposed  on  you." 

"  Monseig-neur,  a  fortnig-ht  is  a  fort, 
night ;  and  when  the  time  was  passed  in 
g-etting-  sick  and  tired  of  everything-,  a 
fortnight  is  an  eternity-." 

"  So  that  3^ou  will  not  forg-ive  her  ?  " 

"Never  !  " 

"  Come,  come,  De  Guiche,  be  a  better 
disposed  fellow  than  that.  I  wish  to  make 
your  peace  with  her  ;  3'ou  will  find,  in 
conversing-  with  hei-,  that  she  has  no 
malice  or  unkind ness  in  her  nature,  and 
that  she  is  very  talented." 

"  Monseig-neur — " 

"  You  will  see,  that  she  can  receive  her 
friends  like  a  princess,  and  laugh  like  a 
citizen's  wife  ;  j'ou  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  husband  whose 
wife's  name  will  bring-  him  ill-luck,  and 
King-  Candaules,  of  old,  was  a  complete 
tig-er  beside  his  royal  hig-hness." 

"At  all  events,"  added  the  prince,  "I 
am  sure  you  will  make  it  up  with  my 
wife ;  I  g-uarantee  you  will  do  so.  Only, 
I  must  show  you  the  w^y  now.  There  is 
nothing-  common-place  about  her,  and  it 
is  not  every  one  who  takes  her  fancy." 

"Monseig-neur — " 

"  No  resistance,  De  Guiche,  or  I  shall 
get  out  of  temper,"  replied  the  prince. 

"Well,  since  he  will  have  it  so,"  mur- 
mured 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  evening  in  Mad- 
ame's  apartment ;  you  will  dine  with  me, 
and  I  will  take  you  there  with  me." 

"Oh!  as  for  that,  monseigneur,"  ob- 
jected De  Guiche,  "you  will  allow  me  to 
object." 

"  What,  again  !  this  is  positive  rebell- 
ion." 

"  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  yoxi  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  com- 
mands it." 

"  Positively." 

"He'll  not  let  go  his  hold,"  said  Mani- 
camp; "  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  apart- 
ments of  the  chateau. 

"  By-the-by,"  said  De  Guiche,  as  they 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE, 


529 


were  standing-  by  the  door,  "  I  had  a  com- 
mission for  your  royal  highness." 

"Execute  it,  then." 

''M.  de  Brag-elonne  has,  by  the  king's 
order,  set  off  for  London,  and  he  charged 
me  with  his  respects  for  you,  monseig- 
neur." 

"A  pleasant  journej'  to  the  vicomte, 
whom  I  like  very  much.  Go  and  dress 
yourself,  De  Guiche,  and  come  back  for 
me.     If  you  don't  come  back — " 

''What    will    happen    then,    monseig- 


neur 


9  " 


"  I  will  get  you  sent  to  the  Bastille." 

"Well,"  said  De  Guiche,  laughing, 
*'his  roj'al  highness,  Monseigneur,  is  de- 
cideh^  the  counterpart  of  her  ro^-al  high- 
ness, 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  1  cannot  do  without  you.  Return  as 
soon  as  3'^ou  can." 

"Very  well ;  but  I  am  in  the  humor  to 
prove  myself  difficult  to  be  pleased  in  my 
turn,  monseigneur." 

"'  Bah  !  " 

"'  So,  I  will  not  return  to  your  royal 
highness,  except  upon  one  condition." 

"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  a  place  ?  " 

"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  3'our  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  al- 
ways been  told  that  he  could  make  as 
much  as  he  pleased  when  he  was  thor- 
oughly employed." 

"What  do  you  call  being  thoroughly 
occupied,  prince?" 

"  It  means,  of  course,  when  the  func- 
tionary 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  ex- 
pensive 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. 
Melicorne — " 

"Malicorne,  monseigneur." 

"  I  shall  never  get  hold  of  that  name." 

"  You  say  Manicamp  very  well,  mon- 
seigneur." 

"  Oh,  I  ought  to  say  Malicorne  very 
well,  too.     Custom  will  help  me." 

"'  Saj^  what  you  like,  monseigneur,  I 
can  promise  you  that  your  inspector  of 
apartments  will  not  be  annoyed ;  he  is 
the  very  happiest  disposition  that  can  be 
met  with." 

"'  Well,  then,  my  dear  De  Guiche,  in- 
form him  of  his  nomination.  But, 
stay — " 

"  What  is  it,  monseigneur  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  see  him  beforehand ;  if  he 
be  as  ugly  as  his  name,  I  retract  what  I 
have  said." 

"Your  highness   knows  him,   for  you 


530 


WOh'A'S     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


have  alreadj^  seen  him  at  the  Palais 
Roj^al ;  nay,  indeed,  it  was  I  who  pre- 
sented  hira   to  3'0ii." 

'*Ah,  I  remember  now — not  a  bad- 
looking-  fellow." 

"I  knew  3"ou  must  have  noticed  him, 
monseig-neur/' 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes.  You  see,  De  Guiclie, 
I  do  not  wish  that  either  my  wife  or  my- 
self should  have  ug-l^--  faces  before  our 
eyes.  M}'^  wife  will  have  all  her  maids  of 
honor  pretty- ;  I,  all  the  gentlemen  about 
me  g-ood-looking-.  In  this  way,  De  Guiche, 
you  see,  that  an}'  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,  monseig- 
neur,"  said  Manicamp,  showing  his  ap- 
proval hy  look  and  voice  at  the  same 
time. 

As  for  De  Guiche,  he  verj^  probabl.y  did 
not  find  the  arg-ument  so  convincing,  for 
he  mei-ely  signified  his  opinion  by  a  g-es- 
ture,  Avliich,  moreover,  exhibited  in  a 
marked  manner  great  indecision  of  mind 
on  the  subject,  Manicamp  went  off  to 
inform  Malicorne  of  the  g-ood  news  he 
had  just  learned.  De  Guiche  seemed  ver}^ 
unwilling-  to  take  his  departure  for  the 
purpose  of  dressing-  himself.  Monsieur, 
singing-,  laughing-,  and  admiring-  himself, 
passed  awa}'  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, 

Every  one  had  partaken  of  the  ban- 
quet at  the  chateau,  aud  had  afterward 
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  toilet  two  hours,  every- 
body was  ready  about  eig-ht  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  Toward  eight  o'clock,  there- 
fore, the  guests  began  to  arrive  at  Mad- 
ame's,  for  we  have  alreadj'  intimated  it 
was  Madame  who  "received"  that  even- 


ing. 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  prin- 
cess, had  not  been  able  to  confer  upon  her 
reunions.  For,  unfortunatel}^  one  of  the 
advantages  of  goodness  of  disposition,  is, 
that  it  is  far  less  amusing  than  wit  of  an 
ill-natured  character.  And  3'et,  let  us 
hasten  to  add,  that  such  a  style  of  wit 
could  not  be  applied  to  Madame,  for  her 
disposition  of  mind,  naturally  of  the  ver}- 
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  Avith  a  spirit  of  resistance— 
a  gift  very  frequently  fatal  to  its  pos- 
sessor, 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  feel-^ 
ings  of  Maria-Theresa.  Her  heart  re- 
bounded at  each  attack,  and,  therefore, 
whenever  she  was  attacked,  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  dis- 
position, or  simpl}'  waywardness  of  char- 
acter ?  We  regard  those  rich  and  power- 
ful natures  as  like  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
producing  good  and  evil  at  the  same  time  ; 
a  double  branch,  alwaj's  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  b}'  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  Avhich 
she  allowed  to  every  one  of  making  any 
remark  he  pleased,  on  the  condition,  how- 
ever, that  the  remark  was  amusing  or 
sensible.  And  it  will  hardh'^  be  believed 
that,  by  that  means,  there  was  less  talk- 


THE     VICOMTE    BE    BRAGELONNE. 


531 


11114-  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  humors  to  make  even  poets 
meditate  ;  suflaciently  pretty  to  dazzle  by 
her  attractions,  even  among  the  prettiest ; 
sufficiently^  witty  for  the  most  distin- 
guished persons  who  were  present  to  listen 
to  her  with  pleasure — it  will  easily  be  be- 
lieved that  the  reunions  which  were  held 
in  Madame's  apartments  must  naturally 
have  proved  very  attractive.  All  who 
were  young  flocked  there  ;  and  when  the 
king  himself  happens  to  be  young,  eveiy- 
body  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  individ- 
uals indulged,  who  had  carried  the  love  of 
authorit}^  so  far  as  even  to  have  taken  the 
command  of  bodies  of  soldiers  in  the  war 
of  the  Fronde,  in  order,  as  Madame  as- 
serted, not  to  lose  their  influence  over  men 
altogether.  As  eight  o'clock  struck,  her 
roj'^al  highness  entered  the  g'reat  drawing- 
room,  accompanied  by  her  ladies  in  at- 
tendance, and  found  several  gentlemen 
belonging  to  the  court  alread}^  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. 

However,  almost  at  the  very  moment 
she  had  completed  her  investigation. 
Monsieur  was  announced.  Monsieur 
looked  splendid.  All  the  precious  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  admirably  assumed.  De  Guiche 
wore  a  costume  of  French-gray  velvet, 
embroidered  with  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  colors,  and  preferred 
red  for  hangings,  gray  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  pallor  of  complexion,  a 
languid  expression  of  the  ej'es,  his  white 
hands  seen  throug'h  the  masses  of  lace 
which  covered  them,  the  melancholy  ex- 
pression of  his  mouth — it  was  only  neces- 
sary, 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  similar  man- 
ner to  himself,  was,  on  the  contrary,  com- 
pletely eclipsed  in  all  imaginations,  which 
are  verj^  silent  judges  certainly,  but  very 
positive  and  high  in  their  judgment. 
Madame  had  looked  at  De  Guiche  slight- 
ly', but,  slight  as  her  look  had  been,  it 
had  brought  a  delightful  color  to  his  face. 
In  fact,  Madame  had  found  De  Guiche  so 
handsome  and  so  admirably  dressed  that 
she  almost  ceased  regretting  the  royal 
conquest  w^hich  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  unhapp}'^ 
exile,  whom  I  would  venture  to  recom- 
mend 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 


532 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


are  you  speaking-  of?  "  inquired  Madame, 
looking-  all  round,  and  not  permitting  her 
g-lance  to  rest  more  on  the  count  than  on 
the  otliers. 

This  was  the  moment  to  present  De 
Guicli(%  and  the  prince  drew  aside  and  let 
De  Guiche  pass  him,  wlio,  with  a  tolerably 
well-assumed  awkwardness  of  manner, 
approached  Madame  and  made  his  rev- 
erence to  her. 

''What!"  exclaimed  Madame,  as  if 
she  were  g-reatly  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  onl}''  person  we  see  here." 

"You  are  unjust,  madame,",  said  the 
prince. 

"  Certainl3^  Come,  forg-ive  the  poor 
fellow." 

''  Forgive  him  what  ?  What  have  I  to 
forgive  M.  de  Guiche?  " 

"  Come,  explain  j'ourself,  De  Guiche. 
"  What  do  you  wish  to  be  forgiven  ?  "  in- 
quired the  prince. 

"  Alas  !  her  royal  highness  knows  very 
well  what  it  is,"  replied  the  latter,  in  a 
hypocritical  tone. 

'•  Come,  come,  give  him  youY  hand, 
madame,"  said  Philip. 

"If  it  will  give  you  any  pleasure,  mon- 
sieur ;  "  and,  with  a  movement  of  her  eyes 
and  shoulders,  wiiich  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  describe,  Madame  extended  to- 
ward 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  : 

''  De  Guiche  is  not  wickedly  disposed, 
madame  ;  so  do  not  be  afraid — he  will  not 
bite  you." 

A  pretext  was  given  in  the  g-allery  by 
the  duke's  remark,  which  was  not  perhaps 
ver}'-  laughable,  for  every  one  to  laugh 
excessivel}^  The  situation  was  odd 
enough,  and  some  kindl}^  disposed  per- 
sons had  observed  it.  Monsieur  was  still 
enjo.ying-  the  effect  of  his  remark,  when 
the  king  was  announced.  The  appearance 
of  the  room  at  this  moment  was  as  fol- 
lows :  in  the  center,  before  the  fireplace, 
which  was  filled  with  flowers,  Madame 
was  standing  up,  with  her  maids  of  honor, 
foi'med  in  two  wing-s,  on  either  side  of  her, 
and  around  whom  the  butterflies  of  the 
court  were  fluttering.  Several  other 
groups  were  formed  in  the  recesses  of 
the  windows,  like  soldiers  stationed  in 
their  different  towers  who  belong  to  the 
same    g-arrison.     From    their    respective 


places  they  could  pick  up  the  remarks 
which  fell  from  the  principal  group.  From 
one  of  these  groups,  the  nearest  to  the 
fireplace,  Malicorne,  who  had  been  at 
once  raised  to  the  dignity,  through  Mani- 
camp  and  De  Guiche,  of  the  post  of  master 
of  the  apartments,  and  whose  official  cos- 
tume had  been  ready  for  the  last  two 
months,  Avas  brilliant  with  g-old  lace,  and 
shone  upon  Montalais,  standing  on  Mad- 
ame's  extreme  left,  with  all  the  fire  of  his 
ej'esandallthe  splendorof  his  velvet.  Mad- 
ame was  conversing  with  Mademoiselle  de 
Chatillon  and  Mademoiselle  de  Cregny, 
wiio  were  next  to  her,  and  addi-essed  a 
few  words  to  Monsieur,  who  drew  aside 
as  soon  as  the  king  was  announced. 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  like  Monta- 
lais, 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  certain  bodies  of  troops 
are,  whose  weakness  is  suspected,  and  who 
are  placed  between  two  experienced  reg-i- 
ments.  Guarded  in  this  manner  by  her 
two  companions  who  had  shared  her  ad- 
venture. La  Valliere,  whether  from  regret 
at  Raoul's  departure,  or  still  sutTering- 
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  e^yes,  red 
with  weeping-,  behind  her  fan,  and  seemed 
to  give  the  g-reatest  attention  to  the  re- 
marks which  Montalais  and  Athenais, 
alternately,  whispered  to  her  from  time 
to  time.  As  soon  as  the  king's  name  was 
announced  a  g-eneral  movement  took  place 
in  the  apartment.  Madame,  in  her  char- 
acter as  hostess,  rose  to  receive  the  royal 
visitor  ;  but  as  she  rose,  notwithstanding- 
her  pre-occupation  of  mind,  she  glanced 
hastily  toward  her  right ;  her  glance, 
which  the  presumptuous  De  Guiche  re- 
garded 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 
g-roup,  which  had  now  become  a  general 
one,  by  a  movement  which  took  place 
from  the  circumference  to  the  center. 
Every  head  bowed  low  before  his  majesty, 
the  ladies  bending  like  frail  and  magnifi- 
cent lilies  before  the  king-  Aquilio.  There 
was  nothing- very  severe,  we  will  even  say, 
nothing  very  royal,  that  evening-  about  the 
king,  except,  however,  his  j^outh  and  good 
looks.  He  wore  an  air  of  animated  joy- 
ousness  and  good  humor  which  set  all  im- 
aginations at  work,  and,  thereupon,  all 
present  pr-omised  themselves  a  delig-ht- 
ful  evening,  for  no  other  reason  than 
from  having-  remarked  the  desire  which 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONIsE. 


533 


his  majesty  had  to  amuse  himself  in 
Madame's  apartments.  If  there  was 
anv  one  in  particular  Avhose  hig-h  spirits 
and  ,£Ood  humor  could  equal  the  king-'s, 
it  was  M.  de  Saint- Aig-nan,  who  was 
dressed  in  a  rose-colored  costume,  with 
face  and  ribbons  of  the  same  color, 
and,  in  addition,  particularly  rose-colored 
in  his  ideas,  for  that  evening-  M.  de  Saint- 
Aig-nan  was  prolific  in  ideas.  The  circum- 
stance which  had  g-iven  a  new  expansion 
to  the  numerous  ideas  g-erminating-  in 
his  fertile  brain  was,  that  he  had  just 
perceived  that  Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay- 
Cha  rente  was,  liUe  himself,  dressed  in  rose- 
color.  We  would  not  wish  to  say,  how- 
ever, that  the  wil3- courtier  had  not  known 
beforehand  that  the  beautiful  Athenais 
was  to  wear  that  particular  color  ;  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  Made- 
moiselle Athenais  as  he  had  bows  of 
ribbon  on  his  stockings  and  his  doublet ; 
in  other  words,  he  discliarged  an  immense 
number. 

The  king  having  paid  Madame  the  cus- 
tomary 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 
Avere  engaged  turning  into  verse  the  en- 
chanting diversion  of  the  baths  of  Val- 
vins,  and  that  one  of  them  particularh% 
M.  Loret,  seemed  to  have  been  intrusted 
with  the  confidence  of  some  water-nymph, 
as  he  had  in  his  verses  recounted  man^^ 
circumstances  that  were  actually  true — 
at  wiiich  remark  more  than  one  lady  pres- 
ent felt  herself  bound  to  blush.  The  king 
at  this  moment  took  the  opportunity  of 
looking-  round  him  more  leisurely  ;  Mon- 
talais  was  the  onl^'  one  who  did  not  blush 
sufficiently  to  prevent  her  looking  at  the 
king,  and  she  saw  him  fix  his  ej^es  most 
devouringlj'  upon  Mademoiselle  de  la  Val- 
liere.  This  undaunted  maid  of  honor. 
Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  be  it  under- 
stood, forced  the  king  to  lower  his  gaze, 
and  so  saved  Louise  de  la  Valliere  from  a 
sympathetic  warmth  of  feeling  which  this 
gaze  might  possibly  have  conveyed.  Louis 
was  appropriated  by  Madame,  who  over- 
whelmed 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  re- 
doubled his  attention  and  devotion  to  her. 
Madame  coveted  complimentar3'^  remarks, 
and,  determined  to  procure  them  at  any 


cost,  she  addressed  herself  to  the  king,  say- 
ing :  "  Sire,  3'our  majesty,  who  is  aware  of 
everything  which  occurs  in  your  kingdom, 
ought  to  know  beforehand  the  verses  con- 
fided to  M.  Loret  by  this  nymph:  will 
vour  majesty  kindl^^  communicate  them 
to  us?" 

"  Madame,"  replied  the  king,  with  per- 
fect grace  of  manner,  "■  I  dare  not — 3'ou, 
personally,  might  be  in  no  little  degree 
confused  at  having  to  listen  to  certain  de- 
tails— but  Samt-Aignan  tells  a  storj'well, 
and  has  a  perfect  recollection  of  the  verses; 
if  he  does  not  remember  them,  he  will  in- 
vent. I  can  certify  him  to  be  almost  a 
poet  himself."  Saint-Aignan, thus  brought 
prominently"  forward,  was  compelled  to  in- 
troduce himself  as  advantageoush^  as  pos- 
sible. Unfortunately,  however,  for  Mad- 
ame, 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  thor- 
oughl3^  carried  into  practice  her  previous 
evening's  theor3^  of  not  even  deigning  to 
look  at  her  adorer,  he  said  : 

"  Your  majest3'will  perhaps  pardon  me 
for  having  too  indifferentl3"  remembered 
the  verses  which  the  n3'mph  dictated  to 
Loret ;  but,  if  the  king  has  not  retained 
an3'  recollection  of  them,  what  could  I  pos- 
sibl3'  remembej^  ?  " 

Madame  did  not  receive  this  shortcom- 
ing' of  the  courtier  ver3^  favorabl3^ 

"Ah  I  madame,"  added  Saint-Aignan, 
"at  present  it  is  no  longer  a  question 
what  the  water-UA-mphs  have  to  sa3' ;  and 
one  would  almost  be  tempted  to  believe 
that  nothing  of  an3'  interest  now  occurs 
in  those  liquid  realms.  It  is  upon  the 
earth,  madame,  where  important  events 
happen.  Ah  !  madame,  upon  the  earth 
how  manx''  tales  are  there  full  of — " 

"Well."  said  Madame,"'  and  what  is 
taking  place  upon  the  earth  ?  " 

"That  question  must  be  asked  of  the 
Dr3!'ads,"  replied  the  comte  ;  "the  Dr3'ads 
inhabit  the  forests,  as  3' our  ro3'al  highness 
is  aware." 

"I  am  aware,  also,  that  they  are  nat- 
urall3'  ver3''  talkative.  Monsieur  de  Saint- 
Aignan." 

"Such  is  the  case,  madame;  but  when 
the3'  sa3"  such  delightful  things,  it  would 
be  ungracious  to  accuse  them  of  being  too 
talkative." 

"  Do  they  talk  sodelightfulh^  then  ?"  in- 
quired the  princess,  indifferenth'.  '-Really, 
Monsieur  de  Saint-Aignan,  3^ou  excite  my 
curiosity  ;  and,  if  I  were  the  king,  I  would 


534 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


require  you  immediately  to  tell  us  what 
the  delig-htful  things  are  which  these  Dry- 
ads have  been  saying-,  since  3'ou  alone 
seem  to  understand  their  languag-e." 

"  I  am  perfectly  at  his  majestj^'s  orders, 
raadame,  in  that  respect,"  replied  the 
comte,  quickly. 

"  What  a  fortunate  fellow  this  Saint- 
Aignan  is,  to  understand  the  lang-uag-e  of 
the  Dryads  !  "  said  Monsieur. 

"  I  understand  it  perfectly,  monseig- 
neur,  as  I  do  my  own  language." 

'•'Tell  us  air  ahout  them,  then,"  said 
Madame. 

The  king-  felt  embarrassed  ;  for  his  con- 
fidant was,  in  all  probability,  about  to 
embark  in  a  difficult  matter.  He  felt  that 
it  would  be  so,  from  the  g-eneral  attention 
excited  b,y  Saint- Aig-nan's  preamble,  and 
aroused,  too,  by  Madame's  peculiar  man- 
ner. The  most  reserved  of  those  who 
Avere  present  seemed  readj'  to  devour 
ever^^  syllable  the  comte  was  about  to 
pronounce.  They  coug-hed,  drew  closer 
together,  looked  curiously  at  some  of  the 
maids  of  honor,  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  duelist  who  is  about  to  be  exposed  to 
his  adversaria's  fire.  At  this  epoch,  the 
fashion  of  ing-eniously  constructed  con- 
versations, and  hazardousl.y  dangerous 
recitals,  so  prevailed,  that,  where,  in  mod- 
ern 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  quietl}^  settled  them- 
selves in  their  places,  in  order  not  to  lose  a 
word  or  g:esture  of  the  comed}^  composed 
by  Monsieur  de  Saint-Aignan  for  their 
benefit,  and  the  termination  of  w^hich, 
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, 
amid  a  profound  silence,  which  would 
have  been  formidable  for  any  one  but 
himself: — ''Madame,  by  the  king's  per- 
mission, 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  honor,  therefore,  to  inform  your  royal 
hig-hness  that  the  Dryad  more  particu- 
larly inhabits  the  hollows  of  oaks ;  and, 
as  Dryads  are  mythological  creatures  of 
g-reat  "beauty,  they  inhabit  the  most  beau- 
tiful trees,  in  other  words,  the  larg-est  to 
be  found." 


At  this  exordium,  whicli  recalled,  under 
a  transparent  veil,  the  celebrated  storA' 
of  the  royal  oak,  which  had  played  so  ini- 
portant  a  part  in  the  last  evening-,  so 
many  hearts  beg-an  to  beat,  both  from 
joy  and  uneasiness,  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  Fon- 
tainebleau,  then,"  said  Madame,  in  a  per- 
fectly calm  voice ;  "  for  I  have  never,  in 
all  my  life,  seen  finer  oaks  than  in  the 
royal  park."  And  as  she  spoke,  she  di- 
rected toward  DeGuiche  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  re- 
served a  certain  amount  of  indefiniteness 
most  painful  for  so  loving  a  heart  as  his. 

"Precisely,  madame,  it  is  of  Fontaine- 
bleau  that  I  w-as  about  to  speak  to  your 
royal  highness,"  said  Saint-Aignan  ;  "  for 
the  Drj^ad  wiiose  story  is  eng-aging  our 
attention  lives  in  the  park  belonging  to 
the  chateau  of  his  majesty." 

The  affair  was  fairly  embarked  on  ;  the 
action  w^as  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  onl^^  appears 
to  me  to  have  all  the  interest  of  a  national 
incident,  but  still  more,  seems  to  be  a  cir- 
cumstance of  ver}'  recent  occurrence." 

"  I  ought  to  begin  at  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  w^as  the  shepherd 
Tyrcis,  the  owner  of  extensive  domains 
transmitted  to  him  from  his  parents,  by 
right  of  inheritance.  Tyrcis  was  young 
and  handsome,  and,  from  his  many  quali- 
fications, he  might  be  pronounced  to  be 
the  first  and  foremost  among  the  shep- 
herds in  the  whole  country ;  one  might 
even  boldly  say  he  was  the  king  of  them." 
A  subdued  murmur  of  approbation  en- 
couraged 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 
ow^e  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,  radi- 
ant upon  earth,  bearing  his  flaming  darts 
in  his  hand."     Every  one  understood  that 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


535 


this  allof^orical  portrait  of  the  king-  was 
not  the  worst  exordium  that  the  narrator 
could  have  chosen ;  and  it  consequently 
did  not  fail  to  produce  its  effect,  either 
upon  those  who,  from  duty  or  inclination, 
applauded  it  to  the  very  echo,  or  upon  the 
king-  himself,  to  whom  flattery  was  very 
agreeable  when  delicatelj'  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 
shepherd  T^'rcis  had  acquired  that  repu- 
tation by  which  he  was  regarded  as  the 
king-  of  shepherds." 

"  Of  the  shepherds  of  Fontainebleau," 
said  the  king,  smilingly,  to  Madame. 

'•'  Oh  !"  exclaimed  Madame,  '•  Fontaine- 
bleau  is  selected  arbitrarily  bj^  the  poet  ; 
but  I  should  say,  of  the  shepherds  of  tlie 
whole  world."  The  king-  forgot  his  part 
of  a  passive  auditor,  and  bowed. 

"  It  was,"  pursued  Saint- Aignan,  amid 
a  flattering  murmur  of  applause,  ''•'  it  was 
with  ladies  fair  especially  that  the  quali- 
ties of  this  king  of  the  shepherds  were 
most  prominently^  displayed.  He  was  a 
shepherd  with  a  niind  as  refined  as  his 
heart  was  pure ;  he  can  pa3^  a  compli- 
ment with  a  charm  of  manner  whose  fas- 
cination it  is  impossible  to  resist ;  and  in 
his  attachments  he  is  so  discreet  that  his 
beautiful  and  happy  conquests  may  re- 
gard their  lot  as  more  than  enviable. 
Never  a  syllable  of  disclosure,  never  a 
moment's  forgetfulness.  Whoever  has 
seen  and  heard  Tyrcis  must  love  him ; 
whoever  loves  and  is  beloved  b}^  him,  has 
indeed  found  happiness."  Saint-Aig-nan 
here  paused  ;  he  was  enjo^'ing-  the  pleas- 
ures of  his  own  compliments ;  and  the 
portrait  he  had  drawn,  however  gro- 
tesquel3''  inflated  it  might  be,  had  found 
favor  in  certain  ears,  for  whom  the  per- 
fections of  the  shepherd  did  not  seem  to 
have  been  exaggerated.  Madame  beg-g-ed 
the  orator  to  continue.  "  Tyrcis,"  said 
the  comte,  "had  a  faithful  companion,  or 
rather  a  devoted  servant,  whose  name 
was — Amyntas." 

''Ah!"  said  Madame,  archly,  ''now 
for  the  portrait  of  Amyntas ;  3'ou  are 
such  an  excellent  painter.  Monsieur  de 
Saint-Aig-nan." 

"  Madame—" 

*'0h!  comte,  do  not,  I  entreat  you, 
sacrifice  poor  Amyntas ;  I  should  never 
forgive  3'ou." 

"  Madame,  Amyntas  is  of  too  humble  a 
position,  particular!}^  beside  T3^rcis,  for 
his  person  to  be  honored  by  a  parallel. 
There  are  certain  friends  who  resemble 
those  followers  of  ancient  times,  wiio 
caused  themselves  to  be  buried  alive  at 


their  masters"  feet.  Am3'ntas's  place, 
too,  is  at  the  feet  of  T3'rcis  ;  he  cares  for 
no  other ;  and  if,  sometimes,  the  illus- 
trious hero — " 

"  Illustrious  shepherd,  do  30U  mean  ?  " 
said  Madame,  pretending-  to  correct  M.  de 
Saint- Aignan. 

"  Your  ro3^al  highness  is  right ;  I  was 
mistaken,"  returned  the  courtier;  ''if,  I 
sa3%  the  shepherd  Tyrcis  deigns  occa- 
sionally to  call  Amyntas  his  friend,  and  to 
open  his  heart  to  him,  it  is  an  unparalleled 
favor,  which  the  latter  regards  as  the 
most  unbounded  felicit3^" 

"All  that  3"ou  say,"  interrupted  Mad- 
ame, "  establishes  the  extreme  devotion 
of  Am3aitas  to  T3'rcis,  but  does  not  furnish 
us  with  the  portrait  of  Am3aitas.  Comte, 
do  not  flatter  him,  if  3^ou  like  ;  but  de- 
scribe him  to  us,  I  will  have  Am3mtas's 
portrait."  Saint-Aig-nan  obe3'^ed,  after 
having-  bowed  profoundly  toward  his 
majest3'"'s  sister-in-law, 

"Am3mtas,"  he  said,  "is  somewhat 
older  than  Tyrcis ;  he  is  not  an  ill-favored 
shepherd ;  it  is  even  said  that  the  muses 
condescended  to  smile  upon  him  at  his 
birth,  even  as  Hebe  smiled  upon  3'outh. 
He  is  not  ambitious  of  displa3%  but  he  is 
ambitious  of  being  loved ;  and  he  might 
not,  pet-haps,  be  found  unworthy  of  it,  if 
he  were  on  13^  sufficiently  well  known." 

This  latter  paragraph,  streng-thened  by 
a  ver3'- killing- g-lance,  was  directed  straight 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Tonna3"-Charente,  who 
received  them  both  unmoved.  But  the 
modest3^  and  tact  of  the  allusion  had  pro- 
duced a  good  effect ;  Am3mtas  reaped 
the  benefit  of  it  in  the  applause  bestowed 
on  him  :  T3"rcis's  head  had  even  g-iven  the 
sig-nal  for  it  by  a  consenting*  bow,  full  of 
g-ood  feeling. 

"One  evening,"  continued  Saint-Aig- 
nan,  "  T3'rcis  and  Am3mtas  were  walking 
together  in  the  forest,  talking  of  their 
love  disappointments.  Do  not  forget, 
ladies,  that  the  story  of  the  Dr3'ad  is  now 
beginning,  otherwise  it  would  be  eas}^  to 
tell  3'ou  what  T3^rcis  and  Amvntas.  the 
two  most  discreet  shepherds  of  the  whole 
earth,  were  talking  about.  The3^  reached 
the  thickest  part  of  the  forest,  for  the 
purpose  of  being  quite  alone,  and  of  con- 
fiding their  troubles  more  freeh^  to  each 
other,  when  suddenly  the  sound  of  voices 
struck  upon  ther  ears." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  "  said  those  who  surrounded 
the  narrator.  "  Nothing-  can  be  more  in- 
teresting than  this." 

At  this  point,  Madame,  like  a  vigilant 
general  inspecting  his  arm3^,  glanced  at 
Montalais  and  Tonnay-Charente,  who 
codld  not  help  wincing  at  it  as  they  drew 
themselves  up. 


536 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


"  These  harmonious  voices,"  resumed 
Saint- Aig-nan,  "were  those  of  certain 
shepherdesses,  who  had  been  hkewise  de- 
sirous of  enjoying-  the  coolness  of  the 
shade,  and  who,  knowing-  tlie  isolated 
and  almost  unapproacliablo  situation  of 
the  place,  had  betaken  themselves  there 
to  interchange  their  ideas  upon — "  A 
loud  burst  of  laug-hter  occasioned  bj^  this 
remark  of  Saint- Aig-nan,  and  an  imper- 
ceptible smile  of  the  king-,  as  he  looked  at 
Tonnay-Charente,  followed  this  sally. 

"The  Drj^ad  affirms  positively,"'  con- 
tinued Saint- Aig-nan,  "  that  the  shepherd- 
esses were  three  in  number,  and  that  all 
three  were  young-  and  beautiful." 

"  What  were  their  names?"  said  Mad- 
ame quietly. 

'•'  Their  names  !"  said  Saint- Aig-nan,  who 
hesitated  from  the  fear  of  committing-  an 
indiscretion. 

"  Of  course  ;  you  called  your  shepherds 
Tyrcis  and  Amyntas,  g-ive  youT  shepherd- 
esses names  in  a  similar  manner." 

"  Oh  !  madame,  I  am  not  an  inventor  ; 
I  relate  simply  what  took  place  as  the 
Dr^'ad  related  it  to  me." 

"  What  did  your  Dryad,  then,  call  these 
shepherdesses  ?  You  have  a  very  treach- 
erous memory,  I  fear.  This  Dr3'ad  must 
have  fallen  out  with  the  goddess  Mne- 
mosyne." 

"  These  shepherdesses,  madame.  Pray 
remember  that  it  is  a  crime  to  betray  a 
woman's  name." 

"  From  which  a  woman  absolves  3'ou, 
comte,  on  condition  that  you  will  reveal 
the  names  of  the  shepherdesses." 

"  Their  names  were  Phillis,  Amaryllis, 
and  Galatea." 

"Very  w^ell ;  they  have  not  lost  b}^  the 
delay,"  said  Madame,  "  and  now  we  have 
three  charming-  names.  But  now  for  their 
portraits." 

Saint- Aig-nan  again  made  a  slight  move- 
ment. 

"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  pro- 
voke so  dangerous  an  interrogator.  He 
thought,  too,  that  Saint- Aignan,  in  draw- 
ing the  portraits,  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  authorized  Saint- 
Aignan  to  sketch  the  portraits  of  the 
shepherdesses,  Phillis,  Amaryllis,  and 
Galatea. 


"'  Very  well,  then,  be  it  so,"  said  Saint- 
Aignan,  like  a  man  who  has  made  up  his 
mind,  and  he  began. 


CHAPTER   CXXXn. 

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  shep- 
herdess, 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  ja^arns  for 
ever3'thing  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 
butterfl\%  then  rests  itself  upon  the  top- 
most branch  of  a  tree,  where  it  defies  the 
bird-catchers  either  to  come  and  seize  it, 
or  to  entrap  it  in  their  nets."  The  por- 
trait bore  such  a  strong-  resemblance  to 
Montalais,  that  all  ej^es  were  directed 
toward  her  ;  she,  however,  with  her  head 
raised,  and  with  a  steady  unmoved  look, 
listened  to  Saint-Aignan,  as  if  he  Avere 
speaking  of  some  one  who  was  a  complete 
stranger  to  her. 

"Is  that  all,  Monsieur  de  Saint-Aig- 
nan ?  "  inquired  the  princess. 

"Oh  !  your  royal  highness,  the  portrait 
is  a  mere  sketch,  and  manj^  more  addi- 
tions could  be  made,  but  I  fear  wearying 
your  ro\'al  highness's  patience,  or  offend- 
ing the  modesty  of  the  shepherdess,  and  I 
shall  therefore  pass  on  to  her  companion, 
Amaryllis." 

"Yery  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 


THE     VIOOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


537 


huntress ;  with  this  sole  difference,  how- 
ever, tliat  the  cruel  shepherdess,  havin.^- 
stolen  the  quiver  of  .young-  love,  while 
poor  Cupid  was  sleeping-  in  a  thicket  of 
roses,  instead  of  directing-  her  arrows 
against  the  inliabitants  of  the  forest,  dis- 
charges them  most  pitilessly'  ag-ainst  all 
the  poor  shepherds  who  pass  within  reach 
of  her  bow  and  of  her  eyes." 

"  Oh  !  what  a  wicked  shepherdess  !  " 
said  Madame.  "  She  ma^--  some  day 
wound  herself  with  one  of  those  arrows 
she  discharg-es,  as  you  say,  so  mercilessh' 
on  all  sides." 

^'  It  is  the  hope  of  all  the  shepherds  in 
g-eneral,"  said  Saint- Aignan. 

"And  that  of  the  shepherd  Amyntas  in 
particular,  I  suppose  ?  '"  said  Madame. 

"The  shepherd  Am3'ntas  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  verj^  depths  of  his  heart,"  A 
flattering-  murmur  of  applause  g-reeted 
the  narrator's  profession  of  faith  on  the 
part  of  the  shepherd. 

''And  Galatea?"  inquired  Madame. 
"I  am  impatient  to  see  a  hand  so  skillful 
as  yours  continue  the  portrait  where  Vir- 
gin left  it,  and  finish  it  before  our  e^^es." 
"Madame,"  said  Saint- Aignan,  "  I  am 
indeed  but  a  very  poor  poet  beside  the 
g-reat  Virgil.  Still,  encouraged  by  your 
desire,  I  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 
ai'e  the  ears  of  corn.  One  is  tempted  to 
inquire  if  she  is  not  the  beautiful  Europa, 
who  inspired  Jupiter  with  a  tender  pas- 
sion as  she  played  with  her  companions  in 
the  flower  bespangled  meadows.  From 
her  beautiful  eyes,  blue  as  the  azure  heav- 
ens in  the  brightest  summer  day,  ema- 
nates a  tender  light,  Avhich  reverie  nur- 
tures, and.  which  love  dispenses.  When 
she  frowns^  or  bends  her  looks  toward 
the  ground,  the  sun  is  veiled  in  token  of 
mourning.  When  she  smiles,  on  the  con- 
trary, 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  af- 
fections." 

Madame,  who  had  attentiveh'  listened 
to  the  portrait  Saint- Aignan  had  drawn, 
as,  indeed,  had    all   the  others   too,  con- 


tented herself  by  marking  her  approba- 
tion of  the  most  poetic  passages  by  occa- 
sional 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 
portrait.  The  consequence,  therefore, 
was,  that  as  Madame  did  not  openly  ex- 
hibit any  approbation,  no  one  felt  author- 
ized to  applaud,  not  even  Monsieur,  who 
secretly  thought  that  Saint-Aignan  dwelt 
too  much  upon  the  portraits  of  the  shep- 
herdesses, and  had  somewhat  slightingly 
passed  over  the  portraits  of  the  shep- 
herds. The  whole  assembly  seemed  sud- 
denly chilled.  Saint-Aignan,  who  had 
exhausted  his  rhetorical  skill  and  his 
artist's  brush  in  sketching  the  portrait 
of  Galatea,  and  who,  after  the  favor  with 
which  his  other  descriptions  had  been  re- 
ceived, 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  mo- 
ment's silence  followed,  which  was  at  last 
broken  by  Madame. 

"Well,  sire,"  she  inquired,  "what  is 
your  majestj-'s  opinion  of  these  three  por- 
traits ?  " 

The  king,  wiio  wished  to  relieve  Saint- 
Aignan's  embarrassment  without  com- 
promising himself,  replied,  "Why.  Ama- 
lyllis,  in  my  opinion,  is  beautiful." 

"  For  m3^  part,"  said  Monsieur,  "  I  pre- 
fer Phillis;  she  is  a  capital  girl,  or  rather 
a  good-sort-of-fellow  of  a  n3'mph." 

A  gentle  laugh  followed,  and  this  time 
the  looks  were  so  direct,  that  Montalais 
felt  herself  blushing  almost  scarlet. 

"Well,"  resumed  Madame,  "what 
were  those  shepherdesses  saving  to  each 
other?" 

Saint-Aignan,  however,  whose  vanity 
had  been  wounded,  did  not  feel  himself  iii 
a  position  to  sustain  an  attack  of  new  and 
refreshed  troops,  and  mereh'  said.  "Mad- 
ame, 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  Madaii^e,  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 
neart's  sentence  of  death." 

"  What  was  the  conclusion  they  came 
to  ?  "  inquired  Madame. 

"  They  came  to  the  conclusion  that  love 
was  necessary." 

"Very  good  !  Did  they  lay  down  any 
conditions  ?  " 

"That  of  choice,  simph%"  said  Saint- 
Aignan.     "  I  ought  even  to  add — remem- 


538 


WORKS     OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


ber  it  is  the  Drj^ad  who  is  speaking- — that 
one  of  the  shepherdesses,  Amar^^llis,  I 
beUeve,  was  conipletel.y  opposed  to  the 
necessity  of  loving",  and  vet  she  did  not 
positivel.y  deny  that  she  had  allowed  the 
image  of  a  certain  shepherd  to  take  ref- 
uge in  her  heart.'' 

*'  Was  it  Amyntas  or  Tj^rcis  ?  " 

"  Amyntas,  madame."  said  Saint- Aig-- 
nan,  modestly.  "  But  Galatea,  the  g-entle 
and  soft-e\'ed  Galatea,  immediatel}^  re- 
plied, that  neither  Amjmtas  nor  Alphesi- 
boeus,  nor  Tityrus,  nor  indeed  any  of  the 
handsomest  shepherds  of  the  country, 
were  to  be  compared  to  Tyrcis ;  that  Tyr- 
cis  was  as  superior  to  all  other  men,  as 
the  oak  to  all  other  trees,  as  the  lil^^  in  its 
majesty  to  all  other  flowers.  She  drew 
even  such  a  portrait  of  Tyrcis  that  Tyrcis 
himself,  who  was  listening",  must  have  felt 
truly  flattered  at  it,  notwithstanding-  his 
rank  and  position.  Thus  T>'rcis  and 
Amyntas  had  been  distinguished  b^"-  Phil- 
lis  and  Galatea  ;  and  thus  had  the  secrets 
of  two  hearts  been  revealed  beneath  the 
shades  of  evening-,  and  amid  the  recesses 
of  tiie  woods.  Such,  madame,  is  what 
the  Dryad  related  to  me ;  she  who  knows 
all  that  takes  place  in  the  hollows  of  oaks 
and  in  g-rass\'  dells ;  she  who  knows  the 
loves  of  the  birds,  and  all  they  wish  to 
convey  by  their  songs ;  she  who  under- 
stands, in  fact,  the  lang-uage  of  the  wind 
among-  the  branches,  the  humming  of  the 
insects  with  their  g-olden  and  emerald 
wing-s  in  the  corolla  of  the  wild  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- Aig-nan, 
'•'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  Drj^ad  only,  I  be- 
lieve ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,  onl}^  from  one,  I  con- 
fess." 

"  The  fact  was,  that  you  passed  by  a 
little  Naiad,  who  pretended  to  know  noth- 
ing- at  all,  and  yet  knew  a  g-reat  deal 
more  than  your  Dryad,  my  dear  comte." 

"A  Naiad  !  "  repeated  several  voices, 
who  beg-an  to  suspect  that  the  story  had 
a  continuation. 

*'  Of  course  ;  close  beside  the  oak  you 
are  speaking-  of,  which,  if  I  am  not  mis- 


taken, is  called  the  ro.yal  oak — is  it  not 
so,  Monsieu'T  de  Saint- Aignan  ?  "  Saint- 
Aignan  and  the  king  exchang-ed  g-lances. 

''  Yes,  madame,"  the  former  replied. 

''Well,  close  beside  the  oak  there  is  a 
prettA'  little  spring,  which  runs  murmur- 
ingly  on  over  tlie  pebbles,  amid  the  forg-et- 
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  Made! me;  "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. 

"  YeSy  indeed,"  continued  the  princess, 
"  and  she  did  so  in  order  to  communicate 
to  me  man.v  particulars  which  Monsieur- 
de  Saint- Aignan  omitted  in  his  recital." 

"Pray  relate  them  .vourself,"  said 
Monsieur,  ' '  you  can  relate  stories  in  such 
a.  charming-  manner." 

The  princess  bowed  at  the  conjug-al  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.  Moreover,  she  laughed  so  heartily 
while  she  was  telling-  me  her  stor^^,  that, 
in  pursuance  of  that  medical  axiom  that 
laughter  is  contagious,  I  ask  permission 
to  laugh  a  little  mj^self  when  I  recollect 
her  words." 

The  king  and  Saint-Aignan,  who  noticed 
spreading  over  man.y  of  the  faces  present 
a  commencement  oi  the  laughter  which 
Madame  announced,  finished  by  looking 
at  each  other,  as  if  asking-  themselves 
whether  there  was  not  some  little  con- 
spiracy 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  newl.y  blown,  no  doubt  Phillis, 
Amaryllis,  Galatea,  and  all  your  shep- 
herdesses had  passed  the  same  way  before 
me." 

The  king  bit  his  lips,  for  the  recital  was 
becoming   more   and   more    threatening. 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


539 


'•  My  Utile  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  receivmg  her  ad- 
vances ungraciously,  and  more  particu- 
larly so,  since,  after  all,  a  divinity,  even 
thoug-h  she  be  of  a  second  grade,  is  always 
of  g-reater  importance  than  a  mortal, 
thoug-h  a  princess.  I  thereupon  accosted 
the  Naiad  ;  bursting-  into  laughter,  this 
is  what  she  said  to  me  : 

'' '  Fancj'^,  princess  .  .  .  .'  You  under- 
stand, sire,  it  is  the  Naiad  who  is  speak- 
ing." 

The  king- bowed  assenting-ly ;  and  Mad- 
ame continued: — "'Fancj^  princess,  the 
banks  of  my  little  stream  have  just  wit- 
nessed a  most  amusing-  scene.  Two  shep- 
herds, full  of  curiosity,  even  indiscreetly 
so,  have  allowed  themselves  to  be  mysti- 
fied 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-,  colored 
visibl}^,  and  Saint-Aig-nan,  completely 
losing-  countenance,  began  to  open  his 
e3"es  in  the  g-reatest  possible  anxiet3\ 

"'The  two  shepherds,'  pursued  my 
nymph,  still  laug-hing-,  '  followed  in  the 
wake  of  the  three  j^oung-  ladies — no,  I 
mean,  of  the  three  n^^mphs ;  forg-ive  me, 
I  ought  to  say,  of  the  three  shepherd- 
esses.' It  is  not  always  wise  to  do  that, 
for  it  may  be  awkward  for  those  who  are 
followed.  I  appeal  to  all  the  ladies  pres- 
ent, and  not  one  of  them,  I  am  sure,  will 
contradict  me." 

The  king-,  who  was  much  disturbed  b3' 
what  he  suspected  was  about  to  follow, 
signified  his  assent  by  a  g-esture. 

"  *  But,'  continued  the  Naiad,  '  the 
shepherdesses  had  noticed  Tj'rcis  and 
Amyntas  gilding-  into  the  wood,  and,  by 
the  lig-ht  cf  the  moon,  they  had  recog-- 
nized  them  .through  the  g-rove  of  trees.' 
Ah,  you  laugh!"  interrupted  Madame; 
"  wait,  wait,  you  are  not  j^et  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  shep- 
lierds  were,  proceeded  to  sit  down  at  the 
foot  of  the  royal  oak  ;  and  when  they  per- 
ceived that  their  indiscreet  listeners  were 
sufficiently  near,  so  that  not  a  syllable  of 
what  they  might  say  could  be  lost,  they 
addressed  toward  them  ver^'  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  shep- 
herds, seemed  to  the  two  listeners  as 
sweet  as  honey.'  " 

The  king,  at  these  words,  which  the 
assembly  was  unable  to  hear  without 
laughing,  could  not  restrain  a  Hash  of 
anger  darting  from  his  eyes.  As  for 
Saint- Aignan,  he  let  his  head  fall  upon 
his  breast,  -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  3^ou  sure  3'ou 
quite  understood  the  language  of  the 
Naiads?" 

*'  The  comte,  sire,  pretends  to  have  per- 
fectly understood  that  of  the  Dryads,"  re- 
torted Madame,  eagerly'. 

''No  doubt,"  said  the  king;  "  but  you 
know  the  comte  has  the  weakness  to  aspire 
to  become  a  member  of  the  Academy,  so 
that,  with  this  object  in  view,  he  has 
learned  all  sorts  of  things  of  which  very 
happily  a^ou  are  ignorant ;  and  it  might 
possibly'  happen  that  the  language  of  the 
Nj'^mph  of  the  Waters  might  be  among- 
the  number  of  thing's  which  you  have  not 
studied." 

"  Of  course,  sire,"  replied  Madame, 
"for  facts  of  that  nature  one  does  not 
altog-ether  rely  upon  one's  self  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  pol3'^glot — 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  god- 
dess, had,  at  first,  spoken  to  me  in  En- 
glish, I  feared,  as  you  suggest,  that  I 
might  have  misunderstood  her,  and  I  re- 
quested Mesdemoiselles  de  Montalais,  De 
Tonnay-Charente,  and  De  la  Valliere  to 
come  to  me,  begging  xny  Naiad  to  repeat 
to  me  in  the  French  language  the  recital 
she  had  alreadv  communicated  to  me  in 
Enghsh." 

"  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  toward  the  left  of 
her  army ;  "  did  not  the  Naiad  sa,y  pre- 
cisely what  I  have  related,  and  have  I,  in 
an}'  one  particular,  exceeded   the  truth, 


540 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


Phillis  ?  I  beg-  your  pardon,  I  mean  Mad- 
emoiselle Aure  de  Montalais  ?  " 

*' Pfeciselj'  as  you  have  stated,  Mad- 
ame," articulated  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais, very  distinctly 

"  Is  it  true.  Mademoiselle  de  Tonnaj'-- 
Charente  ?  " 

'•  The  perfect  truth,"  replied  Athenais, 
in  a  voice  quite  as  firm,  but  yet  not  so 
distinct. 

"  And  you.  La  Valliere  ?  "  asked  Mad- 
ame. 

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  stam- 
mered out,  '^An  excellent  jest!  ad- 
mirably played  !  " 

''A  just  punishment  for  curiosity,"  said 
the  king,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  Oh  !  who 
would  think,  after  the  chastisement  that 
T^-rcis  and  Amyntas  had  suffered,  of  en- 
deavoring to  surprise  what  is  passing  in 
the  heart  of  shepherdesses  ?  Assuredly, 
I  shall  not  for  one  ;  andj'ou,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  Nor  I !  nor  II"  repeated,  in  a  chorus, 
the  g-roup  of  courtiers. 

Madame  Avas  filled  with  triumph  at  the 
king-'s  annoyance  ;  and  was  full  of  de- 
light, 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  toward  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  pit}'  them  with  all  m}'-  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  it- 
self. 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  deatli,  but 
jeers  and  jests  at  that  love,  which  is 
worse  than  a  thousand  deaths — in  that 
case,  I  sa}^  that  Tyrcis  and  AmA^ntas  are 
the  two  most  unhappy  men  I  know." 

''And  you  are  right,  too,  Monsieur  de 
Guiche,"  said  the  king;  "for,  in  fact, 
the  death  we  speak  of  is  a  very  hard  re- 
turn for  a  little  curiosit}'." 

"■  That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  then,  that 


the  story  of  my  Naiad  has  displeased  the 
king?  "  asked  Madame,  innocentl3^ 

"  Nay,  madame,  undeceive  yourself," 
said  Louis,  taking-  the  princess  by  the 
hand;  "youi-  Naiad,  on  the  contraiw, 
has  pleased  me,  and  the  more  so,  because 
she  has  been  more  truthful,  and  because 
her  tale,  I  oug-ht  to  add,  is  confirmed  by 
the  testimony  of  unimpeachable  witness." 

These  words  fell  upon  La  ValHere  ac- 
companied by  a  look  that  no  one,  from 
Socrates  to  Montaig-ne,  could  have  exactly 
defined.  The  look  and  the  king's  i-emark 
succeeded  in  overpowering-  the  unhappy 
girl,  who,  with  her  head  upon  Montalais's 
shoulder,  seemed  to  have  fainted  away. 
The  king-  rose,  williout  lemarking  this 
circumstance,  of  which  no  one,  moreover, 
took  any  notice,  and,  contrary  to  his 
usual  custom,  for  g-enerally  he  remained 
late  in  Madame's  apartments,  he  took  his 
leave,  and  retired  to  his  own  side  of  the 
palace.  Saint- Aig-nan  followed  him,  leav- 
ing- the  rooms  in  as  great  a  state  of  de- 
spair as  he  had  entered  them  in  a  state 
of  delig-ht.  Mademoiselle  de  Tonna}'- 
Charente,  less  sensitive  than  La  Valliere, 
was  not  much  frightened,  and  did  not 
faint.  However,  the  last  look  of  Saint- 
Aig-nan  had  hardly  been  so  majestic  as 
the  last  look  of  the  king. 


CHAPTER    CXXXIII. 

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  in  his  g-ait.  He  seemed  to  leave 
behind  him  as  he  went  along-  a  trace  of  a 
mysterious  sorrow.  The  gayety  of  man- 
ner, which  e\evy  one  had  remarked  in  him 
on  his  arrival,  and  which  the^'  had  been 
delig-hted  to  perceive,  had  not  perhaps 
been  understood  in  its  true  sense ;  but  his 
stormy  departure,  his  disordered  counte- 
nance, 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  disposi- 
tion, and  particularly  for  one  of  the  king's 
character:  the  g-reat  resemblance  which 
naturally  existed  between  the  king-  and 
an  ordinary  mortal,  were  among-  the 
reasons  assigned  for  the  precipitate  and 
unexpected  departure  of  his  ma  jest  3^ 
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 


THE     VICOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


541 


self-esteem  of  one,  who,  so  soon  forg-et- 
ting-  the  engag-ements  he  had  contracted, 
seemed  to  have  undertaken  to  disdain, 
without  cause,  the  noblest  and  highest 
prizes.  It  was  not  an  unimportant  mat- 
ter for  Madame,  in  the  present  position  of 
aflf'airs,  to  let  the  king  perceive  the  differ- 
ence 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  affec- 
tions, recognizing-  their  dig-nity  and  their 
unlimited  influence,  acknowledging- in  some 
respects  a  certain  etiquette  and  display — a 
monarch,  not  only  did  not  act  in  a  man- 
ner derogatory  to  his  high  position,  but 
found  even  a  repose,  security-,  mystery, 
and  general  respect  therein. 

On  the  contrary,  in  the  debasement  of  a 
common  or  humble  attachment,  he  would 
encounter,  even  among  his  meanest  sub- 
jects, carping-  and  sarcastic  remarks ;  he 
would  forfeit  his  character  of  infallibility 
and  inviolabilitj'.  Having  descended  to 
the  region  of  petty  human  miseries,  he 
would  be  subjected  to  its  paltry  con- 
tentions. In  one  word,  to  convert  the 
royal  divinit3'  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  g-enerous  nature.  Louis 
was  more  easil}^  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  pas- 
sions as  the  heroines  of  the  Middle  Ages 
possessed,  or  that  she  regarded  things  in 
a  somber  point  of  view  ;  on  the  contrary, 
Madame,  j^oung-,  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,  ihaugurated  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  eig-hteenth.  Mad- 
ame 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  ridi- 
cule 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  im- 
portant  a    part   in  that  comedy  of  dra- 


matic incidents  called  the  life  of  a  woman  ; 
did  not  her  vanitj-  tell  her,  aloud,  in  a 
subdued  voice,  in  a  whisper,  in  every 
variety  of  tone,  that  she  could  not,  in 
realit}^,  she  a  princess,  young,  beautiful, 
and  rich,  be  compared  to  the  poor  La 
Valliere,  as  j'outhful  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  g-reatest  characters  are  those 
who  flatter  themselves  the  most  in  the 
comparison  the}' draw  between  themselves 
and  others,  between  others  and  them- 
selves. 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  asked  what  was 
Madame's  motive  for  an  attack  which 
had  been  so  skillfully  combined  ?  Why 
was  there  such  a  display  of  forces,  if  it 
were  not  seriously  the  intention  to  dis- 
lodg-e  the  king  from  a  heart  that  had 
never  been  occupied  before,  in  which  he 
seemed  disposed  to  take  refuge  ?  Was 
there  any  necessitj^  then,  for  Madame  to 
attach  so  g-reat  an  importance  to  La  Val- 
liere, if  she  did  not  fear  her?  Yet  Mad- 
ame did  not  fear  La  Valliere  in  that  point 
of  view  in  which  an  historian,  wlio  knows 
every thmg-,  sees  into  the  future,  or  rather 
the  past.  Madame  was  neither  a  proph- 
etess nor  a  sybil ;  nor  could  she,  any 
more  than  another,  read  what  was  writ- 
ten in  that  terrible  and  fatal  book  of  the 
future,  which  records  in  its  most  secret 
pages  the  most  serious  events.  No  ;  Mad- 
ame desired  simply  to  punish  the  king-  for 
having  availed  himself  of  secret  means 
altogether  feminme  in  their  nature;  she 
wished  to  prove  to  him  that,  if  he  made 
use  of  offensive  weapons  of  that  nature, 
she,  a  woman  of  ready  wit  and  high  de- 
scent, 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  de- 
scription, 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  crowm  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  on  his  mere  appearance, 
it  was  a  pretension  which  was  most  pre- 
posterous, and  insulting  even  for  certain 
persons  who  filled  a  higher  position  than 
others,  and  that  a  lesson  being  taught  in 
season  to  this  royal  personage,  who  as- 
sumed too  high  and  haughty  a  carriage, 
would  be  rendering  him  a  great  service. 
Such,  indeed,  were  Madame's  reflections 
with  respect  to  the  king.  The  event  it- 
self was   not    thought   of.     And   in   this 


542 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


manner,  it  will  have  been  seen  that  she 
had  exercised  her  influence  over  the  minds 
of  her  maids  of  honor,  and,  with  all  its 
accompanyinc;"  details,  had  arranged  the 
comedy  which  had  just  been  acted. 

The  kin.q-  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  sim- 
ilar severity  from  any  of  his  subjects 
would  have  been  at  once  resisted  by  him. 
Les  pouvdi7's  croissent  dans  la  lutte. 
But  to  attack  w^omen,  to  be  attacked  b}'- 
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  dishonor  for  a  young- 
sovei-eign  full  of  that  pride  which  his  per- 
sonal advantages  and  his  ro^'al  power 
inspired  him  with.  There  was  nothing  he 
could  do — neither  reproaches,  nor  exile — 
nor  even  could  he  show  the  annoyance  he 
felt.  To  show  any  vexation  w^uld  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  toward  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  affa.ir  to  these  w^omen,  one  of  the  cour- 
tiers 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  \>y  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  pett3-  grudge,  would  be  un- 
worthy not  only  of  a  monarch,  but  even 
of  a  man.  It  was  necessar.y,  therefore, 
simply  to  swallow  the  affront  in  silence, 
and  to  wear  his  usual  gentleness  and 
graciousness  of  expression.  It  was  essen- 
tial to  treat  Madame  as  a  friend.  As  a 
friend  !  .  .  .  Well,  and  why  not?  Either 
Madame  had  been  the  instigator  of  the  af- 
fair; or  the  aflfair  itself  had  found  her  pass- 
ive. If  she  had  been  the  instigator  of  it,  it 
certainly  was  a  bold  measure  on  her  part ; 
but,  at  all  events,  it  was  but  natural  in 
her.  Who  was  it  that  liad  sought  her  in 
the  eai'liest  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,  shield- 
ed behind  his  royal  authoritj',  had  said 
to  this  young  creature,  "  Be  not  afraid, 


love  but  the  king  of  France,  who  is  above 
all,  and  a  movement  of  Avhose  sceptered 
hand  will  protect  you  against  all  attacks, 
even  from  your  own  remorse?"  And 
she  had  listen(;d  to  and  obe3-ed  the  royal 
voice,  had  been  influenced  by  his  en- 
snaring tones;  and  now  that  she  had, 
morally  speaking,  sacrificed  her  honor  in 
listening  to  him,  she  saw  herself  repaid 
for  her  sacrifice  by  an  infidelity  the  more 
humiliating,  since  it  was  occasioned  by  a 
woman  far  beneath  her  own  station  in  the 
world. 

Had  Madame,  therefore,  been  the  insti- 
gator of  the  revenge,  she  would  have  been 
right.  If,  on  the  contrar3%  she  had  re- 
mained passive  in  the  whole  affair,  what 
grounds  had  the  king  to  be  angr^^  with 
heron  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,  hy  an  excess  of  zeal  which 
might  have  been  misinterpreted,  to  check, 
at  the  risk  of  increasing  it,  the  imperti- 
nence of  their  conduct  ?  All  these  various 
reasonings  were  like  so  manj-  actual  stings 
to  the  king's  pride  ;  but  when  he  had  care- 
fully, in  his  own  mind,  gone  over  all  the 
various  causes  of  complaint,  Louis  was 
surjarised,  upon  due  reflection — in  other 
words,  after  the  wound  had  been  dressed 
— to  find  that  there  were  other  canses  of 
sufi"ering,  secret,  unendurable,  and  unre- 
vealed.  There  was  one  circumstance  which 
he  dared  not  confess,  even  to  himself; 
nameh^  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  con- 
fession. He  had  dreamed  of  a  pure  afi'ec- 
tion — of  an  aflection  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  commonest  thing  in  the  complicated 
history  of  love  is  the  double  inoculation  of 
love  to  which  any  two  hearts  are  subject- 
ed ;  the  one  loves  nearly  always  before 
the  other,  in  the  same  way  that  the  latter 
finishes  nearly  alwaj'S  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  Valliere 
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  de- 
monstrated to  him  that  no  sympathetic 
current  had  been  the  means  of  hurrying 
his    heart    away  in    its  course,   because 


THE     VIGOMTE    DE    BRAGELONNE. 


543 


there  had  been  no  confession  of  love  in 
the  case — because  the  confession  was,  in 
fact,  an  insult  toward  the  man  and  to- 
ward the  sovereig-n ;  and  flnall.y,  because 
— and  the  word,  too,  burned  like  a  hot 
ij-on — because,  in  fact,  it  was  nothing-  but 
a  niA'stification  after  all.  This  girl,  there- 
fore, who,  in  strictness,  could  not  la_y 
claim  to  beauty,  or  birtli,  or  g-reat  intelli- 
g-ence-rwho  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  be- 
stow a  glance,  to  indicate  with  his  finger, 
to  throw  his  handkerchief.  And,  since 
the  previous  evening,  his  mind  had  been 
so  absorbed  with  this  gir],  that  he  could 
think  and  dream  of  nothing-  but  her. 
Since  the  previous  evening-  his  imagina- 
tion 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  in- 
vitingly, 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  cor- 
ner of  tlie  room;  and,  from  his  corner, 
regarded  the  tempest  passing  over.  His 
own  personal  disappointment  seemed  con- 
temptible, in  comparison  wath  the  ang-er 
of  the  king.  He  compared  with  his  own 
petty  vanity  the  prodigious  pride  of  of- 
fended 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  head,  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  xon,  Saint- 
Aig-nan  ?  " 

Saint-Aignan  made  a  sign,  which  was 
intended  to  signify — "'.Well,  sire  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  you  have  been  as  silly  as  my- 
self, I  think." 

"  Sire,"  stammered  out  Saint-Aignan. 

''You  permitted  yourself  to  be  deceived 
by  this  shameful  trick." 

"  Sire,"  said  Saint-Aignan,  whose  agi- 
tation was  such  as  to  make  him  tremble  in 


every  limb,  "  let  me  entreat  your  majestj- 
not  to  exasperate  .yourself.  Women,  you 
know,  are  creatures  full  of  imperfections, 
created  for  the  misfortune  of  otiiers  ;  to 
expect  an^-thing  good  from  them  is  to  re- 
quire them  to  do  impossibilities." 

The  king,  who  had  the  greatest  con- 
sideration for  himself,  and  who  had  begun 
to  acquire  over  his  emotions  that  com- 
mand which  he  preserved  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 
angr}'^ ;  I  can  onl3^  wonder  that  we  should 
have  been  turned  into  ridicule  so  cleverl}-- 
and  with  such  boldness,  by  these  two 
young-  girls.  I  am  particularly  surprised 
that,  although  we  might  have  informed 
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  org-an  which  re- 
quires positively  to  be  reduced  to  its  phys- 
ical functions,  but  which  must  be  deprived 
of  all  its  moral  functions.  For  ray  own 
part,  I  confess,  that  wheii  I  saw  that 
your  majesty's  heart  was  so  taken  up  by 
this  httle— " 

"My  heart  taken  up  I  II — my  mind 
might,  perhaps,  have  been  so ;  but,  as  for 
ni}'^  heart,  it  was — "  Louis  again  per- 
ceived that,  in  order  to  conceal  one  blank, 
he  was  about  to  disclose  another.  "  Be- 
sides," he  added,  "I  have  no  fault  to  find 
with  the  g-irl.  I  was  quite  aware  that  she 
was  in  love  with  some  one  else." 

"The  Vicomte  de  Brag-elonne.  I  in- 
formed your  majest}^  of  the  circum- 
stance." 

"'  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  celebrated,  since  the}^  love  each  other." 

"  I  recognize  your  majesty's  generosity 
of  disposition  in  that  act." 

"  So,  Saint-Aignan,  we  will  cease  to  oc- 
cupy ourselves  with  these  matters  any 
longer,"  said  Louis. 

"Yes,  we  will  digest  the  affront,  sire," 
replied  the  courtier,  with  resignation. 

"Besides,  it  will  be  a  very  easy  matter 
to  do  so,"  said  the  king,  checking  a  sig-h. 

"'  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  Drj'^ad,'  which  will  please 
Madame." 

"Do  so,  Saint-Aignan,  do  so,"  said  the 
king,  indifferentl.y.  "'  You  shall  read  me 
your  verses ;  they  will  amuse  me.     Ah ! 


544 


WORKS    OF    ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 


it  does  not  signify,  Saint-Aig-nan."  added 
the  king-,  like  a  man  breathing-  with  diffi- 
cult}', "  the  blow  requires  more  than  hu- 
man strength  to  support  in  a  dignified 
manner."  As  the  king  thus  spoke,  as- 
suming an  air  of  the  most  angelic  pa- 
tience, one  of  the  servants  in  attendance 
knocked  gently  at  the  door.  Saint-Aig- 
nan  drew  aside,  out  of  respect. 

'"Come  in,'"'  said  the  king.  The  ser- 
vant partially  opened  the  door.  '"'What 
is  it  ?"  inquired  Louis. 

The  servant  held  out  a  letter  of  a  trian- 
gular shape.  "For  your  majesty,"  he  said. 

''From  whom  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  One  of  the  officers  on 
dutj'  gave  it  nie." 

The  valet,  in  obedience  to  a  gesture  of 
the  king,  handed  him  the  letter.  The 
king  advanced  toward  the  candles,  opened 
the  note,  read  the  signature,  and  uttered 
a  loutl  cry.  Saint- Aignan  was  sufficiently 
respectful  not  to  look  on;  but,  without 
looking  on,  he  saw  and  heard  all,  and  ran 
toward  the  king,  who  with  a  gesture  dis- 
missed the  servant.  "Oh,  heavens!" 
said  the  king,  as  he  read  the  note. 

"  Is  your  majestj'^  unwell  ?  "  inquired 
St. -Aignan,  stretching  forward  his  arras. 

"  No,  no,  Saint- Aignan — read  !  "  and 
he  handed  him  the  note. 

Saint-Aignan's  eyes  fell  upon  the  sig- 
nature. "La  Valliere  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"Oh,  sire!" 

"  Read,  read!"  And  Saint- Aignan  read: 

"  Forgive  my  importunity,  sire ;  and 
forgive,  also,  the  absence  of  the  formali- 
ties which  may  be  wanting  in  this  letter. 
A  note  seems  to  me  more  speedy  and 
more  urgent  than  a  dispatch,  i  venture, 
therefore,  to  address  this  note  to  your 
majest}'.  I  have  returned  to  mj"  own 
room,  overcome  with  grief  and  fatigue, 
sire  ;  and  I  implore  your  majesty  to  grant 
me  the  favor  of  an  audience,  which  will 
enable   me   to   confess   the   truth   to   my 


sovereign. 
"  Signed, 


Louise -DE  la  Valliere." 


"  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  ?  " 

"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. 

"  Wh}',  3our  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  perpetual  menace  hanging 
over  the  head  of  this  imprudent  girl." 

"  Saint-Aisrnan,  I  do  not  think  as  you 
do.'' 

"Your  majesty  doubtless  sees  more 
clearly  than  m3'self." 

"Well!  I  see  affliction  and  restraint  in 
these  lines,  and  more  particularly  since  I 
recollect  some  of  the  details  of  the  scene 
wiiich  took  place  this  evening  in  Mad- 
ame'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  honor  are  lodged?" 

"Certainly." 

"  You  know  some  means  of  obtaining 
an  entrance  there  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  that  is  concerned,  I  do  not." 

"'  At  all  events,  3'ou  must  be  acquainted 
wdth  some  one  there." 

"  Reall3%  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 
ver}'  good  terms  wdth  a  certain  young  lady 
there." 

"  One  of  the  maids  of  honor  ?  " 

^' Yes,  sire." 

"With  Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Cha- 
rente,  I  supp(  se?"  said  the  king,  laughing. 

"  Unfortunately,  no,  sire ;  with  Mon- 
talais." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"Malicorne." 

"  And  you  can  depend  on  him  ?  " 

"I  believe  so,  sire.  He  ought  to  have 
a  key  of  some  sort  in  his  possession  ;  and 
if  he  should  happen  to  have  one,  as  I  have 
done  him  a  service,  why  he  will  return  it." 

"Nothing  could  be  better.  Let  us  set 
off,  then."  The  king  threw  his  own  cloak 
over  Saint-Aignan's  shoulders,  asked  him 
for  his,  and  then  both  went  out  into  the 
vestibule. 


END   OF  PART   I.    OF   "THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE.' 


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