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THE
VICOMTE DE BKAGELOME;
OK,
TEN YEARS LATEE;
BEING THE COMPLETION OF THE
"THREE MUSKETEERS" & "TWENTY YEARS AFTER."
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS,
AUTHOR OF " MONTE CHEISTO," "MARGUERITE DE VALOIS," ETC. ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, & ROUTLEDGE,
EARRINGDON STREET;
NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET.
1861.
AP/X —
CONTENTS.
1.—Malaga .. .. .. .. .. .. Page 1
2.—A Letter from M. de Baisemeaux .. .. .. 9
3.—In which the Reader will be delighted to find that Porthos has
lost nothing of his Strength .. .. .. .. 11
4.—The Rat and the Cheese .. .. .. .. .. 22
5.—Planchet's Country-house .. .. .. .. .. 26
6.—Showing what could be seen from Planchet's House .. 29
7.—How Porthos, Triichen, and Planchet parted with each other on
friendly terms, thanks to d'Artagnan .. .. .. 33
8.—The Presentation of Porthos at Court .. .. .. 35
9.—Explanations .. .. .. ., ., .. 38
10.—Madame and Guiche .. .. .. .. .. 42
11.—Montalais and Malicorne .. .. .. .. .. 47
12.—How de Wardes was received at Court .. .. .. 52
13.—The Combat .. .. .. .. .. .. 59
14.—The King's Supper .. .. .. .. .. 66
15.—After Supper .. .. .. .. .. .. 69
16.—Showing in what way d'Artagnan discharged the Mission with
which the King had intrusted him > .. .. .. 71
17.—The Encounter .. .. .. .. .. .. 76
18.—The Physician _. .. .. .. .. .. 79
19.—Wherein d'Artagnan perceives that it was he who was mistaken,
and Manicamp who was right .. .. .. .. 82
20.—Showing the Advantage of having two Strings to one's Bow .. 85
21.—M. Malicome the Keeper of the Records of the Realm of France 92
iv CONTENTS.
22.—The Journey " .. .. %Page 95
23.—Triumfeminate .. .. .. .. •• ..99
24.—The First Quarrel .. .. .. .. .. 193
25.—Despair .. .. .. .. •. .. «• 199
26.—The Flight .. .„s- . .. .. ..112
27.—Showing how Louis, on his side, had passed the time from ten
to half-past twelve at night .. .. .. ..116
28.—The Ambassadors .. .. .. .. .. 119
29.—Chaillot .. .. ..124
30.—Madame 129
31.—Mademoiselle de la Valli&re's Pocket-handkerchief .. .. 133
32.—Which treats of Gardeners, of Ladders, and Maids of Honour .. 136
33.—Which treats of Carpentry Operations, and furnishes details upon
the mode of constructing Staircases ., .. .. 141
34.—The Promenade by Torchlight .. .. .. .. 146
35.—The Apparition .. .. .. .. .. .. 152
36.—The Portrait .. .. .. ., .. .. 157
37.—Hampton Court .. .. .. .. .. .. 160
38.—The Courier from Madame .. .. .. .. .. 168
39.—Saint-Aignan follows Malicorne's advice .. .. .. 174
40.—Two old Friends .. .. .. .. .. .. 177
41.—Wherein may bo seen that a Bargain which cannot be made with
one person, can be carried out with another .. .. 186
42.—The Skin of the Bear .. .. .. .. .. 193
43.—An Interview with the Queen-Mother .. .. .. 197
44.—Two Friends .. .. .. .. .. .. 203
45.—How Jean de la Fontaine wrote his First Tale .. .. 207
46.—La Fontaine in the Character of a Negotiator .. ..210
47.—Madame de Belliere's Plate and Diamonds .. .. .. 214
48.—M. de Mazarin's Receipt .. .. .. .. .. 217
49.—Monsieur Colbert's Rough Draft .. .. .. .. 222
50.—In which the Author thinks it is now time to return to the
Yicomte de Bragelonne .. .. .. .. 228
51.—Bragelonne continues his Inquiries .. .. ., .. 231
52.—Two Jealousies .. .. .. .. .. 235
53.—A Domiciliary Visit .. .. .. .. .. 238
CONTENTS. V
54.—Porthos's Plan of Action .. .. .. .. Page 243
55.—The Change of Residence, the Trap-dcor, and the Portrait .. 247
56.—Rival Politics ., .. .. .. .. .. 254
57.—Rival Affections .. .. .. .. .. .. 257
58.—King and Nobility ., .. .. .. .. 262
59.—After the Storm .. .. .. .. .. .. 267
60.—Hen! Miser! 271
61.—Wounds upon Wounds .. .. .. .. .. 273
62.—What Raoul had guessed .. .. .. .. .. 277
63.—Three Guests astonished to find themselves at Supper together 280
64.—What took place at the Louvre during the Supper at the Bastille 284
65.—Political Rivals .. .. .. .. .. .. 289
66.—In which Porthos is convinced without having understood any-
thing .. .. .. .. 293
67.—M. de Baisemeaux's " Society" .. .. .. .. 297
68.—The Prisoner .. .. .. .. ., .. 302
69.—How Houston had become fatter without giving Porthos notice
thereof, and of the Troubles which consequently befell that
worthy Gentleman .. .. .. .. .. 318
70.—Who Messire John Percerin was .. .. .. .. 323
71.—The Patterns 327
72.—Where, probably, Molibre formed his First Idea of the Bourgeois
Gentilhomme .. .. .. .. . . .. 332
73.—The Beehive, the Bees, and the Honey .. .. .. 336
74.—Another Supper at the Bastille .. .. .. .. 342
75.—The General of the Order .. .. .. .. ,. 346
76.—The Tempter .. .. .. .. .. .. 351
77.—Crown and Tiara .. .. .. .. .. .. 356
78.—-The Chateau de Vaux-le-Vicomte .. .. .. .. 361
79.—The Wine of Melun .. .. .. .. • • 364
80.—Nectar and Ambrosia .. .. .. .. •• 368
81.—A Gascon, and a Gascon and a half .. .. .. .. 370
82.—Colbert .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 378
83.—Jealousy .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 382
84.—High Treason .. .. .. .. .. .. 386
85.—A Night at. the Bastille .. .. .. .. .. 391
Vi CONTENTS.
86.—The Shadow of M. Fouquet .. .. .. Page 395
87.—The Morning .. .. .. .. .. .. 405
88.—The King's Friend 409
89.—Showing how the Countersign was respected at the Bas-
tille .. .. ..419
90.—The King's Gratitude .. .. .. .. .. 424
91.—The False King 429
92.—In which Porthos thinks he is pursuing a Duchy .. .. 435
93.—The last Adieux .. .. .. .. .. .. 438
94.—Monsieur de Beaufort .. .. .. .. .. 442
95.—Preparations for Departure .. .. .. .. 446
96.—Planchet's Inventory .. .. .. .. .. 4^1
97.—The Inventory of M. de Beaufort .. .. .. .. 455
98.—The Silver Dish .. .. .. .. .. .. 458
99.—Captive and Gaolers .. .. .. .. .. 463
100.—Promises .. .. .. .. .. .. 469
101.—Among Women .. .. .. .. .. .. 476
102.—The Last Supper .. .. .. .. .. .. 481
103.—In the Carriage of M. Colbert .. .. .. .. 485
104.—The two Lighters .. .. .. .. ... 490
105.—Friendly Advice .. .. .. .. .. .. 494
106.—How the King, Louis XIV., played his Little Part .. .. 498
107.—The White Horse and the Black Horse .. .. .. 503
108.—In which the Squirrel falls,—in which the Adder flies .. 507
109.—Belle-Isle-en-Mer .. .. .. .. .. 513
110.—The Explanations of Aramis .. .. .. .. 519
111.—Result of the Ideas of the King, and the Ideas of d'Artagnan 525
112.—The Ancestors of Porthos .. .. .. .. .. 527
113.—The Son of Biscarrat .. .. ..' .. 530
114.—The Grotto of Locmaria .. .. .. .. .. 533
115.—The Grotto .. .. .. .. .. ..537
116.—An Homeric Song .. .. .. .. .. 542
117.—The Death of a Titan .. .. .. .. .. 545
118.—The Epitaph of Porthos .. .. .. .. .. 549
119.—The Round of M. de Gesvres .. .. .. .. 553
120.—King Louis XIV. .. .. .. .. .. 557
CONTENTS. Vii
121.—The Friends of M. Fouquet .. .. .. Page 561
■ 122.—Porthos's Will .. .. 565
123.—The Old Age of Athos .. .. .. .. .. 569
124.—The Vision of Athos .. .. .. .. .. 572
125.—The Angel of Death .. .. .. .. .. 575
126.—The Bulletin .. .. .. .. .. ..578
127.—The last Canto of the Poem .. .. .. .. 582
Epilogue .. .. .. .. •» •• 586
rHE DEATH OE H'ARTAGNAN .. e® »■» .. .» 59?
THE
YIOOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
CHAPTER I.
Malaga.
During- the continuance of the long and violent debates between the
opposite ambitions of the court and those of the heart, one of our
characters, the least deserving of neglect, perhaps, was, however, very
much neglected, very much forgotten, and exceedingly unhappy. In
fact, d'Artagnan—d'Artagnan, we say, for we must call him by his
name, to remind our readers of his existence—d'Artagnan, we repeat,
had absolutely nothing whatever to do, amid this brilliant, light-hearted
world of fashion. After having followed the king during two whole
days at Fontainebleau, and having critically observed all the pastoral
fancies and heroi-comic transformations of his sovereign, the musketeer
felt that he needed something more than this to satisfy the cravings of
his existence. At every moment assailed by people asking him, " How
do you think this costume suits me, Monsieur d'Artagnan ?" he would
reply to them in quiet sarcastic tone3, " Why, I think, you are quite as
well dressed as the best-dressed monkey to be found in the fair at Saint-
Laurent." It was just such a compliment as d'Artagnan would choose
to pay, where he did not feel disposed to pay any other; and, whether
agreeable or not, the inquirer was obliged to be satisfied with it. When-
ever any one asked him," How do you intend to dress yourself this even-
ing?" he replied, "I shall undress myself;" at which all the ladies
laughed. But after a couple of days passed in this manner, the musketeer,
perceiving that nothing serious was likely to arise which would concern
him, and that the king had completely, or, at least, appeared to have
completely, forgotten Paris, Saint-Mande, and Belle-Isle—that M.
Colbert's mind was occupied with illuminations and fireworks—that for
the next month, at least, the ladies had plenty of glances to bestow, and
also to receive in exchange; d'Artagnan asked the king for leave of
absence for a matter of private business. At the moment d'Artagnan
made his request, his majesty was on the point of going to bed, quite
exhausted from dancing.
"You wish to leave me, Monsieur d'Artagnan?" inquired the king,
with an air of astonishment; for Louis XIY. could never understand
that any one who had the distinguished honour of being near him,
could wish to leave him.
" Sire," said d'Artagnan, " I leave you simply because I am not of
the slightest service to you in anything. Ah! if I could only hold the
balancing-pole while you were dancing,tit would be a very different
affair."
vol. ii. b
2 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONME. .
"But, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnau," said the king, gravely, "people
dance without a balancing-pole."
"Ah! indeed," said the musketeer, continuing his imperceptible tono
of irony, " I had no idea at all of that."
" You have not seen me dance, then ?" inquired the king.
"Yes; but I always thought it would make you firmer. I was mis-
taken; a greater reason, therefore, that I should leave for a time. Sire,
1 repeat, you have no present occasion for my services; besides, if your
majesty should have any need of me, you would know where to find me."
Very well," said the king, and he granted him his leave of absence.
"We shall not look for d'Artagnan, therefore, at Fontainebleau, for
this would be quite useless; but, with the permission of our readers,
we shall follow him to the Rue des Lombards, where he was located
at the sign of the " Pilon d'Or," in the house of our old friend Planchet,
It was about eight o'clock in the evening, and the weather was exceed-
ingly warm; there was only one window open, and that one belonging
to a room on the entresol. A perfume of spices, mingled with another
perfume less exotic, but more penetrating, namely, that which arose
from the street, ascended to salute the nostrils of the musketeer.
D'Artagnan, reclining upon an immense straight-backed chair, with his
legs not stretched out, but simply placed upon a stool, formed an angle
of the most obtuse form that oould possibly be seen. Both his arms
were crossed over his head, his head reclining upon his left shoulder,
like Alexander the Great. His eyes, usually so quick and intelligent
in their expression, were now half-closed, and seemed fastened, as it
were, upon a small corner of blue sky, which was visible behind the
opening of the chimneys; there was just enough blue, and no more,
to put a piece into one of the sacks of lentils, or haricots, which
formed the principal furniture of the shop on the ground-floor. Thus
extended at his ease, and thus sheltered in his place of observation
behind the window, d'Artagnan seemed as if he had ceased to be a
soldier, as if he were no longer an officer belonging to the palace, but
was, on the contrary, a quiet, easy-going citizen in a state of stagnation
between his dinner and supper, or between his supper and his bed; one
of those strong, ossified brains, which have no more room for a single
idea, so fiercely does animal matter keep watch at the doors of intelli-
gence, narrowly inspecting the contraband trade which might result
from the introduction into the brain of a symptom of thought.
"We have already said night was closing in, the shops were being
lighted, while the windows of the upper apartments were being closed,
and the irregular steps of a patrol of soldiers forming the night-watch
could be heard in the distance. D'Artagnan continued, however, to
think of nothing, and to look at nothing, except the blue corner of the
sky. A few paces from him, completely in the shade, lying on his
stomach, upon a sack of Indian corn, was Planchet, with both his arms
under his chin, and his eyes fixed on d'Artagnan, who was either think-
ing, dreaming, or sleeping, with his eyes open. Planchet had been
watching him for a tolerably long time, and, by way of interruption, he
began by exclaiming, "Hum! hum!" But d'Artagnan did not stir.
Planchet then saw that it was necessary to have recourse to a more
effectual means still: after a prolonged reflection on the subject, the
most ingenious means which suggested itself to him under present
circumstances, was to let himself roll off the sack on to the floor,
murmuring, at the same time, against himself, the word "stupid."
But, notwithstanding the nmse produced by Planchet's fall, d'Ar-
vega&E, who had in the course of his existence heard many other, and
MALAGA. S
very different noises, did not appear to pay the least attention to the
present one. Besides, an enormous cart, laden with stones, passing from
la Rue Saint-Mederie, absorbed, in the noise of its wheels, the noise of
Planchet's fall. And yet Planchet fancied that, in token of tacit ap-
proval, he saw him imperceptibly smile at the word "stupid." This
emboldened him to say, "Are you asleep, Monsieur d'Artagnan ?"
"No, Planchet, I am not even asleep," replied the musketeer.
" I am in despair," said Planchet, " to hear such a word as even ."
"Well, and why not; is it not a good Prench word, Monsieur
Planchet?"
" Of course, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"Well!"
"Well, then, the word distresses me beyond measure."
" Tell me why you are distressed, Planchet," said d'Artagnan.
" If you say that you are not even asleep, it is as much as to say that
you have not even the consolation of being able to sleep ; or, better still,
it is precisely the same as telling me that you are getting bored to
death."
"Planchet, you know I am never bored."
"Except to-day, and the day before yesterday." "Bah !"
" Monsieur d'Artagnan, it is a week since you returned here from Eon-
tainebleau; in other words, you have no longer your orders to issue, or
your men to review and manoeuvre. Tou need the sound of guns,
drums, and all that din and confusion; I who have myself carried a
musket, can easily believe that."
" Planchet," replied d'Artagnan, " I assure you I am not bored the
least in the world."
" In that case, what are you doing, lying there, as if you were dead ?"
" My dear Planchet, there was, once upon a time, at the siege of
Rochelle, when I was there, when you were there, when we both were
there, a certain Arab, who was celebrated for the manner in which
he adjusted culverins. He was a clever fellow, although very singular
with regard to his complexion, which was the same colour as your
olives. Well, this Arab, whenever he had done eating or working, used
to sit down to rest himself, as I am resting myself now, and smoked I
cannot tell you what sort of magical leaves, in a large amber-mouthed
tube; and if any officer, happening to pass, reproached him for being
always asleep, he used quietly to reply: 'Better to sit down than to
stand up, to lie down than to sit down, to be dead than to lie down.'
He was a very melancholy Arab, and I remember him perfectly well,
from his colour and his style of conversation. He used to cut off the
heads of the Protestants with extreme satisfaction."
" Precisely; and then used to embalm them, when they were wcrth
the trouble."
"Yes; and when he was engaged in his embalming occupations, Ja
his herbs and other plants about him, he looked like a basket-maker
making baskets."
"You are quite right, Planchet, he aid so."
" Oh ! I can remember things very well, at times!"
" I have no doubt of it; but what do you think of his mode of rea-
soning ?"
" I think it very good in one sense, but very stupid in another."
"Propound your meaning, M. Planchet."
"Well, monsieur, in point of fact, then, 'better to sit down than to
stand up,' is plain enough, especially when one may be fatigued under
certain circumstances," and Planchet smiled in a roguish way; "as
is £
4 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
' better to be lying down than sitting down,' let that pass; but as for
the last proposition, that it is ' better to be dead than alive,' it is, in my
opinion, very absurd, my own undoubted preference being for my bed ;
and if you are not of my opinion, it is simply, as I have already had the
honour of telling you, because you are boring yourself to death."
" Planchet, do you know M. la Fontaine ?"
" The chemist at the corner of the Rue Saint-Mederie ?"
"No, the writer of fables? " "Oh! MaUre Corbeau
" Exactly so; well, then, I am like his hare."
"He has got a hare also, then?" "He has all sorts of animals."
""Well, what does his hare do, then ? " "His hare thinks."
" Ah, ah!"
" Planchet, I am like M. la Fontaine's hare—I am thinking."
" You're thinking, you say ? " said Planchet, uneasily.
" Yes; your house is dull enough to drive people to think; you will
admit that, I hope."
" And yet, monsieur, you have a look out upon the street."
" Yes; and wonderfully interesting that is, of course."
" But it is no less true, monsieur, that, if you were living at the back
of the house, you would bore yourself—I mean, you would think—more
than ever."
" Upon my word, Planchet, I hardly know that."
" Still," said the grocer, " if your reflections were at all like those
which led you to restore King Charles II.;" and Planchet finished by
a little laugh which was not without its meaning.
" Ah! Planchet, my friend," returned d'Artagnan, " you are getting
ambitious."
" Is there no other king to be restored, M. d'Artagnan—no other
Monk to be put into a box ? "
"No, my dear Planchet; all the kings are seated on their various
thrones—less comfortably so, perhaps, than I am upon this chair;
but, at all events, there they are." And d'Artagnan sighed very deeply.
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Planchet, " you are making me very
uneasy."
" You're very good, Planchet."
" I begin to suspect something."
" What is it ? " " Monsieur d'Artagnan, you are getting thin."
" Oh!" said d'Artagnan, striking his chest, which sounded like an
empty cuirass; " it is impossible, Planchet."
" Ah!" said Planchet, slightly overcome; " if you were to get thin in
my house "
" Well ? " " I should do something rash."
"What would you do ? tell me."
"I should look out for the man who was the cause of all your
anxieties."
"Ah! according to your account, I am anxious now."
"Yes, you are anxious; and you are getting thin, visibly getting thin.
Malaga! if you go on getting thin in this way, I will take my sword in
my hand, and go straight to M. d'Herblay, and have it out with him."
" What!" said M. d'Artagnan, starting in his chair; " what's that
you say ? And what has M. d'Herblay's name to do with your gro-
ceries P "
" Just as you please. Get angry if you like, or call me names, if you
jrefer it; but, the deuce is in it, I know what I know."
* D'Artagnan had, during this second outburst of Planchet, so placed
himself as not to lose a single look of his face; that is, he sat with both
MALAGA. 5
his hands resting on both his knees, and his head stretched out towards
the grocer. " Come, explain yourself," he said, " and tell me how you
could possibly utter suph a blasphemy. M. d'Herblay, your old master,
my friend, an ecclesiastic, a musketeer turned bishop—do you mean
to say you would raise your sword against him, Planchet ? "
" I could raise my sword against my own father, when I see you in
such a state as you are now."
" M. d'Herblay, a gentleman!"
" It's all the same to me whether he's a gentleman or not. He gives
you the blue devils, that is all I know. And the blue devils make
people get thin. Malaga ! I have no notion of M. d'Artagnan leaving
my house thinner than he entered it."
" How does he give me the blue devils, as you call it ? Come, ex-
plain, explain."
" You have had the night-mare during the last three nights."
"I?" ■" Yes, you ; and in your nightmare you called out, several
times,' Aramis, sly Aramis !'"
"Ah ! I said that, did I ? " murmured d'Artagnan, uneasily.
"Yes, those very words, upon my honour."
""Weil, what else? You know the saying, Planchet, 'dreams go bv
contraries.'"
" Not so; for, every time during the last three days, when you went
out, you have not once failed to ask me, on your return,' Have you
seen M. d'Herblay ?' or else,' Have you received any letters for me
from M. d'Herblay ?'"
' Well, it is very natural I should take an interest in my old friend,"
said d'Artagnan.
" Of course ; but not to such an extent as to get thin from it."
"Planchet, I'll get fatter; I give you my word of honour I will."
"Very well, monsieur, I accept it; for I know that when you give
your word of honour, it is sacred."
" I will not dream of Aramis any longer; and I will never ask you,
again, if there are any letters from M. d'Herblay; but on condition
that you explain one thing to me."
" Tell me what it is, monsieur."
" I am a great observer; and just now, you made use of a very sin-
gular oath, which is unusual for you."
" You mean Malaga ! I suppose ? " " Precisely."
"It is the oath I have used ever since I have been a grocer."
Very proper, too; it is the name of a dried grape, or raisin, I be-
lieve?"
" It is my most ferocious oath; when I have once said Malaga ! I am
a man no longer."
" Still, I never knew you use that oath before."
" Very likely not, monsieur. I had a present made me of it," said
Planchet; and, as he pronounced these words, he winked his eye with
a cunning expression, which thoroughly awakened d'Artagnan's atten-
tion.
" Come, come, M. Planchet."
" Why, I am not like you, monsieur," said Planchet. "I don't pass
my life in thinking."
"You are wrong, then."
" I mean, in boring myself to death. We have but a very short time
to live—why not make the best of it ? "
" You are an Epicurean philosopher, I begin to think, Planchet."
"Why not? My hand is still as steady as ever; I can write, and
6 THE VICOMTE DE BP.AGEIONNE.
can weigh out my sugars and spices; my foot is firm; I can dance and
walk about; my stomach has its teeth still, for I eat and digest well;
my heart is not quite hardened. Well, monsieur ? "
" Well, what, Planchet ? "
"Why, you see " said the grocer, rubbing his hands together.
D'Artagnan crossed one leg over the other, and said, " Planchet, my
friend, I am astounded by surprise; for you are revealing yourself to
me under a perfectly new light.
Planchet, flattered in the highest degree by this remark, continued
to rub his hands very hard together. " Ah, ah !" he said, " because I
happen to be only stupid, you think, me, perhaps, a positive fool."
"Very good, Planchet; very well reasoned."
# " Follow my idea, monsieur, if you please. I said to myself," con-
tinued Planchet, " that, without enjoyment, there is no happiness on
this earth."
" Quite true, what you say, Planchet," interrupted d'Artagnan.
" At all events, if we cannot obtain pleasure—for pleasure is not so
common a thing, after all—let us, at least, get consolations of some
kind or other."
"And so you console yourself? " "Exactly so."
" Tell me how you console yourself."
" I put on a buckler for the purpose of confronting ennui. I place
my time at the direction of patience; and on the very eve of feeling
I am going to get bored, I amuse myself."
" And you don't find any difficulty in that ? " "None."
" And you found it out quite by yourself? " " Quite so."
" It is miraculous."—7" What do you say ? "
" I say, that your philosophy is not to be matched in the whole
world."
"You think so?—follow my example, then."
" It is a very tempting one." " Do as I do."
" I could not wish for anything better; but all minds are not of the
same stamp • and it might possibly happen that if I were required to
amuse myself in the manner you do, I should bore myself horribly."
" Bah! at least try it first." " Well, tell me what you do."
" Have you observed that I leave home occasionally ? " "Yes."
" In any particular way ? " " Periodically."
" That's the very thing. You have noticed it, then ? "
" My dear Planchet, you must understand that when people see each
other every day, and one of the two absents himself, the other misses
him. Do not you feel the want of my society when I am in the
country ? "
" Prodigiously; that is to say, I feel like a body without a soul."
" That being understood, then, let us go on."
" What are the periods when I absent myself? "
" On the fifteenth and thirtieth of every month."
" And I remain away ? "
" Sometimes two, sometimes three, and sometimes four days at a time."
" Have you ever given it a thought, what I have been absent for ? "
" To look after your debts, I suppose."
" And when I returned, how did you think I looked, as far as my
face was concerned ?"
" Exceedingly satisfied."
"You admit, you say, that I always look very satisfied. And what
have you attributed my satisfaction to ? "
" That your business was going on very well; that your purchases of
MALAGA. 7
rice, prunes, raw sugar, dried apples and pears, and treacle, were ad-
vantageous. You were always very picturesque in your notions and
ideas, Planchet; and I was not in the slightest degree surprised to find
you had selected grocery as an occupation, which is of all trades the
most varied, and the very pleasantest, as far as character is concerned;
inasmuch as one handles so many natural and perfumed productions."
" Perfectly true, monsieur; but you are very greatly mistaken."
" In what way ? "
" In thinking that I leave here every fortnight, to collect my money,
or to make purchases. Oh, oh ! how could you possibly have thought
such a thing ? Oh, oh, oh !" And Planchet began to laugh in a man-
ner that inspired d'Artagnan with very serious misgivings as to his
sanity.
"I confess," said the musketeer, " that I do not precisely catch your
meaning."
" Very true, monsieur."
" What do you mean by ' very true' ? "
" It must be true, since you say it; but pray, be assured that it in no
way lessens my opinion of you."
" Ah! that is very fortunate."
" No; you are a man of genius; and whenever the question happens
to be of war, tactics, surprises, or good honest blows to be dealt, why,
kings are all nonsense, compared to you. But for the consolations of
the mind, the proper care of the body, the agreeable things of life, if
one may say so—an! monsieur, don't talk to me about men of genius;
they are nothing short of executioners."
" Good," said d'Artagnan, quite fidgety with curiosity, " upon my
word you interest me in the highest degree."
" You feel already less bored than you did just now, do you not ? "
" I was not bored; yet since you have been talking to me I feel more
amused."
" Very good, then; that is not a had beginning. I will cure you, rely
upon that."
" There is nothing I should like better."
" Will you let me try, then ? " " Immediately, if you like."
" Very well. Have you any horses here ? "
"Yes; ten, twenty, thirty."
" Oh, there is no occasion for so many as that; two will be quite
sufficient."
" They are quite at your disposal, Planchet."
" Very good; then I shall carry you off with me."
" When ? " " To-morrow."
" Where ? " " Ah, you are asking me too much."
"You will admit, however, that it is important I should know where
I am going."
" Do you like the country ? "
" Only moderately, Planchet."
" In that case, you like town better ? "
" That is as it may be."
"Very well; I am going to take you to a place hall" town and hah
country." Good."
" To a place where I am sure you will amuse yourself.'
" Is it possible ? "
"Yes; and more wonderful still, to a place from which you have
iust returned, for the purpose only, it would seem, of getting bored
here."
h THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" It is to Fontainebleau you are going, then ? "
" Exactly; to Fontainebleau."
"And, in heaven's name, what are you going to do at Fontaine-
bleau ? "
Planchet answered d'Artagnan by a wink full of sly humour.
" You have some property there, you rascal."
" Oh, a very paltry affair; a little bit of a house—nothing more."
" I understand you."
" But it is tolerable enough, after all."
" I am going to Planchet s country seat!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
" Whenever you like."
" Bid we not fix to-morrow."
" Let us say to-morrow, if you like; and then, besides, to-morrow is
ohe 14th, that is to say, the day before the one when I am afraid of get-
ting bored; so we will look upon it as an understood thing."
" Agreed, by all means."
" You will lend me one of your horses ? "
" The best I have."
"No; I prefer the gentlest of all; I never was a very good rider, as
you know, and in my grocery business I have got more awkward than
ever; besides "
" Besides what ? "
" Why," added Planchet, " I do not wish to fatigue myself."
" Why so ? " d'Artagnan ventured to ask.
" Because I should lose half the pleasure I expect to enjoy," replied
Planchet. And thereupon he rose from his sack of Indian corn,
stretching himself, and making all his bones crack, one after the other,
with a sort of harmony.
"Planchet, Planchet," exclaimed d'Artagnan, "I do declare that
there is no sybarite upon the whole face of the globe who can for a
moment be compared to you. Oh, Planchet, it is very clear that we
have never yet eaten a ton of salt together."
" Why so, monsieur ? "
" Because, even now I can scarcely say I know you," said d'Artagnan,
" and because, in point of fact, I return to the opinion which, for a
moment, I had formed of you on that day at Boulogne, when you
strangled, or did so as nearly as possible, M. de Wardes' valet, Lubin;
in plain language, Planchet, that you are a man of great resources."
Planchet began to laugh with a laugh full of self-conceit; bade the
musketeer good night, and went down-stairs to his back shop, which he
used as a bedroom. B'Artagnan resumed his original position upon
his chair, and his brow, which had been unruffled for a moment, be-
came more pensive than ever. He had already forgotten the whims
and dreams of Planchet. " Yes," said he, taking up again the thread
of his thoughts, which had been broken by the agreeable conversation
in which we have just permitted our readers to participate. "Yes,
yes, those three points include everything: First, to ascertain what
Baisemeaux wanted with Aramis; secondly, to learn why Aramis does
not let me hear from him; and thirdly, to ascertain where Porthos is.
The whole mystery lies in these three points. Since, therefore," con-
tinued d'Artagnan, " our friends tell us nothing, we must have recourse
to our own poor intelligence. I must do what I can, mordioux, or
rather Malaga, as Planchet would say."
A LETTER PEOM M. DE BAISEMEAUX.
9
CHAPTER II.
A Letter from M. de Baisemeaux.
D'Artagnan, faithful to his plan, went the very next morning to
pay a visit to M. de Baisemeaux. It was the cleaning up or tidying
day at the Bastille: the cannons were furbished up, the staircases
scraped and cleaned; and the gaolers seemed to be carefully engaged in
polishing even the keys themselves. As for the soldiers belonging
to the garrison, they were walking about in the different courtyards,
under the pretence that they were clean enough. The governor, Baise-
meaux, received d'Artagnan with more than ordinary politeness, but he
behaved towards him with so marked a reserve of manner, that all
d'Artagnan's tact and cleverness could not get a syllable out of him.
The more he kept himself within bounds, the more d'Artagnan's suspi-
cion increased. The latter even fancied he remarked that the governor
was acting under the influence of a recent recommendation. Baise-
meaux had not been at the Palais-Royal with d'Artagnan the fsame
cold and impenetrable man which the latter now found in the Baise-
meaux of the Bastille. When d'Artagnan wished to make him talk
about the urgent money matters which had brought Baisemeaux in
search of d'Artagnan, and had rendered him expansive; notwithstand-
ing what had passed on that evening, Baisemeaux pretended that he
had some orders to give in the prison, and left d'Artagnan so long alone,
waiting for him, that our musketeer, feeling sure that he should not
get another syllable out of him, left the Bastille without waiting until
Baisemeaux returned from his inspection. But d'Artagnan's suspicions
were aroused, and when once that was the case, d'Artagnan could not
sleep or remain quiet for a moment. He was among men what the cat
is among quadrupeds, the emblem of restlessness and impatience, at the
same moment. A restless cat no more remains in the same place than
a silk thread does which is wafted idly to and fro with every breath of
air. A cat on the watch is as motionless as death stationed at its place
of observation, and neither hunger nor thirst can possibly draw it away
from its meditation. D'Artagnan, who was burning with impatience,
suddenly threw aside the feeling, like a cloak which he felt too heavy
on his shoulders, and said to himself that that which they were con-
cealing from him, was the very thing it was important he should know;
and, consequently, he reasoned that Baisemeaux would not fail to put
Aramis on his guard, if Aramis had given him any particular recom-
mendation, and which was, in fact, the very thing that did happen.
Baisemeaux had hardly had time to return from the donjon, than
d'Artagnan placed himself in ambuscade close to the Rue du Petit-
Muse, so as to see every one who might leave the gates of the Bastille.
After he had spent an hour on the look-out from the " Golden Port-
cullis," under the pent-house of which he could keep himself a little in
the shade, d'Artagnan observed a soldier leave the Bastille. This was,
indeed, the surest indication he could possibly have wished for, as every
gaoler or warder has certain days, and even certain hours, for leaving
the Bastille, since all are alike prohibited from having either wives or
lodgings in the castle, and can accordingly leave without exciting any
curiosity; but a soldier once in barracks is kept there for four-and-
twenty hours when on duty,—and no one knew this better than d'Ar-
tagnan. The soldier in question, therefore, was not likely to leave in
10 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
his regimentals, except on an express and urgent order. The soldier,
we were saying, left the Bastille at a slow and lounging pace, like a
happy mortal, in fact, who, instead of keeping sentry before a weari-
some guard-house, or upon a bastion no less wearisome, has the good
luck to get a little liberty, in addition to a walk,—the two pleasures
being reckoned as part of his time on duty. He bent his steps towards
the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, enjoying the fresh air and the warmth of
the sun, and looking at all the pretty faces he passed. D'Artagnan
followed him at a distance: he had not yet arranged his ideas as to
what was to be done. " I must, first of all," he thought, " see the fel-
low's face. A man seen is a man judged of." D'Artagnan inoreased
his pace, and, which was not very difficult, by the bye, soon got in
advance of the soldier. Not only did he observe that his face showed
a tolerable amount of intelligence and resolution, but he noticed also
that his nose was a little red. " He has a weakness for brandy, I see,"
said d'Artagnan to himself. At the same moment that he remarked
his red nose, he saw that the soldier had a white paper in his belt.
" Good, he has a letter," added d'Artagnan. The only difficulty was to
get hold of the letter. But a soldier would, of course, be too delighted
at having been seleoted by M. de Baisemeaux for a special messenger,
and would not be likely to sell his message. As d'Artagnan was biting
his nails, the soldier continued to advance more and more into the
Faubourg Saint-Antoine. " He is certainly going to Saint-Mandd," he
said to himself, " and I shall not be able to learn what the letter con-
tains." It was enough to drive him wild. " If I were in uniform,"
said d'Artagnan to himself, " I would have this fellow seized, and his
letter with him. I could easily get assistance at the very first guard-
house; but the devil take me if I mention my name in an affair of this
kind. If I were to treat him to something to drink, his suspicions
would be roused ; and, besides, he would make me drunk. Mordioux !
my wits seem to have left me," said d'Artagnan ; " it is all over with
me. Yet, supposing I were to attack this poor devil, make him draw
his sword, and kill him for the sake of his letter. No harm in that,
if it were a question of a letter from a queen to a nobleman, or a letter
from a cardinal to a queen; but what miserable intrigues are those of
Messieurs Aramis and Fouquet with M. Colbert. A man's life for
that! No, no? indeed; not even ten crowns." As he philosophized in
this manner, biting, first his nails, and then his moustaches, he perceived
a group of archers and a commissary of the police engaged in forcibly
carrying away a man of very gentlemanly exterior, who was struggling
with all his might against them. The archers had torn his clothes, and
were dragging him roughly away. He begged they would lead him
along more respectfully, asserting that he was a gentleman and a soldier.
And observing our soldier walking in the street, he called out, " Help,
comrade."
The soldier walked on with the same step towards the man who had
called out to him, followed by the crowd. An idea suddenly occurred
to d'Artagnan; it was his first one, and we shall find it was not a bad
one either. During the time the gentleman was relating to the soldier
that he had just been seized in a house as a thief,«when the truth was
he was only there as a lover; and while the soldier was pitying him,
and offering him consolation and advice with that gravity which a
French soldier has always ready whenever his vanity or his esprit de
corps is concerned, d'Artagnan glided behind the soldier, who was
closely hemmed in by the crowd, and with a rapid gesture drew the
paper out of his belt. As at this moment the gentleman with the torn
porthos has hot lost his strength. 11
clothes was pulling about the soldier to show how the commissary of
police had pulled him about, d'Artagnan effected his capturo of the
letter without the slightest inconvenience. He stationed himself about
ten paces distant, behind the pillar of an adjoining house, and read on
the address, " To Monsieur du Yallon, at Monsieur Fouquet's, Saint-
Mande."
"Good!" he said, and then he unsealed without tearing the letter,
drew out the paper, which was folded in four, from the inside, and
which contained only these words:—
" Hear Monsieur du Yailon,—Will you be good enough to tell
Monsieur d'Herblay that Tie has been to the Bastille, and has been
making inquiries. Your devoted De Baisemeaux"
" Very good! all right!" exclaimed d'Artagnan; " it is clear enough
now. Porthos is engaged in it." Being now satisfied of what he
wished to know: "Mordioux!" thought the musketeer, "what is to
be done with that poor devil of a soldier ? That hot-headed, cunning
fellow, de Baisemeaux, will make him pay dearly for my trick,—if he
returns without the letter, what will they do to him ? Besides, I don't
want the letter; when the egg has been sucked, what is the good of the
shell?" D'Artagnan perceived that the commissary and the archers
had succeeded in convincing the soldier, and went on their way with
the prisoner, the latter being still surrounded by the crowd, and con-
tinuing his complaints. D'Artagnan advanced into the very middle of
the crowd, let the letter fall, without any one having observed him, and
then retreated rapidly. The soldier resumed his route towards Saint-
Mandd, his mind occupied with the gentleman who had implored his
protection. Suddenly he thought of his letter, and, looking at his belt,
saw that it was no longer there. D'Artagnan derived no little satis-
faction from his sudden terrified cry. The poor soldier in the greatest
anguish of mind looked round him on every side, and at last, about
twenty paces behind him, he perceived the blessed envelope. He
pounced on it like a falcon on its prey. The envelope was certainly a
little dusty, and rather crumpled, but at all events the letter itself was
found again. D'Artagnan observed that the broken seal attracted the
soldier's attention a good deal, but he finished apparently by consoling
himself, and returned the letter to his belt. " Go od," said d'Artagnan,
" I have plenty of time before me, so you may precede me. It appears
that Aramis is not at Paris, since Baisemeaux writes to Porthos. Dear
Porthos, how delighted I shall be to see him again, and to have some
conversation with him!" said the Gascon. And, regulating his pace
according to that of the soldier, he promised himself to arrive a quarter
of an hour after him at M. Fouquet's.
CHAPTER III.
In which the Reader will be delighted to fkid that Porthos has lost nothing of
his strength.
D'Artagnan had, according to his usual style, calculated that every
hour is worth sixty minutes, and every minute worth sixty seconds.
Thanks to this perfectly exact calculation of minutes and seconds, he
reached the surintendant's door at the very moment the soldier was
leaving it with his belt empty. D'Artagnan presented himself at the
12" THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
door, which a porter with a profusely embroidered livery held half-
opened for him. D'Artagnan would very much have liked to enter
without giving his name, but this was impossible, and so he gave it.
Notwithstanding this concession, which ought to have removed every
difficulty in the way, at least d'Artagnan thought so, the concierge
hesitated; however, at the second repetition of the title, captain of the
king's guards, the concierge, without quite leaving the passage clear for
him, ceased to bar it completely. D'Artagnan understood that orders
of the most positive character had been given. He decided, therefore,
to tell a falsehood,—a circumstance, moreover, which did not very
seriously affect his peace of mind, when he saw that, beyond the false-
hood, the safety of the state itself, or even purely and simply his own
individual personal interest, might be at stake. He moreover added to
the declarations which he had already made, that the soldier sent to
M. du Yallon was his own messenger, and that the only object that
letter had in view was to announce his intended arrival. From that
moment, no one opposed d'Artagnan's entrance any further, and he
entered accordingly. A valet wished to accompany him, but he an-
swered that it was useless to take that trouble on his account, inasmuch
as he knew perfectly well where M. du Vallon was. There was nothing,
of course, to say to a man so thoroughly and completely informed on
all points, and d'Artagnan was permitted therefore to do as he liked.
The terraces, the magnificent apartments, the gardens, were all reviewed
and narrowly inspected by the musketeer. He walked for a quarter of
an hour in this more than royal residence, which included as many
wonders as articles of furniture, and as many servants as there were
columns and doors. " Decidedly," he said to himself, " this mansion
haS no other limits than the limits of the earth. Is it probable Porthos
has taken it into his head to go back to Pierrefonas without even
leaving M. Fouquet's house?" He finally reached a remote part of
the chateau inclosed by a stone wall, which was covered with a pro-
fusion of thick plants, luxuriant in blossoms as large and solid as fruit.
At equal distances on the top of this wall were placed, various statues
in timid or mysterious attitudes. These were vestals hidden beneath
the long Greek peplum, with its thick, heavy folds; agile watchers,
covered with their marble veils, and guarding the palace with their
furtive glances. A statue of Hermes, with his finger on his lips; one of
Iris, with extended wings; another of Night, sprinkled all over with
poppies, dominated in the gardens and the outbuildings, which could be
seen through the trees. All these statues threw in white relief their
profiles upon the dark ground of the tall cypresses, which darted their
black summits toward the sky. Around these cypresses were entwined
climbing roses, whose flowering rings were fastened to every fork of
every branch, and spread over the lower branches and upon the various
statues showers of flowers of the richest fragrance. These enchant-
ments seemed to the musketeer the result of the greatest efforts of the
human mind. He felt in a dreamy, almost poetical, frame of mind.
The idea that Porthos was living in so perfect an Eden gave him a
higher idea of Porthos, showing how true it is, that even the very
highest orders of minds are not quite exempt from the influence of
surrounding circumstances. D'Artagnan found the door, and at the
door a kind of spring which he detected; having touched it, the door
flew own. D'Artagnan entered, closed the door behind him, and ad-
vanced into a pavilion built in a circular form, in which no other
sound could be heard but cascades and the songs of birds. At the door
of the pavilion he met a lackey.
POKTHOS HAS NOT LOST HIS STBENGTH. 13
" It is here, I believe," said d'Artagnan, without hesitatiou, " that
M. le baron du Yallon is staying ?"
" Yes, monsieur," answered the lackey.
" Have the goodness to tell him that M. le chevalier d'Artagnan,
captain of the king's musketeers, is waiting to see him."
D'Artagnan was introduced into the salon, and had not long to
remain in expectation; a well-remembered step shook the floor of the
adjoining room, a door opened, or rather flew open, and Potthos
appeared, and threw himself into his friend's arms with a sort of em-
barrassment which did not ill become him. " You here ? " he exclaimed.
" And you ?" replied d'Artagnan. " Ah, you sly fellow!"
" Yes," said Porthos, with a somewhat embarrassed smile; " yes, you
see I am staying in M. Pouquet's house, at which you are not a little
surprised, I suppose?"
" Not at all; why should you not be one of M. Pouquet's friends?
M. Pouquet has a very large number, particularly among clever men."
Porthos had the modesty not to take the compliment to himself.
" Besides," he added, " you saw me at Belle-Isle."
" A greater reason for my believing you to be one of M. Pouquet's
friends."
" The fact is, I am acquainted with him," said Porthos, with a certain
embarrassment of manner.
" Ah, friend Porthos," said d'Artagnan, " how treacherously you
have behaved towards me."
" In what way ?" exclaimed Porthos.
" "What! you complete so admirable a work as the fortifications of
Belle-Isle, and you did not tell me of it!" Porthos coloured. " Nay,
more than that," continued d'Artagnan, " you saw me out yonder, you
know I am in the king's service, and yet you could not guess that the
king, jealously desirous of learning the name of the man whose abilities
have wrought a work of which he has heard the most wonderful
accounts,—you could not guess, I say, that the king sent me to learn
who this man was ?"
" What! the king sent you to learn "
"Of course; but don't let us speak of that any more."
"Not speak of it!" said Porthos; "on the contrary, we will speak
of it; and so the king knew that we were fortifying Belle-Isle ?"
" Of course; does not the king know everything ? "
" But he did not know who was fortifying it."
" No, he only suspected from what he had been told of the nature of
the works, that it was some celebrated soldier or another."
" The devil!" said Porthos; " if I had only known that!"
" You would not have run away from Yannes as you did, perhaps ?"
" No; what did you say when you couldn't find me?"
" My dear fellow, I reflected."
" Ah, indeed; you reflect, do you ? Well, and what has that reflec-
tion led to ?"
" It led me to guess the whole truth."
" Come, then, tell me, what did you guess after all?" said Porthos,
settling himself into an arm-chair, and assuming the airs of a sphinx.
" I guessed, in the first place, that you were fortifying Belle-isle."
" There was no great difficulty in that, for you saw me at work."
"Wait a minute; I also guessed something else,—that you were
fortifying Belle-Isle by M. Pouquet's orders."
" That's true."
" But not all. Whenever I feel myself in train for guessing, I do
14 THE VIC011TE DE BEAGELONNE.
not stop on my road; and so I guessed that M. Fouquet wished to
preserve the most absolute secrecy respecting these fortifications."
" I believe that was his intention, in fact," said Porthos.
" Yes; but do you know why he wished to keep it secret ? "
" Because it should not be known, perhaps," said Porthos.
" That was his principal reason. But his wish was subservient to an
affair of generosity- "
" In fact," said Porthos, " I have heard it said that M. Pouquet was a
very generous man."
" To an affair of generosity which he wished to exhibit towards the
king/' " Oh, oh! "
x ou seem surprised at it ? "—Yes."
" And you did not know that ? " " No."
" Well, I know it then."
" You're a wizard." " Not in the slightest degree."
" How do you know it, then ? "
" By a very simple means. I heard M. Fouquet himself say so to the
king."
" Say what to the king ? "
" That he had fortified Belle-Isle on his majesty's account, and that
he made him a present of Belle-Isle."
" And you heard M. Fouquet say that to the king ? "
" In those very words. He even added:' Belle-Isle has been fortified
by an engineer, one of my friends, a man of a great deal of merit, whom
I shall ask your majesty's permission to present to you.'
" ' What is his name ?' said the king.
"' The Baron du Yallon,' M. Fouquet replied.
"' Very well,' returned his majesty,' you will present him to me.'"
" The king said that ? "
" Upon the word of a d'Artagnan !"
" Oh, oh !" said Porthos. " Why have I not been presented, then ? "
" Have they not spoken to you about this presentation ? "
" Yes, certainly; but I am always kept, waiting for it."
" Be easy, it will be sure to come."
" Humph! humph !" grumbled Porthos, which d'Artagnan pretended
not to hear; and, changing the conversation, he said, You seem to
be living in a very solitary place here, my dear fellow ? "
" 1 always preferred retirement. 1 am of a melancholy disposition,"
replied Porthos, with a sigh.
" Beally, that is odd," said d'Artagnan; " I never remarked that
before."
" It is only since I have taken to reading," said Porthos, with a
thoughtful air.
" But the labours of the mind have not affected the health of the
body, I trust ? " " Not in the slightest degree."
" Your strength is as great as ever ? "
" Too great, my friend, too great."
" Ah ! I had heard that, for a short time after your arrival "
" That I could hardly move a limb, I suppose ? "
" How was it P" said d'Artagnan, smiling; " and why was it you
could not move ? "
Porthos, perceiving that he had made a mistake, wished to correct it.
"Yes, I came from Belle-Isle here upon very hard horses," he said, " and
that fatigued me."
" I am no longer astonished, then, since I, who followed you, found
g§Tsn or eight lying dead on the road."
TOETHOS HAS NOT LOST HIS STEENGTH. 15
" I am very heavy, you know," said Porthos.
" So that you were bruised all over."
" My fat melted, and that made me very ill."
" Poor Porthos ! But how did Aramis act towards you under those
circumstances ? "
" Very well indeed. He had me attended to by M. Pouquet's own
doctor. But just imagine, at the end of a week I could not breathe any
longer."
" What do you mean ? "
" The room was too small, I absorbed too much air." " Indeed ? "
" I was told so, at least; and so I was removed into another apart-
ment."
" Where you were able to breathe that time, I hope."
" Yes, more freely; but no exercise—nothing to do. The doctor pre-
tended that I was not to stir; I, on the contrary, felt that I was stronger
than ever; that was the cause of a very serious accident."
" What accident ? "
" Pancy, my dear fellow, that I revolted against the directions of that
ass of a doctor, and I resolved to go out, whether it suited him or not;
and, consequently, I told the valet who waited on me to bring me my
clothes."
" You were quite naked, then ? "
" Oh, no! on the contrary, I had a magnificent dressing-gown to
wear: the lacquey obeyed; I dressed myself in my own clothes, which
had become too large for me; but a strange circumstance had happened,
—my feet had become too large."
" Yes, I quite understand."
" And my boots had become too small."
" You mean your feet were still swollen."
" Exactly; you have hit it."
"Pardieu! And is "that the accident you were going to tell me
about ? " t
" Oh, yes! I did not make the same reflection you have done. I
said to myself: ' Since my feet have entered my boots ten times, there
is no reason why they should not go in an eleventh.5"
"Allow me to tell you, my dear Porthos, that, on this occasion, you
failed in your logic.55
" In short, then, they placed me opposite to a part of the room which
was partitioned; I tried to get my boot on; I pulled it with my hands,
I pushed with all the strength of the muscles of my leg, making the
most unheard-of efforts, when suddenly, the two tags of my boots
remained in my hands, and my foot struck out like a catapult."
" Catapult! how learned you are in fortification, dear Porthos."
" My foot darted out like a catapult, and came against the partition,
which it broke in; I really thought that, lijce Samson, I had demo-
lished the temple. And the number of pictures, the quantity of china,
vases of flowers, carpets, and window-poles which fell down were really
wonderful." " Indeed !55
" "Without reckoning that, on the other side of the partition was a
small table laden with porcelain 55
" Which you knocked over ?55
" Which I dashed to the other side of the room," said Porthos,
laughing.
" Upon my word it is, as you say, astonishing," replied d'Artagnan,
beginning to laugh also; whereupon Porthos laughed louder than ever.
" I broke," said Porthos, in a voice half-choked from his increasing
16 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONUE.
mirth, more than three thousand francs worth of china—oh! oh! oh!"
——" Good!" said d'Artagnan.
" I smashed more than four thousand francs worth of glass—oh ! oh !
oh!" " Excellent."
" "Without counting a lustre, which fell on my head and was broken
into a thousand pieces—oh ! oh ! oh ! "
" Upon your head ? " said d'Artagnan, holding his sides.
" On the top."
" But your head was broken, I suppose ? "
" No, since I tell you, on the contrary, my dear fellow, that it was
the lustre which was broken like glass, as it was, indeed."
" Ah ! the lustre was glass, you say."
" Venetian glass! a perfect curiosity, quite matchless, indeed, and
weighed two hundred pounds."
" And which fell upon your head !"
" Upon my head. Just imagine, a globe of crystal, gilded all over, the
lower part beautifully encrusted, perfumes burning at the top, and jets
from which flame issued when they were lighted."
" I quite understand, but they were not lighted at the time, I
suppose ?"
" Happily not, or I should have been set on fire."
"And you were only knocked down flat, instead ?"
" Not at all." " How, not at all ? "
" Why the lustre fell on my skull. It appears that we have upon the
top of our heads an exceedingly thick crust."
" Who told you that, Porthos ? "
" The doctor. A sort of dome which would bear Notre-Dame, at
Paris." " Bah !"
" Yes, it seems that our skulls are made in that manner."
" Speak for yourself, my dear fellow, it is your own skull that is made
in that manner, and not the skulls of other people."
"Well, that may be so," said Porthos, conceitedly, "so much, how-
ever, was that the case, in my instance) that no sooner did the lustre
fall upon the dome which we have at the top of our head, than there
was a report like a cannon, the crystal was broken to pieces, and I fell,
covered from head to foot."
" With blood, poor Porthos!"
"Not at all; with perfumes, which smelt like rich creams; it was
delicious, but the odour was too strong, and I felt quite giddy from it:
perhaps you have experienced it sometimes yourself, d'Artagnan ?"
" Yes, in inhaling the scent of the lily of the valley; so that, my poor
Iriend, you were knocked over by the shock and overpowered by the
odour ? "
" Yes; but what is very remarkable, for the doctor told me he had
never seen anything like it "
" You had a bump on your head I suppose ?" interrupted d'Artagnan.
" I had five."
"Why five?"
"I will tell you; the lustre had, at its lower extremity, five gilt
ornaments, excessively sharp." " Oh!"
"Well, these five ornaments penetrated my hair, which, as you see,
I wear very thick." " Fortunately so."
" And they made a mark on my skin. But just notice the singularity
of it, these things seem really only to happen to me! Instead of making
indentations, they made bumps. The doctor could never succeed in
explaining that to me satisfactorily."
FOKTHOS HAS NOT LOST HIS STEENGTH. 17
" Well, then, I will explain it to you."
"You will do me a great service if you will," said Porthos, winking
his eyes, which, with him, was a sign of the profoundest attention.
" Since you have been employing your brain in studies of an exalted
character, in important calculations, and so on, the head has gained a
certain advantage, so that your head is now too full of science."
"Do you think so ?"
" I am sure of it. The result is, that, instead of allowing any foreign
matter to penetrate the interior of the head, your bony box or skull,
which is already too full, avails itself of the openings which are made in
in it allowing this excess to escape."
" Ah!" said Porthos, to whom this explanation appeared clearer than
that of the doctor.
" The five protuberances, caused by the five ornaments of the lustre,
must certainly have been scientific masses, brought to the surface by
the force of circumstances."
" In fact," said Porthos, " the real truth is, that I felt far worse out-
side my head than inside. I will even confess, that when I put my hat
upon my head, clapping it on my head with that graceful energy which
we gentlemen of the sword possess, if my fist was not very gently applied,
I experienced the most painful sensations."
" I quite believe you, Porthos."
" Therefore, my friend," said the giant, " M. Pouquet decided, seeing
how slightly-built the house was, to give me another lodging, and so
they brought me here."
" It is the private park, I think, is it not ?" " Yes."
" Where the rendezvous are made; that park, indeed, which is so
celebrated in some of those mysterious stories about the surintendant."
" I don't know; I have had no rendezvous or heard mysterious stories
myself, but they have authorized me to exercise my muscles, and I take
advantage of the permission by rooting up some of the trees."
"What for?"
" To keep my hand in, and also to take some birdsnests; I find that
more convenient than climbing up the trees."
" You are as pastoral as Tircis," my dear Porthos.
"Yes, I like the small eggs; I like them very much better than
larger ones. You have no idea how delicate an omelette is, if made of
four or five hundred eggs of linnets, chaffinches, starlings, blackbirds,
and thrushes."
" But five hundred eggs is perfectly monstrous!"
" A salad-bowl will hold them easily enough," said Porthos.
D'Artagnan looked at Porthos admiringly for full five minutes, as if
he had seen him for the first time, while Porthos spread himself out
joyously and proudly. They remained in this state several minutes,
Porthos smiling, and d'Artagnan looking at him. D'Artagnan was
evidently trying to give the conversation a new turn. " Do you amuse
yourself much here Porthos ?" he asked at last, very likely after he had
found out what he was searching for.
"Not always."
"I can imagine that; but when you get thoroughly bored, by-and-
by, what do you intend to do ?" .....
" Oh ! I shall not be here for any length of time. Aramis is waiting
until the last bump on my head disappears, in order to present me to
the king, who I am told cannot endure the sight of a bump."
"Aramis is still in Paris, then ?" "No."
" Whereabouts is he, then ? " " At Pontamebleau."
c
18 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONKEI.
" Alone ?" " With M. Fouquet."
" Very good. But do you happen to know one thing ?"
"No, tell it me, and then I shall know."
"Well, then, I think that Aramis is forgetting you."
" Do you really think so ?"
" Yes; for at Fontainebleau yonder, you must know, they are laugh-
ing, dancing, banqueting, and drawing the corks of M. de Mazarin's
wine in line style. Are you aware that they have a ballet every
evening there ?"
" The deuce they have !"
" I assure you that your dear Aramis is forgetting you."
"Well, that is not at all unlikely, and I have myself thought so
sometimes."
" Unless he is playing you a trick, the sly fellow!" " Oh !"
"You know that Aramis is as sly as a fox."
" Y es, but to play me a trick "
" Listen; in the first place, he puts you under a sort of sequestration."
" He sequestrates me! Do you mean to say I am sequestrated ?"
" I think so."
" I wish you would have the goodness to prove that to me."
"Nothing easier. Do you ever go out?" " Never."
" Do you ever ride on horseback ?" " Never."
" Are your friends allowed to come and see you ?" " Never."
" Very well, then; never to go out, never to ride on horseback, never
to be allowed to see your friends, that is called being sequestrated."
" But why should Aramis sequestrate me ?" inquired Porthos.
"Come," said d'Artagnan, "be frank, Porthos." "As gold."
" It was Aramis who drew the plan of the fortifications at Belle-Isle,
was it not?"
Porthos coloured as he said, " Yes; but that was all that he did."
" Exactly, and my own opinion is that it was no very great affair after
all." " That is mine, too."
" Very good; I am delighted we are of the same opinion."
" He never even came to Belle-Isle," said Porthos.
" There now, you see."
" It was I who went to Vannes, as you may have seen."
" Say, rather, as I did see. Well, that is precisely the state of the
case, my dear Porthos. Aramis, who- only drew the plans, wishes to
pass himself off as the engineer, whilst you, w7ho, stone by stone, built
the wall, the citadel, and the bastions, he wishes to reduce to the rank
of a mere builder."
" By builder, you mean mason, perhaps ?"
" Mason; the very word." '
"Plasterer, in fact?" "Precisely."
" A labourer ?" " Exactly."
" Oh! oh! toy dear Aramis, you seem to think you are only five-
and-twenty years of age still."
" Yes, and that is not all, for he believes you are fifty."
" I should amazingly liked to have seen him at work."
"Yes, indeed."
" A fellow who has got the gout ?" " Yes."
" Who has lost three of his teeth ?" " Pour."
"While I, look at mine." And Porthos, opening his large mouth
very wide, displayed two rows of teeth rather less white than snow, but
as even, hard, and sound as ivory.
"You can hardly believe, Porthos," said d'Artagnan, "what a fancy
POBTHOS HAS NOT LOST HIS STRENGTH. 19
the king has for good teeth. Yours decide me; I will present you to
the king myself." "You ?"
" Why not ? Do you think I have less credit at court than Aramis ?"
" Oh no!"
" Do you think that I have the slightest pretension upon the forti-
fications at Belle-Isle ?" " Certainly not."
" It is your own interest alone which would induce me to do it."
" I don't doubt it in the least."
"Well! I am the intimate friend of the king; and a proof of that is,
that whenever there is anything disagreeable to tell him, it is I who
have to do it."
" But, dear d'Artagnan, if you present me "
" Well!" " Aramis will be angry."
" With me ?" " No, with me."
" Bah! whether he or I present you, since you are to be presented,
what does it matter ? "
" They were going to get me some clothes made."
"Your own are splendid."
" Oh! those I had ordered were far more beautiful."
" Take care; the king likes simplicity."
" In that case, I will be simple. But what will M. Bouquet say, when
he learns that I have left ?"
" Are you a prisoner, then, on parole ?"
" No, not quite that. But I promised him I would not leave with-
out letting him know."
" Wait a minute, we shall return to that presently. Have you any-
thing to do here?"
" I, nothing; nothing of any importance, at least."
" Unless, indeed, you are Aramis's representative for something of
importance." " By no means."
" What I tell you, pray understand that, is out of interest for you.
I suppose, for instance, that you are commissioned to send messages
and letters to him?"
" Ah! letters, yes. I send certain letters to him."
" Where ?" " To Pontainebleau."
" Have you any letters, then ?" " But "
" Nay, let me speak. Have you any letters, I say ?"
" I have just received one for him."
" Interesting ?" " I suppose so."
" You do not read them, then P"
" I am not at all curious," said Porthos, as he drew out of his pocket
the soldier's letter which Porthos had not read, but which d'Artagnan
had.
Do you know what to do with it ?" said d'Artagnan.
" Of course; do as I always do, send it to him." " Not so."
" Why not ? Keep it, then ?"
" Did they not tell you that this letter was important ?"
" Very important."
" Well you must take it yourself to Pontainebleau."
" To Aramis ?" " Yes."
" Very good." " And since the king is there "
" You will profit by that."
" I shall profit by the opportunity to present you to the king."
" Ah! d'Artagnan, there is no one like you to find expedients."
" Therefore, instead of forwarding to our friend any messages, which
c 2
20 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELOHNE.
may or may not be faithfully delivered we will ourselves be the bearers
of the letter."
" I had never even thought of that, and yet it is simple enough."
" And therefore, because it is urgent, Porthos, we ought to set off at
once."
" In fact," said Porthos, " the sooner we set off the less chance there
is of Aramis's letter meeting with any delay."
" Porthos, your reasoning is always very accurate, and, in your case,
logic seems to serve as an auxiliary to the imagination."
" Do you think so ?" said Porthos.
"Jt is the result of your hard reading," replied d'Artagnan. "So
comt along, let us be off."
" But," said Porthos, " my promise to M. Pouquet ?"
" Which ?" " Not to leave St. Mande without telling him of it."
" Ah! Porthos," said d'Artagnan, " how very young you are."
" In what way ?"
" You are going to Pontainebleau, are you not, where you will find
M. Pouquet ?" " Yes."
" Probably in the king's palace ?"
" Yes," repeated Porthos, with an air full of majesty.
"Well, you will accost him with these words: 'M. Pouquet, I have
the honour to inform you that I have just left St. Mande.'"
And," said Porthos, with the same majestic mien, " seeing me at
Pontainebleau at the king's, M. Pouquet will not be able to tell me I
am not speaking the truth."
" My dear Porthos, I was just on the point of opening my lips to
make the same remark, but you anticipate me in everything. Oh!
Porthos, how fortunately you are gifted, age has not made any impres-
sion on you." " Not over-much, certainly."
" Then there is nothing more to say ?" " I think not."
" All your scruples are removed ?"——" Quite so."
" In that case I shall carry you off with me."
" Exactly; and I shall go and get my horses saddled."
" You have horses here, then ?" " I have five."
" You had them sent from Pierrefonds, I suppose ?"
" No, M. Pouquet gave them to me."
" My dear Porthos, we shall not want five horses for two persons;
besides, I have already three in Paris, which will make eight, and that
will be too many."
" It would not be too many if I had some of my servants here; but,
alas! I have not got them."
" Do you regret them, then ?"
" I regret Mousqueton; I need Mousqueton."
"What a good-hearted fellow you are, Porthos," said d'Artagnan;
" but the best thing you can do is to leave your horses here, as you have
left Mousqueton out yonder."
"Why so?"' "Because, by-and-by, it might turn out a very good
thing if M. Pouquet had never given you anything at all."
" I don't understand you," said Porthos.
" It is not necessary you should understand." " But yet "
" I will explain it to you later, Porthos."
" I'll wager it is some piece of policy or other."
" And of the most subtle character," returned d'Artagnan.
Porthos bent his head at this word policy; then after a moment's
reflection, he added, " I confess, d'Artagnan, that I am no politician."
" I know that well."
PORTHOS HAS NOT LOST HIS STRENGTH. 21
" Oh! 110 one knows what you told me yourself, you the bravest of
the brave."
"What did I tell you, Porthos?"
" Tbat every man has his day. You told me so, and I have experi-
enced it myself. There are certain days when one feels less pleasure
than others in exposing oneself to a bullet or a sword-thrust."
" Exactly my own idea."
" And mine, too, although I can hardly believe in blows or thrusts
which kill outright."
" The deuce! and yet you have killed a few in your time."
" Yes; but I have never been killed."
" Your reason is a very good one."
" Therefore, I do not believe I shall ever die from a thrust of a sword
or a gun-shot."
" In that case, then, you are afraid of nothing. Ah! water perhaps ?"
" Oh ! I swim like an otter."
" Of a quartan fever, then ?"
" I never had one yet, and I don't believe I ever shall; but there is
one thing I will admit," and Porthos dropped his voice.
" What is that ?" asked d'Artagnan, adopting the same tone of voice
as Porthos.
"I must confess," repeated Porthos, that I am horribly afraid of
political matters." " Ah! bah!" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
"Upon my word, it's true," said Porthos, in a stentorian voice. "I
have seen his eminence Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu, and his
eminence Monsieur le Cardinal de Mazarin; the one was a red politician
the other a black politician; I have never felt very much more satisfied
with the one than with the other; the first struck off the heads of
M. de Marillac, M. de Thou, M. de Cinq-Mars, M. Chalais, M. de Bout-
teville, and M. de Montmorency; the second got a whole crowd of
Frondeurs cut in pieces, and we belonged to them."
" On the contrary, we did not belong them," said d'Artagnan.
" Oh! indeed, yes; for, if I unsheathed my sword for the cardinal, I
struck for the king." " Dear Porthos!"
" Well, I have done. My dread of politics is such, that if there is
any question of politics in the matter, I should far sooner prefer to
return to Pierrefonds."
" You would be quite right, if that were the case. But with me, dear
Porthos, no politics at all, that is quite clear. You have laboured hard
in fortifying Belle-Isle; the king wished to know the name of the clever
engineer under whose directions the works were carried on; you are
modest, as all men of true genius are; perhaps Aramis wishes to put
you under a bushel. But I happen to seize hold of you; I make it
known who you are; I produce you; the king rewards you; and that
is the only policy I have to do with."
" And the only one I will have to do with either," said Porthos, hold-
ing out his hand to d'Artagnan.
But d'Artagnan knew Porthos's grasp; he knew that once imprisoned
within the baron's five fingers, no hand ever left it without being half-
crushed. He therefore held out, not his hand, but his fist, and Porthos
did not even perceive the difference. The servants talked a little with
each other in an under-tone, and whispered a few words, which d'Artag-
nan understood, but which he took very good care not to let Porthos
understand. " Our friend," he said to himself, " was really and truly
Aramis's prisoner. Let us now see what the result will be of the libe-
ration of the captive."
22
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGEEONNE.
CHAPTER IV.
The Rat and the Cheese.
B'Artagnan and Porthos returned on foot, as d'Artagnan had
arrived. When d'Artagnan, as he entered the shop of the Pilon d Or,
had announced to Planchet that M. de Vallon would be one of the
privileged travellers, and when the plume in Pathos's hat had made the
wooden candles suspended over the front jingle together, something
almost like a melancholy presentiment troubled the delight which
Planchet had promised himelf for the next day. But the grocer's heart
was of sterling metal, a precious relic of the good old time, which always
remains what it has always been for those who are getting old the
time of their youth, and for those who are young the old age of their
ancestors. Planchet, notwithstanding the sort of internal shiver,
which he checked immediately he experienced it, received Porthos,
therefore, with a respect mingled with the most tender cordiality.
Porthos, who was a little cold and stiff in his manners at first, on account
of the social difference which existed at that period between a baron
and a grocer, soon began to get a little softened when he perceived
so much good-feeling and so many kind attentions in Planchet. He
was particularly touched by the liberty which was permitted him to
plunge his large hands into the boxes of dried fruits and preserves, into
the sacks of nuts and almonds, and into the drawers full of sweetmeats.
So that, notwithstanding Planchet's pressing invitations to go upstairs to
the entresol, he chose as his favourite seat, during the evening which he
had to spend at Planchet's house, the shop itself, where his fingers could
always find whatever his nose had first detected for him. The delicious
figs from Provence, filberts from the forest, Tours plums, were subjects
of his interrupted attention for five consecutive hours. His teeth, like
millstones, cracked heaps of nuts, the shells of which were scattered
all over the floor, where they were trampled by every one who went in
and out of the shop; Porthos pulled from the stalk with his lips, at one
mouthful, bunches of the rich Muscatel raisins with their beautiful bloom,
and a half-pound of which passed at one gulp from his mouth to his
stomach. In one of the corners of the shop, Planchet's assistants,
crouching down in a fright, looked at each other without venturing to
open their lips. They did. not know who Porthos was, for they had never
seen him before. The race of those Titans who had worn the cuirasses
of Hugues Capet, Philip Augustus, and Prancis the Pirst, had already
begun to disappear. They could not help thinking he might possibly
be the ogre of the fairy tale, who was going to turn the whole contents of
Planchet's shop into his insatiable stomach, and that, too, without in
the slightest degree displacing the barrels and chests that were in it.
Cracking, munching, chewing, nibbling, sucking, and swallowing,
Porthos occasionally said to the grocer:—
"You do a very good business here, friend Planchet."
" He will very soon have none at all to do, if this continues,"
grumbled the foreman, who had Planchet's word that he should be his
successor. And, in his despair, he approached Porthos, who blocked up
the whole of the passage leading from the back shop to the shop itself.
He hoped that Porthos would rise, and that this movement would
distract his devouring ideas.
THE EAT ANT> THE CHEESE. 23
"What do you want, my man?" asked Porthos, very affably.
" I should like to pass you, monsieur, if it is not troubling you too
much."
" Very well," said Porthos, " it does not trouble me in the least."
At the same moment he took hold of the young fellow by the waist-
band, lifted him off the ground, and placed him very gently on the
other side, smiling all the while with the same affable expression. As
soon as Porthos had placed him on the ground, the lad's legs so shook
under him that he fell back upon some sacks of corks. But noticing
the giant's gentleness of manner, he ventured again, and said:—
" Ah, monsieur ! pray be careful."
" What about ?" inquired Porthos.
"You are positively putting fire into your body."
" How is that, my good fellow ?" said Porthos.
" All those things are very heating to the system ?"
"Which?"
" Raisins, nuts, and almonds."
"Yes; but if raisins, nuts, and almonds are heating "
" There is no doubt at all-of it, monsieur."
"Honey is very cooling," said Porthos, stretching out his hand
towards a small barrel of honey which was opened, and he plunged the
scoop with which the wants of the customers were supplied into it, and
swallowed a good half-pound at one gulp.
" I must trouble you for some water now, my man," said Porthos.
" In a pail, monsieur ?" asked the lad, simply.
"No, in a water-bottle; that will be quite enoughand raising the
bottle to his mouth, as a trumpeter does his trumpet, he emptied the
bottle at a single draught.
Planchet was moved in all the sentiments which correspond to the
fibres of propriety and self-love. However, a worthy representative of
the hospitality which prevailed in early days, he feigned to be talking
very earnestly with d'Artagnan, and incessantly repeated: — " Ah !
monsieur, what a happiness ! what an honour!"
"What time shall we have supper, Planchet?" inquired Porthos;
" I feel hungry."
The foreman clasped his hands together. The two others got under
the counters, fearing that Porthos might have a taste for human flesh.
"We shall only take a sort of snack here," said d'Artagnan; "and
when we get to Planchet's country-seat, we shall have supper."
"Ah! ah! so wearer going to your country-house, Planchet," said
Porthos; " so much the better."
" You overwhelm me, Monsieur le Baron."
The "Monsieur le Baron" had a great effect upon the men, who
detected a personage of the highest quality in an appetite of that
kind. This title, too, re-assured them. They had never heard that an
ogre was ever called " Monsieur le Baron."
" I will take a few biscuits to eat on the road," said Porthos, care-
lessly; and he emptied a whole jar of aniseed biscuits into the huge
pocket of his doublet.
" My shop is saved !" exclaimed Planchet.
" Yes, as the cheese was," said the foreman.
" What cheese ?"
" That Dutch cheese, inside which a rat had made his way, and we
only found the rind left."
Planchet looked all round his shop, and observing the different
articles which had escaped Porthos's teeth, he found the comparison
24 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGEEONNE.
somewhat exaggerated. The foreman, who remarked what was passing
in his master's mind, said, " Take care; he is not gone yet."
" Have you any fruit here ? " said Porthos, as he went upstairs to the
entresol, where it had just been announced that some refreshment was
prepared.
"Alas !" thought the grocer, addressing a look at d'Artagnan full of
entreaty, which the latter half understood.
As soon as they had finished eating they set off. It was late when the
three riders, who had left Paris about six in the evening, arrived at
Pontainebleau. The journey had passed very agreeably. Porthos took
a fancy to Planchet's society, because the latter was very respectful in
his manners and seemed 'delighted to talk to him about his meadows,
his woods, and his rabbit-warrens. Porthos had all the taste and pride
of a landed proprietor. When d'Artagnan saw his two companions
in earnest conversation, he took the opposite side of the road, and
letting his bridle drop upon his horse's neck, separated himself from the
whole world, as he had done from Porthos and from Planchet. The moon
shone softly through the foliage of the forest. The odours of the open
country rose deliciously perfumed to the horses' nostrils, and they
snorted and pranced about delightedly. Porthos and Planchet began
to talk about hay-crops. Planchet admitted to Porthos that in the
more advanced years of his life, he had certainly neglected agricultural
pursuits for commerce, but that his childhood bad been passed in
Picardy in the beautiful meadows where the grass grew as high as the
knees, and where he had played under the green apple-trees covered
with red-cheeked fruit; he went on to say, that he had solemnly pro-
mised himself that as soon as he should have made his fortune, he would
return to nature, and end his days, as he had begun them, as near as
he possibly could to the earth itself, where all men must go at last.
" Eh! eh!" said Porthos; "in that case, my dear Monsieur Planchet,
your retreat is not far distant."-—" How so ? "
" Why, you seem to be in the way of making your fortune very soon."
"Well, we are getting on pretty well, I must admit," replied
Planchet.
" Come, tell me, what is the extent of your ambition, and what is the
amount you intend to retire upon ?"
" There is one circumstance, monsieur," said Planchet, without
answering the question, " which occasions me a good deal of anxiety."
"What is it?" inquired Porthos, looking all round him as if in
search of the circumstance that annoyed Planchet, and desirous of
freeing him from it.
" Why, formerly," said the grocer, " you used to call me Planchet
quite short, and you would have spoken to me then in a much more
familiar manner than you do now."
" Certainly, certainly, I should have said so formerly," replied the
good-natured Porthos, with an embarrassment full of delicacy; " but
formerly "
"Formerly I was M.-d'Artagnan's lackey; is not that what you
mean ?" " Yes."
" Well, if am not quite his lackey, I am as much as ever I was his
devoted servant; and more than that, since that time "
"Well, Planchet?"
" Since that time, I have had the honour of being in partnership
with him."
" Oh, oh!" said Porthos. " What, has d'Artagnan gone into the
grocery business ? "
TIIE RAT AND THE CHEESE. 25
"No, no," said d'Artagnan, -whom these words had drawn out of his
reverie, and who entered into the conversation with that readiness and
rapidity which distinguished every operation of his mind and body.
" It was not d'Artagnan who entered into the grocery business, but
Planchet, who entered into a political affair with me."
" Yes," said Planchet, with mingled pride and satisfaction," we trans-
acted a little matter of business which brought me in a hundred thou-
sand francs, and M. d'Artagnan two hundred thousand."
" Oh, oh !" said Porthos, with admiration.
" So that, monsieur le baron," continued the grocer, " I again beg
you to be kind enough to call me Planchet, as you used to do; and to
speak to me as familiarly as in old times. You cannot possibly imagine
the pleasure that it would give me."
"If that be the case, my dear Planchet, I will do so, certainly," re-
plied Porthos. And as he was quite close to Planchet, he raised his
hand, as if to strike him on the shoulder, in token of friendly cordiality;
but a fortunate movement of the horse made him miss his aim, so that
his hand fell on the crupper of Planchet's horse, instead; which made
the animal's legs almost give way.
D'Artagnan burst out laughing, as he said, " Take care, Planchet;
for if Porthos begins to like you too much, he will caress you; and if
he caresses you, he will knock you as fiat as a pancake. Porthos is still
as strong as ever, you know."
" Oh," said Planchet, " Mousqueton is not dead, and yet monsieur le
baron is very'fond of him."
" Certainly," said Porthos, with a sigh which made all the three horses
rear; " and I was only saying, this very morning, to d'Artagnan, how
much I regretted him. But tell me, Planchet ? "
" Thank you, monsieur le baron, thank you."
" Good lad, good lad ! How many acres of park have you got ? "
"Of park?"
"Yes; we will reckon up the meadows presently, and the woods
afterwards."
" "Whereabouts, monsieur ? " "At your chateau."
" Oh, monsieur le baron; I have neither chateau, nor park, nor mea-
dows, nor woods."
" What have you got, then ? " inquired Porthos, " and why do you
call it a country-seat ?"
"I did not call it a country-seat, monsieur le baron," replied Plan-
chet, somewhat humiliated, " but a country-box."
" Ah, ah ! I understand. You are modest."
"No, monsieur le baron; I speak the plain truth. I have rooms
for a couple of friends, that is all."
" But, in that case, whereabouts do your friends walk ? "
"In the first place, they can walk about the king's forest, which is
very beautiful."
" Yes, I know the forest is very fine," said Porthos; " nearly as beau-
tiful as my forest at Berry."
Planchet opened his eyes very wide. " Have you a forest of the same
kind as the forest at Pontainebleau, monsieur le baron ? " he stammered
out.
"Yes; I have two, indeed, but the one at Berry is my favourite."
" Why so ? " asked Planchet.
"Because I don't know where it ends; and, also, because it is full of
poachers."
" How can the poachers make the forest so agreeable to you ? "
2G the vicohte de bkagelonne.
" Because tliey hunt my game, and I hunt them—which, in these
peaceful times, is for me a picture of war on a small scale."
They had reached this turn of the conversation, when Planchet,
looking up, perceived the houses at the commencement of Fontaine-
bleau, the outline of which stood out strongly upon the dark face
of the heavens; whilst, rising above the compact and irregularly-
formed mass of buildings, the pointed roofs of the chateau were clearly
visible, the slates of which glistened beneath the light of the moon, like
the scales of an immense fish. " Gentlemen," said Planchet, " I have
the honour to inform you that we have arrived at Pontainebleau."
CHAPTER Y.
Planchet's Country-house.
The cavaliers looked up, and saw that what Planchet had announced
to them was true. Ten minutes afterwards, they were in the street
called the Rue de Lyon, on the opposite side of the inn of the sign of
"Beau Paon." A high hedge of bushy elders, hawthorn, and wild
hops, formed an impenetrable fence,"behind which rose a white house,
with a large tiled roof. Two of the windows, which were quite dark,
looked upon the street. Between the two, a small door, with a porch
supported by a couple of pillars, formed the entrance to the house.
The door was gained by a step raised a little from the ground. Plan-
chet got off his horse, as if he intended to knock at the door; but, on
second thoughts, he took hold of his horse by the bridle, and led it
about thirty paces further on, his two companions following him. He
then advanced about another thirty paces, until he arrived at the door
of a cart-house, lighted by an iron grating; and, lifting up a wooden
latch, pushed open one of the folding-doors. He entered first, leading
his horse after him by the bridle, into a.small courtyard, where an
odour met them which revealed their close vicinity to a stable. " That
smells all right," said Porthos, loudly, getting off his horse, "and I
almost begin to think I am near my own cows at Pierrefonds."
" I have only one cow," Planchet hastened to say, modestly.
"And I have thirty," said Porthos ; "or, rather, I don't exactly know
how many I have."
"When the two cavaliers had entered, Planchet fastened the door
behind them. In the mean time, d'Artagnan, who had dismounted with
his usual agility, inhaled the fresh perfumed air with the delight a
Parisian feels at the sight of green fields and fresh foliage, plucked a
piece of honeysuckle with one hand, and of sweet-brier with the other.
Porthos had laid hold of some peas which were twined round poles
stuck into the ground, and ate, or rather browsed upon them, shells
and all; and Planchet was busily engaged trying to wake up an old and
infirm peasant, who was fast asleep in a shed, lying on a bed of moss,
and dressed in an old stable suit of clothes. The peasant, recognizing
Planchet, called him "the master," to the grocer's great satisfaction.
" Stable the horses well, old fellow, and you shall have something good
for yourself," said Planchet.
" Y es, yes; fine animals they are, too," said the peasant. " Oh! they
shall have as much as they like."
" Gently, gently, my man," said d'Artaguan, " we are getting on a
little too fast. A few oats, and a good bed—nothing more."
PLANCHET'S COUNTRY-HOUSE. 27
" Some bran and water for my horse," said Porthos, " for it is very
warm, I think."
" Don't be afraid, gentlemen," replied Planchet; " Daddy Celestin is
an old gendarme, who fought at Ivry. He knows all about stables; so,
come into the house." And he led the way along a well-sheltered walk,
which crossed a kitchen-garden, then a small paddock, and came out
into a little garden behind the house, the principal front of which, as
we have already noticed, was facing the street. As they approached,
they could see, through two open windows on the ground-floor, which
led into a sitting-room, the interior of Planchet's residence. This room,
softly lighted by a lamp placed on the table, seemed, from the end of
the garden, like a smiling image of repose, comfort, and happiness. In
every direction where the rays of light fell, whether upon a piece of
old china, or upon an article of furniture shining from excessive neat-
ness, or upon the weapons hanging against the wall, the soft light was
as softly reflected; and its rays seemed to linger everywhere, upon
something or another agreeable to the eye. The lamp which lighted
the room, whilst the foliage of jasmine and climbing roses hung in
masses from the window-frames, splendidly illuminated a damask table-
cloth as white as snow. The table was laid for two persons. An amber-
coloured wine sparkled in the long cut-glass bottle; and a large jug of
blue china, with a silver lid, was filled with foaming cider. Near the
table, in a high-backed arm-chair, reclined, fast asleep, a woman of
about thirty years of age, her face the very picture of health and fresh-
ness. Upon her knees lay a large cat, with her paws folded under her,
and her eyes half-closed, purring in that significant manner which,
according to feline habits, indicates perfect contentment. The twc
friends paused before the window, in complete amazement, while Plan-
chet, perceiving their astonishment, was, in no little degree, secretly
delighted at it.
" Ah! Planchet, you rascal," said d'Artagnan, " I now understand
your absences."
" Oh, oh ! there is some white linen," said Porthos, in his turn, in a
voice of thunder. At the sound of this voice, the cat took flight, the
housekeeper woke up suddenly, and Planchet, assuming a gracious air,
introduced his two companions into the room, where the table was
already laid.
"Permit me, my dear," he said, "to present to you Monsieur le
Chevalier d'Artagnan, my patron." D'Artagnan took the lady's hand
in his in the most courteous manner, and with precisely the same
chivalrous air as he would have taken Madame's.
"Monsieur le Baron duVallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds," added
Planchet. Porthos bowed with-a reverence which Anne of Austria
would have approved of.
It was then Planchet's turn, and he, unhesitatingly, embraced the
lady in question, not, however, until he had made a sign as if requesting
d'Artagnan's and Porthos's permission, a permission which was of course
frankly conceded. D'Artagnan complimented Planchet, and said," You
are indeed a man who knows how to make life agreeable."
" Life, monsieur," said Planchet, laughing, " is a capital which a man
ought to invest as sensibly as he possibly can."
" And you get very good interest for yours," said Porthos, with a
burst of laughter like a peal of thunder.
Planchet turned to his housekeeper. " You have before you," he
said to her, " the two men who have influenced no small portion of my
life. I have spoken to you about them both very frequently."
28 THE VIC03ITE DE BRAGELONNE.
" And two others as well," said the lady, with a very decided Flemish
accent.
"Madame is Dutch?" inquired d'Artagnan. Porthos curled his
moustache, a circumstance which was not lost upon d'Artagnan, who
remarked everything.
" I am from Antwerp," said the lady.
" And her name is Madame Gechter," said Planchet.
" Y ou should not call her madame," said d'Artagnan.
" Why not ?" asked Planchet.
" Because it would make her seem older every time you call her so."
" Well, I call her Triichen."
" And a very pretty name too," said Porthos.
"Triichen," said Planchet, "came to me from Flanders with her
virtue and two thousand florins. She ran away from a brute of a
husband who was in the habit of beating her. Being myself a Picard
born, I was always very fond of the Artesian women, and. it is only a
step from Artois to Flanders; she came crying bitterly to her godfather,
my predecessor in the Rue des Lombards; she placed her two thousand
florins in my establishment, which I have turned to very good account,
and which bring her in ten thousand."
" Bravo, Planchet."
" She is free and well off; she lias a cow, a maid-servant, and old
Celestin at her orders; she mends my linen, knits my winter stockings;
she only sees me every fortnight, and seems anxious to make herself
happy."
" And I am very happy indeed," said Triichen, with perfect inge-
nuousness.
Porthos began to curl the other side of his moustache. " The deuce,"
thought d'Artagnan," can Porthos have any intentions in that quarter? "
In the mean time Triichen had set her cook to work, had laid the
table for two more, and covered it with every possible delicacy, which
converts a light supper into a substantial meal, and a meal into a
regular feast. Fresh butter, salt beef, anchovies, tunny, a shop-ful of
Planchet's commodities, fowls, vegetables, salad, fish from the pond and
the river, game from the forest—all the produce in fact of the province.
Moreover, Planchet returned from the cellar, laden with ten bottles of
wine, the glass of which could hardly be seen for the thick coating of
dust which covered them. Porthos's heart seemed to expand as he
said, " I am hungry," and he sat himself beside Madame Triichen,
whom he looked at in the most killing manner. D'Artagnan seated
himself on the other side of her, while Planchet, discreetly and full of
delight, took his seat opposite.
" Do not trouble yourselves," he said, " if Triichen should leave the
table now and then during supper; for she will have to look after your
bedrooms."
In fact the housekeeper made her escape very frequently, and they
could hear, on the first floor above them, the creaking of the wooden
bedsteads and the rolling of the castors on the floor. While this was
going on, the three men, Porthos especially, ate and drank gloriously,—
it was wonderful to see them. The ten full bottles were ten empty ones
by the time Triichen returned with the cheese. D'Artagnan still pre-
served his dignity and self-possession, but Porthos had lost a portion of
his; the mirth soon began to be somewhat uproarious. D'Artagnan
recommended a new descent into the cellar, and, as Planchet did not
walk with the steadiness of a well-trained foot-soldier, the captain of
the musketeers proposed to accompany him. They set off, humming
planchet's house. 29
songs wild enough to frighten anybody who might be listening. Triichen
remained behind at table with Porthos. While the two wine-bibbers
were looking behind the firewood for what they wanted, a sharp sonorous
sound was heard like the impression of a pair of lips on a cheek.
"Porthos fancies himself at La Rochelle," thought d'Artagnan, as
they returned/freighted with bottles. Planchet was singing so loudly
that he was incapable of noticing anything. D'Artagnan, whom nothing
ever escaped, remarked how much redder Triichen's left cheek was
than her right. Porthos was sitting on Triichen's left, and was curling
with both his hands both sides of his moustache at once, and Triichen
was looking at him with a most bewitching smile. The sparkling wine
of Anjou very soon produced a remarkable effect upon the three com-
panions. D'Artagnan had hardly strength enough left to take a can-
dlestick to light Planchet up his own staircase. Planchet was pulling
Porthos along, who was following Triichen, who was herself jovial
enough. It was d'Artagnan who found out the rooms and the beds.
Porthos threw himself into the one destined for him, after his friend
had undressed him. D'Artagnan got into his own bed, saying to him-
self, " Mordioux! I had made up my mind never to touch that light-
coloured wine, which brings my early camp days back again. Pie ! fie !
if my musketeers were only to see their captain in such a state." And
drawing the curtains of his bed, he added," Fortunately enough, though,
they will not see me."
" The country is very amusing," said Porthos, stretching out his legs,
which passed through the wooden footboard, and made a tremendous
noise, of which, however, no one in the house was capable of taking
the slightest notice. By two o'clock in the morning every one was fast
asleep.
CHAPTER YI.
Showing what could be seen from Planchet's house.
The next morning found the three heroes sleeping soundly. Triichen
had closed the outside blinds to keep the first rays of the sun from the
heavy eyes of her guests, like a kind good woman. It was still perfectly
dark, then, beneath Porthos's curtains and under Planchet's canopy,
when d'Artagnan, awakened by an indiscreet ray of light which made
its way through the windows, jumped hastily out of bed, as if he wished
to be the first at the assault. He took by assault Porthos's room, which
was next to his own. The worthy Porthos was sleeping with a noise
like distant thunder; in the dim obscurity of the room his gigantic
frame was prominently displayed, and his swollen fist hung down outside
the bed upon the carpet. D'Artagnan awoke Porthos, who rubbed his
eyes in a tolerably good humour. In the mean time Planchet was
dressing himself, and met at their bedroom doors his two guests, who
were still somewhat unsteady from their previous evening's entertain-
ment. Although it was yet very early, the whole household was already
up. The cook was mercilessly slaughtering poultry in the poultry-yard,
and Celestin was gathering cherries in the garden. Porthos, brisk and
lively as ever, held out his hand to Planchet, and d'Artagnan requested
permission to embrace Madame Triichen. The latter, to show that she
bore no ill-will, approached Porthos, upon whom she conferred the
same favour. Porthos embraced Madame Triichen, heaving an enormous
sigh. Planchet took both his friends by the hand.
30 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" I am going to show you over the house," he said; " when we arrived
last evening it was as dark as an oven, and we were unable to see any-
thing ; but in broad daylight, everything looks different, and you will
be satisfied, I hope."
" If we begin by the view you have," said d'Artagnan, " that charms
me beyond everything; I have always lived in royal mansions, you
know, and royal personages have some very good ideas upon the selec-
tion of points of view."
"I am a great stickler for a good view myself," said Port'hos. " At
my Chateau de Pierrefonds, I have had four avenues laid out, and at
the end of each is a landscape of a different character altogether to the
others."
" You shall see my prospect," said Planchet; and he led his two
guests to a window.
" Ah!" said d'Artagnan, " this is the Rue de Lyon."
"Yes, I have two windows on this side, a paltry insignificant view,
for there is always that bustling and noisy inn, which is a very disagree-
able neighbour. I had four windows here, but I have only kept two."
" Let us go on," said d'Artagnan.
They entered a corridor leading to the bed-rooms, and Planchet
pushed open the outside blinds.
" Hollo! what is that out yonder ?" said Porthos.
" The forest," said Planchet. " It is the horizon,—a thick line of
green, which is yellow in the spring, green in the summer, red in the
autumn, and white in the winter."
" All very well, but it is like a curtain, which prevents one seeing a
greater distance."
" Yes," said Planchet; "still one can see, at all events, everything
between."
" Ah, the open country," said Porthos. " But what is that I see out
there,—crosses and stones ?"
" Ah, that is the cemetery," exclaimed d'Artagnan.
" Precisely," said Planchet; " I assure you it is very curious. Hardly
a day passes that some one is not buried there; for Pontainebleau is by
no means an inconsiderable place. Sometimes we see young girls
clothed in white carrying banners; at others, some of the town-council,
or rich citizens, with choristers and all the parish authorities; and
then, too, we see some of the officers of the king's household."
" I should not like that," said Porthos.
" There is not much amusement in it, at all events," said d'Artagnan.
" I assure you it encourages religious thoughts," replied Planchet.
" Oh, I don't deny that."
" But," continued Planchet, " we must all die one day or another,
and I once met with a maxim somewhere which I have remembered,
that the thought of death is a thought that will do us all good."
" I am far from saying the contrary," said Porthos.
" But," objected d'Artagnan, " the thought of green fields, flowers,
rivers, blue horizons, extensive and boundless plains, is no less likely to
do us good."
" If I had any, I should be far from rejecting them," said Planchet;
" but possessing only this little cemetery, full of flowers, so moss-grown,
shady, and quiet, I am contented with it, and I think of those who
live in town, in the Rue des Lombards, for instance, and who have to
listen to the rumbling of a couple of thousand vehicles every day, and
to the trampling of a hundred and fifty thousand foot passengers."
" But living," said Porthos; " living, remember that."
PLANCHET'S HOUSE. 31
" That is exactly the reason," said Planchet, timidly, " why I feel it
does me good to see a few dead."
" Upon my word," said d'Artagnan, "that fellow Planchet was horn
to be a poet as well as a grocer."
" Monsieur," said Planchet, " I am one of those good-humoured sort
of men whom Heaven created for the purpose of living a certain space
of time, and of considering all things good which they meet with during
their stay on earth."
D'Artagnan sat down close to the window, and as there seemed to be
something substantial in Planchet's philosophy, he mused over it.
" Ah, all!" exclaimed Porthos, " if I am not mistaken, we are going
to have a representation now, for I think I heard something like
chanting."
" Yes," said d'Artagnan, " I hear singing too."
" Oh, it is only a burial of a very poor description," said Planchet,
disdainfully; " the officiating priest, the beadle, and only one chorister
boy, nothing more. You observe, messieurs, that the defunct lady or
gentleman could not have been of very high rank."
"No; no one seems to be following the coffin."
" Yes," said Porthos; " I see a man."
" You are right; a man wrapped up in a cloak," said d'Artagnan.
" It's not worth looking at," said Planchet.
" I find it interesting," said d'Artagnan, leaning on the window.
" Come, come, you are beginning to take a fancy to the place already,"
said Planchet, delightedly; " it is exactly my own case. I was so
melancholy at first that I could do nothing but make the sign of the
cross all day, and the chants were like nails being driven into my head;
but now, the chants lull me to sleep, and no bird I have ever seen or
heard can sing better than those which are to be met with in this
cemetery."
" "Well," said Porthos, " this is beginning to get a little dull for me,
and I prefer going down stairs."
Planchet with one bound was beside his guest, to whom lie offered
his hand to lead him into the garden.
" "What 1" said Porthos to d'Artagnan, as he turned round, " are you
going to'remain here?"
" Yes, I shall join you presently."
" W ell, M. d'Artagnan is right, after all," said Planchet; " are they
beginning to bury yet ?" " Not yet."
" Ah! yes, the grave-digger is waiting until the cords are fastened
round the bier. But, see, a woman has just entered the cemetery at
the other end."
" Yes, yes, my dear Planchet," said d'Artagnan, quickly, "leave me,
leave me; I feel I am beginning already to be much comforted by my
meditations, so do not interrupt me."
Planchet left, and d'Artagnan remained, devouring with his eager
gaze from behind the half-closed blinds what was taking place just
before him. The two bearers of the corpse had unfastened the straps by
which they had carried the litter, and were letting their burden glide
gently into the open grave. At a few paces distant, the man with the
cloak wrapped round him, the only spectator of this melancholy scene,
was leaning with his back against a large cypress-tree, and kept his face
and person entirely concealed from the grave-diggers and the priests;
the corpse was buried in five minutes. The grave haying been filled
up, the priests turned away, and the grave-digger having addressed a
few words to them, followed them as they moved away. The man in
S2 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
the mantle bowed as they passed him, and put a piece of money intc
the grave-digger's hand.
"Mordioux/" murmured d'Artagnan; "why that man is Aramis
himself."
Aramis, in fact, remained alone, on that side at least; for hardly did
he turn his head than a woman's footstep, and the rustling of her dress,
were heard in the path close to him. He immediately turned round,
and took off his hat with the most ceremonious respect; he led the
lady under the shelter of some walnut and lime trees, which over-
shadowed a magnificent tomb.
" Ah ! who would have thought it," said d'Artagnan; " the bishop of
Yannes at a rendezvous ! He is still the same Abbe Aramis as he was
at Noisy-le-Sec. Yes," he added, after a pause; "but as it is in a
cemetery, the rendezvous is sacred." And he began to laugh.
The conversation lasted for fully half an hour. D'Artagnan could
not see the lady's face, for she kept her back turned towards him ; but
he saw perfectly well, by the erect attitude of both the speakers, by
their gestures, by the measured and cai*eful manner with which they
glanced at each other, either by way of attack or defence, that they
must be conversing about any other subject than that of love. At the
end of the conversation the lady rose, and bowed most profoundly to
Aramis.
" Oh, oh !" said d'Artagnan; "this rendezvous finishes like one of a
very tender nature though. The cavalier kneels at the beginning, the
young lady b.v-and-by gets tamed down, and then it is she who has to
supplicate.—Who is this girl? I would give anything to ascertain."
This seemed impossible, however, for Aramis was the first to leave;
the lady carefully concealed her head and face, and then immediately
separated. D'Artagnan could hold out 110 longer; he ran to the window
which looked out on the.Bue de Lyon, and saw Aramis just entering
the inn. The lady was proceeding in quite an opposite direction, and
seemed, in fact, to be about to rejoin an equipage, consisting of two led
horses and a carriage, which he could see standing close to the borders
of the forest. She was walking slowly, her head bent down, absorbed
in the deepest meditation.
" Mordioux! mordioux ! I must and will learn who that woman is,"
said the musketeer again ; and then, without further deliberation, he
set off in pursuit of her. As he was going along, he tried to think how
he could possibly contrive to make her raise her veil. " She is not
young," he said, " and is a woman of high rank in society. I ought to
know that figure and peculiar style of walk." As he ran, the sound of
his spurs and of his boots upon the hard ground of the street made a
strange jingling noise; a fortunate circumstance in itself, which he was
far from reckoning upon. The noise disturbed the lady; she seemed
to fancy she was being either followed or pursued, which was indeed
the case, and turned round. D'Artagnan started as if he had received
a charge of small shot in his legs, and. then turning suddenly round as
if he were going back the same way he had come, he murmured,
" Madame de Chevreuse !" D'Artagnan would not go home until he
had learnt everything. He asked Celestin to inquire of the grave-
digger whose body it was they had buried that morning.
" A poor Franciscan mendicant friar," replied the latter, " who had
not even a dog to love him in this world, and to accompany him to his
last resting-place."
" If that were really the case," thought d'Artagnan, " we should not
parting of porthos, truchen, and planchet. 33
have found Aramis present at his funeral. The bishop of Yannes is
not precisely a dog as far as devotion goes; his scent, however, is quite
as keen, I admit."
CHAPTER VII.
How Porthos, Triichen, and Planchet parted with each other on friendly terms,
thanks to d'Artagnan.
There was good living in Planchet's house. Porthos broke a ladder
and two cherry-trees, stripped the raspberry-bushes, and was only
unable to succeed in reaching the strawberry-beds on account, as he
said, of his belt. Triichen, who had got quite sociable with the giant,
said that it was not the belt so much as his corporation; and Porthos,
in a state of the highest delight, embraced Triichen, who gathered him
a handful of the strawberries, and made him eat them out of her hand.
D'Artagnan, who arrived in the midst of these little innocent flirtations,
scolded Porthos for his indolence, and silently p'itied Planchet. Porthos
breakfasted with a very good appetite, and when he had finished, he
said, looking at Triichen, "I could make myself very happy here."
Triichen smiled at his remark, and so did Planchet, but the latter not
without some embarrassment.
D'Artagnan then addressed Porthos:—" You must not let the delights
of Capua make you forget the real object of our journey to Pontame-
bleau."
" My presentation to the king ?"
" Certainly. I am going to take a turn in the town to get everything
ready for that. Do not think of leaving the house, I beg."
" Oh, no !" exclaimed Porthos.
Planchet looked at d'Artagnan nervously. "Will you be away long ?"
he inquired.
"No, my friend; and this very evening I will release you from two
troublesome guests."
" Oh ! Monsieur d'Artagnan! can you say "
"No, no; you are,an excellent hearted-fellow, but your house is very
small. Such a house, with only a couple of acres of land, would be fit
for a king, and make him very happy, too. But you were not born a
great lord."
"No more was M. Porthos," murmured Planchet.
"But he has become so, my good fellow; his income has been a
hundred thousand francs a year for the last twenty years, and for the
last fifty years has been the owner of a couple of fists and a backbone,
which are not to be matched throughout the whole realm of France.
Porthos is a man of the very greatest consequence compared to you,
and . . . well, I need say no more, for I know you are an intelligent
fellow."
" No, no, monsieur, explain what you mean."
" Look at your orchard, how stripped it is, how empty your larder,
your bedstead broken, your cellar almost exhausted, look too ... at
Madame Triichen "
"Oh! my good gracious !" said Planchet.
" Madame Triichen is an excellent person," continued d'Artagnan,
"but keep her for yourself, do you understand?" and he slapped him
on the shoulder.
II. D
34 THE VICOMTE DE EEAGELO-NKE.
Planchet at this moment perceived Porthos and Triichen sitting
close together in an arbour; Triichen, with a grace of manner peculiarly
Flemish, was making a pair of earrings for Porthos out of a double
cherry, while Porthos was laughing as amorously as Samson did with
Dalilah. Planchet pressed d'Artagnan's hand, and ran towards the
arbour. We must do Porthos the justice to say that he did not move
as they approached, and, very likely, he did not think he was doing any
harm. Nor indeed did Triichen move either, which rather put Planchet
out; but he, too, had been so accustomed to see fashionable people in
his shop, that he found no difficulty in putting a good countenance on
what was disagreeable to him. Planchet seized Porthos by the arm,
and proposed to go and look at the horses, but Porthos pretended he
was tired. Planchet then suggested that the Baron du vallon should
taste some noyeau of his own manufacture, which was not to be
equalled anywhere; an offer which the baron immediately accepted; and,
in this way, Planchet managed to engage his enemy's attention during
the whole of the day, by dint of sacrificing his cellar, in preference to
his amour propre. Two hours afterwards d'Artagnan returned.
" Everything is arranged," he said; " I saw his majesty at the very
moment he was setting off for the chase; the king expects us this
evening."
"The king expects me!" cried Porthos, drawing himself up. It is
a sad thing to have to confess, but a man's heart is like a restless billow;
for, from that very moment, Porthos ceased to look at Madame
Triichen in that touching manner which had so softened her heart.
Planchet encouraged these ambitious leanings in the best way he could.
He talked over, or rather gave exaggerated accounts of all the splen-
dours of the last reign, its battles, sieges, and grand court ceremonies.
He spoke of the luxurious display which the English had made; the
prizes which the three brave companions had won, and how d'Artagnan,
who at the beginning had been the humblest of the three, had finished
by becoming the head. He fired Porthos with a generous feeling of
enthusiasm, by reminding him of his early youth now passed away; he
boasted as much as he could of the moral life this great lord had led,
and how religiously he respected the ties of friendship ; he was eloquent,
and skilful in his choice of subjects. He delighted Porthos, 'frightened
Triichen, and made d'Artagnan think. At six o'clock, the musketeer
ordered the horses to be brought round, and told Porthos to get ready.
He thanked Planchet for his kind hospitality, whispered a lew words
about a post he might succeed in obtaining for him at court, which
immediately raised Planchet in Triichen's estimation, where the poor
grocer—so good, so generous, so devoted—had become much lowered
ever since the appearance and comparison with him of the two great
gentlemen. Such, however, is woman's nature; they are anxious to
possess what they have not got, and disdain it as soon as it is acquired.
After having rendered this service to his friend Planchet, d'Artagnan
said in a low tone of voice to Porthos: " That is a very beautiful ring
you have on your finger."
" It's worth three hundred pistoles," said Porthos.
" Madame Triichen will remember you better if you leave her that
ring," replied d'Artagnan, a suggestion which Porthos seemed to hesitate
to adopt.
" 5Tou think it is not beautiful enough perhaps," said the musketeer.
' I understand your feelings; a great lord as you are would not think
of accepting the hospitality of an old servant without paying him most
handsomely for it; but I am sure that Planchet is too eood-heart^d a
PRESENTATION OF PORTHOS AT COURT. 35
fellow to remember that you have an income of a hundred thousand
francs a year."
"I have more than half a mind" said Porthos, flattered by the
remark, "to make Madame Triichen a present of my little farm at
Bracieux; it has twelve acres."
"It is too much, my good Porthos, too much Just at present . . .
Keep it for a future occasion." He then took the ring off Porthos's
finger, and approaching Triichen, said to her:—" Madame, monsieur le
baron hardly knows how to entreat you, out of your regard for him, to
accept this little ring. M. du Vallon is- one of the most generous and
discreet men of my acquaintance. He wished to offer you a farm that
he has at Bracieux, but I dissuaded him from it."
"Oh !" said Triichen, looking eagerly at the diamond.
"Monsieur le baron!" exclaimed Planchet, quite overcome.
" My good friend," stammered out Porthos, delighted at having been
so well represented by d'Artagnan. These several exclamations, uttered
at the same moment, made quite a pathetic winding-up of a day which
might have finished in a very ridiculous manner. But d'Artagnan was
there, and, on every occasion, wherever d'Artagnan had1 exercised any
control, matters had ended only just in the way he wished and desired.
There were general embracings; Triichen, whom the baron's munifi-
cence had restored to her proper position, very timidly, and blushing
all the while, presented her forehead to the great lord with whom she
had been on such very excellent terms the evening before. Planchet
himself was overcome by a feeling of the deepest humility. Still, in
the same generosity of disposition, Porthos would have emptied his
pockets into the hands of the cook and of Celestin; but d'Artagnan
stopped him.
" iNo," he said, "it is now my turn." And he gave one pistole to the
woman and two to the man; and the benedictions which were showered
down upon them would have rejoiced the heart of Harpagon himself,
and have rendered, even him, prodigal of his money.
D'Artagnan made Planchet lead them to the chateau, and introduced
Porthos into his own apartment, where he arrived safely without having
been perceived by those he was afraid of meeting.
CHAPTER VHI.
The Presentation of Porthos at Court.
At seven o'clock the same evening, the king gave an audience' to an
ambassador from the United Provinces, in the grand reception-room.
The audience lasted a quarter of an hour. His majesty afterwards
received those who had been recently presented, together with a few
ladies, who paid their respeets the first. In one corner of the salon,
concealed behind a column, Porthos and d'Artagnan were conversing
together, waiting until their turn arrived.
" Have you heard the news ?" inquired the musketeer of his friend.
"Ho!"
"Well, look, then." Porthos raised himself on tiptoe, and saw
M. Fouquet in full court dress, leading Aramis towards the king.
" Aramis," said Porthos.
" Presented to the king by M. Fouquet."
Si Ah !" ejaculated Porthos.
n^2
36 THE VICOAITE DE BEAGELONNE.
" For having fortified Belle-Isle," continued d'Artagnan.
"And I?"
" You—oh, you! as I have already had the honour of telling you,
are the good-natured, kind-hearted Porthos; and so they begged you
to take care of Saint-Mande a little."
" Ah!" repeated Porthos.
" But, very happily, I was there," said d'Artagnan, " and presently it
will be my turn."
At this moment Pouquet addressed-the king. "Sire," he said, "I
have a favour to solicit of your majesty. M. d'Herblay is not ambi-
tious, but he knows he can be of some service. Your majesty needs a
representative at Pome, who should be able to exercise a powerful
influence there; may I request a cardinal's hat for M. d'Herblay ? " The
king started. " I do not often solicit anything of your majesty," said
Pouquet.
" That is a reason, certainly," replied the king, who always expressed
any hesitation he might have in that manner, and to which remark
there was nothing to say in reply.
Pouquet and Aramis looked at each other. The king resumed:
" M. d'Herblay can serve us equally well in Prance; an archbishopric
for instance."
" Sire," objected Pouquet, with a grace of manner peculiarly his own,
" your majesty overwhelms M. d'Herblay; the archbishopric may, in
your majesty's extreme kindness, be conferred in addition to the liat;
the one does not exclude the other."
The king admired the readiness which he displayed, and smiled, say-
ing: " D'Artagnan himself could not have answered better." He had
no sooner pronounced the name than d'Artagnan appeared.
" Did your majesty call me ? " he said.
Aramis and Pouquet drew back a step, as if they were about to retire.
" Will your majesty allow me," said d'Artagnan quickly, as he led
forward Porthos, to present to your majesty M. le baron du Yallon,
one of the bravest gentlemen of France?"
As soon as Aramis saw Porthos, he turned as pale as death, while
Pouquet clenched his hands under his ruffles. D'Artagnan smiled at
both of them, while Porthos bowed, visibly overcome before the royal
presence.
" Porthos here ? " murmured Pouquet in Aramis's ear.
" Hush ! there is some treachery at work," said the latter.
" Sire," said d'Artagnan, " it is more than six years ago that I ought
to have presented M. de Yallon to your majesty; but certain men
resemble stars, they move not unless their friends accompany them.
The Pleiads are never disunited, and that is the reason 1 have selected,
for the purpose of presenting him to you, the very moment when you
would see M. d'Herblay by his side."
Aramis almost lost countenance. He looked at d'Artagnan with a
proud haughty air, as though willing to accept the defiance which the
latter seemed to throw down.
"Ah! these gentlemen are good friends then ? " said the king.
" Excellent friends, sire, the one can answer for the other. Ask M. de
Vannes now in what manner Belle-Isle was fortified ?" Pouquet
moved back a step.
" Belle-Isle," said Aramis coldly, " has been fortified by that gentle-
man," and he indicated Porthos with his hand, who bowed a second
time. Louis could not withhold his admiration, though at the same
time his suspicions were aroused.
PRESENTATION OF PORTHOS AT COURT. 37
" Yes," said d'Artagnan, "but ask monsieur le baron whose assistance
he had in carrying the works out ? "
" Aramis's," said Porthos, frankly ; and he pointed to the bishop.
" What the deuce does all this mean," thought the bishop, "and.what
sort of a termination are we to expect to this comedy ? "
" What!" exclaimed the king, is the cardinal's, I mean the bishop's,
name, Aramis ? "
" A nomde guerre" said d'Artagnan.
" A name of friendship," said Aramis.
" A truce to modesty," exclaimed d'Artagnan; " beneath the priest's
robe, sire, is concealed the most brilliant officer, a gentleman of the
most unparalleled intrepidity, and the wisest theologian in your king-
dom."
Louis raised his head. " And an engineer, also, it appears," he said,
admiring Aramis's calm imperturbable self-possession.
" An engineer for a particular purpose, sire," said the latter.
" My companion in the musketeers, sire," said d'Artagnan, with great
warmth of manner, "the man who has more than a hundred times
aided your father's ministers by his advice—M. d'Herblay, in a word,
who, with M. du Vallon, myself, and M. le comte de la Fere, who is
known to your majesty, formed that quadrille which was a good deal
talked about during the late king's reign, and during your majesty's
minority."
" And who has fortified Belle-Isle ? " the king repeated in a significant
tone.
Aramis advanced and said: "In order to serve the son as I have
served the father."
D'Artagnan looked at Aramis most narrowly while he uttered these
words, which displayed so much true respect, so much warm devotion,
such entire frankness and sincerity, that even he, d'Artagnan, the eter-
nal doubter, he, the almost infallible in his judgment, was deceived
by it. " A man who lies cannot speak in such a tone as that," he said.
Louis was overcome by it. " In that case," he said to Fouquet, who
anxiously awaited the result of this proof, "the cardinal's hat is
promised. Monsieur d'Herblay, I pledge you my honour that the first
promotion shall be yours. Thank M. Fouquet for it." Colbert over-
heard these words; they stung him to the quick, and he left the salon
abruptly. " And you, Monsieur du Yallon," said the king, " what have
you to ask ? I am pleased to have it in my power to acknowledge the
services of those who were faithful to my father."
" Sire—;—" began Porthos, but he was unable to proceed with what
he was going to say.
" Sire," exclaimed d'Artagnan, " this worthy gentleman is over-
powered by your majesty's presence, he who has so valiantly sustained
the looks and the fire of a thousand foes. But, knowing what his
thoughts are, I—who am more accustomed to gaze upon the sun—can
translate his thoughts; he needs nothing, his sole desire is to have the
happiness of gazing upon your majesty for a quarter of hour."
" You shall sup with me this evening," said the king, saluting Porthos,
with a gracious smile.
Porthos became crimson from delight and from pride. _ The king dis-
missed him, and d'Artagnan pushed him into the adjoining apartment,
after he had embraced him warmly.
" Sit next to me at table," said Porthos in his ear.
" Yes, my friend."
" Aramis is annoyed with me, I think."
38 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Aramis has never liked you so much as he does now, Taney, it was
I who was the means of his getting the cardinal's hat."
" Of course," said Porthos. " By the bye, does the king like his
guests to eat much at his table ? "
" It is a compliment to himself if you do," said d'Artagnan, " for he
possesses a royal appetite."
CHAPTER IX.
Explanations.
Abamis had cleverly managed to effect a diversion for the purpose of
finding d'Artagnan and Porthos. He came up to the latter, behind one
of the columns, and, as he pressed his hand, said, " So you have escaped
from my prison ?"
"Do not scold him," said d'Artagnan; "it was I, dear Aramis, who
set him free."
" Ah! my friend," replied Aramis, looking at Porthos, " could you not
have waited with a little .more patience ? "
D'Artagnan came to the assistance of Porthos, who already began to
breathe hard, in perplexity.
" You see, you members of the Church are great politicians; we, mere
soldiers, go at once to the point. The facts are these, I went to pay
Baisemeaux a visit "
Aramis pricked up his ears at this announcement.
" Stay!" said Porthos; "you make me remember that I have a letter
from Baisemeaux for you, Aramis." And Porthos held out to the bishop
the letter we have already seen. Aramis begged to be allowed to read
it, and read it without d'Artagnan feeling in the slightest degree em-
barrassed by the circumstance that he was so well acquainted with the
contents of it. Besides, Aramis's face was so impenetrable, that d'Ar-
tagnan could not but admire him more than ever; after he had read it,
he put the letter into his pocket, with the calmest possible air.
"You were saying, captain?" he observed.
"I was saying," continued the musketeer, "that I had gone to pay
Baisemeaux a visit on his majesty's service."
" On his majesty's service ?" said Aramis.
"Yes," said d'Artagnan, "and, naturally enough, we talked about you
and our friends. I must say, that Baisemeaux received me coldly; so I
soon took my leave of him. As I was returning, a soldier accosted me,
and said (no doubt he recognized me, notwithstanding I was in private
clothes),' Captain, will you be good enough to read me the name written
on this envelope ?' and I read,' To Monsieur du Yallon, at M. Bouquet's,
Saint-Mande.' The deuce, said I to myself, Porthos lias not returned,
then, as I fancied, to Belle-Isle, or to Pierrefonds, but is at M. Fouquet's
house, at Saint-Mande; and as M. Fouquet is not at Saint-Mande,
Porthos must be quite alone, or, at at all events, with Aramis; I will go
and see Porthos, and I accordingly went to see Porthos."
"Very good," said Aramis, thoughtfully.
"You never told me that," said Porthos.
" I did not have the time, my friend."
" And you brought back Porthos with you to Fontainebleau ? "
"Yes, to Planchet's house."
"Does Planchet live at Fontainebleau?" inquired Aramis,
Yes near the cemeterv.55 said .Portlios.
EXPLANATIONS. 39
" What do you mean by 'near the cemetery?5 55 said Aramis, sus-
piciously.
" Come,55 thought the musketeer, " since there is to he a squabble, let
us take advantage of it.55
"Yes, the cemetery,55 said Porthos. "Planchet is a very excellent
fellow, who makes very excellent preserves; but his house has windows
which look out upon the cemetery. And a very melancholy prospect it
is! So this morning 55
" This morning ?" said Aramis, more and more excited.
D'Artagnan turned his back to them, and walked to the window,
where he began to play a march upon one of the panes of glass.
"Yes, this morning, we saw a man buried there.55 "Ah! ah!"
'"Very depressing, was it not? I should never be able to live in a
house where burials can always be seen from it. D'Artagnan, on the
contrary, seems to like it very much.55
" So, d'Artagnan saw it as well ?'5
" Not simply saw it, he literally never took his eyes off the whole time."
Aramis started, and turned to look at the musketeer, but the latter
was engaged in earnest conversation with Saint-Aignan. Aramis con-
tinued to question Porthos, and when he had squeezed all the juice out
of this enormous lemon, he threw the peel aside. He turned towards
his friend d'Artagnan, and clapping him on the shoulder, when Saint-
Aignan had left him, the king's supper having been announced, said,
"D'Artagnan."
"Yes, my dear fellow,55 he replied.
"We do not sup with his majesty, I believe." "Yes, indeed, I do."
"Can you give me ten minutes' conversation?"
" Twenty, if you like. His majesty will take quite that time to get
properly seated at table."
" Where shall we talk, then ?"
"Here, upon these seats, if you like; the king has left, we can sit
down, and the apartment is empty."
" Let us sit down, then."
They sat down, and Aramis took one of d'Artagnan's hands in his.
" Tell me, candidly, my dear friend, whether you have not counselled
Porthos to distrust me a little?"
"I admit I have, but not as you understand it. I saw that Porthos
was bored to death, and I wished, by presenting him to the king, to do
for him, and for you, what you would never do for yourselves."
" What is that ?" " Speak in your own praise."
" And you have done it most nobly, I thank you."
" And I brought the cardinal's hat a little nearer, just as it seemed to
be retreating from you."
"Ah! I admit that," said Aramis, with a singular smile, "you are,
indeed, not to be matched for making your friends' fortunes for them."
"You see, then, that I only acted with the view of making Porthos's
fortune for him."
" I meant to have done that myself; but your arm reaches farther
than ours."
It was now d'Artagnan's turn to smile.
" Come," said Aramis, " we ought to deal truthfully with each other;
do you still love me, d'Artagnan ?"
" The same as I used to do/5 replied d'Artagnan, without compro-
raising himself too much by this reply.
" In that case, thanks; and now, for the most perfect frankness," said
Aramis; " you came to Belle-Isle for the king." " Fardieu /"
40 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" You wished to deprive us of the pleasure of offering Belle-Isle com-
pletely fortified to the king."
"But, before I could deprive you of that pleasure, I ought to have
been made acquainted with your intention of doing so."
"You came to Belle-Isle without knowing anything ?"
" Of you ? yes. How the devil could I imagine that Aramis had
become so clever an engineer, as to be able to fortify like Polybius, or
Archimedes ?"
" True. And yet you divined me yonder ?" " Oh! yes."
"And Porthos., too ?"
" I did not divine that Aramis was an engineer. I was only able to
divine that Porthos might have become one. There is a saying, one
becomes an orator, one is born a poet; but it has never been said, one is
born Porthos, and one becomes an engineer."
"Your wit is always amusing," said Aramis coldly. "Well, then,
I will go on."
" Do so."
"When you found out our secret, you made all the haste you could
to communicate it to the king."
" I certainly made as much haste as I could, since I saw that you were
making still more. When a man weighing 258 pounds, as Porthos
does, rides post; when a gouty prelate—I beg your pardon, but you told
me you were so—when a prelate scours along the road; I naturally sup-
pose that my two friends, who did not wish to be communicative with
me, had certain matters of the highest importance to conceal from me,
and so I made as much haste as my leanness and the absence of gout
would allow."
" Did it not occur to you, my dear friend, that you might be render-
ing Porthos and myself a very sad service?"
Yes, I thought it not unlikely; but you and Porthos made me play a
very ridiculous part at Belle-Isle."
"I beg your pardon," said Aramis. " Excuse me," saidd'Artagnan.
" So that," pursued Aramis, " you now know everything ?"
"No, indeed."
" You know I was obliged to inform M. Bouquet of what had hap-
pened, in order that he might anticipate what you might have to tell
the king?"
" That is rather obscure."
"Not at all; M. Fouquet has his enemies—you will admit that, I
suppose." " Certainly."
And one in particular."
" A dangerous one ?"
"A mortal enemy. Well! in order to counteract that man's influ-
ence, it was necessary that M. Fouquet should give the king a proof of
a great devotion to him and of his readiness to make the greatest sacri-
fices. He surprised his majesty by offering him Belle-Isle. If you
had been the first to reach Paris, the surprise would have been de-
stroyed, it would have looked as if we had yielded to fear."
" I understand."
" That is the whole mystery," said Aramis, satisfied that he had quite
convinced the musketeer.
" Only," said the latter," it would have been more simple to have taken
me aside, and said to me,' My dear d'Artagnan, we are fortifying Belle-
Isle, and intend to offer it to the king. Tell us frankly, for whom you
are acting. Are you a friend of M. Colbert, or of M. Fouquet ?' Per-
haps I should not have answered you, but you would have added—' Are
EXPLANATIONS. 41
you my friend ?' I should have said yes." Aramis hung down his
head. "In this way," continued d'Artagnan, "you would have para-
lyzed my movements, and I should have gone to the king, and said,
' Sire, M. Fouquet is fortifying Belle-Isle, and exceedingly well, too; but
here is a note, which the governor of Belle-Isle gave me for your
majestyor,' M. Fouquet is about to wait upon your majesty to explain
his intentions with regard to it.' I should not have been placed in an
absurd position; you would have enjoyed the surprise you wished for,
and we should not have had any occasion to look askant at each other
when we met."
"While, on the contrary" replied Aramis, "you have acted alto-
gether as one friendly "to M. Colbert. And you really are a friend of
his, I suppose ?"
Certainly not, indeed!" exclaimed the captain. "M.Colbert is a
mean fellow, and I hate him as I used to hate Mazarin, but without
fearing him."
"Well, then," said Aramis, "I love M. Fouquet, and his interests
are mine. You know my position . I have no property or means
whatever . M. Fouquet gave me several livings, a bishopric as
well; M. Fouquet has served and obliged me like the generous-hearted
man he is, and I know the world sufficiently well to appreciate a
kindness when I meet with it. M. Fouquet has won my regard, and I
have devoted myself to his service."
" You couldn't do better. You will find him a very good master."
Aramis bit his lips; and then said, " The best a man could possibly
have." He then paused for a minute, d'Artagnan taking good car®
not to interrupt him.
" I suppose you know how Porthos got mixed up in all this ?"
"No," said d'Artagnan; " I am curious, of course, but I never ques-
tion a friend when he wishes to keep his real secret from me."
" Well, then, I will tell you."
" It is hardly worth the trouble, if the confidence is to bind me in
any way."
" Oh ! do not be afraid; there is no man whom I love better than
Porthos, because he is so simple-minded and good. Porthos is so
straight-forward in everything. Since I have become a bishop, I have
looked for those simple natures, which make me love truth and hate
intrigue."
D'Artagnan simply stroked his moustache, but said nothing.
"I saw Porthos and again cultivated his acquaintance; his own time
hanging idly on his hands, his presence recalled my earlier and better
days without engaging me in any present evil. I sent for Porthos to
come to Yannes. M. Fouquet, whose regard for me is very great,
having learnt that Porthos and I were attached to each other by old
ties of friendship, promised him increase of rank at the earliest promo-
tion, and that is the whole secret."
" I shall not abuse your confidence," said d'Artagnan.
" I am sure of that, my dear friend; no one has a finer sense of
honour than yourself." " I flatter myself you are right, Aramis."
" And now ," and here the prelate looked searchingly and scruti-
nizingly at his friend—"now, let us talk of ourselves and for our-
selves; will you become one of M. Fouquet's friends ? Do not inter-
rupt me until you know what that means ?"
" Well, I am listening."
" Will you become a marechal of France, peer, duke, and the pos-
sessor of a duchy, with a revenue of a million of francs ?"
42 the vjcomte he beagelonne.
"But, my friend," replied d'Artagnan, "what must one do to get
all that?" B
" Belong to M. Bouquet."
" But I already belong to the king."
" Not exclusively, I suppose."
" Oh ! d'Artagnan cannot be divided."
"You have, X presume, ambitions, as noble hearts like yours have?"
"Yes; certainly I have."
" Well ?" " Well! I wish to be a marshal; the king will make
me marechal, duke, peer; the king will make me all that."
Aramis fixed a searching look upon d'Artagnan.
" Is not the king master ?" said d'Artagnan.
" No one disputes it; but Louis XIII. was master also."
" Oh! my dear friend, between B-ichelieu and Louis XIII. there was
no d'Artagnan," said the musketeer, very quietly.
" There are many stumbling-blocks round the king," said Aramis.
"Not for the king." " Yery likely not, still "
" One moment, Aramis; I observe that every one thinks of himself,
and never of this poor young prince; I will maintain myself in main-
taining him."
" And if you meet with ingratitude ?"
" The weak alone are afraid of that."
" You are quite certain of yourself?" " I think so."
" Still the king may have no further need of you ?"
" On the contrary, I think his need of me will be greater that ever;
and hearken, my dear fellow, if it became necessary to arrest a new
Conde, who would do it ? This, this alone in all France," and
d'Artagnan struck his sword.
" You are right," said Aramis, turning very pale; and then he rose
and pressed d'Artagnan's hand.
" That is the last summons for supper," said the captain of the
musketeers; " will you excuse me ? "
Aramis threw his arm round the musketeer's neck, and said, "A
friend like you is the brightest jewel in the royal crown." And they
immediately separated.
" I was right," thought d'Artagnan; " there is something on foot."
"We must make haste with the explosion," said Aramis, "for
d'Artagnan has discovered the plot."
CHAPTER X.
Madame and Guiche.
It will not be forgotten that the Comte de Guiche had left the
Iueen-mother's apartment on the day when Louis XIY. presented
/a Yalliere with the beautiful bracelets he had won at the lottery.
The comte walked to and fro for some time outside the palace,
in the greatest distress, from a thousand suspicions and anxieties
with which his mind was beset. Presently he stopped and waited on
the terrace opposite the grove of trees, watching for Madame's de-
parture. More than half an hour passed away; and as he was at that
moment quite alone, the comte could hardly have had any very
diverting ideas at his command. He drew his tablets from his
pocket, and, after hesitating over and over again, determined to write
MADAME AND GUICHE. 43
these •words:—" Madame, I implore you to grant me one moment's
conversation. Do not be alarmed at this request which contains
nothing in any way opposed to the profound respect with which I
subscribe myself, &c. &c." He then signed and folded this singular
supplication, when he suddenly observed several ladies leaving the
chateau, and afterwards several men also, in fact almost every person
who had. formed the queen's circle. He saw La Valliere herself, then
Montalais talking with Malicorne; he saw the departure of the very
last of the numerous guests who had a short time before thronged the
queen-mother's cabinet.
Madame herself had not passed ; she would be obliged, however, to
cross the courtyard in order to enter her own apartments ; and, from
the terrace where he was standing, de Guiche could see all that was
passing in the courtyard. At last, he saw Madame leave, attended by
a couple of pages, who were carrying torches befoi*e her. She was
walking very quickly; as soon as she reached the door, she said:—
" Let some one go and see after de Guiche, he has to render me
an account of a mission he had to discharge for me; if he should be
disengaged, request him to be good enough to come to my apart-
ment."
De Guiche remained silent and concealed in the shade; but, as soon
as Madame had withdrawn, he darted from the terrace down the steps,
and assumed a most indifferent air, so that the pages who were hurry-
ing towards his rooms might meet him.
"Ah! it is Madame then who is seeking me!" he said to himself,
quite overcome; and he crushed in his hand the letter which had now
become useless.
" M. le comte," said one of the pages, approaching him, " we are
indeed most fortunate in meeting you."
" Why so, messieurs ? " " A command from Madame."
" Prom Madame !" said de Guiche, looking surprised.
" Yes, M. le comte, her royal highness has been asking for you; she
expects to hear, she told us, the result of a commission you had to
execute for her. Are you at liberty ?"
" I am quite at her royal highness's orders."
" Will you have the goodness to follow us, then ?"
When de Guiche ascended to the princess's apartments, he found
her pale and agitated. Montalais was standing at the door, appa-
rently in some degree uneasy about what was passing in her mistress's
mind. De Guiche appeared.
" Ah! is that you, Monsieur de Guiche ?" said Madame: " come in, I
beg. Mademoiselle de Montalais, I do not require your attendance
any longer."
Montalais, more puzzled than ever, curtseyed and withdrew, and
de Guiche and the princess were left alone. The comte had every
advantage in his favour; it was Madame who had summoned him to a
rendezvous. But how was it possible for the comte to make use of
this advantage ? Madame was so whimsical and her disposition was so
changeable. She soon allowed this to be perceived, for, suddenly open-
ing the conversation, she said: "Well! have you nothing to say
to me?"
He imagined she must have guessed his thoughts; he fancied (for
those who are in love are so constituted, f^hey are as credulous and
blind as poets or prophets), he fancied she knew how ardent was his
desire to see her, and also the subject of it.
" Yes, madame," he said, " and I think it very singular."
44 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" The affair of the bracelets," she exclaimed eagerly, " you mean
that, I suppose ? " " Yes, madame."
" And you think the king is in love; do you not ?"
Guiche looked at her for some time; her eyes sunk under his gaze,
which seemed to read her very heart.
" I think," he said, " that the king may possibly have had the idea of
annoying some one here; were it not for that, the king would not
show himself so earnest in his attentions as he is; he would not run
the risk of compromising, from mere thoughtlessness of disposition,
a young girl against whom no one has been hitherto able to say a
word."
" Indeed! the bold shameless girl," said the princess, haughtily.
" I can positively assure your royal highness," said de Guiche, with
a firmness marked by great respect, " that Mademoiselle de la Valliere
is beloved by a man who merits every respect, for he is a brave and
honourable gentleman."
" Bragelonne, perhaps ?"
" My friend; yes, madame."
" Well, and although he is your friend, what does that matter to the
king ? "
" The king knows that Bragelonne is affianced to Mademoiselle de la
Valliere; and as Raoul has served the king most valiantly, the king will
not inflict an irreparable injury upon him."
Madame began to laugh in a manner that produced a mournful im-
pression upon de Guiche.
" I repeat, madame, I do not believe the king is in love with Made-
moiselle de la Valliere; and the proof that I do not believe it is, that I
was about to ask you whose amour propre it is likely the king is, in this
circumstance, desirous of wounding? You who are well acquainted
with the whole court, cau perhaps assist me in ascertaining that; and
assuredly, with greater reason too, since it is everywhere said that your
royal highness is on very intimate terms with the king."
Madame bit her lips, and, unable to assign any good and sufficient
reasons, changed the conversation. " Prove to me," she said, fixing on
him one of those looks in which the whole soul seems to pass into the
eyes, " prove to me, I say, that you intended to interrogate me at the
very moment I sent for you."
De Guiche gravely drew from his tablets what he had written, and
showed it to her.
" Sympathy," she said.
"Yes," said the comte, with an indescribable tenderness of tone,
" sympathy. I have explained to you how and why I sought you; you,
however, have yet to tell me, madame, why you sent for me."
" True," replied the princess. She hesitated, and then suddenly ex-
claimed, " Those bracelets will drive me mad."
" You expected the king would offer them to you," replied de Guiche.
" Why not ? "
" But before you, madame, before you, his sister-in-law, was there
not the queen herself to whom the king should have offered them ? "
"Before La Valliere," cried the princess, wounded to the quick,
" could he not have presented them to me ? Was there not the whole
court, indeed, to choose from ? "
" I assure you, madame,'' said the comte, respectfully, " that if any
one heard you speak in this manner, if any one were to see how red
your eyes are, and, Heaven forgive me, to see, too, that tear trembling
on your eyelids, it would be said that your royal highness was icalous."
MADAME AND GUICHE. 45
"Jealous!" said the princess, haughtily; "jealous of La Yalliere !"
She expected to see de Guiche yield beneath her haughty gesture and
her proud tone; but he simply and boldly replied, " Jealous of La Yal-
ltere; yes, madame."
" Am I to suppose, monsieur," she stammered out, " that your object
is to insult me ? "
" It is not possible, madame," replied the comte, slightly agitated, but
resolved to master that fiery nature.
"Leave the room," said the princess, thoroughly exasperated; de
Guiche's coolness and silent respect having made her completely lose
her temper.
De Guiche fell back a step, bowed slowly, hut with great respect,
drew himself up, looking as white as his lace cuffs, and, in a voice
slightly trembling, said, It was hardly worth while to have hurried
here to be subjected to this unmerited disgrace." And he turned away
with hasty steps.
He had scarcely gone half a dozen paces when Madame darted like a
tigress after him, seized him by the cuff, and, making him turn round
again, said, trembling with passion as she did so, " The respect that you
pretend to have is more insulting than insult itself. Insult me, if you
please, but at least speak."
" And do you, madame," said the comte, gently, as he drew his sword,
" thrust this sword into my heart, rather than kill me by slow degrees."
At the look he fixed upon her—a look full of love, resolution, and
despair even,—she knew how readily the comte, so outwardly calm in
appearance, would pass his sword through his own breast if she added
another word. She tore the blade from his hands, and, pressing his
arm with a feverish impatience, which might pass for tenderness, said,
"Do not be too hard with me, comte. You see how I am suffering, and
you have no pity for me."
Tears, which were the last crisis of the attack, stifled her voice. As
soon as de Guiche saw her weep, he took her in his arms and carried
her to an arm-chair; in another moment she would have been suffo-
cated from suppressed passion.
" Oh, why," he murmured, as he knelt by her side, " why do you
conceal your troubles from me ? Do you love any one—tell me ? It
would hill me, I know, but not until after I should have comforted,
consoled, and served you even."
" And do you love me to that extent ?" she replied, completely con-
quered.
" I do indeed love you to that extent, madame."
She placed both her hands in his. " My heart is indeed another's,"
she murmured in so low a tone that her voice could hardly be heard;
but he heard it, and said, " Is it the king you love ? "
She gently shook her head, and her smile was like a clear bright
streak in the clouds, through which, after the tempest has passed away,
one almost fancies Paradise is opening. " But," she added, " there are
other passions stirring in a high-born heart. Love is poetry; but the
life of the heart is pride. Comte, I was born upon a throne, I am
proud and jealous of my rank. "Why does the king gather such un-
worthy objects round him ? "
" Once more, I repeat," said the comte, " you are acting unjustly
towards that poor girl, who will one day be my friend's wife.
" Are you simple enough to believe that, comte ? "
" If I did not believe it," he said, turning very pale, " Bragelonne
should be informed of it to-morrow; indeed he should, if I thought
46, THE VICCMTE DE EEAGELONNE.
that poor La Valliere had forgotten the vows she had exchanged with
Raoul. But no, it would be cowardly to betray any woman's secret; it
would be criminal to disturb a friend's peace of mind."
"You think, then," said the princess, with a wild burst of laughter,
" that ignorance is happiness ? "
" I believe it," he replied.
" Prove it to me, then," she said, hurriedly.
" It is easily done, madame. It is reported through the whole court
that the king loves you, and that you return his affection."
" Well ? " she said, breathing with difficulty.
"Well; admit for a moment that liaoul, my friend, had come and
said to me, 'Yes, the king loves Madame, and has made an impression
upon her heart,' I possibly should have slain Raoul."
" It would have been necessary," said the princess, with the obstinacy
of a woman who feels herself not easily overcome, " for M. de Brage-
lonne to have had proofs, before he could venture to speak to you in
that manner."
" Such, however, is the case," replied de Guiche, with a deep sigh,
" that not having been warned, I have never examined the matter
seriously; and I now find that my ignorance has saved my life."
"So, then, you would drive your selfishness and coldness to that
extent," said Madame, " that you would let this unhappy young man
continue to love La Yalliere ? "
" I would, until La Yalliere's guilt were revealed."
" But the bracelets ? "
"Well, madame, since you yourself expected to receive them from
the king, what could I possibly have said ? "
The argument was a telling one, and the princess was overwhelmed
by it, and from that moment her defeat was assured. But as her heart
and mind were instinct with noble and generous feelings, she under-
stood de Guiche's extreme delicacy. She saw that in his heart he really
suspected that the king was in love with La Yalliere, and that he did
not wish to resort to the common expedient of ruining a rival in the
mind of a woman, by giving the latter the assurance and certainty that
this rival's affections were transferred to another woman. She guessed
that his suspicions of La Yalliere were aroused, and that, in order to
leave himself time for his conviction to undergo a change, so as not to
ruin her utterly, he was determined to pursue a certain straightforward
line of conduct. She could read so much real greatness of character,
and such true generosity of disposition in her lover, that her heart
seemed to warm with affection towards him, whose passion for her was
so pure and delicate in its nature. Despite his fear of incurring her
displeasure, de Guiche, by retaining his position as a man of proud in-
dependence of feeling and of deep devotion, became almost a hero in
her estimation, and reduced her to the state of a jealous and little-
minded woman. She loved him for it so tenderly, that she could not
refuse to give him a proof of her affection.
" See, how many words we have wasted," she said, taking his hand ,
" suspicions, anxieties, mistrust, sufferings—I think we have mentioned
all those words."
" Alas ! madame, yes."
"Efface them from your heart as I drive them from mine. "Whether
La Yalliere does or does not love the king, and whether the king does
or does not love La Yalliere,—from this moment you and I will draw a
distinction in the two characters I have to perform. You open your
eyes so wide that I am sure you do not understand me."
montalais and malicobne. 47
" You are so impetuous, madame, that I always tremble at the fear of
displeasing you."
" And see how he trembles now, poor fellow," she said, with the most
charming playfulness of manner. " Yes, monsieur, I have two charac-
ters to perform. I am the sister of the king, the sister-in-law of tlie
king's wife. In this character ought I not to take an interest in these
domestic intrigues ? Come, tell me what you think ? "
" As little as possible, madame."
"Agreed, monsieur; but it is a question of dignity; and then, you
know, I am the wife of the king's brother." Guiche sighed. " A cir-
cumstance," she added, with an expression of great tenderness, " which
will remind you that I am always to be treated with the profoundest
respect." Guiche fell at her feet, which he kissed, with the religious
fervour of a worshipper. " And I begin to think that, really and
truly, I have another character to perform. I was almost forgetting it."
" Name it, oh ! name it," said Guiche.
" I am a woman," she said, in a voice lower than ever, " and I love
another." He rose; she opened her arms, and their lips were pressed
together. A footstep was heard behind the tapestry, and Mademoiselle
de Montalais appeared.
" What do you want ? " said Madame.
"M. de Guiche is wanted," replied Montalais, who was just in time
to see the agitation of the actors of these four characters; for Guiche
had constantly carried out his part with the greatest heroism.
CHAPTER XI.
Montalais and Malicorne.
Montalais was right. M. de Guiche, summoned in every direction,
was very much exposed, even from the multiplication of matters* to
the risk of not answering in anyone direction. It so happened that,
considering the awkwardness of the interruption, Madame, notwith-
standing her wounded pride, and her secret anger, could not, for the
moment at least, reproach Montalais for having violated, in so bold a
manner, the semi-royal order with which she had been dismissed on
Guiche's entrance. Guiche, also, lost his presence of mind, or, it
would be better to say, that he had already lost it, before Montalais'
arrival; for, scarcely had- he heard the young girl's voice, than, without
taking leave of Madame, as the most ordinary politeness required, even
between persons equal in rank and station, he fled from her presence,
his heart tumultuously throbbing, and his brain on fire, leaving the
princess with one hand raised, as though about to bid him adieu. Mon-
talais was at no loss, therefore, to perceive the agitation of the two
lovers—the one who fled was agitated, and the. one who remained was
equally so. _ ....
" So, so," murmured the young girl, as sne glanced inquisitively
round her, " this time, at legst, I think I know as much as the most
curious woman could possibly wish to know." Madame felt so embar-
rassed by this inquisitorial look, that, as if she had heard Montalais'
muttered side-remark, she did not speak a word to her maid of honour,
but, casting down her eyes* retired at once to her bed-room. Monta-
lais, observing this, stood listening for a moment, and then heard
Madame lock and bolt her door. By this, she knew that the rest of
48 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGBLONNE.
the evening; was at her own disposal; and making, behind the door
which had just been closed, a gesture which indicated but little real
respect for the princess, she went down the staircase in search of Mali-
corne, who was very busily engaged at that moment in watching a
courier, who, covered with dust, had just left the Comte de Guiche's
apartments. Montalais knew that Malicorne was engaged in a matter
of some importance; she therefore allowed him to look and stretch
out his neck as much as he pleased; and it was only when Malicorne
had resumed his natural position, that she touched him on the shoul-
der. "Well," said Montalais, "what is the latest intelligence you
have P "
" M. de Guiche is in love with Madame."
"Fine news, truly ! I know something more recent than that."
"Well, what do you know ? "
" That Madame is in love with M. de Guiche."
" The one is the consequence of the other."
"Not always, my good monsieur."
" Is that remark intended for me ? "
" Present company are always excepted."
" Thank you," said Malicorne. " Well, and in the other direction,
what is there fresh ? "
" The king wished, this evening, after the lottery, to see Mademoi-
selle de la Valliere."
"Well, and he has seen her ?"
"No, indeed."
" What do you mean by that ? " " The door was shut and locked."
" So that "
" So that the king was obliged to go back again, looking very sheep-
ish, like a thief who has forgotten his implements."
" Good."
" And in the third direction ? " inquired Montalais.
" The courier who has just arrived for de Guiche came from M. de
Bragelonne."
"Excellent," said Montalais, clapping her hands together.
" Why so ? "
" Because we have work to do. If we get weary now, something un-
Fortunate will be sure to happen."
"We must divide the work, then," said Malicorne, " in order to avoid
confusion."
"Nothing easier," replied Montalais. "Three intrigues, carefully
nursed, and carefully encouraged, will produce, one with another, and
taking a low average, three love-letters a day."
" Oh! " exclaimed Malicorne, shrugging his shoulders," you cannot
mean what you say, darling; three letters a day, that may do for sen-
timental common people. A musketeer on duty, a young girl in a
convent, may exchange letters with their lovers once a day, perhaps,
from the top of a ladder, or through a hole in the wall. A letter con-
tains all the poetry their poor little hearts have to boast of. But the
cases we have in hand require to be dealt with very differently."
"Well, finish," said Montalais, out of patience with him. "Some
one may come."
"Finish! Why, I am only at the beginning. I have still three
points as yet untouched."
" Upon my word, he will be the death of me, with his Flemish in-
difference," exclaimed Montalais.
"And you will drive me mad with your Italian vivacifv T mc «0ing
MONTALAIS AND MALICOKNE. 49
to say that our lovers here will be writing volumes to each other. But
what are you driving at ? "
"At this: Not one of our lady correspondents will be able to keen
the letters they may receive."
" Yery likely not."
" M. de Guiche will not be able to keep his either."
" That is probable."
" Yery well, then; I will take care of all that."
" That is the very thing which is impossible," said Malicorne.
" Why so ?"
" Because you are not your own mistress: your room is as much La
Yalliere's as yours; and there are certain persons who will think
nothing of visiting and searching a maid of honour's room; so that I
am terribly afraid of the queen, who is as jealous as a Spaniard; of the
queen-mother, who is as jealous as a couple of Spaniards; and, last of
all, of Madame herself, who has jealousy enough for ten Spaniards."
" You forget some one else?"
" Who ?" " Monsieur."
" I was only speaking of the women. Let us add them up, then: we
will call Monsieur, No. 1."
" Guiche?" "No. 2."
" The Yicomte de Bragelonne ?" " No. 3."
" And the king, the king ?"
" No. 4. Of course the king, who not only will be more jealous, but
still more powerful than all the rest put together. Ah, my dear !"
" Well ?" " Into what a wasp's nest you have thrust yourself!"
" As yet not quite far enough, if you will follow me into it."
" Most certainly I will follow you where you like. Yet "
" Well, yet "
" Wrhile we have time enough left, I think it will be more prudent
to turn back." ,
" But I, on the contrary, think the most prudent course to take is
to put ourselves at once at the head of all these intrigues."
You will never be able to do it."
" With you, I could carry on ten of them. I am in my element,
you must know. I was born to live at the court, as the salamander is
made to live in the fire."
" Your comparison does not reassure me in the slightest degree in the
world, my dear Montalais. I have heard it said, and by very learned
men too, that, in the first place, there are no salamanders at all, and
that, if there had been any, they would have been perfectly baked or
roasted on leaving the fire."
" Your learned men may be very wise as far as salamanders are con-
cerned, but your learned men would never tell you what I can tell you ;
namely, that Aure de Montalais is destined, before a month is over, to
become the first diplomatic genius in the court of France."
" Be it so, but on condition that I shall be the second."
" Agreed; an offensive and defensive alliance, of course."
" Only be very careful of any letters."
" I will hand them to you as I receive them."
" What shall we tell the king about Madame ?"
" That Madame is still in love with his majesty."
" What shall we tell Madame about the king ?"
" That she would be exceedingly wrong not to humour him."
" What shall we tell La Yalliere about Madame ?"
« Whatever we choose, for La Yalliere is in our power."
VOL. ii. B
£0 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" How so ?" " In two ways."
" What do you mean ?"
" In the first place, through the Vicomte de Bragelonne."
" Explain yourself ?"
" You do not forget, I hope, that Monsieur de Bragelonne has written
many letters to Mademoiselle de la Valliere?" " I forget nothing."
" Well, then, it was I who received, and I who kept, those letters."
" And, consequently, it is you who have them still ? " " Yes."
" Where,-here ?"
" Oh, no; I have them safe at Blois, in the little room you know
well enough."
" That dear little room,—that darling little room, the antechamber
of the palace I intend you to live in one of these days. But, I beg your
pardon, you said that all those letters are in that little room ?"
M Yes."
" Did you not put them in a box ?"
" Of course; in the same box where I put all the letters I received
from you, and where I put mine also when your business or your
amusements prevented you from coming to our rendezvous."
" Ah, very good," said Malicorne.
" Why are you so satisfied ?"
" Because I see there is a possibility of not having to run to Bloia
after the letters, for I have them here."
" You have brought the box away ?"
" It was very dear to me, because it belonged to you."
" Be sure and take care of it, for it contains original documents
which will be of very great value by-and-by."
" I am perfectly well aware of that indeed, and that is the very reason
why I laugh as I do, and with all my heart too."
" And now, one last word." " Why the last?"
" Do we need any one to assist us ?" " No one at all."
" Valets or maid-servants ?"
" Bad—detestable. You will give the letters,—you will receive them.
Oh! we must have no pride in this affair, otherwise M. Malicorne and
Mademoiselle Aure, not transacting their own affairs themselves, will
have to make up their minds to see them done by others."
" You are quite right; but what is going on yonder in M. de Guiche's
room ? "
" Nothing; he is only opening his window."
" Let us be gone." And. they both immediately disappeared, all the
terms of the compact having been agreed upon.
The window which had just been opened was, in fact, that of the
Comte de Guiche. But it was not alone with the hope of catching a
glimpse of Madame through her curtains that he seated himself by the
open window, for his pre-occupation of mind had at that time a different
origin. He had just received, as we have already stated, the courier who
had been despatched to him by Bragelonne, the latter having written
to de Guiche a letter which had made the deepest impression upon
him, and which he had read over and over again. " Strange, strange !"
he murmured. " How powerful are the means by which destiny
hurries men on towards their fate!" Leaving the window in order to
approach nearer to the light, he again read over the letter he had just
received
" Calais.
"My dear Count, —I found M. de Wardes at Calais; he has
been seriously wounded in an affair with the duke of Buckingham.
MONTAEAIS AND MALICOENE. 51
De Wardes is, as you know, unquestionably brave, but full of malevolent
and wicked feelings. He conversed with me about yourself, for whom,
he says, he has a warm regard; and also about Madame, whom he con-
siders a beautiful and amiable woman. He has guessed your affection
for a certain person. He also talked to me about the person for whom
I have so ardent a regard, and showed the greatest interest on my
behalf in expressing a deep pity for me, accompanied, however, by dark
hints which alarmed me at first, but which I at last looked upon as the
result of his usual love of mystery. These are the facts: he had re-
ceived news of the court; you will understand, however, that it was
only through M. de Lorraine. The report is, so says the news, that a
change has taken place in the king's affections. You know whom that
concerns. Afterwards, the news continues, people are talking about
one of the maids of honour, respecting whom various slanderous reports
ire being circulated. These vague phrases have not allowed me to
deep. I have been deploring, ever since yesterday, that my diffidence
and vacillation of purpose should, notwithstanding a certain obstinacy
of character I may possess, have left me unable to reply to these
insinuations. In a word, therefore, M. de "Wardes was setting off for
Paris, and I did not delay his departure with explanations; for it
seemed rather hard, I confess, to cross-examine a man whose wounds
are hardly yet closed. In short, he travelled by short stages, as he was
anxious to leave, he said, in order to be present at a curious spectacle
which the court cannot fail to offer within a very short time. He
added a few congratulatory words, accompanied by certain sympathizing
expressions,—I could not understand the one any more than the other.
I was bewildered by my own thoughts, and then tormented by a mis-
trust of this man,—a mistrust which, you know better than any one
else, I have never been able to overcome. As soon as he left, my
perception seemed to become clearer. It is hardly possible that a man
of de Wardes' character should not have communicated something of
his own malicious nature to the statements he made to me. It is not
unlikely, therefore, that in the mysterious hints which de Wardes
threw out in my presence, there may not be a mysterious signification,
which I might have some difficulty in applying either to myself or to
some one with whom you are acquainted. Being compelled to leave
as soon as possible, in obedience to the king's commands, the idea did
not oceur to me of running after de Wardes in order to ask him to
explain his reserve, but I have despatched a courier to you with this
letter, which will explain in detail all my various doubts. I regard you
as myself; it is you who have thought,—and it will be for you to act.
M. de Wardes will arrive very shortly; endeavour to learn what he
meant, if you do not already know it. M. de Wardes, moreover, pre-
tended that the duke of Buckingham left Paris on the very best ot
terms with Madame. This was an affair which would have unhesi-
tatingly made me draw my sword, had I not felt that I was under the
necessity of despatching the king's mission before undertaking any
quarrel. Burn this letter, which Olivain will hand you. Whatever
Olivain says you may confidently rely upon. Will you have the good-
ness, my dear comte, to recall me to the remembrance of Mademoiselle
de la Valliere, whose hands I kiss with the greatest respect.
"Your devoted, "He Beagelonne."
"P.S.—If anything serious should happen—we should be prepared
for everything—despatch a courier to me with this one single word,
' Come,' and I shall be in Paris within six-and-thirty hours after I
shall have received your letter."
s_9
52 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
De Guiche sighed, folded the letter up a third time, and, instead of
burning it, as Eaoul had recommended him to do, placed it in his
pocket. He felt that he needed to read it over and over again.
" How much distress of mind, and yet how great a confidence, he
shows!" murmured the comte; "he has poured out his whole soul in
that letter. He says nothing of the Comte de la here, and speaks of
his respect for Louise. He cautions me on my account, and en-
treats me on his own. Ah!" continued de Guiche, with a threatening
gesture, "you interfere in my affairs, Monsieur de Wardes, do you?
v ery well, then; I shall now occupy myself with yours. And for you,
poor Eaoul,—you who intrust your heart to my keeping, be assured I
will watch over it."
With this promise, de Guiche begged Malicorne to come immediately
to his apartments, if it were possible. Malicorne acknowledged the invi-
tation with an activity which was the first result of his conversation
with Montalais. And while de Guiche, who thought that his motive
was undiscovered, cross-examined Malicorne, the latter, who appeared
to be working in the dark, soon guessed his questioner's motives. The
consequence was, that, after a quarter of an hour's conversation, during
which de Guiche thought he had ascertained the whole truth with
regard to La Valliere and the king, he had learned absolutely nothing
more than his own eyes had already acquainted him with, while Mali-
corne learned or guessed, that Eaoul, who was absent, was fast becoming
suspicious, and that de Guiche intended to watch over the treasure of
the Hesperides. Malicorne accepted the office of dragon. De Guiche
fancied he had done everything for his friend, and soon began to think
of nothing but his own personal affairs. The next evening, de Wardes'
return and his first appearance at the king's reception were announced.
When that visit had been paid, the convalescent waited on Monsieur;
de Guiche taking care, however, to be at Monsieur's apartments before
the visit took place.
CHAPTER XII.
How de Wardes was received at Court.
Monsiexje had received de Wardes with that marked favour which
all light and frivolous minds bestow on every novelty that may come in
their way. De Wardes, who had been absent for a month, was like fresh
fruit to him. To treat him with marked kindness was an infidelity to
his old friends, and there is always something fascinating in that;
moreover, it was a sort of reparation to de Wardes himself. Nothing,
consequently, could exceed the favourable notice Monsieur took of him.
The Chevalier de Lorraine, who feared this rival not a little, but who
respected a character and disposition tvhich were precisely parallel to
his own in every particular, with the addition of a courage he did not
himself possess, received de Wardes with a greater display of regard and
affection than even Monsieur had done. De Guiche, as we have said,
was there also, but kept a little in the background, waiting very patiently
until all these embraces were over. De Wardes, while talking to the
others, and even to Monsieur himself, had not for a moment lost sight
of de Guiche, who, he instinctively felt, was there on his account.
As soon as he had finished with the others, he went up to de Guiche.
They both exchanged the most courteous compliments, after which de
Wardes returned to Monsieur and to the other gentlemen. In the midst
HOW DE WARDES WAS RECEIVED AT COURT. 53
of these congratulations Madame was announced. She had been in-
formed of de Wardes' arrival, and knowing all the details of his voyage
and of his duel, she was not sorry to be present at the remarks she
knew would be made, without delay, by one who, she felt assured,
was her personal enemy. Two or three of her ladies accompanied her.
De Wardes saluted Madame in the most graceful and respectful
manner, and, as a commencement of hostilities, announced, in the first
place, that he could furnish the duke of Buckingham's friends with the
latest news about him. This was a direct answer to the coldness with
which Madame had received him. The attack was a vigorous one, and
Madame felt the blow, but without appearing to have even noticed it.
He rapidly cast a glance at Monsieur and at de Guiche,—the former had
coloured, and the latter had turned very pale. Madame alone preserved
an unmoved countenance; but, as she knew how many unpleasant
thoughts and feelings her enemy could awaken in the two persons who
were listening to him, she smilingly bent forward towards the traveller,
as if to listen to the news he had brought, but he was speaking of other
matters. Madame was brave, even to imprudence; if she were to re-
treat, it would be inviting an attack; so, after the first disagreeable im-
pression had passed away, she returned to the charge.
" Have you suffered much from your wounds, Monsieur de Wardes ?"
she inquired, " for we have been told that you had the misfortune to
get wounded."
It was now de Wardes' turn to wince; he bit his lips, and replied,
"No, madame, hardly at all."
" Indeed, and yet in this terribly hot weather "
" The sea-breezes are fresh ana cool, madame, and then I had one
consolation."
" Indeed. What was it ? "
" The knowledge that my adversary's sufferings were still greater
than my own."
" Ah! you mean he was more seriously wounded than you were; I
was not aware of that," said the princess, with utter indifference.
"Oh! madame,. you are mistaken, or rather you pretend to mis-
understand my remark. I did not say that he was more suffering in
body than myself; but his heart was seriously affected."
De Guiche comprehended in what direction the struggle was approach-
ing; he ventured to make a sign to Madame, as if entreating her to
retire from the contest. But she, without acknowledging de Guiche's
gesture, without pretending to have noticed it even, and still smiling,
continued,—
" Is it possible," she said, " that the duke of Buckingham's heart was
touched? I had no idea, until now, that a heart-wound could be
cured."
" Alas! madame," replied de Wardes, politely, " every woman believes
that; and it is such a belief which gives them over us that superiority
which confidence imposes."
" You misunderstand altogether, dearest," said the prince, impatiently;
" M. de Wardes means that the duke of Buckingham's heart had been
touched, not by a sword, but by something else." « T •
"Ah! very good, very good!" exclaimed Madame. It is a jest of
M. de Wardes; very good; but I should like to know if the duke of
Buckingham would appreciate the jest. It is, indeed, a very great pity
he is not here, M. de Wardes."
The young man's eyes seemed to flash fire. Oh! he said, as he
clenched his teeth, " there is nothing I should like better."
64 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
De Guiche did not move. Madame seemed to expect that he would
come to her assistance. Monsieur hesitated. The Chevalier de Lorraine
advanced and continued the conversation.
"Madame," he said, " de Wardes knows perfectly well that for a
Buckingham's heart to be touched is nothing new, and what he has said
has already taken place."
" Instead of an ally, I have two enemies," murmured Madame; " two
determined enemies, and in league with each other." And she changed
the conversation. To change the conversation is, as every one knows, a
right possessed by princes which etiquette requires all to respect.
The remainder of the conversation was moderate enough in its tone;
the principal actors had finished their parts. Madame withdrew early,
and Monsieur, who wished to question her on several matters, offered
her his hand on leaving. The chevalier was seriously afraid that a good
understanding might be established between the husband and wife if
he were to leave them quietly together. He therefore made his way to
Monsieur's apartments, in order to surprise him on his return, and to
destroy with a few words all the good impressions that Madame might
have been able to sow in his heart. He Guiche advanced towards de
"Wardes, who was surrounded by a large number of persons, and thereby
indicated his wish to converse with him; de Wardes, at the same time,
showing both by his looks and by a movement of his head that he
perfectly understood him. There was nothing in these signs to enable
strangers to suppose they were otherwise than upon the most friendly
footing. De Guiche could therefore turn away from him, and wait until
he was at liberty. He had not long to wait; for de Wardes, freed from
his questioners, approached de Guiche, and both of them, after a fresh
salutation, began to walk side by side together.
"You have made a good impression since your return, my dear de
Wardes," said the comte. " Excellent, as you see."
" And your spirits are just as lively as ever ?"
" More than ever."
" And a very great happiness, too."
" Why not ? Everything is so ridiculous in this world, everything so
absurd around us." " You are right."
" You are of my opinion, then ?"
" I should think so! And what news do you bring us from yonder ?"
" I ? none at all. I have come to look for news here."
" But, tell me, you surely must have seen some people at Boulogne,
one of our friends, for instance; it is no great time ago ?"
" Some people—one of our friends "
" Your memory is short."
" Ah! true; Bragelonne, you mean." " Exactly so."
" Who was on his way to fulfil a mission, with which he was intrusted,
to King Charles II."
"Precisely. Well, then, did he not tell you, or did not you tell
him "
" I do not precisely know what I told him, I must confess; but I do
know what I did not tell him." De Wardes was finesse itself. He
perfectly well knew from de Guiche's tone and manner, which was cold
and dignified, that the conversation was about assuming a disagreeable
turn. He resolved to let it take what course it pleased, and. to keep
strictly on his guard.
" May I ask what it was you did not tell him?" inquired de Guiche.
" That about La Yalliere."
"La Yalli&re . . . What is it? and what was that strange circum-
HOW HE WAEHES WAS BECEIVED AT COUET. 55
stance you seem to have known out yonder, which Bragelonne, who
was here on the spot, was not acquainted with ?"
"Do you really ask me that in a serious manner ?"
"Nothing can be more so."
" What! you, a member of the court, living in Madame's household,
a friend of Monsieur's, a guest at their table, the favourite of our lovely
princess?"
Guiche coloured violently from anger. "What princess are you
alluding to ?" he said.
"I am only acquainted with one, my dear fellow. I am speaking
of Madame herself. Are you devoted to another princess, then ? Come
tell me."
Guiche was on the point of launching out, but he saw the drift of the
remark. A quarrel was imminent between the two young men. De
Wardes wished the quarrel to be only in Madame's name, while de
Guiche would not accept it except on Da Yalliere's account. From
this moment, it became a series of feigned attacks, which would have
continued until one of the two had been touched home. De Guiche
therefore resumed all the self-possession he could command.
" There is not the slightest question in the world of Madame in this
matter, my dear de Wardes," said Guiche, "but simply of what you
were talking about just now."
" What was I saying ?"
" That you had concealed certain things from Bragelonne."
"Certain things which you know as well as I do," replied de Wardes.
" No, upon my honour." " Nonsense."
"If you tell me what it is, I shall know, but not otherwise, I swear."
" What! I, who have just arrived from a distance of sixty leagues,
and you who have not stirred from this place, who have witnessed with
your own eyes that which rumour informed me of at Calais ! Do you
now tell me seriously that you do not know what it is about? Oh!
comte, this is hardly charitable of you."
"As you like, de Wardes; but I again repeat, I know nothing."
"You are very discreet—well!—perhaps it is prudent of you."
" And so you will not tell me anything, will not tell me any more than
you told Bragelonne ? "
"You are pretending to be deaf, 1 see. I am convinced that Madame
could not possibly have more command over herself than you have
over yourself."
"Double hypocrite," murmured Guiche to himself, "you are again
returning to the old subject."
" Yery well, then," continued de Wardes, " since we find it so difficult
to understand each other about La Yalliere and Bragelonne, let us
speak about your own affairs." -
" Nay," said Guiche, " I have no affairs of my own to talk about.
You have not said anything about me, I suppose, to Bragelonne, which
you cannot repeat to myself."
"No; but understand me, Guiche, that however much I may be
ignorant of certain matters, I am quite as conversant with others. If,
for instance, we were conversing about certain intimacies of the duke
of Buckingham at Paris, as I did during my journey with the duke, I
could tell you a great many interesting circumstances. Would you
like me to mention them ?"
Guiche passed his hand across his forehead, which was covered with
perspiration. " No, no," he said, " a hundred times no! I have no
curiositv for matters which do not concern me. The duke of Bucking-
56 TIIE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
ham is for me nothing more than a simple acquaintance, whilst Eaoul
is an intimate friend. I have not the slightest curiosity to learn what
happened to the duke, while I have, on the contrary, the greatest
interest in learning what happened to Eaoul."
" At Paris ?"
"Yes, at Paris, or at Boulogne. You understand, I am on the Spot;
if anything should happen, I am here to meet it; whilst Eaoul is
absent, and has only myself to represent him; so, Eaoul's affairs before
my own."
" But Eaoul will return."
"Not, however, until his mission is completed. In the mean time, you
understand, evil reports cannot be permitted to circulate about him
without my looking into them."
"And for a greater reason still, that he will remain some time in
London," said de Wardes, chuckling.
" You think so," said Guiche, simply.
" Think so, indeed! do you suppose that he was sent to London for no
other purpose than to go there and return again immediately. No, no;
he was sent to London to remain there."
"Ah! de Wardes" said Guiche, seizing de Wardes' hand violently,
" that is a very serious suspicion concerning Bragelonne, which com-
pletely confirms what he wrote to me from Boulogne."
De Wardes resumed his former coldness of manner, his love of
raillery had led him too far, and by his own imprudence, he had laid
himself open to attack.
" Well, tell me, what did he write to you about ?" he inquired.
" He told me that you had artfully insinuated some injurious remarks
against La Valliere, and that you had seemed to laugh at his great con-
fidence in that young girl."
"Well, it is perfectly true I did so," said de Wardes, "and I was
quite ready, at the time, to hear from the Yicomte de Bragelonne that
which every man expects from another whenever anything may have
been said to displease him. In the -same way, for instance, if I were
seeking a quarrel with you, I should tell you that Madame, after
having shown the greatest preference for the duke of Buckingham, is
at this moment supposed to have sent the handsome duke away for
your benefit."
"Oh! that would not wound me in the slightest degree, my dear
de Wardes," said de Guiche, smiling, notwithstanding the shiver which
ran through his whole frame. "Why, such a favour as that would be
too great a happiness."
" I admit that, but if I absolutely wished to quarrel with you, I
should try and invent a falsehood perhaps, and should speak to you
about a certain arbour, where you and that illustrious princess were
together—I should speak also of certain genuflections, of certain kissings
of the hand; and you, who are so secret on all occasions, so hasty, and
punctilious "
"Well," said Guiche, interrupting him, with a smile upon his lips,
although he almost felt as if he were going to die; " I swear I should
not care for that, nor should I in any way contradict you; for you
must know, my dear marquis, that for all matters which concern
myself, I am a block of ice; but it is a very different thing when an
absent friend is concerned, a friend who, on leaving, confided his
interests to my safe keeping; for such a friend, de Wardes, believe me
I am like fire itself."
" I understand you, Monsieur de Guiche; in spite of what you say,
HOW DE WARDES WAS RECEIVED AT COURT. 57
there cannot be any question between us just now, either of Bragelonne
or of this young insignificant girl, whose name is La Valliere."
At this moment some of the younger courtiers were crossing the
apartment, and. having already heard the few words which had just
been pronounced, were able also to hear those which were about to
follow. De Wardes observed this, and continued aloud" Oh ! if
La Valliere were a coquette like Madame, whose very innocent flirta-
tions, I am sure, were first of all, the cause of the duke of Buckingham
being sent back to England, and afterwards were the reason of your
being sent into exile ; for you will not deny, I suppose, that Madame's
seductive manners did have a certain influence over you ?"
The courtiers drew nearer to the two speakers, Saint-Aignan at their
head, and then Manicamp.
" But my dear fellow, whose fault was that ?" said Guiche, laughing.
"Iam a vain, conceited fellow, I know, and everybody else knows it,
too. I took seriously that which was only intended as a jest, and I got
myself exiled for my pains. But I saw my error. I overcame my vanity,
and I obtained my recall, by making the amende honorable, and by
promising myself to overcome this defect; and the consequence is, that
I am so thoroughly cured, that I now laugh at the very thing which,
three or four days ago would have almost broken my heart. But
liaoul is in love, and is loved in return, he cannot laugh at the reports
which disturb his happiness—reports which you seem to have under-
taken to interpret, when you know, marquis, as I do, as those gentlemen
do, as every one does in fact, that these reports are pure calumny."
"Calumny!" exclaimed de Wardes, furious at seeing himself caught
in the snare by de Guiche's coolness of temper.
" Certainly, a calumny. Look at this letter from him, in which he
tells me you have spoken ill of Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and where
he asks me, if what you reported about this young girl be true or not.
Do you wish me to appeal to these gentlemen, de Wardes, to decide ?"
And with admirable coolness, Guiche read aloud the paragraph of the
letter which referred to La Valliere. " And now," continued de Guiche,
" there is no doubt in the [world, as far as I am concerned, that you
wished to disturb Bragelonne's peace of mind, and that your remarks
were maliciously intended."
De Wardes looked round him, to see if he could find support from
any one; but, at the idea, that de Wardes had insulted, either directly
or indirectly, the idol of the day, every one shook his head; and de
Wardes saw that there was no one present who would have refused to
say he was in the wrong.
"Messieurs," said de Guiche, intuitively divining the general feeling,
"my discussion with Monsieur de Wardes refers to a subject so delicate
in its nature, that it is most important no one should hear more than
you have already heard. Close the doors, then, I beg you, and let us
finish our conversation in the manner which becomes two gentlemen,
one of whom has given the other the lie."
"Messieurs, messieurs !" exclaimed those who were present.
"Is it your opinion, then, that I was wrong in defending Mademoi-
selle de la Valliere ?" said de Guiche. "In that case, I pass judgment
upon myself, and am ready to withdraw the offensive words I may have
used to Monsieur de W ardes."
" The deuce ! certainly not!" said Saint-Aignan. " Mademoiselle de la
Valliere is an angel."
" Virtue and purity itself," said Manicamp.
"You see, Monsieur de Wardes," said Guiche, "I am not the only
58 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
one who undertakes the defence of that poor girl. I entreat you, there-
fore, messieurs, a second time, to leave us. You see, it is impossible we
could be more calm and composed than we are."
It was the very thing the courtiers wished; some went out at one
door, and the rest at the other, and the two young men were left alone.
"Well played," said de Wardes, to the comte.
"Was it not?" replied the-latter.
" How can it be wondered at, my dear fellow; I have got quite rusty
in the country, while the command you have acquired over yourself,
comte, confounds me; a man always gains something in women's
society; so, pray accept my congratulations."
" I do accept them."
" And I will make Madame a present of them."
" And now, my dear Monsieur de Wardes, let us speak as loud as you
please."
" Do not defy me."
" I do defy you, for you are known to be an evil-minded man; if you
do that, you will be looked upon as a coward, too; and Monsieur would
have you hanged, this evening, at his window-casement. Speak, my
dear de Wardes, speak."
" I have fought already." " But not quite enough, yet."
" I see, you would not be sorry to fight with me while my wounds are
still open." " No; better still."
" The deuce! you are unfortunate in the moment you have chosen;
a duel, after the one I have just fought, would hardly suit me; I have lost
too much blood at Boulogne; at the slightest effort my wounds would
open again, and you would really have too good a bargain with me."
" True," said Guiche; " and yet, on your arrival here, your looks and
your arms showed there was nothing the matter with you."
" Yes, my arms are all right, but my legs are weak; and then, I have
not had a foil in my hand since that devil of a duel; and you, I am
sure, have been fencing every day, in order to carry your little con-
spiracy against me to a successful issue."
"Upon my honour, monsieur," replied de Guiche, "it is six months
since I last practised."
"No, comte, after due reflection, I will not fight, at least, with you.
I shall await Bragelonne's return, since you say that it is JBragelonne
who has fault to find with me."
" Oh no, indeed !—You shall not wait until Bragelonne's return,"
exclaimed the comte, losing all command over himself, " for you have
said that Bragelonne might, possibly, be some time before he returns;
and, in the meanwhile, your wicked insinuations would have had their
effect."
"Yet, I shall have my excuse. So take care."
" I will give you a week to finish your recovery."
" That is better. So let us wait a week."
"Yes, yes, I understand; a week will give time to my adversary to
make his escape. No, no ; I will not give you one day, even."
" You are mad, monsieur," said de Wardes, retreating a step.
"And you are a coward, if you do not fight willingly. Nay, what is
more, I will denounce you to the king, as having refused to fight, after
having insulted La Valli&re."
"Ah!" said de Wardes, "you are dangerously treacherous, though
you pass for a man of honour."
" There is nothing more dangerous than the treachery, as you term it,
of the man whose conduct is always loyal and upright."
the combat. 59
" Restore me the use of my legs, then, or get yourself bled, till you
are as white as I am, so as to equalize our chances."
" No, no; I have something better than that to propose."
"What is it?"
"We will fight on horseback, and will exchange three pistol-shots
each. You are a first-rate marksman. I have seen you bring down
swallows with single balls, and at full gallop. Do not deny it, for I have
seen you myself."
"I believe you are right," said de Wardes; "and as that is the case,
it is not unlikely I might kill you."
" You would be rendering me a very great service, if you did."
" I will do my best."
" Is it agreed ? Give me your hand upon it."
" There it is;—but, on one condition, however."
"Name it." "That not a word shall be said about it to the king."
" Not a word, I swear." " I shall go and get my horse, then."
" And I, mine."
" "Where shall we meet ?"
" In the open plain; I know an admirable place."
"Shall we go together?" "Why not ?"
And both of them, on their way to the stables, passed beneath
Madame's windows, which were faintly lighted; a shadow could be
seen behind the lace curtains. " There is a woman," said de Wardes,
smiling, "who does not suspect that we are going to fight—to die,
perhaps, on her account."
CHAPTER XHL
The Combat.
De Wabdes and de Guiche selected their horses, and then saddled
them with their own hands, with holster saddles. De Guiche, having
two pairs of pistols, went to his apartments to get them; and after
having loaded them, gave the choice to de Wardes, who selected the
pair he had made use of twenty times before, the same, indeed, with
which de Guiche had seen him kill swallows flying. " You will not be
surprised," he said, "if I take every precaution. You know the wea-
pons well, and, consequently, I am only making the chances equal."
" Your remark was quite useless," replied de Guiche, " and you have
done no more than you are entitled to do."
" Now," said de Wardes, " I beg you to have the goodness to help me
to mount; for I still experience a little difficulty in doing so."
" In that case, we had better settle the matter on foot."
"No; once in the saddle, I shall be all right."
"Very good, then; so we will not speak of it again," said de Guiche,
as he assisted de Wardes to mount his horse.
"And now," continued the young man, "in our eagerness to kill each
other, we have neglected one circumstance."
" What is that ? "
" That it is quite dark, and we shall almost be obliged to grope about,
in order to kill each other."
" Oh !" said de Guiche, " you are as anxious as I am that everything
should be done in proper order."
"Yes; but I do hot wish people to say that you have assassinatea
60 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONKE.
me, any more than, supposing I were to kill you, I should myself like
to be accused of such a crime."
"Did any one make a similar remark about your duel with the duke
of Buckingham ? " said de Guiche, " it took place precisely under the
same conditions as ours."
" Very true; but there was still light enough to»see by ; and we were
up to our middles, almost, in the water; besides, there were a good
number of spectators on shore, looking at us."
De Guiche reflected for a moment; and the thought which had
already presented itself to him became more confirmed—that de Wardes
wished to have witnesses present, in order to bring back the conversa-
tion about Madame, and to give a new turn to the combat. He avoided
saying a word in reply, therefore; and, as de Wardes once more looked
at him interrogatively, he replied, by a movement of the head, that it
would be best to let things remain as they were. The two adversaries
consequently set off, and left the chateau by the same gate, close to
which we may remember to have seen Montalais and Malicorne toge-
ther. The night, as if to counteract the extreme heat of the day, had
gathered the clouds together in masses which were moving slowly along
from the west to the east. The vault above, without a clear spot any-
where visible, or without the faintest indication of thunder, seemed to
hang heavily over the earth, and soon began, by the force of the wind,
to be split up into fragments, like a huge sheet torn into shreds. Large
and warm drops of rain began to fall heavily, and gathered the dust
into globules, which rolled along the ground. At the same time, the
hedges, which seemed conscious of the approaching storm, the thirsty
plants, the drooping branches of the trees, exhaled a thousand aromatic
odours, which revived in the mind tender recollections, thoughts of
youth, endless life, happiness, and love. " How fresh the earth smells,"
said de Wardes ; "it is a piece of coquetry of hers to draw us to her."
" By the bye," replied de Guiche, "several ideas have just occurred to
me; and I wish to have your opinion upon them."
" Relative to ? " " Relative to our engagement."
" It is quite time, in fact, that we should begin to arrange matters."
" Is it to be an ordinary combat, and conducted according to esta-
blished custom ? "
" Let me first know what your established custom is."
" That we dismount in any particular plain that may suit us, then
fasten our horses to the nearest object, meet each without our pistols in
our hands, afterwards retire for a, hundred and fifty paces, in order to
advance on each other."
"Very good ; that is precisely the way in which I killed poor Folli-
nent, three weeks ago, at Saint-Denis."
" I beg your pardon, but you forget one circumstance."
" What is that ? "
" That in your duel with Follinent you advanced towards each other
on loot, your swords between your teeth, and your pistols in your hands."
" True."
"While now, on the contrary, as I cannot walk, you yourself admit
that we shall have to mount our horses again, and charge; and the first
who wishes to fire will do so."
" That is the best course, no doubt; but it is quite dark ; we must
make allowance for more missed shots than would be the case in the
daytime."
"Very well; each will fire three times; the pair of pistols already
loaded, and one reload."
THE COMBAT. 61
" Excellent! "Where shall our engagement take place ? "
" Have you any preference ?" " No."
"You see that small wood which lies before us."
" The wood which is called Rochin ?" " Exactly."
" You know it, then ?" " Perfectly."
" You know that there is an open glade in the centre?" " Yes."
" Well, this glade is admirably adapted for such a purpose, with a
variety of roads, by-places, paths, ditches, windings, and avenues. We
could not find a better spot."
. "I am perfectly satisfied, if you are so. We have arrived, if I am not
mistaken."
"Yes. Look at the beautiful open space in the centre. The faint
light which the stars afford seems concentrated in this spot; the woods
which surround it seem, with their barriers, to form its natural limits."
" Very good. Do, then, as you say."
" Let us first settle the conditions."
"These are mine: if you have any objection to make, you will
state it."
" I am listening."
" If the horse be killed, its rider will be obliged to fight on foot."
" That is a matter of course, since we have no change of horses here."
" But that does not oblige his adversary to dismount."
" His adversary will, in Tact, be free to act as he likes."
" The adversaries, having once met in close contact, cannot quit each
other under any circumstances, and may, consequently, fire muzzle to
muzzle."
" Agreed."
" Three shots and no more will do, I suppose ? "
"Quite sufficient, I think. Here are powder and balls for your
pistols; measure out three charges, take three balls; 1 will do the
same; then we will throw the rest of the powder and the balls away."
"And we will solemnly swear," added de Wardes, "that we have
neither balls nor powder about us ?"
" Agreed; and I swear it," said de Guiche, holding his hand towards
heaven, a gesture which de Wardes imitated.
"And now, my dear comte," said de Wardes, "allow me to tell you
that I am in no way your dupe. You already are, or you soon will be,
the accepted lover of Madame. I have detected your secret, and you
are afraid I shall tell others of it. You wish to kill me, to insure my
silence; that is very clear; and, in your place, I should do the same."
De Guiche hung down his head. "Only," continued de Wardes,
triumphantly, " was it really worth while, tell me, to throw this affair
of Bragelonne's upon my shoulders ? But, take care, my dear fellow;
in bringing the wild boar to bay, you enrage him to madness ; in run-
ning down the fox, you give him the ferocity of the jaguar. The conse-
quence is, that, brought to bay by you, I shall defend myself to the
very last."
" You will be quite right in doing so."
"Yes; but take care; I shall work more harm than you think. In
the first place, as a beginning, you will readily suppose that I have not
been absurd enough to lock up my secret, or your secret rather, in my
own breast. There is a friend of mine, who resembles me in every
way, a man whom you know very well, who shares my secret with me;
so, pray understand, that if you kill me, my death will not have been
of much service to you; whilst, on the contrary, if I kill you—and
everything is possible, you know you understand ? " De Guiche
62 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
shuddered. "If I kill you," continued de Wardes, "you will have
secured two mortal enemies to Madame, who will do their very utmost
to ruin her."
" Oh! monsieur," exclaimed de Guiche, furiously, " do not reckon
upon my death so easily. Of the two enemies you speak of, I trust
most heartily to dispose of one immediately, and the other at the ear-
liest opportunity."
The only reply de "Wardes made was a burst of laughter, so diabolical
in its sound, that a superstitious man would have been terrified by it.
But de Guiche was not so impressionable as that. " I think," he said,
"that everything is now settled, Monsieur de Wardes; so have the
goodness to take your place first, unless you would prefer me to do so."
"By no means," said de Wardes. " I shall be delighted to save you
the slightest trouble." And putting his horse into a gallop, he crossed
the wide open space, and took his stand at that point of the circum-
ference of the cross roads which was immediately opposite to where
de Guiche was stationed. l)e Guiche remained motionless. At the
distance of a hundred paces, the two adversaries were absolutely in-
visible to each other, being completely concealed by the thick shade of
elms and chestnuts. A minute elapsed amidst the profoundest silence.
At the end of the minute, each of them, in the deep shade in which he
was concealed, heard the double click of the trigger, as they put the
pistols on full cock. Be Guiche, adopting the usual tactics, set his
horse into a gallop/ persuaded that he should render his safety doubly
sure, both by the movement, as well as by the speed of the animal. He
directed his course in a straight line towards the point where, in his
opinion, de Wardes would be stationed; and he expected to meet
de Wardes about half way; but in this he was mistaken. He con-
tinued his course, presuming that his adversary was impatiently
awaiting his approach. When, however, he had gone about two-
thirds of the distance, he saw the place suddenly illuminated and a
ball flew by, cutting the plume of his hat in two. Nearly at the same
moment, and as if the flash of the first shot had served to indicate
the direction of the other, a second report was heard, and a second ball
passed through the head of de Guiche's horse, a little below the ear.
The animal fell. These two reports proceeding from the very opposite
direction to that in which he expected to find de Wardes, surprised him
a great deal; but as he was a man of amazing self-possession, he pre-
pared himself for his horse falling, but not so completely, however, that
the toe of his boot escaped being caught under the animal as it fell.
Very fortunately the horse in its dying agonies moved so as to enable
him to release the leg which was less entangled than the other. Be
Guiche rose, felt himself all over, and found that he was not wounded.
At the very moment he had felt the horse tottering under him, he
placed his pistols in the holsters, afraid that the force of the fall might
explode one at least, if not both of them, by which he would have been
disarmed, and left utterly without defence. Once on his feet, he took
the pistols out of the holsters, and advanced towards the spot, where,
by the light of the flash, he had seen de Wardes appear. Be Guiche
had, at the first shot, accounted for the manoeuvre, than which nothing
could have been simpler. Instead of advancing to meet de Guiche, or
remaining in his place to await his approach, de Wardes had, for about
fifteen paces, followed the circle of the shadow which hid him from his
adversary's observation, and at the very moment when the latter pre-
'sented his flank in his career, he had fired from the place where he
stood, carefully taking his aim, and assisted instead of being inconve-
THE COMBAT. 63
nienced by the horse's gallop. It has been seen that, notwithstanding
the darkness, the first ball had passed hardly more than an inch above
de Guiche's head. De Wardes had so confidently relied upon his aim,
that he thought he had seen de Guiche fall • his astonishment was ex-
treme when he saw that he still remained erect in his saddle. He
hastened to fire his second shot, but his hand trembled, and he killed
the horse instead. It would be a most fortunate chance for him if
de Guiche were to remain held fast under the animal. Before he could
have freed himself, de Wardes would have loaded his pistol and had
de Guiche at his mercy. But de Guiche, on the contrary, was up, and
had three shots to fire. De Guiche immediately understood the posi-
tion of affairs. It would be necessary to exceed de Wardes in rapidity
of execution. He advanced, therefore, so as to reach him before he
should have had time to reload his pistol. De Wardes saw him ap-
proaching like a tempest. The ball was rather tight, and offered some
resistance to the ramrod. To load it carelessly would be to expose him-
self to lose his last chance; to take the proper care in loading it would
be to lose his time, or rather it would be throwing away his life. He
made his horse bound on one side. De Guiche turned round also, and,
at the moment the horse was quiet again, he fired, and the ball carried
off de Wardes' hat from his head. De Wardes now knew that he had
a moment's time at his own disposal; he availed himself of it in order
to finish loading his pistol. De Guiche, noticing that his adversary did
not fall, threw the pistol he had just discharged aside, and walked
straight towards de Wardes, elevating the second pistol as he did so.
He had hardly proceeded more than two or three paces, when de
Wardes took aim at him as he was walking, and fired. An exclamation
of anger was de Guiche's answer; the comte's arm contracted and
dropped motionless by his side, and the pistol fell from his grasp. De
Wardes observed the comte stoop down, pick up the pistol with his left
hand, and again advance towards him. His anxiety was excessive. " I
am lost," murmured de Wardes, "he is not mortally wounded." At
the very moment, however, that de Guiche was about to raise his pistol
against de Wardes, the head, shoulders, and limbs of the comte seemed
all to give way. He heaved a deep-drawn sigh, tottered, and fell at the
feet of de Wardes' horse.
"That is all right," said de Wardes, and, gathering up the reins, he
struck his spurs into his horse's sides. The horse cleared the comte's
motionless body, and bore de Wardes rapidly back to the chateau.
When he arrived there, he remained a quarter of an hour deliberating
within himself as to the proper course to be adopted. In his impa-
tience to leave the field of battle, he had omitted to ascertain whether
de Guiche were dead or not. A double hypothesis presented itself to
de Wardes' agitated mind: either de Guiche was killed, or de Guiche
was wounded only. If he were killed, why should he leave his body in
that manner to the tender mercies of the wolves; it was a perfectly
useless piece of cruelty, for if de Guiche were dead, he certainly could
not breathe a syllable of what had passed; if he were not killed, why
should he, de Wardes, in leaving him there uncared for, allow himself
to be regarded as a savage, incapable of one generous feeling ? This
last consideration determined his line of conduct.
De Wardes immediately instituted inquiries after Manicamp. He
was told that Manicamp had been looking after de Guiche, and, not
knowing where to find him, had retired to bed. De Wardes went and
woke the sleeper, without any delay, and related the whole affair to him.
Which Manicamp listened to in perfect silence, but with an expression
64 THE VICOMTE DE 3EAGEL0N.NE.
of momentarily-increasing energy, of which his face could hardly have
been supposed capable. It was only when de Wardes had finished, that
Manieamp uttered the words, " Let us go."
As they proceeded, Manieamp became more and more excited, and
in proportion as de Wardes related the details of the affair to him, his
countenance assumed every moment a darkening expression. " And
so," he said, when de Wardes had finished, " you think he is dead ? "
"Alas! I do."
" And you fought in that manner, without witnesses ? "
" He insisted upon it."
" It is very singular."
" What do you mean by saying it is singular ? "
" That it is so very unlike Monsieur de Guiche's disposition."
" You do not doubt my word, I suppose ? "
"Hum! hum!"
" You do doubt it, then ? "
" A little, But I shall doubt it more than ever, I warn you, if I find
the poor fellow is really dead."
" Monsieur Manieamp!"
" Monsieur de Wardes !"
" It seems you intend to insult me."
"Just as you please. The fact is, I never could like those people
who come and say, 'I have killed such and such a gentleman in a
corner; it is a great pity, but I killed him in a perfectly honourable
manner.' It has a very ugly appearance, M. de Wardes."
" Silence! we have arrived."
In fact, the open glade could now be seen, and in the open space lay
the motionless body of the dead horse. To the right of the horse, upon
the dark grass, with his face against the ground, the poor comte lay,
bathed in his blood. He had remained in the same spot, and did not
even seem to have made the slightest movement. Manieamp threw
himself on his knees, lifted the comte in his arms, and found him quite
cold, and steeped in blood. He let him gently fall again. Then,
stretching out his hand and feeling all over the ground close to where
the comte lay, he sought until he found de Guiche's pistol.
" By Heaven!" he said, rising to his feet, pale as death, and with the
pistol in his hand, " you are not mistaken, he is quite dead."
" Dead!" repeated de Wardes.
" Yes; and his pistol is still loaded," added Manieamp, looking into
the pan.
" But I told you that I took aim as he was walking towards me, and
fired at him at the very moment he was going to fire at me."
" Are you quite sure that you have fought with him, Monsieur de
Wardes ? I confess that I am very much afraid it has been a foul
assassination. Nay, nay, no exclamations! You have had your three
shots, and his pistol is still loaded. You have killed his horse, and he,
de Guiche, one of the best marksmen in France, has not touched even
either your horse or yourself. Well, Monsieur de Wardes, you have
been very unlucky in bringing me here; all the blood in my body seems
to have mounted to my head; and I verily believe that since so good
an opportunity presents itself, I shall blow out your brains on the spot.
So, Monsieur de Wardes, recommend your soul to Heaven."
" Monsieur Manieamp, you cannot think of such a thing !"
" On the contrary, I am thinking of it very strongly."
" Would you assassinate me ? "
" Without the slightest remorse^ at least for the present."
THE COMBAT. 65
" Are you a gentleman ? "
" I have given a great many proofs of it."
" Let me defend my life, then, at least."
"Very likely; in order, I suppose, that you may do to me what you
have done to poor de Guiche."
And Manicamp slowly raised his pistol to the height of de Wardes'
breast, and, with his arm stretched out, and a fixed, determined look on
his face, took a careful aim. De Waraes did not attempt a flight; he
was completely terrified. In the midst, however, of this horrible
silence, which lasted about a second but which seemed an age to
de Wardes, a faint sigh was heard.
" Oh," exclaimed de Wardes, " he still lives ! Help, de Guiche, I am
about to be assassinated!"
Manicamp fell back a step or two, and the two young men saw the
comte raise himself slowly and painfully upon one hand. Manicamp
threw the pistol away a dozen paces, and ran to his friend, uttering a
cry of delight. De Wardes wiped his forehead, which was covered with
a cold perspiration.
" It was just, in time," he murmured.
"Where are you hurt?" inquired Manicamp of de Guiche, and
whereabouts are you wounded ?"
De Guiche showed him his mutilated hand and his chest covered
with blood.
"Comte," exclaimed de Wardes, "I am accused of having assassi-
nated you; speak, I implore you, and say that I fought loyally."
"Perfectly so," said the wounded man; "Monsieur de Wardes
fought quite loyally, and whoever may say the contrary will make me
his enemy."
" Then, sir," said Manicamp, " assist me, in the first place, to carry
this poor fellow back, and I will afterwards give you every satisfaction
you please; or, if you are in a hurry, we can do better still; let us
stanch the blood from the comte's wounds here, with your pocket-
handkerchief and mine, and then, as there are two shots left, we can
have them between us."
"Thank you," said de Wardes. "Twice already, in one hour, I
have seen death too close at hand to be agreeable; I don't like his look
at all, and I prefer your apologies."
Manicamp burst out laughing, and Guiche too, in spite of his suffer-
ings. The two young men wished to carry him, but he declared he felt
himself quite strong enough to walk alone. The ball had broken his
ring-finger and his little finger, and then had glanced along his side,
but without penetrating deeply into his chest. It was the pain rather
than the seriousness of the wound, therefore, which had overcome de
Guiche. Manicamp passed his arm under one of the comte's shoulders,
and de Wardes did the same with the other, and in this way they
brought him back to Fontainebleau, to the house of the same doctor
who had been present at the death of the Franciscan, Aramis's pre-
decessor."
to;, ii.
r
TUB VICOMTr DE BEAGELONNE.
CHAPTER XIY.
The King's Supper.
The king, while these matters were being arranged, had sat down to
the supper-table, and the not very large number of guests invited
for that day had taken their seats, after the usual gesture intimating
the royal permission to be seated. At this period of Louis XIV.'s
reign, although etiquette was not governed by the strict regulations
which subsequently were adopted, the French court had entirely
thrown aside the traditions of good fellowship and patriarchal affa-
bility which existed in the time of Henry IV., and which the suspicious
mind of Louis XIII. had gradually replaced by the pompous state,
forms, and ceremonies, which he despaired of being able fully to realize.
The king, therefore, was seated alone at a small separate table,
which, like the desk of a president, overlooked the adjoining tables.
Although we say a small table, we must not omit to add that this
small table was the largest one there. Moreover, it was the one on
which were placed the greatest number and quantity of dishes; con-
sisting of fish, game, meat, fruit, vegetables, and preserves. The king
was young and full of vigour and energy, very fond of hunting, addicted
to all violent exercises of the body, possessing, besides, like all the mem-
bers of the Bourbon family, a rapid digestion and an appetite speedily
renewed. Louis XIV. was a formidable table-companion; he delighted
to criticise his cooks; but when he honoured them by praise and com-
mendation, the honour was overwhelming. The king began by eating
several kinds of soup, either mixed together or taken separately. He
intermixed, or rather he separated, each of the soups by a glass of old
wine. He ate quickly. and somewhat greedily. Porthos, who from,
the beginning had, out of respect, been waiting for a jog of d'Artagnan's
arm, seeing the king make such rapid progress, turned to the mus-
keteer and said in a low tone,—
" It seems as if one might go on now; his majesty is very encouraging,
from the example he sets. Look."
" The king eats," said d'Artngnan, " but he talks at the same time; try
and manage matters in such manner that, if he should happen to
address a remark to you, he should not find you with your mouth full,
which would be very disrespectful."
" The best way in that case," said Porthos, " is to eat no supper at
all; and yet I am very hungry, I admit, and everything looks and
smells most invitingly, as if appealing to all my senses at once."
"Don't think of not eating, for a moment," said d'Artagnan;
" that would put his majesty out terribly. The king has a saying,
' that he who works well, eats well,' and he does not like people to
eat indifferently at his table."
" How can I avoid having my mouth full if I eat ?" said Porthos.
" All you have to do," replied the captain of the musketeers, " is
simply to swallow what you have in it, whenever the king does you the
honour to address a remark to you."
"Very good," said Porthos; and from that moment he began to eat
with a well-bred enthusiasm of manner.
The king occasionally looked at the different persons who were at
tat' 3 with him, and, en connoisseur, could appreciate the different dis-
positions of his guests.
THE KING'S STTPPEB. 67
" Monsieur du Yallon !" he said.
Porthos was enjoying a salmi de lievre, and swallowed half of the
back. His name pronounced in such a manner had made him start,
and by a vigorous effort of his gullet he absorbed the whole mouthful.
" Sire," replied Porthos, in a stifled voice, but sufficiently intelligible,
nevertheless.
" Let those Jilets d'agneau be handed to Monsieur du Yallon," sai(f
the king; " do you like brown meats, M. du Yallon ?"
" Sire," I like everything," replied Perthos.
D'Artagnan whispered: " Everything your majesty sends me."
Porthos repeated : " Everything your majesty sends me," an obser-
vation which the king apparently received with great satisfaction.
" People eat well who work well," replied the king, delighted to have
en tete-a-tete a guest who could eat as Porthos did. Porthos received
the dish of lamb, and put a portion of it on his own plate.
" "Well!" said the king. "Exquisite," said Porthos, calmly.
" Have you as good mutton in your part of the country, Monsieur
du Yallon?" continued the king.
" Sire, I believe, that from my own province, as everywhere else, the
best of everything is sent to Paris for your majesty's use; but, on the
other hand, I do not eat lamb in the same way your majesty does."
" Ah! ah! and how do you eat it ?"
" Generally, I have a lamb dressed quite whole."
" Quite whole ?" " Yes, sire."
" In what manner, then P"
" In this, sire: my cook, who is a German, first stuffs the lamb in
question with small sausages which he procures from Strasburg,
force-meat balls which he procures from Troyes, and larks which he
procures from Pithiviers; by some means or other, which I am not
acquainted with, he bones the lamb as he would do a fowl, leaving the
skin on, however, which forms a brown crust all over the animal; when
it is cut in beautiful slices, in the same way as an enormous sausage,
a rose-coloured gravy pours forth, which is as agreeable to the eye
as it is exquisite to the palate." And Porthos finished by smacking his
lips.
The king opened his eyes with delight, and, while cutting some of the
faisan en daube, which was being handed to him, he said,—
"That is a dish I should very much like to taste, Monsieur du
Yallon. Is it possible! a whole lamb!"
" Completely so, sire."
"Pass those pheasants to M. du Yallon; I perceive he is an
amateur."
The order was immediately obeyed. Then, continuing the conversa-
tion, he said: " And you do not find the lamb too fat ? "
"No, sire, the fat falls down at the same time as the gravy does,
and swims on the surface; then the servant who carves removes the
fat with a spoon, which I have.had expressly made for that purpose."
"Where do you reside?" inquired the king.
" At Pierrefonds, sire."
"At Pierrefonds; where is that, M. du Yallon—near Belle-Isle ?"
" Oh no, sire! Pierrefonds is in the Soissonnais."
" I thought you alluded to the lamb on account of the salt marshes."
"No, sire, I have marshes which are not salt, it is true, but which
are not the less valuable on that account."
The king had now arrived at the entremets, but without losing sighf
of Porthos, who continued to play his part in the best manner.
» 2
68 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"You have an excellent appetite, M. du Vallon," said the king,
M and you make an admirable guest at table."
" Ah! sire, if your majesty were ever to pay a visit to Pierrcfonds,
we would both of us eat our lamb together; for your appetite is not an
indifferent one by any means."
D'Artagnan gave Porthos a severe kick under the table, which made
Porthos colour up.
" At your majesty's present happy age," said Porthos, in order to
repair the mistake be had made, "I was in the musketeers, and
nothing could ever satisfy me then. Your majesty lias an excellent ap-
petite, as I have already had the honour of mentioning, but you select
what you eat with too much refinement to be called a great eater."
The king seemed charmed at his guest's politeness.
" Will you try some of these creams?" he said to Porthos.
" Sire, your majesty treats me with far too much kindness to prevent
me speaking the whole truth."
" Pray do so, M. du Vallon."
" Weil, sire, with regard to sweet dishes I only recognize pastry,
and even that should be rather solid; all these frothy substances swell
the stomach, and occupy a place which seems to me to be too precious
to be so badly tenanted."
" Ah! gentlemen," said the king, indicating Porthos by a gesture,
"here is indeed a perfect model of gastronomy. It was in such a
manner that our fathers, who so well knew what good living was, used
to eat, while we," added his majesty, " can do nothing but trifle with
our food." And as he spoke, he took the breast of a chicken with ham,
while Porthos attacked a dish of partridges and land-rails. The cup-
bearer filled his majesty's glass. " Give M. du ValloD some of my
wine," said the king. This was one of the greatest honours of the
royal table. D'Artagnan pressed his friend's knee.
" If you could only manage to swallow the half of that boar's head I
see yonder," said he to Porthos, " I shall believe you will be a duke and
peer within the next twelvemonth."
" Presently," said Porthos, phlegmatically; " I shall come to it by-
and-by."
In fact it was not long before it came to the boar's turn, for the king
seemed to take a pleasure in urging on his guest; he did not pass any
of the dishes to Porthos until he had tasted them himself, and he ac-
cordingly took some of the boar's head. Porthos showed that he could
seep pace with his sovereign; and, instead of eating the half, as
d'Artagnan had told him, he ate three-fourths of it. " It is impossible,"
said the king in an under-tone, " that a gentleman who eats so good a
supper every day, and who has such beautiful teeth, can be otherwise
than the most straightforward, upright man in my kingdom."
" Do you hear ? " said d'Artagnan in his friend's ear.
" Yes; I think I am rather in favour," said Porthos, balancing him-
self on his chair.
" Oh ! you are in luck's way."
The king and Porthos continued to eat in the same manner, to the
great satisfaction of the other guests, some of whom, from emulation,
had attempted to follow them, but had been obliged to give up on the
way. The king soon began to get flushed, and the reaction of the
blood to his face announced that the moment of repletion had arrived.
It was then that Louis XIV., instead of becoming gay and cheerful, as
most good livers generally do, became dull, melancholy, and taciturn.
Porthos, on the contrary, was lively and communicative. D'Artaeman'a
AFTER SUPPER. 69
foot had more than once to remind him of this peculiarity of the king.
The dessert now made its appearance. The king had ceased to think
anything further of Porthos; he turned his eyes anxiously towards the
entrance-door, and he was heard occasionally to inquire how it happened
that Monsieur de Saint-Aignan was so long in arriving. At last, at
the moment when his majesty was finishing a pot of preserved plums
with a deep sigh, Saint-Aignan appeared. The king's eyes, which had
become somewhat dull, immediately began to sparkle. The comte ad-
vanced towards the king's table, and Louis arose at his approach.
Everybody arose at the same time, including Porthos, who was just
finishing an almond-cake, capable of making the jaws of a crocodile
stick together. The supper was over.
CHAPTER XY.
After Supper.
The king took Saint-Aignan by the arm, and passed into the adjoin-
ing apartment. " What has detained you, comte ?" said the king.
" I was bringing the answer, sire," replied the comte.
" She has taken along time to reply to what I wrote her."
" Sire, your majesty had deigned to write in verse, and Mademoiselle
de la Valliere wished to repay your majesty in the same coin; that is to
say, in gold."
"Verses! Saint-Aignan," exclaimed the king in ecstasy. "Give
them to me at once." And Louis broke the seal of a little letter, in-
closing the verses which history has preserved entire for us, and which
are more meritorious in intention than in execution. Such as they
were, however, the king was enchanted with them, and exhibited his
satisfaction by unequivocal transports of delight; but the universal
silence which reigned in the rooms warned Louis, so sensitively particu-
lar with regard to good breeding, that his delight might give rise to
various interpretations. _ He turned aside and put the note in his
pocket, and then advancing a few steps, which brought him again to
the threshold of the door close to his guests, he said, "M. du Vallon, I
have seen you to-day with the greatest pleasure, and my pleasure will
be equally great to see you again." Porthos bowed as the Colossus of
Rhodes would have done, and retired from the room with his face
towards the king. " M. d'Artagnan," continued the king, " you will
await my orders in the gallery ; I am obliged to you for having made
me acquainted with M. du Yallon. Gentlemen," addressing himself to
the other guests, " I return to Paris to-morrowr, on account of the
departure of the Spanish and Dutch ambassadors. Until to-morrow,
then."
The apartment was immediately cleared of the guests. The king
took Saint-Aignan by the arm, made him read La Valliere's verses over
again, and said, " What do you think of them ?"
" Charming, sire."
" They charm me, in fact, and if they were known "
" Oh! the professional poets would be jealous of them; but it -tot
at all likely they will know anything about them."
" Did you give her mine ?"
" Oh! sire, she positively devoured them."
" They were very weak, I am afraid."
70 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" That is not what Mademoiselle de la Valliere said of them."
" Do you think she was pleased with them ?"
" I am sure of it, sire."
" I must answer them, then."
"Oh! sire, immediately after supper? Your majesty will fatigue
yourself."
" You're right; study after eating is very injurious."
_" The labour of a poet especially so; and, besides, there is great ex-
citement prevailing at Mademoiselle de la Valliere V
" What do you mean ? "
" With her as with all the ladies of the court."
"Why?" "On account of poor de Guiche's accident."
" Has anything serious happened to de Guicke, then ?"
"Yes, sire, he has one hand nearly destroyed, a hole in his breast; in
fact he is dying."
" Good heavens! who told you that ?"
" Manicamp brought him back just now to the house of a doctor here
in Pontainebleau, and the rumour soon reached us all here."
" Brought back! Poor de Guiche; and how did it happen ?"
" Ah! that is the very question, how did it happen ?"
" You say that in a very singular manner, Saint-Aignan. Give me
the details. What does he say himself?"
" He says nothing, sire ; but others do."
" What others ?" " Those who brought him back, sire."
" Who are they?"
" I do not know, sire; but M. de Manicamp knows. M. de Manicamp
is one of his friends."
" As everybody is, indeed," said the king.
"Oh! no!" returned Saint-Aignan, "you are mistaken, sire; every
one is not precisely friends with M. de Guiche."
" How do you know that ?"
"Does your majesty require me to explain myself?"
" Certainly I do."
" Well, sire, I believe I have heard something said about a quarrel
between two gentlemen."
" When ?"
" This very evening, before your majesty's supper was served."
" That can hardly be. I have issued such stringent and severe ordi-
nances with respect to duelling, that no one, I presume, would dare to
disobey them."
"In that case, Heaven preserve me from excusing any one!" ex-
claimed Saint-Aignan. " Your majesty commanded me to speak, and I
spoke accordingly."
" Tell me, then, in what way the Comte de Guiche has been
wounded?"
" Sire, it is said to have been at a boar-hunt."
" This evening ?" " Yes, sire."
" One of his hands shattered, and a hole in his breast. Who was at
the hunt with M. de Guiche ? "
" I do not know, sire; but M. de Manicamp knows, or ought to know."
"You are concealing something from me, Saint-Aignan."
"Nothing, sire, I assure you."
" Then, explain to me how the accident happened; was it a musket
that burst ? "
" Very likely, sire. But yet, on reflection, it could hardly have been
that, for Guiche's pistol was found close by him still loaded."
how e'abtagnan dischaeged the king's mission. 71
" His pistol ? But a man does not go to a boar-hunt with a pistol, I
should think."
" Sire, it is also said, that Guiche's horse was killed, and that the
horse is still to be found in the wide open glade in the forest."
" His horse ?—Guiehe go on horseback to a boar-hunt—Saint-Aignan,
I do not understand a syllable of what you have been telling me.
Where did the affair happen ? "
"At the Eond-point, in that part of the forest called the Bois-
Eochin."
" That will do. Call M. d'Artagnan." Saint-Aignan obeyed, and
the musketeer entered.
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, " you will leave this place by
the little door of the private staircase." " Yes, sire."
" You will mount your horse." " Yes, sire."
" And you will proceed to the Eond-point du Bois-Eochin. Do you
know the spot ?"
" Yes, sire. I have fought there twice."
"What! " exclaimed the king, amazed at the reply.
" Under the edicts, sire, of Cardinal Eichelieu," returned d'Artagnan,
with his usual impassibility.
" That is very different, monsieur. You will, therefore, go there, and
will examine the locality very carefully. A man has been wounded
there, and you will find a horse lying dead. You will tell me what your
opinion is upon the whole affair."
" Very good, sire."
" It is a matter of course that it is your own opinion I require, and
not that of any one else."
" You shall have it in an hour's time, sire."
" I prohibit your speaking with any one, whoever it may be."
" Except with the person who must give me a lantern," said d'Ar-
tagnan.
" Oh! that is a matter of course," said the king, laughing at the
liberty, which he tolerated in no one but his captain of musketeers.
D'Artagnan left by the little staircase.
" Now, let my physician be sent for," said Louis. Ten minutes after-
wards the king's physician arrived, quite out of breath.
" You will go, monsieur," said the king to him, " and accompany
M. de Saint-Aignan wherever he may take you; you will render me an
account of the state of the person you may see in the house you will be
taken to." The physician obeyed without a remark, as at that time
people began to obey Louis XIV., and left the room preceding Saint-
Aignan.
" Do you, Saint-Aignan, send Manicamp to me, before the physician
can possibly have spoken to him." And Saint-Aignan left in his turn.
CHAPTER XVI.
Showing in what way d'Artagnan discharged the mission with which the King
had intrusted him.
While the king was engaged in making these last-mentioned
arrangements in order to ascertain the truth, d'Artagnan, without
losing a second, ran to the stable, took down the lantern, saddled his
horse himself, and proceeded towards the place which his majesty had
72 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
indicated. According to the promise he had made, he had neither seen
nor met any one; and, as we have observed, he had carried his scruples
so far as to do without the assistance of the helpers in the stables alto-
gether. D'Artagnan was one of those who in moments of difficulty
pride themselves on increasing their own value. By dint of hard gal-
loping, he in less than five minutes reached the wood, fastened his
horse to the first tree he came to, and penetrated to the broad open
space on foot. He then began to inspect most carefully, on foot and
with his lantern in his hand, the whole surface of the Bond-point,
went forward, turned back again, measured, examined, and after half
an hour's minute inspection, he returned silently to where he had left
his horse, and pursued his way in deep reflection and at a foot-pace to
Pontainebleau. Louis was waiting in his cabinet; he was alone, and
with a pencil was scribbling on paper certain lines which d'Artagnan at
the first glance recognized as being very unequal and very much scratched
about. The conclusion he arrived at was, that they must be verses.
The king raised his head and perceived d'Artagnan. " Well, monsieur,"
he said, " do you bring me any news P " " Yes, sire."
" What have you seen ? "
" As far as probability goes, sire," d'Artagnan began to reply.
" It was certainty I requested of you."
" I will approach it as near as I possibly can. The weather was very
well adapted for investigations of the character I have just made; it
has been raining this evening, and the roads were wet and muddy "
" Well, the result, M. d'Artagnan ?"
" Sire, your majesty told me that there was a horse lying dead in the
cross-road of the Bois-Rochin, and I began, therefore, by studying the
roads. I say the roads, because the centre of the cross-road is reached
by four separate roads. The one that I myself took was the only one
that presented any fresh traces. Two horses had followed it side by
side; their eight feet were marked very distinctly in the clay. One of
the riders was more impatient than the other, for the footprints of the
one were invariably in advance of the other about half a horse's length."
" Are you quite sure they came together ?" said the king.
" Yes, sire. The horses are two rather large animals of equal pace,—
horses well used to manoeuvres of all kinds, for they wheeled round the
barrier of the Rond-Point together."
" Well—and after ?"
" The two cavaliers paused there for a minute, no doubt to arrange
the conditions of the engagement; the horses grew restless and im-
patient. One of the riders spoke, while the other listened and seemed
to have contented himself by simply answering. His horse pawed the
ground, which proves that his attention was so taken up by listening
that he let the bridle fall from his hand."
" A hostile meeting did take place, then ?" " Undoubtedly."
" Continue; you are a most accurate observer."
" One of the two cavaliers remained where he was standing, the
one, in fact, who had been listening; the other crossed the open
space, and at first placed himself directly opposite to his adversary.
The one who had remained stationary traversed the Rond-Point at a
gallop, about two-thirds of its length, thinking that, by this means h6
would gain upon his opponent; but the latter had followed the circum-
i'erence of the wood."
" You are ignorant of their names, I suppose?"
" Completely so, sire. Only he who followed the circumference of
the wood was mounted on a black horse."
how d'artagnan discharged the king's mission. 73
" How do you know that ?"
" I found a few hairs of his tail among the brambles which bordered
the sides of the ditch."
" Go on."
" As for the other horse, there can be no trouble in describing him,
since he was left dead on the field of battle."
" What was the cause of his death ?"
" A ball which had passed through his temple."
" Was the ball that of a pistol or a gun ?"
" It was a pistol-bullet, sire. Besides, the manner in which the
horse was wounded explained to me the tactics of the man who had
killed it. He had followed the circumference of the wood in order to
take his adversary in flank. Moreover, I followed his foot-tracks on
the grass."
" The tracks of the black horse, do you mean ?" " Yes, sire."
" Go on, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" As your majesty now perceives the position of the two adversaries,
I will, for a moment, leave the cavalier who had remained stationary
for the one who started off at a gallop." " Do so."
" The horse of the cavalier who rode at full speed was killed on the
spot."
" How do you know that ?"
" The cavalier had not time even to throw himself off his horse, and
so fell with it. I observed the impression of his leg, which, with a great
effort, he was enabled to extricate from under the horse. The spur,
pressed down by the weight of the animal, had ploughed up the
ground."
" Very good; and what did he do as soon as he rose up again ?"
" He walked straight up to his adversary."
" Who still remained upon the verge of the forest ?"
" Yes, sire. Then, having reached a favourable distance, he stopped
firmly, for the impression of both his heels are left in the ground quite
close to each other, fired, and missed his adversary."
" How do you know he did not hit him ?"
" I found a hat with a ball through it."
" Ah, a proof, then !" exclaimed the king.
" Insufficient, sire," replied d'Artagnan, coldly; "it is a hat without
any letters indicating its ownership, without arms; a red feather, as all
hats have; the lace, even, had nothing particular in it."
" Did the man with the hat through which the bullet had passed
fire a second time ? "
" Oh, sire, he had already fired twice."
" How did you ascertain that P"
" I found the waddings of the pistol."
" And what became of the bullet which did not kill the horse ?"
" It cut in two the feather of the hat belonging to him against whom
it was directed, and broke a small birch at the other end of the open
giade."
" In that case, then, the man on the black horse was disarmed,
whilst his adversary had still one more shot to fire ?"
" Sire, while the dismounted rider was extricating himself from his
horse, the other was reloading his pistol. Oniy, he was much agitated
while he was loading it, and his hand trembled greatly."
" Hew do you know that ?"
" Half the charge fell to the ground, and he threw the ramrod aside,
not having time to replace it in the nistol."
74 THE VICOMTE HE BEAGELONNE.
" Monsieur d'Artagnan, it is marvellous what you tell me."
" It is only close observation, sire, and the commonest highwayman
would do as much."
" The whole scene is before me from the manner in which you
relate it."
" I have, in fact, reconstructed it in my own mind, with merely a
few alterations."
" And now," said the king, " let us return to the dismounted cavalier.
You were saying that he had walked towards his adversary while the
latter was loading his pistol."
"Yes; but at the very moment he himself was taking aim, the other
fired."
" Oh!" said the king; " and the shot ?"
" The shot told terribly, sire; the dismounted cavalier fell upon his
face, after having staggered forward three or four paces."
" Where was he hit ?"
" In two places; in the first place, in his right hand, and then. the
same bullet, in his chest."
" But how could you ascertain that?" inquired the king, full of
admiration.
" By a very simple means; the butt-end of the pistol was covered
with blood, and the trace of the bullet could be observed with frag-
ments of a broken ring. The wounded man, in all probability, had the
ring-finger and the little finger carried off."
" As far as the hand goes, I have nothing to say; but the chest ?"
" Sire, there were two small pools of blood, at a distance of about two
feet and a half from each other. At one of these pools of blood the
grass was torn up by the clenched hand; at the other, the grass was
simply pressed down by the weight of the body."
" Poor de Guiche!" exclaimed the king.
" Ah! it was M. de Guiche, then ?" said the musketeer, very quietly.
" I suspected it, but did not venture to mention it to your majesty."
" And what made you suspect it ?"
" I recognized the de Grammont arms upon the holsters of the dead
horse,"
" And you think he is seriously wounded ? "
" Very seriously, since he fell immediately, and remained a long time
in the same place; however, he was able to walk, as he left the spot,
supported by two friends."
" You met him returning, then ?"
" No; but I observed the foot-prints of three men; the one on the
right and the one on the left walked freely and easily, but the one in
the middle dragged his feet as he walked; besides, he left traces of
blood at every step he took."
" Now, monsieur, since you saw the combat so distinctly that not a
single detail seems to have escaped you, tell me something about.de
Guiche's adversary ?"
" Oh, sire, I do not know him."
" And yet you see everything very clearly."
" Yes, sire, I see every"ig; but I do not tell all I see; and, since the
poor devil has escaped, your majesty will permit me to say that I do
not intend to denounce him."
" And yet he is guilty, since he has fought a duel, monsieur."
" Not guilty in my eyes, sire," said d'Artagnan, coldly.
" Monsieur!" exclaimed the king, " are you aware of what you aro
Baying?"
HOW d'artagnan discharged the king's mission. 75
" Perfectly, sire; but, according to my notion, a man who fights a duel,
is a brave man; such, at least, is my own opinion; but your majesty
may have another; that is very natural,—you are the master here."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan, 1 ordered you, however "
D'Artagnan interrupted the king, by a respectful gesture. "You
ordered me, sire, to gather what particulars I could, respecting a hostile
meeting that had taken place; those particulars you have. If you order
me to arrest M. de Guiche's adversary, I will do so; but do not order
me to denounce him to you, for in that case I will not obey."
" Very well! Arrest him, then."
" Give me his name, sire."
The king stamped his foot angrily; but after a moment's reflection,
he said, "You are right—ten times, twenty times, a hundred times right."
" That is my opinion, sire; I am happy that, this time, it accords with
your majesty's."
" One word more. Who assisted Guiche ? " " I do not know, sire."
"But you speak of two men. There was a person present, then, as
second."
" There was no second, sire. Nay, more than that, when M. de Guiche
fell, his adversary fled without giving him any assistance."
"The miserable coward!" exclaimed the king.
" The consequence of your ordinances, sire. If a man has fought
well, and fairly, and has already escaped one chance of death, he natu-
rally wishes to escape a second. M. de Botteville cannot be forgotten
very easily."
"And so, men turn cowards." "No, they become prudent."
"And he has fled, then, you say ?"
" Yes; and as fast as his horse could possibly carry him."
"In what direction?" " In the direction of the chateau."
"Well; and after ?"
"Afterwards, as I have had the honour of telling your majesty, two
men on foot arrived, who carried M. de Guiche back with them."
"What proof have you, that these men arrived after the combat ?"
" A very evident proof, sire; at the moment the encounter took place,
the rain had just ceased, the ground had not had time to imbibe the
moisture, and had, consequently, become damp; the footsteps sunk in
the ground; but, while M_. de Guiche was lying there in a fainting con-
dition, the ground became firm again, and the footsteps made a less sen-
sible impression."
Louis clapped his hands together in sign of admiration. "Monsieur
d'Artagnan," he said, "you are positively the cleverest man in my
kingdom."
" The very thing that M. de Bichelieu thought, and M. de Mazarin
said, sire."
" And, now, it remains for us to see if your sagacity is in fault."
" Oh! sire, a man may be mistaken; err are humanum, est," said the
musketeer, philosophically.
" In that case, you are not human, Monsieur d'Artagnan, for I believe
you never are mistaken."
" Your majesty said, that we were going to see whether such was the
case, or not." " Yes."
V In what way, may I venture to ask ?"
" I have sent for M. de Manicamp, and M. de Manicamp is coming."
" And M. de Manicamp knows the secret ?"
" Guiche has no secrets for M. de Manicamp."
D'Artagnan shook his head. " No one was present at the combat, I
76 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
repeat; and, unless M. de Manicamp was one of the two men who
brought him back "
"Hush!"said the king, "he is coming; remain there, and listen
attentively."
" Very good, sire."
And, at the same moment, Manicamp and Saint-Aignan appeared at
the threshold of the door.
CHAPTER XYII.
The Encounter.
The king with his hand made, first to the musketeer, and then to
Saint-Aignan, an imperious and significant gesture, as much as to say,
*' On your lives, not a word." D'Artagnan withdrew, like a soldier, into
a corner of the room; Saint-Aignan, in his character of favourite,
leaned over the back of the king's chair. Manicamp, with his right foot
properly advanced, a smile upon his lips, and his white and well-formed
hands gracefully disposed, advanced to make his reverence to the king,
who returned the salutation by a bow. " Good evening, M. de Mam-
camp," he said.
" Your majesty did me the honour to send for me," said Manicamp.
" Yes, in order to learn from you all the details of the unfortunate
accident which has befallen the Comte de Guiche."
" Oh! sire, it is very grievous indeed."
" You were there ? "
" Not precisely so, sire."
" But you arrived on the scene where the accident occurred a few
minutes after it took place ? "
" I did so, sire, about half an hour afterwards,"
" And where did the accident happen ? "
" I believe, sire, the place is called the Bond-point du Bois-Bochip."
" Oh! the rendezvous of the hunt."
" The very spot, sire."
"Very good; tell me what details you are acquainted with, respecting
this unhappy affair, Monsieur de Manicamp."
" Perhaps your majesty has already been informed of them, and I fear
to fatigue you by useless repetitions."
"No, do not be afraid of that."
Manicamp looked all round him ; he only saw d'Artagnan leaning
with his back against the wainscot—d'Artagnan, calm, kind, and good-
natured as usual—and Saint-Aignan whom he had accompanied, and
who still leaned over the king's arm-chair with an expression of coun-
tenance equally full of good feeling. He determined, therefore, to
speak out. " Your majesty is perfectly aware," he said, " that accidents
are very frequent in hunting."
" In hunting, do you say ? "
" I mean, sire, when an animal is brought to bay."
" Ah ! ah ! " said the king, " it was when the animal was brought to
bay, then, that the accident happened."
" Alas ! sire, unhappily, it was so."
The king paused for a moment before he said: ""What animal was
being hunted ? "
" A wild boar, sire."
"And what could possibly have possessed de Guiche to go to a wild-
THE ENCOUNTER. 77
hoar hunt by himself; that is but a clownish idea of sport, and only fit
for that class of people who, unlike the Marechal de Grammont, have
no dogs and huntsmen to hunt as gentlemen should do."
Manicamp shrugged his shoulders. " Youth is very rash," he said,
sententiously.
" Well, go on," said the king.
" At all events," continued Manicamp, not venturing to bo too preci-
pitate and hasty, and letting his words fall very slowly one by one, " at
all events, sire, poor de Guiche went hunting—quite alone."
" Quite alone, indeed! What a sportsman. And is not M. de Guiche
aware that the wild boar always stands at bay ? "
"That is the very thing that really happened, sire."
" He had some idea, then, of the beast being there ? "
" Yes, sire, some peasants had seen it among their potatoes."
" And what kind of animal was it ? "
" A short, thick beast."
"You may as well tell me, monsieur, that Guiche had some idea of
committing suicide; for I have seen him hunt, and he is an active and
vigorous hunter. Whenever he fires at an animal brought to bay and
held in check by the dogs, he takes every possible precaution, and yet
he fires with a carbine, and on this occasion he seems to have faced the
boar with pistols only."
Manicamp started.
" A costly pair of pistols, excellent weapons to fight a duel with a man
and not with a wild boar. What absurdity !"
" There are some things, sire, which are difficult of explanation."
"You are quite right, and the event which we are now discussing is
one of thoSe things. Go on."
During the recital, Saint-Aignan, who had probably made a sign to
Manicamp to be careful what hew-as about, found that the king's glance
was constantly fixed upon himself, so that it was utterly impossible to
communicate with Manicamp in any way. As for d'Artagnan, the
statue of Silence at Athens was far more noisy and far more expressive
than he. Manicamp, therefore, was obliged to continue in the same
way he had begun, and so contrived to get more and more entangled
in his explanation. " Sire," he said, " this is probably how the affair
happened. Guiche wns waiting to receive the boar as it rushed towards
him."
" On foot or on horseback ? " inquired the king.
" On horseback. He fired upon the brute and missed his aim, and
then it dashed upon him."
"And the horse was killed."
" Ah ! your majesty knows that, then."
" I have been told that a horse has been found lying dead in the cross-
roads of the Bois-Rochin, and I presumed it was de Guiche's horse."
" Perfectly true, sire, it was his."
" Well, so much for the horse, and now for Guiche ? "
" Guiche, once down, was attacked and worried by the wild boar, and
wounded in the hand and in the chest."
" It is a horrible accident, but it must be admitted it was de Guiche's
own fault. How could he possibly have gone to hunt such an animal
merely armed with pistols; he must have forgotten the fable of
Adonis ? "
Manicamp rubbed his ear in seeming perplexity. " Very true," he
said,''it was very imprudent."
" Can you explain it, Monsieur Manicamp ?"
78 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONHE.
" Sire, what is written is written !"
" Ah ! you are a fatalist."
Manicamp looked very uncomfortable and ill at ease. "I am angry
with you, Monsieur Manicamp," continued the king.
" With me, sire ? "
" Yes. How was it that you, who are de Guiche's intimate friend,
and who know that he is subject to such acts of folly, did not stop him
in time ? "
Manicamp hardly knew what to do; the tone in which the king spoke
was not exactly that of a credulous man. On the other hand, the tone
did not indicate any particular severity, nor did he seem to care very
much about the cross-examination. There was more of raillery in it
than of menace. _ " And you say, then," continued the king, that it was
positively d® Guiche's horse that was found dead ? "
" Quite positive, sire."
" Hid that astonish you ? "
" No, sire: for your majesty will remember that, at the last hunt,
M. de Saint-Maure had a horse killed under him, and in the same way."
" Yes, but that one was ripped open."
" Of course, sire."
" Had Guiche's horse been ripped open like M. de Saint-Maure's
horse, that would not have astonished me, indeed."
Manicamp opened his eyes very wide. " Am I mistaken," resumed
the king, " was it not in the temple that de Guiche's horse was struck ?
You must admit, Monsieur de Manicamp, that that is a very singular
wound."
" You are aware, sire, that the horse is a very intelligent animal, and
he endeavoured to defend himself."
" But a horse defends himself with his hind feet, and not with his
head."
" In that case, the terrified horse may have slipped or fallen down,"
said Manicamp, " and the boar, you understand, sire, the boar "
" Oh ! I understand that perfectly, as far as the horse is concerned;
but how about his rider ? "
"Well! that, too, is simple enough; the hoar left the horse and
attacked the rider; and, as I have already had the honour of informing
your majesty, shattered de Guiche's hand at the very moment he was
about to discharge his second pistol at him, and then, with a blow of
his tusk, made that terrible hole in his chest."
" Nothing can possibly be more likely; really, Monsieur de Manicamp,
you are wrong in placing so little confidence in your own eloquence, and
you can tell a story most admirably."
" Your majesty is exceedingly kind," said Manicamp, saluting him in
the most embarrassed manner.
" From this day henceforth, I will prohibit any gentleman attached
to my court going to a similar encounter, lleally, one might just as
well permit duelling."
Manicamp started, and moved as if he were about to withdraw. " Is
your majesty satisfied ? " he inquired.
" Helighted; but do not withdraw yet, Monsieur de Manicamp," said
Louis, " I have something to say to you."
" Well, well!" thought d'Artagnan, " there is another who is not up
to our mark;" and he uttered a sigh which might signify, " oh ! the men
of our stamp, where are they now ? "
At this moment an usher lifted up the curtain before the door, and
announced the king's physician.
the physician. 79
" Ail!" exclaimed Louis, " here comes Monsieur Valot, who has just
been to see M. de Guiche. "We shall now hear news of the wounded
man."
Manicamp felt more uncomfortable than ever. " In this way, at
least," added the king, " our conscience will be quite clear." And he
looked at d'Artagnan, who did not seem in the slightest degree dis-
composed.
CHAPTER XVIIX.
The Physician.
M. Valot entered. The position of the different persons present was
precisely the same; the king was seated, Saint-Aignan still leaning over
the back of his arm-chair, d'Artagnan with his back against the wall,
and Manicamp still standing.
"Well, M. Valot," said the king, "have you obeyed my directions?"
"With the greatest alacrity, sire."
"You went to the doctor's house in Fontainebleau?"
"Yes, sire."
" And you found M. de Guiche there ?" " I did, sire."
" What state was he in ?—speak unreservedly."
" In a very sad state, indeed, sire."
" The wild boar did not quite devour him, however ?"
"Devour whom ? " " Guiche !"
"What wild boar?" "The boar that wounded him."
" M. de Guiche wounded by a boar ?" " So it is said, at least."
"By a poacher, rather, or by a jealous husband, or an ill-used lover
who, in order to be revenged, fired upon him."
"What is that you say, Monsieur Valot; are not M. de Guiche's
wounds produced by defending himself against a wild boar ?"
" M. de Guiche's wounds are produced by a pistol-bullet which broke
his ring finger and the little finger of the right hand, and afterwards
buried itself in the intercostal muscles of the chest."
" A bullet! Are you sure Monsieur de Guiche has been wounded by
a bullet ?" exclaimed the king, pretending to look much surprised.
" Indeed I am, sire; so sure, in fact, that here it is." And he pre-
sented to the king a half-flattened bullet, which the king looked at, but
did not touch.
" Did he have that in his chest, poor fellow ?" he asked.
"Not precisely. The ball did not penetrate, but was flattened, as
you see, either upon the trigger of the pistol or upon the right side of
the breast-bone."
"Good Heavens!" said the king seriously, "you said nothing to me
about this, Monsieur de Manicamp."
" Sire "
"What does all this mean, the**, this invention about hunting a
wild-boar at nightfall ? Come, speak, monsieur."
" Sire "
" It seems, then, that you are right," said the king, turning round
towards his captain of musketeers, "and that a duel actually took
place." .
The king possessed, to a greater extent than any one else, the faculty
enjoyed by the great in power or position, of compromising and dividing
those beneath him. Manicamp darted a look full of reproaches at the
80 THE V1COMTE I)E BEAGELONNE.
musketeer. D'Artagnan understood the look at once, and not wishing
to remain beneath the weight of such an accusation, advanced a step
forward, and said^ Sire, your majesty commanded me to go and
explore the place where the cross-roads meet in the Bois-Rochin, and
to report to you, according to my own ideas, what had taken place
there. I submitted my observations to you, but without denouncing
any one. It was your majesty yourself who was the first to name the
Comte de Guiche."
"Well, monsieur, well," said the king, haughtily; "you have done
your duty, and I am satisfied with you. But you, Monsieur de Mani-
camp, have failed in yours, for you have told me a falsehood."
" A falsehood, sire. The expression is a hard one."
" Bind another instead, then."
" Sire, I will not attempt to do so. I have already been unfortunate
enough to displease your majesty, and it will, in every respect, be far
better for me to accept most humbly any reproaches you may think
proper to address to me."
" You are right, monsieur, whoever conceals the truth from me, risks
my displeasure."
" Sometimes, sire, one is ignorant of the truth."
"No further falsehood, monsieur, or I double the punishment."
Manicamp bowed and turned pale. D'Artagnan again made another
step forward, determined to interfere, if the still increasing anger of the
king attained certain limits.
" You see, monsieur," continued the king, "that it is useless to deny
the thing any longer. M. de Guiche has fought a duel."
"I do not deny it, sire, and it would have been generous in your
majesty not have forced me to tell a falsehood."
" Forced ? Who forced you ? "
" Sire, M. de Guiche is my friend. Your majesty has forbidden duels
under pain of death. A falsehood might save my friend's life, and I
told it."
"Good!" murmured d'Artagnan, "an excellent fellow, upon my
word."
" Instead of telling a falsehood, monsieur, you should have prevented
him from fighting," said the king.
" Oh! sire, your majesty, who is the most accomplished gentleman in
France, knows quite as well as any of us other gentlemen that we have
never considered M. de Botteville dishonoured for having suffered
death on the Place de Greve. That which does in truth dishonour a
man is to avoid meeting his enemy, and not to avoid meeting his
executioner ?"
" Well, monsieur, that may be so," said Louis XIV.; " I am very
desirous of suggesting a means of your repairing all."
" If it be a means of which a gentleman may avail himself, I shall
most eagerly do so."
" The name of M. de Guiche's adversary ?"
"Oh! oh!" murmured d'Artagnan, "are we going to take Louis
XIII. as a model."
" Sire !" said Manicamp, with an accent of reproach.
" You will not name him, it appears, then ? " said the king.
" Sire, I do not know him."
"Bravo!" murmured d'Artagnan.
" Monsieur de Manicamp, hand your sword to the captain."
Manicamp bowed very gracefully, unbuckled his sword, smiling as
he did so, and handed it for the musketeer to take. But Saint-.4 i email
THE PHYSICIAN. SI
advanced hurriedly between him. and d'Artagnan. "Sire," he said,
" will your majesty permit me to say a word ?"
" Do so," said the king, delighted perhaps at the bottom of his heart,
for some one to step between him and the wrath which he felt had
carried him too far.
"Manicamp, you are a brave man, and the king will appreciate your
conduct; but to wish to serve your friends too well, is to destroy them.
Manicamp, you know the name the king asks you for ?"
" It is perfectly true—I do know it."
" You will give it up then ?"
" If I felt I ought to have mentioned it, I should have already done so."
" Then I will tell it, for I am not so extremely sensitive on such
points of honour as you are."
" You are at liberty to do so, but it seems to me, however "
" Oh! a truce to magnanimity; I will not permit you to go to the
Pastille in that way. Do you speak; or I will."
Manicamp was keen-witted enough, and perfectly understood that he
had done quite sufficient to produce a good opinion of his conduct; it
was now only a question of persevering in such a manner as to regain
the good graces of the king. "Speak, monsieur," he said to Saint-
Aignan; " I have on my own behalf done all that my conscience told
me to do, and it must have been very importunate," he added, turning
towards the king, " since its mandates led me to disobey your majesty's
commands; but your majesty will forgive me, I hope, when you learn
that I was anxious to preserve the honour of a lady."
"Of a lady ?" said the king, with some uneasiness.
" Yes, sire." " A lady was the cause of this duel ? "
Manicamp bowed.
" If the position of the lady in question warrants it," he said, " I shall
not complain of your having acted with so much circumspection; on
the contrary, indeed."
" Sire, everything which concerns your majesty's household, or the
household of your majesty's brother is of importance in my eyes."
" In my brother's household," repeated Louis XIY., with a slight
hesitation. " The cause of the duel was a lady belonging to my brother's
household, do you say ? "
" Or to Madam e's."
"Ah ! to Madame's ?" " Yes, sire."
" "Well—and this lady ?"
" Is one of the maids of honour of her royal highness Madame la
duchesse d'Orleans."
"Dor whom M. de Guiche fought—do you say ?"
"Yes, sire, and, this time, I tell no falsehood."
Louis seemed restless and anxious. " Gentlemen," he said, turning
towards the spectators of this scene, "will you have the goodness to
retire for a moment; I wish to be alone with M. de Manicamp, I know
he has some very important communications to make for his own
justification, and which he will not venture to do before witnesses. . . .
Put up your sword, Monsieur de Manicamp."
Manicamp returned his sword to his belt.
" The fellow decidedly has his wits about him," murmured the mus-
keteer, taking Saint-Aignan by the arm, and withdrawing with him.
" He will get out of it," said the latter in d'Artagnan s ear.
" And with honour, too, comte." . .
Manicamp cast a glance of recognition at Samt-Aignan and the-
captain, which passed unnoticed by the king.
VOL. II.
82 THE VICOHTE DE BEAGELONHE.
"Come, come," said d'Artagnan, as he left the room, "I had an
indifferent opinion of the new generation. Well, I was mistaken after
all, and there is some good in them, I perceive."
Valot preceded the favourite and the captain, leaving the king and
Manicamp alone in the cabinet.
CHAPTER XIX.
Wherein d'Artagnan perceives that it was he who was mistaken, and Manicamp
who was right.
The king, determined to be satisfied that no one was listening, went
himself to the door, and then returned precipitately and placed himself
opposite to Manicamp. " And now we are alone, Monsieur de Mani-
camp, explain yourself?"
" With the greatest frankness, sire," replied the young man.!
"And, in the first place, pray understand," added the king, "that
there is nothing to which I personally attach a greater importance
than the honour of any lady."
"That is the very reason, sire, why I endeavoured to study your
delicacy of sentiment and feeling."
"Yes, I understand it all now. You say that it was one of the maids
of honour of my sister-in-law who was the subject of dispute, and that
the person in question, Guiche's adversary, the man, in point of fact,
whom you will not name "
" But whom M. de Saint-Aignan will name, Monsieur."
" Yes; you say, however, that this man has insulted some one
belonging to the household of Madame."
" Yes, sire. Mademoiselle de la Valliere."
"Ah !" said the king, as if he had expected the name, and yet as if
its announcement had caused him a sudden pang; "ah! it was Made-
moiselle de la Valliere who was insulted."
" I do not say precisely that she was insulted, sire."
"But at all events "
"I merely say that she was spoken of in terms far from respectful."
" A man dares to speak in disrespectful terms of Mademoiselle de la
Valliere, and yet you refuse to tell me the name of the insulter."
"Sire, I thought it was quite understood, that your majesty had
abandoned the idea of making me denounce him."
" Perfectly true, monsieur," returned the king, controlling his anger;
"besides, I shall always know in sufficient time the name of the man
whom I shall feel it my duty to punish."
Manicamp perceived that they had returned to the question again.
As for the king, he saw he had allowed himself to be hurried away
a little too far, and he therefore continued:—" And I will punish him
—not because there is any question of Mademoiselle de la Valliere,
although I esteem her very highly—but because a lady was the object
of the quarrel. And I intend that ladies shall be respected at my court,
and that quarrels shall be put a stop to altogether."
Manicamp bowed.
"And now, Monsieur de Manicamp," continued the king, "what was
said about Mademoiselle de la Valliere ?"
" Cannot your majesty guess ?" " I ?"
d'aetagnan peeceives he was mistaken. 83
"Tour majesty can imagine the character of the jests in which young
men permit themselves to indulge."
" They very probably said that she was in love with some one the
kingventured to remark.
"Probably so."
"But Mademoiselle de la Yalliere has a perfect right to love any one
she pleases," said the king.
"That is the very point de Guiche maintained."
" And on account of which he fought, do you mean ?"
"Yes, sire, the very sole cause."
The king coloured. " And you do not know anything more, then ?"
" In what respect, sire ?"
" In the very interesting respect which you are now referring to."
" What does your majesty wish me to know ?"
" Why, the name of the man with whom La Yalli&re is in love, and
whom de Guiche's adversary disputed her right to love."
"Sire, I know nothing—I have heard nothing—and have learnt
nothing, even accidentally; but de Guiche is a noble hearted fellow,
and if, momentarily, he substituted himself in the place or stead of
La Yalliere's protector, it was because that protector was himself of too
exalted a position to undertake her defence."
These words were more than transparent; they made the king
blush, but this time with pleasure. He struck Manicamp gently on
the shoulder. " Well, well, Monsieur de Manicamp, you are not only
a ready, witty fellow, but a brave gentleman besides, and your friend
de Guiche is a paladin quite after my own heart; you will express that
to him from me?"
"Your majesty forgives me, then ?" " Completely."
" And I am free ?"
The king smiled and held out his hand to Manicamp, which he took
and kissed respectfully. "And then," added the king, "you relate
stories so charmingly." " I, sire!"
" You told me in the most admirable manner the particulars of the
accident which happened to Guiche. I can see the wild boar rushing
out of the wood—I can see the horse fall down, and the boar rush from
the horse to the rider. You do not simply relate a story well, but you
positively paint its incidents."
" Sire, I think your majesty deigns to laugh at my expense," said
Manicamp.
" On the contrary," said Louis, seriously, " I have so little intention
of laughing, Monsieur de Manicamp, that I wish you to relate this
adventure to every one."
" The adventure of the hunt ?"
"Yes; in the same manner you told it to me, without changing a
single word—you understand."
" Perfectly, sire."
" And you will relate it, then ?" " Without losing a minute."
" Yery well! and now summon M. d'Artagnan; I hope you are no
longer afraid of him."
" Oh ! sire, from the very moment I am sure of your majesty's kind
dispositions, I no longer fear anything!"
' Call him, then," said the king.
Manicamp opened the door, and said, " Gentlemen, the king wishes
you to return."
D'Artagnan, Saint-Aignan, and Yalot entered.
" Gentlemen," said th® kings "I summoned you for the purpose of
84 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELOZTNE.
saying that Monsieur de Manicamp's explanation has entirely satisfied
me."
D'Artagnan glanced at Yalot and Saint-Aignan, as much as to say,
"Well! did I not tell you so ?"
The king led Manicamp to the door, and then in a low tone of voice
said—" See that M. de Guiche takes good care of himself, and, parti-
cularly that he recovers 3s soon as possible; I am very desirous of
thanking him in the name of every lady, but let him take special care
that he does not begin again."
" Were he to die a hundred times, sire, he would begin again if your
majesty's honour were in any way called in question."
This remark was direct enough. But we have already said that the
incense of flattery was very pleasing to the king, and, provided he
received it, he was not very particular as to its quality.
" Very well, very well," he said, as he dismissed Manicamp, " I will
see de Guiche myself, and make him listen to reason. And as Mani-
camp left the apartment, the king turned round towards the three
spectators of this scene, and said, " Tell me, Monsieur d'Artagnan,
how does it happen that your sight is so imperfect ?—you, whose eyes are
generally so very good."
" My sight bad, sire ?"
" Certainly." " It must be the case since your majesty says so;
but in what respect, may I ask ?"
" Why, with regard to what occurred in theBois Bochin."
"Ah! ah!"
" Certainly. You pretend to have seen the tracks of two horses, to
have detected the foot-prints of two men; and have described the par-
ticulars of an engagement, which you assert took place. Nothing of
the sort occurred ; pure illusion on your part."
" Ah! ah !" said d'Artagnan.
"Exactly the same thing with the galloping to and fro' of the horses,
and the other indications of a struggle. It was the struggle of de
Guiche against the wild boar, and absolutely nothing else; only the
struggle was a long and a terrible one, it seems."
"Ah! ah!" continued d'Artagnan.
" And when I think that I almost believed it for a moment; but,
then, you speak with such confidence."
" I admit, sire, that I must have been very short-sighted," said
d'Artagnan, with a readiness of humour which delighted the king.
" You do admit, then ?" " Admit it, sire, most assuredly I do."
" So that now you see the thing "
" In quite a different light to what I saw it half an hour ago."
" And to what, then, do you attribute this difference in your opinion'?"
" Oh ! a very simple thing, sire; half an hour ago I returned from
the Bois Bochin, where I had nothing to light me but a stupid stable
lantern "
" While now ?"
" While now, I have all the wax-lights of your cabinet, and more
than that, your majesty's own eyes, which illuminate everything, like
the blazing sun at noonday."
The king began to laugh, and Saint-Aignan broke out into convul-
sions ot merriment.
" It is precisely like M. Yalot," said d'Artagnan, resuming the con-
versation where the king had left off; " he has been imagining all
along, that, not only was M. de Guiche wounded by a bullet, but still
more that ne extracted it, even, from his chest."
two strings to one's bow.
" Upon my word," said Yalot, " I assure you "
" Now, did you not believe that ?'' continued d'Artagnan.
"Yes," said Valot; "not only did I believe it, but, at this very
moment, I would swear it."
" Well, my dear doctor, you have dreamt it." " T have dreamt it!"
" M. de Guiche's wound—a mere dream; the bullet, a dream. So,
take my advice, and say no more about it."
"Well said," returned the king; "M. d'Artagnan's advice is very
good. Do not speak of your dream to any one, Monsieur Valot, and,
upon the word of a gentleman, you will have no occasion to repent it.
Good evening, gentlemen: a very sad affair, indeed, is a wild-boar
hunt!"
" A very serious thing, indeed," repeated d'Artagnan, in a loud voice,
" is a wild-boar hunt!" and he repeated it in every room through
which he passed; and left the chateau, taking Yalot with him.
" And now we are alone," said the king to Saint-Aignan, " what is
the name of de Guiche's adversary?"
Saint-Aignan looked at the king.
" Oh ! do not hesitate," said the king; " you know that I must for-
give."
"DeWardes," said Saint-Aignan.
" Very good," said Louis XIV.; and then, hastily retiring to his
own room, added to himself, " to forgive is not to forget."
CHAPTER XX.
Showing the advantage of having two strings to one's bow.
Manicamp quitted the king's apartment, delighted at having sue-
ceeded so well, when, just as he reached the bottom of the staircase
and was about passing before a doorway, he felt that some one sud-
denly pulled him by the sleeve. He turned round and recognized
Montalais, who was waiting for him in the passage, and who, in a
very mysterious manner, with her body bent forward, and, in a low
tone of voice said to him, " Follow me, monsieur, and without any
delay, if you please."
" Where to, mademoiselle?" inquired Manicamp.
"In the first place, a true knight would not have asked such a ques-
tion,but would have followed me without requiring any explanation."
" Well, mademoiselle, I am quite ready to conduct myself as a true
knight."
"No; it is too late, and you cannot take the credit of it. We are
going to Madame's apartments, so come at once."
" Ah! ah !" said Manicamp. " Lead on, then."
And he followed Montalais, who ran before him as light as Galatea.
" This time," said Manicamp, as he followed his guide, " I do not
think that stories about hunting expeditions would be acceptable.
We will try, however, and if need be why, if there should be any
occasion for it, we must try something else."
Montalais still ran on.
" How fatiguing it is," thought Manicamp, " to have need of one's
head and legs at the same time."
At last, however, they arrived. Madame had just finished undress-
ing, and was in a most elegant deshabille, but it must be understood
86 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
that she had changed her dress before she had any idea of being sub-
jected to the emotions which agitated her. She was waiting with the
most restless impatience, and Montalais and Manicamp found her
standing near the door. At the sound of their approaching footsteps,
Madame came forward to meet them.
" Ah !" she said, " at last !"
" Here is M. Manicamp," replied Montalais.
Manicamp bowed with the greatest respect; Madame signed to Mon-
talais to withdraw, and she immediately obeyed. Madame followed her
with her eyes, in silence, until the door closed behind her, and then,
turning towards Manicamp, said, " What is the matter?—and is it
true, as I am told, Monsieur de Manicamp, that some one is lying
wounded in the chateau 1"
" Yes, Madame, unfortunately so—Monsieur de Guiche."
" Yes ! Monsieur de Guiche," repeated the princess. " I had, in fact,
heard it rumoured, but not confirmed. And so, in perfect truth, it is
Monsieur de Guiche who has been so unfortunate ?"
" M. de Guiche himself, madame."
" Are you aware, M. de Manicamp," said the princess, hastily, " that
the king has the strongest antipathy to duels ? "
" Perfectly so, madame; but a duel with a wild beast is not amenable
to his majesty."
" Oh, you will not insult me by supposing that I should credit the
absurd fable which has been reported, with what object I cannot tell,
.respecting M. de Guiche having been wounded by a wild boar. No,
no, monsieur; the real truth is known, and, in addition to the incon-
venience of his wound, M. de Guiche runs the risk of losing his
liberty."
" Alas! madame, I am well aware of that, but what is to be done ? "
" You have seen the king ? "
" Yes, madame."
" What did you say to him ? "
" I told him how M. de Guiche had been to the chase, and how a
wild boar had rushed forth out of the Bois Rochin; how M. de Guiche
fired at it, and how, in fact, the furious brute dashed at de Guiche,
killed his horse, and grievously wounded himself."
" And the king believed that ? " " Perfectly."
"Oh, you surprise me, Monsieur de Manicamp; you surprise me
very much." And Madame walked up and down the room, casting a
searching look from time to time at Manicamp, who remained motion-
less and impassible in the same place. At last she stopped. " And yet,"
she said, " every one here seems united in giving another cause for this
wound."
" What cause, madame," said Manicamp; " may I be permitted, with-
out indiscretion, to ask your highness?"
"You ask such a question! You, M. de Guiche's intimate friend,
his confidant, indeed!"
"Oh, madame! the intimate friend—yes; the confidant—no; de
Guiche is a man who can keep his own secrets, who has some of his own
certainly, but who never breathes a syllable about them. De Guiche is
discretion itself, madame."
" Very well, then; those secrets which M. de Guiche keeps so scru-
pulously, I shall have the pleasure of informing you of," said the prin-
cess, almost spitefully; " for the king may possibly question you a
second time, and if, on the second occasion, you were to repeat the same
story to him he possihlv miirht not he verv well satisfied with it,"
TWO STKINGS TO ONE'S BOW. 87
"But, madame, I think your highness is mistaken with regard to
the king. His majesty has been perfectly satisfied with me, I assure
you/'
" In that case, permit me to assure you, Monsieur de Manicamp,
that only proves one thing, which is, that his majesty is very easily
satisfied."
" I think your highness is mistaken in arriving at such an opinion;
his majesty is well known not to be contented except with very good
reasons."
" And do you suppose that he will thank you for your officious false-
hood, when he will learn to-morrow that M. de Guiche had, on behalf
of his friend, M. de, Bragelonne, a quarrel which ended in a hostile
meeting ?"
" A quarrel on M. de Bragelonne's account," said Manicamp, with
the most innocent expression in the world; " what does your royal
highness do me the honour to tell me!"
" What is there astonishing in that P M. de Guiche is susceptible,
irritable, and easily loses his temper."
" On the contrary, madame, I know M. de Guiche to be very patient,
and never susceptible or irritable except upon very good grounds."
" But is not friendship a just ground ? " said the princess.
" Oh, certainly, madame; and particularly for a heart like his."
"Very good ; you will not deny, I suppose, that M. de Bragelonne is
M. de Guiche's friend ? "
"A very great friend."
"Well, then, M. de Guiche has taken M. de Bragelonne's part; and
as M. de Bragelonne was absent and could not fight, he fought for him."
Manicamp began to smile, and moved his head and shoulders very
slightly, as much as to say, " Oh, if you will positively have it so "
" But speak at all events," said the princess, out of patience; " speak!"
" I ? "
" Of course; it is quite clear you are not of my opinion, and that
you have something to say."
" I have only one thing to say, madame."
" Name it!"
That I do not understand a single word of what you have just been
telling me."
" What!—you do not understand a single word about M. de Guiche's
quarrel with M. de Wardes!" exclaimed the princess, almost out of
temper.
Manicamp remained silent.
"A quarrel," she continued, "which arose out of a conversation
scandalous in its tone and purport, and more or less well founded, re<
specting the virtue of a certain lady."
" Ah ! of a certain lady,—that is quite another thing," said Manicamp^
" Vou begin to understand, do you not ? "
" Your highness will excuse me, but I dare not "
"You dare not," said Madame, exasperated; "very well, then, wait
one moment, and I will dare."
" Madame, madame!" exclaimed Manicamp, as if in great dismay, "b©
careful of what you are going to say."
"It would seem, monsieur, that, if I happened to be a man, yo%
would challenge me, notwithstanding his majesty's edicts, as Monsieur
de Guiche challenged M. de Wardes; and that, too, on account of th?
virtue of Mademoiselle de la Valliere."
"Of Mademoiselle de la Valliere!" exclaimed Mamcamn, starting
88 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
backwards, as if hers was the very last name he expected to hear pro-
nounced.
" What makes you start in that manner, Monsieur de Manicamp ? "
said Madame, ironically; " do you mean to say you would be imperti-
nent enough to suspect that young lady's honour ? "
" Madame, in the whole course of this affair there has not been the
slightest question of Mademoiselle de la Valliere's honour."
" What! when two men have almost blown each other's brains out
on a woman's behalf, do you mean to say she has had nothing to do
with the affair, and that her name has not been called in question at
all? I did not think you so good a courtier, Monsieur de Mani-
camp."
" Pray forgive me, madame," said the young man, " but we are very
far from understanding each other. You do me the honour to speak
one kind of language, while I am speaking altogether another."
" I beg your pardon, but I do not understand your meaning ? "
"Forgive me, then; but I fancied I understood your highness to
remark that de Guiche and de Wardes had fought on Mademoiselle de
la Valliere's account." " Certainly."
" On account of Mademoiselle de la Valliere, I think you said ? " re-
peated Manicamp.
"I do not say that M. de Guiche personally took an interest in
Mademoiselle de la Valliere, but I say that he did so as representing or
acting on behalf of another."
" On behalf of another ? "
"Come, do not always assume such a bewildered look. Does not
every one here know that M. de Bragelonne is affianced to Mademoi-
selle de la Valliere, and that before he went on the mission with which
the king entrusted him, he charged his friend M. de Guiche to watch
over that interesting young lady."
" There is nothing more for me to say, then. Your highness is well-
informed."
" Of everything; so I beg you to understand that clearly."
Manicamp began to laugh, which almost exasperated the princess,
who was not, as we know, of a very patient and enduring disposition.
" Madame," resumed the discreet Manicamp,' saluting the princess,
" let us bury this affair altogether in forgetfulness, for it will never be
quite cleared up."
# " Oh, as far as that goes there is nothing more to do, and the informa-
tion is complete. The king will learn that M. de Guiche has taken up the
cause of this little adventuress, who gives herself all the airs of a grand
lady; he will learn that Monsieur de Bragelonne, having nominated his
friend M. de Guiche his guardian-in-ordinary of the garden of the
Hesperides, the latter immediately fastened, as he was required to do,
upon the Marquis de Wardes, who ventured to touch the golden apple.
Moreover, you cannot pretend to deny, Monsieur Manicamp—you
who know every thing so well—that the king, on his side, casts a longing
•eye upon this famous treasure, and that he will bear no light grudge
against M. de Guiche for constituting himself the defender of it. Are
you sufficiently well-informed now, or do you require anything further
—if so, speak, monsieur."
" No, madame, there is nothing more I wish to know."
" Learn, however—for you ought to know it. Monsieur de Manicamp—
learn that his majesty's indignation will be followed by terrible conse-
quences. In princes of a similar temperament to that of his majesty,
the passion which jealousy causes sweeps do^n like a whirlwind "
TVTO STRINGS TO ONE'S BOW. 80
* Which you will temper, madame."
" I!" exclaimed the princess, with a gesture of indescribable irony;
" I! and by what title, may 1 ask ? "
" Because you detest injustice, madame."
"And according to your account, then, it would be an injustice to
prevent the king arranging his love affairs as he pleases."
" You will intercede, however, in M. de Guiche's favour ? "
" You are mad, monsieur," said the princess, in a haughty tone of
voice.
" On the contrary, I am in the most perfect possession of my senses;
and, I repeat, you will defend M. de Guiche before the king."
" Why should I?"
" Because the cause of M. de Guiche is your own, madame," said
Manicamp, with all the ardour with which his eyes were kindled.
" What do you mean by that P "
" I mean, madame, that, with respect to the defence which Monsieur
de Guiche undertook in M. de Bragelonne's absence, I am surprised
that your highness has not detected a pretext in La Yalliere's name
having been brought forward."
" A pretext ? But a pretext for what ? " repeated the princess, hesi-
tatingly, for Manicamp's steady look had just revealed something of the
truth to her.
" I trust, madame," said the young man," I have said sufficient to
induce your highness not to overwhelm before his majesty my poor
friend, de Guiche, against whom all the malevolence of a party bitterly
opposed to your own will now be directed."
You mean, on the contrary, I suppose, that all those who have
no great affection for Mademoiselle de laYalliere, and even, perhaps,
a few of those who have some regard for her, will be angry with the
comte ? "
" Oh, madame! why will you push your obstinacy to such an extent,
and refuse to open your ears and listen to the counsel of one whose
devotion to you is unbounded P Must I expose myself to the risk of
your displeasure,—am I really to be called upon to name, contrary to
my own wish, the person who was the real cause of this quarrel ?"
" The person ?" said Madame, blushing.
" Must I," continued Manicamp, " tell you how poor de Guiche
became irritated, furious, exasperated beyond all control, at the differ-
ent rumours which are circulating about this person ? Must I, if you
persist in this wilful blindness, and if respect should continue to prevent
me naming her,—must I, I repeat, recall to your recollection the
various scenes which Monsieur had with the duke of Buckingham, and
the insinuations which were reported respecting the duke's exile?
Must I remind you of the anxious care the comte always took in his
efforts to please, to watch, to protect that person for whom alone he
lives,—for whom alone he breathes ? Well! I will do so; and when I
shall have made you recall all the particulars I refer to, you will perhaps
understand how it happened that the comte, having lost all control over
himself, and having been for some time past almost harassed to death
by de Wardes, became, at the first disrespectful expression which the
latter pronounced respecting the person in question, inflamed with
passion, and panted only for an opportunity of revenging the affront."
# The princess concealed her face in her hands. " Monsieur, mon-
sieur!" she exclaimed; "do you know what you are saying, and to
whom you are speaking?"
" Therefore, madame," pursued Manicamp, as if he had not heard
90 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
the exclamations of the princess, " nothing will astonish you any longer,
—neither the comte's ardour in seeking the quarrel, nor his wonderful
address in transferring it to a quarter foreign to your own personal
interests. That latter circumstance was, indeed, a marvellous instance
of tact and perfect coolness, and if the person in whose behalf the comte
so fought and shed his blood does, in reality, owe some gratitude to the
poor wounded sufferer, it is not on account of the blood he has shed, or
for the agony he has suffered, but for the steps he has taken to preserve
from comment or reflection an honour which is more precious to him
than his own."
" Oh !" cried Madame, as if she had been alone, "is it possible {he
quarrel was on my account!"
Manicamp felt lie could now breathe for a moment—and gallantly had
he won the right to do so. Madame, on her side, remained for some
time plunged in a painful reverie. Her agitation could be seen by her
quick respiration, by her languishing looks, by the frequency with
which she pressed her hand upon her heart. But, in her, coquetry
was not so much a passive quality, as, on the contrary, a fire which
sought for fuel to maintain itself, and which found what it required.
" If it be as you assert," she said, " the comte will have obliged two
persons at the same time; for Monsieur de Bragelonne also owes a deep
debt of gratitude to M. de Guiche—and with far greater reason indeed,
because everywhere, and on every occasion, Mademoiselle de la Yal-
liere will be regarded as having been defended by this generous
champion."
Manicamp perceived that there still remained some lingering doubt
in the princess's heart. " A truly admirable service indeed," he said,
"is the one he has rendered to Mademoiselle de la Valliere! A truly
admirable service to M. de Bragelonne ! The duel has created a sen-
sation which, in some respects, casts a dishonourable suspicion upon
that young girl; a sensation, indeed, which will embroil her with the
vicomte. The consequence is, that de Wardes's pistol-bullet has had
three results instead of one; it destroys at the same time the honour
of a woman, the happiness of a man, and, perhaps, it has wounded to
death one of the best gentlemen in France. Ob, Madame! your logic
is cold and calculating; it always condemns—it never absolves."
Manicamp's concluding words scattered to the winds the last doubt
which lingered, not in Madame's heart, but in her head. She was no
longer a princess full of scruples, nor a woman with her ever-returning
suspicions, but one whose heart had just felt the mortal chill of a
wound. "Wounded to death!" she murmured, in a faltering voice,
" oh, Monsieur de Manicamp ! did you not say, wounded to death ?"
Manicamp returned no other answer than a deep sigh.
"And so you said that the comte is dangerously wounded?" con-
tinued the princess.
" Yes, Madame; one of his hands is shattered, and he has a bullet
lodged in his breast."
" Gracious heavens!" resumed the princess, with a feverish excite-
ment, " this is horrible, Monsieur de Manicamp ! a hand shattered, do
you say, and a bullet in his breast ? And that coward! that wretch!
that assassin, de Wardes, who did it!"
Manicamp seemed overcome by a violent emotion. He had, in fact,
displayed no little energy in the latter part of his speech. As for
Madame, she entirely threw aside all regard for the formal observ-
ances of propriety which society imposes; for when, with her, passion
spoke in accents either of anaer or sympathy. nothing could any
TWO STBINGS TO ONE'S BOW. 91
longer restrain her impulses. Madame approached Manicamp, who
had sunk down upon a seat, as if his grief were a sufficiently powerful
excuse for his infraction of one of the laws of etiquette. " Monsieur,"
she said, seizing him by the hand, " be frank with me."
Manicamp looked up.
" Is M. de Guiche in danger of death ?"
" Doubly so, Madame," he replied; " in the first place on account of
the hemorrhage which has taken place, an artery having been injured in
the hand; and next, in consequence of the wound in his breast, which
may, the doctor is afraid of it at least, have injured some vital part."
" He may die, then ?"
" Die, yes, Madame; and without even having had the consolation
of knowing that you have been told of his devotion."
" You will tell him." " I ?"
" Yes; are you not his friend?"
" I ? oh, no, Madame; I will only tell M. de Guiche—if, indeed, he
is still in a condition to hear me—I will only tell him what I have
seen; that is, your cruelty for him."
" Oh, monsieur, you will not be guilty of such barbarity !"
" Indeed, Madame, I shall speak the truth, for nature is very ener-
getic in a man of his age. The physicians are clever men, and if, by
chance, the poor comte should survive his wound, I should not wish
him to die of a wound of the heart, after having escaped that of the
body." And Manicamp rose, and, with an expression of profound
respect, seemed to be desirous of taking leave.
" At least, monsieur," said Madame, stopping him with almost a
suppliant air, " you will be kind enough to tell me in what state your
wounded friend is, and who is the physician who attends him P"
" As regards the state he is in, Madame, he is seriously ill; his phy-
sician is M. Valot, his majesty's private medical attendant. M. Yalot
is moreover assisted by a professional friend, to whose house M. de
Guiche has been carried."
" "What! he is not in the chateau ?" said Madame.
" Alas, Madame! the poor fellow was so ill, that he could not even
be conveyed hither."
" Give me the address, Monsieur," said the princess, hurriedly; " I
will send to inquire after him."
" Hue du Feurre; a brick-built house, with white outside blinds.
The doctor's name is on the door."
" You are returning to your wounded friend, Monsieur de Mani-
camp?" " Yes, Madame."
" You will be able, then, to do me a service."
" I am at your highness's orders."
" Do what you intended to do; return to M. de Guiche, send away
all those whom you may find there, and have the kindness yourself to
go away too." " Madame "
" Let us waste no time in useless explanations. Accept the fact as I
present it to you; see nothing in it beyond what is really there, and
ask nothing further than what I tell you. I am going to send one of
my ladies, perhaps two, because it is now getting late; I do not wish
them to see you, or rather, I do not wish you to see them. These are
scruples which you can understand—you particularly, Monsieur de
Manicamp, who seem to be capable of divining everything."
" Oh, Madame, perfectly; I can even do better still,—I will precede,
or rather walk, in advance of your attendants; it will, at the same
time, be a means of showing them the way more accurately, and of
92 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONKE.
protecting them, if it happened any occasion might occur, though there
is no probability of their needing protection."
" And, by this means, then, they would be sure of entering without
any difficulty, would they not ?"
" Certainly, Madame; for as I should be the first to pass, I should
remove any difficulties which might chance to be in the way."
" Very well, go, go, Monsieur de Manicamp, and wait at the bottom
of the staircase." " I go at once, Madame."
" Stay." Manicamp paused. " When you hear the footsteps of two
women descending the stairs, go out, and, without once turning round,
take the road which leads to where the poor comte is lying."
" But if, by any mischance, two other persons were to descend, and
I were to be mistaken ?"
" You will hear one of the two clap her hands together very softly.
So go."
Manicamp turned round, bowed once more, and left the room, his
heart overflowing with joy. In fact, he knew very well that the pre-
sence of Madame herself would be the best balm to apply to his friend's
wounds. A quarter of an hour had hardly elapsed when he heard the
sound of a door being opened softly, and closed with the same precau-
tion. He listened to the light footfalls gliding down the staircase, and
then heard the signal agreed upon. He immediately went out, and,
faithful to his promise, bent his way, without once turning round his
head, through the streets of Fontainebleau, towards the doctor's
dwelling.
CHAPTER, XXI.
M. Malicorne the Keeper cf the Records of the Realm of France.
Two women, whose figures were completely concealed by their
mantles, and whose masks effectually hid the upper portion of their
faces, timidly followed Manicamp's steps. On the first floor, behind
curtains of red damask, the soft light of a lamp placed upon a low
table faintly illumined the room, at the other extremity of which, on a
large bedstead supported by spiral columns, around which curtains of
the same colour as those which deadened the rays of the lamp had
been closely drawn, lay de Guiche, his head supported by pillows, his
eves looking as if the mists of death seemed gathering there ; his long
black hair, scattered over the pillow, set off the young man's hollowed
and pale temples to great advantage. It could be easily perceived that
fever was the principal occupant of that chamber. Guiche was dream-
ing. His wandering mind was pursuing, through gloom and mystery,
one of those wild creations which delirium engenders. Two or three
drops of blood, still liquid, stained the fiooi\ Manicamp hurriedly ran
up the stairs, but paused at the threshold of the door, looked into the
room, and seeing that everything was perfectly quiet, he advanced to-
wards the foot of the large leathern armchair, a specimen of furniture of
the reign of Henry IV., and seeing that the nurse, as a matter of course,
had dropped off to sleep, he awoke her, and begged her to pass into the
adjoining room. Then, standing by the side of the bed, he remained
for a moment deliberating whether it would be better to awaken
Guiche, in order to acquaint him with the good news. But, as he
began to hear behind the door the rustling of the silk dresses and the
hurried breathing of his two comnanions. and as he a!readv snw +i\at
M. MALICORNE THE KEEPER OF THE RECORDS. 93
the curtain which hung before the doorway seemed on the point of
being impatiently drawn aside, he passed round the bed and followed
the nurse.into the next room. As soon as he had disappeared the
curtain was raised, and his two female companions entered the room he
had just left. The one who entered the first made a gesture to her
companion, which riveted her to the spot where she stood, close to the
door, and then resolutely advanced towards the bed, drew back the
curtains along the iron rod, and threw them in thick folds behind the
head of the bed. She gazed upon the comte's pallid face; remarked his
right hand enveloped in linen whose dazzling whiteness was increased
by the counterpane covered with dark leaves which was thrown across
a portion of the sick couch. She shuddered as she saw a spot of blood
becoming larger and larger upon the linen bandages. The young man's
white chest was quite uncovered, as if the cool night air would assist
his respiration. A small bandage fastened the dressings of the wound,
around which a bluish circle of extravasated blood was gradually
increasing in size. A deep sigh, broke from her lips. She leaned
against one of the columns of the bed, and gazed, through the holes in
her masK, upon the harrowing spectacle before her. A hoarse harsh
sigh passed like a death rattle through the comte's clenched teeth,
The masked lady seized his left hand, which felt as scorching as burning
coals. But at the very moment she placed her icy hand upon it, the
action of the cold was such that Guiche opened his eyes, and by a look
in which revived intelligence was dawning, seemed as if struggling back
again into existence. The first thing upon which he fixed his gaze was
this phantom standing erect by his bedside. At that sight, his eyes
became dilated, but without any appearance of consciousness in them.
The lady thereupon made a sign to her companion, who had remained
at the door; and in all probability the latter had already received her
lesson, for in a clear tone of voice and without any hesitation whatever,
she pronounced these words :—" Monsieur le comte, her royal highness
Madame is desirous of knowing how7 you are able to bear your wound,
and to express to you, by my lips, her great regret at seeing you suffer."
As she pronounced the word Madame, Guiche started; he had not as
yet remarked the person to whom the voice belonged, and he naturally
turned towards the directiqn whence it proceeded. But, as he felt the
cold hand still resting on his own, he again turned towards the motion-
less figure beside him. "Was it you who spoke, Madame?" he asked,
in a weak voice, "or is there another person beside you in the room ?"
"Yes," replied the figure, in an almost unintelligible voice, as she
bent down her head.
"Well!" said the wounded man with a great effort, "I thank you.
Tell Madame that I no longer regret dying, since she has remembered
me."
At this word "dying," pronounced by one whose life seemed to hang
on a thread, the masked lady could not restrain her tears, which flowed
under her mask, and which appeared upon her cheeks just where the
mask left her face bare. If Guiche had been in fuller possession of his
senses, he would have seen her tears roll like glistening pearls, and fall
upon his bed. The lady, forgetting that she wore her mask, raised her
hand as though to wipe her eyes, and meeting the rough velvet, she
tore away her mask in anger and threw it on the floor. At the un-
expected apparition before him, which seemed to issue from a cloud,
Guiche uttered a cry and stretched out his arms towards her; but
every word perished on his lips, and his strength seemed utterly aban-
doning him. His right hand, which had followed his first impulse.
94 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
without calculating the amount of strength he had left, fell back again
upon the bed, and immediately afterwards the white linen was stained
with a larger spot than before. In the meantime, the young man's
eyes became dim, and closed as if he were already struggling with the
angel of death; and then, after a few involuntary movements, his head
fell back motionless on his pillow; from pale he had become livid.
The lady was frightened; but on this occasion, contrary to what is
usually the case, fear became attractive. She leaned over the young
man, gazed earnestly, fixedly at his pale and cold face, which she
almost touched, then imprinted a rapid kiss upon de Guiche's left
hand, who, trembling as if an electric shock had passed through him,
awoke a second time, opened his large eyes incapable of recognition,
and again fell into a state of complete insensibility. " Come," she said,
to her companion, " we must not remain here any longer; I shall be
committing some folly or other."
" Madame, Madame, your highness is forgetting your mask!" said her
vigilant companion.
"Pick it up," replied her mistress, as she tottered almost senseless
towards the staircase, and as the street door had been left only half
closed, the two women, light as birds, passed through it, and with
hurried steps returned to the palace. One of them ascended towards
Madame's apartments where she disappeared; the other entered the
room belonging to the maids of honour, namely, on the entresol, and
having reached her own room, she sat down before a table, and without
giving herself time even to breathe, wrote the following letter:—
" This evening Madame has been to see M. de Guiche. Everything
is going on well on this side. See that yours is the same, and do not
forget to burn this paper."
She then folded the letter in a long thin form, and leaving her room
with every possible precaution, crossed a corridor which led to the
apartments appropriated to the gentlemen attached to Monsieur's
service. She stopped before a door, under which, having previously
knocked twice in a short quick manner, she thrust the paper, and fled.
Then, returning to her own room, she removed every trace of her
having gone out, and also of having written the letter. Amid the
investigations she was so diligently pursuing she perceived on the
table the mask which belonged to Madame, and which, according to
her mistress's directions, she had brought back but had forgotten to
restore to her. " Oh ! oh!" she said, " I must not forget to do to-
morrow what I have forgotten to do to-day."
And she took hold of the velvet mask by that part of it which covered
the cheeks, and feeling that her thumb was wet, she looked at it. It
was not only wet, but reddened, The mask had fallen upon one of the
spots of blood which, we have already said, stained the floor, and from
the black velvet outside which had accidentally come into contact with
it, the blood had passed through to the inside and stained the white
cambric lining. "Oh! oh!" said Montalais, for doubtless our readers
have already recognized her by these various manoeuvres, " I shall not
give her back her mask, it is far too precious now."
And rising from her seat, she ran towards a box made of maple wood,
which enclosed different articles of toilette and perfumery. "No, not
here," she said," such a treasure must not be abandoned to the slightest
chance of detection."
Then, after a moment's silence, and with a smile which was peculiarly
her own, she added:—" Beautiful mask, stained with the blood of that
THE JOtTENEY. 95
brave knight, you shall go and join that collection of wonders, La
Valliere's and Raoul's letters, that loving collection, indeed, which will
some day or other form part of the history of France and of royalty.
You shall be taken under M. Malicorne's care," said the laughing girl,
as she began to undress herself, " under the protection of that worthy
M. Malicorne," she said, blowing out the taper, " who thinks he was
horn only to become the chief usher of Monsieur's apartments, and
whom I will make keeper of the records and historiographer of the
house of Bourbon, and of the first houses in the kingdom. Let him
grumble now, that discontented Malicorne," she added, as she drew the
curtains and fell fast asleep. '
CHAPTER XXII.
The Journey.
The next day, being agreed upon for the departure, the king, at
eleven o'clock precisely, descended the grand staircase with the two
queens and Madame, in order to enter his carriage drawn by six
horses which were pawing the ground in impatience at the foot
of the staircase. The whole court awaited the royal appearance in the
Fer-a-cheval crescent, in their travelling costumes; the large number
of saddled horses and carriages of ladies and gentlemen of the court,
surrounded by their attendants, servants, and pages, formed a spec-
tacle whose brilliancy could scarcely be equalled. The king entered
his carriage with the two queens; Madame was in the same with
Monsieur. The maids of honour followed the example, and took
their seats, two by two, in the carriages destined for them. The
weather was exceedingly warm, a light breeze, which, early in the
morning, all had thought would have been just sufficient to cool the
air, soon became fiercely heated by the rays of the sun, although it was
hidden behind the clouds, and filtered through the heated vapour which
rose from the ground like a scorching wind, bearing particles of fine
dust against the faces of the hasty travellers. Madame was the first
to complain of the heat. Monsieur's only reply was to throw him-
self back in the carriage, as if he were about to faint, and to inundate
himself with scents and perfumes, uttering the deepest sighs all
the while; whereupon Madame said to him, with her most amiable
expression:—" Really, Monsieur, I fancied that you would have been
polite enough, on account of the terrible heat, to have left me my
carriage to myself, and to fyave performed the journey yourself on horse-
back."
"Ride on horseback!" cried the prince, with an accent of dismay
which showed how little idea he had of adopting this strange project:
" you cannot suppose such a thing, madame ; my skin would peel off
if I were to expose myself to such a burning air as this."
Madame began to laugh.
" You can take my parasol," she said.
" But the trouble of holding it!" replied Monsieur,with the greatest
coolness; " besides, I have no horse."
" How, no horse ?" replied the princess, who, if she did not obtain the
solitude she required, at least obtained the amusement of teasing.
"No horse! You. are mistaken, Monsieur; fc* I see your favourite
bay out yonder."
86 THE VJCOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" My bay horse!" exclaimed the prince, attempting to lean forward
to look out of the door; but the movement he was obliged to make
cost him so much trouble that he soon hastened: to resume his immo-
bility.
"Yes," said Madame; " your horse, led by M. de Malicorne."
" Poor beast," replied the prince; " how warm it will soon be!"
And with these words he closed his eyes, like a man on the point
of death. Madame, on her side, reclined indolently in the other
corner of the carriage, and closed her eyes also, not however to sleep,
but to think more at her' ease. In the meantime the king, seated
in the front seat of the carriage, the back of which he had yielded up to
the two queens, was a prey to that restless feverish contrariety ex-
perienced by anxious lovers, who, without being able to quench their
ardent thirst, are ceaselessly desirous of seeing the loved object, and then
go away partially satisfied, without perceiving that they have acquired
a more burning thirst than ever. The king, whose carriage headed
the procession, could not from the place he occupied perceive the
carriages of the ladies and maids of honour, which followed in a line
behind it. Besides, he was obliged to answer the eternal questions
of the young queen, who, happy to have with her " her dear husband,"
as she called him in utter forgetfulness of royal etiquette, invested
him with all her affection, stifled him with her attentions, afraid
that some one might come to take him from her, or thai he himself
might suddenly take a fancy to leave her society. Anne of Austria,
whom nothing at that moment occupied except the occasional sharp
throbbings in her bosom, looked pleased and delighted, and although
she perfectly conceived the king's impatience, tantalizingly prolonged
his sufferings by unexpectedly resuming the conversation at the very
moment the king, absorbed in his own reflections, began to muse
over his secret attachment. Everything seemed to combine—not alone
the little teasing attentions of the queen, but also the queen-mother's
tantalizing interruptions—to make the king's position almost insup-
portable; for he knew not how to control the restless longings of his
heart. At first, he complained of the heat, a complaint which was
merely preliminary to other complaints, but with sufficient tact to pre-
vent Maria Theresa guessing his real object. Understanding the king's
remark literally she began to fan him with her ostrich plumes. But the
heat passed away, and the king then complained of cramps and stiffness
in his legs, and as the carriages at that moment stopped to change
horses, the queen said:—" Shall I get out with you ? I too feel tired of
sitting. We can walk on a little distance, the carriage will overtake
us, and we can resume our places again presently."
The king frowned; it is a hard trial a jealous woman makes her
husband submit to whose fidelity she suspects, when, although herself
a prey to jealousy, she watches herself so narrowly that she avoids
giving any pretext for an angry feeling. The king, therefore, in
the present case, could not refuse; he accepted the offer, alighted
from the carriage, gave his arm to the queen, and walked up and
down with her while the horses were being changed. As he walked
along, he cast an envious glance upon the courtiers, who were fortunate
enough to be performing the journey on horseback. The queen soon
found out that the promenade she had suggested afforded the king as
little pleasure as he had experienced from riding in the carriage. She
accordingly expressed a wish to return to her carriage, and the king
conducted her to the door, but did not get in with her. He stepped
back a few paces, and looked among the file of carriages for the pur.
THE JOURNEY. 97
pose of recognizing tlie one in which he took so strong an interest.
At the door of the sixth carriage he saw La Yalliere's fair countenance.
As the king thus stood motionless, wrapt in thought, without perceiving
that everything was ready, and that he alone was causing the delay,
he heard a voice close beside him, addressing him in the most re-
spectful manner. It was M. Malicorne, in a complete costume of an
equerry, holding over his left arm the bridles of a couple of horses.
" Your majesty asked for a horse, I believe," he said.
"A horse? Have you one of my horses here?" inquired the king,
who endeavoured to remember the person who addressed him, and
Whose face was not as yet very familiar to him.
" Sire," replied Malicorne, " at all events I have a horse which is at
your majesty's service."
And Malicorne pointed at Monsieur's bay horse, which Madame
had observed. It was a beautiful creature and most royally capa-
risoned.
" This is not one of my horses, monsieur," said the king.
" Sire, it is a horse out of his royal highness's stables; but his royal
highness does not ride when the weather is as hot as it is now."
The king did not reply, but hastily approached the horse, which stood
pawing the ground with his foot. Malicorne hastened to hold the
stirrup for him, but the king was already in the saddle. Restored
to good hunjour by this lucky accident, the king hastened towards
the queen's carriages, where he was anxiously expected; and notwith-
standing Maria-Theresa's thoughtful and preoccupied air, he said:
" I have been fortunate enough to find this horse, and I intend to
avail myself of it. I felt stifled in the carriage. Adieu, ladies."
Then bending most gracefully over the arched neck of his beautiful
steed, he disappeared in a second. Anne of Austria leaned forward,
in order to look after him as he rode away; he did not go very far,
for when he reached the sixth carriage, he reined in his horse sud-
denly and took off his hat. He saluted La Yalliere, who uttered a
cry of surprise as she saw him, blushing at the same time with pleasure.
Montalais, who occupied the other seat in the carriage, made the
king a most respectful bow. And, then, with all the tact of a woman,
she pretended to be exceedingly interested in the landscape, and with-
drew herself into the left-hand corner. The conversation between the
king and La Yalliere began, as all lovers' conversations generally do,
namely, by eloquent looks and by a few words utterly void of common
sense. The king explained how warm he had felt in his carriage, so
much so indeed that he could almost regard the horse he then rode
as a blessing thrown in his way. " And," he added, " my benefactor is
an exceedingly intelligent man, for he seemed to guess my thoughts
intuitively. I have now only one wish, that of learning the name
of the gentleman who so cleverly assisted his king out of his dilemma,
and extricated him from his cruel position."
Montalais, during this colloquy, the first words of which had
awakened her attention, had slightly altered her position, and had
contrived so as to meet the king's look as he finished his remark.
It followed very naturally that the king looked inquiringly as much at
her as at La Yalliere; she had every reason to suppose that it was she
who was appealed to, and consequently might be permitted to answer.
She therefore said: " Sire, the horse which your majesty is riding
belongs to Monsieur, and was being led by one of his royal highness's
gentlemen."
"And what is that gentleman's name, may I ask, mademoiselle?"
TOL. II. H
98 THE VICOHTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" M. de Malicorne, sire."
The name produced its usual effect, for the king repeated it smilingly.
" Yes, sire." replied Aure. " Stay, it is that gentleman who is gallop-
ing on my left hand;" and she pointed out Malicorne, who, with a
very sanctified expression, was galloping on the left side of the carriage,
knowing perfectly well that they were talking of him at that very
moment, but sitting in his saddle as if he were deaf and dumb.
"Yes," said the king, "that is the gentleman; I remember his face,
and will not forget his name;" and the king looked tenderly at La
Valliere.
Aure had now nothing further to do; she had let Malicorne's name
fall; the soil was good; all that was now left to be done was to let the
name take root, and the event would bear its fruit in due time. She,
consequently, threw herself back in her corner, feeling perfectly justi-
fied in making as many agreeable signs of recognition as she liked to
Malicorne, since the latter had had the happiness of pleasing the king.
As it will very readily be believed, Montalais was not mistaken; and
Malicorne, with his quick ear and his sly look, seemed to interpret her
remark as "All goes on well," the whole being accompanied by a
pantomimic action which he fancied conveyed something resembling
a kiss.
" Alas! mademoiselle," said the king, after a moment's pause, " the
liberty and freedom of the country is soon about to cease; your attend-
ance upon Madame will be more strictly enforced, and we shall see
each other no more."
" Your majesty is too much attached to Madame," replied Louise,
" not to come and see her very frequently; and whenever your majesty
may pass across the apartments "
" Ah!" said the king, in a tender voice, which was gradually lowered
in its tone, " to perceive is not to see, and yet it seems that it would be
quite sufficient for you."
Louise did not answer a syllable; a sigh filled her heart almost to
bursting, but she stifled it.
" You exercise a great control over yourself," said the king to Louise,
who smiled upon him with a melancholy expression. "Exert the
strength you have in loving fondly," he continued, "and I will bless
Heaven for having bestowed it on you."
La Valliere still remained silent, but raised her eyes, brimful of affec-
tion, towards the king. Louis, as if he had been overcome by this
burning glance, passed his hand across his forehead, and pressing the
sides of his horse with his knees, made him bound several paces for-
ward. La Valliere, leaning back in her carriage, with her eyes half-
closed, gazed fixedly upon the king, whose plumes were floating in the
air; she could not but admire his graceful carriage, his delicate and
nervous limbs, which pressed his horse's side, and the regular outline of
his features, which his beautiful curling bair set off to great advantage,
revealing occasionally his small and well-formed ear. In fact the poor
girl was in love, and she revelled in her innocent affection. In a few
moments the king was again by her side.
" Do you not perceive," he said, " how terribly your silence affects
me ? Oh! mademoiselle, how pitilessly immovable you would become
if you were ever to resolve to break off all acquaintance with any one;
and then too I think- you changeable; in fact—in fact, I dread this deep
affection which fills my whole being."
" Oh ! sire, you are mistaken," said La Valliere; " if ever I love, it will
be for my whole life."
TBIUMFEMINATE. 99
" If you love, you say," exclaimed the king; " you do not love now,
then." She hid her face in her hands.
"You see," said the king, "that I am right in accusing you; you
must admit that you are changeable, capricious, a coquette, perhaps."
"Oh, no! sire, be perfectly satisfied on that. No, I say again;
no, no!"
" Promise me, then, that for me you will always be the same."
" Oh! always, sire."
" That you will never show any of that severity which would break
my heart, none of that fickleness of manner which would be worse than
death to me."
" Oh! no, no."
" Very well, then! but listen. I like promises, I like to place under
the guarantee of an oath, under the protection of Heaven in fact, every-
thing which interests my heart and my affections. Promise me, or
rather swear to me, that if in the life we are about to commence, a life
which will be full of sacrifice, mystery, anxiety, disappointment, and
misunderstanding; swear to me that if we should be deceiving, or
should misunderstand each other, or should be judging each other
unjustly, for that indeed would be criminal in love such as ours; swear
to me, Louise "
She trembled with agitation to the very depths of her heart; it was
the first time she had heard her name pronounced in that manner by
her royal lover. As for the king, taking off his glove, and placing his un-
gloved hand within the carriage, he continued" Swear, that never in
all our quarrels will we allow one night even to pass by, if any mis-
understanding should arise between us, without a visit, or at least a
message, from either, in order to convey consolation and repose to the
other."
La Valliere took her lover's burning hand between her own icy
palms, and pressed it softly, until a movement of the horse, frightened
by the proximity of the wheels, obliged her to abandon her happiness.
She had sworn as he wished her.
" Return, sire," she said, " return to the queen: I foresee a storm
rising yonder, which threatens my peace of mind."
Louis obeyed, saluted Mademoiselle de Montalais, and set off at a
gallop to rejoin the queen's carriage. As he passed Monsieur's carriage,
he observed that he was fast asleep, although Madame, on her part, was
wide awake. As the king passed her, she said, " What a beautif ul horse,
sire! is it not Monsieur's bay horse?" The young queen merely
remarked, "Are you better now, sire?"
CHAPTER XXIII.
Triumfeminate.
On the king's ai rival in Paris, he sat at the council which had been
summoned, and worked for a certain portion of the day. The queen
remained with the queen-mother, and burst into tears as soon as she
had taken leave of the king. " Ah, madame!" she said, " the king no
longer loves me! What will become of me ?"
" A husband always loves his wife when she is like you," replied
Anne of Austria.
H-2-
100 THE VICOilTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" A time may come when he will love another woman instead of me."
" What do you call loving ?"
" Always thinking of a person,—always seeking her society."
" Do you happen to have remarked," said Anne of Austria, " that
the king has ever done anything of the sort ?"
" No, madame," said the young queen, hesitatingly.
" What is there to complain of, then, Marie ?"
" You will admit that the king leaves me?"
" The king, my daughter, belongs to his people."
" And that is the very reason why he no longer belongs to me ; and
that is the reason, too, why I shall find myself, as so many queens have
been before me, forsaken and forgotten, whilst glory and honours will
be reserved for others. Oh, my mother! the king is so handsome!
how often will others tell him that they love him, and how much,
indeed, they must do so!"
" It is very seldom that women love the man in loving the king.
But should that happen, which I doubt, you should rather wish, Marie,
that such women should really love your husband. In the first place,
the devoted love of a mistress is a rapid element of the dissolution of a
lover's affection; and then, by dint of loving, the mistress loses all
influence over her lover, whose power or wealth she does not covet,
caring only for his affection. Wish, therefore, that the king should
love but lightly, and that his mistress should love with all her heart."
" Oh, my mother, what power may not a deep affection exercise over
him!"
" And yet you say you are abandoned ?"
" Quite true, quite true; I speak absurdly. There is a feeling of
anguish, however, which I can never control."
" And that is?"
" The king may make a happy choice—may find a home, with all the
tender influences of home, not far from that we can offer him,—a home
with children around him, the children of another woman than myself.
Oh, madame! I should die if I were but to see the king's children."
" Marie, Marie," replied the queen-mother with a smile, and she
took the young queen's hand in her own, " remember what I am going
to say, and let it always be a consolation to you: the king cannot have
a Dauphin without you."
With this remark the queen-mother quitted her daughter-in-law, in
order to meet Madame, whose arrival in the grand cabinet had just
been announced by one of the pages. Madame had scarcely taken time
to change her dress. Her face revealed her agitation, which betrayed
a plan the execution of which occupied, while the result disturbed, her
mind.
" I came to ascertain," she said, "if your majesties are suffering any
fatigue from our journey."
"None at all," said the queen-mother.
" But a slight one," replied Maria-Theresa.
" I have suffered from annoyance more than from anything else,"
said Madame.
" What annoyance?" inquired Anne of Austria.
" The fatigue the king undergoes in riding about on horseback."
" That does the king good."
" And it was I who advised him to do it," said Maria-Theresa, turn-
ing pale.
Madame said not a word in reply; but one of those smiles which
were peculiarly her own flitted for a moment across her lips, without
TRIUMFEMINATE. 101
passing over the rest of her face; then, immediately changing the con-
versation, she continued, "We shall find Paris precisely like the Paris
we left it; the same intrigues, plots, and flirtations going on."
" Intrigues! What intrigues do you allude to ?" inquired the queen-
mother.
" People are talking a good deal about M. Fouquet and Madame
Plessis-Belliere."
" Who makes up the number to about ten thousand," replied the
queen-mother. " But what are the plots you speak of?"
" We have, it seems, certain misunderstandings with Holland to
settle."
" What about ?"
" Monsieur has been telling me the story of the medals."
" Oh!" exclaimed the young queen, "you mean those medals which
were struck in Holland, on which a cloud is seen passing across the
sun, which is the king's device. You are wrong in calling that a plot—
it is an insult."
" But so contemptible that the king can well despise it," replied the
queen-mother. " Well, what are the flirtations which are alluded to ?
Do you mean that of Madame d'Olonne ?"
" No, no; nearer ourselves than that."
" Casa de usted," murmured the queen-mother, and without moving
her lips, in her daughter-in-law's ear, and also without being overheard
by Madame, who thus continued:—" You know the terrible newrs ?"
" Oh, yes; M. de Guiche's wound."
" And you attribute it, I suppose, as every one else does, to an acci-
dent which happened to him while hunting ?"
" Yes, of course," said both the queens together, their interest
awakened.
Madame drew closer to them, as she said, in a low tone of voice,
" It was a duel."
" Ah!" said Anne of Austria, in a severe tone; for, in her ears, the
word " duel," which had been forbidden in France during the time she
had reigned over it, had a strange sound.
" A most deplorable duel, which has nearly cost Monsieur two of his
best friends, and the king two of his best servants."
"What was the cause of the duel?" inquired the young queen,
animated by a secret instinct.
" Flirtations," repeated Madame, triumphantly. " The gentlemen
in question were conversing about the virtue of a particular lady
belonging to the court. One of them thought that Pallas was a very
second-rate person compared to her; the other pretended that the lady
in question was an imitation of Yenus alluring Mars; and thereupon
the two gentlemen fought as fiercely as Hector and Achilles."
"Yenus alluring Mars?" said the young queen in a low tone of
voice, without venturing to examine into the allegory very deeply.
"Who is the lady?" inquired Anne of Austria abruptly. "You
said, I believe, she was one of the ladies of honour?"
" Did I say so ?" replied Madame.
" Yes; at least I thought I heard you mention it."
" Are you not aware that such a woman is of ill-omen to a royal
house?"
" Is it not Mademoiselle de la Yalliere ?" said the queen-mother.
" Yes, indeed, that plain-looking creature."
" I thought she was affianced to a gentleman who certainly is not, at
least I suppose so. either M. de Guiche or M. de Wardes ?"
102 THE VICOMTE DE BEA.GELONNE.
" Very possibly, madame."
The young queen took up a piece of tapestry, and began to unpick
with an affectation of tranquillity which her trembling fingers contra-
dieted.
"What were you saying about Yenus and Mars?" pursued the
queen-mother; " is there a Mars also ?"
" She boasts of that being the case."
" Do you say she boasts of it ?"
" That was the cause of the duel."
" And M. de Guiche upheld the cause of Mars ?"
" Yes, certainly; like the devoted servant he is."
" The devoted servant of whom?" exclaimed the young queen, for-
getting her reserve in allowing her jealous feeling to escape her.
" Mars, not being able to be defended except at the expense of this
Yenus," replied Madame, " M. de Guiche maintained the perfect
innocence of Mars, and no doubt affirmed that it was a mere boast of
Yenus."
" And M. de Wardes," said Anne of Austria, quietly, "spread the
report that Yenus was right, I suppose ?"
" Oh, de Wardes," thought Madame, " you shall pay most dearly
for the wound you have given that noblest—that best of men !" And
she began to attack de Wardes with the greatest bitterness ; thus dis-
charging her own and de Guiche's debt, with the assurance that she
was working the future ruin of her enemy. She said so much, in fact,
that had Manicamp been there, he would, have regretted that he had
shown such strong regard for his friend, inasmuch as it resulted in the
ruin of his unfortunate foe.
" I see nothing in the whole affair but <3ne cause of mischief, and
that is La Yalliere herself," said the queen-mother.
The young queen resumed her work with a perfect indifference of
manner, while Madame listened eagerly.
" I do not yet quite understand what you said just now about the
danger of coquetry," resumed Anne of Austria.
" It is quite true," Madame hastened to say, " that if the girl had not
been a coquette, Mars would not have thought at all about her."
The repetition of this word Mars brought a passing colour on the
queen's face; but she still continued her work.
" I will not permit that, in my court, gentlemen should be set against
each other in this manner," said Anne of Austria, calmly. " Such
manners were useful enough, perhaps, in a time when the divided nobi-
lity had no other rallying-point than mere gallantry. At that time
women, whose sway was absolute and undivided, were privileged to
encourage men's valour by frequent trials of their courage. But now,
thank ELeaven ! there is but one master in France, and to him every
thought of the mind, and every pulse of the body are due. I will
not allow my son to be deprived of any one of his servants." And she
turned towards the young queen, saying," What is to be done with
this La Yalliere ?"
" La Yalliere ? " said the queen, apparently surprised, " I do not even
know the nameand she accompanied this remark by one of those
cold fixed smiles which are only observed on royal lips.
Madame was herself a princess great in every respect, great in intel-
ligence, great by birth and pride; the queen's reply, however, com-
pletely astonished her, and she was obliged to pause for a moment in
order to recover herself. " She is one of my maids of honour," she
replied, with a bow.
THE FIRST QUARREL. 103
"In that case," retorted Maria-Theresa,in the same tone, "itis your
affair, my sister, and not ours."
"I beg your pardon," resumed Anne of Austria, "it is my affair.
And I perfectly well understand," she pursued, addressing a look full
of intelligence at Madame, " Madame's motive for saying what she has
just said."
" Everything which emanates from you, madame," said the English
princess, "proceeds from the lips of Wisdom."
" If we send this girl back again to her own family," said Maria-
Theresa, gently, " we must bestow a pension upon her."
Which I will provide for out of my income," exclaimed Madame.
" No, no," interrupted Anne of Austria, " no disturbance, I beg.
The king dislikes that the slightest disrespectful remark should be made
of any lady. Let everything be done quite quietly. Will you have the
kindness, madame, to send for this girl here; and you, my daughter,
will have the goodness to retire to your own room."
The old queen's entreaties were commands, and as Maria-Theresa
rose to return to her own apartments, Madame rose in order to send a
page to summon La Valliere.
CHAPTER XXIV.
The First Quarrel.
La Valliere entered the queen-mother's apartments without in the
least suspecting that a serious plot was being concerted against her. She
thought it was for something connected with her duties, and never
had the queen-mother been unkind to her when such was the case.
Besides, not being immediately under the control or direction of Anne of
Austria, she could only have an official connection with her, to which her
own gentleness of disposition, and the rank of the august princess, made
her yield on every occasion with the best possible grace. She therefore
advanced towards the queen-mother with that soft and gentle smile
which constituted her principal eharm, and as she did not approach
sufficiently close, Anne of Austria signed to her to come nearer.
Madame then entered the room, and with a perfectly calm air took her
seat beside her mother-in-law, and continued the work which Maria-
Theresa had begun. When La Yalliere, instead of the directions which
she expected to receive immediately on entering the room, perceived
these preparations, she looked with curiosity, if not with uneasiness, at
the two princesses. Anne seemed full of thought, while Madame main-
tained an affectation of indifference which would have alarmed a less
timid person even than Louise.
"Mademoiselle," said the queen-mother suddenly, without attempt-
ing to moderate or disguise her Spanish accent, which she never failed
to do except when she was angry, " come closer; we were talking of
you, as every one else seems to be,doing."
" Of me!" exclaimed La Yalliere, turning pale.
" Do you pretend to be ignorant of it; are you not aware of the duel
between M. de Guiche and M. de Wardes ? "
" Oh, madame ! I heard of it yesterday," said La Valliere, clasping
her hands together.
" And did you not foresee this quarrel ? "
" Why should I, madame ? "
104 THE VICOMTE DE BBA.GELONNE.
" Because two men never fight without a motive, and because you
must be aware of the motive which awakened the animosity of the two
in question."
" I am perfectly ignorant of it, madame."
" A persevering denial is a very common-place mode of defence, and
you, who have great pretensions to be witty and clever, ought to avoid
common-places. What else have you to say ? "
" Oh! madame, your majesty terrifies me with your cold severity of
manner; but I do not understand how I can have incurred your
displeasure, or in what respect people can occupy themselves about
me."
" Then I will tell you. M. de Guiche has been obliged to undertake
your defence."
" My defence ? "
"Yes. He is a gallant knight, and beautiful adventuresses like to see
hrave knights couch their lances in their honour. But, for my part, I
hate fields of battle, and more than all, do I hate adventures, and——
lake my remark as you please."
LaValliere sank at the queen's feet, who turned her back upon her.
She stretched out her hands towards Madame, who laughed in her face.
A feeling of pride made her rise to her feet.
" I have begged your majesty to tell me what is the crime I am accused
of—I can claim this at your majesty's hands; and I observe that I am
condemned before I am even permitted to justify myself."
" Eh ! indeed," cried Anne of Austria, " listen to her beautiful phrases,
Madame, and to her fine sentiments; she is an inexhaustible well of
tendernesses and of heroic expressions. One can easily see, young
lady, that we have cultivated our mind in the society of crowned
heads."
La Valliere felt struck to the heart; she became, not paler, but as
white as a lily, and all her strength forsook her.
" I wished to inform you," interrupted the queen disdainfully, " that
if you continue to nourish such feelings, you will humiliate us other
women to such a degree that we shall be ashamed of appearing before
you. Become simple in your manners. By the bye, I am informed
that you are affianced; is it the case ? "
LaValliere pressed her hand over her heart, which was wrung with a
fresh pang.
"Answer when you are spoken toP " " Yes, madame."
" To a gentleman ? " " Yes, madame."
" His name ? " " The Vicomte de Bragelonne."
" Are you aware that it is an exceedingly fortunate circumstance for
you, mademoiselle, that such is the case; and without fortune or
position, as you are, or without any very great personal advantages, you
ought to bless Heaven for having procured you such a future as seems
to be in store for you."
La Yalliere did not reply. " Where is this Yicomte de Bragelonne ? "
pursued the queen.
" In England," said Madame," where the report of this young lady's
success will not fail to reach him."
" Oh, Heaven!" murmured La Yalliere, in despair.
" Very well, mademoiselle !" said- Anne of Austria, " we will get this
young gentleman to return, and send you away somewhere with him.
If you are of a different opinion—for girls have strange views and fan-
cies at times, trust to me, I will put you in a proper path again. I
have done as much for girls who are not so good as you are. nerhrms "
THE FIRST QUARREL. 105
La Valliere ceased to hear the queen, who pitilessly added: " I will
send you somewhere by yourself, where you will be able to procure
a little serious reflection. Reflection calms the ardour of the blood,
and swallows up all the illusions of youth. I suppose you have under-
stood what I have been saying."
Madame, madame!" " Not a word!"
" I am innocent of everything your majesty can suppose. Oh, madame!
you are a witness of my despair. I love, I respect your majesty so
much."
" It would be far better not to respect me at all," said the queen,
with a chilling irony of manner. " It would be far better if you were
not innocent. Do you presume to suppose that I should be satisfied
simply to leave you unpunished if you had committed the fault ? "
" Oh, madame ! you are killing me."
" No acting, if you please, or I will undertake the denouement of the
comedy; leave the room; return to your own apartment, and I trust
my lesson may be of service to you."
''Madame !" said La Valliere to theDuchesse d'Orleans, whose hands
she seized in her own, " do you, who are so good, intercede for me."
" I!" replied the latter, with an insulting joy, " I—good ! — Ah,
mademoiselle, you think nothing of the kindand with a rude, hasty
gesture she repulsed the young girl's hand.
La Valliere, instead of giving way, as from her extreme pallor and
from her tears the two princesses might possibly have expected, suddenly
resumed her calm and dignified air; she bowed profoundly, and left the
room.
" Well!" said Anne of Austria to Madame, " do you think she will
begin again ? "
"I always suspect those gentle and patient characters," replied
Madame. "Nothing is more full of courage than a patient heart, no-
thing is more self-reliant than a gentle spirit."
" 1 feel I may almost venture to assure you she will think twice
before she looks at the god Mars again."
" So long as she does not obtain the protection of his buckler I do
not care," retorted Madame.
A proud, defiant look of the queen-mother was the reply to this ob-
jection, which was by no means deficient in finesse; and both of them,
almost sure of their victory, went to look for Maria-Theresa, who had
been engaged, while awaiting their arrival, in endeavouring to disguise
her impatience.
It was about half-past six in the evening, and the king had just par-
taken of some refreshment. He lost no time ; but no sooner was the
repast finished, and business matters settled, than he took Saint-Aignan
by the arm, and desired him to lead him to La Valliere's apartments.
The courtier uttered a loud exclamation.
" Well, what is that for ! It is a habit you will have to adopt, and
in order to adopt a habit, you must begin by something or another at
first."
" Oh, sire ! " said Saint-Aignan, " it is hardly possible, for every one
can be seen entering or leaving those apartments. If, however, some
pretext or other were made use of—if your majesty, for instance,
would wait until Madame were in her own apartments "
"No pretexts; no delays. I have had enough of these impediments
and these mysteries; I cannot perceive in what respect the king of
Prance dishonours himself in conversing with an amiable and clever
girl. Evil be to him who evil thinks."
106 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" Will your majesty forgive an excess of zeal on my part ? "
" Speak freely."
"And the queen?"
" True, true; I always wish the most entire respect to be shown to
her majesty. Well, then, this evening only will I pay Mademoiselle
de la Valliere a visit, and after to-day I will make use of any pretext
you like. To-morrow we will devise all sorts of means; ;to-night I have
not the time."
Saint-Aignan did not reply; he descended the steps, preceding the
kiDg, and crossed the different courtyards with a feeling of shame,
which the distinguished honour of accompanying the king did not
remove. The reason was, that Saint-Aignan wished to stand well with
Madame, as well as the two queens; and also, that he did not, on the
other hand, wish to displease Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and in order
to carry out so many promising affairs, it was difficult to avoid jostling
against some obstacle or other. Besides, the windows of the young
queen's rooms, those of the queen-mother's, and of Madame herself,
looked out upon the courtyard of the maids of honour. To be seen,
therefore, accompanying the king, would be effectually to quarrel with
three great and influential princesses—with three women whose au-
thority was unbounded—for the purpose of supporting the ephemeral
credit of a mistress. The unhappy Saint-Aignan, who had not dis-
played a very great amount of courage in taking La Valliere's part in
the park of Bontainebleau, did not feel himself any braver in the
broad daylight, and found a thousand defects in the poor girl which he
was most eager to communicate to the king. But his trial soon finished,
—the courtyards were crossed; not a curtain was drawn aside, nor a win-
dow opened. The king walked hastily, because of his impatience, and then
also because of the long legs of Saint-Aignan, who preceded him. At
the door, however, Saint-Aignan wished to retire, but the king desired
him to remain: this was a delicate consideration on the king's part,
which the courtier could very well have dispensed with. He had to
follow Louis into La Valliere's apartment. As soon as the king arrived
the young girl dried her tears, but did it so precipitately that the
king perceived it. He questioned her most anxiously and tenderly, and
pressed her to tell him the cause of her emotion.
" I have nothing the matter with me, sire," she said.
" And yet you were weeping."
" Oh no, indeed, sire."
" Look, Saint-Aignan, and tell me if I am mistaken."
Saint-Aignan ought to have answered, but he was greatly embar-
rassed.
" At all events your eyes are red, mademoiselle," said the king.
" The dust of the road merely, sire."
"No, no; you no longer possess that air of supreme contentment
which renders you so beautiful and so attractive. You do not look at
me. Y^hy avoid my gaze ? " he said, as she turned aside her head. " In
Heaven's name, what is the matter ?" he inquired, beginning to lose all
command over himself.
"Nothing at all, sire; and I am perfectly ready to assure your
majesty that my mind is as free from anxiety as you could possibly
wish."
" Your mind at ease, when I see you are embarrassed at the slightest
thing. Has any one wounded or annoyed you ? "
" No, no, sire."
THE FIRST QUARREL. 107
" I insist upon knowing if such really be the case," said the young
prince, his eyes sparkling.
"No one, sire, no one has in any way offended me."
"In that case, do resume your gentle air of gaiety, or that sweet
melancholy look which I so loved in you this morning; for pity's sake,
do so." " Yes, sire, yes."
The king struck the ground impatiently with his foot, saying, " Such
a change is positively inexplicable." And he looked at Saint-Aignan,
who had also remarked La Yalliere's heavy languor of manner, as well
as the king's impatience.
It was utterly useless for the king to entreat, and as useless for him to
try his utmost to overcome her positiveness, which was but too apparent,
and did not in reality exist; the poor girl was completely overwhelmed,
—the aspect of death itself could not have awakened her from her
torpor. The king saw in her repeated negative replies, a mystery full
of unkindness; he began to look all round the apartment with a suspi-
cious air. There happened to be in La Yalliere's room a miniature of
Athos. The king remarked this portrait, which bore a considerable
resemblance to Bragelonne, for it had been taken when the comte was
quite a young man. He looked at it with a threatening air. La Yal-
li&re, in her depressed state of mind, and very far indeed from thinking
of this portrait, could not conjecture the king's pre-occupation. Ana
yet the king's mind was occupied with a terrible remembrance, which
had more than once taken possession of his mind, but which he had
always driven away. He recalled the intimacy which had existed be-
tween the two young people from their birth; the engagement which
had followed; and that Athos had himself come to solicit La Yalliere's
hand for Baoul. He therefore could not but suppose that, on her
return to Paris, La Yalliere had found news from London awaiting her,
and that this news had counterbalanced the influence which he had
been enabled to exert over her. He immediately felt himself stung, as
it were, by feelings of the wildest jealousy; and he again questioned
her, with increased bitterness. La Yalliere could not reply, unless she
were to acknowledge everything, which would be to accuse the queen,
and Madame also; and the consequence would be, that she would have
to enter upon an open warfare with these two great and powerful prin-
cesses. She thought within herself that as she made no attempt to
conceal from the king what was passing in her own mind, the king
ought to be able to read in her heart, in spite of her silence; and that,
if he really loved her, he would have understood, and guessed every-
thing. What was sympathy, then, if it were not that divine flame
which possesses the property of enlightening the heart, and of saving
lovers the necessity of an expression of their thoughts and feelings.
She maintained her silence, therefore, satisfying herself with sighing,
weeping, and concealing her face in her hands. These sighs and tears,
which had at first distressed, and then terrified, Louis XlV., now irri-
tated him. He could not bear any opposition,—not the opposition
which tears and sighs exhibited, any more than opposition of any other
kind. His remarks, therefore, became bitter, urgent, and openly ag-
gressive in their nature. This was a fresh cause of distress for the poor
girl. From that very circumstance, therefore, which she regarded as
an injustice on her lover's part, she drew sufficient courage to bear, not
only her other troubles, but even this one also.
The king next began to accuse her in direct terms. La Yalliere did
not even attempt to defend herself; she endured all his accusations
1-08 THE VICOHTE DE BBAGELONNE.
without according any other reply than that of shaking her head; with-
out making any other remark than that which escapes every heart in
deep distress, by a prayerful appeal to Heaven for help. But this
ejaculation, instead of calming the king's displeasure, rather increased
it. He, moreover, saw himself seconded by Saint-Aignan, for Saint-
Aignan, as we have observed, having seen the storm increasing, and not
knowing the extent of the regard of which Louis XIV. was capable,
felt, by anticipation, all the collected wrath of the three princesses, and
the near approach of poor La Valliere's downfall; and he was not true
knight enough to resist the fear that he himself might possibly be
dragged down in the impending ruin. Saint-Aignan did not reply to
the king's questions except by short, dry remarks, pronounced half-
aloud; and by abrupt gestures, whose object was to make things worse,
and bring about a misunderstanding, the result of which would be to
free him from the annoyance of having to cross the courtyards in broad
open day, in order to follow his illustrious companion to La Valliere's
apartments. In the mean time the king's anger momentarily increased;
he made two or three steps towards the door, as if to leave the room,
but then returned; the young girl did not, however, raise her head,
although the sound of his footsteps might have warned her that her
lover was leaving her. He drew himself up, for a moment, before her,
with his arms crossed.
" For the last time, mademoiselle," he said, " will you speak ? "Will
you assign a reason for this change, for this fickleness,' for this
caprice ?"
" What can I say ?" murmured La Valliere. "Do you not see, sire,
that I am completely overwhelmed at this moment; that I have no
power of will, or thought, or speech ? "
"Is it so difficult, then, to speak the truth? You would have told
me the truth in fewer words than those in which you have just now
expressed yourself."
"But the truth about what, sire ?"
" About everything."
La Valliere was just on the point of revealing the whole truth to the
king; her arms made a sudden movement as if they were about to
open, but her lips remained silent, and her arms again fell listlessly by
her side. The poor girl had not yet endured sufficient unhappiness to
risk the necessary revelation. " I know nothing," she stammered out.
"Oh!" exclaimed the king, "this is no longer mere coquetry, or
caprice, it is treason."
And this time nothing could restrain him, the impulses of his heart
were not sufficient to induce him to turn back, and he darted out of
the room with a gesture full of despair. Saint-Aignan followed him,
wishing for nothing better than to leave the place.
Louis XIV. did not pause until he reached the staircase, and grasping
■ the balustrade, said: "You see how shamefully I have been duped."
"How, sire?" inquired the favourite.
" Guiche fought on the Vicomte de Bragelonne's account, and this
Bragelonne ... oh ! Saint-Aignan, she still loves him. I vow to you,
Saint-Aignan, that, if in three days hence, there were to remain but an
atom of affection for her in my heart, I should die from very shame."
And the king resumed his way to his own apartments.
" I assured your majesty how it would be," murmured Saint-Aignan,
continuing to follow the king, and timidly glancing up at the different
windows. Unfortunately their return was different to what their
departure had been. A curtain was stealth:]v drawn asido-
DESPAIE. 109
was beliind it. She had seen the king leave the apartments of the
maids of honour, and as soon as she observed that his majesty had
passed, she left her own apartments with hurried steps, and ran up the
staircase, which led to the room the king had just left.
CHAPTER XXY.
Despair.
As soon as the king had left her, La Valliere raised herself from the
ground, and extended her arms, as if to follow and detain him; but
when, having violently closed the door, the sound of his retreating
footsteps could be heard in the distance, she had hardly sufficient
strength left to totter towards and fall at the foot of her crucifix.
There she remained, broken-hearted, absorbed, and overwhelmed by her
grief, forgetful of and indifferent to everything but her profound grief
itself—a grief which she could not comprehend otherwise than by
instinct and acute sensation. In the midst of the wild tumult of her
thoughts, La Yalliere heard her door open again; she started, and
turned round, thinking that it was the king who had returned. She
was deceived, however, for it was Madame who appeared at the door.
"What did she now care for Madame! Again she sank down, her head
supported by her prie-dieu chair. It was Madame, agitated, irritated,
and threatening. But what was that to her ? " Mademoiselle," said
the princess, standing before La Yalliere, "this is very fine, I admit, to
kneel, and pray, and make a pretence of being religious; but however
submissive you may be in your addresses to Heaven, it is desirable that
you should pay some little attention to the wishes of those who reign
and rule here below."
La Yalliere raised her head painfully in token of respect.
"Not long since," continued Madame, "a certain recommendation
was addressed to you, I believe."
La Valliere's fixed and wild gaze showed how entire her forgetfulness
or her ignorance was.
"The queen recommended you," continued Madame, "to conduct
yourself in such a manner that no one could be justified in spreading
any reports about you."
La Yalliere darted an inquiring look towards her.
" I will not," continued Madame, " allow my household, which is that
of the first princess of the blood, to set an evil example to the court
you would be the cause of such an example. I beg you to understand,
therefore, in the absence of any witness of your shame, for I do not
wish to humiliate you, that you are from this moment at perfect liberty
to leave, and that you can return to your mother at Blois."
La Yalliere could not sink lower, nor could she suffer more than she
had already suffered. Her countenance did not even change, but she
remained with her hands crossed over her knees like the figure of the
Magdalen.
" Hid you hear me ?" said Madame.
A shiver, which passed through her whole frame, was La Valliere's
only reply. And as the victim gave no other sign of life, Madame left
the room. And then, her very respiration suspended, and her blood
almost congealed, as it were, in her veins, La Yalliere by degrees felt
that the pulsations of her wrists, her neck, and temples, began to throb
110 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
more and more heavily. These pulsations, as they gradually increased,
soon changed into a species of brain fever, and in her temporary
delirium she saw the figures of her friends contending with her enemies,
floating before her vision. She heard, too, mingled together in her
deafened ears, words of menace and words of fond affection; she seemed
raised out of her first existence as though it were upon the wings of
a mighty tempest, and in the dim horizon of the path along which her
delirium hurried her, she saw the stone which covered her tomb
upraised, and the dark and appalling interior of eternal night revealed
to her distracted gaze. But the horror of the dream which had pos-
sessed her senses soon faded away, and she was again restored to the
habitual resignation of her character. A ray of hope penetrated her
heart, as a ray of sunlight streams into the dungeon of some unhappy
captive. Her mind reverted to the journey from Fontainebleau, she
saw the king riding beside her carriage, telling her that he loved her,
asking for her love in return, requiring her to swear, and himself
swearing too, that never should an evening pass by, if ever a misunder-
standing were to arise between them, without a visit, a letter, a sign of
some kind, being sent, to replace the troubled anxiety of the evening by
the calm repose of the night. It was the king who had suggested that,
who had imposed a promise upon her, who had himself sworn it also.
It was impossible, therefore, she reasoned, that the king should fail in
keeping the promise which1 he had himself exacted from her, unless,
indeed, the king were a despot who enforced love as he enforced
obedience; unless too, the king were truly indifferent, that the first
obstacle in his way were sufficient to arrest his further progress. The
king, that kind protector, who by a word, by a single word, could
relieve her distress of mind, the king even joined her persecutors. Oh!
his anger could not possibly last. Now that he was alone, he would be
suffering all that she herself was a prey to. But he was not tied hand
and foot as she was; he could act, could move about, could come to
her, while she could do nothing but wait. And the poor girl waited,
and waited, with breathless anxiety, for she could not believe it possible
that the king would not come.
It was now about half-past ten. He would either come to her, or
write to her, or send some kind word by M. de Saint-Aignan. If he
were to come, oh! how she would fly to meet him: how she would
thrust aside that excess of delicacy which she now discovered was mis-
understood; how eagerly she would explain: " It is not I who do not
love you, it is the fault of others who will not allow me to love you."
And then it must be confessed that as she reflected upon it, and also the
more she reflected, Louis appeared to her to be less guilty. In fact, he
was ignorant of everything. What must he have thought of the obsti-
nacy with which she remained silent. Impatient and irritable as the
king was known to be, it was extraordinary that he had been able to
preserve his temper so long. And yet, had it been her own case, she
undoubtedly would not have acted in such a manner; she would have
understood everything, have guessed everything. Yes, but she was
nothing but a poor simple-minded girl, and not a great and powerful
monarch. Oh! if he did but come, if he would but come! — how
eagerly she would forgive him for all he had just made her suffer! how
much more tenderly she would love him because she had so suffered!
And so she sat, with her head bent forward in eager expectation
towards the door, her lips slightly parted, as if—and Heaven forgive her
for the thought she mentally exclaimed—they were awaiting tbe kiss
which the king's lips had in the morning so sweetlv indicated wPon h»
DESPAIR. Ill
pronounced the word love! If the king did not come, at least he
would write; it was a second chance; a chance less delightful certainly
than the other, but which would show an affection just as strong, but
only more timorous in its nature. Oh! how she would devour his
letter, how eager she would be to answer it; and when the messenger
who had brought it had left her, how she would kiss, read over and
over again, press upon her heart the happy paper which would have
brought her ease of mind, tranquillity, and perfect happiness. At all
events, if the king did not come; if, however, the king did not write,
he could not do otherwise than send Saint-Aignan, or Saint-Aignan
could not do otherwise than come of his own accord. Even if it were
a third person, how openly she would speak to him; the royal presence
would not be there to freeze her words upon her tongue, and then no
suspicious feeling would remain a moment longer in the king's heart.
Everything with La Y'alliere, heart and look, body and mind, was
concentrated in eager expectation. She said to herself that there was
still an hour left in which to indulge hope; that until midnight had
struck, the king might come, or write, or send; that at midnight only
would every expectation be useless, every hope lost. Whenever there was
any noise in the palace, the poor girl fancied she was the cause of it;
whenever she heard any one pass in the courtyard below, she imagined
they were messengers of the king coming to her. Eleven o'clock struck;
then a quarter past eleven; then half past. The minutes dragged slowly
on in this anxiety, and yet they seemed to pass far too quickly. And
now, it struck a quarter to twelve. Midnight, midnight was near, the
. last, the final hope which remained came in its turn. With the last
stroke of the clock, the last ray of light seemed to fade away; and with
the last ray, so faded her final hope. And so, the king himself had
deceived her; it was he who had been the first to fail in keeping the
oath which he had sworn that very day; twelve hours only between his
oath and his perjured vow; it was not long, certainly, to have preserved
the illusion. And so, not only did the king not love her, but, still more,
he despised her whom every one overwhelmed ; he despised her to the
extent even of abandoning her to the shame of an expulsion which was
equivalent to having an ignominious sentence passed upon her; and
yet, it was he, the king himself, who was the first cause of this
ignominy. A bitter smile, the only symptom of anger which during
this long conflict had passed across the victim's angelic face, appeared
upon her lips. What, in fact, now remained on earth for her, after
the king was lost to her ? Nothing. But Heaven still remained, and
her thoughts flew thither. She prayed that the proper course for her
to follow might be suggested. " It is from Heaven," she thought, " that
I do expect everything; it is from Heaven I ought to expect everything."
And she looked at her crucifix with a devotion full of tender love.
" There," she said, " hangs before me a Master who never forgets and
never abandons those who do not abandon and who do not forget Him; it
is to Him alone that we must sacrifice ourselves." And, thereupon,
could any one have gazed into the recesses of that chamber, they would
have seen the poor despairing girl adopt a final resolution, and deter-
mine upon one last plan in her mind. Thereupon, and as her knees
were no longer able to support her, she gradually sank down upon the
prie-dieu, and with her head pressed against the wooden cross, her eyes
fixed, and her respiration short and quick, she watched for the earliest
rays of approaching daylight. At two o'clock in the morning she was
still in the same bewilderment of mind, or rather in the same ecstasy of
feeling. Her thoughts had almost ceased to h^U any communion with
112 THE VICOHTE DE BBAGELONNE.
the things of this world. And when she saw the violet tints of early
dawn visible upon the roofs of the palace, and vaguely revealing the
outlines of the ivory cross which she held embraced, she rose from the
ground with a new-born strength, kissed the feet of the divine martyr,
descended the staircase leading from the room, and wrapped herself
from head to foot in a mantle as she went along. She reached the
wicket at the very moment the guard of musketeers opened the gate to
admit the first relief-guard belonging to one of the Swiss regiments.
And then, gliding behind the soldiers, she reached the street before the
officer in command of the patrol had even thought of asking who the
young girl was who was making her escape from the palace at so early
an hour.
CHAPTER XXYI.
The Flight.
La Vallieee followed the patrol as it left the courtyard. The
patrol bent its steps towards the right, by the Rue St. Honore, and
mechanically La Valliere went to the left. Her resolution was taken—
her determination fixed; she wished to betake herself to the convent
of the Carmelites at Chaillot, the superior of which enjoyed a reputa-
tion for severity which made the worldly-minded people of the court
tremble. La Valliere had never seen Paris,—she had never gone out
on foot, and so, would have oeen unable to find her way even had she
been in a calmer frame of mind than was then the case, and this may
explain why she ascended, instead of descending, the Rue St. Honore.
Her only thought was to get away from the Palais Royal, and this she
was doing: she had heard it said that Chaillot looked out upon the
Seine, and she accordingly directed her steps towards the Seine. She
took the Rue du Coq, and not being able to cross the Louvre, bore
towards the church of Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois, proceeding along the
site of the colonnade which was subsequently built there by Perrault.
In a very short time she reached the quays. Her steps were rapid and
agitated; she scarcely felt the weakness which reminded her of having
sprained her foot when very young, and which obliged her to limp
slightly. At any other hour in the day her countenance would have
awakened the suspicions of the least clear-sighted persons, or have
attracted the attention of the most indifferent passers-by. But at half
past two in the morning, the streets of Paris are almost, if not quite,
deserted, and scarcely any one is to be seen but the hard-working
artisan on his way to earn his daily bread, or the dangerous idlers of the
streets, who are returning to their homes after a night of riot and
debauchery; for the former the day was beginning, for the latter it was
just closing. La Valliere was afraid of those faces, in which her igno-
ranee of Parisian types did not permit her to distinguish the type of
probity from that of dishonesty. The appearance of misery alarmed
lier, and all whom she met seemed wretched and miserable. Her
toilette, which was the same she had worn during the previous even-
ing, was elegant even in its careless disorder; for it was the one in.
which she had presented herself to the queen-mother; and, moreover,
when she drew aside the mantle which covered her face, in order to
enable her to see the way she was going, her pallor and her beautiful
eyes spoke an unknown language to the men she met, and, ignorantly,
the poor fugitive seemed to invite the brutal remarks of the one class,
THE FLIGHT. 11%
or to appeal to the compassion of the other. La Yalliere still walked
on in the same way, breathless and hurried, until she reached the top
of the Place de Greve. She stopped from time to time, placed her
hand upon her heart, leant against a wall until she could breathe freely
again, and then continued her course more rapidly than before. On
reaching the Place de Greve, La Yalliere suddenly came upon a group
of three drunken men, reeling and staggering along, who were just
leaving a boat, which they had made fast to the quay; the boat was
freighted with wines, and it was apparent that they had done complete
justice to the merchandise. They were singing their convivial exploits
in three different keys, when suddenly, as they reached the end of the
railing leading down to the quay, they found an obstacle in their path
in the shape of this young girl. La Yalliere stopped; while they, on
their side, at the appearance of the young girl dressed in court costume,
also halted, and, seizing each other by the hand, they surrounded La
Yalliere, singing,—
" Oh! you who sadly are wandering alone,
Come, come, and laugh with us."
La Yalliere at once understood that the men were addressing her,
and wished to prevent her passing; she tried to do so several times, but
all her efforts were useless. Her limbs failed her; she felt she was on
the point of falling, and uttered a cry of terror. At the same mo-
ment the circle which surrounded her was suddenly broken through
in a most violent manner. One of her insulters was knocked to
the left, another fell rolling over and over to the right, close to the
water's edge, while the third could hardly keep his feet. An officer of
the musketeers stood face to face with the young girl, with threaten-
ing brow and his hand raised to carry out his threat. The drunken
fellows at the sight of the uniform made their escape with all despatch,
and the greater for the proof of strength which the wearer of the uni-
form had just afforded them.
" Is it possible," exclaimed the musketeer, " that it can be Made-
moiselle de la Yalliere ?"
La Yalliere, bewildered by what had just happened, and confounded
by hearing her name pronounced, looked up and recognized d'Artagnan.
" Oh, M. d'Artagnan! it is indeed I;" and at the same moment she
seized hold of his arm. " You will protect me, will you not?" she
added, in a tone of entreaty.
" Most certainly I will protect you; but, in Heaven's name, where
are you going at this hour ?"
" I am going to Chaillot."
" You're going to Chaillot by the way of La Eapee! why, made-
moiselle, you are turning your back to it."
" In that case, monsieur, be kind enough to put me in the right way,
and to go with me a short distance." " Most willingly."
" But how does it happen that I have found you here ? By what
merciful direction were you so near at hand to come to my assistance ?
I almost seem to be dreaming, or to be losing my senses."
" I happened to be here, mademoiselle, because I have a house in the
Place de Greve, at the sign of the ' Notre-Dame,' the rent of which I
went to receive yesterday, and where I, in fact, passed the night. And
I' also wished to be at the palace early, for the purpose of inspecting •
my posts."
" Thank you," said La Yalliere.
" That is what I was doing," said d'Artagnan to himself; "but what
VOL. II. i
114 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
was she doing, and why was she going to Chaillot at such an hour?"
And he offered her his arm, which she took, and began to walk with
increased precipitation, which concealed, however, a great weakness.
D'Artagnan perceived it, and proposed to La Valliere that she should
take a little rest, which she refused.
"You are ignorant, perhaps, where Chaillot is?" inquired d'Ar-
tagnan. " Quite so."
14 It is a great distance." " That matters very little."
" It is at least a league." " I can walk it."
D'Artagnan did not reply; he could tell, merely by the tone of a
voice, when a resolution was real or not. He rather bore along than
accompanied La Valliere, until they perceived the elevated ground of
Chaillot.
" What house are you going to, mademoiselle ?" inquired d'Artagnan.
" To the Carmelites, monsieur."
" To the Carmelites?" repeated d'Artagnan, in amazement.
"Yes; and since Heaven has directed you towards me to give me
your support on my road, accept both my thanks and my adieux."
"To the Carmelites! Your adieux! Are you going to become a
nun?" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
"Yes, monsieur."
" What, you!!!" There was in this " you," which we have marked
by three notes of exclamation in order to render it as expressive as
possible,—there was, we repeat, in this "you" a complete poem; it
recalled to La Valliere her old recollections of Blois, and her new
recollections of Pontainebleau; it said to her," You who might be happy
with Raoul, you who might be powerful with Louis, you about to be-
come a nun!"
" Yes, monsieur," she said, " I am going to devote myself to the
service of Heaven; and to renounce the world altogether."
" But are you not mistaken with regard to your vocation,—are you
not mistaken in supposing it to be the will of Heaven ?"
" No; since Heaven has been pleased to throw you in my way. Had
it not been for you, I should certainly have sunk from fatigue on the
road; and since Heaven, I repeat, has thrown you in my way, it is
because it has willed that I should carry out my intention."
" Oh!" said d'Artagnan, doubtingly, " that is a rather subtle dis-
tinction, I think."
" Whatever it may be," returned the young girl, "I have acquainted
you with the steps I have taken, and with my fixed resolution. And,
now, I have one last favour to ask of you, even while I return you my
thanks. The king is entirely ignorant of my flight from the Palais
Royal, and is ignorant also of what I am about to do."
" The king ignorant, you say!" exclaimed d'Artagnan. " Take care,
mademoiselle; you are not aware of what you are doing. No one
ought to do anything with which the king is unacquainted, especially
those who belong to the court."
" I no longer belong to the court, monsieur."
D'Artagnan looked at the young girl with increasing astonishment.
" Do not be uneasy, monsieur," she continued; " I have well calcu-
lated everything; and were it not so, it would now be too late to recon-
sider my resolution,—it is decided."
" Well, mademoiselle, what do you wish me to do ?"
" In the name of that sympathy which misfortune inspires, by your
generous feelings, and by your honour as a gentleman, I entreat you to
swear to me one thing." " Name it."
TEE FLIGHT. 115
" Swear to me, Monsieur d'Artagnan, that you will not tell the king
that you have seen me, and that I am at the Carmelites."
" I will not swear that," said d'Artagnan, shaking his head.
" Why ? " " Because I know the king, I know you, I know my-
self even, nay, the whole human race, too well; no, no, I will not
swear that!"
"In that case," cried Yalliere, with an energy of which one would
hardly have thought her capable, " instead of the blessing which I should
have implored for you until my dying day, I will invoke a curse, for
you are rendering me the most miserable creature that ever lived."
We have already observed that d'Artagnan could easily recognize the
accents of truth and sincerity, and he could not resist this last appeal.
He saw by her face how bitterly she suffered from a feeling of degra-
dation, he remarked her trembling limbs, how her whole slight and
delicate frame was violently agitated by some internal struggle, and
clearly perceived that resistance might be fatal. " I will do as you
wish, then," he said. " Be satisfied, mademoiselle, I will say nothing
to the king."
"Oh! thanks, thanks," exclaimed La Yalliere, "you are the most
generous man breathing."
And in , her extreme delight she seized hold of d'Artagnan's hands
and pressed them between her own. D'Artagnan, who felt himself
quite overcome, said: " This is touching, upon my word; she begins
where others leave off."
And La Yalliere, who, in the extremity of her distress had sunk
down upon the ground, rose and walked towards the convent of the
Carmelites, which could now, in the dawning light, be perceived just
before them. D'Artagnan followed her at a distance. The entrance-
door was half-open, she glided in like a shadow, and thanking d'Ar-
tagnan by a parting gesture, disappeared from his sight. When
d'Artagnan found himself quite alone, he reflected profoundly upon
what had just taken place. " Upon my word," he said, "this looks
very much like what is called a false position. To keep such a secret as
that, is to keep a burning coal in one's breeches-pocket, and trust that
it may not burn the stuff. And yet, not to keep it when I have sworn
to do so, is dishonourable. It generally happens that some bright
idea or other occurs to me as I am going along; but I am very much
mistaken if I shall not, now, have to go a long way in order to find
the solution of this affair. Yes, but which way to go ? Oh! towards
Paris, of course; that is the best way, after all. Only one must make
haste, and in order to make haste, four legs are better than two, and I,
unhappily, have only two. c A horse, a horse,' as I heard them say
at the theatre in London, c my kingdom for a horse.' And, now I
think of it, it need not cost me so much as that, for at the Barriere
de la Conference there is a guard of musketeers, and instead of the one
horse I need, I shall find ten there."
So, in pursuance of this resolution, which he had adopted with his
usual rapidity, d'Artagnan immediately turned his back upon the
heights of Chaillot, reached the guard-house, took the fastest horse he
could find there, and was at the palace in less than ten minutes. It
was striking five as he reached the Palais Royal. The king, he was
told, went to bed at his usual hour, after having been engaged with
M. Colbert, and, in all probability, was still fast asleep. " Come," said
d'Artagnan, " she spoke the truth, and the king is ignorant of every-
thing; if he only knew one half of what has happened, the Palais
Royal by this time would be turned upside down."
lis
THE VICOHTE DE BEAGELONNE.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Showing how Louis, on his side, had passed the time from ten to half-past
twelve at night.
When the king left the apartment of the maids of honour, he
found Colbert awaiting him to receive his directions with regard to the
next day's ceremony, as the king was then to receive the Hutch and
Spanish ambassadors. Louis XIV. had serious causes of dissatisfac-
tion with the Hutch; the States had already been guilty of many
mean shifts and evasions with France, and without perceiving or with-
out caring about the chances of a rupture, they again abandoned the
alliance with his Most Christian Majesty, for the purpose of enter-
ing into all kinds of plots with Spain. Louis XIV. at his accession,
that is to say, at the death of Cardinal Mazarin, had found this political
question roughly sketched out; the solution was difficult for a young
man, but as, at that time, the king represented the whole nation, any-
thing that the head resolved upon, the body would be found ready to
carry out. Any sudden impulse of anger, the reaction of young and
hot blood to the brain, would be quite sufficient to change an old form
of policy and to create another and new system altogether. The part
that diplomatists had to play in those days was that of arranging
among themselves the different coups-d'etat which their sovereign
masters might wish to effect. Louis was not in that calm state of
mind which could make him capable of determining upon a wise course
of policy. Still much agitated from the quarrel he had just had with
La Valliere, he walked hastily into his cabinet, exceedingly desirous of
finding an opportunity of producing an explosion after he had controlled
himself for so long a time. Colbert, as he saw the king enter, knew
the position of affairs at a glance, understood the king's intentions,
and resolved therefore to manoeuvre a little. When Louis requested
to be informed what it would be necessary to say on the morrow, Colbert
began by expressing his surprise that his majesty had not been pro-
perly informed by M. Fouquet. " M. Fouquet, he said, " is perfectly
acquainted with the whole of this Dutch affair, he receives the des-
patches himself direct."
The king, who was accustomed to hea? Mr Colbert speak in not over-
scrupulous terms of M. Fouquet, allowed this remark to pass by unan-
swered, and merely listened. Colbert noticed the effect it had pro-
duced, and hastened to back ©at, saying that M. Fouquet was not on all
occasions as blamable as at the first glance might seem to be the case,
inasmuch as at that moment he was greatly occupied. The king looked
up. " What do you allude to?" he said.
" Sire, men are but men, and M. Fouquet has his defects as well as
his great qualities."
"Ah! defects, who is without them, M. Colbert ?"
" Tour majesty is not," said Colbert, boldly; for he knew how to
convey a good deal of flattery in a li^ht amount of blame, like the
arrow which cleaves the air notwithstanding its weight, thanks to the
light feathers which bear it up.
The king smiled. " What defect has M. Fouquet, then ? " he said.
" Still the same, sire; it is said he is in love."
" In love! with whom ?"
HOW LOUIS PASSED THE NIGHT. 117
" I am. not quite sure, sire; I have very little to do with matters of
gallantry."
" At all events you know, since you speak of it."
" I have heard a name mentioned."
"Whose?" "I cannot now remember whose, but I think it is
one of Madame's maids of honour."
The king started. "You know more than you like to say, M. Col-
bert ? " he murmured.
" I assure you, no, sire."
" At all events, Madame's maids of honour are all known, and in
mentioning their names to you, you will perhaps recollect the one
you allude to." " No, sire."
"At least, try."
" It would be useless, sire. Whenever the name of any lady who
runs the risk of being compromised is concerned, my memory is like a
coffer of brass, the key of which I have lost."
A dark cloud seemed to pass over the mind as well as across the face
of the king; then, wishing to appear as if he were perfect master of
himself and of his feelings, he said: "And now for the affair concerning
Holland."
"In the first place, sire, at what hour will your majesty receive the
ambassadors ?"
" Early in the morning." " Eleven o'clock ?"
" That is too late—say nine o'clock."
" That will be too early, sire."
" For friends, that would be a matter of no importance, one does
what one likes with one's friends; but for one's enemies, in that case
-nothing could be better than if they were to feel hurt. I should not be
sorry, I confess, to have to finish altogether with these marsh-birds, who
annoy me with their cries."
" It shall be precisely as your majesty desires. At nine o'clock,
therefore—I will give the necessary orders. Is it to be a formal au-
dience?"
"No. I wish to have an explanation with them, and not to embitter
matters, as is always the case when many persons are present; but, at
the same time, 1 wish to clear everything with them, in order not to
have to begin over again."
"Your majesty will inform me of the persons whom you wish to be
present at the reception."
"I will draw out a list of tliem. Let us speak of the ambassadors •
what do they want ?"
"Allies with Spain, they gain nothing; allies with France, they lose
much."
"Howis that?"
"Allied with Spain, they see themselves bounded and protected by
the possessions of their allies; they cannot touch them, however anxious
they may be to do so. From Antwerp to Rotterdam, is but a step, and
that by way of the Scheldt and the Meuse. If they wish to make a
bite at the Spanish cake, you, sire, the son-in-law of the king of Spain,
could with your cavalry go from your dominions to Brussels in a couple
of days. Their design is, therefore, only to quarrel so far with you,
and only to make you suspect Spain so far, as will be sufficient to
induce you not to interfere with their own affairs."
" It would be far more simple, I should think," replied the king, " to
form a solid alliance with me, by means of which I should gain some-
thing, while they would gain everything."
118 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGEIiONNE.
"Not so; for if, by chance, they were to have you, or France rather,
as a boundary, your majesty is not an agreeable neighbour; young,
ardent, warlike, the king of France might inflict some serious mischief
on Holland, especially if he were to get near her."
"I perfectly understand, M. Colbert, and you have explained it
very clearly; but be good enough to tell me the conclusion you have
arrived at.3'
" Your majesty's own decisions are never deficient in wisdom."
"What will these ambassadors say to me?"
" They will tell your majesty that they are ardently desirous of
forming an alliance with you, which will be a falsehood; they will tell
Spain that the three powers ought to unite so as to check the prosperity
of England, and that will equally be a falsehood; for, at present,
the natural ally of your majesty is England, who has ships when you
have none; England, who can counteract Dutch influence in India;
England, in fact, a monarchical country, to which your majesty is
attached by ties of relationship."
" Good; but how would you answer ?"
" I should answer, sire, with the greatest possible moderation of tone,
that the disposition of Holland does not seem friendly towards the king
of France; that the symptoms of public feeling among the Dutch are
alarming as regards your majesty; that certain medals have been struck
with insulting devices." _
"Towards me!" exclaimed the young king excitedly.
"Oh! no, sire, no; insulting is not the word; I was mistaken, I
ought to have said immeasurably flattering for the Dutch."
" Oh! if that be so, the pride of the Dutch is a matter of indifference
to me," said the king, sighing.
"Your majesty is right, a thousand times right. However, it is never
a mistake in politics, your majesty knows better than myself; to be
unjust in order to obtain a concession in your own favour. If your
majesty were to complain as if your susceptibility were offended, you
will stand in a far higher position with them."
""What are those medals you speak of?" inquired Louis; "for if I
allude to them, I ought to know what to say."
" Upon my word, sire, I cannot very well tell you—some overween-
ingly conceited device—that is the sense of it, the words have nothing
to do with the thing itself."
"Very good, I will mention the word 'medal,' and they can under-
stand it if they like."
"Oh! they will understand without any difficulty. Your majesty
can also slip in a few words about certain pamphlets which are being
circulated."
"Never ! Pamphlets befoul those who write them much more than
those against whom they are written. M. Colbert, I thank you, you
can leave me now. Do not forget the hour I have fixed, and be there
yourself."
" Sire, I await your majesty's list."
" True," returned the king; and he began to meditate; be did not
think of the list in the slightest degree. The clock struck half-past
eleven. The king's face revealed a violent conflict between pride and
love. The political conversation had dispelled a good deal of the irri-
tation which Louis had felt, and La Valliere's pale, worn features, in
his imagination, spoke a very different language to that of the Dutch
medals, or the Batavian pamphlets. He sat for ten minutes debating
within himself whether he should or should not return to La Valliere;
the ambassadors. ±19
but Colbert having with some urgency respectfully requested that the
list might be furnished him, the king blushed at thinking of mere
matters of affection when matters of business required his attention.
He therefore dictated: the queen-mother, the queen, Madame, Madame
de Motteville, Madame de Ckatillon, Madame de Noailles; and, for the
men, ,M. le Prince, M. de Grammont, M. de Manicamp, M. de Saint-
Aignan, and the officers on duty.
" The ministers," said Colbert.
" As a matter of course, and the secretaries also."
" Sire, I will leave at once in order to get everything prepared; the
orders will be at the different residences to-morrow."
" Say rather to-day," replied Louis mournfully, as the clock struck
twelve. It was the very hour when poor La Yalliere was almost dying
from anguish and bitter suffering. The king's attendants entered, it
being the hour of his retiring to rest; the queen, indeed, had been
waiting for more than an hour. Louis accordingly retired to his bed-
room with a sigh; but, as he sighed, he congratulated himself on his
courage, and applauded himself for having been as firm in love as in
affairs of state.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Ambassadors.
D'Artagnan had, with very few exceptions, learnt almost all the
particulars of what we have just been relating; for among his friends
ne reckoned all the useful, serviceable people in the royal household,—
officious attendants who were proud of being recognized by the captain
of the musketeers, for the captain's influence was very great; and then,
in addition to any ambitious views they may have imagined he could
promote, they were proud of being regarded as worth being spoken to
by a man as brave as d'Artagnan. In this manner d'Artagnan learnt
every morhing what he had not been able either to see or to ascertain
the night before, from the simple fact of his not being ubiquitous; so
that, with the information he had been able by his own means to pick
up during the day, and with what he had gathered from others, he sue-
ceeded in making up a bundle of weapons, which he untied as occasion
might require. In this way d'Artagnan's two eyes rendered him the
same service as the hundred eyes of Argus. Political secrets, bedside
revelations, hints or scraps of conversation dropped by the courtiers on
the threshold of the royal antechamber, in this way d'Artagnan ma-
naged to ascertain, and to put away everything in the vast and impene-
trable tomb of his memory, by the side of those royal secrets so dearly
bought and so faithfully preserved. He therefore knew of the king's
interview with Colbert, and of the appointment made for the am has-
sadors in the morning, and consequently he knew that the question of
the medals would be brought under debate; and, while he was arrang-
ing and constructing the conversation upon a few chance words which
had reached his ears, he returned to his post in the royal apartments,
so as to be there at the very moment the king would awake. It hap*
pened that the king woke very early,—proving thereby that he, too, on
his side, had slept but indifferently. Towards seven o'clock, he half-
opened his door very gently. D'Artagnan was at his post. His majesty
was pale, and seemed wearied; he had not, moreover, quite finished
dressing.
120 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Send for M. de Saint-Aignan," he said.
Saint-Aignan very probably awaited a summons, for the messenger,
when he reached his apartment, found him already dressed. Saint-
Aignan hastened to the king in obedience to the summons. A moment
afterwards the king and Saint-Aignan passed by together, but the king
walking first. D'Artagnan went to the window which looked out upon
the courtyards; he had no need to put himself to the trouble of watch-
ing in what direction the king went, for he had no difficulty in guessing
beforehand where his majesty was going. The king, in fact, bent his
steps towards the apartments of the maids of honour,—a circumstance
which in no way astonished d'Artagnan, for he more than suspected,
although La Valliere had not breathed a syllable on the subject, that
the king had some kind of reparation to make. Saint-Aignan followed
him as he had done the previous evening, rather less uneasy in his
mind, though still slightly agitated, for he fervently trusted that at
seven o'clock in the morning there might be only himself and the king
awake among the august guests at the palace. D'Artagnan stood at the
window, careless and perfectly calm in his manner. One could almost
have sworn that he noticed nothing and was utterly ignorant who were
these two hunters after adventures, who were passing across the court-
yards, wrapped up in their cloaks. And yet, all the while that d'Arta-
gnan appeared not to be looking at them at all, he did not for one
moment lose sight of them, and while he whistled that old march of
the musketeers, which he rarely recalled except under great emer-
gencies, he conjectured and prophesied how terrible would be the
storm which would be raised on the king's return. In fact, when the
king entered La Valliere's apartment and found the room empty and
the bed untouched, he began to be alarmed, and called out to Montalais,
who immediately answered the summons; but her astonishment was
equal to the king's. All that she could tell his majesty was, that she
had fancied she had heard La Valliere weep during a portion of the
night, but, knowing that his majesty had returned, she had not dared
to inquire what was the matter.
" But," inquired the king, " where do you suppose she is gone to ? "
" Sire," replied Montalais, " Louise is of a very sentimental disposi-
tion, and as I have often seen her rise at daybreak in order to go out
into the garden, she may perhaps be there now."
This appeared probable, and the king immediately ran down the
staircase in search of the fugitive. D'Artagnan saw him appear very
pale, and talking in an excited manner with his companion, as he went
towards the gardens; Saint-Aignan following him, out of breath.
D'Artagnan did not stir from the window, but went on whistling,
looking as if he saw nothing, and yet seeing everything. "Come,
come," he murmured, when the king disappeared, " his majesty's pas-
sion is stronger than I thought; he is now doing, I think, what he
never did for Mademoiselle de Mancini."
In a quarter of an hour the king again appeared: he had looked
everywhere, was completely out of breath, and, as a matter of course,
had not discovered anything. Saint-Aignan, who still followed him,
was fanning himself with his hat, and, in a gasping voice, asking for
information about La Valliere from such of the servants as were about,
in fact from every one he met. Among others he came across Mani-
camp, who had arrived from Fontainebleau by easy stages; for whilst
others had performed the journey in six hours, he had taken four-and-
twenty.
THE AMBASSADORS. 121
" Have you seen Mademoiselle de laValliere?" Saint-Aignan asked
him.
Whereupon Manicamp, dreamy and absent as usual, answered, think-
ing that some one was asking him about de Guiche, " Thank you, the
comte is a little better."
And he continued on his way until he reached the antechamber
where d'Artagnan was, and whom he asked to explain how it was the
king looked, as he thought, so bewildered; to which d'Artagnan replied
that he was quite mistaken; that the king, on the contrary, was as
lively and merry as he could possibly be.
In the midst of all this, eight o'clock struck. It was usual for the
king to take his breakfast at this hour, for the code of etiquette pre-
scribed that the king should always be hungry at eight o'clock. His
breakfast was laid upon a small table in his bedroom, and he ate very
fast. Saint-Aignan, of whom he would not lose sight, held his napkin
in his hand. He then disposed of several military audiences, during
which he despatched Saint-Aignan to see what he could find out. Then,
still occupied, still full of anxiety, still watching Saint-Aighan's return,
who had sent out his servants in every direction, to make inquiries, and
who had also gone himself, the hour of nine struck, and the king forth-
with passed into his large cabinet.
As the clock was striking nine the ambassadors entered, and as it
finished, the two queens and Madame made their appearance. There
were three ambassadors from Holland, and two from Spain. The king
glanced at them, and then bowed; and, at the same moment, Saint-
Aignan entered,—an entrance which the king regarded as far more im-
portant, in a different sense, however, than that of the ambassadors, how-
ever numerous they were, and from whatever country they came; and
so, setting everything else aside, the king made a sign of interrogation
to Saint-Aignan, which the latter answered by a most decisive negative.
The king almost entirely lost his courage; but as the queens, the mem-
bers of the nobility who were present, and the ambassadors, had their
eyes fixed upon him, he overcame his emotion by a violent effort, and
invited the latter to speak. Whereupon one of the Spanish deputies
made a long oration, in which he boasted the advantages which the
Spanish alliance would offer.
The king interrupted him, saying, " Monsieur, I trust that whatever
is advantageous for France must be exceedingly advantageous for
Spain."
This remark, and particularly the peremptory tone in which it was
pronounced, made the ambassadors pale, one brought the colour into the
cheeks of the two queens, who. being Spanish, felt wounded by this
reply in their pride of relationship and nationality.
The Dutch ambassador then began to address himself to the king,
and complained of the injurious suspicions which the king exhibited
against the government of his country.
The king interrupted him, saying, " It is very singular, monsieur,
that you should come with any complaint, when it is I rather who have
reason to be dissatisfied; and yet, you see, I do not complain."
" Complain, sire; and in what respect ? "
The king smiled bitterly. " Will you blame me, monsieur," he said,
" if I should happen to entertain suspicions against a government which
authorizes and protects public insulters ? " " Sire!"
"I tell you," resumed the king, exciting himself by a recollection of
his own personal annoyance, rather than from political grounds, " that
122 THE VIC03VITE DE BRAGELONNE.
Holland is a land of refuge for all who hate me, and especially for all
who malign me." " Oh, sire !"
"You wish for proofs, perhaps? Yery good; they can be had easily
enough. "Whence proceed all those insulting pamphlets which repre-
sent me as a monarch without glory and without authority: your
printing-presses groan under their number. If my secretaries were
here, I would mention the titles of the works as well as the names of
the printers."
" Sire," replied the ambassador, " a pamphlet can hardly be regarded
as the work of a whole nation. Is it just, is it reasonable, that a great
and powerful monarch like your majesty should render a whole nation
responsible for the crime of a few madmen, who are starving or dying
of hunger?"
" That may be the case, I admit. But when the mint at Amsterdam
strikes off medals which reflect disgrace upon me, is that also the crime
of a few madmen ?"
" Medals!" stammered out the ambassador.
" Medals," repeated the king, looking at Colbert.
" Your majesty," the ambassador ventured," should be quite sure "
The king still looked at Colbert; but Colbert appeared not to under-
stand him, and maintained an unbroken silence, notwithstanding the
king's repeated hints. D'Artagnan then approached the king, and
- taking a piece of money out of his pocket, he placed it in the king's
hands, saying: " That is the medal your majesty alludes to."
The king looked at it, and with a glance which, ever since he had
become his own master, had been always soaring in its gaze, observed
an insulting device representing Holland arresting the progress of the
sun, with this inscription: " In conspectu rneo stetit sol."
" In my presence the sun stands still," exclaimed the king furiously.
" Ah! you will hardly deny it, now, I suppose."
" And. the sun," said d'Artagnan," is this," as he pointed to the panels
of the cabinet, where the sun was brilliantly represented in every direc-
tion with this motto, " Neo pluribus imparl
Louis' anger, increased by the bitterness of his. own personal suffer-
ings, hardly required this additional circumstance to foment it. Every,
one saw, from the kindling passion in the king's eyes, that an explosion
was most imminent. A look from Colbert kept back the storm from
bursting forth. The ambassador ventured to frame excuses by saying
that the vanity of nations was a matter of little consequence; that
Holland was proud that, with such limited resources, she had maintained
her rank as a great nation, even against powerful monarchs, and that if
a little smoke had intoxicated his countrymen, the king would be kindly
disposed, and would excuse this intoxication. The king seemed as if he
would be glad of some one's advice; he looked at Colbert, who remained
impassible; then at d'Artagnan, who simply shrugged his shoulders,
a movement which was like the opening of the flood-gates, whereby the
king's anger, which he had restrained for so long a period, now burst
forth. As no one knew what direction his anger might take, all pre-
served a dead silence. The second ambassador took advantage of it to
begin his excuses also. "While he was speaking, and while the king, who
had again gradually returned to his own personal reflections, listened to
the voice, full of nervous anxiety, with the air of an absent man listen-
ing to the murmuring of a cascade, d'Artagnan, on whose left hand
Saint-Aignan was standing, approached the latter, and, in a voice
which was loud enough to reach the king's ears, said: " Have you heard
the neivs?"
THE AMBASSADOBS. 123
" What news ?" said Saint-Aignan.
" About La Yalliere ?"
The king started, and involuntarily advanced a step nearer to them.
"What has happened to La Yalliere?" inquired Saint-Aignan, in a
tone which can very easily be imagined.
" Ah ! poor girl! she is going to take the veil."
" The veil!" exclaimed Saint-Aignan.
" The veil!" cried the king, in the midst of the ambassador's dis-
•course4 but then, mindful of the rules of etiquette, he mastered him-
self, still listening, however, with rapt attention.
"What order?" inquired Saint-Aignan.
" The Carmelites of Chaillot."
" Who the deuce tcld you that ?" " She did herself."
"You have seen her, then ?"
"Nay, I even went with her to the Carmelites."
The king did not lose a syllable of this conversation; and again he
could hardly control his feelings.
"But what was the cause of her flight ?" inquired Saint-Aignan.
" Because the poor girl was driven away from the court yesterday,"
replied d'Artagnan.
He had no sooner said this, than the king, with an authoritative
gesture, said to the ambassador, " Enough, monsieur, enough." Then,
advancing towards the captain, he exclaimed: " Who says that La
Valliere is going to take religious vows ?"
" M. d'Artagnan," answered the favourite.
"Is it true what you say?" said the king, turning towards the
musketeer.
. " As true as truth itself."
The king clenched his hands, and turned pale. "You have something
further to add, M. d'Artagnan ? " he said.
" I know nothing more, sire."
"You added that Mademoiselle de la Yalliere had been driven away
from the court." " Yes, sire."
" Is that true, also ?"
" Ascertain it for yourself, sire."
" And from whom ?"
" Oh!" said d'Artagnan, like a man declining to say anything further.
The king almost bounded from his seat, regardless of ambassadors,
ministers, courtiers, and politics. The queen-mother rose; she had
heard everything, or, if she had not heard everything, she had guessed
it. Madame, almost fainting from anger and fear, endeavoured to rise
as the queen-mother had done; but she sank down again upon her
chair, which by an instinctive movement she made roll back a few paces.
/'Gentlemen," said the king, "the audience is over; I will commu-
nicate my answer, or rather my will, to Spain and to Holland;" and
with a proud, imperious gesture, he dismissed the ambassadors.
" Take care, my son," said the queen-mother, indignantly, " take care,
you are hardly master of yourself, I think."
" Ah! madame," returned the young lion, with a terrible gesture,
" if I am not master of myself, I will be, I promise you, of those who do
me outrage; come with me, M. d'Artagnan, come." And he quitted the
room in the midst of a general stupefaction and dismay. The king
hastily descended the staircase, and was about to cross the courtyard.
" Sire," said d'Artagnan, " your majesty mistakes the way."
"No; I am going to the stables."
" That is useless, sire, for I have horses readv for vour maiestv."
124 the vicomte de beagelonne.
The king's only answer was a look, but this look promised more than
the ambition of three d'Artagnans could have dared to hope.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Chaillot.
Although they had not been summoned, Manicamp and Malicorne
had followed the king and d'Artagnan. They were both exceedingly
intelligent men; except that Malicorne was generally too precipitate,
owing to his ambition; while Manicamp was frequently too tardy,
owing to his idleness. On this occasion, however, they arrived at pre-
cisely.the proper moment. Five horses were waiting^ in readiness. Two
were seized upon by the king and d'Artagnan, two others by Mani-
camp and Malicorne, while a groom belonging to the stables mounted
the fifth. The whole cavalcade set off at a gallop. D'Artagnan had
been very careful in his selection of the horses; they were the very
animals for distressed lovers—horses which did not simply run, but
flew. Within ten minutes after their departure, the cavalcade, amidst
a cloud of dust, arrived at Chaillot. The king literally threw himself
off his horse; but, notwithstanding the rapidity with which he accom-
plished this manoeuvre, he found d'Artagnan already holding his
stirrup. 'With a sign of acknowledgment to the musketeer, he threw
the bridle to the groom, then darted into the vestibule, violently
pushed open the door, and entered the reception-room. Manicamp,
Malicorne, and the groom, remained outside, d'Artagnan alone follow-
ing him. When he entered the reception-room, the first object which
met his gaze was Louise herself, not simply on her knees, but lying at
the foot of a large stone crucifix. The young girl was stretched upon
the damp flagstones, scarcely visible in the gloom of the apartment,
which was lighted only by means of a narrow window, protected by
bars, and completely shaded by creeping plants. She was alone, inani-
mate, cold as the stone to which she was clinging. When the king saw
her in this state, he thought she was dead, and uttered a loud cry,
which made d'Artagnan hurry into the room. The king had already
passed one of his arms round her body, and d'Artagnan assisted him
in raising the poor girl, whom the torpor of death seemed already to
have taken possession of. D'Artagnan seized hold of the alarm-bell,
and rang with all his might. The Carmelite sisters immediately
hastened at the summons, and uttered loud exclamations of alarm and
indignation at the sight of the two men holding a woman in their
arms. The superior also hurried to the scene of action; but, far more
a creature of the world than any of the female members of the court,
notwithstanding her austerity of manners, she recognized the king at
the first glance, by the respect which those present exhibited for him,
as well as by the imperious and authoritative way in which he had
thrown the whole establishment into confusion. As soon as she saw
the king, she retired to her own apartments, in order to avoid compro-
mising her dignity. But, by one of the nuns, she sent various cor-
dials, Hungary water, &c. &c., and ordered that all the doors should be
immediately closed, a command which was just in time, for the king's
distress was fast becoming of a most clamorous and despairing cha-
racter. He had almost decided to send for his own physician, when
La Yalliere exhibited signs of returning animation. The first object
CHAILLOT. 125
which met her gaze, as she opened her eyes, was the king at her feet;
in all probability she did not recognize him, for she uttered a deep
sigh full of anguish and distress. Louis fixed his eyes devouringly
upon her face ; and when, in the course of a few moments, she recog-
nized the king, she endeavoured to tear herself from his embrace.
" Oh, Heavens ! " she murmured, "is not the sacrifice yet made ? "
"No, no," exclaimed the king, "and it shall not be made, I swear."
Notwithstanding her weakness and utter despair, she rose from the
ground, saying, " It must be made, however; it must be; so do not stay
me in my purpose."
" I leave you to sacrifice yourself! I! never, never!" exclaimed the
" Well," murmured d'Artagnan, " I may as well go now. As soon as
they begin to speak, we may as well save their having any listeners."
And he quitted the room, leaving the two lovers alone.
"Sire," continued La Valliere, "not another word, I implore you.
Do not destroy the only future I can hope for—my salvation; do not
destroy the glory and brightness of your own future for a mere caprice."
"A caprice !" cried the king.
" Oh, sire ! it is now, only, that I can see clearly into your heart."
"You, Louise, what mean you?"
"An inexplicable impulse, foolish and unreasonable in its nature,
may momentarily appear to offer a sufficient excuse for your conduct;
but there are duties imposed upon you which are incompatible with
your regard for a poor girl such as I am. So, forget me."
" I forget you! " " You have already done so."
" Rather would I die."
"You cannot love one whose peace of mind you hold so lightly, and
whom you so cruelly abandoned, last night, to the bitterness of death."
" What can you mean ? Explain yourself, Louise."
"What did you ask me yesterday morning ? To love you. What
did you promise me in return ? Never to let midnight pass without
offering me an opportunity of reconciliation, whenever your anger
might be aroused against me."
Oh! forgive me, Louise, forgive me! I was almost mad from
jealousy."
"Jealousy is an unworthy thought, sire. You may become jealous
again, and will end by killing me. Be merciful, then, and leave me
now to die."
" Another word, mademoiselle, in that strain, and you will see me
expire at your feet."
"No, no, sire, I am better acquainted with my own demerits; and
believe me, that to sacrifice yourself for one whom all despise, would
be needless."
" Give me the names of those you have cause to complain of."
"I have no complaints, sire, to prefer against anyone; no one but
myself to accuse. Earewell, sire; you are compromising yourself in
speaking to me in such a manner."
" Oh! be careful, Louise, in what you say; for you are reducing me to
the very depths of despair."
" Oh! sire, sire, leave me to the protection of Heaven, 1 implore you."
"No, no; Heaven itself shall not tear you from me."
" Save me, then," cried the poor girl, " from those determined and
pitiless enemies who are thirsting to destroy my very life and honour
too. If you have courage enough to love me, show at least that you
have power enough to defend me. But no; she whom you say you
126 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
love, others insult and mock, and drive shamelessly away." And the
gentle-hearted girl, forced, by her own bitter distress to accuse others,
'wrung her hands in an uncontrollable agony of tears.
"You have been driven away !" exclaimed the king. "This is the
second time I have heard that said."
"I have been driven away with shame and ignominy, sire. You
see, then, that I have no other protector but Heaven, no consolation
but prayer, and this cloister is my only refuge."
" My palace, my whole court, shall be yours. Oh ! fear nothing fur-
ther now, Louise; those, be they men or women, who yesterday drove
you away, shall to-morrow tremble before you—to-morrow, do I say ?
nay, this very day have I already shown my displeasure—have already
threatened. It is in my power, even now, to hurl the thunderbolt
which I have hitherto withheld. Louise, Louise, you shall be cruelly
revenged; tears of blood shall repay you for the tears you have shed.
Give me only the names of your enemies."
" Never, never."
" How can I show my anger, then ? "
" Sire, those upon whom your anger would have to fall, would force
you to draw back your hand upraised to punish."
" Oh ! you do not know me," cried the king, exasperated. " Bather
than draw back, I would sacrifice my kingdom, and would curse my
family. Yes, I would strike until this arm had utterly annihilated all
those who bad ventured to make themselves the enemies of the gentlest
and best of creatures." And, as he said these words, Louis struck his
fist violently against the oaken wainscoting with a force which alarmed
LaValliere; for his anger, owing to his unbounded power, had some-
thing imposing and threatening in it, and, like the tempest, might be
mortal in its effects. She, who thought that her own sufferings could
not be surpassed, was overwhelmed by a suffering which revealed itself
by menace and by violence.
" Sire," she said, " for the last time I implore you to leave me;
already do I feel strengthened by the calm seclusion of this asylum;
and the protection of Heaven has reassured me; for all the petty
human meannesses of this world are forgotten beneath the Divine
protection. Once more, then, sire, and for the last time, I again im-
plore you to leave me."
"Confess, rather," cried Louis, "that, you have never loved me;
admit that my "humility and my repentance are flattering to your
pride; but that my distress affects you not; that the king of this wide
realm is no longer regarded as a lover whose tenderness of devotion
is capable of working out your happiness; but that he is a despot
whose caprice has utterly destroyed in your heart the very last fibre of
human feeling. Do not say you are seeking Heaven, say rather that
you are fleeing the king."
Louise's heart was wrung within her, as she listened to his passionate
utterance, which made the fever of passion course through every vein
in her body. " But did you not hear me say, that I have been driven
away, scorned, despised P"
" I will make you the most respected, the most adored, and the most
envied of my whole court."
" Prove to me, that you have not ceased to love me."
" In what way ? " " By leaving me ? "
^ I will prove it to you by never leaving you again."
" But do you imagine, sire, that I shall allow that; do you imagine
that I will let you come to an open rupture with every member of vour
CHAILLOT. 127
family; do you imagine, that, for my sake, you could abandon mother,
wife, and sister ?"
"Ah ! you have named them, then, at last; it is they, then, who have
wrought this grievous injury ? By the heaven above us, then, upon
them shall my anger fall."
" That is the reason why the future terrifies me, why I refuse every-
thing, why I do not wish you to revenge me. Tears enough have
already been shed, sufficient sorrow and affliction have already been
occasioned. I, at least, will never be the cause of sorrow, or affliction,
or distress, to whomsoever it may be, for I have mourned and suffered,
and wept too much myself."
"Ana do you count my sufferings, my distress, and my tears, as no-
thing?"
"In Heaven's name, sire, do not speak to me, in that manner. I need
all my courage to enable me to accomplish the sacrifice."
" Louise, Louise, I implore you! whatever you desire, whatever you
command, whether vengeance or forgiveness, your slightest wish shall
be obeyed, but do not abandon me."
" Alas ! sire, we must part,"
" You do not love me, then !" " Heaven knows I do!"
" It is false, Louise; it is false."
"Oh! sire, if I did not love you, I should let you do what you
please; I should let you revenge me, in return for the insult which has
been inflicted on me; I should accept the sweet triumph to my pride
which you propose; and yet, you cannot deny, that I reject even the
sweet compensation which your affection affords, that affection, which
for me is life itself, for I wished to die when I thought that you loved
me no longer."
"Yes, yes; I now know, I now perceive it; you are the holiest, the
best, the purest of women. There is no one so worthy as yourself,
not alone of my own respect and devotion, but also of the respect and
devotion of all who surround me; and therefore shall no one be loved
like yourself; no one shall ever possess the influence over me that you
wield. You wish me to be calm, to forgive; be it so, you shall find me
perfectly unmoved. You wish to reign by gentleness and clemency, I
will be clement and gentle. Dictate for me the conduct you wish me
to adopt, and I will obey blindly."
" In Heaven's name, no, sire; what am I, a poor girl, to dictate to so
great a monarch as yourself ? "
"You are my life, the very spirit and principle of my being. Is it
not the spirit that rules the body ?"
"You love me, then, sire?"
" On my knees, yes; with my hands upraised to you, yes; with all the
strength and power of my being, yes; I love you so deeply, that I would
happily lay down my life for you, at your merest wish."
" Oh ! sire, now that I know you love me, I have nothing to wish for
in the whole world. Give me your hand, sire; and then, farewell! I
have enjoyed in this life all the happiness which I was destined to meet
with."
" Oh ! no, no ! your happiness is not a happiness of yesterday, it is of
to-day, of to-morrow, ever-enduring. The future is yours, everything
which is mine is yours too. Away with these ideas of separation, away
with these gloomy, despairing thoughts. You will live for me, as I will
live for you, Louise." And he threw himself at her feet, embracing her
knees with the wildest transports of joy and gratitude.
" Oh ! sire, sire! all that is but a wild dream."
128 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
M Why, a wild dream ?"
" Because I cannot return to the court. Exiled, how can I see you
again? Would it not he far better to bury myself in a cloister for the
rest of my life, with the rich consolation that your affection gives me,
with the latest pulses of your heart beating for me, and your latest con-
fession of attachment still ringing in my ears?"
"Exiled, you!" exclaimed Louis XIV., "and who dares to exile, let
me ask, when I recall ?"
" Oh! sire, something which is greater than and superior to kings
even—the world and public opinion. Reflect for a moment; you cannot
love a woman who has been ignominiously driven away—love one,
whom your mother has stained with suspicion; one, whom your sister
has threatened with disgrace; such a woman, indeed, would be un-
worthy of you." <
" Unworthy ! one who belongs to me?"
" Yes, sire, precisely on that account; from the very moment she
belongs to you, the character of your mistress renders her unworthy."
"You are right,'Louise, every shade of delicacy of feeling is yours.
Very well, you shall not be exiled."
" Ah ! from the tone in which you speak, you have not heard Madame,
that is very clear."
" I will appeal from her to my mother."
" Again, sire, you have not seen your mother."]
" She, also! poor Louise ! every one's hand, then, is against you."
"Yes, yes, poor Louise, who was already bending beneath the fury of
the storm when you arrived, and crushed her beneath the weight of
your displeasure."
" Oh! forgive me."
" You will not, I know, be able to make either of them yield; believe,
me, the evil cannot be repaired, for I will not allow you to use violence,
or to exercise your authority."
"Very well, Louise, to prove to you how fondly I love you, I will do
one thing, I will see Madame; I will make her revoke her sentence, I
will compel her to do so."
" Compel ? Oh ! no, no !"
" True; you are right. I will bend her."
Louise shook her head.
" I will entreat her, if it be necessary," said Louis. " Will you believe
in my affection after that ?"
Louise drew herself up! " Oh, never, never, shall -you humiliate
yourself on my account; sooner, a thousand times, wrould I die."
Louis reflected, his features assumed a dark expression. " I will love
as much as you have loved; I will suffer as keenly as you have suffered;
this shall be my expiation in your eyes. Come, mademoiselle, put aside
these paltry considerations; let us show ourselves as great as our suffer-
ings, as strong as our affection for each other." And, as he said this, lie
took her in his arms, and encircled her waist with both his hands,
saying, " My own love! my own dearest and best-beloved, follow me."
She made a final effort, in which she concentrated—no longer all her
firmness of will, for that had long since been overcome, but all her
physical strength. "No !" she replied, weakly, " no ! no ! I should die
from shame."
" No ! you shall return like a queen. No one knows of your having
left except, indeed, d'Artagnan."
" He has betrayed me, then ?" " In what way ?"
" He promised me faithfully "
madame. 129
__ " I promised not to say anything to the king," said d'Artagnan, put-
ting in his head through the half-opened door, " and I kept my word; I
was speaking to M. de Saint-Aignan, and it was not my fault, if the king
overheard me; was it, sire ?"
" It is quite true," said the king, " forgive him."
La Valliere smiled, and held out her small white hand to the musketeer.
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, " be good enough to see if
you can find a carriage for Mademoiselle de la Valliere."
" Sire," replied the captain, " the carriage is waiting at the gate."
."You are the most perfect model of thoughtfulness," exclaimed the
king.
" You have taken a long time to find it out," muttered d'Artagnan,
notwithstanding he was flattered by the praise bestowed upon him.
La Valliere was overcome: after a little further hesitation, she allowed
herself to be led away half fainting, by her royal lover. But, as she
was on the point of leaving the room, she tore herself from the king's
grasp, and returned to the stone crucifix which she kissed, saying, " Oh!
Heaven ! it was thou who drewest me hither ! thou, who hast rejected
me; but thy grace is infinite. Whenever I shall again return, forget
that I have ever separated myself from thee, for, when I return, it will
be—never to leave thee again."
The king could not restrain his emotion, and d'Artagnan, even, was
overcome. Louis bore the young girl away, lifted her into the carriage,
and directed d'Artagnan to seat himself beside her, while he, mounting
his horse, spurred violently towards the Palais-Royal, where, immedi-
on his arrival, he sent to request an audience of Madame.
CHAPTER XXX.
madame.
Fbom the manner in which the king had dismissed the ambassadors,
even the least clear-sighted persons belonging to the court had imagined
war would ensue. The ambassadors themselves, but slightly acquainted
with the king's domestic disturbances, had interpreted as directed
against themselves the celebrated sentence: " If I be not master of
myself, I, at least, will be so of those who insult me." Happily for the
destinies of Prance and Holland, Colbert had followed them out of the
king's presence, for the purpose of explaining matters to them; but the
two queens and Madame, who were perfectly aware of every particular
circumstance that had taken place in their several households, having
heard the remark so full of dark meaning, retired to their own apart-
ments in no little fear and chagrin. Madame, especially, felt that the
royal anger might fall upon her; and, as she was brave and exceedingly
proud, instead of seeking support and encouragement from the queen-
mother, she had returned to her own apartments, if not without some
uneasiness, at least without any intention of avoiding the encounter.
Anne of Austria, from time to time at frequent intervals, sent messages
to learn if the king had returned. The silence which the whole palace
preserved upon the matter, a-nd upon Louise's disappearance, was
indicatives of a long train of misfortunes to all those who knew the
haughty and irritable humour of the king. But Madame remained
perfectly unmoved in spite of all the flying rumours, shut herself up
in her apartments, sent for Moutalais, and, with a voice as calm as she
vol. il £
THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
/ixld possibly command, desired her to relate all she knew about the
/vent itself. At the moment that the eloquent Montalais was con-
eluding, with all kinds of oratorical precautions, and was recommend-
ing, if not in actual language, at least in spirit, that she should show a
forbearance towards La Valliere, M. Malicorne made his appearance to
beg an audience of Madame, on behalf of his majesty. Montalais'
worthy friend bore upon his countenance all the signs of the very live-
liest emotion. It was impossible to be mistaken; the interview which
the king requested would be one of the most interesting chapters in
the history of the hearts of kings and of men. Madame was disturbed
by her brother-in-law's arrival; she did not expect it so soon, nor had
she, indeed, expected any direct step on Louis' part. Besides, all women
who wage war successfully by indirect means, are invariably neither
very skilful nor very strong when it becomes a question of accepting a
pitched battle. Madame, however, was not one who ever drew back;
she had the very opposite defect or qualification, in whichever light it
may be considered ; she took an exaggerated view of what constituted
real courage; and therefore the king's message, of which Malicorne had
been the bearer, was regarded by her as the trumpet proclaiming the
commencement of hostilities. She, therefore, boldly accepted the gage
of battle. Five minutes afterwards the king ascended the staircase.
His colour was heightened from having ridden hard. His dusty and
disordered clothes formed a singular contrast with the fresh and per-
fectly arranged toilette of Madame, who, notwithstanding her rouge,
turned pale as the king entered her room. Louis lost no time in ap-
proaching the object of his visit; he sat down, and Montalais dis-
appeared.
" My dear sister," said the king, " you are aware that Mademoiselle
de la Valliere fled from her own room this morning, and that she has
retired to a cloister, overwhelmed by grief and despair." As he pro-
nounced these words, the king's voice was singularly moved.
" Your majesty is the first to inform me of it," replied Madame.
" I should have thought that you might have learnt it this morning,
during the reception of the ambassadors," said the king.
" From your emotion, sire, I imagined that something extraordinary
had happened, but without knowing what."
The king, with his usual frankness, went straight to the point. " Why
have you sent Mademoiselle de la Valliere away ?"
"Because I had reason to be dissatisfied with her conduct," she
Replied, drily.
The king became crimson, and his eyes kindled with a fire which it
required all Madame's courage to support. He mastered his anger,
however, and continued, " A stronger reason than that is surely requi-
site, for one so good and kind as you are, to turn away and dishonour,
not only the young girl herself, but every member of her family as well.
You know that the whole city has its eyes fixed upon the conduct of the
female portion of the court. To dismiss a maid of honour, is to attri-
bute a crime to her—at the very least a fault. What crime, what fault
has Mademoiselle de la Valliere been guilty of?"
" Since you constitute yourself the protector of Mademoiselle de la
Valliere," replied Madame, coldly, " I will give .you those explanations
which I should have a perfect right to withhold from every one."
" Even from the king!" exclaimed Louis, as, with a sudden gesture,
he covered his head with his hat.
" You have called me your sister," said Madame, " and I am in my
own apartments,"
MADAME. ' 131
"It matters not," said the youthful monarch, ashamed at having
been hurried away by his anger; " neither you, nor any one else in
this kingdom, can assert a right to withhold an explanation in my pre-
sence."
" Since that is the way you regard it," said Madame, in a hoarse,
angry tone of voice, " all that remains for me to do is to bow submis-
sively to your majesty, and to be silent."
" No; let there be no equivocation between us."
" The protection with which you surround Mademoiselle de la Valliere
does not impose any respect."
"No equivocation, I repeat; you are perfectly aware that, as head of
the nobility of France, I am accountable to all for the honour of every
family. You dismiss Mademoiselle de la Valliere, or whoever else it
may he " Madame shrugged her shoulders.
" Or whoever else it may be, I repeat," continued the king; " and as,
in acting in that manner, you cast a dishonourable reflection upon that
person, I ask you for an explanation, in order that I may confirm or
annul the sentence."
" Annul my sentence !" exclaimed Madame, haughtily. " What!
when I "have discharged one of my attendants, do you order me to take
her back again ?" The king remained silent.
" This would cease to be an excess of power merely, sire; it would be
indecorous and unseemly." " Madame!"
" As a woman, I should revolt against an abuse so insulting to me;
I should no longer be able to regard myself as a princess of your blood,
a daughter of a monarch; I should be the meanest of creatures, more
humble and disgraced than the servant I had sent away."
The king rose from his seat with anger. " It cannot be a heart,"
he cried, " you have beating in your bosom; if you act in such a way
with me, I may have reason to act with similar severity."
It sometimes happens that in a battle a chance ball may reach its
mark. The observation which the king had made, without any particular
intention, struck Madame home, and staggered her for a moment;
some day or other she might indeed have reason to dread reprisals.
" At all events, sire," she said, " explain what you require."
" I ask, madame, what has Mademoiselle de la Valliere done to war-
rant your conduct towards her ?"
"She is the most cunning fomenter of intrigues I know; she was
the occasion of two personal friends engaging in mortal combat; and
has made people talk of her in such shameless terms that the whole
court is indignant at the mere sound of her name."
" She ! she!" cried the king.
" Under her soft and hypocritical manner," continued Madame, " she
hides a disposition full of foul and dark deceit." " She !"
" You may possibly be deceived, sire, but I know her right well; she
is capable of creating dispute and misunderstanding between the most
affectionate relatives and the most intimate friends. You see that she
has already sown discord between us two."
" I do assure you " said the king.
" Sire, look well into the case as it stood; we were living on the most
friendly understanding, and by the artfulness of her tales and com-
plaints, she has set your majesty against me."
" I swear to you," said the king," that on no occasion has a bitter word
ever passed her lips; I swear that, even in my wild bursts of passion,
she would never allow me to menace any one; and I swear, too, that
you do not possess a more devoted and respectful friend than she is."
x 2
132 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELOHNE.
" Priend!" said Madame, with an expression of supreme disdain.
" Take care, madame!" said the king; " you forget that you now
understand me, and that from this moment everything is equalized.
Mademoiselle de la Vallibre will be whatever I may choose her to
become; and, to-morrow, if I were to determine to do so, I could seat
her on a throne."
" She will not have been horn to a throne, at least, and whatever
you may do can affect the future alone, but cannot affect the past."
" Madame, towards you I have shown every kind consideration, and
every eager desire to please you; do not remind me that I am master
here."
" That is the second time, sire, that you have made, that remark, and
I have already informed you I am ready to submit."
" In that case, then, will you confer upon me the favour of receiving
Mademoiselle de la Valliere back again."
" Por what purpose, sire, since you have a throne to bestow upon her.
I am too insignificant to protect so exalted a personage."
" Nay, a truce to this bitter and disdainful spirit. Grant me her
forgiveness."
"Never!"
"You drive me, then, to open warfare in my own family."
" I, too, have my own family, where I can find refuge."
" Do you mean that as a threat, and could you forget yourself so far ?
Do you believe that, if you push the affront to that extent, your family
would encourage you ? " ,
" I hope, sire, that you will not force me to take any step .which would
be unworthy of my rank."
" I hoped that you would remember our friendship, and that you
would treat me as a brother."
Madame paused for a moment. " I do not disown you for a brother,"
she said, " in refusing your majesty an injustice."
" An injustice!"
" Oh, sire! if I informed others of La Valliere's conduct; if the queen
knew "
" Come, come, Henriette, let your heart speak; remember that you
have loved me; remember, too, that human hearts should be as merci-
ful as the heart of our sovereign Master. Do not be inflexible with
others; forgive La Valliere."
" I cannot; she has offended me."
" But for my sake."
" Sire, for your sake I would do anything in the world, except that."
" You will drive me to despair—you compel me to turn to the last
resource of weak people, and seek counsel of my angry and wrathful
disposition."
" I advise you to be reasonable."
"Reasonable !—I can be so no longer."
" Nay, sire! I pray you "
" For pity's sake, Henriette; it is the first time I have entreated any
one, and I have no hope in any one but in you."
" Oh, sire! you are weeping."
" Prom rage, from humiliation. That I, the king, should have been
obliged to descend to entreaty. I shall hate this moment during my
whole life. You have made me suffer in one moment more distress and
more degradation of feeling than I could have anticipated in the great-
est extremity in life." And the king rose and gave free vent to his
tears, which, in fact, were tears of anger and of shame.
LA. vallieee's pocket-handkeechief. 133
Madame was not touched exactly—for the best women, when their
pride is hurt, are without pity; but she was afraid that the tears the
king was shedding might possibly carry away every soft and tender feel-
ing in his heart. " Give what commands you please, sire," she said;
" and since you prefer my humiliation to your own—although mine is
public and yours has been witnessed but by myself alone—speak, I will
obey your majesty."
" No, no, Henriette !" exclaimed Louis, transported with gratitude,
" you will have yielded to a brother's wishes."
" I no longer have any brother, since I obey."
" Will you accept my kingdom in grateful acknowledgment ? "
" How passionately you love, sire, when you do love !"
He did not answer. He'had seized upon Madame's hand and covered
it with kisses. " And so you will receive this poor girl back again, and
will forgive her ; you will find how gentle and pure-hearted she is."
" I will maintain her in my household."
" No, you will give her your friendship, my sister."
" I have never liked her."
"Well, for my sake, you will treat her kindly, will you not Hen-
riette ? "
" I will treat her as your mistress."
The king rose suddenly to his feet. By this word, which had so un-
fortunately escaped her lips, Madame had destroyed the whole merit of
her sacrifice. The king felt freed from all obligation. Exasperated be-
yond measure, and bitterly offended, he replied:
" I thank you, madame; I shall never forget the service you have
rendered me." And, saluting her with an affectation of ceremony, he
took his leave of her. As he passed before a glass, he saw that his eyes
were red, and angrily stamped his foot on the ground. But it was too
late, for Malicorne and a'Artagnan, who were standing at the door, had
seen his eyes.
" The king has been crying," thought Malicorne. L'Artagnan ap-
proached the king with a respectful air, and said in a low tone of voice:
" Sire, it would be better to return to your own apartments by the
small staircase." ■" Why ? "
" Because the dust of the road has left its traces on your face," said
d'Artagnan. " By Heaven!" he thought, " when the king has been
giving way like a child, let those look to it who may make her weep for
whom the king has shed tears."
CHAPTER XXXI.
Mademoiselle de la Valliere's Pocket-handkerchief.
Madame was not bad-hearted, she was only hasty and impetuous.
The king was not imprudent, he was only in love. Hardly had they
both entered into this sort of compact, which terminated in La Yal-
here's recall, when they both sought to make as much as they could
by their bargain. The king wished to see La Yalliere every moment
in the day; while Madame, who was sensible of the king's annoyance
ever since he had so entreated her, would not abandon La Yalliere
without a contest. She planted every conceivable difficulty in the
king's path; he was, in fact, obliged, in order to get a glimpse of La
Yalliere, to be exceedingly devoted in his attentions to his sister-in-law,
and this, indeed, was Madame's plan of policy. As she had chosen
134 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
some one to second her efforts, and as this person was our old friend
Montalais, the king found himself completely hemmed in every time he
paid Madame a visit: he was surrounded, and was never left a moment
alone. Madame displayed in her conversations a charm of manner and
brilliancy of wit which eclipsed everything. Montalais followed her,
and soon rendered herself perfectly insupportable to the king, which
was, in fact, the very thing she expected would happen. She then
set Malicorne at the king, who found the means of informing his
majesty that there was a young person belonging to the court who was
exceedingly miserable; and on the king inquiring who this person was,
Malicorne replied that it was Mademoiselle de Montalais. To this the
king answered that it was perfectly just that a person should be un-
happy when she rendered others so. Whereupon Malicorne explained
how matters stood; for he had received his directions from Montalais.
The king began to open his eyes; he remarked that, as soon as he
made his appearance, Madame made hers too; that she remained in
the corridors until after he had left; that she accompanied him back
to his own apartments, fearing that he might speak in the antechambers
to one of her maids of honour. One evening she went further still.
The'king was seated, surrounded by the ladies who were present, and
holding in his hand, concealed by his lace ruffle, a small note which he
wished to slip into La Valliere's hand. Madame guessed both his
intention and the letter too. It was very difficult to prevent the king
going wherever he pleased, and yet it was necessary to prevent his
going near La Valliere, to speak to her, as by so doing he could let the
note fall into her lap behind her fan, and into her pocket-handkerchief.
The king, who was also on the watch, suspected that a snare was being
laid for him. He rose and pushed his chair, without affectation,
near Mademoiselle de Chatillon, with whom he began to talk in a
light tone. They were amusing themselves In making rhymes; from
Mademoiselle de Chatillon he went to Montalais, and then to Made-
xnoiselle de Tonnay-Charente. And thus, by this skilful manoeuvre, he
found himself seated opposite to La Valliere, whom he completely con-
cealed. Madame pretended to be greatly occupied; she was altering
a group of flowers that she was working in tapestry. The king showed
the corner of his letter to La Valliere, and the latter held out her
handkerchief with a look which signified, " Put the letter inside."
Then, as the king had placed his own handkerchief upon his chair, he
was adroit enough to let it fall on the ground, so that La Valhere
slipped her handkerchief on the chair. The king took it up quietly,
without any one observing what he did, placed the letter within it, and
returned the handkerchief to the place he had taken it from. There
was only just time for La Valliere to stretch out her hand to take hold
of the handkerchief with its valuable contents.
But Madame, who had observed everything that had passed, said to
Mademoiselle de Chatillon, " Chatillon, be good enough to pick up the
king's handkerchief, if you please; it has fallen on the carpet."
The young girl obeyed with the utmost precipitation, the king having
moved from his seat, and La Valliere being in no little degree nervous
and confused.
" Ah! I beg your majesty's pardon," said Mademoiselle de Chatillon;
" you have two handkerchiefs, I perceive."
_ And the king was accordingly obliged to put into his pocket LaVal-
here's handkerchief as well as his own. He certainly gained that souvenir
of Louise, who lost, however, a copy of verses which had cost the king tea
hours' hard labour, and which, as far as he was concerned, was perhaps
LA. VALLIEBE'S POCKET-HANDKEBCHIEF. 135
as good as a long poem. It would be impossible to describe the king's
anger and La Valliere's despair; but shortly afterwards a circumstance
occurred which was more than remarkable. When the king left, in order
to retired to his own apartments, Malicorne, informed of what had passed,
one can hardly tell how, was waiting in the antechamber. The ante-
chambers of the Palais-Royal are naturally very dark, and, in the
evening, they were but indifferently lighted. Nothing pleased the king
more than this dim light. As a general rule, love, whose mind and
heart are constantly in a blaze, dislikes light anywhere else than in the
mind and heart. And so the antechamber was dark; a page carried a
torch before the king, who walked on slowly, greatly annoyed at what
had recently occurred. Malicorne passed close to the king, almost
stumbled against him in fact, and begged his forgiveness with the pro-
foundest humility; but the king, who was in an exceedingly ill-temper,
was very sharp in his reproof to Malicorne, who disappeared as soon
and as quietly as he possibly could. Louis retired to rest, having had
a misunderstanding with the queen; and the next day, as soon as he
entered the cabinet, he wished to have La Valliere's handkerchief in
order to press his lips to it. He called his valet.
" Fetch me," he said, " the coat I wore yesterday evening, but be very
sure you do not touch anything it may contain."
The order being obeyed, the king himself searched the pocket of
the coat; he found, only one handkerchief, and that his own; La Val-
liere's had disappeared. Whilst busied with all kinds of conjectures
and suspicions, a letter was brought to him from La Valliere; it ran in
these terms:—
" How kind and good of you to have sent me those beautiful verses;
how full of ingenuity and perseverance your affection is; how is it pos-
sible to help loving you so dearly !"
" What does this mean?" thought the king; "there must be some
mistake. Look well about," he said to the valet, " for a pocket-hand-
kerchief must be in one of my pockets; and if you do not find it, or if
you have touched it " He reflected for a moment. To make a
state matter of the loss of the handkerchief, would be to act too
absurdly, and he therefore added, " There was a letter of some im-
portance inside the handkerchief which had somehow got among the
folds of it."
" Sire," replied the valet, " your majesty had only one handkerchief,
and that is it."
" True, true," replied the king, setting his teeth hard together.
" Oh, poverty, how I envy you ! Happy is the man who can empty
his own pockets of letters and handkerchiefs!"
He read La Valliere's letter over again, endeavouring to imagine in
what conceivable way his verses could have reached their destination.
There was a postscript to the letter:—
" I send you back by your messenger this reply, so unworthy of what
you sent me."
( " So far so good; I shall find out something now," he said, delightedly.
" Who is waiting, and who brought me this letter ?" _
" M. Malicorne," replied the valet-de-chambre, timidly.
" Desire him to come in."
Malicorne entered.
" You come from Mademoiselle de la Valliere ?" said the king, with
a sigh. " Yes, sire."
136 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" And you took Mademoiselle de la "Vallifere something from me ?"
" I, sire ? "
" Yes, you." " Oh no, sire."
" Mademoiselle de la Valliere says so distinctly."
" Oh, sire, Mademoiselle de la Valliere is mistaken."
The king frowned. " What jest is this ?" he said; " explain yourself;
why does Mademoiselle de la Valliere call you my messenger? What
did you take to that lady ? Speak, monsieur, and quickly."
" Sire, I merely took Mademoiselle de la Valliere a pocket-handker-
chief, that was all."
" A handkerchief,—what handkerchief?"
" Sire, at the very moment when I had the misfortune to stumble
against your majesty yesterday, a misfortune which I shall deplore to
the last day of my life, especially after the dissatisfaction which you
exhibited, I remained, sire, motionless with despair, you majesty being
at too great a distance to hear my excuses, when I saw something white
lying on the ground."
" Ah!" said the king.
" I stooped down,—it was a pocket-handkerchief. For a moment I
had an idea that when I stumbled against your majesty I must have
been the cause of the handkerchief falling from your pocket; but as 1
felt it all over very respectfully, I perceived a cipher at one of the
corners, and, on looking at it closely, I found it was Mademoiselle de la
Valliere's cipher. I presumed that on her way to Madame's apartment
in the earlier part of the evening she had let her handkerchief fall, and
I accordingly hastened to restore it to her as she was leaving; and that
is all I gave to Mademoiselle de la Valliere, I entreat your majesty to
believe." Malicorne's manner was so simple, so full of contrition, and
marked with such extreme humility, that the king was greatly amused
in listening to him. He was as pleased with him for what he had done
as if he had rendered him the greatest service.
" This is the second fortunate meeting I have had with you, mon-
sieur," he said; " you may count upon my friendly feeling."
The plain and sober truth was, that Malicorne had picked the king's
pocket of the handkerchief as dexterously as any of the pickpockets of
the good city of Paris could have done. Madame never knew of this
little incident, but Montalais gave La Valliere some idea of the manner
in which it had really happened, and La Valliere afterwards told the
king, who laughed exceedingly at it, and pronounced Malicorne to be a
first-rate politician. Louis XIV. was right, and it is well known that
he was tolerably acquainted with human nature.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Which treats of Gardeners, of Ladders, and Maids of Honour.
Miracles, unfortunately, could not always last for ever, whilst Ma-
dame's ill-humour still continued to last. In a week's time, matters
had reached such a point, that the king could no longer look at La
Valliere without a look full of suspicion crossing his own. "Whenever a
promenade was proposed, Madame, in order to avoid the recurrence of
similar scenes to that of the thunder-storm, or the royal oak, had a
variety of indispositions ready prepared; and, thanks to them, she was
unable to go out, and her maids of honour were obliged to remain
GARDENERS, LADDERS, AND MAIDS OF HONOUR. 137
in doors also. There was not the slightest chance or means of paying a
nocturnal visit; for, in this respect, the king had, on the very first
occasion, experienced a severe check, which happened in the following
manner. As at Fontainebleau, he had taken Saint-Aignan with him
one evening, when he wished to pay La Valliere a visit; but he had
found no one but Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, who had begun
to call out fire and thieves in such a manner, that a perfect legion of
chamber-maids, attendants, and pages, ran to her assistance; so that
Saint-Aignan, who had remained behind in order to save the honour
of his royal master, who had fled precipitately, was obliged to submit
to a severe scolding from the queen-mother, as well as from Madame
herself. In addition, he had, the next morning, received two challenges
from the de Montemart family, and the king had been obliged to inter-
fere. This mistake had been owing to the circumstance of Madame
having suddenly ordered a change in the apartments of her maids of
honour, and directed La Valliere and Montalais to sleep in her own
cabinet. Nothing, therefore, was now possible, not even any commu-
nication by letter; to write under the eyes of so ferocious an Argus
as Madame, whose kindness of disposition was so uncertain, was to run
the risk of exposure to the greatest dangers; and it can well be con-
ceived into what a state of continuous irritation, and of ever increasing
anger, all these petty annoyances threw the young lion. The king
almost tormented himself to death in endeavouring to discover a
means of communication; and, as he did not think proper to call in
the aid of Malicorne or d'Artagnan, the means were not discovered at
all. Malicorne had, indeed, some occasional brilliant flashes of imagi-
nation, with which he tried to inspire the king with confidence; but
whether from shame or suspicion, the king, who had at first begun to
nibble at the bait, soon abandoned the hook. In this way, for instance,
one evening, while the king was crossing the garden, and looking up at
Madame's windows, Malicorne stumbled over a ladder lying beside a
border of box, and said to Manicamp, who was walking with him be-
hind the king, and who had not either stumbled over or seen anything,
" Did you not see that I just now stumbled against a ladder, and was
nearly thrown down ? "
" No," said Manicamp, as usual very absent, " but it appears you did
not fall."
" That doesn't matter; but it is not, on that account, the less dan-
gerous to leave ladders lying about in that manner."
" True, one might hurt one's self, especially when troubled with fits of
absence of mind."
" I don't mean that; what I did mean was, that it is dangerous to
allow ladders to lie about so near the windows of the maids of honour."
Louis started imperceptibly.
" Why so ? " inquired Manicamp.
" Speak louder," whispered Malicorne, as he touched him with his
arm.
" Why so ? " said Manicamp, louder. The king listened.
" Because, for instance," said Malicorne, " a ladder nineteen feet high
is just the height of the cornice of those windows." Manicamp, instead
of answering, was dreaming of something else.
" Ask me, can't you, what windows I mean," whispered Malicorne.
" But what windows are you referring to ? " said Manicamp, aloud.
" The windows of Madame's apartments." " Eh !"
" Oh! I don't say that any one would ever venture to go up a ladder
into Madame's room; but in Madame's cabinet, merely separated by a
138 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELOKNE.
partition, sleep two exceedingly pretty girls, Mesdemoiselles de la
Valliere and de Montalais."
" By a partition," said Manicamp.
" Look; you see how brilliantly lighted Madame's apartments are—
well, do you see those two windows ? " " Yes."
" And that window close to the others, but more dimly lighted ? "
" Yes."
"Well, that is the room of the maids of honour. Look, look, there
is Mademoiselle de la "Valliere opening the window. Ah ! how many
soft things could an enterprising lovo? say to her, if he only suspected
that there was lying here a ladder nineteen feet long, which would just
reach the cornice."
"But she is not alone; you said Mademoiselle de Montalais is with
her."
" Mademoiselle de Montalais counts for nothing; she is her oldest
friend, and exceedingly devoted to her—a positive well, into which can
be thrown all sorts of secrets one might wish to get rid of."
The king did not lose a single syllable of this conversation. Mali-
corne had even remarked that his majesty had slackened his pace, in
order to give him time to finish. So, when he arrived at the door, he
dismissed every one, with the exception of Malicorne—a circumstance
which excited no surprise, for it was known that the king was in love;
and they suspected he was going to compose some verses by moonlight;
and, although there was no moon that evening, the king might, never-
theless, have some verses to compose. Every one, therefore, took his
leave; and, immediately afterwards, the king turned towards Mali-
corne, who respectfully waited until his majesty should address him.
"What were you saying, just now, about a ladder, Monsieur Mali-
corne ? " he asked.
"Did I saying anything about ladders, sire ? " said Malicorne, looking
up, as if in search of his words which had flown away.
"Yes, of a ladder nineteen feet long."
" Oh, yes, sire, I remember; but I spoke to M. Manicamp, and I
should not have said a word had I known your majesty could have
heard us."
" And why would you not have said a word ? "
"Because I should not have liked to have got the gardener scolded
who had left it there—poor fellow !"
" Don't make yourself uneasy on that account. What is this ladder
like ? "
" If your majesty wishes to see it, nothing is easier, for there it is."
" In that box-hed ge ? " " Exactly."
" Show it to me."
Malicorne turned back, and led the king up to the ladder, saying,
" This is it, sire."
" Pull it this way a little."
When Malicorne had brought the ladder on to the gravel walk, the
king began to step its whole length. " Hum!" he said; " you say it is
nineteen feet long ? "
"Yes, sire."
" Nineteen feet—that is rather long; I hardly believe it can be so
long as that."
" You cannot judge very correctly with the ladder in that position,
sire. If it were upright, against a tree or a wall, for instance, you
would be better able to judge, because the comparison would assist you
a good deal."
HARDENERS, LADDERS, AND MAIDS OF HONOUR. 139
" Oh! it does not matter, M. Malioorne; but I can hardly believe
that the ladder is nineteen feet high."
" I know how accurate your majesty's glance is, and yet I would
wager."
The king shook his head. " There is one unanswerable means of
verifying it," said Malicorne.
" What is that ? "
"Every one knows, sire, that the ground-floor of the palace is eighteen
feet high."
" True, that is very well known."
"Well, sire, if I place the ladder against the wall, we shall be able to
ascertain."
" True."
Malicorne took up the ladder, like a feather, and placed it upright
against the wall. And, in order to try the experiment, he chose, or
chance, perhaps, directed him to choose, the very window of the cabinet
where La Yalliere was. The ladder just reached the edge of the cor-
nice, that is to say, the sill of the window; so that, by standing upon
the last round but one of the ladder, a man of about the middle height,
as the king was, for instance, could easily hold a communication with
those who might be in the room. Hardly had the ladder been properly
placed, than the king, dropping the assumed part he had been playing
in the comedy, began to ascend the rounds of the ladder, which Mali-
corne held at the bottom. But hardly had he completed half the
distance when a patrol of Swiss guards appeared in the garden, and
advanced straight towards them. The king descended with the utmost
precipitation, and concealed himself among the trees. Malicorne at
once perceived that he must offer himself as a sacrifice; for, if he, too,
were to conceal himself, the guard would search everywhere until they
had found either himself or the king, perhaps both. It would be far
better, therefore, that he alone should be discovered. And, conse-
quently, Malicorne hid himself so clumsily that he was the only one
arrested. As soon as he was arrested, Malicorne was taken to the
guard-house; when there, he declared who he was, and was immediately
recognized. In the mean time, by concealing himself first behind one
clump of trees and then behind another, the king reached the side-
door of his apartments, very much humiliated, and still more disap-
pointed. More than that, the noise made in arresting Malicorne, had
drawn La Yalliere and Montalais to their window; and even Madame
herself had appeared at her own, with a pair of wax candles, asking
what was the matter.
In the mean time, Malicorne sent for d'Artagnan, who did not lose a
moment in hurrying to him. But it was in vain he attempted to make
him understand his reasons, and in vain also' that d'Artagnan did
understand them; and, further, it was equally in vain that both their
sharp and inventive minds endeavoured to give another turn to the.
adventure; there was no other resource left for Malicorne, but to let it
be supposed that he had wished to enter Mademoiselle de Montalais's
apartment, as Saint-Aignan had passed for having wished to force
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente's door. Madame was inflexible;
in the first place, because if Malicorne had, in fact, wished to enter her
apartment at night through the window, and by the means of the
ladder, in order to see Montalais, it was a punishable offence on Mali-
corne's part, and he must be punished accordingly; and, in the seoond
place, if Malicorne, instead of acting in his own name, had acted as an
intermediary between La Yalliere and a person whose name need not
140 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNK.
be mentioned, his crime was in that case even greater, since love,
which is an excuse for everything, did not exist in the present case as
an excuse for him. Madame therefore made the greatest possible dis-
turbance about the matter, and obtained his dismissal from Monsieur'"
household, without reflecting, poor blind creature, that both Malicorne
and Montalais held her fast in their clutches in consequence of her
visit to de Guiche, and in a variety of other ways equally delicate.
Montalais, who was perfectly furious, wished to revenge herself imme-
diately, but Malicorne pointed out to her that the king's countenance
would repay them for all the disgraces in the world, and that it was a
great thing to have to suffer on his majesty's account.
Malicorne was perfectly right, and, therefore, although Montalais had
the spirit of ten women in her, he succeeded in bringing her round to
his own opinion. And we must not omit to state that the king helped
them to console themselves, for, in the first place, he presented Malicorne
with fifty thousand francs as a compensation for the post he had lost,
and, in the next place, he gave him an appointment in his own house-
hold, delighted to have an opportunity of revenging himself in such a
manner upon Madame for all she had made him and La Valliere suffer.
But as he no longer had Malicorne to steal his pocket-handkerchiefs
and to measure ladders for him, the poor lover was in a terrible state.
There seemed to be no hope, therefore, of ever getting near La Valliere
again, so long as she should remain at the Palais-Royal. All the
dignities and all the money in the world could not remedy that. For-
tunately, however, Malicorne was on the look-out, and this he did so
successfully that he met Montalais, who, to do her justice, it must be
admitted, did her best to meet Malicorne. " What do you do during
the night in Madame's apartment," he asked the young girL
" Why, I go to sleep, of course," she replied.
" But it is very wrong to sleep; it can hardly be possible that with
the pain you are suffering, you can manage to do so."
" And what am I suffering from, may I ask ?"
"Are you not in despair at my absence ?"
" Of course not, since you have received fifty thousand francs and an
appointment in the king's household."
" That is a matter of no moment; you are exceedingly afflicted at not
seeing me as you used to see me formerly, and more than all, you are
in despair at my having lost Madame's confidence; come, now, is not
that true ?" " Perfectly true."
"Very good; your distress of mind prevents you sleeping at night,
and so you sob, and sigh, and blow your nose ten times every minute as
loud as possible."
" But, my dear Malicorne, Madame cannot endure the slightest noise
near her."
" I know that perfectly well; of course, she can't endure anything;
and so, I tell you, she will not lose a minute, when she sees your deep
distress, in turning you out of her room without a moment's delay."
"I understand." " Very fortunate you do."
""Well, and what will happen next?"
" The next thing that will happen will be, that La Valliere, finding
herself alone without you, will groan and utter such loud lamentations,
that she will exhibit despair enough for two persons."
" In that case she will be put into another room."
" Precisely so." " Ves, but which ?"
"Which?" "Yes, that wilt puzzle you to say, Mr. Inventor-
General."
carpentry operations. 141
" Not at all; wherever and whatever the room may be, it will always
be preferable to Madame's own room."
" That is true."
"Very good, so begin your lamentations a little to-night."
"I certainly will not fail to do so."
"And give La Valliere a hint also."
" Oh! don't fear her, she cries quite enough already to herself."
" Very well! all she has to do is to cry out loud."
And they separated.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Which treats of Carpentry operations, and furnishes details upon the mode of
constructing Staircases.
The advice which had been given to Montalais was communicated by
her to La Valliere, who could not but acknowledge that it was by no
means deficient in judgment, and who, after a certain amount of re-
sistance, arising rather from her timidity than from her indifference to
the project, resolved to put it into execution. This story of the two
girls weeping, and filling Madame's bedroom with the noisiest lamenta-
tions, was Malicorne's chef-d'oeuvre. As nothing is so probable as im-
probability, so natural as romance, this kind of Arabian Nights story
succeeded perfectly with Madame. The first thing she did, was to send
Montalais away, and then, three days, or rather three nights, after-
wards, she had La Valliere removed. She gave to the latter one of the
small rooms on the top story, situated immediately over the apart-
ments allotted to the gentlemen of Monsieur's suite. One story only,
that is to say, a mere flooring, separated the maids of honour from the
officers and gentlemen of her husband's household. A private staircase,
which was placed under Madame de Navailles' surveillance, was the only
means of communication. Tor greater* safety, Madame de Navailles,
who had heard of his majesty's previous attempt s, had the windows of the
rooms and the openings of the chimneys carefully barred. There was,
therefore, every possible security provided for Mademoiselle de la Val-
liere< whose room bore more resemblance to a cage than to anything
else. "When Mademoiselle de la Valliere was in her own room, and she
was there very frequently, for Madame scarcely ever had any occasion
for her services, since she once knew she was safe under Madame de
Navailles' inspection, Mademoiselle de la Valliere had no other means
of amusing herself than that of looking through the bars of her win-
dows. It happened, therefore, that one morning, as she was looking out
as usual, she perceived Malicorne at one of the windows exactly oppo-
site to her own. He held a carpenter's rule in his hand, was survey-
ing the buildings, and seemed to be adding up some figures on paper.
La Valliere recognized Malicorne and bowed to him; Malicorne, in his
turn, replied by a profound bow, and disappeared from the window.
She was surprised at this marked coolness, so unusual with his unfailing
good-humour, but she remembered that he had lost his appointment on
her account, and that he could hardly be very amiably disposed towards
her, since, in all probability, she would never be in a position to make
him any recompense for what he had lost. She knew how to forgive
offences, and with still greater reason could she sympathize with mis-
fortune. La Valliere would have asked Montalais her opinion, if she
had been there; but she was absent, it being the hour she usually
142 the vicomte de bkagelonke.
devoted to her own correspondence. Suddenly, La Valliere observed
something thrown from the window where Malicorne had been standing,
pass across the open space which separated the two windows from each
other, enter her room through the iron bars, and roll upon the floor.
She advanced with no little curiosity towards this object, and picked it
up; it was a winder for silk, only, in this instance, instead of silk, a
small piece of paper was rolled round it. La Valliere unrolled it, and
read the following:—
" mademoiselle.—i am exceedingly anxious to learn two'things:
the first is, to know if the flooring of your apartment is wood or brick ;
the second, to know at what distance your bed is placed from the
window. Porgive my importunity, and will you be good enough to send
me an answer by the same way you receive this letter—that is to say, by
means of the silk winder; only, instead of throwing it into my room,
as I have thrown it into yours, which will be too difficult for you to
attempt, have the goodness merely to let it fall. Believe me, made-
moiselle, your most humble and most respectful servant,
" malicobne.
" Write the reply, if you please, upon the letter itself."
"Ah ! poor fellow," exclaimed La Valliere, "he must have gone out
of his mind;" and she directed towards her correspondent—of whom
she caught but a faint glimpse, in consequence of the darkness of his
room—a look full of compassionate consideration. Malicorne under-
stood her, and shook his head, as if he meant to say, " No, no, I am not
out of my mind; be quite satisfied."
She smiled as if still in doubt.
" No, no," he signfied, by a gesture, "my head is perfectly right," and
pointed to his head; then, after moving his hand like a man who writes
very rapidly, he put his hands together as if intreating her to write.
La Valliere, even if he were mad, saw no impropriety in doing what
Malicorne requested her; she took a pencil and wrote, "wood;" and
then counted ten paces from her window to her bed, and wrote, " ten
feet;" and having done this, she looked out again at Malicorne, who
bowed to her, signifying that he was about to descend. La Valliere
understood that it was to pick up the silk winder. She approached the
window, and, in accordance with Malicorne's instructions, let it fall. The
winder was still rolling along the flag-stones as Malicorne started after
it, overtook and picked it up, began to peel it as a monkey would do
with a nut, and ran straight towards M. de Saint-Aignan's apartments.
Saint-Aignan had selected, or rather solicited, that his rooms might be
as near the king as possible, as certain plants seek the sun's rays in
order to develope themselves more luxuriantly. His apartment con-
sisted of two rooms, in that portion of the palace occupied by Louis XIV.
himself. M. de Saint-Aignan was very proud of this proximity, which
afforded easy access to his majesty, and, more than that, the favour of
occasional unexpected meetings. At the moment we are now referring
to, he was engaged in having both his rooms magnificently carpeted,
with the expectation of receiving the honour of frequent visits from the
king; for his majesty, since his passion for La Valliere, had chosen
Saint-Aignan as his confidant, ana could not, in fact, do without him,
'Sther night or day. Malicorne introduced himself to the comte, and
met with no difficulties, because he had been favourably noticed by the
king; and, also, because the credit which one man may happen to enjoy
is always a bait for others. Saint-Aignan asked his visitor if he brought
any news with him.
CARPENTRY OPERATIONS. 14?,
"Yes; great newsreplied the latter.
"Ah! ah !" said Saint-Aignan, " what is it ?"
" Mademoiselle de la Valliere has changed her quarters."
"What do. you mean?" said Saint-Aignan, opening his eyes very
wide. " She was living in the same apartments as Madame."
" Precisely, so; hut Madame got tired of her proximity, and has
installed her in a room which is situated exactly above your future
apartment."
*" What! up there," exclaimed Saint-Aignan, with surprise, and point-
ins at the floor above him with his finger.
No," said Malicorne, "yonder," and indicated the building opposite.
" What do you mean, then, by saying, that her room is above my
apartment ?"
" Because I am sure that your apartment ought most naturally to he
under Mademoiselle de la Valliere's room."
Saint-Aignan, at this remark, gave poor Malicorne a look, similar to
one of those La Valliere had already given him a quarter of an hour
before, that is to say, he thought he had lost his senses.
" Monsieur," said Malicorne to him, " I wish to answer what you are
thinking about."
What do you mean by ' what I am thinking about ?'"
" My reason is, that you have not clearly understood what I want
to convey."
" I admit it."
" Well, then, you are aware that underneath the apartments set apart
for Madame's maids of honour the gentlemen in attendance on the
king and on Monsiuer are lodged."
"Yes, I know that, since Manicamp, de Wardes, and others, are living
there."
"Precisely. Well, monsieur, admire the singularity of the circum-
stance; the two rooms destined for M. de Guiche, are exactly the very
two rooms situated underneath those which Mademoiselle de Montalais
and Mademoiselle de la Valliere occupy."
"Well; what then?"
"' What then,5 do you say ? Why, these two rooms are empty, since
M. de Guiche, is now lying wounded at Pontainebleau."
" I assure you, my dear monsieur, I cannot guess your meaning."
" Well! if I had the happiness to call myself Saint-Aignan, I should
guess immediately.55
" And what would you do, then ?"
" I should at once change the rooms I am occupying here, for those
which M. de Guiche is not using yonder."
"Can you suppose such a thing?" said Saint-Aignan disdainfully;
"What! abandon the chief post of honour, the proximity to the king, a
privilege conceded only to princes of the blood, to dukes, and peers !
Permit me to tell you, my dear Monsieur de Malicorne, that you must
be out of your senses."
"Monsieur," replied the young man, seriously, "you commit two
mistakes. My name is Malicorne, simply; and I am in perfect posses-
sion of all my senses.55 Then, drawing a paper from his pocket, he said,
" Listen to what I am going to say; and, afterwards, I will show you
this paper."
" I am listening," said Saint-Aignan.
"You know that Madame looks after La Valliere as carefully as
Argus did after the nymph Io." " I do."
"-You know that the king has sought for an opportunity, but uselessly,
144 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
of speaking to the prisoner, and that neither you nor myself have yet
succeeded in procuring him this piece of good fortune."
" You certainly ought to know something on that subject, my poor
Malicorne."
"Very good; what do you suppose would happen to the man whose
imagination devised some means of bringing the two lovers together ?"
" Oh! the king would have no bounds to his gratitude."
" Let me ask you, then, M. de Saint-Aignan, whether you would not
be curious to taste a little of this royal gratitude ? "
" Certainly," replied Saint-Aignan, " any favour of my master, as a
recognition of the proper discharge of my duty, would assuredly be
most precious to me."
" In that case, look at this paper, monsieur le comte."
" What is it—a plan ?"
" Yes; a plan of M. de Guiche's two rooms, which, in all probability,
will soon be your two rooms."
" Oh ! no, whatever may happen."
"Why so?" "Because my own rooms are the envy of too many
gentlemen, to whom I shall not certainly give them up; M. de lioque-
leure, for instance, M. de la Ferte, and M. de Dangeau, would all be
anxious to get them."
" In that case I shall leave you, monsieur le comte, and I shall go and
offer to one of those gentlemen the plan I have just shown you, together
with the advantages annexed to it."
"But why do you not keep them for yourself?" inquired Saint-
Aignan, suspiciously.
" Because the king would never do me the honour of paying me a
visit openly, whilst he would readily go and see any one of those gen-
tlemen."
" What! the king would go and see any one of those gentlemen ?"
" Go! most certainly would he, ten times instead of once. Is it pos-
sible you can ask me if the king would go to an apartment which
would bring him nearer to Mademoiselle de la Valliere."
" Yes, indeed, admirably near her, with a whole floor between them."
Malicorne unfolded the piece of paper which had been wrapped
round the bobbin. " Monsieur le comte," he said, " have the good-
ness to observe that the flooring of Mademoiselle de la Valliere's room
is merely a wooden flooring,"
" Well ?" " Well! all you would have to do would be to get hold
of a journeyman carpenter, lock him up in your apartments, without
letting him know where you have taken him to; and let him make a
hole in your ceiling, and consequently in the flooring of Mademoiselle
de la Valliere's room."
" Good heavens!" exclaimed Saint-Aignan, as if dazzled.
" What is the matter?" said Malicorne.
"Nothing, except that you have hit upon a singularly bold idea,
monsieur."
" It will seem a very trifling one to the king, I assure you."
" Lovers never think of the risk they run."
" What danger do you apprehend, monsieur le comte ? "
" Why, effecting such an opening as that will make a terrible noise,
it will be heard over the whole palace."
" Oh! monsieur le comte, I am quite sure that the carpenter I shall
select will not make the slightest noise in the world. He will saw an
opening six feet square, with a saw covered with tow, and no one, not
even those immediately adjoining, will know that he is at work."
CARPENTRY OPERATIONS. 145
" My dear Monsieur Malicorne, you astound, you positively bewilder
me."
" To continue," replied Malicorne, quietly, "in the room, the ceiling
of which you have cut through, you will put up a staircase, which will
either allow Mademoiselle de la Valliere to descend into your room, or
the king to ascend into. Mademoiselle de la Valliere's room."
" But the staircase will be seen."
"No; for in your room it will be hidden by a partition, over which
you will throw a tapestry similar to that which covers the rest of the
apartment; and in Mademoiselle de la Valliere's room it will not be
seen, for the trap-door, which will be a part of the flooring itself, will
be made to open under the bed."
" Of course," said Saint-Aignan, whose eyes began to sparkle with
delight.
" And now, monsieur le comte, there is no occasion to make you
admit that the king will frequently come to the room where such a
staircase is constructed. I think that M. Dangeau, particularly, will
be struck by my idea, and I shall now go and explain it to him."
" But, my dear Monsieur Malicorne, you forget that you spoke to me
about it the first, and that I have consequently the right of priority."
" Bo you wish for the preference?"
" Do I wish it ? Of course I do."
" The fact is, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan, I am presenting you with
that which is as good as the promise of an additional step in the peerage,
and perhaps even a good estate to accompany your dukedom."
"At least," replied Saint-Aignan, "it will give me an opportunity of
showing the king that he is not mistaken in ccasionally calling me his
friend; an opportunity, dear M. Malicorne, for which I am indebted to
you."
" And which you will not forget to remember ?" inquired Malicorne,
smiling.
" Nothing will delight me more, monsieur."
" But I am not the king's friend, I am simply his attendant."
" Yes; and if you imagine that that staircase is as good as a dukedom
for myself, I think there will certainly be letters of nobility for you."
Malicorne bowed.
" All I have to do, now," said Saint-Aignan, " is to move as soon as
possible."
" I do not think the king will object to it; ask his permission, how-
ever."
" I will go and see him this very moment."
" And I will run and get the carpenter I was speaking of."
" When will he be here ?" " This very evening."
" Do not forget your precautions."
" He shall be brought with his eyes bandaged."
" And I will send you one of my carriages." " Without aYms."
" With one of my servants without livery. But stay, what will La
Valliere say if she sees what is going on ?"
" Oh! I can assure you she will be very much interested in the opc-
ration, and equally sure that if the king has not courage enough -to
ascend to her room, she will have sufficient curiosity to come down to
him."
"We will live in hope," said Saint-Aignan; "and now I am off to his
majesty; at what time will the carpenter be here."
At eight o'clock."
VOL. II. L
346 the yicomte de bbagelonne.
" How long do you suppose he will take to make this opening."
" About a couple of hours; only afterwards he must have sufficient
time to effect what may be called the junction between the two rooms.
One night and a portion of the following day will do; we must not
reckon upon less than two days, including putting up the staircase."
" Two days, that is very long."
"Nay; when one undertakes to open a door into paradise itself, we
must at least take care it is properly done." #
" Quite right; so farewell for a short time, dear M. Malicorne. I
shall begin to remove the day after to-morrow, in the evening."
CHAPTER XXXIY.
The Promenade by Torchlight.
Saint-Aignan, delighted with what he had just heard, and rejoiced
at what the future foreshadowed for him, bent his steps towards de
Guiche's two rooms. He who, a quarter of an hour previously, would
not have yielded up his own rooms for a million of francs, was now
ready to expend a million, if it were necessary, upon the acquisition of
the two happy rooms he coveted so eagerly. But he did not meet with so
many obstacles. M. de Guiche did not yet know whereabouts he was to
lodge, and, besides, was still far too suffering to trouble himself about
his lodgings; and so Saint-Aignan obtained de Guiche's two rooms
without difficulty. As for M. Dangeau, he was so immeasurably de-
lighted, that he did not even give himself the trouble to think whether
Saint-Aignan had any particular reason for removing. Within an
hour after Saint-Aignan's new resolution, he was in possession of the
two rooms ; and ten minutes later Malicorne entered, followed by the
upholsterers. During this time, the king asked for Saint-Aignan; the
valet ran to his late apartments and found M. Dangeau there; Dan-
geau sent him on to M. de Guiche's, and Saint-Aignan was found there;
but a little delay had of course taken place, and the king had already
exhibited once or twice evident signs of impatience, when Saint-
Aignan entered his royal master's presence, quite out of breath,
"lou, too, abandon me, then," said Louis XIV., in a similar tone
of lamentation to that with which Caesar, eighteen hundred years
previously, had used the tu quoque.
" Sire, I am very far from abandoning you, for, on the contrary, I am
busily occupied in changing my lodgings."
" What do you mean ? I thought you had finished moving three
days ago."
" Yes, sire. But I don't find myself comfortable where I am, and so
I am going to change to the opposite side of the building."
" Was I not right when I said you were abandoning me !" exclaimed
the king. " Oh ! this exceeds all endurance. But so it is: there was
only one woman for whom my heart cared at all, and all my family
is leagued together to tear her from me; and my friend, to whom I
confided my distress, and who helped me to bear up under it, has
become wearied of my complaints and is going to leave me without
even asking my permission."
Saint-Aignan began to laugh. The king at once guessed there must
be some mystery in this want of respect. "What is it?" cried the
king, full of hope.
THE PBOMENADE BY TOECHLIGHT. 147
" This, sire, that the friend whom the king calumniates is going to
try if he cannot restore to his sovereign the happiness he has lost."
"Are you going to let me see La Valliere ?" said Louis XIY.
" I cannot say so, positively, but I hope so."
" How—how P—tell me that, Saint-Aignan. I wish to know what
your project is, and to help you with all my power."
" Sire," replied Saint-Aignan, " I cannot, even myself, tell very well
lioW I must set about attaining success; but I have every reason to
believe that from to-morrow "
" To-morrow, do you say! What happiness! But why are you
changing your rooms ?"
" In order to serve your majesty to greater advantage."
" How can your moving serve me ?"
" Do you happen to know where the two rooms destined for de Guiche
are situated ?"
" Yes." " Well, your majesty now knows where I am going."
" Very likely; but that does not help me."
" What! is it possible you do not understand, sire, that above de
Guiehe's lodgings are two rooms, one of which is Mademoiselle, de
Montalais's, and the other "
"La Valhere's, is it not so, Saint-Aignan? Oh! yes, yes. It is a
brilliant idea, Saint-Aignan, a true friend's idea, a poet's idea; in
bringing me nearer her from whom the whole world seems to unite to
separate me; you are far more than Pylades was for Orestes, or Patro-
elus for Achilles."
" Sire," said Aignan, with a smile, " I question whether, if your
majesty were to know my projects in their full extent, you would con-
tinue to confer such pompous qualifications upon me. Ah! sire, I
know how very different are the epithets which certain puritans of the
court will not fail to apply to me when they learn what I intend to do
for your majesty."
" Saint-Aignan, I am dying from impatience; I am in a perfect
fever; I shall never be able to wait until to-morrow To-morrow !
why to-morrow is an eternity !"
" And yet, sire, I shall require you, if you please, to go out presently
and divert your impatience by a good walk."
"With you—agreed; we will talk about your projects, we will talk
of her."
"Nay, sire; I remain here."
" Whom shall I go out with, then ?"
" With the queens and all the ladies of the court."
" Nothing shall induce me to do that, Saint-Aignan."
" And yet, sire, you must do it."
" No, no—a thousand times, no ! I will never again expose myself to
the horrible torture of being close to her, of seeing her, of touching her
dress as I pass by her, and yet not to be able to say a word to her. No,
I renounce a torture which you suppose to be happiness, but which
consumes and eats away my very life; to see her in the presence of
strangers and not to tell her that I love her, when my whole being
reveals my affection and betrays me to every one; no! I have sworn
never to do it again, and I will keep my oath."
"Yet, sire, pray listen to me for a moment."
" I will listen to nothing, Saint-Aignan."
" In that case, I will continue; it is most urgent, sire—pray under-
stand me, it is of the greatest importance—that Madame and her maids
of honour should be absent for two hours from the palace."
L 2
148 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGELOHHE.
" I cannot understand your meaning at all, Saint-Aignan,"
" It is hard for me to give my sovereign directions what to: but in
this circumstance I do give you directions, sire; and either a bunting
or promenade party must be got up."
" But if I were to do what you wish, it would be a caprice, a mere
whim. In displaying such an impatient humour I show my whole
court that I have no control over my own feelings. Do not people
already say that I am dreaming of the conquest of the world, but that
I ought previously to begin by achieving a conquest over myself."
" Those who say so, sire, are insolent and factious persons; but who-
ever they may be, if your majesty prefers to listen to them, I have
nothing further to say. In such a case, that which we have fixed to take
place to-morrow must be postponed indefinitely."
"Nay, Saint-Aignan, I will go out this evening—I will go by
torchlight to sleep at Saint-Germain; I will breakfast there to-morrow,
and will return to Paris by three o'clock. Will that do P "
" Admirably."
" In that case I will set out this evening at eight o'clock."
"Your majesty has fixed upon the exact minute."
" And you positively will tell me nothing more ?"
" It is because I have nothing more to tell you. Industry goes for
something in this world, sire; hut yet chance plays so important a part
in it that I have been accustomed to leave her the narrowest part,
confident that she will manage so as to always take the widest."
" Well, I abandon myself entirely to you."
" And you are quite right."
Comforted in this manner, the king went immediately to Madame,
to whom he announced the intended expedition. Madame fancied at
the first moment that she saw in this unexpectedly arranged party a
plot of the king's to converse with La Valliere, either on the road
under cover of the darkness, or in some other way, but she took espe-
cial care to show nothing of her fancies to her brother-in-law, and
accepted the invitation with a smile upon her lips. She gave direc-
tions aloud that her maids of honour should accompany her, secretly
intending in the evening to take the most effectual steps to interfere
with his majesty's attachment. Then, when she was alone, and at the
very moment the poor lover, who had issued his orders for the depar-
ture, was revelling in the idea that Mademoiselle de la Valliere
would form one of the party—at the very moment, perhaps, when
he was luxuriating in the sad happiness which persecuted lovers enjoy
of realizing by the sense of sight alone all the delights of an interdicted
possession—at that very moment, we say, Madame, who was surrounded
by her maids of honour, said:—" Two ladies will be enough for me this
evening, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente and Mademoiselle de
Montalais." ,
La Valliere had anticipated the omission of herself and was prepared
for it; but persecution had rendered her courageous, and she did not
give Madame the pleasure of seeing on her face the impression of the
shock her heart had received. On the contrary, smiling with that ineff-
able gentleness which gave an angelic expression to her features—" In
that case, madame, I shall be at liberty this evening, I suppose?" she
said. Of course."
" I shall be able to employ it, then, in progressing with that piece of
tapestry which your highness has been good enough to notice, and
which I have already had the honour of offering to you."
And having made a respectful obeisance, she withdrew to her own
THE PROMENADE BY TORCHLIGHT. 149
apartment; Mesdemoiselles de Tonnay-Charente and de Montalais did
the same. The rumour of the intended promenade was soon spread
all over the palace; ten minutes afterwards Malicorne learnt Madame's
resolution, and slipped under Montalais' door a note, in the following
terms:—
" La Valliere must positively pass the night with Madame."
Montalais, in pursuance of the compact she had entered into, began
by burning the paper, and then sat down to reflect. Montalais was a
girl full of expedients, and so had very soon arranged her plan. Towards
five o'clock, which was the hour for her to repair to Madame's apart-
ment, she was running across the court-yard, and had reached within
a dozen paces a group of officers, when she uttered a cry, fell grace-
fully on one knee, rose again, and walked on limpingly. The gentlemen
ran forward to her assistance; Montalais had sprained her foot. Faithful
to the discharge of her duty, she insisted, however, notwithstanding
her accident, upon going to Madame's apartment.
" "What is the matter, and why do you limp so ? " she inquired: " I
mistook you for La Valliere."
Montalais related how it had happened, that in hurrying on, in order
to arrive as quickly as possible, she had sprained her foot. Madame
seemed to pity her, and wished to have a surgeon sent for immediately,
but she, assuring her that there was nothing really serious in the acci-
dent, said: "My only regret, madame, is, that it will preclude my
attendance on you, and I should have begged Mademoiselle de la Val-
liere to take my place with your royal highness, but " seeing that
Madame frowned, she added—" I have not done so."
" Why did you not do so ? " inquired Madame.
" Because poor La Valliere seemed so happy to have her liberty for a
whole evening and night too, that I did not feel courageous enough to
ask her to take my place."
" What, is she so delighted as that ? " inquired Madame, struck by
these words,
"She is wild with delight; she, who is always so melancholy, was sing-
ing like a bird. Besides, your highness knows how much she detests
going out, and also that her character has a spice of wildness in it."
" Oh, oh! " thought Madame, " this extreme delight hardly seems
natural to me."
" She has already made all her preparations for dining in her own
room tete-a-tete with one of her favourite books. And then, as your
highness has six other young ladies who wpuld be delighted to accom-
pany you, I did not make my proposal to La Valliere." Madame did
not say a word in reply.
" Have I acted properly ? " continued Montalais, with a slight flutter-
ing of the heart, seeing the little success that attended the ruse de
guerre which she had relied upon with so much confidence that she
had not thought it even necessary to try and find another. " Does
Madame approve of what I have done ? " she continued.
Madame was reflecting that the king could very easily leave Saint-
Germain during the night, and that, as it was only four leagues and a
half from Paris to Saint-Germain, he might very easily be in Paris in
an hour's time. " Tell me," she said, " whether La Valliere, when she
heard of your accident, offered at least to bear you company ? "
" Oh ! she does not yet know of my accident; but even did she know
of it, I shall not most certainly ask her to do anything which might
interfere with her own plans. I think she wishes this evening to realize
quietly by herself that amusement of the late king, when he said to
150 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
M. de Cinq-Mars,' Let us amuse ourselves by doing nothing and making
ourselves miserable.'"
Madame felt convinced that some mysterious love adventure was
hidden beneath this strong desire for solitude. This mystery might
possibly be Louis' return during the night; it could not be doubted
any longer La Valliere had been informed of his intended return, and
that was the reason of her delight at having to remain behind at the
Palais Royal. It was a plan settled and arranged beforehand.
" I will not be their dupe though," said Madame, and she took a
decisive step. " Mademoiselle de Montalais," she said, " will you have
the goodness to inform your friend, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, that I
am exceedingly sorry to disarrange her projects of solitude, but that
instead of becoming ennuyee by remaining behind alone as she wished,
she will be good enough to accompany us to Saint-Germain and get
ennuyee there."
" Ah ! poor La Valliere," said Montalais, compassionately, but with
her heart throbbing with delight, " oh, madame! could there not be
some means "
"Enough," said Madame, "I desire it! I prefer Mademoiselle La
Baume Leblanc's society to that of any one else. Go, and send her to
me, and take care of your foot."
Montalais did not wait for the order to be repeated; she returned to
her room, wrote an answer to Malicorne, and slipped it under the
carpet. The answer simply said: " She is going." A Spartan could
not have written more laconically.
" By this means," thought Madame, " I will look narrowly after all
on the road; she shall sleep near me during the night, and his majesty
must be very clever if he can exchange a single word with Mademoiselle
de la Valliere." 1
La Valliere received the order to set off with the same indifferent
gentleness with which she had received the order to remain. But,
inwardly, her delight was extreme, and she looked upon this change in
the princess's resolution as a consolation which Providence had sent her.
With less penetration than Madame possessed, she attributed all to
chance. While every one, with the exception of those in disgrace, of
those who were ill, and those who were suffering from sprains, were
proceeding towards Saint-Germain, Malicorne smuggled his workman
into the palace in one of M. de Saint-Aignan's carriages, and led him
into the room corresponding to La Valliere's room. The man set to
work tempted by the splendid reward which had been promised him.
As the very best tools and implements had been selected from the
reserve stock belonging to the engineers attached to the king's house-
hold—and among others, a saw with teeth so sharp and well tempered
that it could, under water even, cut through oaken joists as hard as
iron—the work in question advanced very rapidly, and a square portion
of the ceiling, taken from between two of the joists, fell into the arms
of Saint-Aignan, Malicorne, the workman, and a confidential valet, the
latter being one brought into the world to see and hear everything, but
to repeat nothing. In accordance with a new plan indicated by Mali-
come, the opening was effected in an angle of the room, and for this
reason. As there was no dressing-closet adjoining La Valliere's room,
she had solicited, and had that very morning obtained, a large screen
intended to serve as a partition. The screen which had been conceded
was perfectly sufficient to conceal the opening, which would, besides, be
hidden by all the artifices which cabinetmakers have at their com-
mand. The opening having been made, the workman glided between
THE PBOMENADE BY TOBCHLIGHT. 151
the joists, and found himself in La Valliere's room. "When there, he
cut a square opening in the flooring, and out of the boards he manufac-
tured a trap so accurately fitting into the opening, that the most prac-
tised eye could hardly detect the necessary interstices made by joining
the flooring. Malicorne had provided for everything; a ring and a
couple of hinges which had been bought for the purpose, were affixed
to the trap-door; and a small circular staircase had been bought ready
made by the industrious Malicorne, who had paid two thousand francs
for it. It was higher than was required, but the carpenter reduced the
number of steps, and it was found to suit exactly. This staircase,
destined to receive so illustrious a weight, was merely fastened to the
wall by a couple of iron clamps, and its base was fixed into the floor
of the comte's room by two iron pegs screwed down tightly, so that the
king, and all his cabinet councillors too, might pass up and down the
staircase without any fear. Every blow of the hammer fell upon a
thick pad or cushion, and the saw was not used until the handle had
been wrapped in wool, and the blade steeped in oil. The noisiest part
of the work, moreover, had taken place during the night and early in
the morning, that is to say, when La Valliere and Madame were both
absent. When, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the court returned
to the Palais Royal, La Valliere went up into her own room. Every-
thing was in its place, and not the smallest particle of sawdust, not the
smallest chip, was left to bear witness to the violation of her domicile.
Saint-Aignan, however, wrho had wished to do his utmost in getting the
work done/had torn his fingers and his shirt too, and had expended no
ordinary quantity of perspiration in the king's service. The palms of
his hands, especially, were covered with blisters, occasioned by his having
held the ladder for Malicorne. He had moreover brought, one by one,
the five pieces of the staircase, each consisting of two steps. In fact, we
can safely assert, that if the king had seen him so ardently at work, his
majesty would have sworn an eternal gratitude towards his faithful
attendant. As Malicorne had anticipated, the workman had completely
finished the job in twenty-four hours; he received twenty-four louis,
and left Overwhelmed with delight, for he had gained in one day as
much as six months hard work would have procured him. No one had
the slightest suspicion of what had taken place in the room under
Mademoiselle de la Valliere's apartment. But in the evening of the
second day, at the very moment La Valliere had just left Madame's
circle and had returned to her own room, she heard a slight creaking
sound at the end of it. Astonished, she looked to see whence it pro-
ceeded, and the noise began again. "Who is there?" she said, in a
tone of alarm.
" I," replied the well-known voice of the king.
"You! you !" cried the young girl, who for a moment fancied herself
under the influence of a dream. " But where ? You, sire ?"
"Here," replied the king, opening one of the folds of the screen, and
appearing like a ghost at the end of the room.
La Valliere uttered a loud cry, and fell trembling into an arm-chair,
as the king advanced respectfully towards her.
152
the vicomte de bragelonne.
CHAPTER XXXY.
The Apparition.
La Valuers very soon recovered from her surprise, for, owing to
his respectful bearing, the king inspired her with more confidence by
his presence than his sudden appearance had deprived her of. But, as
he noticed that that which made La Valliere most uneasy was the
means by which he had effected an entrance into her room, he explained
to her the system of the staircase concealed by the screen, and strongly
disavowed the notion of his being a supernatural appearance.
"Oh, sire!" said La Valliere, shaking her fair head with a most
engaging smile, " present or absent, you do not appear to my mind more
at one time than at another."
" "Which means, Louise "
" Oh, what you know so well, sire; that there is not one moment in
which the poor girl whose secret you surprized at Pontainebleau, and
whom you came to snatch from the foot of the cross itself, does not
think of you."
" Louise, you overwhelm me with joy and happiness."
La Valliere smiled mournfully, and continued: "But, sire, have you
reflected that your ingenious invention could not be of the slightest
service to us?"
" Why so ? Tell me,—I am waiting most anxiously ?"
" Because this room may be subject to being searched at any moment
of the day. Madame herself may, at any time, come here accidentally;
my companions run in at any moment they please. To fasten the door
on the inside, is to denounce myself as plainly as if I had written above,
' No admittance,—the king is here.' Even now, sire, at this very
moment, there is nothing to prevent the door opening, and your
majesty being seen here."
In that case," said the king, laughingly, " I should indeed be taken
for a phantom, for no one can tell in what way I came here. Besides,
it is only phantoms who can pass through brick walls, or floors and
ceilings."
" Oh, sire, reflect for a moment how terrible the scandal would be!
Nothing equal to it could ever have been previously said about the
maids of honour, poor creatures! whom evil report, however, hardly
ever spares."
" And your conclusion from all this, my dear Louise,—come, explain
yourself."
" Alas! it is a hard thing to say—but your majesty must suppress
staircase plots, surprises and all; for the evil consequences which would
result from your being found here would be far greater than the
happiness of seeing each other."
Well, Louise," replied the king, tenderly, "instead of removing
this staircase by which I have ascended, there is a far mere simple
means, of which you have not thought."
" A means—another means!"
" Yes, another. Oh, you do not love me as I love you, Louise, since
my invention is quicker than yours."
She looked at the king, who held out his hand to her, which she took
and gently pressed between her own.
" You were saying," continued the king, " that I shall be detected
coming here, where any one who pleases can enter."
THE APPABITION. 153
" Stay, sire; at this very moment, even while you are speaking about
it, I tremble with dread of your being discovered."
" But you would not be found out, Louise, if you were to descend
the staircase which leads to the rooms underneath."
" Oh, sire! what do you say ?" cried Louise, in alarm.
" You do not quite understand me, Louise, since you get offended at
my very first word; first of all, do you know to whom the apartments
underneath belong ?"
" To M. de Guiche, sire, I know."
" Not at all; they are M. de Saint-Aignan's."
"Are you sure?" cried La Valliere; and this exclamation which
escaped from the young girl's joyous heart, made the king's heart throb
with delight.
" Yes, to Saint-Aignan, our friend," he said.
"But, sire," returned La Valliere, "I cannot visit M. de Saint-
Aignan's rooms any more than I could M. de Guiche's. It is impossible
—impossible."
" And yet, Louise, I should have thought that, under the safeguard
of the king, you could venture anything."
" Under the safeguard of the king," she said, with a look full of ten-
derness.
" You have faith in my word, I hope, Louise."
" Yes, sire, when you are not present; but when you are present,—
when you speak to me, — when I look upon you, I have faith in
nothing."
" What can possibly be done to reassure you ?"
" It is scarcely respectful, I know, to doubt the king, but you are not
the king for me."
" Thank heaven!—I, at least, hope so most fervently; you see how
anxiously I am trying to find or invent a means of removing all diffi-
culty. Stay; would the presence of a third person reassure you ?"
" The presence of M. de Saint-Aignan would, certainly."
" Really, Louise, you wound me by your suspicions."
Louise did not answer, she merely looked steadfastly at him with
that clear, piercing gaze which penetrates the very heart, and said
softly to herself, " Alas! alas ! it is not you of whom I am afraid,—it is
not you upon whom my doubts would fall."
" Well," said the king, sighing, "I agree; and M. de Saint-Aignan,
who enjoys the inestimable privilege of reassuring you, shall always be
present at our conversations, I promise you."
" You promise that, sire ?"
" Upon my honour as a gentleman; and you, on your side "
" Oh, wait, sire, that is not all yet; for such conversations ought, at
least, to have a reasonable motive of some kind for M. de Saint-
Aignan."
" Dear Louise, every shade of delicacy of feeling is yours, and my
only wish is to equal you on that point. It shall be just as you wish;
therefore our conversations shall have a reasonable motive, and I have
already hit upon one; so that from to-morrow, if you like "
" To-morrow ?"
" Do you mean that that is not soon enough?" exclaimed the king,
caressing La Valliere's hand between his own.
At this moment the sound of steps was heard in the corridor.
" Sire, sire !" cried La Valliere, " some one is coming; do you hear?
Oh, fly ! fly ! I implore you."
The king made but one bound from the chair where he was sitting
154 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
to his hiding-place behind the screen. He had barely time; for as he
drew one of the folds before him, the handle of the door was turned,
and Montalais appeared at the threshold. As a matter of course she
entered quite naturally, and without any ceremony, for she knew per-
fectly well that to knock at the door beforehand would be showing a
suspicion towards La Valliere which would be displeasing to her. She
accordingly entered, and after a rapid glance round the room, whereby
she observed two chairs very close to each other, she was so long in
shutting the door, which seemed to be difficult to close, one can hardly
tell how or why, that the king had ample time to raise the trap-door,
and to descend again to Saint-Aignan's room.
" Louise," she said to her, " I want to talk to you, and seriously, too."
" Good heavens! my dear Aure, what is the matter now ?"
" The matter is, that Madame suspects everything."
" Explain yourself."
" Is there any occasion for us to enter into explanations, and do you
not understand what I mean? Come, you must have noticed the
fluctuations in Madamo's humour during several days past; you must
have noticed how she first kept you close beside her, then dismissed you,
and then sent for you again."
" Yes, I have noticed it, of course."
" Well, it seems that Madame has now succeeded in obtaining suflfi-
cient information, for she has now gone straight to the point, as there
is nothing further left in Prance to withstand the torrent which sweeps
away all obstacles before it ; you know what I mean by the torrent ?"
La Valliere hid her face in her hands.
" I mean," continued Montalais, pitilessly, " that torrent which has
burst through the gates of the Carmelites of Chaillot, and overthrown
all the prejudices of the court as well at Eontainebleau as at Paris."
" Alas ! alas!" murmured La Valliere, her face still covered by her
hands, and her tears streaming through her fingers.
" Oh, don't distress yourself in that manner, for you have only heard
half of your troubles."
" In Heaven's name," exclaimed the young girl, in great anxiety,
" what is the matter ?"
" Well, then, this is how the matter stands; Madame, who can no
longer rely upon any further assistance in Prance; for she has, one
after the other, made use of the two queens, of Monsieur, and the whole
court too, now bethinks herself of a certain person who has certain
pretended rights over you."
La Valliere became as white as a marble statue.
" This person," continued Montalais," is not in Paris at this mopnent;
but, if I am not mistaken, is in England."
" Yes, yes," breathed La Valliere, almost overwhelmed with terror.
" And is to be found, I think, at the court of Charles II.; am I
right ? " " Yes."
" Well, this evening a letter has been dispatched by Madame to Saint
James's, with directions for the courier to go straight on to Hampton
Court, which I believe is one of the royal residences, situated about a
dozen miles from London."
"Yes; well?"
" Well; as Madame writes regularly to London once a fortnight, and
as the ordinary courier left for London not more than three days ago,
I have been thinking that some serious circumstance could alone have
induced her to write again so soon, for you know she is a very indolent
correspondent." " Yes."
THE APPABITIOH. 155
" This letter has been written, therefore, something tells me so, at
least, on your account."
" On my account ? " repeated the unhappy girl, mechanically.
" And I, who saw the letter lying on Madame's desk before she sealed
it, fancied I could read "
" "What did you fancy you could read ? "
" I might possibly have been mistaken, though "
" Tell me,—what was it ? "
" The name of Bragelonne."
La Valliere rose hurriedly from her chair, a prey to the most painful
agitation. " Montalais," she said, her voice broken by sobs, " all the
smiling dreams of youth and innocence have fled already. I have
nothing now to conceal, either from you or from any one else. My life
is exposed to every one's inspection, and can be opened like a book,
in which all the world can read, from the king himself to the first
passer-by. Aure, dearest Aure, what can I do—what will become of
me ? "
Montalais approached close to her, and said, "Consult your own
heart, of course."
" Well; I do not love M. de Bragelonne; when I say I do not love
him, understand that 1 love him as the most affectionate sister could
love the best of brothers, but that is not what he requires, nor what I
have promised him."
" In fact, you love the king," said Montalais, " and that is a sufli-
ciently good excuse."
" Yes, I do love the king," hoarsely murmured the young girl, "and
I have paid dearly enough to pronounce those words. And now, Mon-
talais, tell me—what can you do, either for me, or against me, in my
present position."
" You must speak more clearly still."
" What am I to say, then ? "
" And so you have nothing very particular to tell me P"
" No!" said Louise, in astonishment.
" Very good; and so all you have to ask me is my advice respecting
M. Eaoul ? "
"Nothing else."
" It is a very delicate subject," replied Montalais.
" No, it is nothing of the kind. Ought I to marry him in order to
keep the promise I made, or ought I to continue to listen to the
king ? "
"You have really placed me in a very difficult position," said Monta-
lais, smiling; " you ask me if you ought to marry Eaoul, whose friend
I am, and whom I shall mortally offend in giving my opinion against
him; and then, you ask me if you should cease to listen to the king,
whose subject I am, and whom I should also offend if I were to advise
you in a particular way. Ah, Louise, you seem to hold a difficult posi-
tion at a very cheap rate."
" You have not understood me, Aure," said La Yalliere, wounded by
the slightly mocking tone of her companion ; " if I were to marry M.
de Bragelonne, I should be far from bestowing on him the happiness
he deserves; but, for the same reason, if I listen to the king he would
become the possessor of one indifferently good in very many respects
I admit, but one on whom his affection confers an appearance of value.
What, I ask you, then, is to tell me some means of disengaging myself
honourably either from the one or from the other; or rather, I ask you,
from which side you think I can free myself most honourably."
ISO THE VIC01ITE DE BRAGELONNE.
" My dear Louise," replied Montalais, after a pause, " I am not one
of those seven wise men of Greece, and I have no perfectly invariable
rules of conduct to govern me; but, on the other hand, I have a little
experience, and I can assure you that no woman ever asks for advice of
the nature which you have just asked me, without being in a terrible
state of embarrassment. Besides, you have made a solemn promise,
which every principle of honour would require you to fulfil;—if, there-
fore, you are embarrassed, in consequence of having undertaken such
an engagement, it is not a stranger's advice (every one is a stranger to
a heart full of love), it is not my aftlvice, I repeat, which will extricate
you from your embarrassment. I shall not give it you, therefore; and
for a greater reason still—because, were I in your place, I should feel
much more embarrassed after the advice than before it. All I can do
is, to repeat what I have already told you: shall I assist you ? "
"Yes, yes."
" Very well; that is all. Tell me in what way you wish me to help
you; tell me for and against whom,—in this way we shall not make any
blunders ?"
"But first of all," said La Yalliere, pressing her companion's hand,
" for whom or against whom do you decide ? "
" For you, if you are really and truly my friend."
" Are you not Madame's confidante 1"
" A greater reason for being of service to you; if I were not to know
what is going on in that direction I should not be able to be of any ser-
vice at all, and consequently you would not obtain any advantage from
my acquaintance. Friendships live and thrive upon a system of reci-
procal benefit."
" The result is, then, that you will remain at the same time Madame's
friend also ? "
" Evidently. Do you complain of that ? "
"No," said La Valliere, thoughtfully, for that cynical frankness ap-
peared to her an offence addressed both to the woman as well as to the
friend.
" All well and good, then," said Montalais, " for, in that case, you
would be very foolish."
" You will serve me, then ? "
" Devotedly so, if you will serve me in return ? "
" One would almost say that you do not know my heart," said La
Yalliere, looking at Montalais with her eyes wide open.
" Why, the fact is, that since we have belonged to the court, my dear
Louise, we are very much changed."
" In what way ? "
" It is very simple. "Were you the second Queen of France yonder, at
Blois ? "
La Yalliere hung down her head, and began to weep. Montalais
looked at her in an indefinable manner, and murmured " Poor girl!"
and then, adding " Poor king!" she kissed Louise on the forehead, and
returned to her apartment, where Malicorne was waiting for her.
THE POETBAIT.
157
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The Portrait.
In that malady which is termed love the paroxysms succeed each
other at intervals, always more rapid from the moment the disease
declares itself. By and by, the paroxysms are less frequent, in propor-
tion as the cure approaches. This being laid down as a general axiom,
and as the heading of a particular chapter, we will now proceed with
our recital. The next day, the day fixed by the king for the first con-
versation in Saint-Aignan's room, La Valliere, on opening one of the
folds of the screen, found upon the floor a letter in the king's hand-
writing. The letter had been passed, through a slit in the floor, from
the lower apartment to her own. No indiscreet hand or curious gaze
could have brought or did bring this simple paper. This was one of
Malicorne's ideas. Having seen how very serviceable Saint-Aignan
would become to the king on account of his apartment, he did not
wish that the courtier should become still more indispensable as a mes-
senger, and so he had, on his own private account, reserved this last post
for himself. La Valliere most eagerly read the letter, which fixed two
o'clock that same afternoon for the rendezvous, and which indicated
the way of raising the trap-door which was constructed out of the
flooring. " Make yourself look as beautiful as possible," added the
postscript of the letter, words which astonished the young girl, but at
the same time reassured her. The hours passed away very slowly, but
the time fixed, however, arrived at last. As punctual as the priestess
Hero, Louise lifted up the trap-door at the last stroke of the hour of
two, and found the king upon the top steps, waiting for her with the
greatest respect, in order to give her his hand to descend. The delicacy
and deference shown in this attention affected her very powerfully.
At the loot of the staircase the two lovers found the comte, who, with
a smile and a low reverence distinguished by the best taste, expressed
his thanks to La Valliere for the honour she conferred upon him.
Then, turning towards the king, he said,—
" Sire, our man is here." La Valliere looked at the king with some
uneasiness.
"Mademoiselle," said the king, "if I have begged you to do me the
honour of coming down here, it was from an interested motive. I
have procured a most admirable portrait-painter, who is celebrated for
the fidelity of his likenesses, and I wish you to be kind enough to
authorize him to paint yours. Besides, if you positively wish it, the
portrait shall remain in your own possession." La Valliere blushed.
" You see," said the king to her, " we shall not be three as you wished,
out four instead. And, so long as we are not alone, there can be as
many present as you please." La Valliere gently pressed her royal
lover's hand.
" Shall we pass into the next room, sire," said Saint-Aignan, opening
the door to let his guests precede him. The king walked behind La
Valliere, and fixed his eyes lingeringly and passionately upon her neck
as white as snow, upon which her long fair ringlets fell in heavy masses.
La Valliere was dressed in a thick silk robe of pearl grey colour, with
a tinge of rose, with jet ornaments, which displayed to greater effect the
dazzling purity of her skin, holding in her slender and transparent
hands a bouquet of heartsease, Bengal roses, and clematis, surrounded
158 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
with leaves of the tenderest green, above which uprose, like a tiny
goblet shedding perfumes, a Harlaem tulip of grey and violet tints, of a
pure and beautiful species, which had cost the gardener five years' toil
of combinations and the king five thousand francs. Louis had placed
this bouquet in La Valliere's hand as he saluted her. In the room,
the door of which Saint-Aignan had just opened, a young man was
standing, dressed in a loose velvet coat, with beautiful black eyes and
long brown hair. It was the painter; his canvass was quite ready, and
his palette prepared for use. He bowed to La Valliere with that grave
curiosity of an artist who is studying his model, saluted the king dis-
creetly, as if he did not recognize him, and as he would, consequently,
have saluted any other gentleman. Then, leading Mademoiselle de la Val-
liere to the seat which he had arranged for her, he begged her to sit down.
The young girl assumed an attitude graceful and unrestained, her hands
occupied, and her limbs reclining on cushions; and in order that her
gaze might not assume a vague or affected expression, the painter begged
her to choose some kind of occupation, so as to engage her attention;
whereupon, Louis XIV., smiling, sat down on the cushions at La Val-
Here's feet; so that she, in the reclining posture she had assumed,
leaning back in the armchair, holding her flowers in her hand, and he,
with his eyes raised towards her and fixed devouringly on her face—they,
both together, formed so charming a group, that the artist contemplated
it with professional delight; while, on his side, Saint-Aignan regarded
them with feelings of envy. The painter sketched rapidly; and very
soon, beneath the earliest touches of the brush, there started into life,
out of the gray background, the gentle, poetry-breathing face, with its
soft calm eyes and delicately-tinted cheeks, enframed in the masses of
hair which fell about her neck. The lovers, however, spoke but little,
and looked at each other a good deal; sometimes their eyes became so
languishing in their gaze, that the painter was obliged to interrupt his
work in order to avoid representing an Erycina instead of a La Valliere.
It was on such occasions that Saint-Aignan came to the rescue, and
recited verses, or repeated one of those little tales as Patru related them,
and which Tallemant des Beaux wrote so cleverly, Or, it might be,
that La Valliere was fatigued, and the sitting was, therefore, suspended
for a while; and, immediately, a tray of precious porcelain, laden with
the most beautiful fruits which could be obtained, and rich wines dis-
tilling their bright colours in silver goblets, beautifully chased, served
as accessories to the picture of which the painter could but retrace the
most ephemeral resemblance. Louis was intoxicated with love, La
Valliere with happiness, Saint-Aignan with ambition, and the painter
was storing up' recollections for his old age. Two hours passed away
in this manner, and four o'clock having struck, La Valliere rose and
made a sign to the king. Louis also rose, approached the picture, and
addressed a few flattering remarks to the painter. Saint-Aignan also
praised the picture, which, as he pretended, was already beginning to
assume an accurate resemblance. La Valliere in her turn blushingly
thanked the painter, and passed into the next room, where the king
followed her after having previously summoned Saint-Aignan.
" Will you not come to-morrow ?" he said to La Valliere.
" Oh! sire, pray think that some one will be sure to come to my
room, and will not find me there."
" Well!" " What will become of me in that case ?"
"You are very apprehensive, Louise."
" But, at all events, suppose Madame were to send for me."
" Oh!" replied the king, " will the day never come when you yourself
THE PORTRAIT. 159
will tell me to brave everything, so that I may not have to leave you
again."
" On that clay then, sire, I shall be quite out of my mind, and you
ought not to believe me."
" To-morrow, Louise."
La Valliere sighed, but, without the courage to oppose her royal
lover's wish, she repeated, " To-morrow, then, since you desire it, sire,"
and, with these words, she ran up the stairs lightly, and disappeared
from her lover's gaze.
" Well, sire ?" inquired Saint-Aignan, when she had left.
"Well, Saint-Aignan; yesterday I thought myself the happiest of
men."
"And does your majesty, then, regard yourself to-day," said the
comte, smiling, " as the unhappiest of men ?"
"No; but my love for her is an unquenchable thirst; in vain do I
drink, in vain do I swallow the drops of water which your industry pro-
cures for me; the more I drink, the more unquenchable is my thirst."
" Sire, that is in some degree your own fault, and your majesty alone
has made the position such as it is."
" You are right."
" In that case, therefore, the means to be happy, is to fancy yourself
satisfied, and to wait."
" Wait! you know that word, then ?"
" There, there, sire—do not despair; I have already been at work on
your behalf—I have still other resources in store." The king shook
his head in a despairing manner.
" What, sire! have you not been satisfied hitherto ? "
" Oh! yes, indeed yes, my dear Saint-Aignan; but find, for Heaven's
sake, find some further means yet."
" Sire, I undertake to do my best, and that is all I can do."
The king wished to see the portrait again, as he was unable to see
the original. He pointed out several alterations to the painter and left
the room, and then Saint-Aignan dismissed the artist. The easel,
paints, and painter himself, had scarcely gone, when Malicorne showed
his head at the doorway. He was received by Saint-Aignan with open
arms, but still with a little sadness, for; the cloud which had passed
across the royal sun, veiled, in its turn, the faithful satellite, and Mali-
corne at a glance perceived the melancholy look which was visible
upon Saint-Aignan's face. »
" Oh, monsieur le comte," he said, " how sad you seem !"
" And good reason too, my dear Monsieur Malicorne. Will you be-
lieve that the king is not satisfied ? "
"Not satisfied with his staircase, do you mean ? "
" Oh, no ; on the contrary, he is delighted with the staircase."
" The decoration of the apartments, I suppose, don't please him."
"Oh ! he has not even thought of that. No, indeed, it seems that
what has dissatisfied the king "
" I will tell you, monsieur le comte—he is dissatisfied at finding him-
self the fourth person at a rendezvous of this kind. How is it possible
you could not have guessed that ? "
" Why, how is it likely I could have done so, dear M. Malicorne,
when I followed the king's instructions to the very letter P "
"Did his majesty really insist upon your being present ?"
" Positively so."
"And also required that the painter whom I met down stairs just
now, should be here, too ? "
160 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" He insisted upon it."
" In that case, I can easily understand why his majesty is dissatisfied."
" What! dissatisfied that I have so punctually and literally obeyed
his orders ? I don't understand you."
Malicorne began to scratch his ear, as he asked, " What time did the
king fix for the rendezvous in your apartment ? "
" Two o'clock."
" And you were waiting for the king ? "
" Ever since half-past one; for it would have been a fine thing, in-
deed, to have been unpunctual with his majesty."
Malicorne, notwithstanding his respect for Saint-Aignan, could not
resist shrugging his shoulders. " And the painter," he said, " did the
king wish him to be here at two o'clock, also ? "
"No ; but I had him waiting here from mid-day. Ear better, you
know, for a painter to be kept waiting a couple of hours, than the king
a single minute."
Malicorne began to laugh to himself. " Come, dear Monsieur Mali-
eorne," said Saint-Aignan, " laugh less at me, and speak a little more
freely, I beg."
"AEell, then, monsieur le comte, if you wish the king to be a little
more satisfied, the- next time he comes "
" Ventre saint-gris! as his grandfather used to say; of course I
wish it."
" Well, all you have to do is, when the king comes to-morrow, to be
obliged to go away on a most pressing matter of business, which cannot
possibly be postponed, and stay away for twenty minutes."
"What! leave the king alone for twenty minutes?" cried Saint-
Aignan, in alarm.
Very well, do as you like; don't pay any attention to what I say,"
said Malicorne, moving towards the door.
"Nay, nay, dear Monsieur Malicorne; on the contrary, go on—I
begin to understand you. But the painter "
Oh! the painter must be half an hour late."
" Half an hour—do you really think so ? "
" Ves, I do, decidedly."
"Very well, then, I will do as you tell me."
" And my opinion is, that you will be doing perfectly right. Will you
allow me to come and inquire to-morrow, a little ? "
"Of course."
" I have the honour to be your most respectful servant, M. de Saint-
Aignan," said Malicorne, bowing profoundly, and retiring from the
room backwards.
"There is no doubt that fellow has more invention than I have,"
said Saint-Aignan, as if compelled by his conviction to admit it.
CHAPTER XXXVH.
Hampton Court.
The revelation of which we have been witnesses, that Montalais
made to La Valliere, in a preceding chapter, very naturally makes us
return to the principal hero of this tale, a poor wandering knight,
roving about at the king's caprice. If our reader will be good enough
to follow us, we will, in his company, cross that strait more stormy than
HAMPTON COTTBT. 161
the Euripus—that which separates Calais from Dover; we will speed
across that green and fertile country, with its numerous little streams;
through Maidstone, and many other villages and towns, each prettier
than the other; and, finally, arrive at London. Prom thence, like
bloodhounds following a track, after having ascertained that Eaoul had
made his first stay at Whitehall, his second at St. James's, and having
learnt that he had been warmly received by Monk, and introduced
into the best society of Charles II.'s court, we will follow him to one
of Charles II.'s summer residences, near the town of Kingston, at
Hampton Court, situated on the Thames. The river is not, at that
spot, the boastful highway which bears upon its broad bosom its thou-
sands of travellers; nor are its waters black and troubled as those of
Cocytus, as it boastfully asserts, "I, too, am the sea." No; at Hamp-
ton Court it is a soft and murmuring stream, with moss-grown banks,
reflecting, in its broad mirror, the willows and beeches which ornament
its sides, and on which may occasionally be seen a light bark indolently
reclining among the tall reeds;, in a little creek formed of alders and
forget-me-nots. The surrounding country on all sides seemed smiling
in happiness and wealth ; the brick cottages, from whose chimneys the
blue smoke was slowly ascending in wreaths, peeped forth from the
belts of green holly which environed them; children dressed in red
frocks appeared and disappeared amidst the high grass, like poppies
bowed by the gentle breath of the passing breeze. The sheep,
ruminating with closed eyes, lay lazily about under the Shadow
of the stunted aspens; while, far and near, the kingfisher, clad in erne-
raid and gold, skimmed swiftly along the surface of the water, like
a magic ball, heedlessly touching, as he passed, the line of his brother
angler, who sat watching in his boat the fish as they rose to the surface
of the sparkling stream. High above this Paradise of dark shadows
and soft light, arose the palace of Hampton Court, which had been
built by "VVolsey—a residence which the haughty cardinal had been
obliged, timid courtier that he was, to offer to his master, Henry VIII.,
who had frowned with envy and feelings of cupidity at the aspect of
the new palace. Hampton Court, with its brick walls, its large win-
dows, its handsome iron gates, as well as its curious bell-turrets, its
retired covered walks, and interior fountains, like those of the Alham-
bra, was a perfect bower of roses, jasmine, and clematis. Every sense,
of sight and smell particularly, was gratified, and formed a most
charming framework for the picture of love which Charles II. unrolled
among the voluptuous paintings of Titian, of Pordenone, and of Van-
dyck; the same Charles whose father's portrait—the martyr king—
was hanging in his gallery, and who could show upon the wainscots of
the various apartments the holes made by the balls of the puritanical
followers of Cromwell, on the 24th August, 1648, at the time they had
brought Charles I. prisoner to Hampton Court. There it was that the
king, intoxicated with pleasure and amusement, held his court—he
who, a poet in feeling, thought himself justified in redeeming, by a
whole day of voluptuousness, every minute which had been formerly
passed in anguish and misery. It was not the soft green sward of
Hampton Court—so soft, that it almost resembled the richest velvet in
the thickness of its texture—nor was it the beds of flowers, with their
variegated hues, which encircled the foot of every tree, with rose-trees
many feet in height, embracing most lovingly their trunks—nor even
the enormous lime-trees, whose branches swept the earth like willows,
offdbing a ready concealment for love or reflection beneath the shade of
their foliage—it was none of these things for which Charles II. loved
YOU M
162 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
his palace of Hampton Court. Perhaps it might have been that beau-
tiful sheet of water, which the cool breeze rippled like the wavy undu-
lations of Cleopatra's hair; waters bedecked with cresses and white
water-lilies, with hardy bulbs, which, half unfolding themselves beneath
the sun's warm rays, reveal the golden-coloured germs which lie con-,
cealed in their milk-white covering—murmuring waters, on the bosom of
which the black swans majestically floated ; and the restless water-fowl,
with their tender broods covered with silken down, darted restlessly in
every direction, in pursuit of the insects among the flags, or the frogs in
their mossy retreats. Perhaps it might have been the enormous hollies,
with their dark and tender green foliage; or the bridges which united
the banks of the canals in their embrace; or the fawns browsing in the
endless avenues of the park; or the numberless birds which hopped
abqut the gardens, or flew from branch to branch, amids-t the dense
foliage of the trees.
It might well have been any of these charms, for Hampton
Court possessed them all; and possessed, too, almost forests of white
roses, which climbed and trailed along the lofty trellises, showering
down upon the ground their snowy leaves rich with odorous perfumes.
But, no, what Charles II. most loved in Hampton Court was the charm-
ing figures who, when mid-day was passed, flitted to and fro along the
broad terraces of the gardens; like Louis XIV. he had had their wealth
of beauties painted for his cabinet by one of the great artists of the
period—an artist who well knew the secret of transferring to canvass a
ray of light which had escaped from their beaming eyes laden with love
and love's delights.
The day of our arrival at Hampton Court is almost as clear and
bright as a summer's day in Prance; the atmosphere is laden with the
delicious perfume of the geraniums, sweet-peas, seringas, and helio-
trope which are scattered in profusion around. It is past mid-day,
and the king, having dined after his return from hunting, paid a visit
to Lady Castlemaine, the lady who was reputed at the time to hold his
heart in bondage; and with this proof of his devotion discharged, he
was readily permitted to pursue his infidelities until evening arrived.
Love and amusement ruled the whole court; it was the period when
ladies would seriously interrogate their ruder companions as to their
opinion upon a foot more or less captivating, according to whether it
wore a pink or green silk-stocking— for it was the period when CharlesII.
had declared that there was no hope of safety for a woman who wore
green silk stockings, because Miss Lucy Stewart wore them of that
colour. While the king is endeavouring in all directions to inoculate
others with his preferences on this point, we will ourselves bend our
steps towards an avenue of beech-trees opposite the terrace, and listen
to the conversation of a young girl in a dark-coloured dress, who is
walking with another of about her own age dressed in lilac and dark
blue. They crossed a beautiful lawn in the middle of which arose a
fountain, with the figure of a syren executed in bronze, and strolled on,
talking as they went, towards the terrace, along which, looking out
upon the park, and interspersed at frequent intervals, were erected
summer-houses, various in form and ornaments; these summer-houses
were nearly all occupied; the two young women passed on, the one
blushing deeply, while the other seemed dreamingly silent. At last,
having reached the end of the terrace which looks on the river, and
finding there a cool retreat, they sat down close to each other.
"Where are we going, Stewart?" said the younger to her com-
panion.
HAMPTON CO.UJJT. 163
" My dear Grafton, we are going where you yourself led the way."
" Yes, you; to the extremity of the palace, towards that seat yonder,
where the young Frenchman is seated, wasting his time and sighs and
lamentations."
Miss Mary Grafton hurriedly said, " No, no; I am not going there."
" Why not ? "
" Let us go back, Stewart."
"Nay, on the contrary, let us go on, and have an explanation."
" About what ? "
"About how it happens that the vicomte de Bragelonne always
accompanies you in all your walks, as you invariably accompany him in
his."
" And you conclude either that he loves me, or that I love him ? "
" Why not ?—he is a most agreeable and charming companion—No one
hears me, I hope," said Lucy Stewart, as she turned round with a smile,
which indicated, moreover, that her uneasiness on the subject was not
extreme.
"No, no," said Mary, "the king is engaged in his summer-house with
the duke of Buckingham."
" Oh ! a propos of the duke; Mary, it seems he has shown you great
attention since his return from France; how is your own heart in that
direction ? "
Mary Grafton shrugged, her shoulders with seeming indifference.
" Well, well, I will ask Bragelonne about that," said Stewart, laugh-
ing; " let us go and find him at once."
"What for?"
" I wish to speak to him."
"Not yet; one word before you do; come, Stewart, you who know
so many of the king's secrets, tell me why M. de Bragelonne is in
England ? "
" Because he was sent as an envoy from one sovereign to another."
" That may be; but, seriously, although politics do not much concern
us, we know enough to be satisfied that M. de Bragelonne has no mission
of any serious import here."
"Well, then, listen," said Stewart, with assumed gravity, " for your
sake I am going to betray a state secret. Shall I tell you the nature of
the letter which King Louis XIY. gave M. de Bragelonne for King
Charges II. ? I will; these are the very words, ' My brother, the
bearer of this is a gentleman attached to my court, and the son of one
whom you regard most warmly. Treat him kindly, I beg, and try and
make him like England.'"
" Did it say that ? "
" Word for word—or something very like it. I will not answer for
the form, but the substance I am sure of."
"Well, and what conclusion do you, or rather what conclusion does
the king, draw from that ? "
" That the king of France had his own reasons for removing M. de
Bragelonne, and for getting him married somewhere else than in
France."
" So that, then, in consequence of this letter "
" King Charles received M. de Bragelonne, as you are aware, in the
most distinguished and friendly manner; the handsomest apartments in
Whitehall were allotted to him; and as you are the most valuable and
precious person in his court, inasmuch as you have rejected his heart—
nay, do not blush,—he wished you to take a fancy to this Frenchman,
HT 9
164 THE YIC03MTE DE BBAGELONHE.
and he was desirous to confer upon him so costly a prize. And this is
the reason why you, the heiress of three hundred thousand pounds,
a future duchess, and one so beautiful and so good, have been thrown in
Bragelonne's way, in all the promenades and parties of pleasure to which
he was invited. In fact it was a plot,—a kind of conspiracy."
Mary Grafton smiled with that charming expression which was habl-
tual to her, and, pressing her companion's arm, said: "Thank the
king, Lucy."
"Yes, yes, but the duke of Buckingham is jealous, so take care."
Hardly had she pronounced these words, than the duke appeared from
one of the pavilions on the terrace, and, approaching the two girls, with a
smile, said, " You are mistaken, Miss Lucy; I am not jealous; and the
proof, Miss Mary, is yonder, in the person of M. de Bragelonne himself,
who ought to be the cause of my jealousy, but who is dreaming in pen-
sive solitude. Poor fellow ! Allow me to leave you for a few minutes,
while I avail myself of those few minutes to converse with Miss Lucy
Stewart, to whom I have something to say." And then, bowing to
Lucy, he added, " Will you do me the honour to accept my hand, in
order that I may lead you to the king, who is waiting for us." With
these words, Buckingham, still smiling, took Miss Stewart's hand, and
led her away. When by herself, Mary Grafton, her head gently in-
clined towards her shoulder, with that indolent gracefulness of action
which distinguishes young English girls, remained for a moment with
her eyes fixed on Baoul, but as if uncertain what to do. At last, after
first blushing violently, and then turning deadly pale, thus revealing
the internal combat which assailed her heart, she seemed to make up
her mind to adopt a decided course, and, with a tolerably firm step,
advanced towards the seat on which Baoul was reclining, buried in the
profoundest meditation, as we have already said. The sound of Miss
Mary's steps, though they could be hardly heard upon the green sward,
awakened Baoul from his musing attitude; he turned round, perceived
the young girl, and walked forward to meet the companion whom his
happy destiny had thrown in his way.
I have been sent to you, monsieur," sajjL Mary Grafton; " will you
accept me?"
"To whom is my gratitude due, for so great a happiness ?" inquired
Baoul.
" To the duke of Buckingham," replied Mary, affecting a gaiety she
did not really feel.
" To the duke of Buckingham, do you say ?—he who so passionately
seeks your charming society! Am I really to believe you are serious,
mademoiselle ?"
" The fact is, monsieur, you perceive, that everything seems to con-
spire to make us pass the best, or rather the longest, part of our days
together. Yesterday, it was the king who desired me to beg you to seat
yourself next to me at dinner; to-day, it is the duke of Buckingham,
who begs me to come and place myself near you on this seat."
" And he has gone away in order to leave us together ?" asked Baoul,
with some embarrassment.
"Look yonder, at the turning of that path; he is just out of sight,
with Miss Stewart. Are these polite attentions usual in France, mon-
sieur le comte ?"
" I cannot very precisely say what people do in France, mademoiselle,
for I can hardly be called a Frenchman. I have resided in many coun-
tries, and almost always as a soldier; and then, I have spent a long
period of my life in the country. I am almost a savage."
HAMPTON COURT. 165
" Tou do not like your residence in England, I fear."
"I scarcely know," said Eaoul, inattentively, and sighing deeply, at
the same time.
" What! you do not know."
"Porgive me," said Eaoul, shaking his head, and collecting his
thoughts, " I did not hear you."
"Oh!" said the young girl, sighing in her turn, "how wrong the
duke was to send me here !"
"Wrong !" said Eaoul, "perhaps so; for I am but a rude, uncouth
companion, and my society annoys you. The duke was, indeed, very
wrong to send you."
" It is, precisely," replied Mary Grafton, in a clear, calm voice, " be-
cause your society does not annoy me, that the duke was wrong to send
me to you."
It was now Baoul's turn to blush. " But," he resumed, " how hap-
pens it, that the duke of Buckingham should send you to me; and why
should you have come ? the duke loves you, and you love him."
."No," replied Mary, seriously, "the duke does not love me, because
he is in love with the Duchesse d'Orleans; and, as for myself, 1 have no
affection for the duke."
Eaoul looked at the young girl with astonishment.
"Are you a friend of the duke of Buckingham?" she inquired.
" The duke has honoured me by calling me so ever since we met in
Prance."
"You are simple acquaintances, then ?"
" No; for the duke is the most intimate friend of one whom I regard
as a brother."
" The due de Guiche ?" "Yes."
" He who is in love with Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans."
" Oh! What is that you are saying ? "
" And who loves him in return," continued the young girl, quietly.
Eaoul bent down his head, and Mary Grafton, sighing deeply, con-
tinued, " They are very happy. But, leave me, Monsieur de Brage-
lonne, for the duke of Buckingham has given you a very troublesome
commission in offering me as a companion in your promenade. Your
heart is elsewhere, and it is with the greatest difficulty you can be
charitable enough to lend me your attention. Confess truly; it would
be unfair on your part, vicomte, not to confess it."
" Madame, I do confess it."
She looked at him steadily. He was so noble and so handsome in his
bearing, his eye revealed so much gentleness, candour, and resolution,
that the idea could not possibly enter her mind, that he was either
rudely discourteous, or a mere simpleton. She only perceived clearly
enough, that he loved another woman, and not herself, with the whole
strength of his heart. " Ah ! I now understand you," she said ; " you
have left your heart behind you in France." Eaoul bowed. " The duke
is aware of your affection."
"No one knows it," replied Eaoul.
" Why, therefore, do you tell me ? Nay, answer me." " I cannot."
" It is for me, then, to anticipate an explanation; you do not wish to
tell me anything, because you are now convinced that I do not love the
duke; because you see that I possibly might have loved you; because you
are a gentleman of noble and delicate sentiments; and because, instead
of accepting, even were it for the mere amusement of the passing hour,
a hand which is almost pressed upon you; and, because instead of
meeting my smiles with a smiling lip, you, who are young, have pre-
166 THE VICOMTE EE BBA.GELONNE.
ferred to tell me, whom men have called beautiful,' My heart is far
away in Prance.' Por this, I thank you, Monsieur de Bragelonne ; you
are, indeed, a noble-hearted, noble-minded man, and I regard you yet
more for it. As a friend only. And now let us cease speaking of my-
self, and talk of your own affairs. Porget that I have ever spoken to
you of myself; tell me why you are sad, and why you have become
more than usually so during these four past days?"
Raoul was deeply and sensibly moved by her sweet and melancholy
tone; and as he could not, at the moment, find a word to say, the young
girl again came to his assistance.
" Pity me," she said. " My mother was born in Prance, and I can
truly affirm that I, too, am Prench. in blood, as well as in feeling; but
the heavy atmosphere and characteristic gloom of England seem to
weigh like a burden upon me. Sometimes my dreams are golden-hued
and full of wondrous enjoyment, but suddenly a mist arises and over-
spreads my dreams, and blots them out for ever. Such, indeed, is the
case at the present moment. Porgive me; I have now said enough on
that subject; give me your hand, and relate your griefs to me as to a
friend."
"You say you are Prench in heart and soul."
" Yes, not only I repeat it, that my mother was French, but, further
still, as my father, a friend of King Charles I., was exiled in Prance, I,
during the trial of that prince, as well as during the Protector's life,
was brought up in Paris; at the Restoration of King Charles II., my
poor father returned to England, where he died almost immediately
afterwards; and then the king created me a duchess, and has dowered
me according to my rank."
" Have you any relation in France ? " Raoul inquired, with the deep-
est interest.
" I have a sister there, my senior by seven or eight years, who was
married in Prance, and was early left a widow; her name is Madame
de Bellieres. Do you know her ? " she added, observing Raoul start
suddenly.
I have heard her name mentioned."
" She, too, loves with her whole heart; and her last letters inform
me that she is happy, and her affection is, I conclude, returned. I told
you, Monsieur de Bragelonne, that although I possess half of her
nature, I do not share her happiness. But let us now speak of your-
self: whom do you love in Prance ? "
" A young girl, as soft and as pure as a lily."
" But if she loves you, why are you sad ? "
" I have been tola that she has ceased to love me."
" You do not believe it, I trust ? "
" He who wrote me so does not sign his letter."
"An anonymous denunciation! some treachery, be assured," said
Miss Grafton.
" Stay," said Raoul, showing the young girl a letter which he had
read over a thousand times; she took it from his hand and read as
follows:—
" Vicomte,—You are perfectly right to amuse yourself yonder with
the lovely faces of Charles II.'s court, for, at Louis XIY.'s court, the
castle in which your affections are enshrined is being besieged. Stay in
London altogether, poor vicomte, or return without delay to Paris."
" There is no signature," said Miss Mary. " None."
" Believe it not, then."
" Very good; but here is a second letter, from my friend de Guiche,
HAMPTON COUET. 1G7
which says, ' I am lying here wounded and ill. Eeturn, Eaoul, oh
return!5"
" What do you intend doing ?" inquired the young girl, with a feel-
ing of oppression at her heart.
" My intention, as soon as I received this letter, was immediately to
take my leave of the king."
" When did you receive it ? "
" The day before yesterday."
" It is dated from Fontainebleau."
" A singular circumstance, do you not think, for the court is now at
Paris ? At all events, I would have set off; but when I mentioned my
intention to the king, he began to laugh, and said to me,' How comes
it, monsieur 1'ambassadeur, that you think of leaving ? Has your sove-
reign recalled you ?' I coloured, naturally enough, for I was confused
by the question; for the fact is, the king himself sent me here, and I
have received no order to return."
Mary frowned in deep thought, and said, " Do you remain, then ? "
" I must, mademoiselle."
" Do you ever receive any letters from her to whom you are so
devoted." " Never."
" Never, do you say P Does she not love you, then ? "
" At least, she has not written to me since my departure, although she
used occasionally to write to me before. I trust she may have been
prevented."
" Hush ! the duke is here."
And Buckingham at that moment was seen at the end of the walk,
approaching towards them, alone and smiling; he advanced slowly, and
held out his hands to them both. " Have you arrived at an under-
standing ? " he said.
" About what ? "
"About whatever might render you happy, dear Mary, and make
Eaoul less miserable."
" I do not understand you, my lord," said Eaoul.
"That is my view of the subject, Miss Mary; do you wish me to
mention it before M. de Bragelonne ? " he added, with a smile.
" If you mean," replied the young girl, haughtily, " that I was not
indisposed to love M. de Bragelonne, that is useless, for I have told him
so myself." .
Buckingham reflected for a moment, and, without seeming in any
way discountenanced, as she expected, he said.': " My reason for leaving
you with M. de Bragelonne was, that I thoroughly knew your refined
delicacy of feeling, no less than the perfect loyalty of your mind and
heart, and I hoped that M. de Bragelonne's cure might be effected by
the hands of a physician such as you are."
" But, my lord, before you spoke of M. de Bragelonne's heart, you
spoke to me of your own. Do you mean me to effect the cure of two
hearts at the same time ? "
" Perfectly true, madam; but you will do me the justice to admit
that I have long discontinued a useless pursuit, acknowledging that my
own wound is incurable."
" My lord," said Mary, collecting herself for a moment before she
spoke, " M. de Bragelonne is happy, for he loves and is beloved. He
has no need of such a physician as I can be."
" M. de Bragelonne," said Buckingham, " is on the very eve of expe-
riencing a serious misfortune, and he has greater need than ever of
sympathy and affection."
168 the vicomte de bragelonne.
" Explain yourself, my lord," inquired Raoul, anxiously.
" No; gradually I will explain myself; but, if you desire it, I can tell
Miss Grafton what you may not listen to yourself."
" My lord, you are putting me to the torture; you know something
you wish to conceal from me ? "
" I know that Miss Mary Grafton is the most charming object that
a heart ill at ease could possibly meet with in its way through life."
" I have already told you that the Yicomte de Bragelonne loves else-
where," said the young girl.
" He is wrong, then."
" Bo you assume to know, my lord, that I am wrong? " " Yes."
" Whom is it that he loves, then ? " exclaimed the young girl.
" He loves a woman who is unworthy of him," said Buckingham, with
that calm, collected manner peculiar to an Englishman. ,
Miss Grafton uttered a cry, which, together with the remark that
Buckingham had that moment made, spread over de Bragelonne's fea-
tures a deadly paleness, arising from the sudden surprise, and also from
a vague fear of impending misfortune. " My lord," he exclaimed, " you
have just pronounced words which compel me, without a moment's
delay, to seek their explanation at Paris."
" You will remain here," said Buckingham, " because you have no
right to leave; and no one has the right to quit the service of the king
for that of any woman, even were she as worthy of being loved as Mary
Grafton is."
" You will tell me all, then ? "
" I will, on condition that you will remain."
" I will remain, if you will promise to speak openly and without
reserve."
Thus far had their conversation proceeded, and Buckingham, in all
probability, was on the point of revealing, not indeed all that had taken
place, but at least all he was aware of, when one of the king's attend-
ants appeared at the end of the terrace, and advanced towards the
summer-house where the king was sitting with Lucy Stewart. A
courier followed him, covered with dust from head to foot, and who
seemed as if he had but a few moments before dismounted from his
horse.
" The courier from Prance! Madame's courier!" exclaimed Raoul,
recognizing the princess's livery; and while the attendant and the
courier advanced towards the king, Buckingham and Miss Grafton ex-
changed a look full of intelligence with each other.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The Courier from Madame.
Charles II. was busily engaged in proving, or in endeavouring to
prove, to Miss Stewart that she was the only person for whom he cared
at all, and consequently he was swearing for her an affection similar to
that which his ancestor Henry IV. had entertained for Gabrielle.
Unfortunately for Charles II. he had hit upon an unlucky day, upon
a day when Miss Stewart had taken it into her head to make him
jealous, and therefore, instead of being touched by his offer, as the
king had hoped, she laughed heartily. " Oh! sire, sire," she cried,
laughing all the while; " if I were to be unfortunate enough to ask
THE COURIER FROM MADAME. 169
you for a proof of the affection you profess, how easy it would be to see
that you are telling a falsehood/'
"Nay, listen to me," said Charles, "you know my cartoons by
Raphael; you know whether I care for them or not; the whole world
envies me their possession, as you well know also; my father got
Vandyck to purchase them. Would you like me to send them to
your house this very day ?"
" Oh! no," replied the young girl; " pray keep them yourself, sire;
my house is far too small to accommodate such visitors."
" In that case-you shall have Hampton Court to put the cartoons in."
" Be less generous, sire, and learn to love a little while longer, that is
all I have to ask you."
" I shall never cease to love you; is not that enough ?"
" You are laughing, sire." " Do you wish me to weep, then ?"
" No; but I should like to see you a little more melancholy."
"Thank Heaven, I have been so long enough; fourteen years of
exile, poverty, and misery, I think I may well regard it is a debt
discharged; besides, melancholy makes people look so plain."
" Far from that, for look at the young Frenchman."
" What! the vicomte de Bragelonne! are you smitten too! By
Heaven, they will all become mad about him one after the other; but
he, on the contrary, has a reason for being melancholy."
"Why so?" "Oh! indeed! you wish me to betray state secrets
do you?"
" If I wish it, you must do it, since you told me you were quite ready
to do everything I wished."
" Well, then, he is bored in his own country. Does that satisfy you ?"
" Bored ?" " Yes, a proof that he is a simpleton; I allow him to fall
in love with Miss Mary Grafton, and he feels bored. Can you believe it ?"
" Very good; it seems then, that if you were to find Miss Lucy
Stewart indifferent to you, you would console yourself by falling in
love with Miss Mary Grafton."
" I don't say that; in the first place, you know that Mary Grafton
does not care for me; besides, a man can only console himself for a
lost affection by the discovery of a new one. Again, however, I repeat,
the question is not of myself, but of that young man. One might
almost be tempted to call the girl he has left behind him a Helen—a
Helen before her introduction to Paris, of course."
He has left some one, then ?"
" That is to say, some one has left him."
" Poor fellow! so much the worse!"
" What do you mean by ' so much the worse' ?"
" Why not ? why did he leave ? "
" Do you think it was of his own wish or will that he left ? "
" Was he obliged to leave, then ?"
" He left Paris under orders, my dear Stewart; and—prepare to be
surprised—by express orders of the king."
" Ah! I begin to see, now."
" At least say nothing at all about it."
" You know very well that I am quite as discreet as any man could
be. And so the king sent him away ?" " Yes."
" And during his absence he takes his mistress away from him ?"
" Yes; and, will you believe it ? the silly fellow, instead of thanking
the king, is making himself miserable."
" What! thank the king for depriving him of the woman he loves!
Really, sire, yours is a most ungallant speech."
170 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" But, pray understand me. If she whom the king had run off
with was either a Miss Grafton or a Miss Stewart, I should be of
his opinion; nay, I should even think him not half miserable enough;
but she is a little, thin, lame thing. Deuce take such fidelity as that!
Surely, one can hardly understand how a man can refuse a girl who
is rich for one who is poverty itself—a girl who loves him for one who
deceives and betrays him."
"Do you think that Mary seriously wishes to please the vicomte,
sire?" "I do, indeed,"
" Yery good! the vicomte will settle down in England, for Mary has
a clear head, and when she fixes her mind upon anything, she does so
thoroughly."
" Take care, my dear Miss Stewart; if the vicomte has any idea of
adopting our country, he has not long to do so, for it was only the day
before yesterday that he again asked me for permission to leave."
" Which you refused him, I suppose ?"
" I should think so, indeed; my royal brother is far too anxious for
his absence; and, for myself, my amour-propre is enlisted on his side,
for I will never have it said that I had held out as a bait to this
young man the noblest and gentlest creature in England "
"You are very gallant, sire," said Miss Stewart, with a pretty pout.
" I do not allude to Miss Stewart, for she is worthy a king's devotion;
and since she has captivated me, I trust that no one else will be
caught by her; I say, therefore, finally, that the,attention I have
shown this young man will not have been thrown away; he will
stay with us here, will marry here, or I am very much mistaken."
"And I hope that when he is once married and settled, instead of
being angry with your majesty, he will be grateful to you, for every
one tries his utmost to please him; even the duke of Buckingham, whose
brilliancy, which is hardly credible, seems to pale before that of this
young Frenchman."
"And including Miss Stewart even, who calls him the most finished
gentleman she ever saw."
" Stay, sire; you have spoken quite enough, and quite highly enough,
of Miss Grafton, to overlook what I may have said about de Bragelonne.
But, by the bye, sire, your kindness for some time past astonishes me:
you think of those who are absent, you forgive those who have done
wrong, in fact, you are, as nearly as possible, perfect. How does it
happen "
" It is because you allow yourself to be loved," he said, beginning to
laugh.
" Oh ! there must be some other reason."
" Well, I am doing all I can to oblige my brother Louis XIV."
" Nay, I must have another reason."
" Well, then, the true motive is that Buckingham strongly recorn-
mended the young man to me, saying: ' Sire, I begin by yielding up all
claim to Miss Grafton, I pray you follow my example.'"
" The duke is, indeed, a true gentleman."
" Oh ! of course, of course ; it is Buckingham's turn now, I suppose
to turn your head. You seem determined to cross me in everything
to-day."
At this moment some one scratched at the door.
"Who is it who presumes to interrupt us?" exclaimed Charles,
impatiently.
" Iteally, sire, you are extremely vain with your ' who is it who pre-
sumes?' and in order to punish you for it "
THE COTJEIEB FBOM MADAME. 171
She went to the door and opened it.
" It is a courier from France," said Miss Stewart.
"A courier from France!" exclaimed Charles; "from my sister
perhaps ? "
" Yes, sire," said the usher, " a special messenger."
" Let him come in at once," said Charles.
"You have a letter for me," said the king to the courier as he
entered, " from the duchess of Orleans ?"
" Yes, sire," replied the courier, " and so urgent in its nature that I
have only been twenty-six hours bringing it to your majesty, and yet I
lost three quarters of an hour at Calais."
" Your zeal shall not be forgotten," said the king, as he opened the
letter. When he had read it, he burst out laughing, and exclaimed,
" Upon my word, I am at a loss to understand anything about it." He
then read the letter a second time, Miss Stewart assuming a manner
marked by the greatest reserve, and doing her utmost to restrain her
ardent curiosity.
" Francis," said the king to his valet, " see that this excellent fellow
is well taken care of and sleeps soundly, and that on waking to-morrow
morning he finds a purse of fifty sovereigns by his bedside."
"Sire!" said the courier, amazed.
" Begone, begone; my sister was perfectly right in desiring you to
use the utmost diligence; the affair was most pressing." And he again
began to laugh louder than ever. The courier, the valet, and Miss
Stewart hardly knew what sort of countenance to assume. " Ah !"
said the king, throwing himself back in his arm-chair; " when I think
that you have knocked up how many horses ?" " Two !"
" Two horses to bring this intelligence to me! That will do, you can
leave us now."
The courier retired with the valet. Charles went to the window,
which he opened, and, leaning forward, called out,—" Duke ! Bucking-
ham! come here, there's a good fellow."
The duke hurried to him, in obedience to the summons; but when
he reached the door, and perceived Miss Stewart, he hesitated to enter.
" Come in, and shut the door," said the king. The duke obeyed;
and, perceiving in what an excellent humour the king was, he advanced,
smilingly, towards him. " Well,, my dear'duke, how do you get on
with your Frenchman ?"
" Sire, I am in the most perfect state of utter despair about him."
" Why so ?" " Because charming Miss Grafton is willing to marry
him, but he is unwilling."
" Why, he is a perfect Boeotian!" cried Miss Stewart. " Let him
say either ' Yes,' or ' No,' and let the affair end."
"But," said Buckingham, seriously, "you know, or you ought to
know, madam, that M. de Bragelonne is in love in another direction."
" In that case," said the king, coming to Miss Stewart's help, " no-
thing is easier; let him say ' No,' then."
"Very true; and I have proved to him he was wrong not to say
'Yes.'"
" You told him candidly, I suppose, that La Valliere was deceiving
him?"
" Yes, without the slightest reserve; and, as soon as I had done so',
he gave a start, as if he were going to clear the Channel at a bound."
" At all events," said Miss Stewart, " he has done something; and a
very good thing too, upon my word."
" But," said Buckingham, " I stopped him; I have left him and Miss
172 THE VIC01ITE DE BBAGELONNE.
Mary in conversation together, and I sincerely trust that now he will
not leave, as he seemed to have had an idea of doing/3
" An idea of leaving England ?" cried the king.
" I, at one moment, hardly thought that any human power could
have prevented him; but Miss Mary's eyes are now bent fully on him,
and he will remain."
" Well, that is the very thing which deceives you, Buckingham," said
the king, with a peal of laughter; " the poor fellow is predestined."
" Predestined to what ?"
" If it were to be simply deceived, that is nothing; but, to look at
him, it is a great deal."
" At a distance, and with Miss Grafton's aid, the blow will he
warded off."
" Par from it, far from it; neither distance nor Miss Grafton's help
will he of the slightest avail. Bragelonne will set off for Paris within
an hour's time."
Buckingham started, and Miss Stewart opened her eyes very wide in
astonishment.
" But, sire," said the duke, " your majesty knows that is impossible."
" That is to say, my dear Buckingham, that it is impossible until the
contrary happens."
" Do not forget, sire, that the young man is a perfect lion, and that
his wrath is terrible."
" I don't deny it, my dear duke."
" And that if he sees that his misfortune is certain, so much the
worse for the author of it."
" I don't deny it; but what the deuce am I to do ? "
" Were it the king himself," cried Buckingham, " I would not answer
for him."
Oh, the king has his musketeers to take care of him," said Charles,
quietly; " I know that perfectly well, for I was kept dancing attendance
in his antechamber at Blois. He has M. d'Artagnan, and what better
guardian could the king have than M. d'Artagnan ? I should make
myself perfectly easy with twenty storms of passion, such as Bragelonne
might display, if I had four guardians like d'Artagnan."
" But, I entreat your majesty, who is so good and kind, to reflect a
little."
" Stay," said Charles II., presenting the letter to the duke, " read, and
answer yourself what you would do in my place."
Buckingham slowly took hold of Madame's letter, and, trembling
with emotion, read the following words: " Por your own sake, for mine,
for the honour and safety of every one, send M. de Bragelonne back to
Prance immediately. Your devoted sister, Heneietta."
" Well, Villiers, what do you say ?"
" Really, sire, I have nothing to say," replied the duke, stupefied.
" Nay, would you, of all persons," said the king, artfully, " advise me
not to listen to my sister when she writes so urgently ?"
" Oh, no, no, sire; and yet "
" You've not read the postscript, Villiers; it is under the fold of the
letter, and escaped me at first; read it." And as the duke turned down
a fold of the letter, he read, " A thousand kind remembrances to those
who love me."
The duke's head sank gradually on his breast; the paper trembled in
his fingers, as if it had been changed to lead. The king paused for a
moment, and, seeing that Buckingham did not speak, " He must follow
his destiny, as we ours," continued the king; " every man has his share
THE COUEIEE FROM MADAME. 173
of grief in this world; I have had my own,—I have had that of others
who belong to me,—and have thus had a double weight of woe to
endure! But the deuce take all my cares now! Go, and bring our
friend here, Villiers."
The duke opened the trellised door of the summer-house, and point-
ing at Raoul and Mary, who were walking together side by side, said,
" What a cruel blow, sire, for poor Miss Grafton !"
"Nonsense; call him," said Charles II., knitting his black brows
together; " every one seems to be sentimental here. There, look at
Miss Stewart, who is wiping her eyes,—now deuce take the Trench
fellow!"
The duke called to Raoul, and taking Miss Grafton by the hand, he
led her towards the king.
" Monsieur de Bragelonne," said Charles II., " did you not ask me
the day before yesterday for permission to return to Paris'?"
" Yes, sire," replied Raoul, greatly puzzled by this address.
" And I refused you, I think?" " Yes, sire."
" Were you not angry with me for it ?"
"No, sire; your majesty had no. doubt excellent reasons for with-
holding it; for you are so wise and so good that everything you do is
well done."
" I alleged, I believe, as a reason that the king of Prance had not
recalled you ?"
" Yes, sire, that was the reason you assigned."
" Well, M. de Bragelonne, I have reflected over the matter since; if
the king did not, in fact, fix your return, he begged me to render your
sojourn in England as agreeable as possible; since, however, you ask
my permission to return, it is because your longer residence in England
is no longer agreeable to you."
" I do not say that, sire."
" No, but your request, at least," said the king," signified that another
place of residence would be more agreeable to you than this."
At this moment Raoul turned towards the door, against which Miss
Grafton was leaning, pale and sorrow-stricken; her other arm was
passed through the arm of the duke.
" You do not reply," pursued Charles; " the proverb is plain enough,
that 'Silence gives consent.' Very good, Monsieur de Bragelonne; I
am now in a position to satisfy you; whenever you please, therefore,
you can leave for Paris, for which you have my authority."
" Sire !" exclaimed Raoul, while Mary stifled an exclamation of grief
which rose to her lips, unconsciously pressing Buckingham's arm.
" You can be at Dover this evening," continued the king ; " the tide
serves at two o'clock in the morning."
Raoul, astounded, stammered out a few broken sentences, which
equally answered the purpose both of thanks and of excuse.
" I therefore bid you adieu, Monsieur de Bragelonne, and wish you
every sort of prosperity," said the king, rising; " you will confer a plea-
sure on me by keeping this diamond in remembrance of me; I had
intended it as a marriage gift."
Miss Grafton felt her limbs almost giving way; and, as Raoul received
the diamond from the king's hand, he, too, felt his strength and courage
failing him. He addressed a few respectful words to the king, a passing
compliment to Miss Stewart, and looked for Buckingham to bid him
adieu. The king profited by this moment to disappear. Raoul found
the duke engaged in endeavouring to encourage Miss Grafton.
" Tell him to remain, I implore you 1" said Buckingham to Mary.
174 THE -VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" No, I will tell him to go," replied Miss Grafton, with returning
aniination; " I am not one of those women who have more pride than
heart; if she whom he loves is in France, let him return there and
bless me for having advised him to go and seek his happiness there.
If, on the contrary, she shall have ceased to love him, let him come
back here again, I shall still love him, and his unhappiness will not
have lessened him in my regard. In the arms of my house you will
find that which Heaven has engraven on my heart,—Habenti par urn,
egenti cuncta. ' To the rich is accorded little, to the poor everything.'"
" I do not believe, Bragelonne, that you will find yonder the equiva-
lent of what you leave behind you here."
" I think, or at least I hope," said Raoul, with a gloomy air, " that
she whom 1 love is worthy of my affection; but if it be true she is
unworthy of me, as you have endeavoured to make me believe, I will
tear her image from my heart, duke, even were my heart broken in the
attempt."
Mary Grafton gazed upon him with an expression of the most inde-
finable pity, and Raoul returned her look with a sad, sorrowful smile,
saying, " Mademoiselle, the diamond which the king has given me was
destined for you,—give me leave to offer it for your acceptance; if I
marry in France, you will send it me back; if I do not marry, keep it."
And he bowed and left her.
" What does he mean ?" thought Buckingham, while Raoul pressed
Mary's icy hand with marks of the most reverential respect.
Mary understood the look that Buckingham fixed upon her.
" If it were a wedding-ring, I would not accept it," she said.
" And yet you were willing to ask him to return to you."
" Oh ! duke," cried the young girl in heartbroken accents, " a woman
such as I am is never accepted as a consolation by a man like him."
"You do not think he will return, then ?"
" Never," said Miss Grafton, in a choking voice.
" And I grieve to tell you, Mary, that he will find yonder his hap-
piness destroyed, his mistress lost to him. His honour even has not
escaped. What will be left him, then, Mary, equal to your affection ?
Do you answer, Mary, you who know yourself so well."
Miss Grafton placed her white hand on Buckingham's army and,
while Raoul was hurrying away with headlong speed, she sang in dying
accents the line from "Romeo and Juliet:"—"I must begone and live,
or stay and die."
As she finished the last word, Raoul had disappeared. Miss Grafton
returned to her own apartment, paler even than death itself. Bucking-
ham availed himself of the arrival of the courier, who had brought the
letter to the king, to write to Madame and to the Comte de Guiche.
The king had not been mistaken, for at two in the morning the tide
was at full flood, and Raoul had embarked for France.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Saint-Aignan follows Malicorne's advice.
The king most assiduously followed the progress which was made in
La Val here's portrait; and did so with a care and attention arising as
much from a desire that it should resemble her as from the wish that
the painter should prolong the period of its completion as much as
SAINT-AIGNAN FOLLOWS MALICOKNE'S ADVICE. 175
possible. It was amusing to observe bim following the artist's brush,
awaiting the completion of a particular plan, or the result of a combi-
nation of colours, and suggesting various modifications to the painter,
which the latter consented to adopt with the most respectful docility of
disposition. And again, when the artist, following Malicorne's advice,
was a little late in arriving, and when Saint-Aignan had been obliged
to be absent for some time, it was interesting to observe, though no one
witnessed them, those moments of silence full of deep expression, which
united in one sigh two souls most disposed to understand each other,
and who by no means objected to the quiet and meditation they enjoyed
together. The minutes fled rapidly by, as if on wings, and as the king
drew closer to Louise and bent his burning gaze upon her, a noise was
suddenly heard in the anteroom. It was the artist, who had just
arrived; Saint-Aignan, too, had returned, full of apologies; and the
king began to talk and La Yalliere to answer him very hurriedly, their
eyes revealing to Saint-Aignan that they had enjoyed a century of
happiness during his absence. In a word, Malicorne, philosopher that
he was, though he knew it not, had learnt how to inspire the king with
an appetite in the midst of plenty, and with desire in the assurance of
possession. La Yalliere's fears of interruption had never been realized,
and no one imagined she was absent from her apartment two or three
hours every day; she pretended that her health was very uncertain;
those who went to her room always knocked before entering, ana
Malicorne, the man of so many ingenious inventions, had constructed
an acoustic piece of mechanism, by means of which La Yalliere, when
in Saint-Aignan's apartment was always forewarned-of any visits which
were paid to the room she usually inhabited. In this manner, there-
fore, without leaving her own room, and having no confidante, she was
able to return to her apartment, thus removing by her appearance, a
little tardy perhaps, the suspicions of the most determined sceptics.
Malicorne having asked Saint-Aignan the next morning what news he,
had to report, the latter had been obliged to confess that the quarter of
an hour's liberty had made the king in most excellent humour. "We
must double the dose," replid Malicorne, " but insensibly so; wait until
they seem to wish it."
They were so desirous for it, however, that on the evening of the
fourth day, at the moment when the painter was packing up his
painting implements, during Saint Aignan's continued absence, Saint-
Aignan on his return noticed upon La Yalliere's face a shade of disap-
Sointment and vexation, which she could not conceal. The king was
iss reserved, and exhibited his annoyance by a very significant shrug
of the shoulders, at which La Yalliere could not help blushing. " Yery
good!" thought Saint-Aignan to himself; " M. Malicorne will be
delighted this evening;" as he, in fact, was, when it was reported to
him.
" It is very evident," he remarked to the comte, " that Mademoiselle
de La Yalliere hoped that you would be at least ten minutes later."
" And the king that 1 should be half an hour later, dear Monsieur
Malicorne."
"You will be but very indifferently devoted to the king," replied the
latter, " if you were to refuse his majesty that half hour's satisfaction."
" But the painter ?" objected Saint-Aignan.
"I will take care of him," said Malicorne, "only I must study faces
and circumstances a little before I act; those are my magical inventions
and contrivances; and while sorcerers are enabled by means of their
astrolabe to take the altitude of the sun, moon, and stars, I am satisfied
176 THE VICOJITE DE BRAGELOJS'NE.
merely by looking into people's faces, in order to see if their eyes are
encircled with dark lines, and if the mouth describes a convex or
eoncave arc."
And the cunning Malicorne had every opportunity of watching
narrowly and closely, .for the very same evening the king accompanied
the queen to Madame's apartments, and made himself so remarked by
his serious face and his deep sighs, and looked at La Valliere with such
a languishing expression, that Malicorne said to Montalais during the
evening: " To-morrow." And he went off to the painter's bouse in
the street of the Jardins Saint-Paul to beg him to postpone che next
sitting for a couple of days. Saint-Aignan was not within, when La
Valliere, who was now quite familiar with the lower story, lifted up the
trap-door and descended. The king, as usual was waiting for her on
the staircase, and held a bouquet in his hand; as soon as he saw her,
he clasped her tenderly in his arms. La Valliere, much moved at the
action, looked around the room, but as she saw the king was alone, she
did not complain of it. They sat down, the king reclining near the
cushions on which Louise was seated, with his head supported by her
knees, placed there as in an asylum whence no one could banish him;
he gazed ardently upon her, and as if the moment had arrived when
nothing could interpose between their two hearts; she, too, gazed with
similar passion upon him, and from her eyes, so soft and pure, there
emanated a flame, whose rays first kindled and then inflamed the heart
of the king, who, trembling with happiness as Louise's hand rested on
his head, grew giddy from excess of joy, and momentarily awaited either
the painter's or Saint-Aignan's return to break the sweet illusion.
But the door remained closed, and neither Saint-Aignan nor the
painter appeared, nor did the hangings even move. A deep mysterious
silence reigned in the room—a silence which seemed to influence even
the birds in their gilded prison. The king, completely overcome, turned
round his head and buried his burning lips in La Valliere's hands, who,
herself, faint with excess of emotion, pressed her trembling hands
against her lover's lips. Louis threw himself upon his knees, and as
La Valliere did not, move her head, the king's forehead being within
reach of her lips, she furtively passed her lips across the perfumed locks
which caressed her cheeks. The king seized her in his arms, and, unable
to resist the temptation, they exchanged their first kiss—that burning
kiss, which changes love into a delirium. Suddenly, a noise upon the
upper floor was heard, which had, in fact, continued, though it had
remained unnoticed, for some time; it had at last aroused La Valliere's
attention, though but slowly so. As the noise, however, continued, as
it forced itself upon the attention, and recalled the poor girl from her
dreams of happiness to the sad reality of life, she arose in a state of utter
bewilderment, though beautiful in her disorder, saying: " Some one is
waiting, for above Louis, Louis, do you not hear ?"
"Well! and am I not waiting for you, also?" said the king, with
infinite tenderness of tone. " Let others henceforth wait for you."
But she gently shook her head, as she replied: " Concealed happiness
. . . concealed power ... my pride should be silent as my heart."
The noise was again resumed.
" I hear Montalais' voice," she said, and she hurried up the staircase;
the king followed her, unable to let her leave his sight, and covering
her hand with his kisses. "Yes, yes," repeated La Valliere, who had
passed half-way through the opening, "Yes, it is Montalais who is
calling me, something important must have happened."
" Go, then, dearest love," said the king, " but return quickly."
two old friends. 177
"No, no, not to-day, sire ! Adieu! adieu!" she said, as she stooped
down once more to embrace her lover, and then escaped. Montalais
was, in fact, waiting for her, very pale and agitated.
"Quick, quick! he is coming!" she said.
"Who—who is coming ?" "Raoul," murmured Montalais.
" It is I—I," said a joyous voice, upon the last steps of the grand
staircase.
La Valliere uttered a terrible shriek, and threw herself back.
" I am here, dear Louise," said Raoul, running towards her. " I knew
but too well that you had not ceased to love me."
La Valliere with a gesture, partly of extreme terror, and partly as if
invoking a curse, attempted to speak, but could only articulate one
word. "No, no*r'- she said, as she fell into Montalais' arms, mur-
muring : " Do not touch me, do not come near me."
Montalais made a sign to Raoul, who stood almost petrified at the
door, and did not even attempt to advance another step into the room.
Then, looking towards the side of the room where the screen was, she
exclaimed : " Imprudent girl, she has not even closed the trap-door."
And she advanced towards the corner of the room to close the screen,
and also, behind the screen, the trap-door. But suddenly the king,
who had heard Louise's exclamation, darted through the opening, and
hurried forward to her assistance. He threw himself on his knees
before her, as he overwhelmed Montalais with questions, who hardly
knew where she was. At the moment, however, that the king threw
himself on his knees, a cry of utter despair rang through the corridor
accompanied by the sound of retreating footsteps. The king wished to
see who had uttered the cry and whose were the footsteps he had
heard; and it was in vain that Montalais sought to retain him, for
Louis, quitting his hold of La Valliere, hurried towards the door, too
late however, for Raoul was already at a distance, and the king saw
only a kind of shadow turning the angle of the corridor.
CHAPTER XL.
Two old Friends.
"Whilst every one at court was busily engaged upon his own affairs,
a man mysteriously took up his post behind the Place de Greve, in the
house which we once saw besieged by d'Artagnan on the occasion of an
emeute. The principal entrance of this house was in the Place Bau-
doyer; it was tolerably large, surrounded by gardens, enclosed in the
Street Saint-Jean by the shops of tool-makers, which protected it from
prying looks, and was walled in by a triple rampart of stone, noise, and
verdure, like an embalmed mummy in its triple coffin. The man we
have just alluded to walked along with a firm step, although he was no
longer in his early prime. His dark cloak and long sword plainly re-
vealed one who seemed in search of adventures; and, judging from his
curling moustaches, his fine and smooth skin, which could be seen
beneath his sombrero, it would not have been difficult to pronounce
that the gallantry of his adventures was unquestionable. In fact,
hardly had the cavalier entered the house, when the clock struck eight;
aod ten minutes afterwards a lady, followed by a servant armed to the
teeth, approached and knocked at the same door, which an old woman
immediately opened for her. The lady raised her veil as she entered;
tt. tt
178 THE VICOMTE DE UEAGELOHNE.
though no longer beautiful or young, she was still active and of an im-
posing carriage. She concealed, beneath a rich toilette and the most
exquisite taste, an age which Ninon de l'Enclos alone could have
smiled at with impunity. Hardly had she reached the vestibule, than
the cavalier, whose features we have only roughly sketched, advanced
towards her, holding out his hand.
" Good day, my dear duchesse," he said.
" How do you do, my dear Aramis," replied the duchesse.
He led her to a most elegantly furnished apartment, on whose high
windows were reflected the expiring rays of the setting sun, which
filtered through the dark crests of some adjoining firs. They sat down
side by side. Neither of them thought of asking for additional light
in the room, and they buried themselves as it were in the shadow, as if
they wished to bury themselves in forgetfulness.
" Chevalier," said the duchesse, " you have never given me a single
sign of life since our interview at Fontainebleau, and I confess that
your presence there on the day of the Franciscan's death, and your
initiation in certain secrets, caused me the liveliest astonishment I
ever experienced in my whole life."
" I can explain my presence there to you, as well as my initiation,"
said Aramis.
" But let us,, first of all," said the duchesse, " talk a little of ourselves,
for our friendship is by no means of recent date."
" Yes, madame; and if Heaven wills it, we shall continue to be
friends, I will not say for a long time, but for ever."
" That is quite certain, chevalier, and my visit is a proof of it."
" Our interests, duchesse, are no longer the same as they used to be,"
said Aramis, smiling without apprehension in the gloom in which the
-oom was cast, for it could not reveal that his smile was less agreeable
.nd less bright than formerly.
"No, chevalier, at the present day we have other interests. Every
period of life brings its own; and, as we now understand each other in
conversing, as perfectly as we formerly did without saying a word, let
us talk, if you like."
" I am at your orders, duchesse. Ah! I beg your pardon, how did
you obtain my address, and what was your object ?"
" You ask me why P I have told you. Curiosity in the first place.
I wished to know what you could have to do with the Franciscan,
with whom I had certain business transactions, and who died so sin-
gularly. You know that on the occasion of our interview at Fontaine-
bleau, in the cemetery, at the foot of the grave so recently closed, we
were both so much overcome by our emotions that we omitted to con-
fide to each other what we may have had to say."
" Yes, madame."
" Well, then, I had no sooner left you than I repented, and have
ever since been most anxious to ascertain the truth. You know that
Madame de Longueville and myself are almost one, I suppose ?"
" I am not aware," said Aramis, discreetly.
" I remembered, therefore," continued the duchesse, " that neither of
us said anything to the other in the cemetery; that you did not speak
of the relationship in which you stood to the Franciscan, whose burial
you had superintended, and that I did not refer to the position in
which I stood to him; all which seemed very unworthy of two such
old friends as ourselves, and I have sought an opportunity of an inter-
view with you in order to give you some information that I have re-
cently acquired, and to assure you that Marie Michon, now no more,
TWO OLD FRIENDS. 179
has left behind her one who has preserved her recollection of
events."_
Aramis bowed over the duchesse's hand, and pressed his lips upon it.
" You must have had some trouble to find me again," he said.
"Yes," she answered, annoyed to find the subject taking a turn
which Aramis wished to give it; " but I knew you were a friend of
M. Fouquet's, and so I inquired in that direction."
" A friend! oh!" exclaimed the chevalier, " I can hardly pretend to
be that. A poor priest who has been favoured by so generous a pro-
tector, and whose heart is full of gratitude and devotion to him, is all
that I pretend to be to M. Fouquet."
" He.made you a bishop ?" " Yes, duchesse."
" A very good retiring pension for so handsome a musketeer."
" Yes: in the same way that political intrigue is for yourself," thought
Aramis. " And so," he added, " you inquired after me at M. Fouquet's."
" Easily enough. You had been to Fontainebleau with him, and had
undertaken a voyage to your diocese, which is Belle-Isle-en-Mer, I
believe."
" No, madame," said Aramis. " My diocese is Yannes."
" I meant that. I only thought that Belle-Isle-en-Mer "
" Is a property belonging to M. Fouquet, nothing more."
" Ah! I had been told that Belle-Isle was fortified; besides, I know
how great the military knowledge is you possess."
" I have forgotten everything of the kind since I entered the Church,"
said Aramis, annoyed.
" Suffice it to know that I learnt you had returned from Yannes, and
I sent to one of our friends, M. le Comte de la Fere, who is discretion
itself, in order to ascertain it, but he answered that he was not aware of
your address."
" So like Athos," thought the bishop; " that which is actually good
never alters."
" Well, then, you know that I cannot venture to show myself here,
and that the queen-mother has always some grievance or other against
me."
" Yes, indeed, and I am surprised at it."
" Oh! there are various reasons for it. But, to continue, being
obliged to conceal myself, I was fortunate enough to meet with M.
d'Artagnan, who was formerly one of your old friends, I believe?"
" A friend of mine still, duchesse."
" He gave me some information, and sent me to M. Baisemeaux, the
governor of the Bastille."
Aramis was somewhat agitated at this remark, and a light flashed
from his eyes in the darkness of the room, which he could not conceal
from his keen-sighted friend. " M. de Baisemeaux!" he said; " why did
d'Artagnan send you to M. de Baisemeaux ?"
" I cannot tell you."
" What can this possibly mean ?" said the bishop, summoning all the
resources of his mind to his aid, in order to carry on the combat in a
befitting manner.
" M. de Baisemeaux is greatly indebted to you, d'Artagnan told me."
" True, he is so."
" And the address of a creditor is as easily ascertained as that of a
debtor."
" Very true; and so Baisemeaux indicated to you "
" Saint-Mande, where I forwarded a letter to you."
" Which I have in my hand, and which is most precious to me," said
N 2
150 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGEIONNE.
Aramis, " because I am indebted to it for the pleasure of seeing you
here." The duchesse, satisfied at having successfully alluded to the
various difficulties of so delicate an explanation, began to breathe freely
again, which Aramis, however, could not succeed in doing. " We had
got as far as your visit to M. Baisemeaux, I believe ?"
"Nay," she said, laughing, " farther than that."
" In that case we must have been speaking about the grudge you
have against the queen-mother."
" Further still," she returned,—" further still; we were talking of the
connection "
"Which existed between you and the Franciscan," said Aramis, in-
terrupting her eagerly; " well, I am listening to you very attentively."
" It is easily explained," returned the duchesse. " You know that I
am living at Brussels with M. de Laicques ?"
" I have heard so."
" You know that my children have ruined and stripped me of every-
thing." " How terrible, dear duchesse."
" Terrible indeed; this obliged me to resort to some means of obtain-
ing a livelihood, and, particularly, to avoid vegetating the remainder of
my existence away, I had old hatreds to turn to account, old friendships
to serve; I no longer had either credit or protectors."
" You, too, who had extended protection towards so many persons,"
said Aramis, softly.
" It is always the case, chevalier. Well, at the present time I am in
the habit of seeing the king of Spain very frequently." " Ah!"
"Who has .iust nominated a general of the Jesuits, according to the
usual custom."
" Is it usual, indeed ?"
" Were you not aware of it ?"
" I beg your pardon; I was inattentive."
" You must be aware of that—you who were on such good terms
with the Franciscan."
" With the general of the Jesuits, you mean ? "
"Exactly. Well, then, I have seen the king of Spain, who wished
to do me a service, but was unable. He gave me recommendations how-
ever to Flanders, both for myself and for Laicques too; and conferred
a pension on me out of the funds belonging to the order."
"Of Jesuits ?"
"Yes. The general—I mean the Franciscan—was sent to me; and,
for the purpose of conforming with the requisitions of the statutes
of the order, and of entitling me to the pension, I was reputed to be
in a position to render certain services. You are aware that that is
the rule ? "
" No, I did not know it," said Aramis.
Madame de Chevreuse paused to look at Aramis, but it was perfectly
dark. "Well, such is the rule, however," she resumed. "I ought,
therefore, to seem to possess a power of usefulness of some kind or
other. I proposed to travel for the order, and I was placed on the
list of affiliated travellers. You understand it was a formality, by
means of which I received my pension, which was very convenient for
me."
" Good Heavens ! duchesse, what you tell me is like a dagger-thrust
into mg. You obliged to receive a pension from the Jesuits ? "
"No, chevalier; from Spain."
" Except as a conscientious scruple, duchesse, you will admit that it
is pretty nearly the same thing."
TWO OLD PRIENDS.
"No, not at all."
" But, surely, of your magnificent fortune there must remain "
"Dampierre is all that remains."
" And that is handsome enough."
"Yes; but Dampierre is burdened, mortgaged, and almost fallen to
ruin, like its owner."
" And can the queen-mother know and see all that, without shedding
a tear ? " said Aramis, with a penetrating look, which encountered
nothing but the darkness.
" Yes, she has forgotten everything."
" You have, I believe, attempted to get restored to favour ? "
"Yes; but, most singularly, the young king inherits the antipathy
that his dear father had for me. You will, too, tell me that I am
indeed a woman to be hated, and that I am no longer one who can be
loved."
" Dear duchesse, pray arrive soon at the circumstance jvhich brought
you here; for I think we can be of service to each other."
" Such has been my own thought. I came to Fontainebleau with a
double object in view. In the first place, I was summoned there by the
Franciscan whom you knew. By the bye, how did you know him ?
—for I have told you my story, and have not yet heard, yours."
" I knew him in a very natural way, duchesse. I studied theology
with him at Parma. We became fast friends; and it happened, from
time to time, that business, or travels, or war, separated us from each
other."
" You were, of course, aware that he was the general of the Jesuits ?"
" I suspected it."
"But by what extraordinary chance did it happen that you were at'
the hotel where the affiliated travellers had met together ? "
"Oh!" said Aramis, in a calm voice, " it was the'merest chance in
the world. I was going to Fontainebleau to see M. Fouquet, for the
purpose of obtaining an audience of the king. I was passing by.
unknown; I saw the poor dying monk in the road, and recognized
him immediately. You know the rest—he died in my arms."
"Yes; but bequeathing to you so vast a power, that you issue your
sovereign orders and directions like a monarch."
" He certainly did leave me a few commissions to settle."
" And for me ? "
" I have told you—a sum of twelve thousand livres was to be paid to
you. I thought I had given you the necessary signature to enable you
to receive it. Did you not get the money ? "
" Oh ! yes, yes. You give your orders, I am informed, with so much
mystery, and such a majestic presence, that it is generally believed you
are the successor of the defunct chief."
Aramis coloured impatiently, and the duchesse continued: " I have
obtained my information," she said, " from the king of Spain himself;
and he cleared up some of my doubts on the point. Every general of
the Jesuits is nominated by him, and must be a Spaniard, according to
the statutes of the order. You are not a Spaniard, nor have you been
nominated by the king of Spain."
Aramis did not reply to this remark, except to say, *qu see,
duchesse, how greatly you were mistaken, since the king of Spain told
you that." . . . . . _,
" Yes, my dear Aramis ; but there was something else which 1 have
been thinking of."
" "What is that ? "
182 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" You know, I believe, something about most things; and it occurred
to me that you know the Spanish language."
" Every Erenchman who has been actively engaged in the Eronde
knows Spanish."
" You have lived in Elanders ? " " Three years."
And have stayed at Madrid ? " " Eifteen months."
"You are in a position, then, to become a naturalized Spaniard, when
you like."
" Really ? " said Aramis, with a frankness which deceived the duchesse.
" Undoubtedly. Two years' residence and an acquaintance with the
language are indisepnsable. You have upwards of four years—more
than double the time necessary."
" What are you driving at, duchesse?"
" At this—I am on good terms with the king of Spain."
" And I am not on bad terms," thought Aramis to himself.
" Shall I ask the king," continued the duchesse," to confer the succes-
sion to the Franciscan's post upon you ?"
" Oh, duchesse!"
"You have it already, perhaps ? " she said. " No, upon my honour."
" Very well, then, I can render you that service."
"Why did you not render the same service to M. de Laicques,
duchesse ? He is a very talented man, and one you love, besides."
" Yes, no doubt; but, at all events, putting Laicques aside, will you
have it ? "
" No, I thank you, duchesse."
She paused. " He is nominated," she thought; and then resumed
aloud, " If you refuse me in this manner, it is not very encouraging for
me. supposing I should have something to ask of you."
Oh ! ask, pray ask."
" Ask! I cannot do so, if you have not the power to grant what I
want."
" However limited my power and ability, ask all the same."
" I need a sum of money, to restore Dampierre."
" Ah ! " replied Aramis, coldly—"money ? Well, duchesse, how much
' would you require ? "
" Oh! a tolerably round sum."
" So much the worse—you know I am not rich."
" No, no; but the order is—and if you had been the general "
"You know I am not the general, I think."
"In that case, you have a friend who must be very wealthy—M~
Eouquet."
" M. Eouquet! He is more than half ruined, madame."
" So it is said, but I would not believe it."
" Why, duchesse ? "
" Because I have, or rather Laicques has, certain letters in his pos-
session, from Cardinal Mazarin, which establish the existence of very
strange accounts."
" What accounts ? "
" Relative to various sums of money borrowed and disposed of. I
cannot very distinctly remember what they are; but they establish the
fact that the surintendant, according to these letters, which are signed
by Mazarin, had taken thirty millions of francs from the coders of the
state. The case is a very serious one."
Aramis clenched his hands in anxiety and apprehension. "Is it
possible," he said," that you have such letters as you speak of, and have
not communicated them to M. Fouquet ? "
TWO OLD FRIENDS. 183
" Ah !" replied the duchesse, " I keep such little matters as these in
reserve. The day may come when they may be of service; and they
can then be withdrawn from the safe custody in which they now are."
" And that day has arrived P " said Aramis. " Yes."
" And you are going to show those letters to M. Fouquet ? "
" I prefer to talk about them with you, instead."
"You must be in sad want of money, my poor friend, to think
of such things as these—you, too, who held M. de Mazarin's prose
effusions in such indifferent esteem."
" The fact is, I am in want of money."
"And then," continued Aramis, in cold accents, "it must have been
very distressing to you to be obliged to have recourse to such a means.
It is cruel."
" Oh ! if I had wished to do harm instead of good," said Madame de
Chevreuse, " instead of asking the general of the order, or M. Fouquet,
for the five hundred thousand francs I require "
" Five hundred thousand francs! "
"Yes; no more. Do you think it much? I require at least as
much as that to restore Dampierre."
" Yes, madame."
" I say, therefore, that, instead of asking for this amount, I should
have gone to see my old friend the queen-mother; the letters from her
husband, the Signor Mazarini, would have served me as an introduction,
and I should have begged this mere trifle of her, saying to her, ' I
wish, madame, to have the honour of receiving you at Dampierre.
Permit me to put Dampierre in a fit state for that purpose.'"
Aramis did not reply a single word. " Well," she said, " what are you
thinking about ? "
" I am making certain additions," said Aramis.
" And M. Fouquet subtractions. I, on the other hand, am trying
the art of multiplication. What excellent calculators we are ! How
well we could understand one another ! "
" Will you allow me to reflect ? " said Aramis.
"No, for with such an opening between people like ourselves, 'yes,' or
'no,' is the only answer, and that an immediate one."
" It is a snare," thought the bishop; " it is impossible that Anne of
Austria could listen to such a woman as this."
" Well!" said the duchesse.
" Well, madame, I should be very muph astonished if M. Fouquet had
five hundred thousand francs at his disposal at the present moment."
" It is no use speaking of it, then," said the duchesse," and Dampierre
must get restored how it can."
" Oh ! you are not embarrassed to such an extent as that, I suppose."
"No; T am never embarrassed."
" And the queen," continued the bishop, " will certainly do for you,
what the surintendant is unable to do."
" Oh! certainly. But tell me, do you not think it would be better
that I should speak, myself, to M. Fouquet, about these letters?"
"Nay, duchesse, you will do precisely whatever you please in that
respect. M. Fouquet either feels, or does not feel himself to be guilty;
if he really be so, I know he is proud enough not to confess it; if he be
not so, he will be exceedingly offended at your menace."
" As usual, you reason like an angel," said the duchesse, as she rose
from her seat.
" And so, you are now going to denounce M. Fouquet to the queen,"
said Aramis.
184 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"' Denounce!' Oh! what a disagreeable word. I shall not 'denounce'
my dear friend; you now know matters of policy too well, to be ignorant
how easily these affairs are arranged, I shall merely side against M.
Fouquet, and nothing more; and, in a war of party against party, a
weapon of attack is always a weapon."
"No doubt."
" And once on friendly terms again with the queen-mother, I may be
dangerous towards SQme persons."
" You are at perfect liberty to be so, duchesse."
" A liberty of which I shall avail myself."
" You are not ignorant, I suppose, duchesse, that M. Fouquet is on the
best terms with the king of Spain."
" I suppose so."
" If, therefore, you begin a party warfare against M. Fouquet, he will
reply in the same way; for he, too, is at perfect liberty to do so, is he
not?"
" Oh! certainly."
"And as he is on good terms with Spain, he will make use of that
friendship as a weapon of attack."
" You mean, that he will be on good terms with the general of the
order of the Jesuits, my dear Aramis."
" That may be the case, duchesse."
"And that, consequently, the pension I have been receiving from the
order will be stopped."
" I am greatly afraid it might be."
""Well; I must contrive to console myself in the best way I can; for
after Richelieu, after the Frondes, after exile, what is there left for
Madame de Chevreuse to be afraid of?"
" The pension, you are aware, is forty-eight thousand francs."
" Alas ! I am quite aware of it."
" Moreover, in party contests, you know, the friends of the enemy do
not escape."
" Ah! you mean that poor Laicques will have to suffer."
" I am afraid it is almost inevitable, duchesse."
" Oh ! he only receives twelve thousand francs pension."
" Yes, but the king of Spain has some influence left; advised by M.
Fouquet, he might get M. Laicques shut up in prison for a little while."
" I am not very nervous on that point, my dear friend; because,
thanks to a reconciliation with Anne of Austria, I will undertake that
France should insist upon M. Laicques' liberation."
" True. In that case, you will have something else to apprehend ?"
"What can that be ?" said the duchesse, pretending to be surprised
and terrified.
"You will learn; indeed, you must know it already, that having once
been an affliliated member of the order, it is not easy to leave it; for the
secrets that any particular member may have acquired are unwhole-
some, and carry with them the germs of misfortune for whoever may
reveal them."
The duchesse paused and reflected for a moment, and then said, " That
is more serious, I will think over it."
And, notwithstanding the profound obscurity, Aramis seemed to feel
a burning glance, like a hot iron, escape from his friend's eyes, and
plunge into his heart.
" Let us recapitulate," said Aramis; determined to keep himself on
his guard, and gliding Iris hand into his breast, where he had a dagger
concealed.
TWO OLD FRIENDS. 185
51 Exactly, let us recapitulate; good accounts make good friends."
" The suppression of your pension "
" Forty-eight thousand francs, and that of Laicques twelve, make,
together, sixty thousand francs; that is what you mean, I suppose ? "
Precisely; and I was trying to find out what would be your equiva-
lent for that."
" Five hundred thousand francs, which I shall get from the queen."
" Or, which you will not get."
" I know a means of procuring them," said the duchesse thoughtlessly.
This remark made the chevalier prick up his ears; and from the mo-
ment his adversary had committed this error, his mind was so thoroughly
on its guard, that he seemed every moment to gain the advantage more
and more; and she, consequently, to lose it. " I will admit, for argu-
ment's sake, that you obtain the money," he resumed," you will lose the
double of it, having a hundred thousand francs' pension to receive
instead of sixty thousand, and that for a period of ten years."
"Not so, for I shall only be subjected to this reduction of my income,
during the period of M. Fouquet's remaining in powe>, a period which
I estimate at two months."
" Ah!" said Aramis. " I am frank, you see."
" I thank you for it, duchesse; but you would be wrong to suppose,
that after M. Fouquet's disgrace the order would resume the payment
of your pension."
" I know a means of making the order pay, as I know a means of
forcing the queen-mother to concede what 1 require."
" In that case, duchesse, we are all obliged to strike our flags to you.
The victory is yours, and the triumph also, is yours. Be clement, I
intreat you."
" But is it possible," resumed the duchesse, without taking notice of
the irony," that you really draw back from a miserable sum of five
hundred thousand francs, when it is a question of sparing you—I mean
your friend—I beg your pardon, I ought rather to say your protector
—the disagreeable consequences which a party contest produces."
"Duchesse, I will tell you why; supposing the five hundred thousand
francs were to be given you, M. Laicques will require his share, which
.will be another five hundred thousand francs, I presume ? and then,
after M. de Laicques' and your own portions have been arranged, the
portions which your children, your poor pensioners, and various other
persons will require, will start up as fresh claims; and these letters,
however compromising they may be in their nature, are not worth
from three to four millions. Can you have forgotten the queen of
France's diamonds ?—they were surely worth more than these bits of
waste paper signed by Mazarin, and yet their recovery did not cost a
fourth part of what you ask for yourself."
"Yes, that is true; but the. merchant values his goods at his own
price, and it is for the purchaser to buy or refuse."
" Stay a moment, duchesse; would you like me to tell you why I will
not buy your letters."
"Pray tell me?"
" Because the letters you say are Mazarin's are false."
" What an absurdity."
" I have no doubt of it, for it would, to say the least, be very singular,
that after you had quarrelled with the queen through M. Mazarin's
means, you should have kept up any intimate acquaintance with the
latter; it would look as if you had been acting as a spy; and upon my
word, I do not like to make use of the word."
186 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
"Oh! pray say it."
" Your great complaisance would seem very suspicious, at all events."
" That is quite true; but what is not less so, is that which the letter
contains."
"I pledge you my word, duchesse, that you will not be able to make
use of it with the queen."
" Oh ! yes, indeed; I can make use of everything with the queen."
"Very good," thought Aramis. " Croak on, old owl—hiss, viper that
you are!"
But the duchess had said enough, and advanced a few steps towards
the door. Aramis, however, had reserved an exposure which she
did not expect—the imprecation of the slave behind the car of the
conqueror. He rang the bell, candles immediately appeared in the
adjoining room, and the bishop found himself completely encircled
by lights, which shone upon the worn, haggard face of the duchesse,
revealing every feature but too clearly. Aramis fixed a long and ironical
look upon her pale, thin, withered cheeks—upon her dim, dull eyes—
and upon her lips, which she kept carefully closed over her blackened
and scanty teeth. He, however, had thrown himself into a graceful atti-
tude, with his haughty and intelligent head thrown back; he smiled so
as to reveal his teeth, which were still brilliant and dazzling. The old
coquette understood the trick that had been played her. She was
standing immediately before a large mirror, in which her decrepitude,
so carefully concealed, was only made more manifest. And, thereupon,
without even saluting Aramis, who bowed with the ease and grace of
the musketeer of early days, she hurried away with trembling steps,
which her very precipitation only the more impeded. Aramis sprang
across the room, like a zephyr, to lead her to the door. Madame de
Chevreuse made a sign to her servant, who resumed his musket; and
she left the house where such tender friends had not been able to under-
stand each other, only because they had understood each other too well.
CHAPTER XLI.
Wherein may be seen that a bargain which cannot be made with one person, can
be carried out with another.
Aramis had been perfectly correct in his supposition; for hardly had
she left the house in the Place Beaudoyer, than Madame de Chevreuse
proceeded homeward. She was, doubtless, afraid of being followed,
and by this means thought she might succeed in throwing those who
might be following her off their guard; but scarcely had she arrived
within the door of the hotel, and hardly had assured herself that no
one who could cause her any uneasiness was on her track, when she
opened the door of the garden, leading into another street, and hurried
towards the Rue Croix des Petits Champs, where M. Colbert resided.
We have already said that evening, or rather night, had closed in;
it was a dark, thick night, besides; Paris had once more sunk into its
calm, quiescent state, enshrouding alike within its indulgent mantle
the high-born duchesse carrying out her political intrigue, and the simple
citizen's wife, who, having been detained late by a supper in the city, was
making her way slowly homewards, hanging on the arm of a lover, by
the shortest possible route. Madame de Chevreuse had been too well
accustomed to nocturnal political intrigues to be ignorant that a
HOW THE DUCHESSE SOLD THE LETTEES. 187
minister never denies himself, even at his own private residence, to
any young and beautiful woman who may chance to object to the dust
and confusion of a public office, or to old women, as full of expe-
rience as of years, who dislike the indiscreet echo of official residences.
A valet received the duchesse under the peristyle, and received her, it
must be admitted, [with some indifference of manner; he intimated,
after having looked at her face, that it was hardly at such an hour that
one so advanced in years as herself, could be permitted to disturb Mon-
sieur Colbert's important occupations. But Madame de Chevreuse,
without feeling or appearing to be annoyed, wrote her name upon a leaf
of her tablets,—a name which had but too frequently sounded so dis-
agreeably in the ears of Louis XIII. and of the great cardinal. She
wrote her name in the large, ill-formed characters of the higher classes
of that period, folded the paper in a manner peculiarly her own, handed
it to the valet without uttering a word, but with so haughty and impe-
rious a gesture, that the fellow, well-accustomed to judge of people from
their manners and appearance, perceived at once the quality of the per-
son before him, bowed his head, and ran to M. Colbert's room. The
minister could not control a sudden exclamation as he opened the paper;
and the valet, gathering from it the interest with which his master
regarded the mysterious visitor, returned as fast as he could to beg the
duchesse to follow him. She ascended to the first floor of the beautiful
new house very slowly, rested herself on the landing-place, in order not
to enter the apartment out of breath, and appeared before M. Colbert,
who, with his own hands, held both the folding doors open. The duchesse
paused at the threshold, for the purpose of well-studying the character
of the man with whom she was about to converse. At the first glance,
the round, large, heavy head, thick brows, and ill-favoured features of
Colbert, who wore, thrust low down on his head, a cap like a priest's
calotte, seemed to indicate that but little difficulty was likely to be met
with in her negotiations with him, but also that she was to expect as
little interest in the discussion of particulars; for there was scarcely
any indication that the rough and uncouth nature of the man was sus-
ceptible to the impulses of a refined revenge, or of an exalted ambition.
But when, on closer inspection, the duchesse perceived the small pierc-
ingly black eyes, the longitudinal wrinkles of his high and massive fore-
head, the imperceptible twitching of the lips, on which were apparent
traces of rough good humour, Madame de Chevreuse altered her
opinion of him, and felt she could say to herself : "I have found the
man I want."
" What is the subject, madame, which procures me the honour of a
visit from you ? " he inquired.
" The need I have of you, monsieur," returned the duchesse, " as well
as that which you have of me."
" I am delighted, madame, with the first portion of your sentence;
but, as far as the second portion is concerned "
Madame de Chevreuse sat down in the arm-chair which M. Colbert
advanced towards her. " Monsieur Colbert, you are the intendant of
finances, and are ambitious of becoming the surintendant ?"
" Madame!"
"Nay, do not deny it; that would only unnecessarily prolong our
conversation, and that is useless."
" And yet, madame, however well disposed and inclined to show
politeness I may be towards a lady of your position and merit, nothing
will make me confess that I have ever 'entertained the idea of sup-
planting my superior."
188 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" I said nothing about supplanting, Monsieur Colbert. Could I acci-
dentally have made use of that word ? I hardly think that likely. The
word 'replace' is less aggressive in its signification, and more gramma-
tically suitable, as M. de Voiture would say. I presume, therefore, that
you are ambitious of replacing M. Fouquet."
"M. Fouquet's fortune, madame, enables him to withstand all
attempts. The surintendant in this age plays the part of the Colossus
of Rhodes; the vessels pass beneath him and do not overthrow him."
" I ought to have availed myself precisely of that very comparison. It
is true, M. Fouquet plays the part of the Colossus of Rhodes ; but I
remember to have heard it said by M. Conrart, a member of the aca-
demy, I believe, that when the Colossus of Rhodes fell from its lofty
position, the merchant who had cast it down—a merchant, nothing
more, M. Colbert—loaded four hundred camels with the ruins. A mer-
chant! and that is considerably less than an intendant of finances."
" Madame, I can assure you that I shall never overthrow Monsieur
Fouquet."
" Very good, Monsieur Colbert, since you persist in showing so much
sensitiveness with me, as if you were ignorant that I am Madame de
Chevreuse, and also that I am somewhat advanced in years; in other
words, that you have to do with a woman who has had political dealings
with the Cardinal de Richelieu, and who has no time to lose; as, I repeat,
you do not hesitate to commit such an imprudence, I shall go and find
others who are more intelligent and more desirous of making their
fortunes."
" How, madame, how ? "
"You give me a very poor idea of negotiators of the present day. I
assure you that if, in my earlier days, a woman had gone to M. de Cinq-
Mars, who was not, moreover, a man of very high order of intellect, and
had said to him about the cardinal what I have just now said to you of
M. Fouquet, M. de Cinq-Mars would by this time Fave already set
actively to work."
" Nay, madame, show a little indulgence, I entreat you."
"Well, then, you do really consent to replace M. Fouquet."
" Certainly, I do, if the king dismisses M. Fouquet."
" Again, a word too much; it is quite evident that if you have not
yet succeeded in driving M. Fouquet from his post, it is because you
have not been able to do so. Therefore, I should be the greatest sim-
pleton possible if, in coming to you, I did not bring you the very thing
you require."
" I am distressed to be obliged to persist, madame," said Colbert, after
a silence which enabled the duchesse to sound the depth of his dissimu-
lation, " but I must warn you that, for the last six years, denunciation
after denunciation has been made against M. Fouquet, and he has
remained unshaken and unaffected by them."
" There is a time for everything, Monsieur Colbert; those who were
the authors of those denunciations were not called Madame de Chev-
reuse; and they had no proofs equal to the six letters from M. de
Mazarin which establish the offence in question."
" The offence!"
" The crime, if you like it better."
" The crime! committed by M. Fouquet!"
" Nothing less. It is rather strange, M. Colbert, but your face, which
just now was cold and indifferent, is now positively the very reverse."
" A crime!"
" I am delighted to see it makes an impression upon you."
HOW THE DUCHESSE SOLD THE LETTEES. 189
" It is because that word, madame, embraces so many things/"'
" It embraces the post of surintendant of finance for yourself, and a
letter of exile, or the Bastille, for M. Bouquet."
" "Forgive me, madame la duchesse, but it is almost impossible that
M. Fouquet can be exiled; to be imprisoned or disgraced, that is already
a great deal."
" Oh, I am perfectly aware of what I am saying," returned Madame
de Chevreuse, coldly. " I do not live at such a distance from- Paris as
not to know what takes place there. The king does not like M. Fou-
quet, and he would willingly sacrifice M. Fouquet if an opportunity
were only given him."
" It must be a good one though."
" Good enough, and one I estimate to be worth five hundred thousand
francs."
" In what way ?" said Colbert.
" I mean, monsieur, that holding this opportunity in my own hands,
I will not allow it to be transferred to yours except for a sum of five
hundred thousand francs."
" I understand you perfectly, madame. But since you have fixed a
price for the sale, let me now see the value of the articles to be sold."
" Oh, a mere trifle; six letters, as I have already told you, from M. de
Mazarin; and the autographs will most assuredly not be regarded as
too highly priced, if they establish, in an irrefutable manner, that
M. Fouquet has embezzled, large sums of money from the treasury and
appropriated them to his own purposes."
"In an irrefutable manner, do you say?" observed Colbert, whose
eyes sparkled with delight.
" Perfectly so; would you like to read the letters ?"
" With all my heart! Copies, of course ?"
" Of course, the copies," said the duchesse, as she drew from her
bosom a small packet of papers flattened by her velvet boddice. " Eead,"
she said.
Colbert eagerly snatched the papers and devoured them.
" Excellent!" he said.
" It is clear enough, is it not ? "
" Yes, madame, yes; M. Mazarin must have handed the money to
M. Fouquet, who must have kept it for his own purposes; but the
question is, what money."
" Exactly,—what money; if we come to terms I will join to these six
letters a seventh, which will supply you with the fullest particulars."
Colbert reflected. " And the originals of those letters ? "
" A useless question to ask; exactly as if I were to ask you, Monsieur
Colbert, whether the money-bags you will give me will be full or
empty."
" Very good, madame."
" Is it concluded ? " _ .
" No; for there is one circumstance to which neither of us has given
any attention."
"Name it!" .
" M. Fouquet can be utterly ruined, under the circumstances you
have detailed, only by means of legal proceedings."
" Well? "
" A public scandal, for instance; and yet neither the legal proceed-
ings nor the scandal can be commenced against him.
fcC not P53
"Because he is procureur-general of the parliament; because, toot,
190 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGEEONNE.
in Trance, all public administrations, the army, justice itself, and com-
merce, are intimately connected by ties of good fellowship, which people
call esprit de corps. In such a case, madame, the parliament will never
permit its chief to be dragged before a public tribunal; and never, even
if he be dragged there by royal authority, never, I say, will he be con-
demned."
" Well, Monsieur Colbert, I do not see what I have to do with that."
" I am aware of that, madame; but I have to do with it, and it con-
sequently diminishes the value of what you have brought to show me.
What good can a proof of crime be to me, without the possibility of
obtaining a condemnation ? "
" Even if he be only suspected, M. Fouquet will lose his post of
surintendant."
" Is that all!" exclaimed Colbert, whose dark, gloomy features were
momentarily lighted up by an expression of hate and vengeance.
" Ah, ah ! Monsieur Colbert," said the duchesse, " forgive me, but I
did not think you were so impressionable. Very good; in that case,
since you need more than I have to give you, there is no occasion to
speak of the matter at all."
" Yes, madame, we will go on talking of it; only, as the value of your
commodities has decreased, you must lower your pretensions."
" You are bargaining, then ? "
" Every man who wishes to deal loyally is obliged to do so."
" How much will you offer me ? "
" Two hundred thousand francs," said Colbert.
The duchesse laughed in his face, and then said suddenly, " Wait a
moment, I have"another arrangement to propose: will you give me
three hundred thousand francs ? " " No, no."
"Oh, you can either accept or refuse my terms; besides, that is
not all."
" More still! you are becoming too impracticable to deal with,
madame."
" Less so than you think, perhaps, for it is not money I am going to
ask you for." " What is it, then ? "
" A service; you know that I have always been most affectionately
attached to the queen, and I am desirous of having an interview with
her majesty."
" With the queen ? "
" Yes, Monsieur Colbert, with the queen, who is, I admit, no longer
my friend, and who has ceased to be so for a long time past, but who
may again become so if the opportunity be only given her."
" Her majesty has ceased to receive any one, madame. She is a great
sufferer, and you may be aware that the paroxysms of her disease occur
with greater frequency than ever."
" That is the very reason why I wish to have an interview with her
majesty"; for in Flanders there is a great variety of these kinds of
complaints."
" What, cancers—a fearful, incurable disorder ? "
" Do not believe that, Monsieur Colbert. The Flemish peasant is
somewhat a man of nature, and his companion for life is not alone a
wife, but a female labourer also; fo-r while he is smoking his pipe, the
woman works: it is she who draws the water from the well; she who
loads the mule or the ass, and even bears herself a portion of the bur-
den. Taking but little care of herself, she gets knocked about, first in
one direction, and then in another, and very often is beaten by her
husband, and cancers frequently arise from contusions."
HOW THE DTJCHESSE SOLD THE LETTEBS. 391
" True, trpe," said Colbert.
" The Flemish women do not die the sooner on that account. When
they are great sufferers from this disease they go in search of remedies,
and the Beguines of Bruges are excellent doctors for every kind of
disease. They have precious waters of one sort or another; specifics of
various kinds; and they give a bottle of it and a wax candle to the
sufferer, whereby the priests are gainers, and Heaven is served by the
disposal of both their wares. I will take the queen some of this holy
water, which I will procure from the Beguines of Bruges; her majesty
will recover, and will burn as many wax candles as she may think fit.
You see, Monsieur Colbert, to prevent my seeing the queen is almost
as bad as committing the crime of regicide."
" You are, undoubtedly, madame la duchesse, a woman of exceedingly
great abilities, and I am more than astounded at their display; still I
cannot but suppose that this charitable consideration towards the queen
in some measure covers a slight personal interest for yourself."
" I have not given myself the trouble to conceal it, that I am aware
of, Monsieur Colbert. You said, I believe, that I had a slight personal
interest ? On the contrary, it is a very great interest, and I will prove
it to you, by resuming what I was saying. If you procure me a per-
sonal interview with her majesty, I will be satisfied with the three hun-
dred thousand francs I have claimed; if not, I shall keep my letters,
unless, indeed, you give me, on the spot, five hundred thousand francs
for them."
And, rising from her seat with this decisive remark, the old duchesse
plunged M. Colbert into a disagreeable perplexity. To bargain any
further was out of the question ; and not to bargain was to pay a great
deal too dearly for them. " Madame," he said, " I shall have the plea-
sure of handing you over a hundred thousand crowns; but how shall I
get the actual letters themselves ? "
" In the simplest manner in the world, my dear Monsieur Colbert—
whom will you trust ? "
The financier began to laugh silently, so that his large eyebrows went
up and down like the wings of a bat, upon the deep lines of his yellow
forehead. "No one," he said.
" You surely will make an exception in your own favour, Monsieur
Colbert?"
" In what way, madame ? "
" I mean that if you would take the trouble to accompany me to the
place where the letters are, they would be delivered into your own
hands, and you would be able to verify and check them."
" Quite true."
" You would bring the hundred thousand crowns with you at the
same time, for I, too, do not trust any one ?"
Colbert coloured to the tips of his ears. Like all eminent men in
the art of figures, he' was of an insolent and mathematical probity.
" I will take with me, madame," he said, " two orders for the amount
agreed upon, payable at my treasury. Will that satisfy you ? "
"Would that the orders on your treasury were for two millions,
monsieur l'intendant! I shall have the pleasure of showing you the
way, then ?"
" Allow me to order my carriage."
" I have a carriage below, monsieur."
Colbert coughed like an irresolute man. He imagined, for a moment,
that the proposition of the duchesse was a snare ; that perhaps some one
was waiting at the door; and that she whose secret had just been sold
192 THE VICOMTE DE BJUGELONNE.
to Colbert for a hundred thousand crowns, had already offered it to
Fouquet for the same sum. As he still hesitated a good deal, the ducbesse
looked at him full in the face.
" You prefer your own carriage ? " she said.
" I admit that I do."
" You suppose that I am going to lead you into a snare or trap of
some sort or other ? "
" Madame la duchesse, you have the character of being somewhat in-
considerate at times, and, as I am clothed in a sober, solemn character,
a jest or practical joke might compromise me."
,£ Yes; the fact is, you are afraid. Well, then, take your own car-
riage, as many servants as you like, only think well of what I am going
to say. What we two may arrange between us, we are the only persons
who know it; if a third had witnessed, we might as well have told the
whole world of it. After all, I do not make a point of it; my carriage
shall follow yours, and I shall be satisfied to accompany you in your
own carriage to the queen."
" To the queen!"
" Have you forgotten that already P Is it possible that one of the
clauses of the agreement of so much importance to me, can have
escaped you already ? How trifling it seems to you, indeed ; if I had
known it I should have asked double what I have done."
" I have reflected, madame, and I shall not accompany you."
" Really—and why not ? "
" Because I have the most perfect confidence in you."
" You overpower me. But provided I receive the hundred thousand
crowns ? "
" Here they are, madame," said Colbert, scribbling a few lines on a
piece of paper, which he handed to the duchesse, adding, " You are
paid."
" The trait is a fine one, Monsieur Colbert, and I will reward you for
it," she said, beginning to laugh.
Madame de Chevreuse's laugh was a very sinister sound; every man
who feels youth, faith, love, life itself, throbbing in his heart, would
prefer tears to such a lamentable laugh. The duchesse opened the front
of her dress and drew forth from her bosom, somewhat less white than
it once had been, a small packet of papers, tied with a flame-coloured
ribbon, and, still laughing, she said, " There, Monsieur Colbert, are the
originals of Cardinal Mazarin's letters; they are now your own pro-
perty," she added, re-fastening the body of her dress; " your fortune is
secured, and now accompany me to the queen."
" No, madame ; if you are again about to run the chance of her ma-
jesty's displeasure, and it were known at the Palais Royal that I had
been the means of introducing you there, the queen would never for-
give me while she lived. No; there are certain persons at the palace
who are devoted to me, who will procure you an admission without my
being compromised."
" Just as you please, provided I enter."
" What do you term those religious women at Bruges who cure dis-
orders ? " " Beguines."
" Good; you are one."
" As you please, but I must soon cease to be one."
" That is your affair."
" Excuse me, but I do not wish to be exposed to a refusal."
_ " That is again your own affair, madame. I am going to give direc-
tions to the head valet of the gentleman in waiting on her majesty to
THE SKIN OF THE BEAB. 193
allow admission to a Beguine, who brings an effectual remedy for her
majesty's sufferings. You are the bearer of my letter, you will under-
take to be provided with the remedy, and will give every explanation
on the subject. I admit a knowledge of a Beguine, but I deny all
knowledge of Madame de Chevreuse. Here, madame, then, is your
letter of introduction."
CHAPTER XLII.
The Skin of the Bear.
Colbekt handed the duchesse the letter, and gently drew aside the
chair behind which she was standing; Madame de Chevreuse, with a
very slight bow, immediately left the room. Colbert, who had recog-
nized Mazarin's hand-writing, and had counted the letters, rang to
summon his secretary, whom he enjoined to go in immediate search of
M. Vanel, a counsellor of the parliament. The secretary replied that,
according to his usual practice, M. Yanel had just that moment entered
the house, in order to render to the intendant an account of the prin-
cipal details of the business which had been transacted during the day
in the sitting of the parliament. Colbert approached one of the lamps,
read the letters of the deceased cardinal over again, smiled repeatedly
as he recognized the great value of the papers Madame de Chevreuse
had just delivered to him, and burying his head in his hands for a few
minutes, reflected profoundly. In the meantime, a tall, large-made
man entered the room; his spare, thin face, steady look, and hooked
nose, as he entered Colbert's cabinet, with a modest assurance of manner,
revealed a character at once supple and decided,—supple towards the
master who could throw him the prey, firm towards the dogs who
might possibly be disposed to dispute it with him. M. Vanel carried
a volunlinous bundle of papers under his arm, and placed it on the
desk on which Colbert was leaning both his elbows, as he supported his
head.
"Good day, M. Vanel," said the latter, rousing himself from his
meditation.
" Good day, monseigneur," said Vanel, naturally.
"You should say monsieur, and not monseigneur," replied Colbert,
gently.
" We give the title of monseigneur to ministers," returned Vanel,
with extreme self-possession, " and you are a minister."
"Not yet."
" You are so in point of fact, and I call you monseigneur accordingly;
besides, you are my seigneur for me, and that is sufficient; if you dis-
like my calling you monseigneur before others, allow me, at least, to
call you so in private."
Colbert raised his head as if to read, or to try to read, upon Van el's
face how much actual sincerity entered into this protestation of devo-
tion. But the counsellor knew perfectly well how to sustain the weight
of his look, even were it armed with the full authority of the title he
had conferred. Colbert sighed; he could not read anything in Vanel's
face, and Vanel might possibly be honest in his professions, but Colbert
recollected that this man, inferior to himself in every other respect,
was actually his superior through the fact of his having a wife unfaith-
ful to him. At the moment he was pitying this man's lot, Vanel
VOL. II. o
194 THE VIC0J1TE DE BKAGELOENE.
coldly drew from his pocket a perfumed letter, sealed with Spanish
wax, and held it towards Colbert, saying, " A letter from my wife,
monseigneur."
Colbert coughed, took, opened, and read the letter, and then put it
carefully away in his pocket, while Vanel turned over the leaves of the
papers he had brought with him with an^ unmoved and unconcerned
air. " Vanel," he said suddenly to his protege, " you are a hard-working
man, I know; would twelve hours' daily labour frighten you? "
" I work fifteen hours every day."
" Impossible. A counsellor need not work more than three hours a
day in the parliament."
" Oh! I am working up some returns for a friend of mine in the
department of accounts, and, as I still have time left on my hands, I
am studying Hebrew."
" Your reputation stands high in the parliament, Vanel."
" I believe so, monseigneur."
" You must not grow rusty in your post of counsellor." -
" "What must I do to avoid it ?"
" Purchase a high place. Mean and low ambitions are very difficult
to satisfy."
" Small purses are the most difficult to fill, monseigneur."
" "What post have you in view ?" said Colbert
" I see none—not one."
" There is one, certainly, but one need be almost the king himself to
be able to buy it without inconvenience; and the king will not be
inclined, I suppose, to purchase the post of proeureur-general."
At these words, vanel fixed his at once humble and dull look upon
Colbert, who could hardly tell whether Vanel had comprehended him
or not. " Why do you speak to me, monseigneur," said Vanel, " of the
post of proeureur-general to the parliament; I know no other post
than the one M. Pouquet fills."
" Exactly so, my dear counsellor."
" You are not over fastidious, monseigneur; but before the post can
be bought, it must be offered for sale."
" I believe, Monsieur Vanel, that it will be for sale before long."
" Eor sale! What, M. Pouquet's post of proeureur-general ?"
" So it is said."
" The post which renders him so perfectly inviolable, for sale! Oh!
oh I" said Vanel, beginning to laugh.
" Would you be afraid, then, of the post ?" said Colbert, gravely.
Afraid! no, but "
"Nor desirous of obtaining it?"
"You are laughing at me, monseigneur," replied Vanel; "is it likely
that a counsellor of the parliament would not be desirous of becoming
proeureur-general ?"
"Well, Monsieur Vanel, since I tell you that the post, as report
goes, will be shortly for sale——"
" I cannot help repeating, monseigneur, that it is impossible; a man
never throws away the buckler, behind which he maintains his honour,
his fortune, his very life."
" There are certain men mad enough, Vanel, to fancy themselves out
of the reach of all mischances."
"Yes, monseigneur; but such men never commit their mad acts for
the advantage of the poor Vanels of the world."
" Why not?"
"Por the very reason that those Vanels are poor."
THE SKIN OF THE BEAR. 195
" It is true that M. Fouquet's post might cost a good round sum.
What would you bid for it, Monsieur Yanel ?"
" Everything I am worth."
" Which means ?" " Three or four hundred thousand francs."
" And the post is worth "
" A million and a half, at the very lowest. I know persons who have
offered one million seven hundred thousand francs, without being able
to persuade M. Fouquet to sell. Besides, supposing it were to happen
that M. Fouquet wished to sell, which I do not believe, in spite of
what I have been told "
" Ah! you have heard something about it, then; who told you ?"
" M. de Gourville, M. Pelisson, and others."
" Yery good; if, therefore, M. Fouquet did wish to sell "
" I could not buy it just yet, since the surintendant will only sell for
ready money, and no one has a million and a half to throw down at
once."
Colbert suddenly interrupted the counsellor by an imperious gesture;
he had begun to meditate. Observing his superior's serious attitude,
and his perseverance in continuing the conversation on this subject,
Yanel awaited the solution without venturing to precipitate it. " Ex-
plain fully to me the privileges which this post confers."
" The right of impeaching every French subject who is not a prince
of the blood; the right of quashing all proceedings taken against any
Frenchman, who is neither king nor prince. The procureur-g^neral
is the king's right hand to punish the guilty; he is the means whereby
also he can evade the administration of justice. M. Fouquet, there-
fore, will be able, by stirring up the parliaments, to maintain himself
even against the king; and the king could as easily, by humouring M..
Fouquet, get his edicts registered in spite of every opposition and objec-
tion. The procureur-generalship can be made a very useful- or very
dangerous instrument."
" Yanel, would you like to be procureur-general ?" said Colbert, sud-
denly, softening both his look and his voice.
" I!" exclaimed the latter; " I have already had the honour to repre-
sent to you that I want about eleven hundred thousand francs to make
up the amount."
" Borrow that sum from your friends."
" I have no friends richer than myself."
" You are an honest and honourable man, Yanel."
" Ah! monseigneur, if the world were to think as you do!"
" I think'so, and that is quite enough; and if it should be needed, I
will be your security."
" Do not forget the proverb, monseigneur."
"What is that?"
" That he who becomes responsible for another, has to pay for his-
responsibility."
" Let that make no difference."
Yanel rose, quite bewildered by this offer which had been so sud-
denly and unexpectedly made to him. "You are not trifling with me,
monseigneur," he said.
" Stay; you say that M. Gourville has spoken to you about M.
Fouquet's post."
" Yes; and M. Pelisson also."
" Officially so, or only by their own suggestion ?
" These were their very words: ' These parliamentary people are as
proud as they are wealthy; they ought to club together two or three
o 2
196 THE V1C0MTE DE BEAGEIONNE.
millions among themselves, to present to their protector and great
luminary, M. Fouquet.'"
" And what did you reply ? "
c: I said that, for my own part, I would give ten thousand francs if
necessary."
" Ah ! you like M. Fouquet, then !" exclaimed Colbert, with a look
full of hatred.
"No; but M. Fouquet is our chief. He is in debt—is on the high
road to ruin; and we ought to save the honour of the body of which we
are members."
" Exactly; and that explains why M. Fouquet will be always safe and
sound, so long as he occupies his present post," replied Colbert.
"Thereupon," said Yanel, " M. Gourville added, ' If we were to do
anything out of charity to M. Fouquet, it could not be otherwise than
most humiliating to him; and he would be sure to refuse it. Let the
parliament subscribe among themselves to purchase, in a proper man-
ner, the post of procureur-general; in that case, all would go on well;
the honour of our body would be saved, and M. Fouquet's pride
spared.'"
" That is an opening."
" I considered it so, monseigneur."
"Well, Monsieur Vanel, you will go at once, and find out either M.
Gourville or M. Pelisson. Do you know any other friend of M. Fou-
quet ? "
" I know M. de la Fontaine very well."
" La Fontaine, the rhymester ? "
"Yes; he used to write verses to my wife, when M. Fouquet was one
of our friends."
" Go to him, then, and try and procure an interview with the surin-
tends nt."
" Willingly—but the sum itself ? "
" On the day and hour you arrange to settle the matter, Monsieur
Yanel, you shall be supplied with the money; so, do not make yourself
uneasy on that account."
" Monseigneur, such munificence ! You eclipse kings even—you
surpass M. Fouquet himself."
" Stay a moment—do not let us mistake each other, I do not make
you a present of fourteen hundred thousand francs, Monsieur Vanel;
for I have children to provide for—but I will lend you that sum."
" Ask whatever interest, whatever security you please, monseigneur:
I am quite ready. And when all your requisitions are satisfied, I will
still repeat, that you surpass kings and M. Fouquet in munificence.
What conditions do you impose ? "
" The repayment in eight years, and a mortgage upon the appoint-
ment itself."
" Certainly. Is that all ? "
" Wait a moment. I reserve to myself the right of repurchasing the
post from you at one hundred and fifty thousand francs profit for
yourself, if, in your mode of filling the office, you do not follow out a
line of conduct in conformity with the interests of the king and with
my projects."
"Ah ! ah! " said Yanel in a slightly altered tone.
" Is there anything in that which can possibly be objectionable to
you, Monsieur Yanel ? " said Colbert, coldly.
" Oh ! no, no," replied Yanel, quickly.
"Very good. We will sign an agreement to that effect, whenever
an interview with the qtteen-mothek. 197
you like. And now, go as quickly as you can to M. Fouquet's friends,
obtain an interview with the surintendant; do not be too difficult in
making whatever concessions may be required of you; and when once
the arrangements are all made "
" I will press him to sign."
" Be most careful to do nothing of the kind; do not speak of sig-
natures with M. Bouquet, nor of deeds, nor even ask him to pass his
word. Understand this, otherwise you will lose everything. All you
have to do is to get M. Bouquet to give you his hand on the matter.
Go, go."
CHAPTER XLIII.
An Interview with the Queen-Mother.
The queen-mother was in her bed-room at the Palais-Royal, with
Madame de Motteville and the Senora Molina. The king, who had
been impatiently expected the whole day, had not made his appear-
ance; and the queen, who had grown quite impatient, had often sent to
inquire about him. The whole atmosphere of the court seethed to
indicate an approaching storm; the courtiers and the ladies of the
court avoided meeting in the ante-chambers and the corridors, in order
not to converse on compromising subjects. Monsieur had joined the
king early in the morning for a hunting-party; Madame remained in
her own apartments, cool and distant to every one; and the queen-
mother, after she had said her prayers in Latin, talked of domestic
matters with her two friends in pure Castilian. Madame de Motte-
ville, who understood the language perfectly, answered her in French.
When the three ladies had exhausted every form of dissimulation and
of politeness, as a circuitous mode of expressing that the king's conduct
was making the queen and the queen-mother pine away from sheer
grief and vexation, and when, in the most guarded and polished phrases,
they had fulminated every variety of imprecation against Mademoiselle
de la Yalliere, the queen-mother terminated her attack by an exclama-
tion indicative of her own reflections and character. " JEstos hijos ! "
said she to Molina—which means, " These children! " words full of
meaning in a mother's lips—words full of terrible significance in the
mouth of a queen who, like Anne of Austria, hid many curious and
dark secrets in her soul.
"Yes," said Molina, "these children! for whom every mother be-
comes a sacrifice."
"Yes," replied the queen ; "a mother has sacrificed everything, cer-
tainly." She did not finish her phrase; for she fancied, when she
raised her eyes towards the full-length portrait of the pale Louis XIII.,
that light had once more flashed from her husband's dull eyes, and
that his nostrils were inflated by wrath. The portrait seemed animated
by a living expression—speak it did not, but it seemed to menace. A
profound silence succeeded the queen's last remark. La Molina began
to turn over the ribbons and lace of a large work-table. Madame de
Motteville, surprised at the look of mutual intelligence which had been
exchanged between the confidante and her mistress, cast down her eyes
like a discreet woman, and, pretending to be observant of nothing that
was passing, listened with the utmost attention instead. She heard
nothing, however, but a very significant "hum" on the part of the
Spanish duenna, who was the perfect representation of extreme caution
198 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELOKNE.
—and a profound sigh on that of the queen. She looked up imme-
diately.
" You are suffering ? " she said.
" No, Motteville, no; why do you say that ? "
"Your majesty almost groaned just now."
"You are right; I did sigh, in truth."
"Monsieur Vallot is not far off; I believe he is in Madame's apart-
ment."
" Why is he with Madame? "
" Madame is troubled with nervous attacks."
"A very fine disorder, indeed! There is little good in M. Vallot
being there, when another physician instead would cure Madame."
Madame de Motteville looked up with an air of great surprise, as
she replied, " Another doctor instead of M. Vallot?—whom do you
mean ? "
" Occupation, Motteville, occupation. If any one is really ill, it is
my poor daughter."
"And your majesty, too."
" Less so this evening, though."
"Do not believe that too confidently, madame," said de Motteville.
And, as if to justify her caution, a sharp, acute pain seized the queen,
who turned deadly pale, and threw herself back in the chair, with every
symptom of a sudden fainting fit. Molina ran to a richly-gilded tor-
toiseshell cabinet, from which she took a large rock-crystal smelling-
bottle, and immediately held it to the queen's nostrils, who inhaled it
wildly for a few minutes, and murmured:
" It will hasten my death—but Heaven's will be done! "
" Your majesty's death is not so near at hand," added Molina, re-
placing the smelling-bottle in the cabinet.
" Does your majesty feel better now ? " inquired Madame de Mot-
teville.
" Much better," returned the queen, placing her finger on her lips, to
impose silence on her favourite.
" It is very strange," remarked Madame de Motteville, after a pause.
"What is strange ? " said the queen.
" Does your majesty remember the day when this pain attacked you
for the first time ? "
" I remember only that it was a grievously sad day for me, Motte-
ville."
" But your majesty had not always regarded that day a sad one."
"Why?"
"Because three and twenty years before, on that very day, his present
majesty, your own glorious son, was born at the very same hour."
The queen uttered a loud cry, buried her face in her hands, and
seemed utterly lost for some minutes; but whether from recollections
which arose in her mind, or from reflection, or even from sheer pain, it
was of course uncertain. La Molina darted almost a furious look at
Madame de Motteville, which was so full of bitter reproach, that the
poor woman, perfectly ignorant of its meaning, was, in her own excul-
pation, on the point of asking an explanation of its meaning; when,
suddenly Anne of Austria arose and said, "Yes, the 5th of September;
my sorrow began on the 5th of September. The greatest joy, one day;
the deepest sorrow the next;—the sorrow," she added, " the bitter ex-
piation of a too excessive joy."
And, from that moment, Anne of Austria, whose memory and reason
seemed to have become entirely suspended for a time, remained impe-
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN-MOTHER. 199
netrable, with vacant look, mind almost wandering, and hands hang-
ing heavily down, as if life had almost departed.
"We must put her to bed," said La Molina.
" Presently, Molina."
" Let us leave the queen alone," added the Spanish attendant.
Madame de Motteville rose; large and glistening tears were fast
rolling down the queen's pallid face; and Molina, having observed this
sign of weakness, fixed her black vigilant eyes upon her.
" Yes, yes," replied the queen. " Leave us, Motteville; go."
The word " us," produced a disagreeable effect upon the ears of the
Prench favourite; for it signified that an interchange of secrets, or of
revelations of the past, was about to be made, and that one person was
de trof in the conversation which seemed likely to take place.
"Will Molina, alone,be sufficient lor your majesty to-night ?" inquired
the Prench woman."
"Yes," replied the queen. Madame de Motteville bowed in sub-
mission, and was about to withdraw, when, suddenly, an old female
attendant, dressed as if she had belonged to the Spanish court of the
year 1620, opened the doors, and surprised the queen in her tears. " The
remedy !" she cried, delightedly, to the queen, as she unceremoniously
approached the group.
" What remedy ?" said Anne of Austria.
"Por your majesty's sufferings," the former replied.
"Who brings it ?" asked Madame de Motteville, eagerly; " Monsieur
Vallot?"
" No; a lady from Planders."
" Prom Planders. Is she Spanish ? " inquired the queen.
" I don't know."
" Who sent her ? " " M. Colbert."
" Her name ?" " She did not mention it."
"Her position in life ?" "She will answer that herself."
" Her face ?" " She is masked."
" Go, Molina; go and see!" cried the queen.
" It is needless," suddenly replied a voice, at once firm and gentle in
its tone, which proceeded from the other side of the tapestry hangings;
a voice which made the attendants start, and the queen tremble exces-
sively. At the same moment, a masked female appeared through the
hangings, and, before the queen could speak a syllable, she added, " I
am connected with the order of the Beguines of Bruges, and do, indeed,
bring with me the remedy which is certain to effect a cure of your
majesty's complaint." No one uttered a sound, and the Beguine did
not move a step.
" Speak," said the queen.
" I will, when we are alone," was the answer.
Anne of Austria looked at her attendants, who immediately with-
drew. The Beguine, thereupon, advanced a few steps towards the
queen, and bowed reverently before her. The queen gazed with increas-
ing mistrust at this woman, who, in her turn, fixed a pair of brilliant
eyes upon her, through her mask.
"The queen of Prance must, indeed, be very ill," said Anne of
Austria, " if it is known at the Beguinage of Bruges that she stands in
need of being cured."
" Your majesty is not irremediably ill."
" But, tell me, how do you happlen to know I am suffering ?"
" Your majesty has friends in Planders."
" Since these friends, then, have sent you, mention their names."
200 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGKELONNE.
"Impossible, madame, since your majesty's memory has not been
awakened by your heart."
Anne of Austria looked up, endeavouring to discover through the
concealment of the mask, and through her mysterious language, the
name of her companion, who expressed herself with such familiarity
and freedom; then, suddenly, wearied by a curiosity which wounded
every feeling of pride in her nature, she said, "You are ignorant, per-
haps, that royal personages are never spoken to with the face masked."
Deign to excuse me, madame," replied the Beguine, humbly.
" I cannot excuse you. I may, possibly, forgive you, if you throw
your mask aside."
" I have made a vow, madame, to attend and aid all afflicted or suf-
fering persons, without ever permitting them to behold my face. I
might have been able to administer some relief to your body and to
your mind, too; but, since your majesty forbids me, I will take my
leave. Adieu, madame, adieu."
These words were uttered with a harmony of tone and respect of
manner that deprived the queen of all her anger and suspicion, but did
not remove her feeling of curiosity. " You are right," she said ; it ill
becomes those who are suffering to reject the means of relief which
Heaven sends them. Speak, then; and may you, indeed, be able, as you
assert you can, to administer relief to my body "
" Let us first speak a little of the mind, if you please," said the
Beguine; " of the mind, which, I am sure, must also suffer."
"My mind?"
" There are cancers so insidious in their nature that their very pul-
sation is invisible. Such cancers, madame, leave the ivory whiteness of
the skin untouched, and marble not the firm, fair flesh, with th^ir
blue tints; the physician who bends over the patient's chest hears not,
though he listens, the insatiable teeth of the disease grinding its onward
progress through the muscles, as the blood flows freely on; the knife
has never been able to destroy, and rarely even, temporarily, to disarm
the rage of these mortal scourges; their home is in the mind, which
they corrupt; they fill the whole heart until it breaks. Such, madame,
are the cancers fatal to queens; are you, too, free from their scourge ?"
Anne slowly raised her arm, dazzling in its perfect whiteness, and
pure in its rounded outlines, as it was in the time of her earlier days.
_ " The evils to which you allude," she said, " are the condition of the
lives of the high in rank upon earth, to whom Heaven has imparted
mind. When those evils become too heavy to be borne, Heaven
lightens their burden by penitence and confession. There we lay down
our burden, and the secrets which oppress us. But, forget not, that the
same gracious Heaven, in its mercy, apportions to their trials the
strength of the feeble creatures of its hand; and my strength has
enabled me to bear my burden. For the secrets of others, the silence of
Heaven is more than sufficient; for my own secrets, that of my con-
fessor is just enough."
"You are as courageous, madame, I see, as ever, against your enemies.
You do not acknowledge your confidence in your friends."
" Queens have no friends; if you have nothing further to say to me,
—if you feel yourself inspired by Heaven as a prophetess—leave me, I
pray, for I dread the future."
" I should have supposed," said the Bdguine, resolutely, " that you
would rather have dreaded the past."
Hardly had these words escaped her lips, than the queen rose up
AN INTEEVIEW WITH THE QUEEN-MOTHEK. 201
proudly. "Speak," she cried, in a short, imperious tone of voice;
" explain yourself briefly, quickly, entirely ; or, if not "
"Nay, do not threaten me, your majesty," said the Beguine gently ;
" I came to you full of compassion and respect. I came here on the
part of a friend."
" Prove that to me ! Comfort, instead of irritating me."
"Easily enough; and your majesty will see who is friendly to you.
"What misfortune has happened to your majesty during these three and
twenty years past "
" Serious misfortunes, indeed; have I not lost the king ?"
" I speak not of misfortunes of that kind. I wish to ask you, if since
the birth of the king, any indiscretion on a friend's part has caused
your majesty the slightest serious anxiety, or distress ?"
" I do not understand you," replied the queen; setting her teeth hard
together in order to conceal her emotion.
" I will make myself understood, then. Tour majesty remembers,
that the king was born on the 5th of September, 1638, at a quarter-past
eleven o'clock."
"Yes," stammered out the queen.
" At half-past twelve," continued the Beguine, " the dauphin, who
had been baptized by Monseigneur de Meaux in the king's and in your
own presence, was acknowledged as the heir of the crown of Prance.
The king then went to the chapel of the old Chateau de Saint-Germain,
to hear the Te Dewn chanted."
" Quite true, quite true," murmured the queen.
" Tour majesty;s confinement took place in the presence of Monsieur,
his majesty's late uncle, of the princes, and of the ladies attached
to the court. The king's physician, Bouvard, and Honore, the surgeon,
were stationed in the antechamber; your majesty slept from three
o'clock until seven, I believe!"
" Yes, yes; hut you tell me no more than every one else knows as
well as you and myself."
" I am now, madame, approaching that which very few persons are
acquainted with. Very few persons, did I say, alas! I might almost
say two only, for formerly there were but five in all, and, for many
years past, the secret has been well preserved by the deaths of the
principal participators in it. The late king sleeps now with his ances-
tors; Peronne, the midwife, soon followed him, Laporte is already
forgotten."
The queen opened her lips as though about to reply; she felt,
beneath her icy hand, with which she kept her face half concealed,
the beads of perspiration upon her brow.
" It was eight o'clock," pursued the Beguine; " the king was seated at
supper, full of joy and happiness ; around him on all sides arose wild
cries of delight and drinking of healths; the people cheered beneath the
balconies; the Swiss guards, the musketeers, and the royal guards wan-
dered through the city, borne about in triumph by the drunken stu-
dents. Those boisterous sounds of the general joy disturbed the
dauphin, the future king of Prance, who was quietly lying in the
arms of Madame de Hausac, his nurse, and whose eyes, as he opened
them, and stared about, • might have observed two crowns at the foot
of his cradle. Suddenly, your majesty uttered a piercing cry, and
Dame Peronne immediately flew to your bedside. The doctors were
dining in a room at some distance from your chamber; the palace,
deserted from the frequency of the irruptions made into it, was
without either sentinels or guards. The midwife, having questioned
202 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONHE.
and examined your majesty, gave a sudden exclamation as if in wild
' astonishment, and taking you in her arms, bewildered, almost out of
her senses from sheer distress of mind, dispatched Laporte to inform
the king that her majesty the queen wished to see him in her room.
Laporte, you are aware, madame, was a man of the most admirable
calmness and presence of mind. He did not approach the king as if he
were thqi,bearer of alarming intelligence and wished to inspire the
terror which he himself experienced; besides, it was not a very
terrifying intelligence which awaited the king. Therefore, Laporte
appeared with a smile upon his lips, and approached the king's chair,
saying to him.—' Sire, the queen is very happy, and would be still more
so to see your majesty.5 On that day, Louis XIII. would have given
his crown away to the veriest beggar for a ' God bless you.' Animated,
lighthearted, and full of gaiety, the king rose from the table, and said to
those around him, in a tone that Henry IV. might have adopted,
—' Gentlemen, I am going to see my wife.' He came to your bedside,
madame, at the very moment Dame Peronne presented to him a
second prince, as beautiful and healthy as the former, and said,—
4 Sire, Heaven will not allow the kingdom of Prance to fall into the
female line.' The king, yielding to a first impulse, clasped the child in
his arms, and cried, 'Oh! Heaven, I thank Thee!'"
At this part of her recital, the Beguine paused, observing how
intensely the queen was suffering; she had thrown herself back in her
chair, and with her head bent forward and her eyes fixed, listened
without seeming to hear, and her lips moving convulsively, either
breathing a prayer to Heaven or in imprecations against the woman
standing before her.
" Ah! do not believe that, because there could be but one dauphin in
Prance," exclaimed the Beguine," or that if the queen allowed that child
to vegetate, banished from his royal parents' presence, she was on that
account an unfeeling mother. Oh! no, no: there are those alive who
know the floods of bitter tears she shed; there are those who have
known and witnessed the passionate kisses she imprinted on that
innocent creature in exchange for a life of misery and gloom to which
state policy condemned the twin brother of Louis XIV."
" Oh ! Heaven !" murmured the queen, feebly.
"It is admitted," continued the Beguine, quickly, " that when the
king perceived the effect which would result from the existence of
two sons, both equal in age and pretensions, he trembled for the welfare
of Prance, for the tranquillity of the state; and it is equally well
known that the Cardinal de Richelieu, by the direction of Louis XIII.,
thought over the subject with deep attention, and after an hour's medi-
tation in his majesty's cabinet, he pronounced the following sentence:—
' One prince is peace and safety for the state; two competitors are civil
war and anarchy.'"
The queen rose suddenly from her seat, pale as death, and her hands
clenched together:—" Vou know too much," she said, in a hoarse, thick
voice, " since you refer to secrets of state. As for the friends from
whom you have acquired this secret, they are false and treacherous.
You are their accomplice in the crime which is being now com-
mitted. Now, throw aside your mask, or 1 will have you arrested
by my captain of the guards. Do not think that this secret terrifies
me! You have obtained it, you shall restore it to me. Never shall it
leave your bosom, for neither your secret nor your own life belong to
you from this moment."
Anne of Austria, joining gesture to the threat, advanced a couple of
TWO FB1ENES. 203
steps towards the Beguine. " Learn," said the latter, " to know and
value the fidelity, the honour, and secrecy of the friends you have
abandoned." And, then, suddenly threw aside her mask.
"Madame de Chevreuse!" exclaimed the queen. "With your
majesty, the sole living confidante of this secret."
"Ah!" murmured Anne of Austria; "come and embrace me,
duchesse. Alas! you kill your friend in thus trifling with her terrible
distress."
And the queen, leaning her head upon the shoulder of the old
duchesse, burst into a flood of bitter tears. "How young you are
still!" said the latter, in a hollow voice; " you can weep !"
CHAPTER XLPV.
Two Friends.
The queen looked steadily at madame de Chevreuse, and said: "I
believe you just now made use of the word ' happy5 in speaking of me.
Hitherto, duchesse, I had thought it impossible that a human creature
could anywhere be found less happy than the queen of Prance.55
" Your afflictions, madame, have indeed been terrible enough. But
by the side of those great and grand misfortunes to which we, two old
friends separated by men's malice, were just now alluding, you possess
sources of pleasure, slight enough in themselves it may be, but which
are greatly envied by the world.55
"What are they? said Anne of Austria, bitterly. "What can
induce you to pronounce the word ' pleasure,5 duchesse—you who, just
now, admitted that my body and my mind both stood in need of
remedies ?"
Madame de Chevreuse collected herself for a moment, and then mur-
mured, " How far removed kings are from other people!"
" What do you mean ?55
"I mean that they are so far removed from the vulgar herd that
they forget that others ever stand in need of the bare necessaries of
life. They are like the inhabitant of the African mountain, who
gazing from the verdant table land, refreshed by the rills of melted
snow, cannot comprehend that the dwellers in the plains below him
are perishing from hunger and thirst in the midst of their lands, burnt
up by the heat of the sun."
The queen slightly coloured, for she now began to perceive the drift
of her friend's remark. ."It was very wrong," she said, "to have
neglected you."
" Oh ! madame, the king I know has inherited the hatred his father
bore me. The king would dismiss me if he knew I were in the Palais-
Royal."
"I cannot say that the king is very well disposed towards you,
duchesse," replied the queen; "but I could secretly,you know 55
The duchesse's disdainful smile produced a feeling of uneasiness in
the queen's mind. "Duchesse," she hastened to add, "you did per-
fectly right to come here, even were it only to give us the happiness of
contradicting the report of your death."
" Has it been said, then, that I was dead ?"
" Everywhere."
204 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" And yet my children did not go into mourning."
" Ah ! you know, duchesse, the court is very frequently moving about
from place to place; we see M. Albert de Luynes but seldom, and
many things escape our minds in the midst of the preoccupations which
constantly beset us."
" Your majesty ought not to have believed the report of my death."
" Why not ? Alas'! we are all mortal; and you may perceive how
rapidly I, your younger sister, as we used formerly to say, am approach-
ing the tomb."
"If your majesty had believed me dead, you ought, in that case, to
have been astonished not to have received any news of me."
" Death not unfrequently takes us by surprise, duchesse."
" Oh ! your majesty, those who are burdened with secrets such as we
have just now discussed, must, as a necessity of their nature, satisfy
their craving desire to divulge them, and they feel they must gratify
that desire before they die. Among the various preparations for their
final journey, the task of placing their papers in order is not omitted."
The queen started.
"Your majesty will be sure to learn, in a particular manner, the day
of my death."
" In what way ?"
"Because your majesty will receive the next day, under several
coverings, everything connected with our mysterious correspondence of
former times."
" Did you not burn them ?" cried Anne in alarm.
" Traitors only," replied the duchesse, " destroy a royal correspond-
ence."
" Traitors, do you say ? "
" Yes, certainly, or rather they pretend to destroy, instead of which
they keep or sell it. Faithful friends, on the contrary, most carefully
secrete such treasures, for it may happen that some day or other they
would wish to seek out their queen in order to say to her : Madame, I
am getting old; my health is fast failing me; in the presence of the
danger of death, for there is the danger for jour majesty that this
secret may be revealed; take, therefore, this paper, so fraught with
danger for yourself, and trust not to another to burn it for you."
" What paper do you refer to ?"
"As far as I am concerned, I have but one, it is true, but that is
indeed most dangerous in its nature."
" Oh! duchesse, tell me what it is."
" A letter, dated Tuesday the 2nd of August, 1644, in which you beg
me to go to Noisy-le-Sec, to see that unhappy child. In your own
handwriting- madame, there are those words, 'that unhappy child!'"
A profound silence ensued; the queen's mind was wandering in the
past; Madame de Chevreuse was watching the progress of her scheme.
"Yes, unhappy, most unhappy !" murmured Anne of Austria ; "how
sad the existence he led, poor child, to finish it in so cruel a manner."
"Is he dead !" cried the duchesse suddenly, with a curiosity whose
sine,ere accents the queen instinctively detected.
" He died of consumption, died forgotten, died withered and blighted
Jike the flowers a lover has given to his mistress, which she leaves to
die secreted in a drawer where she had hid them from the gaze of others."
" Died !" repeated the duchesse with an air of discouragement, which
trould have afforded the queen the most unfeigned delight, had it not
tie en tempered in some measure by a mixture of doubt.
"Died—at Noisy-le-Sec?"
TWO FBIENDS. 205
" Yes, in the arms of his tutor, a poor, honest man, who did not long
survive him."
" That can easily he understood; it is so difficult to bear up under
the weight of such a loss and such a secret," said Madame de Chevreuse,
the irony of which reflection the queen pretended not to perceive.
Madame de Chevreuse continued: "Well, madame, I inquired some
years ago at Noisy-le-Sec about this unhappy child. I was told that it
was not believed he was dead, and that was my reason for not having at
first been grieved with your majesty; for, most certainly, if I could have
thought it were true, never should I have made the slightest allusion
to so deplorable an event, and thus have re-awakened your majesty's
legitimate distress." ,
" Y ou say that it is not believed that the child died at Noisy ?"
" No, madame."
" What did they say about him, then ? "
" They said but, no doubt, they were mistaken "
" Nay, speak, speak !"
" They said, that, one evening, about the year 1645, a lady, beautiful
and majestic in her bearing, which was observed notwithstanding the
mask and the mantle which concealed her figure—a lady of rank, of very
high rank no doubt—came in a carriage to the place where the road
branches off; the very same spot, you know, where I awaited news of
the young prince when your majesty was graciously pleased to send me
there."
"Well, well?" "That the boy's tutor or guardian, took the child
to this lady."
" Well, what next ? "
" That both the child and his tutor left that part of the country the
very next day."
" There, you see there is some truth in what you relate, since, in
point of fact, the poor child died from a sudden attack of illness, which
makes the lives of all children, as doctors say, suspended as it were by a
thread."
"What your majesty says is quite true; no one knows it better than
you—no one believes it more than myself. But yet, how strange it
is "
" What can it now be?" thought the queen.
" The person who gave me these details, who had been sent to inquire
after the child's health "
" Did you confide such a charge to any one else ? Oh, duchesse !"
"Some one as dumb as your majesty, as dumb as myself; we will
suppose it was myself, madame; this (some one,' some months after,
passing through Touraine "
" Touraifle !" " Recognized both the tutor and the child, too ! I
am wrong; he thought he recognized them, both living, cheerful, happy,
and flourishing, the one in a green old age, the other in the flower of
his youth. Judge after that what truth can be attributed to the ru-
mours which are circulated, or what faith, after that, placed in anything
that may happen in the world ? But I am fatiguing your majesty; it
was not my intention, however, to do so, and I will take my leave of you,
after renewing to you the assurance of my most respectful devotion."
" Stay, duchesse;" let us first talk a little about yourself."
" Of myself, madame; I am not worthy that you should bend your
looks upon me."
" Why, not indeed ? Are you not the oldest friend I have ? Are you
angry with me, duchesse?"
206 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
"I, indeed! what motive could I have? If I had reason to be
angry with your majesty, should I have come here ?"
"Duchesse, age is last creeping on us both; we should be united
against that death whose approach cannot be far off."
" You overpower me, madame, with the kindness of your language."
"No one has ever loved or served me as you have done, duchesse."
" Your majesty is too kind in remembering it/'
"Not so. Give me a proof of your friendship, duchesse."
" My whole being is devoted to you, madame."
" The proof I require is, that you should ask something of me."
" Ask "
" Oh, 1 know you well,—no one is more disinterested, more noble,
and truly royal."
" Do not praise me too highly, madame," said the duchesse, somewhat
anxiously.
" I could never praise you as much as you deserve to be praised."
" And yet, age and misfortune effect a terrible change in people,
madame."
" So much the better; for the beautiful, the haughty, the adored
duchesse of former days might have answered me ungratefully, ' I do
not wish for anything from you.' Heaven be praised! The misfortunes
you speak of have indeed worked a change in you, for you will now,
perhaps, answer me,' I accept.' "
The duchesse's look and smile soon changed at this conclusion, and
she no longer attempted to act a false part.
" Speak, dearest, what do you want ?"
" I must first explain to you " " Do so unhesitatingly."
" Well, then, your majesty can confer the greatest, the most ineffable
pleasure upon me."
" What is it?" said the queen, a little distant in her manner, from
an uneasiness of feeling produced by this remark. " But do not forget,
my good Chevreuse, that I am quite as much under my son's influence
as I was formerly under my husband's."
" I will not be too hard, madame."
" Call me as you used to do; it will be a sweet echo of our happy
youth."
" Well, then, my dear mistress, my darling Anne "
" Do you know Spanish still ?" " Yes."
" Ask me in Spanish, then."
" Will your majesty do me the honour to pass a few days with me at
Dampierre ?"
" Is that all ?" said the queen, sfcupified. " Nothing more than that ?"
" Good heavens ! can you possibly imagine that in asking you that,
I am not asking you the greatest conceivable favour. If that really be
the case, you do not know me. Will you accept ?"
" Yes, gladly. And I shall be happy," continued the queen, with
some suspicion, " if my presence can in any way be useful to you."
" Useful!" exclaimed the duchesse, laughing; " oh, no, no, agreeable
—delightful, if you like; and you promise me, then ?"
" I swear it," said the queen, whereupon the duchesse seized her
beautiful hand, and covered it with kisses. The queen could not help
murmuring to herself, " She is a good-hearted woman, and very gener-
ous too."
" Will your majesty consent to wait a fortnight before you come?"
" Certainly; but why ?"
" Because," said the duchesse, " knowing me to be in disgrace, no one
how jean de la fontaine weote his fiest tale. 207
would lend me the hundred thousand francs which I require to pub
Dampierre into a state of repair. But when it is known that I require
that sum for the purpose of receiving your majesty at Dampierre pro-
perly, all the money in Paris will be at my disposal."
" Ah!" said the queen, gently nodding her head in sign of intelli-
gence, "a hundred thousand francs! you want a hundred thousand
francs to put Dampierre into repair ?"
" Quite as much as that."
" And no one will lend you them ?" " No one."
" I will lend them to you, if you like, duchesse."
" Oh, I hardly dare accept such a sum."
" You would be wrong if you did not. Besides, a hundred thousand
francs is really not much. I know but too well that you never set a
right value upon your silence and your secrecy. Push that table a little
towards me, duchesse, and I will write you an order on M. Colbert; no,
on M. Pouquet, who is a far more courteous and obliging man."
" Will he pay it, though ?"
" If he will not pay it, I will; but it will be the first time he will have
refused me."
The queen wrote and handed the duchesse the order, and afterwards
dismissed her with a warm and cheerful embrace.
CHAPTER XLV.
' How Jean de la Fontaine wrote his First Tale.
All these intrigues are exhausted; the human mind, so variously
complicated, has been enabled to develope itself at its ease in the three
outlines with which our recital has supplied it. It is not unlikely that,
in the future we are now preparing, a question of politics and intrigues
may still arise, but the springs by which they work will be so carefully
concealed that no one will be able to see aught but flowers and paint-
ings, just as at a theatre, where a colossus appears upon the scene
walking along moved by the small legs and slender arms of a child con-
cealed within the framework.
We now return to Saint-Mande, where the surintendant was in the
habit of receiving his select society of epicureans. Por some time
past the host had met with some terrible trials. Every one in the
house was aware of and felt the minister's distress. No more magni-
ficent or recklessly improvident reunions. Money had been the pretext
assigned by Pouquet, and never was any pretext, as Gourville said,
more fallacious, for there was not the slightest-appearance of money.
M. Yatel was most resolutely painstaking in keeping up the reputa-
tion of the house, and yet the gardeners who supplied the kitchens
complained of a ruinous delay. The agents for the supply of Spanish
wines frequently sent drafts which no one honoured; fishermen, whom
the surintendant engaged on the coast of Normandy, calculated that if
they were paid all that was due to them, the amount would enable them
to retire comfortably for the rest of their lives; fish, which, at a later
period, was the cause of Yatel's death, did not arrive at all. However,
on the ordinary day of reception, Pouquet's friends flocked in more
numerously than ever. Gourville and the Abbe Pouquet talked over
money matters—that is to say, the abbe borrowed a few pistoles from
Gourville; Pelisson, seated with his legs crossed, was engaged in finish-
208 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
ing the peroration of a speech with which Fouquet was to open the
parliament: and this speech was a master-piece, because Pelisson wrote
it for his friend—that is to say, he inserted everything in it which the
latter would most certainly never have taken the trouble to say of his
own accord. Presently Loret and La Fontaine would enter from the
garden, engaged in a dispute upon the facility of making verses. The
painters and musicians in their turn, also, were hovering near the dining-
room. As soon as eight o'clock struck the supper would be announced,
for the surintendant never kept any one waiting. It was already hall-
past seven, and the appetites of the guests were beginning to be declared
in a very emphatic manner. As soon as all the guests were assembled
Gourville went straight up to Pelisson, awoke him out of his reverie,
and led him into the middle of a room, and closed the doors. " Well,"
he said, " anything new ? "
Pelisson raised his intelligent and gentle face, and said : " I have bor-
rowed five-and-twenty thousand francs of my aunt, and I have them
here in good sterling money."
" Good, replied Gourville, we only want one hundred and ninety-five
thousand livres for the first payment."
" The payment of what P " asked La Fontaine.
" What! absent as usual! _ Why, it was you who told us that the
small estate at Corbeil was going to be sold by one of M. Fouquet's ere-
ditors; and you, also, who proposed that all his friends should subscribe;
more than that, too, it was you who said that you would sell a corner of
your house at Chateau-Thierry, in order to furnish your own propor-
tion, and you now come and ask—' The payment of what ?'"
This remark was received with a general laugii, which made La Fon-
taine blush. " I beg your pardon," he said, " I had not forgotten it;
oh, no! only "
" Only you remembered nothing about it," replied Loret.
" That is the truth; and the fact is, he is quite right; there is a great
difference between forgetting and not remembering."
"Well, then," added Pelisson, "you bring your mite in the shape of
the price of the piece of land you have sold ? "
"Sold? no!"
" Have you not sold the field, then ? " inquired Gourville in astonish-
ment, for he knew the poet's disinterestedness.
"My wife would not let me," replied the latter, at which there were
fresh bursts of laughter.
"And yet you went to Chateau-Thierry for that purpose," said some
one.
" Certainly, I did, and on horseback."
" Poor fellow !"
" I had eight different horses, and I was almost jolted to death."
" You are an excellent fellow! And you rested yourself when you
arrived there ?"
" Rested! Oh ! of course I did, for I had an immense deal of work
to do."
How so ? "
" My wife had been flirting with the man to whom I wished to sell
the land. The fellow drew back from his bargain, and so I challenged
him."
" Very good; and you fought ? "
" It seems not."
" You know nothing about it, I suppose ? "
"No, my wife and her relations interfered in the matter. I was kept
HOW JEAN DE LA FONTAINE WBOTE HIS FIBST TALE. 209
a quarter of an hour with my sword in my hand; but I was not
wounded."
" And your adversary ? "
" Oh ! he just as much, for he never came on to the field."
" Capital!" cried his friends from all sides: you must have been
terribly angry."
" Exceedingly so; I had caught cold; I returned home, and then my
wife began to quarrel with me."
" In real earnest ? "
"Yes, in real earnest; she threw a loaf of bread at my head, a large
loaf."
" And what did you do ? "
" Oh! I upset the table over her and her guests; and then I got upon
my horse again, and here I am."
Every one had great difficulty in keeping his countenance at the
exposure of this heroi-comedy, and when the laughter had somewhat
ceased, one of the guests present said to him: "Is that all you have
brought us back."
" Oh, no ! I have an excellent idea in my head."
" What is it ? " _
" Have you noticed that there is a good deal of sportive, jesting poetry
written in Erance ? "
"Yes, of course," replied every one.
"And," pursued La Fontaine, "only a very small portion of it is
printed."
" The laws are strict, you know."
" That may be, but a rare article is a dear article, and that is the reason
why I have written a small poem, excessively free in its style, very broad,
and extremely cynical in its tone."
" The deuce you have!"
" Yes," continued the poet, with cold indifference, " and I have intro-
duced in it the greatest freedom of language I could possibly employ."
Peals of laughter again broke forth, while the poet was thus announc-
ing the quality of his wares. " And," he continued, " I have tried to
exceed every thing that Boccacio, Aretin, and other masters of their
craft, have written in the same style."
" Its fate is clear," said Pelisson; " it will be scouted and forbidden."
" Bo you think so ? " said La Fontaine simply; " I assure you, I did
not do it on my own account so much as on M. Fouquet's."
This wonderful conclusion again raised the mirth of all present.
" And I have sold the first edition of this little book for eight hundred
livres," exclaimed La Fontaine, rubbing his hands together. "Serious
and religious books sell at about half that rate."
" It would have been better," said Gourville, " to have written two
religious books instead."
" It would have been too long and not amusing enough," replied La
Fontaine, tranquilly; " my eight hundred livres are in this little bag,
and I beg to offer them as my contribution."
As he said this, he placed his offering in the hands of their treasurer;
it was then Loret's turn, who gave a hundred and fifty livres; the
others stripped themselves in the same way ; and the total sum in the
purse amounted to forty thousand livres. The money was still being
counted over when the surintendant noiselessly entered the room; he
had heard everything; and then this man, who had possessed so many
millions, who had exhausted all the pleasures and honours that this
world had to bestow, this generous heart, this inexhaustible brain, which
VOL. II. P
210 THE VIC03ITE DE BEAGELONNE.
had, like two burning crucibles, devoured the material and moral sub-
stance of the first kingdom in the world, was seen to cross the thres-
hold with his eyes filled with tears, and pass his fingers through the
gold and silver which the bag contained.
" Poor offering," he said, in a softened and affected tone of voice;
"you will disappear in the smallest corner of my empty purse, but you
have filled to overflowing that which no one can ever exhaust, my heart.
Thank you, my friends—thank you." And as he could not embrace
every one present, who were all weeping a little, philosophers as they
were, he embraced La Fontaine, saying to him, "Poor fellow ! so you
have, on my account, been beaten by your wife and censured by your
confessor."
" Oh! it is a mere nothing," replied the poet; " if your creditors will
only wait a couple of years, I shall have written a hundred other tales,
which, at two editions each, will pay off the debt."
CHAPTER XL VI.
La Fontaine in the Character of a Negotiator.
Fouquet pressd La Fontaine's hand most warmly, saying to him,
" My dear poet, write a hundred other tales, not only for the eighty
pistoles which each of them will produce you, but, still more, to enrich
our language with a hundred other master-pieces of composition."
" Oh! oh!" said La Fontaine, with a little air of pride, " you must
lot suppose that I have only brought this idea and the eighty pistoles
to the surintendant."
" Oh ! indeed," was the general acclamation from all parts of the
room, " M. de la Fontaine is in funds to-day."
" Heaven bless the idea, if it only brings us one or two millions,"
said Fouquet, gaily. "Exactly," replied La Fontaine.
" Quick, quick!" cried the assembly.
" Take care," said Pelisson in La Fontaine's ear; " you have had a
most brilliant success up to the present moment, so do not go too far."
" Not at all, Monsieur Pelisson ; and you, who are a man of decided
taste, will be the first to approve of what 1 have done."
"We are talking of millions, remember," said Gourville.
" I have fifteen hundred thousand francs here, Monsieur Gourville,"
he replied, striking himself on the chest.
" The deuce take this Gascon from Chateau-Thierry!" cried Loret.
" It is not the pocket you should touch, but the brain," said Fouquet.
" Stay a moment, monsieur le surintendant," added La Fontaine;
"you are not procureurgeneral—you are a poet."
"True, true!" cried Loret, Conrart, and every person present con-
nected with literature.
" You are, I repeat, a poet and a painter, a sculptor, a friend of the
arts and sciences; but, acknowledge that you are no lawyer."
" Oh ! I do acknowledge it," replied M. Fouquet, smiling.
" If you were to be nominated at the Academy, you would refuse, I
think."
" I think I should, with all due deference to the academicians."
" Very good; if therefore you do not wish to belong to the Academy,
why do you allow yourself to form one of the parliament ? "
LA FONTAINE IN THE CHARACTER OR A NEGOTIATOR. 211
" Oh.! oh!" said Pelisson, " we are talking politics."
"I wish to know whether the barrister's gown does or does not
become M. Fouquet."
" There is no question of the gown at all," retorted Pelisson, annoyed
at the laughter of those who were present.
" On the contrary, it is the gown," said Loret.
" Take the gown away from the procureur-general," said Conrart,
"and we have M. Pouquet left us still, of whom we have no reason to
complain; but, as he is no procureur-general without his gown, we agree
with M. de la Fontaine, and pronounce the gown to be nothing but a
bugbear." " Fugiunt risus leporesque," said. Loret.
" The smiles and the graces," said some one present.
"That is not the way," said Pelisson, gravely, "that I translate
lepores."
" How do you translate it ? " said La Fontaine.
" Thus: The hares run away as soon as they see M. Fouquet." A
burst of laughter, in which the surintendant joined, followed this sally.
" But why hares ?" objected Conrart, vexed.
" Because the hare wiil be the very one who will not be over-pleased
to see M. Fouquet surrounded by all the attributes which his parlia-
mentary strength and power confer on him."
" Oh! oh!" murmured the poets.
" Quo non ascendant," said Conrart, " seems impossible to me, when
one is fortunate enough to wear the gown of the procureur-general."
" On the contrary, it seems so to me without that gown," said the
obstinate Pelisson; " what is your opinion, Gourville ?"
" I think the gown in question is a very good thing," replied the
latter; " but I equally think a million and a half is far better than the
gown."
" And I am of Gourville's opinion," exclaimed Fouquet, stopping the
discussion by the expression of his own opinion, which would necessarily
bear down all the others.
"A million and a half," Pelisson grumbled out; "now I happen to
know an Indian fable "
" Tell it me," said La Fontaine; " I ought to know it, too."
" Tell it, tell it," said the others.
" There was a tortoise, which was as usual well protected by its shell,"
said Pelisson; " whenever its enemies threatened it, it took refuge within
its covering. One day some one said to it, 'You must feel very hot in
such a house as that in the summer, and you are altogether prevented
showing off your graces; here is a snake here, who will give you a
million and a half for your shell.'"
" Good!" said the surintendant, laughing. »
" Well, what next ?" said La Fontaine, much more interested in the
apologue than its moral.
" The tortoise sold his shell and remained naked and defenceless.^ A
vulture happened to see him, and being hungry, broke the tortoise's
back with a blow of his beak and devoured it. The moral is, that M.
Fouquet should take very good care to keep his gown."
La Fontaine understood the moral seriously. " You forget Eschylus,"
he said to his adversary."
" What do you mean ? "
" Eschylus was bald-headed, and a vulture—your vulture probably—
who was a great amateur in tortoises, mistook at a distance his head for
a block of stone, and let a tortoise, which was shrunk up in his shell,
fall upon it."
P 2
212 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Yes, yes, La Fontaine is right," resumed Fouquet, who had become
very thoughtful; "whenever a vulture wishes to devour a tortoise, he
well knows how to break his shell; and but too happy is that tortoise
w.hich a snake pays a million and a half for his envelope. If any one
were to bring me a generous-hearted snake like the one in your fable,
Pelisson, I would give him my shell."
" liar a avis in terriscried Conrart.
"And like a black swan, is he not?" added La Fontaine; "well,
then, the bird in question, black and very rare, is already found."
" Ho you mean to say that you have found a purchaser for my post
of procureur-general?" exclaimed Fouquet.
" I have, monsieur."
" But the surintendant never said that he wished to sell," resumed
Pelisson.
" I beg your pardon," said Conrart, " you yourself spoke about it,
even "
" Yes, I am a witness to that," said Gourville.
" He seems very tenacious about his brilliant idea," said Fouquet,
laughing. " Well, La Fontaine, who is the purchaser ?"
" A perfectly black bird, for he is a counsellor belonging to the parlia-
ment, an excellent fellow."
" What is his name?" " Vanel."
" Yanel!" exclaimed Fouquet, " Vanel, the husband of "
" Precisely, her husband; yes, monsieur."
" Poor fellow !" said Fouquet, with an expression of great interest.
" He wishes to be everything that you have been, monsieur," said
Gourville, " and to do everything that you have done."
" It is very agreeable; tell us all about it, La Fontaine."
" It is very simple. I see him occasionally, and a short time ago I
met him, walking about on the Place de la Bastille, at the very moment
when I was about to take the small carriage to come down here to
Saint-Mande."
" He must have been watching his wife," interrupted Loret.
" Oh, no !" said Fouquet, " he is far from being jealous. He accosted
me, embraced me, and took me to the inn called 'L'lmage Saint-
Fiacre,' and told me all about his troubles."
" He has his troubles, then ?"
"Yes; his wife wants to make him ambitious."
" Well, and he told you "
" That some one had spoken to him about a post in the parliament;
that M. Fouquet's name had been mentioned; that ever since, Madame
Vanel dreams of nothing else but being called Madame la Procureuse-
Generate, and that it makes her ill and keeps her awake every night she
does not dream of it."
"The deuce!"
"Poor woman !" said Fouquet.
"Wait a moment. Conrart is always telling me that I do not know
how to conduct matters of business; you will see how I managed this
one." " Well, go on."
" 'I suppose you know,' said I to Vanel, 'that the value of a post
such as that which M. Fouquet holds is by no means trifling.'"
"' How much do you imagine it to be ?' he said.
"' M. Fouquet, I know, has refused seventeen hundred thousand
francs.'"
"' My wife,' replied Vanel, ' had estimated it at about fourteen hun-
dred thousand.'"
LA FONTAINE IN THE CHARACTER OF A NEGOTIATOR. 213
" 'Ready money ?' I asked."
"'Yes; she has sold some property of her's in Guienne, and has
received the purchase-money.'"
" That's a pretty sum to touch all at once," said the Abbe Fouquet,
who had not hitherto said a word.
" Poor Madame Yanel!" murmured Fouquet.
Pelisson shrugged his shoulders, as he whispered in Fouquet's ear,
" That woman is a perfect fiend."
" That may be; and it will be delightful to make use of this fiend's
money to repair the injury which an angel has done herself for me."
Pelisson looked with a surprised air at Fouquet, whose thoughts were
from that moment fixed upon a fresh object in view.
" Well!" inquired La Fontaine, " what about my negotiation ?"
" Admirable, my dear poet."
" Yes," said Gourville; " but there are some people who are anxious
to have the steed who have not money enough to pay for the bridle."
" And Yanel would draw back from his offer if he were to be taken
at his word," continued the Abbe Fouquet.
" I do not believe it," said La Fontaine.
" What do you know about it ?"
" Why, you have not yet heard the denouement of my story."
" If there is a denouement why do you beat about the bush so much ?"
" Semper ad eventum. Is that correct ? " said Fouquet, with the air
of a nobleman who condescends to barbarisms. To which the Latinists
present answered with loud applause.
" My denouement" cried La Fontaine, "is, that Yanel, that deter-
mined blackbird, knowing that I was coming to Saint-Mande, implored
me to bring him with me, and, if possible, to present him to M. Fouquet."
" So that "
" So that he is here; I left him in that part of the grounds called
Bel-Air. Well, M. Fouquet, what is your reply ? "
"Well, it is not respectful towards Madame Yanel that her husband
should run the risk of catching cold outside my house; send for him,
La Fontaine, since you know where he is."
" I will go there myself."
" And I will accompany you," said the Abbe Fouquet; " I can carry
the money bags."
"No jesting," said Fouquet, seriously; " let the business be a serious
one, if it is to be one at all. But first of all, let us show we are hospit-
able. Make my apologies, La Fontaine, to M. Vanel, and tell him
how distressed I am to have kept him waiting, but that I was not aware
he was there."
La Fontaine set off at once, fortunately accompanied by Gourville,
for, absorbed in his own calculations, the poet would have mistaken
the route, and was hurrying as fast as he could towards the village
of Saint-Mande. Within a quarter of an hour afterwards, M. Yanel
was introduced into the- surintendant's cabinet, the description and
details of which have already been given at the beginning of this story,
When Fouquet saw him enter, he called to Pelisson, and whispered a
few words in his ear. " Do not lose a word of what I am going to say:
let all the silver and gold plate, together with the jewels of every
description, be packed up in the carriage. You will take the black
horses: the jeweller will accompany you; and you will postpone the
supper until Madame de Belliere's arrival."
" "Will it be necessary to inform Madame de Belliere of it?" said
Pelisson.
214 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONN2.
"No; that will be useless; I will do that. So, away with you, my
dear friend."
Pelisson set off, not quite clear as to his friend's meaning or intention,
but confident, like every true friend, in the judgment of the man he
was blindly obeying. It is that which constitutes the strength of such
men; distrust only arises in the minds of inferior natures.
Vanel bowed lowly to the surintendant, and was about to begin a
speech.
" Do not trouble yourself, monsieur," said Fouquet, politely; " I
am told that you wish to purchase a post I hold. How much can you
give me for it ?"
" It is for you, monseigneur, to fix the amount you require. I know
that offers of purchase have already been made to you for it."
" Madame Vanel, I have been told, values it at fourteen hundred
thousand livres." " That is all we have."
" Can you give me the money immediately ?"
" I have not the money with me," said Vanel, frightened almost by
the unpretending simplicity, amounting to greatness, of the man, for
he had expected disputes, and difficulties, and opposition of every
kind.
" When will you be able to have it ?"
"Whenever you please, monseigneur;" for he began to be afraid
that Fouquet was trifling with him..
" If it were not for the trouble you would have in returning to Paris,
I would say at once; but we will arrange that the payment and the
signature shall take place at six o'clock to-morrow morning."
" Very good," said Vanel, as cold as ice, and feeling quite bewildered.
"Adieu, Monsieur Vanel, present my humblest respects to Madame
Vanel," said Fouquet, as he rose; upon which Vanel, who felt the
blood rushing up to his head, for he was quite confounded by his sue-
cess, said seriously to the surintendant, " Will you give me your word,
monseigneur, upon this affair?"
" Fouquet turned round his head, saying, " Pardieu, and you, mon-
sieur ?"
Vanel hesitated, trembled all over, and at last finished by hesitatingly
holding out his hand. Fouquet opened and nobly extended his own;
this loyal hand lay for a moment in Vanel's moist hypocritical palm,
and he pressed it in his own, in order the better to convince himself of
its truth. The surintendant gently disengaged his hand, as he again said,
" Adieu." And then Vanel ran hastily to the door, hurried along the
vestibules, and fled away as quickly as he could.
CHAPTER XLVH.
Madame de Belliere's Plate and Diamonds.
Hardly had Fouquet dismissed Vanel, than he began to reflect for
a few moments:—" A man never can do too much for the woman he
has once loved. Marguerite wishes to be the wife of a procureur-
general—and why not confer this pleasure upon her? And, now that
the most scrupulous and sensitive conscience will he unable to reproach
me with anything, let my thoughts be bestowed on her who has shown
so much devotion for me. Madame de Belliere ought to be there by
this time," he said, as he turned towards the secret door.
MADAME DE BELLIEEE'S PLATE AND DIAMONDS. 215
After lie had locked himself in, he opened the subterranean passage,
and rapidly hastened towards the means of communicating between
the house at Yincennes and his own residence. He had neglected to
apprise his friend of his approach, by ringing the bell, perfectly assured
that she would never fail to be exact at the rendezvous; as, indeed, was
the case, for she was already waiting. The noise the surintendant
made aroused her; she ran to take from under the door the letter that
he had thrust there, and which simply said, " Come, marquise; we are
waiting supper for you." With her heart filled with happiness Ma-
dame de Belliere ran to her carriage in the Avenue de Yincennes, and
in a few minutes she was holding out her hand to Gourville, who was
standing at the entrance, where, in order the better to please his master,
he had stationed himself to watch her arrival. She had not observed
that Bouquet's black horses had arrived at the same time, smoking and
covered with foam, having returned to Saint-Mande with Pelisson and
the very jeweller to whom Madame de Belliere had sold her plate and
her jewels. Pelisson introduced the goldsmith into the cabinet, which
Bouquet had not yet left. The surintendant thanked him for having
been good enough to regard as a simple deposit in his hands, the valu-
able property which he had had every right to sell; and he cast his
eyes on the total of the account, which amounted to thirteen hundred
thousand francs. Then, going for a few moments to his desk, he wrote
an order for fourteen hundred thousand francs, payable at sight, at his
treasury, before twelve o'clock the next day.
" A hundred thousand francs profit!" cried the goldsmith. " Oh, mon-
seigneur, what generosity !"
" Nay, nay, not so, monsieur," said Bouquet, touching him on the
shoulder; "there are certain kindnesses which can never be repaid.
The profit is about that which you would have made; but the interest
of your money still remains to be arranged." And, saying this, he
unfastened from his sleeve a diamond button, which the goldsmith
himself had often valued at three thousand pistoles. " Take this," he
said to the goldsmith," in remembrance of me. And farewell; you are
an honest man."
"And you, monseigneur," cried the goldsmith, completely overcome,
"are the noblest man that ever lived."
Bouquet let the worthy goldsmith pass out of the room by a secret
door, and then went to receive Madame de Belliere, who was already
surrounded by all the guests. The marquise was always beautiful, but
now her loveliness was more dazzling than ever. "Do you not think,
gentlemen," said Bouquet, "that Madame is more than usually beau-
tiful this evening ? And do you happen to know why ? "
" Because Madame is really, the most beautiful of all women," said
.some one present.
" No; but because she is the best. And yet "
" Yet? " said the marquise, smiling.
" 4#d yet, all the jewels which Madame is wearing this evening are
nothing but false stones." At this remark the marquise blushed most
painfully.
"Oh, oh! " exclaimed all the guests, "that can very well be said of
one who has the finest diamonds in Paris."
"Well ? " said Bouquet to Pelisson, in a low tone.
" Well, at last I have understood you," returned the latter; "and you
have done excellently well."
" Supper is ready, monseigneur," said Yatel, with majestic air and
tone.
216 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
The crowd of guests hurried, less slowly than is usually the case with
ministerial entertainments,, towards the ban'quetting-room, where a
magnificent spectacle presented itself. Upon the buffets, upon the
side-tables, upon the supper-table itself, in the midst of flowers and
light, glittered most dazzlingly the richest and most costly gold and
silver plate that could possibly be seen—relics of those ancient magni-
ficent productions which the Florentine artists, whom the -Medici
family had patronized, had sculptured, chased, and cast for the purpose
of holding flowers, at a time when gold yet existed in France. These
hidden marvels, which had been buried during the civil wars, had
timidly re-appeared during the intervals of that war of good taste
called La Fronde; at a time when noblemen fighting against noblemen,
killed, but did not pillage each other. All the plate present had Ma-
dame de Belliere's arms engraved upon it. " Look," cried La Fontaine,
" here is a P and a B."
But the most remarkable object present was the cover which Fouquet
had assigned to the marquise. Near her was a pyramid of diamonds,
sapphires, emeralds, antique cameos, sardonyx stones, carved by the old
Greeks of Asia Minor, with mountings of Mysian gold; curious mo-
saicS of ancient Alexandria, mounted in silver; massive Egyptian
bracelets lay heaped up in a large plate of Palissy ware, supported by
a tripod of gilt bronze which had been sculptured by Benvenuto. The
marquise turned pale, as she recognized what she had never expected
to see again. A profound silence seemed to seize upon every one of the
restless and excited guests. Fouquet did not even make a sign in
dismissal of the richly-liveried servants who crowded like bees round
the huge buffets and other tables in the room. " Gentlemen," he said,
" all this plate which you behold once belonged to Madame de Belliere,
who, having observed one of her friends in great distress, sent all this
gold and silver, together with the heap of jewels now before her, to her
goldsmith. This noble conduct of a devoted friend can well be under-
stood by such friends as you. Happy indeed is that man avIio sees
himself loved in such a manner. Let us drifak to the health of Madame
de Belliere."
A tremendous burst of applause followed his words, and made poor
Madame de Belliere sink back dumb and breathless on her seat. "And
thexl," added Pelisson, who was always affected by a noble action, as he
was invariably impressed by beauty, " let us also drink to the health of
him who inspired Madame's noble conduct; for such a man is worthy
of being worthily loved."
It was now the marquise's turn. She rose, pale and smiling; and as
she held out her glass with a faltering hand, and her trembling fingers
touched those of Fouquet, her look, full of love, found its reflection and
response in that of her ardent and generous-hearted lover. Begun in
this manner, the supper soon became a fete; no one tried to be witty,
for no one failed in being so. La Fontaine forgot his Gorgnv wine,
and allowed Yatel to reconcile him to the wines of the Ehoqf, and
those from the shores of Spain. The Abbe Fouquet became so kind
and good-natured, that Gourville said to him, " Take care, monsieur
l'abbe; if you are so tender, you will be eaten."
The hours passed away so joyously, that, contrary to his usual cus-
torn, the surintendant did not leave the table before the end of the
dessert. He smiled upon his friends, delighted as a man is, whose
heart becomes intoxicated before his head—and, for the first time,
he had just looked at the clock. Suddenly, a carriage rolled into
the court-yard, and, strange to say, it was heard high above the noise
M. DE MAZARIE'S RECEIPT. 217
of the mirth which prevailed. Fouquet listened attentively, and then
turned his eyes towards the ante-chamber. It seemed as if he could
hear a step passing across it, and that this step, instead of pressing the
ground, weighed heavily upon his heart. " M. d'Herblay, bishop of
Vannes," the usher announced. And Aramis's grave and thoughtful
face appeared upon the threshold of the door, between the remains of
two garlands, of which the flame of a lamp had just burnt the thread
that had united them.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
M. de Mazarin's Receipt.
Fouquet would have uttered an exclamation of delight on seeing
another friend arrive, if the cold air and averted aspect of Aramis had
not restored all his reserve. " Are you going to join us at our dessert ?"
he asked. " And yet you would be frightened, perhaps, at the noise
which our wild friends here are making ?"
" Monseigneur," replied Aramis respectfully, "I will begin by begging
you to excuse me for having interrupted this merry meeting; and then,
I will beg you to give me, as soon as pleasure shall have finished, a
moment's audience on matters of business." <
As the word "business" had aroused the attention of some of the
epicureans present, Fouquet rose, saying: "Business first of all, Mon-
sieur d'Herblay; we ar.e too happy when matters of business arrive
only at the end of a meal."
As he said this, he took the hand of Madame de Belliere, who looked
at him with a kind of uneasiness, and then led her to an adjoining
salon, after having recommended her to .the most reasonable of his
guests. And then, taking Aramis by the arm, he led him towards his
cabinet. As soon as Aramis was there, throwing aside the respectful
air he had assumed, he threw himself into a chair, saying: " Guess
whom I have seen this evening ?"
" My dear chevalier, every time you begin in that manner, I am sure
to hear you announce something disagreeable."
"Well, and this time you will not be mistaken, either, my dear"
friend," replied Aramis.
" Do not keep me in suspense," added Fouquet phlegmatically.
" Well, then, I have seen Madame de Chevreuse."
" The old duchesse, do you mean ?" " Yes."
"Her ghost, perhaps?"
" No, no; the old she-wolf herself."
"Without teeth ?" "Possibly, but not without clawrs."
"Well! what harm can she meditate against me? I am no miser
with women who are not prudes. That is a quality that is always prized,
even by the woman who no longer dares to provoke love."
" Madame de Chevreuse knows very well that you are not avaricious,
since she wishes to draw some money out of you."
" Indeed! under what pretext ?"
" Oh! pretexts are never wanting with her. Let me tell you what
hers is: it seems that the duchesse has a good many letters of M. de
Mazarin's in her possession."
" I am not surprised at that, for the prelate was gallant enough."
"Yes, but these letters have nothing whatever to do with the prelate's
love affairs. They concern, it is said, financial matters rather."
218 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGELONNE.
" And accordingly they are less interesting."
"Do you not suspect what I mean ?" " Not at all."
" Have you never heard speak of a prosecution being instituted for
an embezzlement, or appropriation rather, of public funds ? "
"Yes, a hundred, nay, a thousand times. Ever since I have been
engaged in public matters I have hardly ever heard anything else but
that. It is precisely your own case, when, as a bishop, people reproach
you for your impiety; or, as a musketeer, for your cowardice; the very
thing of which they are always accusing ministers of finance is the
embezzlement of public funds."
"Very good; but take a particular instance, for the duchesse asserts
that M. de Mazarin alludes to certain particular instances."
"What are they?"
"Something like a sum of thirteen millions of francs, of which it
would be very difficult for you to define the precise nature of the
employment."
" Thirteen millions!" said the surintendant, stretching himself in
his armchair, in order to enable him the more comfortably to look up
towards the ceiling. " Thirteen millions 1 am trying to remember
them out of all those I have been accused of having stolen."
"Do not laugh, my dear monsieur, for it is very serious. It is
positive that the duchesse has certain letters in her possession, and
that these letters must be as she represents them, since she wished to
sell them to me for five hundred thousand francs."
" Oh ! one can have a very tolerable calumny got up for such a sum
as that," replied Eouquet. " Ah! now I know what you mean," and
he began to laugh heartily.
" So much the better," said Aramis, a little reassured.
" I remember the story of those thirteen millions now. Yes, yes, I
remember them quite well."
" I am delighted to hear it; tell me about them."
"Well, then, one day Signor Mazarin, heaven rest his soul! made a
profit of thirteen millions upon a concession of lands in the Valtelline;
he cancelled them in the registry of receipts, sent them to me, and
then made me advance them to him for war expenses."
" Very good, then, there is no doubt of their proper destination."
"No; the cardinal made me invest them in my own name, and gave
me a receipt."
" You have the receipt ?"
" Of course," said Fouquet, as he quietly rose from his chair, and
went to his large ebony bureau inlaid with mother of pearl and gold.
" What I most admire in you," said Aramis, with an air of great
satisfaction, is, your memory in the first place, then your self-possession,
and, finally, the perfect order which prevails in your administration;
you of all men, too, who are by nature a poet."
"Yes," said Fouquet, "I am orderly out of a spirit of idleness, to
save myself the trouble of looking after things, and so I know that
Mazarin's receipt is in the third drawer under the letter M; I open
the drawer, and place my hand upon the very paper I need. In the
night without a light, I could find it."
And with a confident hand he felt the bundle of papers which were
piled up in the open drawer. "Nay, more than that," he continued,
" I remember the paper as if I saw it; it is thick, somewhat crumpled,
with gilt edges ; Mazarin had made a blot upon the figure of the date.
Ah !" he said, "the paper knows we are talking about it, and that we
want it very much, and so it hides itself out of the way"
M. DE MAZARIN'S RECEIPT. 219
And as the surintendant looked into the drawer, Aramis rose from
his seat.
" This is very singular," said Eouquet.
"Your memory is treacherous, my dear monseigneur; look in another
drawer."
Eouquet took out the bundle of papers, and turned them over once
more; he then became very pale.
"Don't confine your search to that drawer," said Aramis; "look
elsewhere."
" Quite useless; I have never made a mistake; no one but myself
arranges any papers of mine of this nature; no one but myself ever
opens this drawer, of which, besides, no one, with my own exception, is
aware of the secret."
" What do you conclude, then ?" said Aramis, agitated.
"That Mazarin's receipt has been stolen from me; Madame de
Chevreuse was right, chevalier; I have appropriated the public funds ;
I have robbed the state coffers of thirteen millions of money; I am a
thief, Monsieur d'Herblay."
"Nay, nay, do not get irritated—do not get excited."
"And why not, chevalier ? surely there is every reason for it. If the
legal proceedings are well arranged, and a judgment is given in accord-
ance with them, your friend the surintendant can follow to Montfauqon
his colleague Enguerrand de Marigny, and his predecessor, Sem-
blancay."
" Oh !" said Aramis, smiling, "not so fast as that."
" And why not ? why not so fast ? What do you suppose Madame
de Chevreuse will have done with those letters, for you refused them, I
suppose ?"
"Yes; at once. I suppose that she went and sold them to M. Col-
bert." "Well?"
" I said I supposed so; I might have said I was sure of it, for I had
her followed, and, when she left me, she returned to her own bouse,
went out by a back door, and proceeded straight to the intendant's
house in the street Croix de Petits-Champs."
"Legal proceedings will be instituted, then, scandal and dishonour
will follow, and all will fall upon me like a thunderbolt, blindly,
harshly, pitilessly."
Aramis approached Eouquet, who sat trembling in his chair, close to
the open drawers: he placed his hand on his shoulder, and, in an affec-
tionate tone of voice, said : " Do not forget that the position of M. Eou-
quet can in no way be compared to that of Semblangay or of Marigny."
"And why not, in heaven's name?"
"Because the proceedings against those ministers were determined,
completed, and the sentence carried out, whilst in your case the same
thing cannot take place."
" Another blow, why not ? A peculator is, under any circumstances,
a criminal."
" Those criminals who know how to find a safe asylum are never in
danger."
" What! make my escape! Ely!"
"No, I do not mean that; you forget that all such proceedings
originate in the parliament, that they are instituted by the proeureur-
general, and that you are procureur-general. You see that unless you
wish to condemn yourself "
" Oh!" cried Eouquet, suddenly, dashing his fist upon the table.
"Well! what? what is the matter ?"
220 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" I am procureur-general no longer."
Aramis at this reply became as livid as death; he pressed his hands
together convulsively, and with a wild, haggard look, which almost
annihilated bouquet, he said, laying a stress upon every distinct
syllable, "You are procureur-general no longer; do you say?"
"No."
"Since when?" "Since the last four or five hours."
" Take care," interrupted Aramis, coldly; I do not think you are in
the full possession of your senses, my friend; collect yourself."
" I tell you," returned bouquet, " that a little while ago. some one
came to me,brought by my friends, to offer me fourteen hundred thousand
francs for the appointment, and that I sold the appointment."
Aramis looked as if he had been thunder-stricken; the intelligent and
mocking expression of his countenance assumed an aspect of such pro-
found gloom and terror, that it had more effect upon the surintendant
than all the exclamations and speeches in the world. " You had need of
money, then ?" he said, at last.
" Yes; to discharge a debt of honour." And, in a few words, he gave
Aramis an account of Madame de Belliere's generosity, and the manner
in which he had thought it but right to discharge that act of generosity.
" Yes," said Aramis, " that is, indeed, a fine trait. What has it cost ?"
"Exactly the fourteen hundred thousand francs—the price of my
appointment."
"Which you received in that manner, without reflection. Oh! im-
prudent man."
" I have not yet received the amount, but I shall to-morrow."
" It is not yet completed, then ?"
" It must be carried out, though: for I have given the goldsmith, for
twelve o'clock to-morrow, an order upon my treasury, into which the
purchaser's money will be paid at six or seven o'clock."
" Heaven be praised!" cried Aramis, clapping his hands together,
" nothing is yet completed, since you have not been paid."
" But the goldsmith."
"You shall receive the fourteen hundred thousand francs from me,
at a quarter before twelve."
" Stay a moment; it is at six o'clock, this very morning, that I am to
sign."
" Oh ! I will answer that you do not sign."
" I have given my word, chevalier."
" If you have given it, you will take it back again, that is all."
" Can I believe what I hear," cried bouquet, in a most expressive
tone, "bouquet recall his word, after it has been once pledged !"
Aramis replied to the almost stern look of the minister, by a look, full
of anger. " Monsieur," he said, " I believe I have deserved to be called
a man of honour ? As a soldier, I have risked my life five hundred
times; as a priest, I have rendered still greater services, both to the state
and to my friends. The value of a word, once passed, is estimated
according to the worth of the man who gives it. So long as it is in his
own keeping, it is of the purest, finest gold; when his wish to keep it
has passed away, it is a two-edged sword. With that word, therefore,
he defends himself as with an honourable weapon, considering that,
when he disregards his word, he endangers his life, and incurs an
amount of risk far greater than that which his adversary is likely to
derive of profit. In such a case, monsieur, he appeals to Heaven and to
justice."
bouquet bent down his head, as he replied, " I am a poor, self-deter-
M. DE MAZAEIN'S BECEIPT. 221
mined man, a true Breton born; my mind admires and fears yours. I
do not say that I keep my word from a proper feeling only; I keep it,
if you like, from custom, practice, what you will; but, at all events, the
ordinary run of men are simple enough to admire this custom of mine
it is-my sole good quality, leave me such honour as it confers."
" And so you are determined to sign the sale of the very appoint-
ment which can alone defend you against all your enemies."
"Yes, I shall sign."
"You will deliver yourself up, then, bound hand and foot, from a
false notion of honour, which the most scrupulous casuists would dis-
dain?"
" I shall sign," repeated Fouquet.
Aramis sighed deeply, and looked all round him with the impatient
gesture of a man who would gladly dash something to pieces, as a relief
to his feelings. " We have still one means left," he said; " and, I trust,
you will not refuse to make use of that."
" Certainly not, if it be loyal and honourable; as everything is, in fact,
which you propose."
"I know nothing more loyal than the renunciation of your pur-
chaser. Is he a friend of yours ?" " Certainly; but "
"' But!' if you allow me to manage the affair, I do not despair."
" Oh ! you shall be absolutely master to do what you please."
" Whom are you in treaty with ? . What man is it ?"
" I am not aware whether you know the parliament."
" Most of its members. One of the presidents, perhaps ?"
"No; only a councillor, of the name of Van el."
Aramis became perfectly purple. " Vanel," he cried, rising abruptly
from his seat; " Vanel! the husband of Marguerite Vanel."
"Exactly."
" Of your former mistress ?"
"Yes, my dear fellow; she is anxious to be the wife of the procureur-
general. 1 certainly owed poor Vanel that slight concession, and I am
a gainer by it; since I, at the same time, can confer a pleasure on his
wife."
Aramis walked up straight to Fouquet, and took hold of his hand.
"Bo you know," he said, very calmly, "the name of Madame Vanel's
new lover ?"
" Ah! she has a new lover, then: I was not aware of it; no, I have
no idea what his name is."
"His name is M. Jean-Baptiste Colbert; he is intendant of the
finances; he lives in the rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs, where Madame
de Chevreuse has been this evening to take him Mazarin's letters, which
she wishes to sell."
" Gracious Heaven !" murmured Fouquet, passing his hand across his
forehead, from which the perspiration was starting.
"You now begin to understand, do you not ?"
" That I am utterly lost!—yes."
" Bo you now think it worth while to be so scrupulous with regard to
keeping your word ?"
" Yes," said Fouquet.
" These obstinate people always contrive matters in such a way, that
one cannot but admire them all the while,' murmured Aramis.
Fouquet held out his hand to him, and, at the very moment, a richly
ornamented tortoiseshell clock, supported by golden figures, which was
standing on a console table opposite to the fire-place, struck six. The
sound of a door being opened in the "^stibule was heard, and Gourville
222 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
came to the door of the cabinet to inquire if Fouquet would receive M,
Vanel. Fouquet turned his eyes from the eyes of Aramis, and thee
desired that M. Yanel should he shown in to him.
CHAPTER XLIX.
Monsieur Colbert's Rough Draft.
Vanel, who entered at this stage of the conversation, was nothing
less for Aramis and Fouquet than the full stop which completes a
phrase. But, for Yanel, Aramis's presence in Fouquet's cabinet had
quite another signification; and, therefore, at his first step into the
room, he paused as he looked at the delicate yet firm features of the
bishop of Yannes, and his look of astonishment soon became one of
scrutinizing attention. As for Fouquet, a perfect politician, that is fo>
say, complete master of himself, he had already, by the energy of his
own resolute will, contrived to remove from his face all traces of the
emotion which Aramis's revelation had occasioned. He was no longer,
therefore, a man overwhelmed by misfortune and reduced to resort to
expedients; he held his head proudly erect, and indicated by a gesture
that Yanel could enter. He was now the first minister of the state, and
in his own palace. Aramis knew the surintendant well; the delicacy of
the feelings of his heart and the exalted nature of his mind could not
any longer surprise him. He confined himself, then, for the moment—
intending to resume later an active part in the conversation—to the per-
formance of the difficult part of a man who looks on and listens, in
order to learn and understand. Yanel was visibly overcome, and ad-
vanced into the middle of the cabinet, bowing to everything and every-
body. " I am come," he said,.
" You are exact, Monsieur Yanel," returned Fouquet.
"In matters of business, monseigneur," replied Yanel, "I look upon
exactitude as a virtue."
"No doubt, monsieur."
"I beg your pardon," interrupted Aramis, indicating Yanel with his
finger, but addressing himself to Fouquet; " this is the gentleman, I
believe, who has come about the purchase of your appointment P"
"Yes, I am!"replied Yanel, astonished at the extremely haughty
tone with which Aramis had put the question; " but in what way am I
to address you, who do me the honour "
" Call me, monseigneur," replied Aramis drily. Yanel bowed.
" Come, gentlemen, a truce to these ceremonies; let us proceed to
the matter itself."
" Monseigneur sees," said Yanel, "that I am waiting your pleasure."
" On the contrary, I am waiting," replied Fouquet.
" What for, may I be permitted to ask, monseigneur ? "
" I thought that you had perhaps something to say."
" Oh," said Vanel to himself, " he has reflected on the matter, and I
am lost." But resuming his courage, he continued, " No, monseigneur,
nothing, absolutely nothing more than what I said to you yesterday,
and which I am again ready to repeat to you now."
" Come, now, tell me frankly, Monsieur Yanel, is not the affair rather
a burdensome one for you?"
" Certainly, monseigneur; fourteen hundred thousand francs is an
important sum."
MONSIEUR -COLBERT S ROUGH DEAET. 223
" So important indeed," said Fouquet, " that I have reflected "
"You have been reflecting, do you say, monseigneur?" exclaimed
Vanel, anxiously.
" Yes; that you might not yet be in a position to purchase."
" Oh, monseigneur!"
"Do not make yourself uneasy on that score, Monsieur Yanel; I
shall not blame you for a failure in your word, which evidently may
arise from inability on your part."
" Oh, yes, monseigneur, you would blame me, and you would be right
in doing so," said Yanel; " for a man must either be very imprudent,
or a perfect fool, to undertake engagements which he cannot keep; and
I, at least, have always regarded a thing agreed upon as a thing actually
carried out."
Fouquet coloured, while Aramis uttered a "Hum!"of impatience.
" You would be wrong to exaggerate such notions as those, mon-
sieur," said the surintendant; " for a man's mind is variable, and full of
these very excusable caprices, which are, however, sometimes estimable
enough; and a man may have wished for something yesterday of which
he repents to-day."
Yanel felt a cold sweat trickle down his face. " Monseigneur!" he
muttered.
Aramis, who was delighted to find the surintendant carry on the
debate with such clearness and precision, stood leaning his arm upon
the marble top of a console, and began to play with a small gold knife,
with a malachite handle. Fouquet did not hurry himself to reply; but
after a moment's pause, " Come, my dear Monsieur Yanel," he said,
" 1 will explain to you how I am situated." Yanel began to tremble.
" Yesterday I wished to sell "
" Monseigneur did more than wish to sell, for you actually sold."
"Well, well, that may be so; but to-day I ask you the favour to
restore me my word which I pledged you."
" I received your word as a perfect assurance that it would be kept."
" I know that, ana that is the reason why I now entreat you; do you
understand me ? I entreat you to restore it to me."
Fouquet suddenly paused. The words " I entreat you," the effect of
which he did not immediately perceive, seemed almost to choke him
as he uttered it. Aramis, still playing with his knife, fixed a look upon
Yanel which seemed as if he wished to penetrate to the inmost recesses
of his heart. Yanel simply bowed, as he said, " I am overcome, mon-
seigneur, at the honour you do me to consult me upon a matter of
business which is already completed; but "
" Nay, do not say but, dear Monsieur Vanel."
"Alas ! monseigneur, you see," he said,as he opened a large pocket-
. book," I have brought the money with me,—the whole sum, I mean. And
here, monseigneur, is the contract of sale which I have just effected of
a property belonging to my wife. The order is authentic in every way,
the necessary signatures have been attached to it, and it is made payable
at sight; it is ready money, in fact, and, in one word, the whole affair
is complete."
" My dear Monsieur Yanel, there is not a matter of business in this
world, however important it may be, which cannot be postponed in
order to oblige a man, who, by that means, might and would be made
a devoted friend." ■" Certainly," said Yanel, awkwardly.
" And much more justly acquired would that friend become, Mon-
sieur Vanel, since the value of the service he had received would have
been so considerable. Well, what do you say ? what do you decide ?"
224 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELOifNE.
Vanel preserved a perfect silence. In the mean time, Aramis had
continued his close observation of the man. Yanel's narrow face, his
deeply-sunk orbits, his arched eyebrows, had revealed to the bishop
of Vannes the type of an avaricious and ambitious character. Ai'amis's
method was to oppose one passion by another. lie saw that Fouquet
was defeated—morally subdued—and so he came to his rescue with
fresh weapons in his hands: " Excuse me, monseigneur," he said; " you
forget to show M. Vanel that his own interests are diametrically opposed
to this renunciation of the sale."
Yanel looked at the bishop with astonishment; he had hardly ex-
pected to find an auxiliary in him. Fouquet also paused to listen to
the bishop.
" Do you not see," continued Aramis, " that M. Yanel, in order to
purchase your appointment, has been obliged to sell a property which
belongs to his wife; well, that is no slight matter; for one cannot
displace, as he has done, fourteen or fifteen hundred thousand francs,
without some considerable loss, and very serious inconvenience."
" Perfectly true," said Vanel, whose secret Aramis had, with his keen-
sighted gaze, wrung from the bottom of his heart.
" Inconveniences such as those are matters of great expense and
calculation, and whenever a man has money matters to deal with, the
expenses are generally the very first thing thought of."
" Yes, yes," said Fouquet, who began to understand Aramis's
meaning.
Yanel remained perfectly silent; he, too, had understood him.
Aramis observed his coldness of manner and his silence. " Very good,"
he said to himself, " you are waiting, I see, until you know the amount;
but do not fear, I shall send you such a flight of crowns that you
cannot but capitulate on the spot."
"We must offer M. Vanel a hundred thousand crowns at once," said
Fouquet, carried away by his generous feelings.
The sum was a good one. A prince, even, would have been satisfied
with such a bonus. A hundred thousand crowns at that period was
the dowry of a king's daughter. Yanel, however, did not move.
" He is a perfect rascal!" thought the bishop; " well, we must offer
the five hundred thousand francs at once," and he made a sign to
Fouquet accordingly.
" You seem to have spent more than that, dear Monsieur Yanel,"
said the surintendant. " The price of money is enormous. You must
have made a great sacrifice in selling your wife's property. Well, what
can I have been thinking of? I ought to have offered to sign you an
order for five hundred thousand francs; and even in that case I shall
feel that I am greatly indebted to you."
There was not a gleam of delight or desire on Yanel's face, which re-
mained perfectly impassible, not a muscle of it changed in the slightest
degree. Aramis cast a look almost of despair at Fouquet, and then,
going straight up to Yanel and taking hold of him by the coat, in a
familiar manner, he said, " Monsieur Vanel, it is neither the inconve-
nience, nor the displacement of your money, nor the sale of your wife's
property even, that you are thinking of at this moment; it is some-
thing more important still. I can well understand it; so pay particular
attention to what I am going to say."
" Yes, monseigneur," Vanel replied, beginning to tremble in every
limb, as the prelate's eyes seem almost ready to devour him.
" I offer you, therefore, in the surintendant's name, not three hun-
dred thousand livres, nor five hundred thousand, but a million. A
MONSIEUR COLBERT'S ROUGH DRAFT. 225
million,—do you understand me?" he added, as he shook him ner-
vously.
" A million! " repeated Yanel, as pale as death.
" A million; in other words, at the present rate of interest, an in-
come of seventy thousand francs !"
" Come, monsieur," said Fouquet, " you can hardly refuse that. An-
swerdo you accept ? "
" Impossible," murmured Yanel.
Aramis bit his lips* and something like a white cloud seemed to pass
over his face. The thunder behind this cloud could easily be imagined.
He still kept his hold on Yanel. "You have purchased the appoint-
ment for fifteen hundred thousand francs, I think? Well; you will
receive these fifteen hundred thousand francs back again; by paying
M. Fouquet a visit, and shaking hands with him on the bargain, you
will have become a gainer of a million and a half. You get honour and
profit at the same time, Monsieur Yanel."
" I cannot do it," said Yanel, hoarsely.
"Yery well," replied Aramis, who had grasped Vanel so tightly by
the coat, that when he let go his hold, Yanel staggered back a few
paces; "very well; one can now see clearly enough your object in
coming here."
" Yes," said Fouquet, " one can easily see that."
" But " said Yanel, attempting to stand erect before the weakness
of these two men of honour.
" Does the fellow presume to speak ! " said Aramis, with the tone of
an emperoi*.
" Fellow !" repeated Yanel.
" The wretch,. I meant to say," added Aramis, who had now resumed
his usual self-possession. " Come, monsieur, produce your deed of sale,
—you have it about you, I suppose, in one of your pockets, already
prepared, as an assassin holds his pistol or his dagger concealed under
his cloak ? "
Yanel began to mutter something.
" Enough !" cried Fouquet. " Where is this deed ? "
Yanel tremblingly searched in his pockets, and as he drew out his
pocket-book, a paper fell out of it, while Yanel offered the other to
Fouquet. Aramis pounced upon the paper which had fallen out, as
soon as he recognized the handwriting,
" I beg your pardon," said Yanel, " that is a rough draft of the deed."
" I see that very clearly," retorted Aramis, with a smile far more
cutting than a lash of a whip would have been; " and what I admire
most is, that this draft is in M. Colbert's handwriting. Look, monseig-
neur, look."
And he handed the draft to Fouquet, who recognized the truth of
the fact; for, covered with erasures, with inserted words, the margins
filled with additions, this deed—a living proof of Colbert's plot—had
just revealed everything to its unhappy victim. " Well!" murmured
Fouquet.
Yanel, completely humiliated, seemed as if he were looking for some
deep hole where he could hide himself.
" Well! " said Aramis, " if your name were not Fouquet, and if your
enemy's name were not Colbert—if you had not this mean thief before
you, I should say to you, ' Bepudiate itsuch a proof as this absolves
you from your word; but these fellows would think you were afraid;
they would fear you less than they do; therefore sign the deed at
once." And he held out a pen towards him.
VOL. II. Q
226 THE VIC03ITE HE BRAGELONNE.
Eouquet pressed Aramis's hand; but, instead of the deed which
Vanel handed to him, he took the rough draft of it.
"No, not that paper " said Aramis, hastily; "this is the one. The
other is too precious a document for you to part with."
"No, no !" replied Eouquet; "I will sign under M. Colbert's own
handwriting even; and I write, ' The handwriting is approved of.'"
He then signed, and said, " Here it is, Monsieur Vanel." And the
latter seized the paper, laid down his money, and was about to make his
escape.
" One moment," said Aramis. " Are you quite sure the exact amount
is there? It ought to be counted over, Monsieur Vanel; particularly
since M. Colbert makes presents of money to ladies, I see. Ah, that
worthy M. Colbert is not so generous as M. Eouquet." And Aramis,
spelling every word, every letter of the order to pay, distilled his wrath -
and his contempt, drop by drop, upon the miserable wretch, who had
to submit to this torture for a quarter of an hour ; he was then dis-
missed, not in words, but by a gesture, as one dismisses or discharges a
beggar or a menial.
As soon as Vanel had gone, the minister and the prelate, their eyes
fixed on each other, remained silent for a few moments.
"■Well," said Aramis, the first to break the silence; " to what can
that man be compared, who, at the very moment he is on the point of
entering into a conflict with an enemy armed from head to foot, thirst-
ing for his life, presents himself for the contest quite defenceless,
throws down his arms, and smiles and kisses his hands to his adversary
in the most gracious manner ? Good faith, M. Eouquet, is a weapon
which scoundrels very frequently make use of against men of honour,
and it answers their purpose. Men of honour ought, in their turn,
also, to make use of dishonest means against such scoundrels. You
would soon see how strong they would become, without ceasing to be
men of honour."
" What they did would be termed the acts of a scoundrel," replied
Eouquet.
" Ear from that; it would be merely coquetting or playing with the
truth. At all events, since you have finished with this Vanel; since
you have deprived yourself of the happiness of confounding him by
repudiating your word; and since you have given up, for the pur-
pose of being used against yourself, the only weapon which can ruin
you "
" My dear friend," said Eouquet, mournfully, " you are like the
teacher of philosophy whom La Eontaine was telling us about the
other day : he saw a child drowning, and began to read him a lecture
divided igito three heads."
Aramis smiled as he said, " Philosophy—yes; teacher—yes; a drown-
ing child—yes; but a child that can be saved—you shall see. But,
first of all, let us talk about business. Hid you not some time ago," he
continued, as Fouquet looked at him with a bewildered air, " speak to
me about an idea you had of giving a fete at Vaux ? "
" Oh," said Eouquet, " that was when affairs were flourishing."
" A fete, I believe, to which the king invited himself of his own
accord?"
"No, no, my dear prelate; a fete to which M. Colbert advised the
king to invite himself."
" Ah—exactly; as it would be a fete of so costly a character that you
would be ruined in giving it."
" Precisely so. In other times, as I said just now, I had a kind of
MONSIEUR COLBERT'S ROUGH BEAET. 227
pride in showing my enemies how inexhaustible my resources were; I
felt it a point of honour to strike them with amazement, in creating
millions under circumstances where they had imagined nothing but
bankruptcies and failures would follow. But at the present day I am
arranging my accounts with the state, with the king, with myself; and
I must now become a mean, stingy man; I shall be able to prove to the
world that I can act or operate with my deniers as I used to do with
my bags of pistoles; and from to-morrow my equipages shall be sold,
my mansions mortgaged, my expenses contracted."
" From to-morrow," interrupted Aramis, quietly,- " you will occupy
yourself, without the slightest delay, with your fete at Yaux,' which
must hereafter be spoken of as one of the most magnificent productions
of your most prosperous days."
" you are mad, Chevalier d'Herblay."
" I!—you do not think that."
" What do you mean, then ? Do you not know that a fete at Yaux,
of the very simplest possible character, would cost four or five
millions ? "
" I do not speak of a fete of the very simplest possible character, my
dear surintendant."
" But, since the fete is to be given to the king," replied Fouquet, who
misunderstood Aramis's idea, " it cannot be simple."
"Just so; it ought to be on a scale of the most unbounded magni-
ficence."
" In that case, I shall have to spend ten or twelve millions."
"You shall spend twenty, if you require it," said Aramis, in a per-
fectly calm voice.
" Where shall I get them ? " exclaimed Fouquet.
" That is my affair, monsieur le surintendant; and do not be uneasy
for a moment about it. The money will be placed at once at your dis-
posal, as soon as you shall have arranged the plans of your/e7e."
"Chevalier ! chevalier! " said Fouquet, giddy with amazement, " whi-
ther are you hurrying lhe ? "
"Across the gulf into which you were about to fall," replied the
bishop of Yannes. "Take hold of my cloak, and throw fear aside."
"Why did you not tell me that sooner, Aramis? There was a day
when, with one million only, you could have saved me; whilst, to-
day "
"Whilst, to-day, I can give you twenty," said the prelate. " Such is
the case, however the reason is very simple. On the day you speak
of, I had not the million which you had need of at my disposal; whilst
now I can easily proqure the twenty millions we require."
" May Heaven hear you, and save me!"
Aramis resumed his usual smile, the expression of which was so
singular. " Heaven never fails to hear me," he said.
" X abandon myself to you unreservedly," Fouquet murmured.
" No, no; I do not understand it in that manner. I am unreservedly
devoted to you. Therefore, as you have the clearest, the most delicate,
and the most ingenious mind of the two, you shall have entire control
over the fete, even to the very smallest details. Only "
"Only?" said Fouquet, as a man accustomed to understand and
appreciate the value of a parenthesis.
"Well, then, leaving the entire invention of the details to you, I
shall reserve to myself a general superintendence over the execution."
" In what way ? "
" I mean, that you will make of me, on that day, a major-domo, a
o 2
228 THE VICOMTE HE BEAGEEONNE.
sort of inspector-general, or factotum—something between a captain of
the guard and manager or steward. I will look after the people, and
will keep the keys of the doors. You will give your orders, of course;
but will give them to no one but to me. They will pass through my
lips, to reach those for whom they are intended—you understand ? "
"No, I am very far from understanding."
" But you agree ? " " Of course, of course, my friend."
"That is all I care about, then. Thanks; and now go and prepare
your list of invitations."
" "Whom shall I invite ? " " Every one."
CHAPTER L.
In which the Author thinks it is now time to return to the Vicomte de
Bragelonne.
Oue readers will have observed in this story, the adventures of the
new and of the past generation being detailed, as it were, side by side.
To the former, the reflection of the glory of earlier years, the experience
of the bitter things of this world; to the former, also, that peace which
takes possession of the heart, and that healing of the scars which were
formerly deep and painful wounds. To the latter, the conflicts of love
and vanity; bitter disappointments, and ineffable delights; life instead
of memory. If, therefore, any variety has been presented to the reader
in the different episodes of this tale, it is to be attributed to the nume-
rous shades of colour which are presented on this double palette, where
two pictures are seen side by side, mingling and harmonizing their
severe and pleasing tones. The repose of the emotions of the one is
found in the bosom of the emotions of the other. After having talked
reason with older heads, one loves to talk nonsense with youth. There-
fore, if the threads of this story do not seem very intimately to connect
the chapter we are now writing with that we have just written, we do
not intend to give ourselves any more thought or trouble about it than
Ruysdael took in painting an autumn sky, after having finished a
spring-time scene. We wish our readers to do as much, and to resume
Raoul de Bragelonne's story at the very place where our last sketch left
him.
In a state of frenzy and dismay, or rather without power or will of
his own—without knowing what to do—he fled heedlessly away, after the
scene in La Valliere's room. The king, Montalais, Louise, that cham-
ber, that strange exclusion, Louise's grief, Montalais's terror, the king's
wrath—all seemed to indicate some misfortune. But what ? He had
arrived from London because he had been told of the existence of a
danger ; and almost on his arrival, this appearance of danger was mani-
fest. Was not this sufficient for a lover ? Certainly it was; but it was
insufficient for a pure and upright heart such as his. And yet Raoul
did not seek for explanations in the very quarter where all jealous or
less timid lovers would have done. He did not go straightway to his
mistress, and say, "Louise, is it true that you love me no longer? Is
it true that you love another ? " Pull of courage, full of friendship as
he was full of love; a religious observer of his word, and believing
blindly the word of others, Raoul said within himself, " Guiche wrote
to put me on my guard; Guiche knows something; I will go and ask
Guiche what he knows, and tell him what I have seen." The journey was
THE AUTHOR RETURNS TO HIS HERO. 229
not a long one. Guiche, who had been brought from Fontainebleau to
Paris within the last two days, was beginning to recover from his
wound, and to walk about a little in his room. He uttered a cry of joy
as he saw Raoul, earnest in his friendship, enter his apartment. Raoul,
too, had not been able to refrain from exclaiming aloud, when he saw
de Guiche, so pale, so thin, so melancholy. A very few words, and a
simple gesture which de Guiche made to put aside Raoul's arm, were
sufficient to inform the latter of the truth.
" Ah! so it is," said Raoul, seating himself beside his friend; " one
loves and dies."
" No, no, not dies," replied Guiche, smiling, " since I am now re-
covering, and since, too, I can press you in my arms."
"Ah! I understand."
"And I understand you, too. You fancy I am unhappy, Raoul ? "
" Alas!"
" No; I am the happiest of meu. My body suffers, but not my mind
or my heart. If you only knew Oh! I am, indeed, the very hap-
piest of men."
" So much the better," replied Raoul; " so much the better, provided
it lasts."
" It is over. I have had enough happiness to last me to my dying
day, Raoul." " I have no doubt you have had; but she "
"Listen; I love her, because—but you are not listening to me."
"I beg your pardon." " Your mind is preoccupied."
" Yes ; your health, in the first place "
" It is not that, I know."
" My dear friend, you would be wrong, I think, to ask me any ques-
tions—you, of all persons in the world;" and he laid so much weight
upon the 'you,'that he completely enlightened his friend upon the
nature of the evil, and the difficulty of remedying it."
"You say that, Raoul, on account of what I wrote to you."
" Certainly. We will talk over that matter a little, when you shall
have finished telling me of all your own pleasures and pains."
" My dear friend, I am entirely at your service now."
" Thank you; I have hurried, I have flown here; I came here in half
the time the government couriers usually take. Now, tell me, my dear
friend, what did you want ?"
" Nothing whatever, but to make you come."
" Well, then, I am here." " All is quite right, then."
" There must have been something else, I suppose ? "
"No, indeed." "De Guiche!"
" Upon my honour!"
" You cannot possibly have crushed all my hopes so violently, or have
exposed me to being disgraced by the king for my return, which is in
disobedience of his orders—you cannot, I say, have planted jealousy in
my heart, merely to say to me, ' It is all right, be perfectly easy ?'"
" I do not say to you, Raoul,' Be perfectly easy ;' but pray understand
me ; I never will, nor can I, indeed, tell you anything else."
" What sort of person do you take me for ?"
" What do you mean ?"
"If you know anything, why conceal it from mer If you do not
know anything, why did you-write so warningly ? "
" True, true, I was very wrong, and* I regret having done so, Raoul.
It seems nothing to write to a friend and say ' Come;' but to have this
friend face to face, to feel him tremble, and breathlessly and anxiously
wait to hear what one hardly dare tell him, is very different."
230 THE VICOJITE EE BRAGELONKE.
" Dare! I have courage enough, if you have not," exclaimed Eaoul,
in despair.
" See how unjust you are, and how soon you forget you have to do
with a poor wounded fellow such as your unhappy friend is. So, calm
yourself, Eaoul. I said to you, ' Comeyou are here, so ask me
nothing further."
"Your object in telling me to come was your hope that I should
see with my own eyes, was it not? Nay, do not hesitate, for I have
seen all."
" Oh!" exclaimed de Guiche. " Or at least, I thought "
" There now, you see you are not sure. But if you have any doubt,
my poor friend, what remains for me to do ?"
" I saw Louise much agitated—Montalais in a state of bewilderment
—the king "
"The king?"
" Yes. You turn your head aside. The danger is there, the evil is
there; tell me, is it not so, is it not the king ?" " I say nothing."
" Oh ! you say a thousand upon a thousand times more than nothing.
Give me facts, for pity's sake, give me proofs. My friend, the only
friend I have, speak—tell me all. My heart is crushed, wounded to
death; I am dying from despair."
" If that really be so, as I see it is indeed, dear Eaoul," replied de
Guiche, " you relieve me from my difficulty, and I will tell you all,
perfectly sure that I can tell you nothing but what is consoling, com-
pared to the despair from which I now see you suffering."
" Go on,—go on; I am listening."
"Well, then, I can only tell you what you can learn from every
person you meet." '
" Prom every one, do you say ? It is talked about, then ?"
" Before you say people talk about it, learn what it is that people
can talk about. I assure you solemnly, that people only talk about
what may, in truth, be very innocent; perhaps a walk "
" Ah! a walk with the king ?"
" Yes, certainly, a walk with the king; and I believe the king has
already very frequently before taken walks with ladies, without, on that
account "
"You would not have written to me, shall I say again, if there had
been nothing unusual in this promenade."
" I know that while the storm lasted, it would have been far better
if the king had taken shelter somewhere else, than to have remained
with his head uncovered before La Valliere; but the king is so very
courteous and polite."
" Oh! de Guiche, de Guiche, you are killing me !"
" Do not let us talk any more, then."
"Nay; let us continue. This walk was followed by others, I suppose?"
"No—I mean yes; there was the adventure of the oak, I think.
But I know nothing about the matter at all." Eaoul rose; de Guiche
endeavoured to imitate him, notwithstanding his weakness. "Well, I
will not add another word; I have said either too much or not enough.
Let others give you further information if they will, or if they can;
my duty was to warn you, and that I have done. Watch over your
own affairs now, yourself."
" Question others! Alas! you are no true friend to speak to me in
that manner," said the young man, in utter distress. "The first man
I may meet may be either evilly disposed or a fool; if the former, he
will tell me a lie to make me suffer more than I now do; if the latter,
BKAGElonne continues his inquiries. 231
he will do far worse still. Ah! de Guiche, de Guiche, before two hours
are over, I shall have been told ten falsehoods, and shall have as many
duels on my hands. Save me, then; is it not best to know the whole
misfortune ? "
" But I know nothing, I tell you; I was wounded, attacked by fever;
my senses were gone, and I have only a very faint recollection of it
all. But there is no reason why we should search very far, when the
very man we want is close at hand. Is not d'Artagnan your friend ? "
" Oh ! true, true."
" Go to him, then. He will be able to throw some light on the
subject." At this moment a lacquey entered the room. " What is it ?"
said de Guiche.
" Some one is waiting for monseigneur in the Cabinet des Porce-
laines."
" Very well. Will you excuse me, my dear Eaoul ? I am so proud
since I have been able to walk again."
" I would offer you my arm, de Guiche, if I did not guess that the
person in question is a lady."
" I believe so," said de Guiche, smiling, as he quitted Eaoul.
Eaoul remained motionless, absorbed in his grief, overwhelmed, like
the miner upon whom a vault has just fallen in, who, wounded, his
life-blood welling fast, his thoughts, con fused, endeavours to recover
himself, and to save his life and to preserve his reason. A few minutes
were all Eaoul needed to dissipate the bewildering sensations which
had been occasioned by these two revelations. He had already re-
covered the thread of his ideas, when, suddenly, through the door, he
fancied he recognized Montalais's voice in the Cabinet des Porcelaines.
"She!" he cried. " Yes, it is indeed her voice ! She will be able to
tell me the whole truth ; but shall I question her here ? She conceals
herself even from me; she is coming no doubt from Madame. I will
see her in her own apartment. She will explain her alarm, her flight,
the strange manner in which I was driven out; she will tell me all
that—after M. d'Artagnan, who knows everything, shall have given me
fresh strength and courage. Madame, a coquette 1 fear, and yet a
coquette who is herself in love, has her moments of kindness; a coquette
who is as capricious and uncertain as life or death, but who tells de
Guiche that he is the happiest of men. He at least is lying on roses."
And so he hastily quitted the comte's apartments, and reproaching
himself as he went for having talked of nothing but his own affairs to
de Guiche, he arrived at d'Artagnan's quarters.
CHAPTER LI.
Bragelonne continues his Inquiries.
The captain was sitting buried in his leathern armchair, his spur fixed
in the floor, his sword between his legs, and was occupied in reading a
great number of letters, as he twisted his moustache. D'Artagnan
uttered a welcome full of pleasure when he perceived bis friend's son.
" Eaoul, my boy," he said, " by what lucky accident does it happen
that the king has recalled you. ? "
These words did not sound over agreeably in the young man's ears,
who, as he seated himself, replied, "Upon my word I cannot tell you;
all that I know is that I have come back."
232 TIIE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Hum!" said d'Artagnan, folding up his letters and directing a look
full of meaning at him; " what do you say, my boy ? that the king
has not recalled you, and that you have returned ? I do not under-
stand that at all."
Raoul was already pale enough, and he began to turn his hat round
and round in his hand.
"'What the deuce is the matter that you look as you do, and what
makes you so dumb?" said the captain. "Do people assume that
sort of airs in England ? I have been in England, and came back
again as lively as a chaffinch. Will you not say something?"
" I have too much to say."
" Ah! ah ! how is your father ?"
" Forgive me, my dear friend, I was going to ask you that."
D'Artagnan increased the sharpness of his penetrating gaze, which
no secret was capable of resisting. " You are unhappy about some-
thing," he said.
" 1 am, indeed; and you know very well what, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" I ?" " Of course. Nay, do not pretend to be astonished."
" I am not pretending to be astonished, my friend."
" Dear captain, I know very well that in all trials of finesse, as well as
in all trials of strength, I shall be beaten by you. You can see that at
the present moment I am an idiot, a perfect fool. I have neither head
nor arm; do not despise, but help me. In two words, I am the most
wretched of living beings."
"Oh! oh! why that?" inquired d'ArAgnan, unbuckling his belt
and softening the ruggednessof his smile.
" Because Mademoiselle de la Valliere is deceiving me."
" She is deceiving you," said d'Artagnan, not a muscle of whose face
had moved; " those are big words. Who makes use of them ?"
" Every one."
" Ah ! if every one says so, there must be some truth in it. I begin
to believe there is fire when I see the smoke. It is ridiculous, per-
haps, but so it is."
" Therefore you do believe ? " exclaimed Bragelonne, quickly.
" I never mix myself up in affairs of that kind; you know that very
well." "What! not for a friend, for a son!"
" Exactly. If you were a stranger, I should tell you—I should tell
you nothing at all. How is Porthos, do you know ?"
" Monsieur," cried Raoul, pressing d'Artagnan's hand, "I entreat
you in the name of the friendship you have vowed to my father!"
" The deuce take it, you are really ill from curiosity."
" No, it is not from curiosity, it is from love."
" Good. Another grand word. If you were really in love", my dear
Raoul, you would be very different." " What do you mean ?"
" I mean that if you were really so deeply in love that I could believe
I was addressing myself.to your heart but it is impossible."
" I tell you 1 love Louise to distraction."
D'Artagnan could read to the very bottom of the young man's heart.
" Impossible, I tell you," he said. " You are like all young men;
you are not in love, you are out of your senses."
" Well! suppose it were only that ?"
"No sensible man ever succeeded in making much of a brain when the
head was turned. I have completely lost my senses in the same way a
hundred times in my life. You would listen to me, but you would not
hear me; you would hear, but you would not understand me; you
would understand, but you would not obey me."
BKAGELONNE CONTINUES HIS INQUIRIES. 233
" Oh ! try, try."
"I go far. Even if I were unfortunate enough to know something,
and foolish enough to communicate it to you You are my friend,
you say ?" " Indeed, yes?'
" Yery good. I should quarrel with you. You would never forgive
me for having destroyed your illusion, as people say of love affairs."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan, you know all; and yet you plunge me in
perplexity and despair, in death itself."
" There, there, now."
"I never complain, as you know; but as Heaven and my father
would never forgive me for blowing out my brains, I will go and get
the first person I meet to give me the information which you with-
hold ; I will tell him he lies, and "
" And you would kill him. And a fine affair that would be. So
much the better. What should I care for it. Kill any one you please,
my boy, if it can give you any pleasure. It is exactly like a man with
the toothache, who keeps on saying, ' Oh ! what torture I am suffering.
I could bite a piece of iron in half? My answer always is, ' Bite, my
friend, bite; the tooth will remain all the same? "
" I shall not kill any one, monsieur," said Raoul, gloomily.
"Yes, yes! you now assume a different tone; instead of killing, you
will get killed yourself, I suppose you mean ? Yery fine, indeed! How
much I should regret you ! Of course I should go about all day, saying,
Ah! what a fine stupid fellow that Bragelonne was! as great a stupid as
I ever met with. I have passed my whole life almost in teaching him
how to hold and use his sword properly, and the silly fellow has got him-
self spitted like a lark. Go, then, Raoul, go and get yourself disposed
of, if you like. I hardly know who can have taught you logic, but
deuce take me if your father has not been regularly robbed of his
money by whoever did so."
Raoul buried his face in his hands, murmuring, "No, no; I have not
a single friend in the world."
" Oh! bah !" said d'Artagnan.
" I meet with nothing but raillery or indifference."
" Idle fancies, monsieur. I do not laugh at you, although I am a
Gascon. And, as for being indifferent, if I were so, I should have
sent you about your business a quarter of an hour ago, for you would
make a man who was out of his senses with delight as dull as possible,
and would be the death of one who was ohly out of spirits. How now,
young man! do you wish me to disgust you with the girl you are
attached to, and to teach you to execrate the whole sex who constitute
the honour and happiness of human life ? "
" Oh ! tell me, monsieur, and I will bless you."
"Do you think, my dear fellow, that I can have crammed into my
brain all about the carpenter, and the painter, and the staircase, and a
hundred other similar tales of the same kind ?"
"A carpenter ! what do you mean ?"
" Upon my word, I don't know; some one told me there was a car-
penter who made an opening through a certain flooring."
" In La Yalliere's room?" " Oh! I don't know where."
" In the king's apartment, perhaps ?"
" Of course, if it were in the king's apartment, I should tell you, I
suppose."
" In whose room then ? "
" I have told you for the last hour that I know nothing of the whole
affair."
234 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" But the painter, then ? the portrait "
" It seems that the king wished to have the portrait of one of the
ladies belonging to the court."
"La Valliere's?"
"Why, you seem to have only that name in your mouth. Who
spoke to you of La Valliere ?"
" If it be not her portrait, then, why do you suppose it would con-
cern me ? "
"I do not suppose it will concern you. But you ask me all sorts of
questions, and I answer you. You positively will learn all the scandal
of the affair, and I tell you—make the best you can of it."
Eaoul struck his forehead with his hand, in utter despair. " It will
kill me!" he said.
".So you have said already."
" Yes, you're right," and he made a step or two as if he were going
to leave.
" WThere are you going?"
" To look for some one who will tell me the truth."
" Who is that ?" " A woman."
"Mademoiselle de la Valliere herself, I suppose you mean?" said
d'Artagnan, with a smile. " Ah! a famous idea that 1 You wish to be
consoled by some one, and you will be so at once. She will tell you
nothing ill of herself, of course. So be off."
" You are mistaken, monsieur," replied Eaoul; " the woman I mean
will tell me all the evil she possibly can."
" You allude to Montalais, I suppose—her friend ; a woman [who,
on that account, will exaggerate all that is either bad or good in the
matter. Do not talk to Montalais, my good fellow."
" You have some reason for wishing me not to talk with Montalais ? "
"Well, I admit it. And, in point of fact, why should I play with
you as a cat does with a poor mouse ? You distress me, you do indeed.
And if I wish you not to speak to Montalais just now, it is because you
will be betraying your secret, and people will take advantage of it.
Wait, if you can."
" I cannot."
" So much the worse. Why, you see, Eaoul, if I had an idea—but 1
have not got one."
" Promise that you will pity me, my friend, that is all I need, and
leave me to get out of the affair by myself."
" Oh ! yes, indeed, in order that you may get deeper into the mire !
A capital idea, truly ! go and sit down at that table and take a pen in
your hand."
"What for?"
" To write and ask Montalais to give you an interview."
"Ah!" said Eaoul, snatching eagerly at the pen which the captain
held out to him.
Suddenly the door opened, and one of the musketeers approaching
d'Artagnan, said, " Captain, Mademoiselle de Montalais is here, and
wishes to speak to you."
" To me ? " murmured d'Artagnan. " Ask her to come in; I shall
soon see," he said to himself, " whether she wishes to speak to me or
not."
The cunning captain was quite right in his suspicions ; for as soon as
Montalais entered, she exclaimed, " Oh, monsieur ! monsieur ! I beg
your pardon, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Oh ! I forgive you, mademoiselle," said d'Artagnan; " I know that,
TWO JEALOUSIES. 235
at my age, those who are looking for me generally need me for some-
thing or another."
" I was looking for M. de BTagelonne," replied Montalais.
" How very fortunate that is; he was looking for you too. Eaoul,
will you accompany Mademoiselle Montalais ? "
" Oh! certainly."
"Go along, then," he said, as he gently pushed Eaoul out of the cabi-
net; and then taking hold of Montalais's hand, he said, in a low voice,
" Be kind towards him ; spare him, and spare her, too, if you can."
" Ah !" she said, in the same tone of voice, " it is not I who am going
to speak to him."
" Who, then ? "
" It is Madame who has sent for him."
"Very good," cried d'Artagnan, "it is Madame, is it?—In an hour's
time, then, the poor fellow will be cured."
" Or else dead," said Montalais, in a voice full of compassion. "Adieu,
Monsieur d'Artagnan," she said; and she ran to join Eaoul, who was
waiting for her at a little distance from the door, very much puzzled
and uneasy at the dialogue, which promised no good augury for him.
CHAPTER LII.
Two Jealousies.
Lovebs are very tender towards everything which concerns the per-
son they are in love with. Eaoul no sooner found himself alone with
Montalais, than he kissed her hand with rapture. " There, there," said
the young girl sadly, " you are throwing your kisses away; I will gua-
rantee that they will not bring you back any interest."
" How so ?—Why ?—Will you explain to me, my dear Aure ? "
" Madame will explain everything to you. I am going to take you
to her apartments." " What!"
" Silence ! and throw aside your wild and savage looks. The windows
here have eyes, the walls have ears. Have the kindness not to look at
me any longer; be good enough to speak to me aloud of the rain, of the
fine weather, and of the charms of England."
" At all events " interrupted Eaoul.
"I tell you, I warn you, that wherever it may be, I know not
now, Madame is sure to have eyes and ears open. I am not very
desirous, you can easily believe, to be dismissed or thrown into the
Bastille. Let us talk, I tell you, or rather, do not let us talk at all."
Eaoul clenched his hands, and tried to assume the look and gait of a
man of courage, it is true, but of a man of courage on his way to the
torture. Montalais, glancing in every direction, walking along with an
easy swinging gait, and holding up her head pertly in the air, preceded
him to Madame's apartments, where he was at once introduced. " Well,"
he thought, " this day will pass away without my learning anything.
Guicbe showed too much consideration for my feelings; he had no
doubt come to an understanding with Madame, and both of them, by a
friendly plot, agreed to postpone the solution of the problem. Why
have I not a determined inveterate enemy—that serpent, de Wardes,
for instance; that he would bite, is very likely; but I should not hesi-
tate any more. To hesitate, to doubt—better by far to die."
The next moment Eaoul was in Madame's presence. Henrietta, more
236 THE VICOMTE EE BRAGELONNE.
charming than ever, was half lying, half reclining in her armchair, her
little feet upon an embroidered velvet cushion; she was playing with
a little kitten with long silky fur, which was biting her fingers and
hanging by the lace of her collar.
Madame seemed plunged in deep thought, so deep indeed, that it
required both Montalais and Raoul's voice to disturb her from her
reverie.
"Your highness sent for me?" repeated Raoul.
Madame shook her head, as if she were just awakening, and then
said, "Good morning, Monsieur de Bragelonne; yes, I sent for you; so
you have returned from England?"
" Yes, madame, and am at your royal highness's commands."
" Thank you ; leave us, Montalais;" and. the latter immediately left
the room.
"You have a few minutes to give me, Monsieur de Bragelonne, have
you not?"
" My very life is at your royal highness's disposal," Raoul returned
with respect, guessing that there was something serious in all these
outward courtesies of Madame ; nor was he displeased, indeed, to
observe the seriousness of her manner, feeling persuaded that there
was some sort of affinity between Madame's sentiments and his own.
In fact, every one at court of any perception at all, knew perfectly well
the capricious fancy and absurd despotism of the princess's singular
character. Madame had been flattered beyond all bounds by the king's
attentions; she had made herself talked about; she had inspired the
queen with that mortal jealousy which is the gnawing worm at the root
of every woman's happiness; Madame in a word, in her attempts to
cure a wounded pride, had found that her heart had become deeply
and passionately attached. We know what Madame had done to recall
Raoul, who had been sent out of the way by Louis XIY. Raoul did
not know of her letter to Charles II., although d'Artagnan had guessed
its contents. Who will undertake to account for that seemingly inex-
plicable mixture of love and vanity, that passionate tenderness of feeling,
that prodigious duplicity of conduct? No one can, indeed; not even
the bad angel who kindles the love, of coquetry in the heart of woman.
" Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the princess, after a moment's pause,
" have you returned satisfied ? "
Bragelonne looked at Madame Henrietta, and seeing how pale she
was, not alone from what she was keeping back, but also from what she
wTas burning to say, said: " Satisfied! what is there for me to be satisfied
or dissatisfied about, madame?"
" But what are those things with which a man of your age, and of your
appearance, is usually either satisfied or dissatisfied ? "
" How eager she is," thought Raoul, almost terrified; "what is it that
she is going to breathe into my heart?" and then, frightened at what
she might possibly be going to tell him, and wishing to put off the
opportunity of having everything explained, which he had hitherto
so ardently wished for, yet had dreaded so much, he replied: " I left
behind me, madame, a dear friend in good health, and on my return I -
find him very ill."
"You refer to M. de Guiche," replied Madame Henrietta, with the
most imperturbable self-possession; " I have heard he is a very dear
friend of yours."
" He is, indeed, madame."
" Well, it is quite true he has been wounded; but he is better now.
Oh ! M. de Guiche is not to be pitied," she said hurriedly; and then
TWO JEALOUSIES. 237
recovering herself, added: "But has he anything to complain of?
Has he complained of anything ? is there any cause of grief or sorrow
that we are not acquainted with?"
" I allude only to his wound, madame."
"So much the better, then, for, in other respects, M. de Guiche
seems to be very happy; he is always in very high spirits. I am sure
that you, Monsieur de Bragelonne, would far prefer to be, like him,
wounded only in the body ... for what, indeed, is such a wound,
after all!"
Baoul started. " Alas!" he said to himself, " she is returning to it."
" What did you say ?" she inquired.
" I did not say anything, madame."
"You did not say anything; you disapprove of my observation'
then ? you are perfectly satisfied, I suppose ?"
Baoul approached closer to her. "Madame," he said, "your royal
highness wishes to say something to me, and your instinctive kindness
and generosity of disposition induce you to be careful and considerate
as to your manner of conveying it. Will your royal highness throw
this kind forbearance aside ? I am able to bear everything; and I am
listening."
"Ah T" replied Henrietta, "what do you understand, then ?"
" That which your royal highness wishes me to understand," said.
Baoul, trembling, notwithstanding his command over himself, as he
pronounced these words.
" In point of fact," murmured the princess ..." it seems cruel, but
since I have begun "
"Yes, madame, since your highness has deigned to begin, will you
deign to finish "
Henrietta rose hurriedly and walked a few paces up and down her
room. " What did M. de Guiche tell you ?" she said, suddenly.
"Nothing, madame."
"Nothing! Did he say nothing? Ah! how well I recognize him
in that."
"No doubt he wished to spare me."
" And that is what friends call friendship. But surely, M. d'Artagnan,
whom you have just left, must have told you."
"No more than Guiche, madame."
Henrietta made a gesture full of impatience, as she said, " At least
you know all that the court has known !"
" I know nothing at all, madame."
" Not the scene in the storm ?" " No, madame."
" Not the tete-a-tete in the forest ?" " No, madame."
" Nor the flight to Chaillot ?"
Baoul, whose head drooped like the flower which has been cut down
by the sickle, made an almost superhuman effort to smile, as he replied
with the greatest gentleness: " I have had the honour to tell your royal
highness that I am absolutely ignorant of everything, that I am a poor
unremembered outcast, who has this moment arrived from England.
There have been so many stormy waves between myself and those whom
I left behind me here, that the rumour of none of the circumstances
your highness refers to, has been able to reach me."
Henrietta was affected by his extreme pallor, his gentleness, and his
great courage. The principal feeling in her heart at that moment was
an eager desire to hear the nature of the remembrance which the
poor lover retained of her who had made him suffer so much. " Mon-
sieur de Bragelonne," she said, " that which your friends have refused
238 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
to do, I will do for you, whom I like and esteem very much. I will be
your friend on this occasion. You hold your head high, as a man of
honour should do; and I should regret that you should have to bow
it down under ridicule, and in a few days, it may be, under contempt."
"Ah !" exclaimed Raoul, perfectly livid. " It is as bad as that, then ?"
" If you do not know," said the princess, " I see that you guess ; you
were affianced, I believe, to Mademoiselle de la Yalliere ?"
" Yes, madame."
" By that right, then, you deserve to be warned about her, as some
day or another I shall be obliged to dismiss Mademoiselle de la Yalliere
from my service "
"Dismiss La Yalliere !" cried Bragelonne. >
" Of course. Do you suppose that I shall always be accessible to the
tears and protestations of the king ? No, no ! my house shall no longer
be made a convenience for such practices; but you tremble, you cannot
stand "
"No, madame, no," said Bragelonne, making an effort over himself;
"I thought I should have died just now, that was all. Your royal
highness did me the honour to say that the king wept and implored*
you "
" Yes, but in vain," returned the princess; who then related to Raoul
the scene that took place at Chaillot, and the king's despair on his
return; she told him of his indulgence to herself, and the terrible
word with which the outraged princess, the humiliated coquette, had
dashed aside the royal anger.
Itaoul stood with his head bent down.
" What do you think of it all ?" she said.
" The king loves her," he replied.
"But you seem to think she does not love him !"
" Alas, madame, I am thinking of the time when she loved me."
Henrietta was for a moment struck with admiration at this sublime
disbelief: and then, shrugging her shoulders, she said, " You do not
believe me, I see. How deeply you must love her, and you doubt if
she loves the king ?"
" I do, until I have a proof of it. Forgive me, madame, but she has
given me her word; and her mind and heart are too upright to tell a
falsehood."
" You require a proof! Be it so. Come with me, then."
CHAPTER LIII.
A Domiciliary Visit.
The princess, preceding Raoul, led him through the courtyard to-
wards that part of the building which La Yalliere inhabited, and,
ascending the same staircase which Raoul had himself ascended that
very morning, she paused at the door of the room in which the young
man had been so strangely received by Montalais. The opportunity
had been well chosen to carry out the project which Madame Henrietta
had conceived, for the chateau was empty. The king, the courtiers,
and the ladies of the court, had set off for Saint-Germain; Madame
Henrietta was the only one who knew of Bragelonne's return, and,
thinking over the advantages which might be drawn from this return,
had feigned indisposition in order to remain behind. Madame was
- A DOMICILIARY VISIT. 239
therefore confident of finding La Valliere's room and Saint-Aignan's
apartment perfectly empty. She took a pass-key from her pocket and
opened the door of her maid of honour's apartment. Bra.'eloune's gaze
was immediately fixed upon the interior of the room, which he recognized
at once; and the impression which the sight of it produced upon him
was one of the first tortures which awaited him. The princess looked
at him, and her practised eye could at once detect what was passing in
the young man's heart.
" You asked me for proofs," she said, " do not he astonished, then, if
I give you them. But if you do not think you have courage enough to
confront them, there is still time to withdraw."
" I thank you, madame," said Bragelonne; "but I came here to be
convinced. You promised to convince me,—do so."
" Enter, then," said Madame, " and shut the door behind you."
Bragelonne obeyed, and then turned towards the princess, whom he
interrogated by a look.
" You know where you are, I suppose ?" inquired Madame Hen-
rietta.
"Everything leads me to believe I am in Mademoiselle de la Val-
litre's room." "You are."
" But I would observe to your highness, that this room is a room,
and is not a proof."
"Wait," said the princess, as she walked to the foot of the bed, folded
up the screen into its several compartments, and stooped down towards
the floor. " Look here," she continued; " stoop down, and lift up this
trap-door yourself."
" A trap-door !" said Baoul, astonished; for d'Artagnan's words began
to return to his memory, and he had an indistinct recollection that
d'Artagnan had made use of the same word. He looked, but uselessly
so, for some cleft or crevice which might indicate an opening or a ring
to assist in lifting up some portion ol the planking.
"Ah, I forgot," said Madame Henrietta, " I forgot the secret spring;
the fourth plank of the flooring,—press on the spot where you will ob-
serve a knot in the wood. Those are the instructions; press, vicomte !
press, I say, yourself!"
Baoul, pale as death, pressed his finger on the spot which had been
indicated to him ; at the same moment the spring began to work, and
the trap rose of its own accord.
" It is ingenious enough, certainly," said the princess; " and one can
see that the architect foresaw that a very little hand only would have to
make use of this spring, foi;see how easily me trap-door opened without
assistance."
" A staircase ! " cried Baoul.
"Yes, and a very pretty one, too," said Madame Henrietta. "See,
vicomte, the staircase has a balustrade, intended to prevent the falling
of timid persons, who might be tempted to oescend the staircase; and I
will risk myself on it accordingly. Come, -vicomte, follow me ! "
"iBut before following you, madame, may I ask where this staircase
leads to ? "
"Ah, true; I forgot to tell you. You know, perhaps, that formerly,
M. de Saint-Aignan lived in the very next apartment to the
king ? "
"Yes, madame, I am aware of that; that was the arrangement, at
least before I left; and more than once 1 have had the honour of visit-
ing him in his old rooms."
"Well; he obtained the king's Jeave to change his former convenient
240 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
and beautiful apartment for the two rooms to which this staircase will
conduct us, and which together form a lodging for him, twice as small,
and at ten times greater distance from the king,—a close proximity to
whom is by no means disdained, in general, by the gentlemen belonging
the court."
"Yery good, madame," returned Eaoul; "but go on, I beg, for I do
not understand yet."
" Well, then, it accidentally happened," continued the princess, " that
M. de Saint-Aignan's apartment is situated underneath the apartments
of my maids of honour, and particularly underneath the room of La
Valliere."
" But what was the motive of this trap-door and this staircase ? "
" That I cannot tell you. Would you like us to go down to Monsieur
de Saint-Aignan's rooms ? Perhaps we shall be able to find the solution
of the enigma there."
And Madame set the example by going down herself, while Eaoul,
sighing deeply, followed her. At every step Bragelonne took, he ad-
vanced further into that mysterious apartment which had been witness
to La Valliere's sighs, and still retained the sweetest perfume of her
presence. Bragelonne fancied that he perceived, as he inhaled his
every breath, that the young girl must have passed through there.
Then succeeded to these emanations of herself, which he regarded as
invisible though certain proofs, the flowers she preferred to all others—
the books of her own selection. Had Eaoul preserved a single doubt
on the subject, it would have vanished at the secret harmony of tastes,
and connection of the mind with the use of the ordinary objects of life.
La Valliere, in Bragelonne's eyes, was present there in every article of
furniture, in the colour of the hangings, in everything that surrounded
him. Dumb, and completely overwhelmed, there was nothing further
for him now to learn, and he followed his pitiless conductress as bjindly
as the culprit follows the executioner; while Madame, as cruel as all
women of delicate and nervous temperaments are, did not spare him
the slightest detail. But it must be admitted, that, notwithstanding
the kind of apathy into which he had fallen, none of these details, even
had he been left alone, would have escaped him. The happiness of the
woman who loves, when that happiness is derived from a rival, is a
living torture for a jealous man; but for a jealous man such as Eaoul
was, for one whose heart had for the first time been steeped in gall and
bitterness, Louise's happiness was in reality an ignominious death, a
death of body and soul. He guessed all; he fancied he could see them,
with their hands clasped in each other's, their faces drawn close to-
gether, and reflected, side by side, in loving proximity, as they gazed
upon the mirrors around them—so sweet an occupation for lovers, who,
as they thus see themselves twice over, impress the picture more en-
duringly in their memories. He could guess, too, the stolen kiss
snatched as they separated from each other's loved society. The luxury,
the studied elegance, eloquent of the perfection of indolence, of ease;
the extreme care shown, either to spare the loved object every annoy-
ance, or to occasion her a delightful surprise; that strength and power
of love multiplied by the strength and power of royalty itself, seemed
like a death-blow to Eaoul. If there be anything which can in any
way assuage or mitigate the tortures of jealousy, it is the inferiority of
the man who is preferred to yourself; whilst, on the very contrary, if
there be an anguish more bitter than another, a misery for which lan-
guage has no descriptive words, it is the superiority of the man pre-
ferred to yourself, superior, perhaps, in youth, beauty, grace. It is in
A DOMICILIARY VISIT. 241
such moments as these that Heaven almost seems to have taken part
against the disdained and rejected lover.
One final pang was reserved for poor Baoul. Madame Henrietta
lifted up a silk curtain, and behind the canvas he perceived La Val-
liere's porti-ait. Not only the portrait of La Valliere, but of La Valliere
eloquent of youth, beauty, and happiness, inhaling life and enjoyment
at every pore, because at eighteen years of age love itself is life.
" Louise!" murmured Bragelonne,—" Louise ! is it true, then ? Oh,
you have never loved me, for never have you looked at me in that man-
ner." And he felt'as if his heart were crushsd within his bosom.
Madame Henrietta looked at him, almost envious of his extreme
grief, although she well knew there was nothing to envy in it, and that
she herself was as passionately loved by de Guiche as Louise by Brage-
lonne. Baoul interpreted Madame Henrietta's look.
" Oh, forgive me, forgive me, madame; in your presence I know I
ought to have greater mastery over myself. But Heaven grant that
you may never be struck by a similar misery to that which crushes me
at this moment, for you are but a woman, and would not be able to
endure so terrible an affliction. Forgive me, I again entreat you, ma-
dame; I am but a man without rank or position, while you belong to a
race whose happiness knows no bounds, whose power acknowledges no
limit."
"Monsieur de Bragelonne," replied Henrietta, "a heart such as
yours merits all the consideration and respect which a queen's heart
even can bestow. Begard me as your friend, monsieur; and as such,
indeed, I would not allow your whole life to be poisoned by perfidy, and
covered with ridicule. It was I, indeed, who, with more courage than
any of your pretended friends—I except M. de Guiche,—was the cause
of your return from London; it is I, also, who have given you these
melancholy proofs, necessary, however, for your cure, if you are a lover
with courage in his heart, and not a weeping Amadis. Do not thank
me; pity me even, and do not serve the king less faithfully than you
have done."
Baoul smiled bitterly. " Ah ! true, true; I was forgetting that; the
Idng is my master."
" Your liberty, nay, your very life, is in danger." _ ^
A steady, penetrating look informed Madame Henrietta that she
was mistaken, and that her last argument was not a likely one to affect
the young man. " Take care, Monsieur de Bragelonne," she said, "for
if you do not weigh well all your actions, you might throw into an ex-
travagance of wrath, a prince, whose passions, once aroused, exceed the
utmost limits of reason, and you would thereby involve your friends
and family in- the deepest distress; you must bend, you must submit,
and must cure yourself."
" I thank you, madame; I appreciate the advice your royal highness
is good enough to give me, and I will endeavour to follow it; but one final
word, I beg." "Name it."
" Should I be indiscreet in asking you the secret of this staircase, of
this trap-door; a secret which, it seems, you have discovered ?"
"Nothing is more simple. For the purpose of exercising a surveil-
lance over the young girls who are attached to my service, I have dupli-
cate keys of their doors. It seemed very strange to me, that M. de
Saint-Aignan should change his apartments. It seemed very strange,
that the king should come to see M. de Saint-Aignan every day, and,
finally, it seemed very strange, that so many things should be done
during your absence, that the very habits and customs of the court
VOL. II. R
242 the vicomte de beaselonne.
seemed to be changed. I do not wish to be trifled with by the king, nor
to serve as a cloak for his love affairs; for, after La Valliere, who weeps
incessantly, he will take a fancy to Montalais, who is always laughing;
find then to Tonnay-Charente, who does nothing but sing all day; to
atet such a part as that would be unworthy of me. I have thrust aside
the scruples which my friendship for you suggested. I have discovered
the secret. I have wounded your feelings, I know; and I again entreat
you to excuse me; but I had a duty to fulfil. I have discharged it.
You are now forewarned; the tempest will soon burst; protect yourself
accordingly."
" You naturally expect, however, that a result of some kind must
follow," replied Bragelonne, with firmness; " for you do not suppose I
shall silently accept the shame which is thrust upon me, or the trea-
chery which has been practised against me."
"You will take whatever steps in the matter you please, Monsieur
Raoul, only do not betray the source whence you derived the truth.
That is all I have to ask, that is the only price I require for the service
I have rendered you."
"Lear nothing, madame," said Bragelonne, with a bitter smile.
" I bribed the locksmith, in whom the lovers had confided. You
can just as well have done so as myself, can you not ?"
"Yes, madame. Your royal highness, however, has no other advice
or caution to give me, except that of not betraying you."
" None other."
" I am about, therefore, to beg your royal highness to allow me to
remain here for. one moment."
" Without me ?"
" Oh ! no, madame. It matters very little; for what I have to do
can be done in your presence. I only ask one moment to write a line
to some one."
" It is dangerous, Monsieur de Bragelonne. Take care."
"No one can possibly know that your royal highness has done me
the honour to conduct me here. Besides, I shall sign the letter I am
going to write." " Do as you please, then."
Raoul drew out his tablet, and wrote rapidly on one of the leaves the
following words:—
" Monsieur le Comte,—Do not be surprised to find here this paper
signed by me; the friend whom I shall very shortly send to call on you
will have the honour to explain the object of my visit to you.
"Vicomte Raoul de Bragelonne."
He rolled up the paper, slipped it into the lock of the door which
communicated with the room set apart for the two lovers, and satisfied
himself that the paper was so apparent that Saint-Aignan could not
but see it as he entered; he rejoined the princess, who had already
reached the top of the staircase. They then separated. Raoul pre-
tending to thank her highness; Henrietta pitying, or seeming to pity,
with all her heart, the poor wretched young man she had just con-
demned to such fearful torture. " Oh !" she said, as she saw him dis-
appear, pale as death, and his eyes injected with blood, "if I had known
this, I should have concealed the truth from that poor gentleman."
POETHOS'S PLAN OP ACTION.
243
CHAPTER LIY.
Porthos's Plan of Action.
The numerous individuals we have introduced into this long story
is the cause of each of them being obliged to appear only in his own
turn, and according to the exigencies of the recital. The result is, that
our readers have had no opportunity of again meeting our friend
Porthos since his return from Pontainebleau. The honours which he
had received from the king had not changed the easy, affectionate
character of that excellent-hearted man; he may, perhaps, have held
up his head a little higher than usual, and a majesty of demeanour, as
it were, may have betrayed itself since the honour of dining at the
king's table had been accorded him. His majesty's banqueting-room
had produced a certain effect upon Porthos. Le seigneur de Bracieux
et de Pierrefonds delighted to remember that, during that memorable
dinner, the numerous array of servants, and the large number of
officials, who were in attendance upon the guests, gave a certain tone
and effect to the repast, and seemed to furnish the room. Porthos
undertook to confer upon Mouston a position of some kind or other,
in order to establish a sort of hierarchy among his other domestics, and
to create a military household, which was not unusual among the great
captains of the age, since, in the preceding century, this luxury had
been greatly encouraged by Messieurs de Treville, de Schomberg, de
la Vienville, without alluding to M. de Richelieu, M. de Conde, and
de Bouillon-Turenne. And, therefore, why should not he, Porthos,
the friend of the king, and of M. Pouquet, a baron, an engineer, &c.,
why should not he, indeed, enjoy all the delightful privileges which
large possessions and unusual merit invariably confer ? Slightly neg-
lected by Aramis, who, we know, was greatly occupied with M. Pou-
quet; neglected, also, on account of his being,on duty, by d'Artagnan;
tired of Truchen and Planchet, Porthos was surprised to find him-
self dreaming, without precisely knowing why; but if any one had
said to him, " Do you want anything, Porthos ?" he would, most
certainly, have replied, "Yes." After one of those dinners, during
which Porthos attempted to recall to his recollection all the details of
the royal banquet, half joyful, thanks to the excellence of the wines ;
half melancholy, thanks to his ambitious ideas, Porthos was gradually
falling off into a gentle doze, when his servant entered to announce
that M. de Bragelonne wished to speak to him. Porthos passed into an
adjoining room, where he found his young friend in the disposition of
mind we are already aware of. Raoul advanced towards Porthos, and
shook him by the hand; Porthos, surprised at his seriousness of aspect,
offered him a seat. "Dear M. du Yallon," said Raoul, "I have a service
to ask of you."
"Nothing could happen more fortunately, my young friend," replied
Porthos; " I have had eight thousand livres sent me this morning from
Pierrefonds; and if you want any money "
" No, I thank you; it is not money."
" So much the worse, then. I have always heard it said that that is
the rarest service, but the easiest to render. The remark struck me; I
like to cite remarks that strike me."
" Your heart is as good as your mind is sound and true."
" You are too kind, I'm sure. You will dine here, of course ? "
e 2
244 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONKE.
" No; I am not hungry."
"Eh ! not dine ! What a dreadful country England is."
- "Not too much so, indeed,—but "
"Well. If such excellent fish and meat were not to be procured
there, it would hardly be endurable." " Yes ; I came to "
"lam listening. Only just allow me to take something to drink.
One gets thirsty in Paris;" and he ordered a bottle of champagne to be
brought; and, having ,first filled Paoul's glass, he filled his own,
drank it down at a gulp, and then resumed:—" I needed that, in order
to listen to you with proper attention. I am now quite at your service.
What have you to ask me, dear Paoul ? What do you want ?"
" Give me your opinion upon quarrels in general, my dear friend."
"My opinion! Well—but . Explain your idea a little," replied
Porthos, rubbing his forehead.
"I mean—are you generally good-humoured, or good-tempered,
whenever any misunderstanding may arise between a friend of yours
and a stranger, for instance ?"
" Oh ! in the best of tempers."
" Very good; but what do you do in such a case ? "
"Whenever any friend of mine has a quarrel, I always act upon one
principle."
"What is that ?"
" That all lost time is irreparable, and that one never arranges an
affair so well as when everything has beeen done to embroil the dispute
as much as possible."
" Ah ! indeed, that is the principle on which you proceed."
" Thoroughly; so as soon as a quarrel takes place, I bring the two
parties together." " Exactly."
" You understand that by this means it is impossible for an affair not
to be arranged."
" I should have thought that, treated in this manner, an affair would,
on the contrary "
" Oh ! not the least in the world. Just fancy, now, I have had in
my life something like a hundred and eighty to a hundred and ninety
regular duels, without reckoning hasty encounters, or chance meetings."
" It is a very handsome number," said Paoul, unable to resist a smile.
" A mere nothing; but I am so gentle. D'Artagnan reckons his duels
by hundreds. It is very true he is a little too hard and sharp—I have
often told him so."
"And so," resumed Paoul, "you generally arrange the affairs of
honour your friends confide to you."
" There is not a single instance in which I have not finished by
arranging every one of them," said Porthos, with a gentleness and con-
fidence which surprised Paoul.
" But the way in which you settle them is at least honourable, I
suppose?"
" Oh! rely upon that; and at this stage, I will explain my other
principle to you. As soon as my friend has confided his quarrel to me,
this is what I do: I go to his adversary at once, armed with a politeness
and self-possession which are absolutely requisite under such circum-
stances."
" That is the way, then," said Paoul, bitterly, " that you arrange the
affairs so safely."
" I believe you. I go to the adversary, then, and say to him: ' It is
impossible, monsieur, that you are ignorant of the extent to which you
have insulted my friend.'" Paoul frowned at this remark.
POItTHOS'S PLAN OF ACTION. 245
" It sometimes happens—very often, indeed,'5 pursued Portlios—" that
my friend has not been insulted at all; he has even been the first to
give offence: you can imagine, therefore, whether my language is not
well chosen." And Porthos burst into a peal of laughter. a
" Decidedly," said Raoul to himself, while the formidable thunder of
Porthos's laughter was ringing in his ears, " I am very unfortunate.
De Guiche treats me with coldness, d'Artagnan with ridicule, Porthos
is too tame; no one will settle this affair in my way. And 1 came to
Porthos because I wished to find a sword instead of cold reasoning at
my service. How my ill-luck follows me."
Porthos, who had recovered himself, continued: " By a simple ex-
pression, 1 leave my adversary without an excuse."
'* That is as it may happen," said Raoul, distractedly.
" Not at all, it is quite certain. 1 have not left him an excuse; and
then it is that I display all my courtesy, in order to attain the happy
issue of my project. I advance, therefore, with an air of great polite-
ness, and, taking my adversary by the hand, I say to him: 'Now that
you are convinced of having given the offence, we are sure of repara-
tion; between my friend and yourself, the future can only offer an
exchange of mutual courtesies of conduct, and, consequently, my mis-
sion is to give you the length of my friend's sword.'"
" What!" said Raoul.
"Wait a minute. 'The length of my friend's sword. My horse is
waiting below; my friend is in such and such a spot, and is impatiently
awaiting your agreeable society; I will take you with me; we can call
upon your second as we go along;' and the affair is arranged."
"And so," said Raoul, pale with vexation, "you reconcile the two
adversaries on the ground."
"I beg your pardon," interrupted Porthos. "Reconcile! What
for?" " You said that the affair was arranged."
" Of course ! since my friend is waiting for him."
" Well! what then ? If he is waiting "
" Well! if he is waiting, it is merely to stretch his legs a little. The
adversary, on the contrary, is stiff from riding; they place themselves
in proper order, and my friend kills his opponent, and the affair is
ended."
" Ah! he kills him, then ?" cried Raoul.
" I should think so," said Porthos. " Is it likely I should ever have
as a friend & man who allows himself to get killed ? I have a hundred
and one friends; at the head of the list stand your father, Aramis, and
d'Artagnan, all of whom are living and well, I believe."
" Oh ! my dear baron," exclaimed Raoul, delightedly, as he embraced
Porthos.
" You approve of my method, then ?" said the giant.
" I approve of it so thoroughly, that I shall have recourse to it this
very day, without a moment's delay,—at once in fact. You are the very
man I have been looking for."
" Good; here I am, then; you want to fight, I suppose ?"
" Absolutely so."
" It is very natural. With whom ?"
" With M. de Saint-Aignan."
" I know him—a most agreeable man, who was exceedingly polite to
me the day I had the honour of dining with the king. I shall certainly
acknowledge his politeness in return, even if it had not happened to be
my usual custom. So, he has given you offence ?"
" A mortal offence."
246 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" The deuce! I can say so, I suppose ?"
" More than that, even, if you like."
" That is a very great convenience."
"I may look upon it as one of your arranged affairs, may I not?"
said Raoul, smiling.
" As a matter of course. Where will you be waiting for him ?"
" Ah! I forgot; it is a very delicate matter. M. de Saint-Aignan is
a very great friend of the king's." " So I have heard it said."
" So that if I kill him "
" Oh ! you will kill him, certainly; you must take every precaution
to do so. But there is no difficulty in these matters now; if you had
lived in our early days, oh! that was something like!"
" My dear friend, you have not quite understood me. I mean, that,
M. de Saint-Aignan being a friend of the king, the affair will be more
difficult to manage, since the king might learn beforehand "
" Oh! no; that is not likely. You know my method:' Monsieur, you
have injured my friend, and ' " "Yes, I know it."
" And then: ' Monsieur, I have horses below,' I carry him off before
he can have spoken to any one."
" Will he allow himself to be carried off like that ?"
" I should think so! I should like to see it fail. It would be the first
time, if it did. It is true, though, that the young men of the present
day Bah! I would carry him off bodily, if that were all," and
Porthos, adding gesture to speech, lifted Raoul and the chair he was
sitting on off the ground, and carried them round the room.
"Very good," said Raoul, laughing. " All we have to do is to state
the grounds of the quarrel to M. de Saint-Aignaii."
"Well, but that is done, it seems."
"No, my dear M. du Yallon, the usage of the present day requires
that the cause of the quarrel should be explained."
" Very good. Tell me what it is, then." " The fact is "
" Deuce take it! see how troublesome this is. In former days, we
never had any occasion to say anything about the matter. People
fought then for the sake of fighting; and I, for one, know no better
reason than that." " You are quite right, M. du Vallon."
" However, tell me what the cause is."
" It is too long a story to tell; only as one must particularize to some
extent, and as, on the other hand, the affair is full of difficulties, and
requires the most absolute secrecy, you will have the kindness merely
to tell M. de Saint-Aignan that he has, in the first place, insulted me
by changing his lodgings."
"By changing his lodgings? Good," said Porthos, who began to
count on his fingers—"next?"
" Then in getting a trap-door made in his new apartments."
" I understand," said Porthos; " a trap-door; upon my word this is
very serious; you ought to be furious at that. What the deuce does
the fellow mean by getting trap-doors made without first consulting
you ? Trap-doors! mordioux ! I haven't got any, except in my dun-
geons at Braeieux."
" And you will add," said Raoul, " that my last motive for considering
myself insulted is, the portrait that M. de Saint-Aignan well knows."
" Is it possible ? A portrait, too ! A change of residence, a trap-
door, and a portrait! Why, my dear friend, with but one of those
causes of complaint there is enough, and more than enough, for all the
gentlemen in Prance and Spain to cut each other's throats, and that is
saying but very little."
change of residence, trap-door, and portrait. 247
"Well, my dear friend, you are furnished with all you need, I
suppose ?"
" I shall take a second horse with me. Select your own rendezvous,
and while you are waiting there, you can practise some of the best
passes, so as to get your limbs as elastic as possible."
" Thank you. I shall be waiting for you in the wood of Yincennes,
close to Minimes." (
" All's right, then. Where am I to find this M. de Saint-Aignan ?"
"At the Palais-Royal."
Porthos rang a huge hand-bell. " My court suit," he said to the
servant who answered, the summons, " my horse, and a led horse to
accompany me." Then turning to Raoul, as soon as the servant had
quitted the room, he said, "Does your father know anything about
this?"
" No; I am going to write to him."
" And d'Artagnan ? "
"No, nor d'Artagnan either. He is very cautious, you know, and
might have diverted me from my purpose."
" D'Artagnan is a sound adviser, though," said Porthos, astonished
that, in his own loyal faith in d'Artagnan, any one could have thought
of himself, so long as there was a d'Artagnan in the world.
"Dear M. du Vallon," replied Raoul, " do not question me any more,
I implore you. I have told you all that I had to say; it is prompt
action that I now expect, as sharp and decided as you know how to
arrange it. That, indeed, is my reason for having chosen you."
"You will be satisfied with me," replied Porthos.
" Do not forget, either, that, except ourselves, no one must know any-
thing of this meeting."
" People always find these things out," said Porthos, " when a dead
body is discovered in a wood. But.I promise you everything, my dear
friend, except concealing the dead body. There it is, and it must be seen,
as a matter of course. It is a principle of mine, not to bury bodies.
That has a smack of the assassin about it. Every risk must run its
own risk."
" To work, then, my dear friend."
" Rely upon me," said the giant, finishing the bottle, while the servant
spread out upon a sofa the gorgeously-decorated dress trimmed with
lace.
Raoul left the room, saying to himself, with a secret delight, " Per-
fidious king! traitorous monarch! I cannot reach thee. I do not
wish it; for kings are sacred objects. But your friend, your accom-
plice, your panderer—the coward who represents you—shall pay for
your crime. I will kill him in thy name, and afterwards we will think
of Louise."
CHAPTER LY.
The Change of Residence, the Trap-door, and the Portrait.
Porthos, intrusted, to his great delight, with this mission, which
made him feel young again, took half an hour less than his usual time
to put on his court suit. To show that he was a man acquainted with
the usages of the highest society, he had begun by sending his lacquey
to inquire if Monsieur de Saint-Aignan were at home, and received, in
answer, that M. le comte de Saint-Aignan had had the honour of ac-
1248 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
companying the king to Saint-Germain, as well as the whole court;
but that monsieur le comte had just that moment returned. Imme-
diately upon this reply, Porthos made as much haste as possible, and
reached Saint-Aignan's apartments just as the latter was having his
boots taken off. The promenade had been delightful. The king, who
was in lcfte more than ever, and of course happier than ever, behaved
in the most charming manner to every one. Nothing could possibly
equal his kindness. M. de Saint-Aignan, it may be remembered, was
a poet, and fancied that he had proved that he was so, under too many
a memorable circumstance, to allow the title to be undisputed by any
one. An indefatigable rhymester, he had, during the whole of the
journey, overwhelmed with quatrains, sextains, and madrigals, first the
king, and then La Valliere. The king was, on his side, in a similarly
poetical mood, and had made a distich; while La Valliere, like all
women who are in love, had composed two sonnets. As one may see,
then, the day had not been a bad one for Apollo; and, therefore,
as soon as he had returned to Paris, Saint-Aignan, who knew before-
hand that his verses would be sure to be extensively circulated in court
circles, occupied himself, with a little more attention than he had been
able to bestow during the promenade, with the composition, as well as
with the idea itself. Consequently, with all the tenderness of a father
about to start his children in life, he candidly interrogated himself
whether the public would find these offspring of his imagination suffi-
ciently elegant and graceful; and so, in order to make his mind easy
on the subject, M. de Saint-Aignan recited to himself the madrigal he
had composed, and which he had repeated from memory to the king,
and which he had promised to write out for him on his return. All
the time he was committing these words to memory, the comte was
engaged in undressing himself more completely. He had just taken
off his coat, and was putting on his dressing-gown, when he was in-
formed that Monsieur le baron du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds
was waiting to be received.
" Eh !" he said, " what does that bunch of names mean ? I don't
know anything about him."
"It is the same gentleman," replied the lacquey, "who had the
honour of dining with you, monseigneur, at the king's table, when his
majesty was staying at Fontainebleau."
" Introduce him, then, at once," cried Saint-Aignan.
Porthos, in a few minutes, entered the room. M. de Saint-Aignan
had an excellent recollection of persons, and, at the first glance, he
recognized the gentleman from the country, who enjoyed so singular a
reputation, and whom the king had received so favourably at Fontaine-
bleau, in spite of the smiles of some of those who were present. He
therefore advanced towards Porthos, with all the outward signs of a
consideration of manner which Porthos thought but natural, consi-
dering that he himself, whenever he called upon an adversary, hoisted
the standard of the most refined politeness. Saint-Aignan desired the
servant to give Porthos a chair; and the latter, who saw nothing
unusual in this act of politeness, sat down gravely, and coughed. The
ordinary courtesies having been exchanged between the two gentlemen,
the comte, to whom the visit was paid, said, " May I ask, monsieur le
baron, to what happy circumstance I am indebted for the favour of a
visit from you ? "
"The very thing I am about to have the honour of explaining to
you, monsieur le comte; but, I beg your pardon "
" What is the matter, monsieur ? " inquired Saint-Aignan.
CHANGE OF RESIDENCE, TRAP-DOOR, AND PORTRAIT. V>i9
" I regret to say that I have broken your chair."
"Not at all, monsieur," said Saint-Aignan; " not at all."
"It is the fact, though, monsieur le comte; I have broken it—so
much so, indeed, that, if I do not move, I shall fall down, which would
be an exceedingly disagreeable position for me in the discharge of the
very serious mission which has been intrusted to me with regard to
yourself."
Porthos rose, and but just in time, for the chair had given way several
inches. Saint-Aignan looked about him for something more solid for
his guest to sit upon. " Modern articles of furniture," said Porthos,
while the comte was looking about, " are constructed in a ridiculously
light manner. In my early days, when I used to sit down with far
more energy than is now the case, I do not remember ever to have
broken a chair, except in taverns, with my arms."
Saint-Aignan smiled at this remark. " But," .said Porthos, as he
settled himself down on a couch, which creaked, but did not give way
beneath his weight, " that, unfortunately, has nothing whatever to do
with my present visit."
" Why unfortunately ? Are you the bearer of a message of ill omen,
monsieur le baron ? "
" Of ill omen—for a gentleman ? Certainly not, monsieur le comte,"
replied Porthos, nobly. "I have simply come to say that you have
seriously insulted a friend'of mine."
" I, monsieur ? " exclaimed Saint-Aignan—" I have insulted a friend
of yours, do you say ? May I ask his name ? "
" M. Raoul de Bragelonne."
" I have insulted M. Raoul de Bragelonne !" cried Saint-Aignan.
" I really assure you, monsieur, that it is quite impossible; for M. de
Bragelonne, whom I know but very slightly—nay, whom I know hardly
at all—is in England; and, as I have not seen him for a long time past,
I cannot possibly have insulted him."
" M. de Bragelonne is in Paris, monsieur le comte," said Porthos,
perfectly unmoved; " and I repeat, it is quite certain you have insulted
him, since he himself told me you had. Yes, monsieur, you have
seriously insulted him, mortally insulted him, I repeat."
" It is impossible, monsieur le baron, I swear, quite impossible."
" Besides," added Porthos, " you cannot be ignorant of the circum-
stance, since M. de Bragelonne informed me that he had already
apprised you of it by a note."
" I give you my word of honour, monsieur, that I have received no
note whatever."
" This is most extraordinary," replied Porthos.
"I will convince you," said Saint-Aignan, "that I have received
nothing in any way from him." And he rang the bell. " Basque," he
said to the servant who entered, " how many letters or notes were sent
here during my absence ? "
" Three, monsieur le comte—a note from M. de Piesque, one from
Madame de Laferte, and a letter from M. de las Fuentes."
" Is that all ? "
"Yes, monsieur le comte."
" Speak the truth before this gentleman—the truth, you understand.
I will take care you are not blamed."
" There was a note, also, from—from "
"Well, from whom ? " "From Mademoiselle de Laval "
"That is quite sufficient," interrupted Porthos. "I believe you,
monsieur le comte."
250 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
Saint-Aignan dismissed the valet, and followed him to the door, in
order to close it after him; and when he had done so, looking straight
before him, he happened to see in the keyhole of the adjoining apart-
ment the paper which Bragelonne had slipped in there as he left.
" What is this ? " he said.
Porthos, who was sitting with his back to the room, turned round.
" Oh, oh !" he said.
" A note in the keyhole!" exclaimed Saint-Aignan.
" That is not unlikely to be the one we want, monsieur le comte,"
said Porthos.
Saint-Aignan took out .the paper. " A note from M. de Bragelonne!"
he exclaimed.
" You see, monsieur, I was right. Oh, when I say a thing "
" Brought here by M. de Bragelonne himself," the comte murmured,
turning pale. " This is infamous! How could he possibly have come
here ?" And the comte rang again.
" Who has been here during my absence with the king ?"
"No one, monsieur."
" That is impossible! Some one must have been here."
"No one could possibly have entered, monsieur; since I keep the
keys in my own pocket."
" And yet I find this letter in that lock yonder; some one must have
put it there; it could not have come alone."
* Basque opened his arms as if signifying the most absolute ignorance
on the subject.
" Probably it was M. de Bragelonne himself who placed it there,"
said Porthos.
" In that case he must have entered here."
" How could that have been, since I have the key in my own pocket ? "
returned Basque, perseveringly.
Saint-Aignan crumpled up the letter in his hand, after having read
it. "There is something mysterious about this," he murmured,
absorbed in thought. Porthos left him to his reflections; but after a
while returned to the mission he had undertaken.
" Shall we return to our little affair ?" he said, addressing Saint-
Aignan, as soon as the lacquey had disappeared.
I think I can now understand it, from this note, which has arrived
here in so singular a manner. Monsieur de Bragelonne says that a
friend will call."
" I am his friend, and am the one he alludes to."
" Por the purpose of giving me a challenge?" "Precisely."
" And he complains that I have insulted him ?"
" Mortally so."
" In what way, may I ask; for his conduct is so mysterious, that it, at
least, needs some explanation ?"
" Monsieur," replied Porthos, " my friend cannot but be right; and,
as far as his conduct is concerned, if it be mysterious, as you say, you
have only yourself to blame for it." Porthos pronounced these words
with an amount of confidence which, for a man who was unaccustomed
to his ways, must have revealed an infinity of sense.
" Mystery, be it so; but what is the mystery about?" said Saint- ,
Aignan.
" You will think it best, perhaps," Porthos replied, with a low bow,
" that I do not enter into particulars."
" Oh, I perfectly understand. We will touch very lightly upon it,
then; so speak monsieur, 1 am listening."
CHANGE OP RESIDENCE, TRAP-DOOR, AND PORTRAIT. 251
" In the first place, monsieur," said Porthos, " you have changed
your apartments." " Yes, that is quite true," said Saint-Aignan.
" You admit it," said Porthos, with an air of satisfaction.
" Admit it! of course I admit it. Why should I not admit it, do you
suppose?"
" You have admitted it. Very good," said Porthos, lifting up one
finger.
" But how can my having moved my lodgings have done M. de
Bragelonne any harm? Have the goodness to tell me that, for I
positively do not comprehend a word of what you are saying."
Porthos stopped him, and then said, with great gravity, " Monsieur,
this is the first of M. de Bragelonne's complaints against you. If he
makes a complaint, it is because he feels himself insulted."
Saint-Aignan began to beat his foot impatiently on the ground.
" This looks like a bad quarrel," he said.
"No one can possibly have a bad quarrel with the Vicomte de Brage-
lonne," returned Porthos; "but, at all events, you have nothing to
add on the subject of your changing your apartments, I suppose ?"
" Nothing. And what is the next point ?"
" Ah, the next! You will observe, monsieur, that the one I have
already mentioned is a most serious injury, to which you have given no
answer, or rather, have answered very indifferently. Is it possible,
monsieur, that you have changed your lodgings ? M. de Bragelonne
feels insulted at your having done so, and you do not attempt to excuse
yourself."
" What!" cried Saint-Aignan, who was getting annoyed at the
perfect coolness of. his visitor—" what! am I to consult M. de Brage-
lonne whether I am to move or not? You can hardly be serious,
monsieur."
" Absolutely necessary, monsieur; but, under any circumstances, you
will admit that it is nothing in comparison with the second ground of
complaint."
" Well, what is that ? "
Porthos assumed a very serious expression as he said: " How about
the trap-door, monsieur ? "
Saint-Aignan turned exceedingly pale. He pushed back his chair so
abruptly, that Porthos, simple as he was, perceived that the blow had
told. " The trap-door," murmured Saint-Aignan.
" Yes, monsieur, explain that if you can," said Porthos, shaking his
head.
Saint-Aignan held down his head as he murmured: " I have been
betrayed, everything is known!"
" Everything," replied Porthos, who knew nothing.
" You see me perfectly overwhelmed," pursued Saint-Aignan, " over-
whelmed to a degree that I hardly know what I am about."
"A guilty conscience, monsieur. Your affair is a bad one, and when
the public shall learn all about it, and will judge "
" Oh, monsieur!" exclaimed the comte, hurriedly, "such a secret ought
not to be known, even by one's confessor,"
" That we will think about," said Porthos; " the secret will not go far,
in fact."
" Surely, monsieur," returned Saint -Aignan, " since M. de Brage-
lonne has penetrated the secret, he must be aware of the danger he as
well as others run the risk of incurring."
" M. de Bragelonne runs no danger, monsieur, nor does he fear any
either, as you, if it please Heaven, will find out very soon."
252 THE VICOMTE HE BBA.GELONNE.
"This fellow is a perfect madman," thought Saint-Aignan. " "What,
in heaven's name, does he want ?" He then said aloud: " Come,
monsieur, let us hush up this affair."
" You forget the portrait," said Porthos, in a voice of thunder, which
made the comte's blood freeze in his veins.
As the portrait in question was La Valliere's portrait, and as no mis-
take could any longer exist on the subject, Saint-Aignan's- eyes were
completely opened. "Ah ! " he exclaimed—" ah! monsieur, I reraem-
ner now that M. de Bragelonne was engaged to be married to her."
Porthos assumed an imposing air, all the majesty of ignorance, in
fact, as he said: " It matters nothing whatever to me, nor to yourself,
indeed, whether or not my friend was, as you say, engaged to be married.
I am even astonished that you should have made use of so indiscreet a
remark. It may possibly do your cause harm, monsieur."
"Monsieur," replied Saint-Aignan, "'you are the incarnation of
intelligence, delicacy, and loyalty of feeling united. I see the whole
matter now clearly enough."
" So much the better," said Porthos.
" And," pursued Saint-Aignan," you have made me comprehend it in
the most ingenious and the most delicate manner possible. I beg you
to accept my best thanks."
Porthos drew himself up, unable to resist the flattery of the remark.
" Only, now that I know everything, permit me to explain "
Porthos shook his head as a man who does not wish to hear, but Saint-
Aignan continued: " I am in despair, I assure you, at all that has hap-
pened; but how would you have acted in my place ? Come, between
ourselves, tell me what would you have done ? "
Porthos drew himself up as he answered: " There is no question at
all of what I should have done, young man; you have now been made
acquainted with the three causes of complaint against you, I believe?"
" As for the first, my change of rooms, and I now address myself to
you, as a man of honour and of great intelligence, could I, when the
desire of so august a personage was so urgently expressed that I should
move, ought I to have disobeyed ? "
Porthos was about to speak, but Saint-Aignan did not give him time
to answer. " Ah ! my frankness, I see, convinces you," he said, inter-
preting the movement according to his own fancy. " You feel that I
am right."
Porthos did not reply, and so Saint-Aignan continued: " I pass by
that unfortunate trap-door," he said, placing his hand on Porthos' arm,
" that trap-door, the occasion and the means of so much unhappiness,
and which was constructed for—you know what. IVell, then, in plain
truth, do you suppose that it was I who, of my own accord, in such a
place too, had that trap-door made ?—Oh, no ! you do not believe it;
and here, again, you feel, you guess, you understand the influence of
a will superior to my own. You can conceive the infatuation, the
blind, irresistible passion which has been at work. But, thank Heaven!
I am fortunate enough in speaking to a man who has so much sensi-
tiveness of feeling; if it were not so, indeed, what an amount of misery
and scandal would fall upon her, poor girl! and upon him—whom I wilt
not name."
Porthos, confused and bewildered by the eloquence and gestures of
Saint-Aignan, made a thousand efforts to stem this torrent of words, of
which, by the bye, he did not understand a single one; he remained
upright and motionless on his seat, and that was all he could do. Saint-
Aignan continued, and gave a new inflection to his voice, and an increas-
CHANGE OE RESIDENCE, TBAP-DOOR, AND POETEAIT. 253
ing vehemence to his gesture: "As for the portrait, for I readily believe
the portrait is the principal cause of complaint, tell me candidly if you
think me to blame?—Who was it who wished to have her portrait ?
Was it I ?—Who is in love with her P Is it I ?—Who wishes to gain
her affection ? Again, is it I ?—Who took her likeness ? I, do you
think? jSIo ! a thousand times no ! I know M. de Bragelonne must
be in a state of despair; I know these misfortunes are most cruel. But
I, too, am suffering as well; and yet there is no possibility of offering
any resistance. Suppose we were to struggle ? we would be laughed at.
If he obstinately persists in his course, he is lost. You will tell me, I
know, that despair is ridiculous, but then you are a sensible man. You
have understood me. I perceive by your serious, thoughtful, embar-
rassed air, even, that the importance of the situation we are placed
in has not escaped you. Return, therefore, to M. de Bragelonne; thank
him—as I have indeed reason to thank him,—for having chosen as an
intermediary a man of your high merit. Believe me that I shall, on
my side, preserve an eternal gratitude f<m the man who has so inge-
niously, so cleverly arranged the misunderstanding between us. And
since ill luck would have it that the secret should be known to four
instead of to three, why, this secret, which might make the most
ambitious man's fortune, I am delighted to share with you, monsieur,
from the bottom of my heart I am delighted at it. Prom this very
moment you can make use of me as you please, I place myself en-
tirely at your mercy. What can I possibly do for you ? What can I
solicit, nay, require even ? You have only to speak, monsieur, only to
speak."
And, according to the familiarly friendly fashion of that period,
Saint-Aignan threw his arms round Porthos, and clasped him ten-
derly in his embrace. Porthos allowed him to do this with the most
perfect indifference. " Speak," resumed Saint-Aignan, " what do you
require ? "
" Monsieur," said Porthos, " I have a horse below, be good enough to
mount him, he is a very good one and will play you no tricks."
" Mount on horseback! what for ? " inquired Saint-Aignan, with no
little curiosity.
" To accompany me where M. de Bragelonne is awaiting us."
" Ah ! he wishes to speak to me, I suppose ? I can well believe that;
he wishes to have the details, very likely; alas! it is a very delicate
matter; but at the present moment I cannot, for the king is waiting
for me."
" The king must wait, then," said Porthos.
" What do you say ? the king must wait! " interrupted the finished
courtier, with a smile of utter amazement, for he could not understand
that the king could under any circumstances be supposed to have to
wait.
t " It is merely the affair of a very short hour," returned Porthos.
" But where js M. de Bragelonne waiting for me ? "
- " At the Minimes, at Yincennes."
" Ah, indeed! but are we going to laugh over the affair when we get
ttiere ? "
" I don't think it likely," said Porthos, as his face assumed a stern
hardness of expression.
" But the Minimes is a rendezvous where duels take place, and what
can I have to do at the Minimes ? "
Porthos slowly drew his sword, and said: " That is the length of my
friend's sword."
254 THE VICOMTE DE REAGELONNE.
"Why, the man is mad!" cried Saint-Aignan.
The colour mounted to Porthos' face, as he replied: " If I had not the
honour of being in your own apartment, monsieur, and of representing
M. de Bragelonne's interests, I would throw you out of the window.
It will be merely a pleasure postponed, and you will lose nothing by
waiting. Will you come with me to the Minimes, monsieur, of your
own free will ? "
" But "
" Take care, I will carry you if you do not come quietly."
"Basque!" cried Saint-Aignan. _ As soon as Basque appeared, he
said, " The king wishes to see monsieur le comte."
" That is very different," said Porthos; " the king's service before
everything else. We will wait until this evening, monsieur."
And saluting Saint-Aignan with his usual courtesy,. Porthos left the
room, delighted at having arranged another affair. Saint-Aignan looked
after him as he left; and then hastily putting on his coat again, he
ran off, arranging his dresses he went along, muttering to himself,
" The Minimes! the Minimes! We will see how the king will like this
challenge; for it is for him after all, that is certain."
CHAPTER LYI.
Rival Politics.
On his return from the promenade, which had been so prolific in
poetical effusions, and in which every one had paid his or her tribute to
the Muses, as the poets of the period used to say, the king found
M. Pouquet waiting for an audience. M. Colbert had laid in wait for
his majesty in the corridor, and followed him like a jealous and
watchful shadow; M. Colbert, with his square head, his vulgar and
untidy, though rich, costume, somewhat resembled a Flemish gen-
tleman after he had been over-indulging in his national drink—beer.
Pouquet, at the sight of his enemy, remained perfectly unmoved, and
during the whole of the scene which followed scrupulously resolved
to observe that line of conduct which is so difficult to be carried out' by
a man of superior mind, who does not even wish to show his con-
tempt, from the fear of doing his adversary too much honour.
Colbert made no attempt to conceal the insulting expression of the
joy he felt. In his opinion, M. Pouquet's was a game very badly
played and hopelessly lost, although not yet finished. Colbert be-
longed to that school of politicians who think cleverness alone worthy
of their admiration, and success the only thing worth caring for. Col-
bert, moreover, who was not simply an envious and jealous man, but
who had the king's interest really at heart, because he was thoroughly
imbued with the highest sense of probity in all matters of figures and
accounts, could well afford to assign as a pretext for his conduct, that
in hating and doing his utmost to ruin M. Pouquet, he had nothing
in view but the welfare of the state and the dignity of the crown. None
of these details escaped Pouquet's observation; through his enemy's
thick, bushy brows, and despite the restless movement of his eyelids,
he could, by merely looking at his eyes, penetrate to the very bottom of
Colbert's heart, and he read to what an unbounded extent hate towards
himself and triumph at his approaching fall existed there. But, as,
in observing everything, he wished to remain himself impenetrable, he
RIVAL POLITICS. 255
composed his features, smiled with that charmingly sympathetic smile
which was peculiarly his own, and saluted the king with the most
dignified and graceful ease and elasticity of manner. " Sire," he said,
" I perceive by your majesty's joyous air that you have been gratified
with the promenade."
"Most gratified, indeed, monsieur le surintendant, most gratified.
You were very wrong not to come with us, as I invited you to do."
" I was working, sire," replied the surintendant, who did not even
seem to take the trouble to turn aside his head even in the merest
recognition of Colbert's presence.
"Ah! M. Fouquet," cried the king, "there is nothing like the
country. I should be very delighted to live in the country always, in the
open air and under the trees."
" I should hope that your majesty is ndt yet weary of the throne," said
Fouquet.
" No; but thrones of soft turf are very delightful."
" Your majesty gratifies my utmost wishes in speaking in that manner,
for I have a request to submit to you."
" On whose behalf, monsieur ?"
" On behalf of the nymphs of Yaux, sire."
" Ah! ah!" said Louis XIY.
"Your majesty, too, once deigned to make me a promise," said
Fouquet.
" Yes, I remember it."
"The fete at Yaux, the celebrated fete, I think, it was, sire," said
Colbert, endeavouring to show his importance by taking part in the
conversation.
Fouquet, with the profoundest contempt, did not take the slightest
notice of the remark, as if, as far as he was concerned, Colbert had not
even thought or said a word.
" Your majesty is aware," he said, " that I destine my estate at
Yaux to receive the most amiable of princes, the most powerful of
monarchs."
" I have given you my promise, monsieur," said Louis XIY., smiling;
" and a king never departs from his word."
" And I have come now, sire, to inform your majesty that I am
ready to obey your orders in every respect."
"Do you promise me many wonders, monsieur le surintendant?"
said Louis, looking at Colbert.
"Wonders? Oh! no, sire. I do not undertake that; I hope to be
able to procure your majesty a little pleasure, perhaps even a little
forgetfulness of the cares of state."
" Nay, nay, M. Fouquet," returned the king; " I insist upon the
word ' wonders.' You are a magician, I believe; we all know the
power you wield; we also know that you can find gold even when there
is none to be found elsewhere; so much so, indeed, that the people
Say you coin it."
Fouquet felt that the shot was discharged from a double quiver, and
that the king had launched an arrow from his own bow as well as one
from Colbert's. " Oh!" said he, laughingly, " the people know per-
fectly well out of what mine I procure the gold; and they know it
only too well, perhaps; besides," he added, " I can assure your majesty
that the gold destined to pay the expenses of the fete at Vaux will cost
neither blood nor tears; hard labour it may, perhaps, but that can be
paid for."
Louis paused quite confused. He wished to look at Colbert; Colbert
256 THE VICOMTE HE BEAGELONKE.
too, wished to reply to him ; a glance as swift as an eagle's, a proud,
loyal, king-like glance, indeed, which Fouquet daited at the latter,
arrested the words upon his lips. The king, who had by this time
recovered his self-possession, turned towards Fouquet, saying, '"'I
presume, therefore, I am now to consider myself formally invited ? "
" Yes, sire, if your majesty will condescend so far as to accept my
invitation."
" What day have you fixed ?"
" Any day your majesty may find most convenient."
"You speak like an enchanter who has but to conjure up the wildest
fancies, Monsieur Fouquet. I could not say so much, indeed."
"Your majesty will do, whenever you please, everything that a
monarch can and ought to do. The king of France has servants at his
bidding who are able to do anything on his behalf, to accomplish every-
thing to gratify his pleasures."
Colbert tried to look at the surintendant, in order to see whether
this remark was an approach to less hostile sentiments on his part;
but Fouquet had not even looked at his enemy, and Colbert hardly
seemed to exist as far as he was concerned, "very good, then," said
the king. " Will a week hence suit you ? "
" Perfectly well, sire."
"This is Tuesday; if I give you until next Sunday we^k, will that
be sufficient?"
"The delay which your majesty deigns to accord me vill greatly
aid the various works which my architects have in hand fir the pur-
pose of adding to the amusement of your majesty and your friends."
" By the bye, speaking of my friends," resumed the king; " how do
you intend to treat them ?"
" The king is master everywhere, sire; your majesty will draw up
your own list and give your own orders. All those you may deign to
invite will be my guests, my honoured guests indeed."
"I thank you!" returned the king, touched by the noble thought
expressed in so noble a tone.
Fouquet, therefore, took leave of Louis XIY., after a few wcrds had
been added with regard to the details of certain matters of business.
He felt that Colbert would remain behind with the king, that they
would both converse about him, and that neither of them would spare
him in the least degree. The satisfaction of being able to give a last
and terrible blow to his enemy seemed to him almost like a ->om-
pensation for everything they were about to subject him to. He
turned back again immediately, as soon indeed as he had reached vhe
door, and addressing the king, said, "I was forgetting that I had co
crave your majesty's forgiveness."
" In what respect ? " said the king, graciously.
" For having committed a serious fault without perceiving it."
"A fault! You! Ah ! Monsieur Fouquet, 1 shall be unable to
do otherwise than forgive you. In what way or against whom have
you been found wanting ?"
"Against every sense of propriety, sire. I forgot to inform your
majesty of a circumstance that has lately occurred of some little
importance." " What is it ? "
Colbert trembled, he fancied that he was about to frame a denuncia-
tion against him. His conduct had been unmasked. A single syllable
from Fouquet, a single proof formally advanced, and before the
youthful loyalty of feeling which guided Louis XIV., Colbert's favour
would disappear at once; the latter trembled, therefore, lest so daring
rival affections. 257
a blow might not overthrow his whole scaffold; in point of fact, the oppor-
tunity was so admirably suited to be taken advantage of, that a skiL
ful, practised player like Aramis would not have let it slip. " Sire,"
said Fouquet, with an easy, unconcerned air, " since you have had
the kindness to forgive me, I am perfectly indifferent about my
confession; this morning I sold one of the official appointments I
hold."
" One of your appointments," said the king, " which ?"
Colbert turned perfectly livid. " That which conferred upon me,
sire, a grand gown and a stern air of gravity; the appointment or
procureur-general."
The king involuntarily uttered a loud exclamation and looked at
Colbert, who, with his face bedewed with perspiration, felt almost on
the point of fainting. " To whom have you sold this appointment,
Monsieur Fouquet?" inquired the king.
Colbert was obliged to lean against the side of the fire-place. " To a
councillor belonging to the parliament, sire, whose name is Yanel."
" Vanel ?"
" Yes, sire, a friend of the intendant Colbert," added Fouquet; letting
every word fall from his lips with the most inimitable nonchalance, and
with an admirably assumed expression of forgetfulness and ignorance.
And having finished, and having overwhelmed Colbert beneath the
weight of this superiority, the surintendant again saluted the king
and quitted the room, partially revenged by the stupefaction of the king
and the humiliation of the favourite.
" Is it really possible " said the king, as soon as Fouquet had disap-
peared, " that he has sold that office ?"
" Yes, sire," said Colbert, meaningly.
" He must be mad," the king added.
Colbert this time did not reply; he had penetrated the king's thought,
a thought which amply revenged him for the humiliation he had just
been made to suffer; his hatred was augmented by a feeling of bitter
jealousy of Fouquet; and a threat of disgrace was now added to the plan
he had arranged for his ruin. Colbert felt perfectly assured that for the
future, between Louis XIV. and himself, their hostile feelings and ideas
would meet with no obstacles, and that at the first fault committed by
Fouquet, which could be laid hold of as a pretext, the chastisement
impending over him would be precipitated. Fouquet had thrown aside
his weapons of defence, and hate and jealousy had picked them up.
Colbert was invited by the king to the fete at Vaux; he bowed like a
man confident in himself, and accepted the invitation with the air of
one who almost confers a favour. The king was about writing down
Saint-Aignan's name on his list of reyal commands, when the usher
announced the Comte de Saint-Aignan; as soon as the royal" Mercury "
entered, Colbert discreetly withdrew.
CHAPTER LVII.
Rival Affections.
Saint-Aignan had quitted Louis XIV. hardly a couple of hours be-
fore; but in the first effervescence of his affection, whenever Louis XIV.
did not see La Valliere, he was obliged to talk of her. Besides, the
vol, is. s
258 THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
only person with whom he could speak about her at his ease was Saint-
Aignan, and Saint-Aignan had, therefore, become indispensable to him.
" Ah! is that you, comte ? " he exclaimed, as soon as he perceived him,
doubly delighted, not only to see him again, but also to get rid of Col-
bert, whose scowling face always put him out of humour. " So much
the better, I am very glad to see you; you will make one of the tra-
veiling party, I suppose ?"
, "Of what travelling party are you speaking, sire?" inquired Saint-
Aignan.
" The one we are making up to go to the fete the surintendant is
about to give at Vaux. Ah! Saint-Aignan, you will, at last, see a fete,
a royal fete, by the side of which all our amusements at Fontainebleau
are petty, contemptible affairs."
" At Vaux! the surintendant going to give a fete in your majesty's
honour ? Nothing more than that!"
"' Nothing more than that,' do you say! It is very diverting to find
you treating it with so much disdain. Are you, who express such an
indifference on the subject, aware, that as soon as it is known that M.
Fouquet is going to receive me at Vaux next Sunday week, people will
be striving their very utmost to get invited to the fete. I repeat, Saint-
Aignan, you shall be one of the invited guests."
"Very well, sire; unless I shall not in the mean time, have under-
taken a longer and less agreeable journey."
" What journey do you allude to ?"
" The one across the Styx, sire."
"'Bah !" said Louis XIV. laughing.
" No, seriously, sire," replied Saint-Aignan, " I am invited there;
and in such a way, in truth, that I hardly know what to say, or how to
act, in order to refuse it."
" I do not understand you. I know that you are in a poetical vein;
but try not to sink from Apollo to Phoebus."
" Very well; if your majesty will deign to listen to me, I will not put
your mind on the rack any longer."
"Speak." "Your majesty knows the Baron du Vallon ?"
" Yes, indeed; a good servant to my father, the late king, and an
admirable companion at table; for, I think, you are referring to the
one who dined with us at Fontainebleau ?"
" Precisely so; but you have omitted to add to his other qualifications,
sire, that he is a most charming killer of other people."
" What! Does M. du Vallon -wish to kill you ?"
" Or to get me killed, which is the same thing." " The deuce!"
"Do not laugh, sire, for I am. not saying a word that is not the
exact truth."
" And you say he wishes to get you killed."
" That is that excellent person's present idea."
" Be easy; I will defend you, if he be in the wrong."
" Ah ! There is an ' if!'"
"Of course; answer me as candidly as if it were some one else's
affair instead of your own, my poor Saint-Aignan; is he right or
wrong?" " Your majesty shall be the judge."
"What have you done to him ?"
" To him, personally, nothing at all; but, it seems, I have to one of
his friends."
" It is all the same. Is his friend one of the celebrated ' four ?'»
" No ! It is the son of one of the celebrated ' four' instead."
" What have you done to the son ? Come, tell me.3'
KIVAL AFFECTIONS. 259
"Why, it seems I have helped some one to take his mistress from
him."
" You confess it, then ?" " I cannot help confessing it, for it is true."
" In that case, you are wrong; and if he were to kill you, he would be
acting perfectly right."
"Ah! that is your majesty's way of reasoning, then! "
" Do you think it a bad way ? "
" It is a very expeditious way, at all events."
"' Good justice is promptso my grandfather, Henry IV. used to say."
"In that case, your majesty will, perhaps, be good enough to sign my
adversary's pardon, for he is now waiting for me at the Minimes, for
the purpose of putting me out of my misery."
" His name, and a parchment!"
" There is a parchment upon your majesty's table; and as for his
name "
" Well, what is it ?" " The Yicomte de Bragelonne, sire."
"' The Vicomte de Bragelonne!'" exclaimed the king; changing from
a fit of laughter, to the most profound stupor; and then, after a mo-
ment's silence, while he wiped his forehead, which was bedewed with
perspiration, he again murmured, " Bragelonne !"
"No other than he, sire."
" Bragelonne, who was affianced to " "Yes, sire."
" He was in London, however."
"Yes; but I can assure you, sire, he is there no longer."
" Is he in Paris, then ?"
"-He is at the Minimes, sire, where he is waiting for me, as I have
already had the honour of telling you."
" Does he know all ?"
" Yes; and many things besides. Perhaps your majesty would like to
look at the letter I have received from him;" and Saint-Aignan drew
from his pocket the note which we are already acquainted with.
"When your majesty has read the letter, I will tell you how it
reached me."
The king read it in great agitation, and immediately said, " Well?"
"Well, sire; your majesty knows a certain carved lock, closing a
certain door of ebony-wood, which separates a certain apartmeut from
a certain blue and white sanctuary ?"
-" Of course; Louise's boudoir."
" Yes, sire. Well, it was in the key-hole of that lock that I found
that note."
" Who placed it there ?"
" Either M. de Bragelonne, or the devil himself; but, inasmuch as
the note smells of amber and not of sulphur, I conclude that it must
be, not the devil, but M. de Bragelonne."
Louis bent down his head, and seemed absorbed in sad and melan-
choly reflections. Perhaps something like remorse was at that mo-
ment pas'sing through his heart. " The secret is discovered," he said.
" Sire, I shall do my utmost, that the secret dies in the breast of the
man who possesses it," said Saint-Aignan, in a tone of'bravado, as he
moved towards the door; but a gesture of the king made him pause.
" Where are you going ? " he inquired.
" Where I am waited for, sire."
" What for ?" " To fight, in all probability."
"You fight!" exclaimed the king. "One moment, if you please,
monsieur le comte !"
Saint-Aignan shook his head, as a rebellious child does, whenever any
o O
260 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
one interferes to prevent him throwing himself into a well, or playing
with a knife. " But yet, sire," he said.
" In the first place," continued the king, " I require to be enlightened
a little."
"Upon that point, if your majesty will be pleased to interrogate me,"
replied Saint-Aignan, " I will throw what light I can."
Who told you that M. de Bragelonne had penetrated into that
room ?"
" The letter which I found in the keyhole told me so."
" Who told you that it was de Bragelonne who put it there ?"
" Who but himself would have dared to undertake such a mission ? "
" You are right. How was he able to get into your rooms ?"
" Ah ! that is very serious, inasmuch as all the doors were closed, and
my lackey, Basque, had the keys in his pocket."
" Your lackey must have been bribed."
" Impossible, sire; for if he had been bribed, those who did so would
not have sacrificed the poor fellow, whom, it is not unlikely, they might
want to turn to further use by-and-by, in showing so clearly that it
was he whom they had made use of."
" Quite true. And now I can only form one conjecture."
" Tell me what it is, sire, and we shall see if it is the same that has
presented itself to my mind."
" That he effected an entrance by means of the staircase."
" Alas, sire, that seems to me more than probable."
" There is no doubt that some one must have sold the secret of the
trap-door."
" Either sold it or given it."
" Why do you make that distinction ?"
" Because there are certain persons, sire, who, being above the price
of a treason, give, and do not sell."
"What do you mean ?"
" Oh, sire! Your majesty's mind is too clear-sighted not to guess
what I mean, and you will save me the embarrassment of naming the
person I allude to."
" You are right: you mean Madame ! I suppose her suspicions were
aroused by your changing your lodgings."
" Madame has keys of the apartments of her maids of honour, and
she is powerful enough to discover what no one but yourself could do,
or she would not be able to discover anything."
" And you suppose, then, that my sister must have entered ihto an
alliance with Bragelonne, and has informed him of all the details of the
affair ?"
" Perhaps even better still, for she perhaps accompanied him there."
" Which way ? through your own apartments ?"
"You think it impossible, sire ? Well, listen to me. Your majesty
knows that Madame is very fond of perfumes P "
" Yes, she acquired that taste from my mother."
" Vervain particularly."
"Yes, it is the scent she prefers to all others."
"Very good, sire ! my apartments happen to smell very strongly of
vervain."
The king remained silent and thoughtful for a few moments, and
then resumed: "But why should Madame take Bragelonne's part
against me ?"
Saint-Aignan could very easily have replied: "A woman's jealousy!"
The king probed his friend to the bottom of his heart to ascertain if he
RIVAL AFFECTIONS. 261
had learnt the secret of his flirtation with his sister-in-law. But Saint-
Aignan was not an ordinary courtier; he did not lightly run the risk
of finding out family secrets; and he was too good a friend of the Muses
not to think very frequently of poor Ovidius Naso, whose eyes shed so
many tears in expiation of his crime for having once beheld something,
one hardly knows what, in the palace of Augustus. He therefore
passed by Madame's secret very skilfully. But as he had shown no
ordinary sagacity in indicating Madame's presence in his rooms in
company with Bragelonne, it was necessary, of course, for him to repay
with interest the king's amour propre, and reply plainly to the ques-
tion which had been put to him of: " Why has Madame taken Brage-
lonne's part against me?"
"Why?" replied Saint-Aignan. "Your majesty forgets, I presume,
that the Comte de Guiche is the intimate friend of the Yicomte de
Bragelonne ?"
" I do not see the connection, however," said the king.
" Ah! I beg your pardon then, sire; but I thought the Comte de
Guiche was a very great friend of Madame's."
" Quite true," the king returned; " there is no occasion to search any
further, the blow came from that direction."
" And is not your majesty of opinion that, in order to ward it off, it
will be necessary to deal another blow ?"
"Yes, but not one of the kind given in the Bois de Vincennes,"
replied the king.
"You forget, sire," said Saint-Aignan, " that I am a gentleman, and
that I have been challenged."
" The challenge neither concerns nor was it intended for you."
" But it is I who have been expected at the Minimes, sire, during
the last hour and more: and I shall be dishonoured if I do not go
there."
"The first honour and duty of a gentleman, is obedience to his
sovereign."
" Sire!" " I order you to remain."
" Sire !" " Obey, monsieur !"
" As your majesty pleases."
" Besides, I wish to have the whole of this affair explained; I wish to
know how it is that I have been so insolently trifled with, as to have
the sanctuary of my affections pried into. It is not you, Saint-Aignan,
who ought to punish those who have acted in this manner, for it is not
your honour they have attacked, but my own."
"I implore your majesty not to overwhelm M. de Bragelonne with
your wrath, for although in the whole of this affair he may have shown
himself deficient in prudence, he has not been so in his feelings of
loyalty."
"Enough! I shall know how to decide between the just and the
unjust, even in the height of my anger. But take care that not a word
of this is breathed to Madame."
" But what am I to do with regard to M. de Bragelonne ? He will
be seeking me in every direction, and "
"I shall either have spoken to him, or taken care that he has been
spoken to, before the evening is over."
"Let me once more entreat your majesty to be indulgent towards
him."
"I have been indulgent long enough, comte," said Louis XIV.,
frowning severely; " it is now quite time to show certain persons that I
am master in my own palace."
262 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
The king had hardly pronounced these words, which betokened that
a fresh feeling of dissatisfaction was mingled with the remembrance
of an old one, when the usher appeared at the door of the cabinet.
" What is the matter ?" inquired the king, " and why do you presume
to come when I have not summoned you ?"
" Sire," said the usher, " your majesty desired me to permit M. le
Comte de la Fere to pass freely on any and every occasion, when he
might wish to speak to your majesty."
"Well, monsieur ?" "M. le Comte de la Fere is now waiting to
see your majesty."
The king and Saint-Aignan at this reply exchanged a look which
betrayed more uneasiness than surprise. Louis hesitated for a moment,
but, immediately afterwards, seeming to make up his mind, he said,—
" Go, Saint-Aignan, and find Louise; inform her of the plot against
us; do not let her be ignorant that Madame will return to her system
of persecutions against her, and that she has set those to work for whom
it would have been far better to have remained neuter." " Sire "
" If Louise gets nervous and frightened, reassure her as much as you
can; tell her that the king's affection is an impenetrable shield over
her; if, which I suspect is the case, she already knows everything, or if she
has already been herself subjected to an attack of some kind or other
from any quarter, tell her, be sure to tell her, Saint-Aignan," added the
king, trembling with passion, "tell her, I say, that this time, instead of
defending her, I will avenge her, and that too so terribly that no one
will in future even dare to raise his eyes towards her."
" Is that all, sire ? "
"Yes, all. Go as quickly as you can, and remain faithful; for you
who live in the midst of this state of infernal torments have not, like
myself, the hope of the paradise beyond it."
Saint-Aignan exhausted himself almost in protestations of devo-
tion, took the king's hand, kissed it, and left the room radiant with
delight.
CHAPTEB LVIII.
King and Nobility.
The king endeavoured to recover his self-possession as quickly as
possible, in order to meet M. de la Fere with an undisturbed counte-
nance. He clearly saw it was not mere chance that had induced the
comte's visit, he had some vague impression of its importance; but he
felt that to a man of Athos's tone of mind, to one of his high order of
intellect, his first reception ought not to present anything either disagree-
able or otherwise than kind and courteous. As soon as the king had
satisfied himself that, as far as appearances were concerned, he was per-
fectly calm again, he gave directions to the ushers to introduce the
comte. A few minutes afterwards Athos, in full court dress, and with
his breast covered with the orders that he alone had the right to wear
at the court of France, presented himself with so grave and solemn an
air that the king perceived, at the first glance, that he was not deceived
in his anticipations. Louis advanced a step towards the comte, and,
with a smile, held out his hand to him, over which Athos bowed with the
air of the deepest respect.
" Monsieur le comte de la Fere," said the king rapidly, " you are so
seldom here, that it is a real piece of good fortune to see you."
KING AND NOBILITY. 263
Athos bowed and replied, " I should wish always to enjoy the happi-
ness of being near your majesty."
The tone, however, in which this reply was conveyed, evidently
signified, " I should wish to be one of your majesty's advisers, to save
you the commission of faults." The king felt it so, and determined
in this man's presence to preserve all the advantages which could be
derived from his command over himself, as well as from his rank and
position.
" I see you have something to say to me," he said.
" Had it not been so, I should not have presumed to present myself
before your majesty."
" Speak quickly, I am anxious to satisfy you," returned the king,
seating himself.
" I am persuaded," replied Athos, in a slightly agitated tone of voice,
" that your majesty will give me every satisfaction."
"Ah!"said the king, with a certain haughtiness of manner, "you
have come to lodge a complaint here, then."
" It would be a complaint," returned Athos, " only in the event of
your majesty but if you will deign to permit me, sire, I will repeat
the conversation from the very commencement."
" Do so, I am listening."
"Your majesty will remember that at the period of the duke of
Buckingham's departure, I had the honour of an interview with you."
" At or about that period, I think I remember you did; only with
regard to the subject of the conversation, I have quite forgotten it."
Athos started, as he replied, " I shall have the honour to remind your
majesty of it. It was with regard to a formal demand I had addressed
to you respecting a marriage which M. de Bragelonne wished to con-
tract with Mademoiselle de la Yalliere."
" Ah!" thought the king, "we have come to it now. I remember,"
he said, aloud.
" At that period," pursued Athos," your majesty was so kind and
generous towards M. de Bragelonne and myself, that not a single word
which then fell from your lips has escaped my memory; and, when I
asked your majesty to accord me Mademoiselle de la Yalliere's hand for
M. de Bragelonne, you refused."
" Quite true," said Louis, drily.
"Alleging," Athos hastened to say, "that the young lady had no
position in society." Louis could hardly force himself to listen patiently.
" That," added Athos, "she had but little fortune." The king threw
himself back in his arm-chair.
" That her extraction was indifferent." A renewed impatience on
the part of the king.
" And little beauty," added Athos, pitilessly. This last bolt buried
itself deep in the king's heart, and made him almost bound from his
seat.
" You have a good memory, monsieur," he said.
" I invariably have, on all occasions when I have had the distin-
guished honour of an interview with your majesty," retorted the comte,
without being in the least disconcerted.
" Yery good; it is admitted I said all that."
"And I thanked your majesty for your remarks at the time, be-
cause they testified an interest in M. de Bragelonne, which did him
much honour."
" And you may possibly remember," said the king, very deliberately.
" that you had the greatest repugnance for this marriage."
264 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Quite true, sire."
" And that you solicited my permission, much against your own
inclination ? " " Yes, sire."
' " And, finally, I remember, for I have a memory nearly as good as
your own ; I remember, I say, that you observed at the time: {I do not
believe that Mademoiselle de la Valliere loves M. de Bragelonne.' Is
that true ? "
The blow told well, but Athos did not draw back. " Sire," he said,
" I have already begged your majesty's forgiveness; but there are cer-
tain particulars in that conversation which are only intelligible from
the denouement."
" Well, what is the denouement, monsieur ? "
" This: your majesty then said,' that you would defer the marriage
out of regard for M. de Bragelonne's own interests.'"
The king remained silent. " M. de Bragelonne is now so exceedingly
unhappy that he cannot any longer defer asking your majesty for a
solution of the matter."
The king turned pale; Athos looked at him with fixed attention.
" And what," said the king, with considerable hesitation, " does M. de
Bragelonne request ? "
"Precisely the very thing that I came to ask your majesty for at my
last audience, namely, your majesty's consent to his marriage."
The king remained perfectly silent. " The questions which referred
to the different obstacles in the way are all now quite removed for us,"
continued Athos. " Mademoiselle de la Valliere, without fortune, birth,
or beauty, is not the less on that account the only good match in the
world for M. de Bragelonne, since he loves this young girl."
The king pressed his hands impatiently together. "Does your majesty
hesitate ?" inquired the comte, without losing a particle either of his
firmness or his politeness.
" I do not hesitate—I refuse," replied the king.
Athos paused a moment, as if to collect himself: " I have had the
honour," he said, in a mild tone, " to observe to your majesty that no
obstacle now interferes with M. de Bragelonne's affections, and that his
determination seems unalterable."
" There is my will—and that is an obstacle, I should imagine!"
" That is the most serious of all," Athos replied quickly.
" Ah!"
" And may we, therefore, be permitted to ask your majesty, with the
greatest humility, for your reason for this refusal P "
" The reason!—A question to me !" exclaimed the king.
" A demand, sire!"
The king, leaning with both his hands upon the table, said, in a deep
tone of concentrated passion: " You have lost all recollection of what is
usual at court. At court, please to remember, no one ventures to put a
question to the king."
" Very true, sire; but if men do not question they conjecture."
" Conjecture! What may that mean, monsieur ? "
"Very frequently, sire, conjecture with regard to a particular subject
implies a want of frankness on the part of the king "
" Monsieur!"
"And a want of confidence on the part of the subject," pursued
Athos, intrepidly.
"You are forgetting yourself," said the king, hurried away by his
anger in spite of his control over himself.
" Sire, I am obliged to seek elsewhere for what I thought I should find
SING AND NOBILITY. 2<&
m your majesty. Instead of obtaining a reply from you, I am com-
pelled to make one for myself."
The king rose. " Monsieur le comte," he said, " I have now given
you all the time I had at my disposal." This was a dismissal.
" Sire," replied the comte, " I have not yet had time to tell your
majesty what I came with the express object of saying, and I so rarely
see your majesty that I ought to avail myself of the opportunity."
" Just now you spoke of conjectures; you are now becoming offensive,
monsieur."
" Oh, sire ! offend your majesty! I ?—Never ! All my life through
have I maintained that kings are above all other men, not only from their
rank and power, but from their nobleness of heart and their true dig-
nity of mind. I never can bring myself to believe that my sovereign,
he who passed his word to me, did so with a mental reservation."
" "What do you mean ? What mental reservation do you allude to ? "
" I will explain my meaning," said Athos, coldly. " If, in refusing
Mademoiselle de la Yalliere to M. de' Bragelonne, your majesty had
some other object in view than the happiness and fortune of the
vicomte "
"You perceive, monsieur, that you are offending me."
" If in requiring the vicomte to delay his marriage, your majesty's
only object was to remove the gentleman to whom Mademoiselle de la
Yalliere was engaged "
" Monsieur! monsieur ! "
" I have heard it said so in every direction, sire. Your majesty's
affection for Mademoiselle de la Yalliere is spoken of on all sides."
The king tore his gloves, which he had been biting for some time.
" Woe to those," he cried, "who interfere in my affairs. I have made
up my mind to take a particular course, and I will break through every
•obstacle in my way."
" What obstacle ? " said Athos.
The king stopped short, like a horse which having taken the bit be-
tween his teeth and run away, finds it had slipped back again, and that
his career was checked. " I love Mademoiselle de la Yalliere," he said,
suddenly, with mingled nobleness of feeling and passion.
"But," interrupted Athos, "that does not preclude your majesty
from allowing M. de Bragelonne to marry Mademoiselle de la Yalliere.
The sacrifice is worthy of so great a monarch; it is fully merited by
M. de Bragelonne, who has already rendered great service to your
majesty, and who may well be regarded as a brave and worthy man.
Your majesty, therefore, in renouncing the affection you entertain,
offers a proof at once of generosity, gratitude, and good policy."
"Mademoiselle de la Yalliere does not love M. de Bragelonne," said
the king, hoarsely.
" Does your majesty know that to be the case ?" remarked Athos, with
a searching look.
" I do know it."
"Since a very short time, then; for, doubtlessly,"had your majesty
known it when I first preferred my request, you would have taken the
trouble to inform me of it."
" Since a very short time, truly, monsieur."
Athos remained silent for a moment, and then resumed: " In that
■case, I do not understand why your majesty should have sent M. de
Bragelonne to London. That exile, and most properly so too, is a
matter of astonishment to every one who regards your majesty's honour
with sincere affection."
266 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONHE.
" Who presumes to speak of my honour, Monsieur de la Fere ? "
" The king's honour, sire, is made up of the honour of his whole nobi-
lity. Whenever the king offends one of his gentlemen, that is, when-
ever he deprives him of the smallest particle of his honour, it is from
him, from the king himself, that that portion of honour is stolen."
" Monsieur de la Fere !" said the king, haughtily.
" Sire, you sent M. de Bragelonne to Londoir either before you were
Mademoiselle de la Valliere's lover, or since you have become so."
The king, irritated beyond measure, especially because he felt that
he was mastered, endeavoured to dismiss Athos by a gesture.
" Sire," replied the comte, " I will tell you all; I will not leave your
presence until I have been satisfied either by your majesty or by my-
self; satisfied, if you prove to me that you are right,—satisfied, if I
prove to you that you are wrong. Nay, sire, you cannot but listen to
me. I am old now, and I am attached to everything that is really
great and really powerful in your kingdom. I am a gentleman who shed
my blood for your father and for yourself, without ever having asked
a single favour either from yourself or from your father. I have never
inflicted the slightest wrong or injury on any one in this world, and
kings even are still my debtors. You cannot but listen to me, I repeat.
I have come to ask you for an account of the honour of one of your
servants whom you. have deceived by a falsehood, or betrayed by a want
of heart or judgment. I know that these words irritate your majesty,
but the facts themselves are killing us. I know you are endeavouring
to find some means whereby to chastise me for my frankness; but I
know also the chastisement I will implore God to inflict upon you
when I relate to Him your perjury and my son's unhappiness."
The king during these remarks was walking hurriedly to and fro,
his hand thrust into the breast of his coat, his head haughtily raised,
his eyes blazing with wrath. " Monsieur," he cried, suddenly, " if I
acted towards you as the king, you would be already punished; but I
am only a man, and I have the right to love in this world every one
who loves me,—a happiness which is so rarely found."
" You cannot pretend to such a right as a man any more than as a
king, sire; or if you intended to exercise that right in a loyal manner,
you should have told M. de Bragelonne so, and not have exiled him."
"I think I am condescending in discussing with you, monsieur!"
interrupted Louis XIV., with that majesty of air and manner which
he alone seemed able to give to his look and his voice.
" I was hoping that you would reply to me," said the comte.
" You shall know my reply, monsieur."
" You already know my thoughts on the subject," was the Comte de
la Fere's answer.
" You have forgotten you are speaking to the king, monsieur. It is
a crime."
" You have forgotten you are destroying the lives of two men, sire.
It is a mortal sin.
" Leave the room."
"Not until I have said this: 'Son of Louis XIII. you begin your
reign badly, for you b§gin it by abduction and disloyalty! My race—
myself too—are now freed from all that affection and respect towards
you, which I made my son swear to observe in the vaults of Saint-
Denis, in the presence of the relics of your noble forefathers. You are
now become our enemy, sire, and henceforth we have nothing to do
save with Heaven alone, our sole master. Be warned.'"
" Do you threaten ?"
aftee the stoem. 267
" Oh, no," said Atlios, sadly, " I have as little bravado as fear in my
eoul. The God of whom I spoke to you is now listening to me; He
knows that for the safety and honour of your crown I would even yet
shed every drop of blood which twenty years of civil and foreign warfare
have left in my veins. I can well say, then, that I threaten the king
as little as I threaten the man; but I tell you, sire, you lose two ser-
vants; for you have destroyed faith in the heart of the father, and
love in the heart of the son; the one ceases to believe in the royal word,
the other no longer believes in the loyalty of man, or the purity of
woman: the one is dead to every feeling of respect, the other to obe-
dience. Adieu!"
Thus saying, Athos broke his sword across his knee, slowly placed the
two pieces upon the floor, and saluting the king, who was almost
choking from rage and shame, he quitted the cabinet. Louis, who sat
near the table, completely overwhelmed, was several minutes before he
could collect himself; but he suddenly rose and rang the bell violently -
" Tell M. d'Artagnan to come here," he said to the terrified ushers.
CHAPTER LIX.
After the Storm.
Oue readers will doubtlessly have been asking themselves how it
happened that Athos, of whom not a word has been said for some time
past, arrived so very opportunely at court. We will, without delay,
endeavour to satisfy their curiosity.
Porthos, faithful to his duty as an arranger of affairs, had, immedi-
ately after leaving the Palais-Eoyal set off to join Raoul at the Mi-
nimes in the Bois de Yincennes, and had related everything, even to the
smallest details, which had passed between Saint-Aignan and himself.
He finished by saying that the message which the king had sent to
his favourite would not probably occasion more than a short delay,
and that Saint-Aignan, as soon as he could leave the king, would not
lose a moment in accepting the invitation which Raoul had sent him.
But Raoul, less credulous than his old friend, had concluded from
Porthos's recital, that if Saint-Aignan was going to the king, Saint-
Aignan would tell the king everything; and that the king would, there-
fore, forbid Saint-Aignan to obey the summons he had received to the
hostile meeting. The consequence of his reflections was, that he had
left Porthos to remain at the place appointed for the meeting, in the
very improbable case that Saint-Aignan would come there; and had
endeavoured to make Porthos promise that he would not remain there
more than an hour or an hour and a half at the very longest. Porthos,
however, formally refused to do anything of the kind, but, on the con-
trary, installed himself in the Minimes as if he were going to take root
there, making Raoul promise that when he had been to see his father,
he would return to his own apartments, in order that Porthos's servant
might know where to find him, in case M. de Saint-Aignan should hap-
pen to come to the rendezvous.
Bragelonne had left Yincennes, and had proceeded at once straight
to the apartments of Athos, who had been in Paris during the last two
days, the comte having been already informed of what had taken place,
by a letter from d'Artagnan. Raoul arrived at his father's; Athos,
MS THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
after having held out his hand to him, and embraced him most aflec-
tionately, made a sign for him to sit down.
" I know you come to me as a man would go to a friend, vicomte,
whenever he is suffering; tell me, therefore, what it is that brings you
now."
The young man bowed, and began his recital; more than once in the
course of it his tears almost choked his utterance, and a sob, checked
in his throat, compelled him to suspend his narrative for a few minutes.
However, he finished at last. Athos most probably already knew how
matters stood, as we have just now said that d'Artagnan had alreajy
written to him; but, preserving until the conclusion that calm, unruf-
fled composure of manner which constituted the almost superhuman
side of his character, he replied " Eaoul, I do not believe there is a
word of truth in the rumours; I do not believe in the existence of
what you fear, although I do not deny that persons most entitled to the
fullest credit have already conversed with me on the subject. In my
heart and soul I think it utterly impossible that the king could be
guilty of such an outrage upon a gentleman. I will answer for the
king, therefore, and will soon bring you back the proof of what I say."
Eaoul, wavering like a drunken man between what he had seen with
his own eyes and the imperturbable faith he had in a man who had
never told a falsehood, bowed, and simply answered, " Go, then, mon-
sieur le comte; I will await your return." And he sat down, burying
his face in his hands. Athos dressed, and then left him, in order to
wait upon the king; the result of that interview is already known to
our readers.
When he returned to his lodgings, Eaoul, pale and dejected, had not
quitted his attitude of despair. At the sound, however, of the opening
doors, and of his father's footsteps as he approached him, the young
man raised his head. Athos's face was very pale, his head uncovered,
ind his manner full of seriousness; he gave his cloak and hat to the
lackey, dismissed him with a gesture, and sat down near Eaoul.
" Well, monsieur," inquired the young man, " are you quite con-
vinced now ? "
" I am, Eaoul; the king loves Mademoiselle de la Yalliere."
" He confesses it, then ? " cried Eaoul.
" Yes," replied Athos.
" And she ? "
" 1 have not seen her."
" No; but the king spoke to you about her. What did he say ? "
" He says that she loves him."
" Oh, you see—you see, monsieur !" said the young man, with a ges-
tureof despair.
" Eaoul," resumed the comte, " I told the king, believe me, all that
you yourself could possibly have said; and I believe I did so in be-
coming language, though sufficiently firm."
" And what did you say to him, monsieur ? "
" I told him, Eaoul, that everything was now at an end between him
and ourselves; that you would never serve him again. I told him that
I, too, should remain aloof. Nothing further remains for me, then, but
to be satisfied of one thing."
" What is that, monsieur ? "
" Whether you have determined to adopt any steps."
" Any steps ? Eegardin g what ? "
" With reference to your disappointed affection, and to your ideas
of vengeance."
•A.FTEB THE STOEM. 269-
" Oh, monsieur, with regard to my affection, I shall, perhaps, some
day or other, succeed in tearing it from my heart; I trust I shall do so,
aided by Heaven's merciful help, and your wise exhortations. As far
as vengeance is concerned, it occurred to me only when under the influ-
ence of an evil thought, for I could not revenge myself upon the one
who is actually guilty; I have, therefore, already renounced every idea
of revenge."
" And so you no longer think of seeking a quarrel with M. de Saint-
Aignan ? "
"No, monsieur; I sent him a challenge; if M. de Saint-Aignan
accepts it, I will maintain it; if he does not take it up, I will leave it
where it is."
" And La Valliere ? "
" You cannot, I know, have seriously thought that I should dream of
revenging myself upon a woman ? " replied Eaoul, with a smile so sad
that a tear started even to the eyes of his father, who had so many
times in the course of his life been bowed beneath his own sorrows and
those of others.
He held out his hand to Eaoul, which the latter seized most eagerly.
" And so, monsieur le comte, you are quite satisfied that the misfor-
tune is without a remedy ? " inquired the young man.
" Poor boy! " he murmured.
" You think that I still live in hope," said Eaoul, " and you pity me.
Oh, it is indeed a horrible suffering for me to despise, as I ought to do,
the one I have loved so devotedly. If I only had but some real cause
of complaint against her, I should be happy, and should be able to for-
give her."
Athos looked at his son with a sorrowful air, for the latter words
which Eaoul had just pronounced, seemed to have issued out of his
own heart. At this moment the servant announced M. d'Artagnan.
This name sounded very differently to the ears of Athos and of Eaoul.
The musketeer entered the room with a vague smile upon his lips.
Eaoul paused. Athos walked towards his friend with an expression of
face which did not escape Bragelonne. D'Artagnan answered Athos's
look by an imperceptible movement of the eyelid; and then, advancing
towards Eaoul, whom he took by the hand, he said, addressing both
father and son, "Well, you are trying to console this poor boy, it
seems."
" And you, kind and good as usual, are come to help me in my diffi-
cult task."
As he said this, Athos pressed d'Artagnan's hand between both his
own : Eaoul fancied he observed in this pressure something beyond the
sense his mere words conveyed.
"Yes," replied the musketeer, smoothing his moustache with the
hand that Athos had left free, " yes, I have come also."
" You are most welcome, chevalier; not for the consolation you bring
with you, but on your own account. I am already consoled," said.
Eaoul.; and he attempted to smile, but the effect was far more sad
than any tears d'Artagnan had ever seen shed.
" That is all well and good, then," said d'Artagnan.
" Only," continued Eaoul, " you have arrived just as the comte was
about to give me the details of his interview with the king. You will
allow the comte to continue ? " added the young man, as, with his eyes,
fixed on the musketeer, he seemed to read into the very depths of his
heart.
" His interview with the king ?" said d'Artagnan, in a tone so natural
270 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
and unassumed that there was no means of suspecting that his asto-
rtishment was feigned. " You have seen the king, then, Athos ? "
Athos smiled as he said, " Yes, I have seen him."
" Ah, indeed; you were not aware, then, that the comte had seen his
majesty ? " inquired Eaoul, half reassured.
" Yes, indeed, quite so."
" In that case, I am less uneasy," said Eaoul.
" TJneasy—and about what ? " inquired Athos.
" Forgive me, monsieur," said Eaoul, " but knowing so well the re-
gard and affection you have for me, I was afraid you might possibly
have expressed somewhat plainly to his majesty my own sufferings and
your indignation, and that the king had consequently "
" And that the king had consequently ? " repeated d'Artagnan; " well,
go on, finish what you were going to say."
" I have now to ask you to forgive me, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said
Eaoul. " For a moment, and I cannot help confessing it, I trembled
lest you had come here, not as M. d'Artagnan, but as captain of the
musketeers."
"You are mad, my poor boy," cried d'Artagnan, with a burst of
laughter, in which an exact observer might perhaps have wished to
have heard a little more frankness.
" So much the better," said Eaoul.
"Yes, mad; and do you know what I would advise you to do ?"
"Tell me, monsieur, for the advice is sure to be good as it comes
from you."
"Very good, then; I advise you, after your long journey from
England, after your visit to M. de Guiche, after your visit to Madame,
after your visit to Porthos, after your journey to Vincennes, I advise
you, I say, to take a few hours' rest; go and lie down, sleep for a dozen
hours, and when you wake up, go and ride one of my horses until you
have tired him to death."
And drawing Eaoul towards him he embraced him as he would have
done his own child. Athos did the like; only it was very visible that
the kiss was more affectionate, and the pressure of his lips still warmer
with the father than with the friend. The young man again looked
at both his companions, endeavouring to penetrate their real meaning,
or their real feelings, with the utmost strength of his intelligence; but
his look was powerless upon the smiling countenance of the musketeer,
or upon the calm and composed features of the Comte de la Fere.
" Where are you going, Eaoul ?" inquired the latter, seeing that Brage-
lonne was preparing to go out.
"To my own apartments," replied the latter in his soft and sad
voice.
" We shall be sure to find you there, then, if we should have anything
to say to you?"
" Yes, monsieur; but do you suppose it likely you will have something
to say to me ?"
" How can I tell ?" said Athos.
"Yes, something fresh to console you with," said-d'Artagnan, pushing
him towards the door.
Eaoul, observing the perfect composure which marked every gesture
of his two friends, quitted the comte's room, carrying away with him
nothing but the individual feeling of his own particular distress.
" Thank Heaven," he said, " since that is the case, I need only think
ot myself."
And wrapping himself in his cloak, in order to conceal from the
HEU! miser! 271
passers by in the streets his gloomy and sorrowful face, he quitted them,
for the purpose of returning to his own rooms, as he had promised,
Porthos. The two friends watched the young man as he walked away
with a feeling akin to pity; only each expressed it in a very different
way.
" Poor Raoul!" said Athos, sighing deeply.
" Poor Raoul!" said d'Artagnan, shrugging his shoulders.
CHAPTER LX.
Heu! Miser!
"Poor Raoul!" had said Athos. "Poor Raoul!" had said d'Arta-
gnan; and, in point of fact, to be pitied by both these men, Raoul
must indeed have been most unhappy. And therefore when he found
himself alone face to face, as it were, with his own troubles, leaving
behind him the intrepid friend and the indulgent father; when he
recalled the avowal of the king's affection, which had robbed him of
Louise de la Yalliere, whom he loved so deeply, he felt his heart
almost breaking, as indeed we all have at least once in our lives, at the
first illusion destroyed, at our first affection betrayed. "Oh!" he
murmured, "all is over, then. Nothing is now left me in this world.
Nothing to look for, nothing to hope for. Guiche has told me so, my
father has told me so, and M. d'Artagnan likewise. Everything is a
mere idle dream in this life. That future, which I have been hope-
lessly pursuing for the last ten years, a dream! that union of our hearts,
a dream! that life formed of love and happiness, a dream! Poor fool
that I am," he continued, after a pause, " to dream away my existence
aloud, publicly, and in the face of others, my friends and my enemies—
and for what purpose, too ? in order that my friends may be saddened
by my troubles, and that my enemies may laugh at my sorrows. And
so my unhappiness will soon become a notorious disgrace, a public
scandal; and who knows but that to-morrow I may not even be igno-
miniously pointed at."
And, despite the composure which he had promised his father and
d'Artagnan to observe, Raoul could not resist uttering a few words of
dark menace. " And yet," he continued, " if my name were de Wardes,
and if I had the pliant character and strength of will of M. d'Artagnan,
I should laugh, with my lips at least; I should convince other women
that this perfidious girl, honoured by the affection I have wasted on
her, leaves me only one regret, that of having been abused and deceived
by her resemblance of a modest and irreproachable conduct; a few
men might perhaps fawn upon the king by laughing at my expense,
I should put myself on the track of some of those jesters; I should
chastise a few of them, perhaps; the men -would fear me, and by the
time I had laid three dying or dead at my feet, I should be adored by
the women. Yes, yes, that indeed would be the proper course to adopt,
and the Comte de la Pere himself would not object to it. Has not he
also been tried, in his earlier days, in the same manner as I have just
been tried myself ? Hid he not replace affection by intoxication ? He
has often told me so. Why should not I replace love by pleasure?
He must have suffered as much as I suffer, even more so perhaps.
The history of one man is "the history of all men, a lengthened trial,
more or less so at least, more or less bitter and sorrowful. The voice of
272 THE VIC03ITE DE BfcAGELONNE.
human nature is nothing but one prolonged cry. But what are the
sufferings of others compared to those from which I am now suffering ?
Does the open wound in another's breast soften the pain of the gaping
wound in our own ? Or does the blood which is welling from another
man's side stanch that which is pouring from our own ? Does the
general anguish of our fellow-creatures" lessen our own private and
particular anguish? No, no, each suffers on his own account, each
struggles with his own grief, each sheds his own tears. And besides,"
he went on, "what has my life been up to the present moment? A
cold, barren, sterile arena, in which I have always fought for others,
never for myself. Sometimes for a king, sometimes for a woman. The
king has betrayed me, the woman disdained me. Miserable, unhappy
wretch that I am! women! Can I not make all expiate the crime
of one of their sex ? What does that need ? To have a heart no
longer, or to forget that I ever had one; to be strong, even against
weakness itself; to lean always, even when one feels that the support is
giving way. What is needed to attain, or succeed in all that ? To be
young, handsome, strong, valiant, rich. I am, or shall be, all that.
But honour?" he still continued, "and what is honour after all? A
theory which every man understands in his own way. My father tells
me: 'Honour is the respect of that which is due to others, and particu-
larly of what is due to oneself.' But Guiche, and Manicamp, and
Saint-Aignan particularly, would say to me:' What's honour ? Honour
consists in studying and yielding to the passions and pleasures of one's
king.' Honour such as that indeed, is easy and productive enough.
With honour like that, I can keep my post at the court, become a
gentleman of the chamber, and accept the command of a regiment,
which may have been presented to me. With honour such as that, I
can be both duke and peer.
" The stain which that woman has just stamped upon me, the grief
with which she has just broken my heart, the heart of the friend and
playmate of her childhood, in no way affect M. de Bragelonne, an
excellent officer, a courageous leader, who will cover himself with glory
at the first encounter, and who will become a hundred times greater
than Mademoiselle de la Valliere is t'o-day, the mistress of the king—
for the king will not marry her—and the more publicly he will pro-
claim her as his mistress, the thicker will become the bandage of shame
which he casts in her face, in the guise of a crown; and in proportion
as others will despise her, as I despise her, I shall be gaining honours
in the field. Alas! we had walked together side by side, she and I,
during the earliest, the brightest, and best portion of our existence,
hand in hand along the charming path of life, covered with the flowers
of youth; and then, alas ! we reach a cross-road, where she separates
herself from me, in which we have to follow a different route,
whereby we become more and more widely separated from each other.
And to attain the end of this path, oh, Heaven! I am now alone, in
utter despair, and crushed to the very earth !"
Such were the sinister reflections in which Eaoul indulged, when his
foot mechanically paused at the door of his own dwelling. He had
reached it without remarking the streets through which he had passed,
without knowing how he had come; he pushed open the door, con-
tinued to advance, and ascended the staircase. The staircase, as in
most of the houses at that period, was very dark, and the landings very
obscure. Eaoul lived on the first floor; he paused in order to ring.
Oliver appeared, took his sword and cloak from his hands; Eaoul him-
self opened the door which, from the antechamber, led into a small
WOUNDS UPON WOUNDS. 27S
salon, richly furnished enough for the salon of a young man, and com-
pletely filled with flowers by Olivain, who, knowing his master's tastes,
had shown himself studiously attentive in gratifying them, without
caring whether his master perceived his attention or not. There was
a portrait of La YaHiere in the salon, which had been drawn by her-
self and given by her to Eaoul. This portrait, fastened above a large
easy-chair covered with dark-coloured damask, was the first point
towards which Eaoul bent his steps—the first object on which he fixed
his eyes. It was, moreover, Eaoul's usual habit to do so; every time
he entered his room, this portrait, before anything else, attracted his
attention. This time, as usual, he walked straight up to the portrait,
placed his knees upon the arm-chair, and paused to look at it sadly.
His arms were crossed upon his breast, his head slightly thrown back,
his eyes filled with tears, his mouth worked into a bitter smile. He
looked at the portrait of one whom he so tenderly loved; and then all
that he had said passed before his mind again, and all that he had
suffered seemed again to assail his heart; and, after a long silence,
he murmured for the third time, "Miserable, unhappy wretch that
I am!"
He had hardly pronounced these words, when he heard the sound of
a sigh and a groan behind him. He turned sharply round, and per-
ceived, in the angle of the salon, standing up, a bending veiled female
figure, which he had been the means of concealing behind the door as
he opened it, and which he had not perceived as he entered. He ad-
vanced towards this figure, whose presence in his room had not been
announced to him; and as he bowed, and inquired at the same moment
who she was, she suddenly raised her head, and removed the veil from
her face, revealing her pale and sorrow-stricken features. Eaoul stag-
gered back, as if he had seen a ghost.
"Louise !" he cried, in a tone of such utter despair, that one could
hardly have thought that the human voice were capable of so despond-
ing a cry, without some fibres of the human heart snapping.
CHAPTER LXI.
Wounds upon Wounds.
Mademoiselle de la Yalliebe—for it was indeed she—advanced
a few steps towards him. " Yes—Louise," she murmured.
But this interval, short as it had been, was quite sufficient for Eaoul
to recover himself. " You, mademoiselle ? " he said; and then added, in
an indefinable tone, " You here !"
" Yes, Eaoul," the young girl replied, " I have been waiting for you."
"I beg your pardon. When I came into the room I was not
aware "
" I know—but I entreated Olivain not to tell you " She hesi-
tated; and as Eaoul did not attempt to interrupt her, a moment's
silence ensued, during which the sound of their throbbing hearts might
have been heard, not in unison with each other, but the one beating as
violently as the other. It was for Louise to speak, and she made an
effort to do so.
" I wished to speak to you," she said. " It was absolutely necessary
that I should see you—myself—alone. I have not hesitated adopting
vol. ii. t
274 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
step which must remain secret; for no one, except yourself, could un-
derstand my motive, Monsieur de Bragelonne."
"In fact, mademoiselle," Raoul stammered out, almost breathless
from emotion, " as far as I am concerned, and despite the good opinion
you have of me, I confess "
" Will you do me the great kindness to sit down and listen to me ? "
said Louise, interrupting him with her soft, sweet voice.
Bragelonne looked at her for a moment; then, mournfully shaking
his head, he sat, or rather fell down on a chair. " Speak," he said.
She cast a glance all round her. This look was a timid entreaty, and
implored secrecy far more effectually than her expressed words had
done a few minutes before. Raoul rose, and went to the door, which
he opened. " Olivain," he said, " I am not within for any one." And
then, turning towards Louise, he added, "Is not that what you
wished ? "
Nothing could have produced a greater effect upon Louise than these
few words, which seemed to signify, "You see that I still understand
you." She passed a handkerchief across her eyes, in order to remove
a rebellious tear which she could not restrain; and then, having col-
lected herself for a moment, she said, " Raoul, do not turn your kind,
frank look away from me. You are not one of those men who despise
a woman for having given her heart to another, even though her affec-
tion might render him unhappy, or might wound his pride." Raoul
did not reply.
" Alas! " continued La Valliere, " it is only too true, my cause is a
bad one, and I cannot tell in what way to begin. It will be better for
me, I think, to relate to you, very simply, everything that has befallen
me. As I shall speak but the pure and simple truth, I shall always
find my path clear before me in the obscurity, hesitation, and obstacles
which I have to brave in order to solace my heart, which is full to
overflowing, and wishes to pour itself out at your feet."
Raoul continued to preserve the some unbroken silence. La Val-
liere looked at him with an air that seemed to say, " Encourage me;
for pity's sake, but a single word !" But Raoul did not open his lips;
and the young girl was obliged to continue
" Just now," she said, " M. de Saint-Aignan came to me by the king's
directions." She cast down her eyes as she said this; while Raoul, on
his side, turned his away, in order to avoid looking at her. " M. de
Saint-Aignan came to me from the king," she repeated, " and told me
that you knew all;" and she attempted to look Raoul in the face, after
inflicting this further wound upon him, in addition to the many others
he had already received; but it was impossible to meet Raoul's eyes.
" He told me, you were incensed with me—and justly so, I admit."
This time Raoul looked at the young girl, and a smile full of disdain
passed across his lips.
" Oh! " she continued, " I entreat you, do not say that you have had
any other feeling against me than that of anger merely. Raoul, wait
until I have told you all—wait until I have said to you all that I had to
say—all that I came to say."
Raoul, by the strength of his own iron will, forced his features to
assume a calmer expression, and the disdainful smile upon his lip passed
away.
"In the first place," said La Valliere, "in the first place, with my
hands raised in entreaty towards you, with my forehead bowed to the
ground before you, I entreat you, as the most generous, as the noblest
of men, to pardon, to forgive me. If I have left you in ignorance of
WOUNDS UPON WOUNDS. 275
what was passing in my own bosom, never, at least, would I have con-
sented to deceive you. Oh! I entreat you, Itaoul—I implore you on
my knees—answer me one word, even though you wronged me in doing
so. Better, far better, an injurious word from your lips, than a suspi-
cion from your heart."
" I admire your subtlety of expression, mademoiselle," said Itaoul,
making an effort to remain calm. "To leave another in ignorance
that you are deceiving him, is loyal; but to deceive him—it seems that
that would be very wrong, and that you would not do it."
" Monsieur for a long time I thought that I loved you better than
anything else; and so long as I believed in my affection for you, I told
you that I loved you. I could have sworn it on the altar; but a day
came when I was undeceived."
"Well, on that day, mademoiselle, knowing that I still continued to
love you, true loyalty of conduct ought to have obliged you to tell me
you had ceased to love me."
" But on that day, Itaoul—on that day, when I read in the depths of
my own heart, when I confessed to myself that you no longer filled
my mind entirely, when I saw another future before me than that of
being your friend, your life-long companion, your wife—on that day,
Itaoul, you were not, alas! any more beside me."
" But you knew where I was, mademoiselle; you could have written
to me."
" Itaoul, I did not dare to do so. Itaoul, I have been weak and
cowardly. I knew you so thoroughly—I knew how devotedly you loved
me, that I trembled at the bare idea of the grief I was going to cause
you; and that is so true, Itaoul, that at this very moment I am now
speaking to you, bending thus before you, my heart crushed in my
bosom, my voice full of sighs, my eyes full of tears, it is so perfectly
true, that I have no other defence than my frankness, I have no
other sorrow greater than that which I read in your eyes." Itaoul
attempted to smile.
" No !" said the young girl, with a profound conviction, " no, no; you
will not do me so foul a wrong as to disguise your feelings before me
now! Tou loved me; you were sure of your affection for me; you did
not deceive yourself; you did not lie to your own heart—whilst I—
I " And pale as death, her arms thrown despairingly above her
head, she fell upon her knees.
" Whilst you," said Itaoul, " you told me you loved me, and yet you
loved another."
" Alas, yes!" cried the poor girl; " alas, yes ! I do love another; and
that other—oh! for Heaven's sake let me say it, Itaoul, for it is my
only excuse—that other I love better than my own life, better than
my own soul even. Forgive my fault, or punish my treason, Itaoul.
I came here in no way to defend myself, but merely to say to you:' Tou
know what it is to love !'—in that case I love ! I love to that degree,
that I would give my life, my very soul, .to the man I love. If he should
ever cease to love me, I shall die of grief and despair, unless Heaven
come not to my assistance, unless Heaven does not show pity upon me.
Itaoul, I came here to submit myself to your will, whatever it might
be—to die, if it were your wish I should die. Kill me then, Itaoul! if in
your heart you believe I deserve death."
"Take care, mademoiselle!" said Itaoul; "the woman who invites
death is one who has nothing but her heart's blood to offer to her
deceived and betrayed lover."
" Tou are right," she said.
T 2
276 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
Eaoul uttered a deep sigh, as he exclaimed, " And you love without
being able to forget!"
" I love without a wish to forget; without a wish ever to love any one
else," replied La Valliere.
" Very well," said Eaoul. " You have said to me, in fact, all you had
to Say; all I could possibly wish to know. And now, mademoiselle, it is
I who ask your forgiveness, for it is I who have almost been an obstacle
in your life; I, too, who have been wrong, for, in deceiving myself, I
helped to deceive you."
" Oh!" said La Valliere, "I do not ask you so much as that, Eaoul."
" I only am to blame, mademoiselle," continued Eaoul; " better in-
formed than yourself of the difficulties of this life, I should have en-
lightened you. I ought not to have relied upon uncertainty; I ought to
have extracted an answer from your heart, whilst I hardly even sought
an acknowledgment from your lips. Once more, mademoiselle, it is I
who ask your forgiveness."
" Impossible, impossible!" she cried, " you are mocking me."
" How, impossible!"
" Yes, it is impossible to be good, and excellent, and perfect to such a
degree as that."
Take care!" said Eaoul, with a bitter smile, "for presently you may
say perhaps that I did not love you."
" Oh! you love me like an affectionate brother; let me hope that,
Eaoul."
" As a brother! undeceive yourself, Louise. I loved you as a lover—
as a husband, with the deepest, the truest, the fondest affection."
" Eaoul, Eaoul!"
" As a brother! Oh, Louise ! I loved you so deeply, that I would
have shed my blood for you, drop by drop; I would, oh! how willingly,
have suffered myself to be torn in pieces for your sake, have sacrificed
my very future for you. I loved you so deeply, Louise, that my heart
feels crushed and dead within me,—that my faith in human nature is
gone,—that my eyes seem to have lost their light; I loved you so
deeply, that I now no longer see, thhik of, care for, anything, either in
this world or in the next."
"Eaoul—dear Eaoul! spare me, I implore you!" cried La Valliere.
" Oh! if I had but known."
" It is too late, Louise; you love, you are happy in your affection; I
read your happiness through your tears—behind the tears which the
loyalty of your nature makes you shed; I feel the sighs which your
affection breathes forth. Louise, Louise, you have made me the most
abjectly wretched man living; leave me, I entreat you. Adieu 1
adieu!"
" Forgive me! oh, forgive me, Eaoul, for what I have done !"
" Have I not done more P Have I not told you that I loved you
still ?" She buried her face in her hands.
" And to tell you that—do you hear me, Louise ?—to tell you that,
at such a moment as this, to tell you that, as I have told you, is to pro-
nounce my.own sentence of death. Adieu!" La Valliere wished to
hold out her hands to him.
"We ought not to see each other again in this world," he said; and as
she was on the point of calling out in bitter agony at this remark, he
placed his hand on her mouth to stifle the exclamation. She pressed
her lips upon it, and fell fainting to the ground. " Olivain," said Eaoul,
" take this young lady and bear her to the carriage which is waiting for
her at the door." As Olivain lifted her up, Eaoul made a movement as if
"WHAT KAOUL HAD GUESSED. 277
to dart towards La Yalliere, in order to give her a first and last kiss,
but, stopping abruptly, he said, " No,! she is not mine. I am not a thief
like the king of Prance." And he returned to his room, whilst the
lackey carried La Yalliere, still fainting, to the carriage.
CHAPTER LXH.
What Raoul had guessed.
As soon as Raoul had quitted Athos and d'Artagnan, and as soon as
the two exclamations which had followed his departure had escaped
their hps, they found themselves face to face alone. Athos immediately
resumed the earnest air that he had assumed at d'Artagnan's arrival.
"Well," he said, "what have you come to announce to me, my
friend ? " " I ?" inquired d'Artagnan.
" Yes; I do not see you in this way without some reason for it," said.
Athos, smiling. " The deuce !" said d'Artagnan.
" I will place you at your ease. The king is furious, I suppose ?"
" Well, I must say he is not altogether pleased."
" And you have come to arrest me, then ?"
" My dear friend, you have hit the very mark."
" Oh, I expected it. I am quite ready to go with you."
" Deuce take it!" said d'Artagnan, " what a hurry you are in."
" I am afraid of delaying you," said Athos, smiling.
" I have plenty of time. Are you not curious, besides, to know how
things went on between the king and me ?"
" If you will be good enough to tell me, I will listen with the greatest
pleasure," said Athos, pointing out to d'Artagnan a large chair, into
which the latter threw himself, assuming the easiest possible attitude.
"Well, I will do so willingly enough," continued d'Artagnan, "for
the conversation is rather curious, I must say. In the first place, the
king sent for me."
" As soon as I had left ?"
" You were just going down the last steps of the staircase, as the
musketeers told me. I arrived. My dear Athos, he was not red in the
face merely, he was positively purple. I was not aware, of course, of
what had passed; only, on the ground, lying on the floor, I saw a
sword broken in two.
"' Captain d'Artagnan,' cried the king, as soon as he saw me.
"' Sire,' I replied.
"' M. de la Fere has just left me; he is an insolent man.'
"'An insolent man!' I exclaimed, in such a tone that the king
stopped suddenly short.
"' Captain d'Artagnan,' resumed the king, with his teeth clenched,
' you will be good enough to listen to and hear me.'
'"That is my duty, sire.'
"' I have, out of consideration for M. de la Fere, wished to spare him,
of whom I still retain some kind recollections, the discredit of being
arrested in my palace. You will therefore take a carriage.' At this I
made a slight movement.
"' If you object to arrest him yourself,' continued the king, c send
me my captain of the guards here.'
"' Sire,' I replied,' there is no necessity for the captain of the guards^
since I am on dutv,'
278 the vicomte de bbagelonke.
«{I should not like to annoy you,'said the king, kindly, 'for you
have always served me well, Monsieur d'Artagnan.'
"'You do not "annoy" me, sire,' I replied; 'I am on duty, that
is all.'
"' But,' said the king, in astonishment, I believe the comte is your
friend ?'
"' If he were my father, sire, it would not make me less on duty than
I am.'"
" The king looked at me; he saw how unmoved my face was, and
seemed satisfied. 'You will arrest M. le comte de la Fere, then ?' he
inquired.
"'Most certainly, sire, if you give me the order to do so.'
"' Very well; I order you to do so.'
" I bowed, and replied,' Where is the comte, sire ?'
"' You will look for him.'
"' And I am to arrest him, wherever he may be ?'
"' Yes; but try that he may be at his own house. If he should have
started for hi? own estate, leave Paris at once, and arrest him on his
way thither.'
" I bowed; but as I did not move, he said,' Well, w hat are you wait-
ing for ?'
"' Por the order to arrest the comte, signed by yourself.'
" The king seemed annoyed; for, in point of fact, it was the exercise of
a fresh act of authority; a repetition of the arbitrary act, if, indeed, it
is to be considered as such. He took hold of his pen slowly, and evi-
dently in no very good temper; and then he wrote, 'Order for M. le
chevalier d'Artagnan, captain of my musketeers, to arrest M. le comte
de la Fere, wherever he is to be found.' He then turned towards me;
but I was looking on without moving a muscle of my face. In all pro-
bability he thought he perceived something like bravado in my tranquil
manner, for he signed hurriedly; and then handing me the order, he
said,' Go, monsieur !' I obeyed: and here I am."
Athos pressed his friend's hand. "Well, let us set off," he said.
" Oh ! surely," said d'Artagnan," you must have some trifling matters
to arrange before you leave your apartments in this manner."
" I ?—not at all."
" Why not?"
" Why, you know, d'Artagnan, that I have always been a very simple
traveller on this earth, ready to go to the end of the world by the order
of my sovereign; ready to quit it at the summons of my Maker. What
does a man who is thus prepared require in such a case ?—a port-
manteau, or a shroud. I am ready at this moment, as I have always
been, my dear friend, and can accompany you at once."
" But, Bragelonne "
" I have brought him up in the same principles I laid down for my
own guidance; and you observed, that as soon as he perceived you he
guessed, that very moment, the motive of your visit. We have thrown
him off his guard for a moment; but do not be uneasy, he is sufli-
ciently prepared for my disgrace to be too much alarmed at it. So, let
us go."
v ery well,' let us go" said d'Artagnan, quietly.
" As I broke my sword in the king's presence, and threw the pieces
at his feet, I presume that will dispense with the necessity of delivering
it over to you."
" You are quite right; and, besides that, what the deuce do you sup-
pose I could do with your sword?"
WHAT KAOUL HAD GUESSED. 279
"Am I to walk behind, or before you ?" inquired Athos, laughing.
" You will walk arm-in-arm with me," replied d'Artagnan, as he took
the comte's arm to descend the staircase; and in this manner they
arrived at the landing. Grimaud, whom they had met in the anteroom,
looked at them, as they went out together in this manner, with some
little uneasiness; his experience of affairs was quite sufficient to give
him good reason to suspect that there was something wrong.
" Ah ! is that you, Grimaud ?" said Athos, kindly. "We are going "
" To take a turn in my carriage," interrupted d'Artagnan, with a
friendly nod of the head.
Grimaud thanked d'Artagnan by a grimace, which was evidently
intended for a smile, and accompanied both the friends to the door.
Athos entered first into the carriage; d'Artagnan followed him, with-
out saying a word to the coachman. The departure had taken place so
quietly, that it excited no disturbance or attention even in the neigh-
hour hood. When the carriage had reached the quays, " You are taking
me to the Bastille, I perceive," said Athos.
"I?" said d'Artagnan, "I take you wherever you may choose to go;
nowhere else, I can assure you."
" What do you mean P" said the comte, surprised.
"Why, surely, my dear friend," said d'Artagnan, "you quite under-
stand that I undertook the mission with no other object in view than
that of carrying it out exactly as you liked. You surely did not expect
that I was going to get you thrown into prison like that, brutally, and
without any reflection. If I had not anticipated that, I should have let
the captain of the guards undertake it."
"And so ?" said Athos.
" And so, I repeat again, we will go wherever you may choose."
" My dear friend," said Athos, embracing d'Artagnan, " how like you
that is."
"Well, it seems simple enough to me. The coachman will take you
to the barrier of the Cours-la-Reine; you will find a horse there which
I have ordered to be kept ready for you; with that horse you will be
able to do three posts without stopping; and I, on my side, will take
care not to return to the king, to tell him that you have gone away,
until the very moment it will be impossible to overtake you. In the
mean time you will have reached Havre, and from Havre across to
England, where you will find the charming residence of which M.
Monk made me a present, without speaking of the hospitality which
King Charles will not fail to show you. Well, what do you think of this
project?"
Athos shook his head, and then said, smiling as he did so, "No, no;
take me to the Bastille."
" You are an obstinate-headed fellow, dear Athos," returned d'Ar-
tagnan; "reflect for a few moments."
"Upon what?"
" That you are no longer twenty years of age. Believe me, I speak
according to my own knowledge and experience. A prison is certain
death for men of our time of life. No, no; I will never allow you to
languish in prison in such a way. Why the very thought of it makes
my head turn giddy."
"Dear d'Artagnan," Athos replied, "Heaven most fortunately made
my body as strong, powerful, and enduring as my mind; and, rely upon
it, I shall retain my strength up to the very last moment."
" But this is not strength of mind or character; it is sheer madness."
"No, d'Artagnan, it is the highest order of reasoning. Do not sup-
280 THE VICOMTE DE EEASELGIT^S.
pose that I should in the slightest degree in the world discuss the ques-
tion with you, whether you would not he ruined in endeavouring to
save me. I should have done precisely as you are doing if flight had
been part of my plan of action; I should, therefore, have accepted from
you what, without any doubt, you would have accepted from me. No!
I know you too well even to breathe a word upon the subject."
"Ah! if you would only let me do it," said d'Artagnan, "howl
would send the king running after you."
" Still, he is the king; do not forget that, my dear friend."
" Oh ! that is all the same to me; and king though he be, I would
plainly tell him, ' Sire ! imprison, exile, kill every one in France and
Europe; order me to arrest and poniard even whom you like—even
were it Monsieur, your own brother; but do not touch one of the four
musketeers, or if so, mordioux /"
" My dear friend," replied Athos, with perfect calmness, " I should
like to persuade you of one thing; namely, that I wish to be arrested;
that 1 desire above all things that my arrest should take place."
D'Artagnan made a slight movement of his shoulders.
"Nay; I wish it, I repeat, more than anything ; if you were to let
me escape, it would be only to return of my own accord, and constitute
myself a prisoner. I wish to prove to this young man, who is dazzled
by the power and splendour of his crown, that he can he regarded as the
first and chiefest among men only on the one condition of his proving
himself to be the most generous and the wisest among them. He may
punish me, imprison or torture me, it matters not. He abuses his
opportunities, and I wish him to learn the bitterness of remorse, while
Heaven teaches him what a chastisement is."
" Well, well," replied d'Artagnan, " I know, only too well, that when
you have once said ' no,' you mean ' no.' I do not insist any longer;
you wish to go to the Bastille ? "
" I do wish to go there."
" Let us go, then! To the Bastille !" cried d'Artagnan to the coach-
man. And throwing himself back in the carriage, he gnawed the ends
of his moustache with a fury which, for Athos, who knew him well, sig-
nified a resolution either already taken or in course of formation. A
profound silence ensued in the carriage, which continued to roll on, but
neither faster nor slower than before. Athos took the musketeer by the
band.
" You are not angry with me, d'Artagnan ? " he said.
"I! — oh, no! certainly not; of course not. What you do from
heroism, I should have done from sheer obstinacy."
" But you are quite of opinion, are you not, that Heaven will avenge
me, d'Artagnan ?"
"And I know some persons on earth who will lend a helping hand,*
said the captain.
CHAPTER LX1II.
Three Guests astonished to find themselves at Supper together.
The carriage arrived at the outside gate of the Bastille. A soldier on
guard stopped it, but d'Artagnan had only to utter a single word to
procure admittance, and the carriage passed on without further diffi-
Julty. Whilst they were proceeding along the covered way which
THE TSBEE ASTONISHED GUESTS. 231
led to the courtyard of the governor's residence, d'Artagnan, whose
lynx eye saw everything, even through the walls, suddenly cried out,
" What is that out yonder ?"
" Well," said Athos, quietly; " what is it ?"
" Look yonder, Athos." " In the courtyard ? "
" Yes, yes; make haste!"
" Well, a carriage; very likely conveying a prisoner like myself."
" That would be too droll." " I do not understand you."
" Make haste and look again, and look at the man who is just getting
out of that carriage."
At that very moment a second sentinel stopped d'Artagnan, and
while the formalities were being gone through, Athos could see at a
hundred paces from him the man whom his friend had pointed out to
him. He was, in fact, getting out of the carriage at the door of the
governor's house. " Well," inquired d'Artagnan, " do you see him ?"
" Yes; he is a man in a grey suit."
" What do you say of him ?"
" I cannot very well tell; he is, as I have just now told you, a man in
a grey suit, who is getting out of a carriage; that is all."
" Athos, I will wager anything it is he." " He—who ?"
" Aramis." " Aramis arrested ? Impossible !"
" I do not say he is arrested, since we see him alone in his carriage."
"Well, then, what is he doing here ?"
" Oh! he knows Baisemeaux, the governor," replied the musketeer,
slily; " so we have arrived just in time."
"What for ?" " In order to see what we can see."
" I regret this meeting exceedingly. When Aramis sees me, he will
be very much annoyed, in the first place, at seeing me, and in the next
at being seen."
"Very well reasoned."
" Unfortunately there is no remedy for it; whenever any one meets
another in the Bastille, even if he wished to draw back to avoid him, it
would be impossible."
" Athos, I have an idea; the question is, to spare Aramis the annoy-
ance you were speaking of, is it not ? "
" What is to be done ?"
" I will tell you; or, in order to explain myself in the best possible
way, let me relate the affair in my own manner ; I will not recommend
you to tell a falsehood, for that would be impossible for you to do; but
I will tell falsehoods enough for both; it is so easy to do that with the
nature and habits of a Gascon."
Athos smiled. The carriage stopped where the one we have just
now pointed out had stopped; namely, at the door of the governor's
house. "It is understood, then ?" said d'Artagnan, in a low voice to
his friend. Athos consented by a gesture. They ascended the stair-
case. There will be no occasion for surprise at the facility with which
they had entered into the Bastille, if it be remembered that, before
passing the first gate, in fact, the most difficult of all, d'Artagnan
had announced that he had brought a prisoner of state. At the
third gate, on the contrary, that is to say, when he had once fairly
entered the prison, he merely said to the sentinel, "To M. Baise-
meauxand they both passed on. In a few minutes they were in the
governor's dining-room, and the first face which attracted d'Artagnan's
observation was that of Aramis, who was seated side by side with
Baisemeaux, and awaited the announcement of a good meal whose
282 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
odour impregnated the whole apartment. If d'Artagnan pretended
surprise, Aramis did not pretend at all; he started when he saw
his two friends, and his emotion was very apparent. Athos and
d'Artagnan, however, complimented him as usual; and Baisemeaux,
amazed, completely stupified by the presence of his three guests, be-
gan to perform a few evolutions around them all. "By what lucky
accident "
" We were just going to ask you," retorted d'Artagnan.
"Are we going to give ourselves up as prisoners?" cried Aramis,
with an affectation of hilarity.
"Ah! ah!" said d'Artagnan; "it is true the walls smell deucedly
like a prison. Monsieur de Baisemeaux, you know you invited me to
sup with you the other day."
" I! " cried Baisemeaux.
" Yes, of course you did, although you now seem so struck with
amazement. Don't you remember it?"
Baisemeaux turned pale and then red, looked at Aramis, who looked
at him, and finished by stammering out, " Certainly 1 am delighted
but upon my honour 1 have not the slightest Ah! I have
such a wretched memory."
" Well! I am wrong, I see," said d'Artagnan, as if he were offended.
" Wrong, what for ? "
" Wrong to remember anything about it, it seems."
Baisemeaux hurried towards him. " Do not stand on ceremony, my
dear captain," he said; " I have the worst memory in the world. I
no sooner leave off thinking of my pigeons and their pigeon-house, than
I am no better than the rawest recruit."
" At all events, you remember it now," said d'Artagnan, boldly.
" Yes, yes," replied the governor, hesitating; "I think I remember."
" It was when you came to the palace to see me; you told me some
story or other about your accounts with M. de Louviere and M. de
Tremblay."
" Oh, yes! perfectly."
" And about M. d'Herblay's kindness towards you."
" Ah !" exclaimed Aramis, looking the unhappy governor full in the
face, " and yet you just now said you had no memory, Monsieur de
Baisemeaux."
Baisemeaux interrupted the musketeer in the midst of his revela-
tions. "Yes, yes; you're quite right; how could I have forgotten; I
remember it now as well as possible; I beg you a thousand pardons.
But now, once for all, my dear M. d'Artagnan, be sure that at this
present time, as at any other, whether invited or not, you are perfectly
at home here, you and M. d'Herblay, your friend," he said, turning
towards Aramis; "and this gentleman too," he added, bowing to
Athos.
" Well, I thought it would be sure to turn out so," replied d'Artagnan,
" and that is the reason I came. Having nothing to do this evening at
the Palais Royal, I wished tojudge for myself what your ordinary
style of living was like; and as I was coming along, I met the Comte de
la Fere."
Athos bowed. " The comte, who had just left his majesty, handed
mean order which required immediate attention. We were close by
here; I wished to call in, even if it were for no other object than that
of shaking hands with you and of presenting the comte to youa of whom
you spoke so highly that evening at the palace when-*—"
" Certainly, certainly—M. le comte de la Fere."
THE THREE ASTONISHED GUESTS. 283
" Precisely." " The cwnte is welcome, I am sure."
" And he will sup with you two, I suppose, whilst I, unfortunate dog
that I am, must run off on a matter of duty. Oh! what happy beings
you are, compared to myself," he added, sighing as loud as Porthos might
have done.
"And so you are going away, then?" said Aramis and Baisemeaux
together, with the same expression of delighted surprise, the tone of
which was immediately noticed by d'Artagnan.
" I leave you in my place," he said, " a noble and excellent guest."
And he touched Athos gently on the shoulder, who, astonished also,
could not prevent exhibiting his surprise a little; a tone which was
noticed by Aramis only, for M. de Baisemeaux was not quite equal to
the three friends in point of intelligence.
" What! are you going to leave us ?" resumed the governor.
" I shall only be about an hour, or an hour and a half. I will return
in time for dessert."
" Oh! we will wait for you," said Baisemeaux.
" No, no ; that would be really disobliging me."
"You will be sure to return, though?" said Athos, with an expres-
sion of doubt. ,
" Most certainly," he said, pressing his friend's hand confidentially;
and he added, in a low voice, " Wait for me, Athos; be cheerful and
lively as possible, and above all, don't allude even to business affairs,
for heaven's sake."
And with a renewed pressure of the hand, he seemed to warn the
comte of the necessity of keeping perfectly discreet and impenetrable.
Baisemeaux led d'Artagnan to the gate. Aramis, with many friendly
protestations of delight, sat down by Athos, determined to make him
speak; but Athos possessed every virtue and quality to the very highest
degree. If necessity had required it, he would have been the finest
orator in the world, but on other occasions he would rather have
died than have opened his hps. ""
Ten minutes after d'Artagnan's departure, the three gentlemen sat
down to table, which was covered with the most substantial display
of gastronomic luxury. Large joints, exquisite dishes, preserves, the
greatest variety of wines, appeared successively upon the table, which
was served at the king's expense, and of which expense M. Colbert
would have found no difficulty in saving two-thirds, without any
one in the Bastille being the worse for it. Baisemeaux was the only
one who ate and drank resolutely. Aramis allowed nothing to pass
by him, but merely touched everything he took; Athos, after the
soup and three hors d'ceuvres, ate nothing more. The style of conver-
sation was such as 'could hardly be otherwise between three men so
opposite in temper and ideas. Aramis was incessantly asking himself
by what extraordinary chance Athos was at Baisemeaux's when d'Ar-
tagnan was no longer there, and why d'Artagnan did not remain
when Athos was there. Athos sounded all the depths of the mind
of Aramis, who lived in the midst of subterfuge, evasion, and in-
trigue; he studied his man well and thoroughly, and felt convinced
that he was engaged upon some important project. And then he too
began to think of his own personal affair, and to lose himself in
conjectures as to d'Artagnan's reason for having left the Bastille so
abruptly, and for leaving behind him a prisoner so badly introduced
and so badly looked after by the prison authorities. But we shall
not pause to examine into the thoughts and feelings of these per-
sonages, but will leave them to themselves, surrounded by the remains
>284 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELOJSTNS.
of poultry, game, and fish, which Baisemeaux's generous knife and fork
had so mutilated. "We are going to follow d'Artagnan instead, who,
getting into the carriage which had brought him, said to the coach-
man, Return to the palace, and as fast as you can possibly make the
horses go."
CHAPTER LXIY.
What took place at the Louvre during the Supper at the Bastille.
M. de Saist-Aignan had executed the commission with which the
king had intrusted him for La Valliere, as we have already seen in one
of the preceding chapters; but, whatever his eloquence might have been,
he did not succeed in persuading the young girl that she had in the
king a protector powerful enough for her under any combination of
circumstances, and that she had no need of any one else in the world
when the king was on her side. In point of fact, at the very first word
which the favourite mentioned of the discovery of the famous secret,
Louise, in a passion of tears, abandoned herself in utter despair to a
sorrow which would have been far from flattering for the king, if he
had been a witness of it from one of the corners of the room. Saint-
Aignan, in his character of ambassador, felt greatly offended at it, as his
master himself would have been, and returned to inform the king what
he had seen and heard; and it is there we shall now find him in a
state of great agitation, in the presence of the king, who was, if possible,
•in a state of greater agitation than he.
" But," said the king to the courtier, when the latter had finished his
report, " what did she decide to do ? Shall I at least see her presently
before supper ? "Will she come to me, or shall I be obliged to go to her
room ?"
" I believe, sire, that if your majesty wishes to see her, you will not
only have to take the first step in advance, but will have to go the
whole way."
" That I do not mind. Do you think she has still a fancy for that
Bragelonne ?" muttered the king between his teeth.
" Oh ! sire, that is not possible; for it is you alone I am convinced
Mademoiselle de la Valliere loves, and that, too, with all her heart.
But you know that de Bragelonne belongs to that proud race who play
the part of Roman heroes."
The king smiled feebly; he knew how true the illustration was, for
Athos had just left him.
"As for Mademoiselle de la Valliere," Saint-Aignan continued, "she
was brought up under the care of the Dowager Madame; that is to say,
in the greatest austerity and formality. This young engaged couple
coldly exchanged their little vows in the presence of the moon and the
"••tars, and now, when they find they have to break those vows asunder,
it plays the very deuce with them."
Saint-Aignan thought he should have made the king laugh; but
quite on the contrary, from a mere smile Louis passed to the greatest
seriousness of manner. He already began to experience that remorse
which the comte had promised d'Artagnan he would inflict upon him.
He reflected that, in fact, these young persons had loved and sworn
fidelity to each other; that one of the two had kept his word, and that
the other was too conscientious not to feel her perjury most bitterly.
EVENTS AT THE LOTJVEE. 285
And his remorse was not unaccompanied; for bitter pangs of jealousy
began to beset the king's heart. He did not say another word, and
instead of going to pay a visit to his mother, or the queen, or Madame,
in order to amuse himself a little, and make the ladies laugh, as he
himself used to say, he threw himself into the huge armchair in which
his august father Louis XIII. had passed so many weary days and
years in company with Baradas and Cinq-Mars. Saint-Aignan per-
ceived that the king was not to be amused at that moment; he tried a
last resource, and pronounced Louise's name, which made the king look
up immediately. "What does your majesty intend to do this evening—
shall Mademoiselle de la Yalliere be informed of your intention to see
her?"
" It seems she is already aware of that," replied the king. "No, no,
Saint-Aignan," he continued, after a moment's pause, " we will both of
us pass our time in thinking, and musing, and dreaming; when Made-
moiselle de la Yalliere shall have sufficiently regretted what she now
regrets, she will deign, perhaps, to give us some news of herself."
" Ah ! sire, is it possible you can so misunderstand her heart, which
is so full of devotion ?"
The king rose, flushed from vexation and annoyance; he was a prey
to jealousy as well as to remorse. Saint-Aignan was just beginning to-
feel that his position was becoming awkward, when the curtain before
"the door was raised. The king turned hastily round; his first idea was
that a letter from Louise had arrived; but, instead of a letter of love,
he only saw his captain of musketeers standing upright and perfectly
silent in the doorway. "M. d'Artagnan," he said, "ah ! Well, mon-
sieur?"
D'Artagnan looked at Saint-Aignan; the king's eyes took the same
direction as those of his captain; these looks would have been clear to-
any one, and for a still greater reason they were so for Saint-Aignan.
The courtier bowed and quitted the room, leaving the king and d'Arta-
gnan alone.
" Is it done ?" inquired the king.
" Yes, sire," replied the captain of the musketeers in a grave voice,
"it is done!"
The king was unable to say another word. Pride, however, obliged
him not to pause at what he had done; whenever a sovereign has
adopted a decisive course, even though it be unjust, he is compelled to
prove to all who were witnesses of his having adopted it, and particu-
larly to prove it to himself, that he was quite right in so adopting it.
A good means for effecting that—an almost infallible means indeed—is,
to try and prove his victim to be in the wrong. Louis, brought up by
Mazarin and Anne of Austria, knew better than any one else his voca-
tion as a monarch; he therefore endeavoured to prove it on the present
occasion. After a few moments' pause, which he had employed in
making silently to himself the same reflections which we have just
expressed aloud, he said in an indifferent tone : " What did the comte
say?"
"Nothing at all, sire."
" Surely he did not allow himself to be arrested without saying some-
thing ?"
" He said he expected to be arrested, sire."
The king raised his head haughtily. " I presume," he said, " that
M. le comte de la Pere has not continued to play his obstinate and
rebellious part ?"
"In the first place, sire, what do you term rebellious ?" quietly asked
286 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
the musketeer. " A rebel, in the eyes of the king, is a man who not
only allows himself to be shut up in the Bastille, but still more, who
•opposes those who do not wish to take him there." I
Who do not wish to take him there 1" exclaimed the king. " What
do you say, captain ! Are you mad ?"
" I believe not, sire."
"You speak of persons who did not wish to arrest M. de la Fere!
Who are those persons, inay I ask ?"
"I should say those whom your majesty intrusted with that duty."
" But it was you whom I intrusted with it," exclaimed the king.
" Yes, sire; it was me."
" And yet you say, that, despite my orders, you had the intention of
not arresting the man who had insulted me!"
"Yes, sire—that was really my intention. I even proposed to the
comte to mount a horse that I had had prepared for him at the Barriere
de la Conference."
" And what was your object in getting this horse ready ?"
" Why, sire, in order that M. le comte de la Fere might be able to
peach Havre, and from that place make his escape to England."
" You betrayed me, then, monsieur?" cried the king, kindling with
a wild pride. " Exactly so."
There was nothing to say in answer to statements made in such a
tone; the king was astounded at such an obstinate and open resistance
on the part of d'Artagnan. "At least you had a reason, Monsieur
d'Artagnan, for acting as you did ?" said the king, proudly.
" I have always a reason for everything, sire."
"Your reason cannot be your friendship for the comte, at all events,—
the only one that can be of any avail, the only one that could possibly
excuse you,—for I placed you perfectly at your ease in that respect."
" Me, sire !"
" Did I not give you the choice to arrest, or not to arrest, M. le comte
dela Fere?"
"Yes, sire, but "
" But what ?" exclaimed the king, impatiently.
" But you warned me, sire, that if I did not arrest him, your captain
of the guards should do so."
" Was I not considerate enough towards you, from the very moment
I did not compel you to obey me ?"
" To me, sire, you were, but not to my friend; for my friend would
be arrested all the same, whether by myself or by the captain of the
guards."
" And this is your devotion, monsieur ! a devotion which argues and
reasons. You are no soldier, monsieur !"
" I wait for you majesty to tell me what I am."
" Well, then—you are a Frondeur."
" And since there is no longer any Fronde, sire, in that case ?"
" But if what you say is true! "
" What I say is always true, sire."
" What have you come to say to me, monsieur ?"
" I have come to say to your majesty; ' Sire, M. de la Fere is in the
Bastille.'"
" That is not your fault, it would seem."
" That is true, sire; but at all events he is there; and since he is there,
it is important that your majesty should know it."
" Ah ! Monsieur d'Artagnan, so you set your king at defiance."
" Sire ! "
EVENTS AT THE LOUVKE. 287;
" Monsieur d'Artagan ! I warn you that you are abusing my patience."
" On the contrary, sire."
" "What do you mean by c on the contrary' ?"
" I have come to get myself arrested too."
" To get yourself arrested,—you!"
" Of course. My friend will get wearied to death in the Bastille by
himself; and I have come to propose to your majesty to permit me to
bear him company; if your majesty will but give the word, I will
arrest myself; I shall not need the captain of the guards for that, I
assure you."
The king darted towards the table and seized hold of a pen to write
the order for d'Artagnan's imprisonment. " Pay attention, monsieur,
that this is for ever," cried the king, in a tone of stern menace.
" I can quite believe that," returned the musketeer; " for when you
have once done such an act as that, you will never be able to look me
in the face again."
The king dashed down his pen violently. " Leave the room, mon-
sieur!" he said.
" Not so, if it please your majesty."
" How is that?"
" Sire, I came to speak gently and temperately to your majesty; your
majesty got into a passion with me; that is a misfortune; but I shall
not the less on that account say what I had to say to you."
" Tour resignation, monsieur,—your resignation!" cried the king.
" Sire, you know whether I care about my resignation or not, since
at Blois, on the very day when you refused King Charles the million
which my friend the Comte de la Fere gave him, I then tendered my
resignation to your majesty."
" "Very well, monsieur—do it at once!"
" No, sire; for there is no question of my resignation at the present
moment. Your majesty took up your pen just now to send me to the
Bastille,—why should you change your intention ?"
" D'Artagnan ! Gascon that you are! who is the king, allow me to
ask,—you or myself?"
" You, sire, unfortunately."
" What do you mean by ' unfortunately' ?"
" Yes, sire; for if it were I "
" If it were you, you would approve of M. d'Artagnan's rebellious
conduct, I suppose ?" " Certainly."
" Really !" said the king, shrugging his shoulders.
" And I should tell my captain of the musketeers," continued d'Ar-
tagnan, " I should tell him, looking at him all the while with human
eyes, and not with eyes like coals of fire, ' M. d'Artagnan, I had for-
gotten that I was the king, for I descended from my throne in order to
insult a gentleman.'"
" Monsieur," said the king, " do you think you can excuse your
friend by exceeding him in insolence ?"
" Oh, sire! I should go much farther than he did," said d'Artagnan;
" and it would be your own fault. I should tell you what he, a man
full of the finest sense of delicacy, did not tell you; I should say—
' Sire, you have sacrificed his son, and he defended his son—you sacri-
ficed himself; he addressed you in the name of honour, of religion, of
virtue—you repulsed, drove him away, imprisoned him.' I should be
harder than he was, for I should say to you—' Sire, it is for you to
choose. Do you wish to have friends or lackeys—soldiers or slaves—
great men or mere puppets ? Do you wish men to serve you, or to
288 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONUE.
bend and crouch before you ? Do you wish men to love you, or to be
afraid of you ? If you prefer baseness, intrigue, cowardice, say so at
once, sire, and we will leave you,—we who are the only individuals who
are left,—nay, I will say more, the only models of the valour of former
times; we who have done our duty, and have exceeded, perhaps, in
courage and in merit, the men already great for posterity. Choose,
sire! and that too without delay. Whatever remains to you of great
nobles, guard it with a jealous eye; you will never be deficient in
courtiers. Delay not—and send me to the Bastille with my friend;
for, if you have not known how to listen to the Comte de la Fere,
whose voice is the sweetest and noblest when honour is his theme; if
you do not know how to listen to d'Artagnan, the frankest and honestest
voice of sincerity, you are a bad king, and to-morrow will be a poor
king. And learn from me, sire, that bad kings are hated by their
people, and poor kings are driven ignominiously away.' That is what I
had to say to you, sire; you are wrong to have driven me to do it."
The king threw himself back in his chair, cold as death, and livid as
a corpse. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he could not have been
more astonished; he seemed as if his respiration had utterly ceased, and
that he was at tbe point of death. The honest voice of sincerity, as
d'Artagnan had called it, had pierced through his heart like a sword-
blade.
D'Artagnan had said all he had to say. Comprehending the king's,
anger, he drew his sword, and, approaching Louis XIV. respectfully,
he placed it on the table. But the king, with a furious gesture, thrust
aside the sword, which fell on the ground and rolled to d'Artagnan's-
feet. Notwithstanding the perfect mastery which d'Artagnan exer-
cised over himself, he, too, in his turn, became pale, and, trembling with
indignation, said, " A king may disgrace a soldier,—he may exile him,
and may even condemn him to death; but were he a hundred times a
king, he has no rigbt to insult him by casting a dishonour upon his
sword! Sire, a king of France has never repulsed with contempt the
sword of a man such as I am! Stained with disgrace as this sword now
is, it has henceforth no other sheath than either your heart or my own L
I choose my own, sire; and you have to thank Heaven and my own
patience that I do so." Then snatching up his sword, he cried, " My
blood be upon your head!" and, with a rapid gesture, he placed the
hilt upon the floor and directed the point of the blade towards his
breast. The king, however, with a movement far more rapid than that
of d'Artagnan, threw his right arm round the musketeer's neck, and
with his left hand seized hold of the blade by the middle, and returned
it silently to the scabbard. D'Artagnan, upright, pale, and still trem-
bling, let the king do all to the very end. Louis, overcome and
softened by gentler feelings, returned to the table, took a pen in his
hand, wrote a few lines, signed them, and then held it out to d'Ar-
tagnan.
" What is this paper, sire?" inquired the captain.
" An order for M. d'Artagnan to set the Comte de la Fere at liberty
immediately."
D'Artagnan seized the king's hand, and imprinted a kiss upon it; he
then folded the order, placed it in his belt, and quitted the room.
Neither the king nor the captain had said a syllable.
" Oh, human heart! the guide and director of kings," murmured
Louis, when alone, " when shall I learn to read in your inmost recesses,
as in the leaves of a book! No, I am not a bad king—nor am I a poor
king; but I am still a child, after all."
POLITICAL RIVALS.
289
CHAPTER LXV.
Political Rivals.
D'Artagxan had promised M. de Baisemeaux to return in time for
dessert, and he kept his word. They had just reached the finer and
more delicate class of wines and liqueurs with which the governor's
cellar had the reputation of being most admirably stocked, when the
spurs of the captain resounded in the corridor, and he himself appeared
at the threshold. Athos and Aramis had played a close game; neither
of the two had been able to gain the slightest advantage over the other.
They had supped, talked a good deal about the Bastille, of the last
journey to Pontainebleau, of the intended fete that M. Fouquet was
about to give at Yaux; they had generalized on every possible subject:
and no one, excepting Baisemeaux, had in the slightest degree alluded
to private matters. D'Artagnan arrived in the very midst of the con-
versation, still pale and much disturbed by his interview with the king.
Baisemeaux hastened to give him a chair; d'Artagnan accepted a glass
of wine, and set it down empty. Athos and Aramis both remarked his
emotion ; as for Baisemeaux, he saw nothing more than the captain of
the king's musketeers, to whom he endeavoured to show every possible
attention. But, although Aramis had remarked his emotion, he had
not been able to guess the cause of it. Athos alone believed he had
detected it. For him, d'Artagnan's return, and particularly the manner
in which he, usually so impassible, seemed overcome, signified, " I have
just asked the king something which the king has refused me." Tho-
roughly convinced that his conjecture was correct, Athos smiled, rose
from the table, and made a sign to d'Artagnan, as if to remind him
that they had something else to do than to sup together. D'Artagnan
immediately understood him, and replied by another sign. Aramis and
Baisemeaux watched this silent dialogue, and looked inquiringly at
each other. Athos felt that he was called upon to give an explanation
of what was passing.
" The truth is, my friends," said the Comte de la Fere, with a smile,
"that you, Aramis, have been supping with a state criminal, and you,
Monsieur de Baisemeaux, with your prisoner."
Baisemeaux uttered an exclamation of surprise, and almost of de-
light; for he was exceedingly proud and vain of his fortress; and for
his own individual profit, the more prisoners he had, the happier he
was; and the higher the prisoners were in rank, the prouder he felt.
Aramis assumed an expression of countenance which he thought the
position justified, and said, " Well, dear Athos, forgive me; but I
almost suspected what has happened. Some prank of Raoul and La
Yalliere, I suppose ?"
" Alas !" said Baisemeaux.
" And," continued Aramis, " you, a high and powerful nobleman as
you are, forgetful that courtiers now exist—you have been to the king,
I suppose, and told him what you thought of his conduct ? "
"Yes, you have guessed right."
" So that," said Baisemeaux, trembling at having supped so familiarly
with a man who had fallen into disgrace with the king; " so that, mon-
sieur le comte "
" So that, my dear governor," said Athos," my friend d'Artagnan will
communicate to you the contents of the paper which I perceive just
VOL. II. V
290 THE VICOJ1TE DE BEAGELONKE.
peeping out of his belt, and which assuredly can he nothing else than
the order for my incarceration."
Baisemeaux held out his hand with his accustomed eagerness. D'Ar-
tagnan drew two papers from his belt, and presented one of them to the
governor, who unfolded it, and then read, in a low tone of voice, looking
at Athos over the paper, as he did so, and pausing from time to time :
" 'Order to detain in my chateau of the Bastille, Monsieur le Comte de la
Fere.' Oh, monsieur ! this is indeed a very melancholy honour for me."
"You will have a patient prisoner, monsieur," said Athos, in his
calm, soft voice.
" A prisoner, too, who will not remain a month with you, my dear
governor," said Aramis ; while Baisemeaux, still holding the order in
his hand, transcribed it upon the prison registry.
"Not a day, or rather not even a night," said d'Artagnan, dis-
playing the second order of the king," for now, dear M. de Baise-
meaux, you will have the goodness to transcribe also this order for
setting the comte immediately at liberty."
" Ah! " said Aramis, "it is a labour that you have deprived me of,
d'Artagnan;" and he pressed the musketeer's hand in a significant
manner, at the same moment as that of Athos.
" "What!" said the latter, in astonishment, " the king sets me at
liberty !" " Bead, my dear friend," returned d'Artagnan.
Athos took the order and read it. " It is quite true," he said.
" Are you sorry for it P" asked d'Artagnan.
" Oh, no, on the contrary; I wish the king no harm; and the greatest
evil or misfortune that any one can wish kings, is that they should
commit an act of injustice. But you have had a difficult and painful
task, I know. Tell me, have you not, d'Artagnan ? "
" I ? not at all," said the musketeer, laughing; " the king does every-
thing I wish him to do."
Aramis looked fixedly at d'Artagnan, and saw that he was not speaking
the truth. But Baisemeaux had eyes for nothing but d'Artagnan, so
great was his' admiration for a man who seemed to make the king do
all he wished. " And does the king exile Athos ? " inquired Aramis.
"No, not precisely; the king did not explain himself upon that
subject," replied d'Artagnan; " but I think the comte could not well
do better, unless, indeed, he wishes particularly to thank the king "
" No, indeed," replied Athos, smiling.
"Well, then, I think," resumed d'Artagnan, "that the comte cannot
do better than to retire to his own chateau. However, my dear Athos,
you have only to speak, to tell me what you want. If any particular
place of residence is more agreeable to you than another, I am influ-
ential enough, perhaps, to obtain it for you."
"No, thank you," said Athos; "nothing can he more agreeable to
me, my dear friend, than to return to my solitude beneath my noble
trees, on the banks of the Lome. If Heaven be the overruling physi-
cian of the evils of the mind, nature is a sovereign remedy. And so,
monsieur," continued Athos, turning again towards Baisemeaux, " I
am now free, I suppose ? "
"Yes, monsieur le comte, I think so—at least, I hope so," said the
governor, turning over and over the two papers in question, " unless,
however, M. d'Artagnan has a third order to give me."
"No, my dear Monsieur Baisemeaux, no," said the musketeer; " the
second is quite enough; we can stop there."
" Ah ! monsieur le comte," said Baisemeaux, addressing Athos, " you
do not know what you are losing. I should have placed you among'the
POLITICAL EIVALS. 291
thirty-franc prisoners, like the generals—what am I saying ?—I mean
among the fifty-francs, like the princes; and you would have supped
every evening as you have done to-night."
" Allow me, mo'nsieur," said Athos, " to prefer my own simpler fare."
And then, turning to d'Artagnan, he said, "Let us go, my dear friend.
Shall I have that greatest of all pleasures for me—that of having you
as my companion P "
" To the city gate only," replied d'Artagnan, " after which 1 will tell
you what I'told the king. I am on duty."
" And you, my dear Aramis," said Athos, smiling; " will you accom-
pany me ? La Pere is on the road to Vannes."
" Thank you, my dear friend," said Aramis. " but I have an appoint-
ment in Paris this evening, and I cannot leave without very serious
interests suffering by my absence."
" In that case," said Athos, " I must say adieu, and take my leave of
you. My dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, I have to thank you exceed-
ingly for your kind and friendly disposition towards me, and particu-
larly for the specimen you have given me of the usual fare of the
Bastille." And, having embraced Aramis, and shaken hands with
M. de Baisemeaux, and having received their wishes for an agreeable
journey from them both, Athos set off' with d'Artagnan.
"Whilst the denouement of the sceue of the Palais Royal was taking
place at the Bastille, let us relate what was going on at the lodgings
of Athos and Bragelonne. Grimaud, as we have seen, had accompanied
his master to Paris; and, as we have said, he was present when Athos
went out; he had observed d'Artagnan gnaw the corners of his mous-
taches; he had seen his master get into the carriage; he had narrowly
examined both their countenances, and he had known them both for a
sufficiently long period to read and understand, through the mask of
their impassibility, that something serious was the matter. As soon as
Athos had gone, he began to reflect; he then, and then only, remem-
bered the strange manner in which Athos had taken leave of him, the
embarrassment—imperceptible for any one else but himself—of the
master whose ideas were, to him, so clear and defined, and the expres-
sion of whose wishes was so precise. He knew that Athos had taken
nothing with him but the clothes he had on him at the time; and yet.
he seemed to fancy that Athos had not left for an hour merely, or even
for a day. A long absence was signified by the manner in which he
pronounced the word, " Adieu." All these circumstances recurred to
his mind, with feelings of deep affection for Athos, with that horror of
isolation and solitude which' invariably besets the minds of those who
love; and all these combined, rendered poor Grimaud very melancholy,
and particularly very uneasy. Without being able to account to him-
self for what he did, since his master's departure he wandered about
the room, seeking, as it were, for some traces of him, like a faithful dog,
who is not exactly uneasy about his absent master, but at least is restless.
Only as, in addition to the instinct of the animal, Grimaud subjoined
the reasoning faculties of the man, Grimaud therefore felt uneasy and
restless too. Not having found any indication which could serve as a
guide, and having neither seen nor discovered anything which could!
satisfy his doubts, Grimaud began to imagine what could possibly have
happened. Besides, the imagination is the resource, or rather the
punishment of good and affectionate hearts. In fact, never does a good
heart represent its absent friend to itself as being happy or cheerful.
N ever does the pigeon who travels in search of adventures inspire any-
thing but terror to the pigeon who remains at home.
292 the yicomte de bragelonne.
Grimaud soon passed from uneasiness to terror; he carefully went
over, in his own mind, everything that had taken place: d'Artagnan's
letter to Athos, the letter which had seemed to distress Athos so much
after he had read it: then Eaoul's visit to Athos, which resulted in
Athos desiring him (Grimaud) to get his various orders and his court
dress ready to put on; then his interview with the king, at the end of
which Athos had returned home so unusually gloomy; then the explan-
ation between the father and the son, at the termination of which
Athos had embraced Eaoul with such sadness of expression, while
Eaoul himself went away equally sad and melancholy; and, finally,
d'Artagnan's arrival, biting, as if he were vexed, the end of his mous-
tache, and his leaving again in the carriage, accompanied by the Comte
de la Fere. All that composed a drama in five acts very clearly, parti-
cularly for so analytical an examiner as Grimaud.
The first step he took was to search in his master's coat for M. d'Ar-
tagnan's letter; he found the letter still there, which contained the
following:—
"My dear friend,—Eaoul has been to ask me for some parti-
culars about the conduct of Mademoiselle de la Yalliere, during our
young friend's residence in London. I am a poor captain of muske-
teers, and am sickened to death every day by hearing all the scandal of
the barracks and bedside conversations. If I had told Eaoul all I be-
lieve I know, the poor fellow would have died from it; but I am in the
king's service, and cannot relate all I hear about the king's affairs. If
your heart tells you to do it, set off at once; the matter concerns you
more than myself, and almost as much as Eaoul."
Grimaud tore, not a handful, but a finger-and-thumbful of hair out
of his head; he would have done more if his head of hair had been in
more flourishing circumstances.
"Yes," he said, "that is the key of the whole enigma. The young
girl has been playing her pranks; what people say about her and the
king is true, then; our young master has been deceived; he ought to
know it. Monsieur le comte has been to see the king, and has told him
a piece of his mind; and then the king sent M. d'Artagnan to arrange
the affair. Ah, gracious goodness !" continued Grimaud, " monsieur le
comte, I now remember, returned without his sword."
This discovery made the perspiration break out all over poor Gri-
maud's face. He did not waste any more time in useless conjecture,
but clapped his hat on his head, and ran to Eaoul's lodgings.
Eaoul, after Louise had left him, had mastered his grief, if not his
affection; and, compelled to look forward on that perilous road on
which madness and rebellion were hurrying him, he had seen, from the
very first glance, his father exposed to the royal obstinacy; since Athos
had himself been the first to oppose any resistance to the royal will.
At this moment, from a very natural sympathy of feeling, the un-
happy young man remembered the mysterious signs which Athos had
made, and the unexpected visit of d'Artagnan; the result of the con-
flict between a sovereign and a subject revealed itself to his terrified
vision. As d'Artagnan was on duty, that is, fixed to his post with-
out possibility of leaving it, it was certainly not likely that he had come
to pay Athos a visit merely for the pleasure of seeing him. He must
have come to say something to him. This something, in such painful
conjectures, was either a misfortune or a danger. Eaoul trembled at
having been so selfish as to have forgotten his father for his affection;
at having, in a word, nassed his time in idle dreams, or in an indul-
porthos is convinced. 293
gence of despair, at a time when a necessity existed for repelling the
imminent attack directed against Athos. The very idea nearly drove
him wild; he buckled on his sword and ran towards his father's lodg-
ings. On his way there he encountered Grimaud, who, having set off
from the opposite pole, was running with equal eagerness in search
of the truth. The two men embraced each other most warmly.
" Grimaud," exclaimed Eaoul, " is the comte well ? "
" Have you seen him ? " " No; where is he ? "
" I am trying to find out." " And M. d'Artagnan ? "
"Went out with him."
" When ? " " Ten minutes after you had left."
" In what way did they go out ? " " In a carriage."
" Where did they go to ? " " I have no idea at all."
" Did my father take any money with him ? " " No."
" Or his sword ? "——" No."
" I have an idea, Grimaud, that M. d'Artagnan came in order to "
"Arrest monsieur-le comte, do you not think, monsieur?"
" Yes, Grimaud." " I could have sworn it."
" What road did they take ? "
" The way leading towards the quays."
" To the Bastille, then ? "—Yes. yes."
" Quick, quick; let us run." " Yes, let us not lose a moment."
" But where are we to go to ? " said Eaoul, overwhelmed.
"We will go to M. d'Artagnan's first, we may perhaps learn some-
thing there."
" No; if they kept me in ignorance at my father's, they will do the
same everywhere. Let us go to Oh, good heavens ! why I must
be mad to-day, Grimaud; I have forgotten M. du Vallon, who is wait-
ing for and expecting me still."
" Where is he, then ? " " At the Minimes of Yincennes4"
" Thank goodness, that is on the same side as the Bastille. I will run
and saddle the horses, and we will go at once," said Grimaud.
" Do, my friend, do."
CHAPTER, LXVI.
In which Porthos is convinced without having understood anything.
The good and worthy Porthos, faithful to all the laws of ancient
chivalry, had determined to wait for M. de Saint-Aignan until sunset;
and, as Saint-Aignan did not come, as Eaoul had forgotten to 'commu-
nicate with his second, and as he found that waiting so long was very
wearisome, Porthos had desired one of the gate-keepers to fetch him a
few bottles of good wine and a good joint of meat,—so that he at least
might pass away the time with a glass of wine and a mouthful of some-
thing to eat. He had just finished when Eaoul arrived, escorted by
Grimaud, both of them riding at full speed. As soon as Porthos saw the
two cavaliers riding at such a pace along the road, he did not for a mo-
ment doubt but that they were the men he was expecting, and he rose
from the grass upon which he had been indolently reclining and began
to stretch his legs and arms, saying, " See what it is to have good habits.
The fellow has finished by coming after all. If I had gone away he
would have found no one here, and would have taken an advantage
from that." He then threw himself into a martial attitude, and drew
himself up to the full height of his gigantic stature. But instead of
294 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Saint-Aignan, he only saw Eaoul, who, with the most despairing ges-
tures, accosted him by crying out, " Pray forgive me, my dear friend,
I am most wretched."
" Eaoul!" cried Porthos, surprised.
"You have been angry with me ?" said Eaoul, embracing Porthcs.
"I? What for?"
" For having forgotten you. But I assure you my head seems utterly
lost. If you only knew!"
" You have killed him ?" " Who ? "
" Saint-Aignan; or if that is not the case, what is the matter ? "
"The matter is, that Monsieur le comte de la Fere has by this time
been arrested."
Porthos gave a start that would have thrown down a wall.
" Arrested," he cried out; " by whom ? " " By d'Artagnan."
" It is impossible," said Porthos.
" My dear friend, it is perfectly true."
Porthos turned towards Grimaud, as if he needed a second confirma-
tion of the intelligence. Grimaud nodded his head. " And where have
they taken him to ? " " Probably to the Bastille."
" What makes you think that ? "
"As we came along we questioned some persons, who saw the car-
riage pass; and others who saw it enter the Bastille."
" Oh, oh !" muttered Porthos.
" What do you intend to do ? " inquired Eaoul.
" I ? Nothing; only I will not have Athos remain at the Bastille."
" Do you know," said Eaoul, advancing nearer to Porthos, " that the
arrest was made by order of the king ? "
Porthos looked at the young man, as if to say, "What does that
matter to me ? " This dumb language seemed so eloquent of meaning
to Eaoul, that he did not ask another question. He mounted his
horse again; and Porthos, assisted by Grimaud, had already done the
same.
" Let us arrange our plan of action," said Eaoul.
" Yes," returned Porthos, " that is the best thing we can do."
Eaoul sighed deeply, and then paused suddenly.
" What is the matter ? " asked Porthos; " are you faint ?"
"No, only I feel how utterly helpless our position is. Can we three
pretend to go and take the Bastille ? "
"Well, if d'Artagnan were only here," replied Porthos, "I don't
know about that."
Eaoul could not resist a feeling of admiration at the sight of such
a perfect confidence, heroic in its simplicity. These were truly the
celebrated men who, by three or four, attacked armies and assaulted
castles! Those men who had terrified death itself, and who survived
the wrecks of an age, and were still stronger than the most robust of
the young.
" Monsieur," said he to Porthos, "you have just given me an idea ;
we absolutely must see M. d'Artagnan."
" Undoubtedly."
" He ought by this time to have returned home, after having taken my
father to the Bastille. Let us go to his house."
" First inquire at the Bastille," said Grimaud, who was in the habit of
speaking little, but that to the purpose.
Accordingly, they hastened towards the fortress, when one of those
chances which Heaven bestows on men of strong will, caused Grimaud
.suddenly to perceive the carriage, which was entering by the great gate
PORTHOS IS CONVINCED. 295
of the drawbridge. This was at the moment that d'Artagnan was, as we
have seen, returning from his visit to the king. In vain was it that
Raoul urged on his horse in order to join the carriage, and to see whom
it contained. The horses had already gained the other side of the great
gate, which again closed, while one of the sentries struck the nose of
Raoul's horse with his musket; Raoul turned about, only too happy
to find he had ascertained something respecting the carriage which
had contained his father.
" We have him," said Grimaud.
" If we wait a little it is certain he will leave; don't you think so,
my friend ? "
" Unless, indeed, d'Artagnan also be a prisoner," replied Porthos, " in
which case everything is lost."
Raoul returned no answer, for any hypothesis was admissible. He
instructed Grimaud to lead the horses to the little street Jean-Beausire,
so as to give rise to less suspicion, and himself with his piercing gaze,
watched for the exit either of d'Artagnan or the carriage. Nor had he
decided wrongly; for twenty minutes had not elapsed before the gate
reopened and the carriage reappeared. A dazzling of the eyes prevented
Raoul from distinguishing what figures occupied the interior. Grimaud
averred that he had seen two persons, and that one of them was his
master. Porthos kept looking at Raoul and Grimaud by turns, in the
hope of understanding their idea.
" It is clear," said Grimaud, " that if the comte is in the carriage,
either he is set at liberty or they are taking him to another prison."
" We shall soon see that by the road he takes," answered Porthos.
"If he is set at liberty," said Grimaud, "they will conduct him
home." " True," rejoined Porthos.
" The carriage does not take that way," cried Raoul; and indeed the
horses were just disappearing down the faubourg St. Antoine.
" Let us hasten," said Porthos; " we will attack the carriage on the
road and tell Athos to flee."
" Rebellion," murmured Raoul.
Porthos darted a second glance at Raoul, quite worthy of the first.
Raoul replied only by spurring the flanks of his steed. In a few moments
the three cavaliers had overtaken the carriage, and.followed it so closely
that their horses' breath moistened the back of it. D'Artagnan, whose
senses were ever on the alert, heard the trot of the horses, at the mo-
ment when Raoul was telling Porthos to pass the chariot so as to see
who was the person accompanying Athos. Porthos complied, but could
not see anything for the blinds were lowered. Rage and impatience
were gaining mastery over Raoul. He had just noticed the mystery
preserved by Athos' companion, and determined on proceeding to extre-
mities. On his part d'Artagnan had perfectly recognized Porthos, and
Raoul also, from under the blinds, a,nd had communicated to the comte
the result of his observation. They were desirous only of seeing whe-
ther Raoul and Porthos would push the affair to the uttermost. And
this they speedily did, for Raoul presenting his pistol threw himself on
the leader, commanding the coachman to stop. Porthos seized the
coachman and dragged him from his seat. Grimaud already had hold
of the carriage door. Raoul threw open his arms, exclaiming, " M. le
Comte ! M. le Comte ! "
" Ah! is it you, Raoul," said Athos, intoxicated with joy.
"Not bad, indeed !" added d'Artagnan, with a burst of laughter, and
they both embraced the young man and Porthos who had taken posses-
sion of them.
296 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" My brave Porthos! best of friends," cried Athos, " it is still the
same with you."
" He is still only twenty," said d'Artagnan, " brave Porthos !"
"Confound it," answered Porthos, slightly confused, "we thought
that you were being arrested."
" "While," rejoined Athos, " the matter in question was nothing but
ray taking a drive in M. d'Artagnan's carriage."
"But we followed you from the Bastille," returned Raoul, with a
tone of suspicion and reproach.
" Where we had been to take supper with our good friend M. Baise-
meaux. Bo you recollect Baisemeaux, Porthos ? "
"Very well, indeed."
" And. there we saw Aramis."
" In the Bastille ? " " At supper ? "
" Ah!" said Porthos, again breathing freely.
" He gave us a thousand messages for you."
" And where is M. le Comte going ? " asked Grimaud, already recom-
pensed by a smile from his master.
" We were going home to Blois."
" How can that be ? " " At once P " said Raoul.
" Ves, right forward." " Without any luggage!"
" Oh! Raoul would have been instructed to forward me mine, or to
bring it with him on his return, if he returns."
" If nothing detains him longer in Paris," said d'Artagnan, with a
glance firm and cutting as steel, and as painful (for it reopened the poos
young fellow's wounds), " he will do well to follow you, Athos."
" There is nothing to keep me any longer in Paris," said Raoul.
" Then we will go immediately," replied Athos.
-" And M. d'Artagnan ? "
" Oh! as for me, I was only accompanying Athos as far as the barrier,
and I return with Porthos."
"Very good," said the latter.
"Come, my son," added the comte, gently passing his arm round
Raoul's neck to draw him into the carriage, and again embracing him.
" Grimaud," continued the comte, " you will return quietly to Paris
with your horse and M. de Vallon's, for Raoul and I will mount here
and give up the carriage to these two gentlemen to return to Paris in;
and then, as soon as you arrive, you will take my clothes and letters
and forward the whole to me at home."
" But," observed Raoul, who was anxious to make the comte con-
verse, "when you return to Paris, there will not be a single thing there
for you—which will be very inconvenient."
" I think it will be a very long time, Raoul, ere I return to Paris.
The last sojourn we have made there has not been of a nature to
encourage me to repeat it."
Raoul hung his head and said not a word more. Athos descended
from the carriage and mounted the horse which had brought Porthos,
and which seemed no little pleased at the exchange. Then they em-
braced, clasped each other's hands, interchanged a thousand pledges of
eternal friendship. Porthos promised to spend a month with Athos at
the first opportunity. D'Artagnan engaged to take advantage of his
first leave of absence; and then, having embraced Raoul for the last
time: " To you, my boy," said he, "I will write." Coming from (fAr-
tagnan, who he knew wrote but very seldom, these words expressed
everything. Raoul was moved even to tears. He tore himself away
from the musketeer and departed.
m. de baisemeatjx's " society." £27
L'Artagnan rejoined Porthos in the carriage: "Well," said he, "my
dear friend, what a day we have had !"
" Indeed we have," answered Porthos.
" You must be quite worn out ? "
"Not quite; however, I shall retire early to rest, so as to be ready
to-morrow."
" And wherefore ? " " Why ! to complete what I have begun."
"You make me shudder, my friend, you seem to me quite angry.
What the devil have you begun which is not finished ? "
" Listen; Paoul has not fought, but I must fight! "
" With whom ? with the king ? "
" How! " exclaimed Porthos astounded, " with the king ? "
" Yes, I say, you great baby, with the king! "
" I assure you it is with M. Saint-Aignan."
" Look now, this is what I mean: you draw your sword against the
king in fighting with this gentleman."
" Ah! " said Porthos, staring; " are you sure of it ? "
" Indeed I am." " What in the world are we to do then ? "
" We must try and make a good supper, Porthos. The captain of the
musketeers keeps a tolerable table. There you will see the handsome
Saint-Aignan, and will drink his health."
" I!" cried Porthos, horrified.
" What!" said d'Artagnan, " you refuse to drink the king's health ? "
"But, body alive ! I am not talking to you about the king at all; I
am speaking of M. de Saint-Aignan."
" But since I repeat that it is the same thing."
" Ah, well, well!" said Porthos, overcome.
" You understand, don't you ? "
"No," answered Porthos, " but 'tis all the same."
CHAPTER LXVII.
M. de Baisemeaux's " Society."
The reader has not forgotten, that, on quitting the Bastille, d'Artag--
nan and the Comte de la Pere had left Aramis in close confabluation
with Baisemeaux. When once these two guests had departed, Baise-
meaux did not in the least perceive that the conversation suffered by
their absence. He used to think that wine after supper, and that of
the Bastille in particular, was excellent; and that it was a stimulant
quite sufficient to make an honest man talk. But he little knew his
greatness, who was never more impenetrable than at dessert. His
greatness, however, perfectly understood M. de Baisemeaux, when he
reckoned on making the governor discourse on the means which the
latter regarded as efficacious. The conversation, therefore, without
flagging in appearance, flagged in reality; for Baisemeaux not only
had it nearly all to himself, but further, kept speaking only of that
singular event—the incarceration of Athos,—followed by so prompt an
order to set him again at liberty. Nor, moreover, had Baisemeaux
failed to observe that the two orders, of arrest and of liberation, were
both in the king's hand. But then, the king would not take the trouble
to write similar orders except under pressing circumstances. All this
was very interesting, and, above all, very puzzling to Baisemeaux; but
as on the other hand all this was very clear to Aramis, the latter did
not attach to the occurrence the same importance as did the worthy
governor. Besides, Aramis rarely put himself out of the way for any-
298 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
thing, and he had not yet told M. de Baisemeaux for what reason lie
had now done so. And so at the very climax of Baisemeaux's disserta-
tion, Aramis suddenly interrupted him.
" Tell me, my dear M. Baisemeaux," said he, " have you never any
other diversions at the Bastille than those at which I assisted during the
two or three visits I have had the honour to pay you ? "
This address was so unexpected that the governor, like a vane which
suddenly receives an impulsion opposed to that of the wind, was quite
dumbfounded at it. "Diversions," said he, "but I take them con-
tinually, monseigneur."
" O, to be sure ! And these diversions ?" " Are of every kind."
" Visits, no doubt ? "
" No, not visits. Visits are not frequent at the Bastille."
"What, are visits rare, then?" Very much so."
" Even on the part of your society ?".
" What do you term by my society—the prisoners ? "
" Oh, no !—your prisoners, indeed! I know well it is you who visit
them, and not they you. By your society, I mean, my dear M. Baise-
meaux, the society of which you are a member."
Baisemeaux looked fixedly at Aramis, and then, as if the idea which
had flashed across his mind were impossible, " Oh!" he said, " I have
very little society at present. If I must own it to you, dear M. d'Her-
blay, the fact is, to stay at the Bastille appears, for the most part, dis
tressing and distasteful to persons of the gay world. As for the ladies,
it is never without a dread, which costs me infinite trouble to allay,
that they succeed in reaching my quarters. And, indeed, how should
they avoid trembling a little, poor things, when they see those gloomy
dungeons, and reflect that they are inhabited by prisoners who "
And in proportion as the eyes of Baisemeaux concentrated their gaze
on the face of Aramis, the worthy governor's tongue faltered more and
more, until it ended by stopping altogether.
" No, you don't understand me, my dear M. Baisemeaux; you don't
understand me. I do not at all mean to speak of society in general, but
of a particular society—of the society, in a word,—to which you are
affiliated."
Baisemeaux nearly dropped the glass of muscat which he was in the
act of raising to his lips. " Affiliated!" cried he, " affiliated!"
"Yes, affiliated, undoubtedly," repeated Aramis, with the greatest
self-possession. "Are you not a member of a secret society, my dear
M. Baisemeaux ? "
" Secret ? " " Secret or mysterious."
" Oh, Monsieur d'Herblay !" " Consider now, don't deny it."
" But believe me." " I believe what I know."
" I swear to you."
" Listen to me, my dear M. Baisemeaux; I say yes, you say no; one of
us two necessarily says what is true, and the other, it inevitably follows,
what is false."
"Well, and then?" "Well, we shall come to an understanding
presently."
" Let us see," said Baisemeaux; " let us see."
" Now drink your glass of muscat, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux,"
said Aramis. " What the devil! you lopk quite scared."
" No, no; not the least in the wrorld; no."
" Drink then." Baisemeaux drank, but he swallowed the wrong way.
" Well," resumed Aramis, " if I say you are not a member of a secret
or mysterious society, which you like to call it, the epithet is of no con-
M. DE BAISEMEAUX'S " SOCIETY." 293
sequence; if I say you are not a member of a society similar to that
I wish to designate, well, then, you will not understand a word of what
I am going to say, that is all."
" Oh! he sure beforehand, that I shall not understand anything."
"Well, well!"
" Try now, let us see." " That is what I am going to do."
" If, on the contrary, you are one of the members of this society,
you will immediately answer me—yes, or no."
" Begin your questions," continued Baisemeaux, trembling.
"You will agree, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux," continued Aramis,
with the same impassibility, "that it is evident a man cannot be a
member of a society, it is evident that he cannot enjoy the advantages
it offers to the affiliated, without being himself bound to certain little
services."
" In short," stammered Baisemeaux, " that would be intelligible,
if "
" Well," resumed Aramis, "there is in the society of which I speak,
and of which, as it seems, you are not a member."
" Allow me," said Baisemeaux. " I should not like to say absolutely."
"There is an engagement entered into by all the governors and
captains of fortresses affiliated to the order." Baisemeaux grew pale.
" Now the engagement," continued Aramis, firmly," is of this nature."
Baisemeaux rose, manifesting unspeakable emotion, " Go on, dear
M. d'Herblay; go on," said he.
Aramis then spoke, or rather recited the following paragraph, in the
same tone as if he had been reading it from a book, " The aforesaid
captain or governor of a fortress shall allow to enter, when need shall
arise, and on demand of the prisoner, a confessor affiliated to the order."
He stopped, Baisemeaux was quite distressing to look at, being so
wretchedly pale and trembling. " Is not that the text of the agree-
ment ?" quietly asked Aramis.
" Monseigneur 1" began Baisemeaux.
" Ah! well you begin to understand, I .think."
" Monseigneur," cried Baisemeaux, " do not trifle so with my unhappy
mind! I find myself nothing in your hands, if you have the malignant
desire to draw from me the little secrets of my administration."
" Oh! by no means; pray undeceive yourself, dear M. Baisemeaux;
it is not the little secrets of your administration, but those of your con-
science that I aim at."
" Well, then, my conscience be it, dear M. d'Herblay. But have
some consideration for the situation I am in, which is no ordinary one."
" It is no ordinary one, my dear monsieur," continued the inflexible
Aramis, " if you are a member of this society; but it is quite a natural
one if free from all engagements. You are answerable only to the king."
" Well, monsieur, well! I obey only the king, and whom else would
you have a French nobleman obey ?"
Aramis did not yield an inch; but with that silvery voice of his, con-
tinned, " It is very pleasant," said he, " for a French nobleman, for a
prelate of France, to hear a man of your mark express himself so
loyally, dear de Baisemeaux, and having heard you to believe no more
than you do."
" Have you doubted, monsieur ?" " I ? oh, no !"
" And so you doubt no longer ?"
" I have no longer any doubt that such a man as you, monsieur,"
said Aramis, gravely, " does not faithful'y serve the masters whom h8
voluntarily chose for himself."
300 the vicomte de bbagelonxe.
" Masters !" cried Baisemeaux. "Yes, masters, I said."
" Monsieur d'Herblay, you are still jesting, are you not ?"
" Oh, yes! I understand that it is a more difficult position to havo
several masters than one ; but the embarrassment is owing to you, my
dear Baisemeaux, and I am not the cause of it."
" Certainly not," returned the unfortunate governor, more embar-
rassed than ever; "but what are you doing? You are leaving the
table ?" " Assuredly."
" Are you going ?" " Yes, I am going."
" But you are behaving very strangely towards me, monseigneur."
u I am behaving strangely—how do you make that out ? "
" Have you sworn, then, to put me to the torture ? "
■ " No, I should be sorry to do so."
" Remain, then." " I cannot."
"And why?" "Because I have no longer anything to do here;
and, indeed, I have duties to fulfil elsewhere."
" Duties, so late as this ?"
" Yes; understand me now, my dear de Baisemeaux; they told md at
the place whence I came,' The aforesaid governor or captain will allow
to enter, as need shall arise, on the prisoner's demand, a confessor
affiliated with the order.' I came ; you do not know what I mean, and
so I shall return to tell them that they are mistaken, and that they
must send me elsewhere."
" "VYhat! you are " cried Baisemeaux, looking at Aramis almost
in terror.
" The confessor affiliated to the order," said Aramis, without changing
his voice.
But, gentle as the words were, they had the same effect on the
unhappy governor as a clap of thunder. Baisemeaux became livid, and
it seemed to him as if Aramis's beaming eyes were two forks of flame,
piercing to the very bottom of his soul. " The confessor !" murmured
he; " you, monseigneur, the confessor of the order !"
"Yes, I; but we have nothing to unravel together, seeing that you
are not one of the affiliated." " Monseigneur!"
" And I understand, that not being so, you refuse to comply with its
commands."
" Monseigneur, I beseech you, condescend to hear me."
" And wherefore ?"
" Monseigneur, I do not say that I have nothing to do with the
society." " Ah! ah !"
" I say not that I refuse to obey."
" Nevertheless, M. de Baisemeaux, what has passed wears very much
the air of resistance."
" Oh, no! monseigneur, no; I only wished to be certain,"
" To be certain of what?" said Aramis, in a tone of supreme contempt.
" Of nothing at all, monseigneur." Baisemeaux lowered his voice,
and bending before the prelate, said, " I am at all times and in all places
at the disposal of my masters, but "
" Yery good. I like you better thus, monsieur," said Aramis, as he
resumed his seat, and put out his glass to Baisemeaux, whose hand
trembled so that he could not fill it. " You were saying ' but' " con-
tinued Aramis.
" But," replied the unhappy man, " having no notice, I was far from
expecting,"
" Does not the Gospel say,' Watch, for the moment is known only of
God.' Do not the rules of the order say,' Watch, for that which I will,
M. DE BAISEMEADX'S "SOCIETY." 301
you ought always to will also.' And on what pretext is it that you did
not expect the confessor, M. de Baisemeaux ?"
" Because, monseigneur, there is at present in the Bastille, no pri-
soner ill."
Aramis shrugged his shoulders, " What do you know about that ?"
said he.
" But, nevertheless, it appears to me "
" M. de Baisemeaux," said Aramis, turning round in his chair, " here
is your servant, who wishes to speak with you;" and, at this moment,
de Baisemeaux's servant appeared at the threshold of the door.
" What is it?" aslced Baisemeaux, sharply.
" Monsieur," said the man, " they are bringing you the doctor's
return."
Aramis looked at de Baisemeaux with a calm and confident eye.
" Well," said he, " let the messenger enter."
The messenger entered, saluted, and handed in the report. Baise-
meaux ran his eye over it, and raising his head said, in surprise, "No.
12 is ill."
" How was it, then," said Aramis, carelessly, " that you told me,
everybody was well in your hotel, M. de Baisemeaux ?" And he emp-
tied his glass without removing his eyes from Baisemeaux.
The governor then made a sign to the messenger, and when he had
quitted the room said, still trembling, "I think that there is in the article,
' on the prisoner's demand.' "
"Yes, it is so;" answered Aramis. "But, see what it is they want
with you now."
At that moment, a sergeant put his head in at the door. " What do
you want now ?" cried Baisemeaux. " Can you not leave me in peace,
for ten minutes ?"
"Monsieur," said the sergeant, "the sick man, No. 12, has commis-
sioned the turnkey to request you to send him a confessor."
Baisemeaux very nearly sank on the floor; but Aramis disdained to
reassure him, just as he had disdained to terrify him. " What must I
answer ?" inquired Baisemeaux.
'"Just what you please," replied Aramis, compressing his lips; " that
is your business. I am not governor of the Bastille."
" Tell the prisoner," cried Baisemeaux, quickly.—" tell the prisoner
that his request is granted." The sergeant left the room. " O, mon-
seigneur, monseigneur," murmured Baisemeaux, "how could I have
suspected .'—how could I have foreseen this!"
" Who requested you to suspect, and who besought you to foresee ?y
contemptuously answered Aramis. "The order suspects; the orde?
knows ; the order foresees—is not that enough ?"
" What do you command ?" added Baisemeaux.
" I ?—nothing at all. I am nothing but a poor priest, a simple con-
fessor. Have I your orders to go and see the sufferer ?"
" O, monseigneur, I do not order; I pray you to go."
*"Tis well; then conduct me to him."
302
the yicomte de bragelonne.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
The Prisoner.
Since Aramis's singular transformation into a confessor of the order,
Baisemeaux was no longer the same man. Up to that period, the place
which Aramis had held in the worthy governor's estimation, was that
of a prelate whom he respected and a friend to whom he owed a debt of
gratitude; but now he felt himself an inferior, and that Aramis was
his master. He himself lighted a lantern, summoned a turnkey, and
said, returning to Aramis," I am at your orders, monseigneur." Aramis
merely nodded his head, as much as to say," Very good;" and signed to
him with his hand to lead the way. Baisemeaux advanced, and Aramis
followed him. It was a beautiful starry night; the steps of the three
men resounded on the flags of the terraces, and the clinking of the
keys hanging from the gaoler's girdle made itself heard up to the stories
of the towers, as if to remind the prisoners that liberty was out of their
reach. It might have been said, that the alteration effected in Baise-
rneaux had extended itself even to the prisoners. The turnkey, the
same who on Aramis's first arrival had shown himself so inquisitive and
curious, had now become not only silent, but even impassible. He
held his head down, and seemed afraid to keep his ears open. In this
wise they reached the basement of the Bertaudiere, the two first stories
of which were mounted silently and somewhat slowly; for Baisemeaux,
though far from disobeying, was far from exhibiting any eagerness to
obey. On arriving at the door, Baisemeaux showed a disposition to
enter the prisoner's chamber; but Aramis stopping him on the thres-
hold said, " The rules do not allow the governor to hear the prisoner's
confession."
Baisemeaux bowed, and made way for Aramis, who took the lantern
and entered; and then signed to them to close the door behind
him. For an instant, he remained standing listening whether Baise-
meaux and the turnkey had retired; but as soon as he was assured by
the sound of their dying footsteps that they had left the tower, he put
the lantern on the table and gazed around. On a bed of green serge,
similar in all respects to the other beds in the Bastille, save that it was
newer, and under curtains half-drawn, reposed a young man, to whom
we have already once before introduced Aramis. According to custom,
the prisoner was without a light. At the hour of curfew, he was bound
to extinguish his lamp, and we perceive how much he was favoured, in
being allowed to keep it burning, even till then. Near the bed a
large leathern armchair, with twisted legs, sustained his clothes. A
little table—without pens, books, paper, or ink—stood neglected in sad-
ness near the window; while several plates, still unemptied, showed
that the prisoner had scarcely touched his recent repast. Aramis saw
that the young man was stretched upon his bed, his face half-concealed
by his arms. The arrival of a visitor did not cause any change of position,
either he was waiting in expectation, or was asleep. Aramis lighted the
candle from the lantern, pushed back the armchair, and approached
the bed with an evident mixture of interest and respect. The young
man raised his head. " What is it ?" said he.
" Have you not desired a confessor;" replied Aramis. " Yes."
" Because you are ill." " Yes."
" Very ill?"
THE PRISONER. 303
The young man gave Aramis a piercing glance, and answered, " I
thank you/' After a moment's silence, " I have seen you before," he
continued. Aramis bowed.
Doubtless, the scrutiny the prisoner had just made of the cold, crafty,
and imperious character stamped upon the features of the bishop of
Vannes, was little reassuring to one iu his situation, for he added, "I
am better." "And then?" said Aramis.
"Why then—being better, I have no longer the same need of a con-
fessor, I think."
"Not even of the haircloth, which the note you found in your bread
informed you of?"
The young man started; but before he had either assented or denied,
Aramis continued, " Not, even, of the ecclesiastic from whom you were
to hear an important revelation ?"
"If it be so," said the young man, sinking again on his pillow; "it
is different; I listen."
Aramis then looked at him more closely, and was struck with the
easy majesty of his mien, one which can never be acquired unless
Heaven has implanted it in the blood or heart. " Sit down, monsieur,"
said the prisoner.
Aramis bowed and obeyed. " How does the "Bastille agree with you,"
asked the bishop. " Yery well."
" You do not suffer ? " " No."
"You have nothing to regret?" "Nothing."
" Not even your liberty ? "
" What do you call liberty, monsieur ? " asked the prisoner, with
the tone of a man who is preparing for a struggle.
" I call liberty, the flowers, the air, light, the stars, the happiness of
going whithersoever the nervous limbs of twenty years of age may wish
to carry you." The young man smiled, whether in resignation or con-
tempt, it was difficult to tell. "Look," said he, " I have in that Japa-
nese vase two roses gathered yesterday evening in the bud from the
governor's garden ; this morning they have blown and spread their ver-
million chalice beneath my gaze; with every opening petal they unfold
the treasures of their perfume, filling my chamber with a fragrance that
embalms it. Look now on these two roses; even among roses these are
beautiful, and the rose is the most beautiful of flowers. Why, then,
do you bid me desire other flowers when I possess the loveliest of all P "
Aramis gazed at the young man in surprise. " If flowers constitute
liberty," sadly resumed the captive, " I am free, for I possess them."
" But the air!" cried Aramis; " air so necessary to life !"
"Well, monsieur," returned the prisoner; "draw near to the win-
dow; it is open. Between heaven and earth the wind whirls on its
storms of hail and lightning, wafts its warm mists or breathes in gentle
breezes. It caresses my face. When mounted on the back of this
armchair, with my arm around the bars of the window to sustain
myself, I fancy I am swimming in the wide expanse before me."
The countenance of Aramis darkened as the young man continued:
" Light I have ! what is better than light ? I have the sun, a friend
who comes to visit me every day without the permission of the governor
or the gaoler's company. He comes in at the window and traces in
my room a square the shape of the window, and which lights up the
hangings of my bed down to the border. This luminous square in-
creases from ten o'clock till midday, and decreases from one till three
slowly, as if, having hastened to come, it sorrowed at leaving me.
When its last ray disappears I have enjoyed its presence for four hours.
304 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Is not that sufficient? {I have been told that there are unhappy
beings who dig in quarries, and labourers who toil in mines, and who
never behold it at all." Aramis wiped the drops from his brow. " As
to the stars which are so delightful to view," continued the young man,
"they all resemble each other save in size and brilliancy. I am a
favoured mortal, for if you hjid not lighted that candle you would have
been able to see the beautiful stars which I was gazing at from my
couch before your arrival, and whose rays were playing over my eyes."
Aramis lowered his head; he felt himself overwhelmed with the bitter
flow of that sinister philosophy which is the religion of the captive.
" So much, then, for the flowers, the air, the daylight, and the stars,"
tranquilly continued the young man; " there remains but my exercise.
Do I not walk all day in the governor's garden if it is fine—here if it
rains ? in the fresh air if it is warm; in the warm, thanks to my winter
steve, if it be cold ? Ah! monsieur, do you fancy," continued the
prisoner, not without bitterness, " that men have not done everything
for me that a man can hope for or desire ? "
"Men.!" said Aramis; "be it so; but it seems to me you forget
Heaven."
" Indeed I have forgotten Heaven," answered the prisoner, with
emotion ; " but why do you mention it ? Of what use is it to talk to a
prisoner of Heaven ?"
Aramis looked steadily at this singular youth, who possessed the
resignation of a martyr with the smile of an atheist. " Is not Heaven
in everything?" he murmured in a reproachful tone.
" Say rather, at the end of everything," answered the prisoner, firmly.
" Be it so," said Aramis; " but let us return to our startiug-point."
"I desire nothing better," returned the young man.
" I am your confessor." " Yes."
" Well, then, you ought, as a penitent, to tell me the truth."
" All that I wish is to tell it you."
" Every prisoner has committed some crime for which he has been
imprisoned. What crime then have you committed ? "
"You asked me the same question the first time you saw me,"
returned the prisoner.
"And then, as now, you evaded giving me an answer."
" And what reason have you for thinking that I shall now reply
to you ?" " Because this time I am your confessor."
" Then, if you wish me to tell what crime I have committed explain
to me in what a crime consists. For as my conscience does not accuse
me, I aver that I am not a criminal."
"We are often criminals in the sight of the great of the earth, not
alone for having ourselves committed crimes, but because we know that
crimes have been committed."
The prisoner manifested the deepest attention. "Yes, I understand
you," he said, after a pause; " yes, you are right, monsieur; it is very
possible that, in that light I am a criminal in the eyes of the great of
the earth."
"Ah! then you know something," said Aramis, who thought he
had pierced not merely through a defect in, but through the joints of
the harness.
"No, I am not aware of anything," replied the young man; "but
sometimes I think and I say to myself "
" What do ypu say to yourself?"
" That if I were to think any further I should either go mad or I
should divine a great deal"
THE PRISONER. 305
"And then—and then?" saidAramis, impatiently.
"Then I leave off." " You leave off?"
"Yes; my head becomes confused and my ideas melancholy; I
feel ennui overtaking me; I wish " " What?"
" 1 don't know; but I do not like to give myself up to longing for
things which I do not possess, when I am so happy with what T
have."
" You are afraid of death ?" said Aramis, with a slight uneasiness.
" Yes," said the young man, smiling.
Aramis felt the chill of that smile, and shuddered. " O, as you fear
death, you know more about matters than you say," he cried.
" And you," returned the prisoner, " who bade me to ask to see you ;
you, who, when I did ask for you, came here promising a world of con-
fidence; how is it that, nevertheless, it is you who are silent, and 'tis I
who speak ? Since, then, we both wear masks, either let us both retain
them or put them aside together."
Aramis felt the force and justice of the remark, saying to himself,
" This is no ordinary man; I must be cautious. Are you ambitious ?"
said he suddenly to the prisoner, aloud, without preparing him for the
alteration.
" What do you mean by ambition ?" replied the youth.
" It is," replied Aramis, " a feeling which prompts a man to desire
more than he has."
" I said tli&t I was contented, monsieur; but, perhaps, I deceive
myself. I am ignorant of the nature of ambition; but it is not im-
possible I may have some. Tell me your mind; 'tis all I wish."
"An ambitious man," said Aramis, "is one who covets what is
beyond his station."
" I covet nothing beyond my station," said the young man, with an
assurance of manner which for the second time made the bishop of
Vannes tremble.
He was silent. But to look at the kindling eye, the knitted brow, and
the reflective attitude of the captive, it was evident that he expected
something more than silence,—a silence which Aramis now broke.
" You lied the first time I saw you," said he.
" Lied!" cried the young man, starting up on his couch, with such
a tone in his voice, and such a lightning in his eyes, that Aramis re-
coiled, in spite of himself.
" I should say," returned Aramis, bowing, " you concealed from me
what you knew of your infancy."
" A man's secrets are his own, monsieur," retorted the prisoner, " and
not at the mercy of the first chance-comer."
"True," said Aramis, bowing still lower than before, "'tis true;
pardon me, but to-day, do I still occupy the place of a chance-comer ?
I beseech you to reply, monseigneur."
This title slightly disturbed the prisoner; but nevertheless he did not
appear astonished that it was given him. " I do not know you, mon-
sieur," said he.
" Oh, if I but dared, I would take your hand and would kiss it!"
The young man seemed as if he were going to give Aramis his hand;
but the light which beamed in his eyes faded away, and he coldly and
distrustfully withdrew his hand again. " Kiss the hand of a prisoner,"
he said, shaking his head; " to what purpose ?"
" "Why did you tell me," said Aramis, " that you were happy here ?
Why, that you aspired to nothing ? Why, in a word, by thus speaking,
do you prevent me from being frank in my turn ?"
vol. it. x
306 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
The same light shone a third time in the young man's eyes, but died
ineffectually away as before.
" Tou distrust me," said Aramis.
"And why say you so, monsieur?"
" Oh, for a very simple reason; if you know what you ought to know,
y©u ought to mistrust everybody."
" Then be not astonished that I am mistrustful, since you suspect me
of knowing what I know not."
Aramis was struck with admiration at this energetic resistance. " Oh,
monseigneur ! you drive me to despair," said he, striking the armchair
with his fist.
" And, on my part, I do not comprehend you, monsieur."
" Well, then, try to understand me." The prisoner looked fixedly at
Aramis. " Sometimes it seems to me," said the latter, " that I have
before me the man whom I seek, and then "
" And then your man disappears,—is it not so?" said the prisoner,
smiling. " So much the better."
Aramis rose. " Certainly," said he; "I have nothing further to say
to a man who mistrusts me as you do."
" And I, monsieur," said the prisoner, in the same tone, " have
nothing to say to a man who will not understand that a prisoner ought
to be mistrustful of everybody."
"Even of his old friends?" said Aramis. "Oh, monseigneur, you
are too prudent!"
" Of my old friends ?—you one of my old friends,—you ?"
" Do you no longer remember," said Aramis, " that you once saw, in
the village where your early years were spent "
" Do you know the name of the village ?" asked the prisoner.
" Noisy-le-Sec, monseigneur," answered Aramis, firmly.
" Go on," said the young man, with an immovable aspect.1 .
" Stay, monseigneur," said Aramis; " if you are positively resolved
to carry on this game, let us break off. I am here to tell you many
things, 'tis true ; but you must allow me to see that, on your side, you
have a desire to know them. Before revealing the important matters
I conceal, be assured I am in need of some encouragement, if not
candour; a little sympathy, if no confidence. But you keep yourself
intrenched in a pretended ignorance which paralyzes me. Oh, not for
the reason you think; for, ignorant as you may be, or indifferent as you
feign to be, you are none the less what you are, monseigneur, and there
is nothing,—nothing, mark me! which can cause you not to be so."
" I promise you," replied the prisoner, " to hear you without im-
patience. Only it appears to me that I have a right to repeat the
question I have already asked—'Who are you?'"
" Do you remember, fifteen or eighteen years ago, seeing at Noisy-le-
Sec a cavalier, accompanied by a lady in black silk, with flame-coloured
ribands in her hair?"
" Yes," said the young man; " I once asked the name of this cavalier,
and they told me he called himself the Abbe d'Herblay. I was aston-
ished that the abbe had so warlike an air, and they replied that there
was nothing singular in that, seeing that he was one of Louis XIII.'s
musketeers."
" Well," said Aramis, "that musketeer and abbe, afterwards bishop
of Yannes, is your confessor now."
" I know it; I recognized you."
" Then, monseigneur, if you know that, I must further add a fact of
which you are ignorant—that if the king were to know this evening of
THE PBISONEB. 307
the presence of this musketeer, this abbe, this bishop, this confessor,
here—he, who has risked everything to visit you, would to-morrow see
glitter the executioner's axe at the bottom of a dungeon more gloomy
and more obscure than yours."
While hearing these words, delivered with emphasis, the young man
had raised himself on his couch, and gazed more and more eagerly at
Aramis.
The result of his scrutiny was that he appeared to derive some con-
fidence from it. "Yes," he murmured, " I remember perfectly. The
woman of whom you speak came once with you, and twice afterwards
with another." He hesitated.
, "With another woman, who came to see you every month—is it not
so, monseigneur ? "
"Yes." "Do you know who this lady was ? "
The light seemed ready to flash from the prisoner's eyes. " I am
aware that she was one of the ladies of the court," he said.
"You remember that lady well, do you not ? "
" Oh, my recollection can hardly be very confused on this head," said
the young prisoner. "I saw that lady once with a gentleman about
forty-five years old. I saw her once with you, and with the lady dressed
in black. I have seen her twice since with the same person. These
four people, with my master, and old Perronnette, my gaoler, and the
governor of the prison, are the only persons with whom I have ever
spoken, and, indeed, almost the only persons I have ever seen."
" Then, you were in prison ? "
"If I am a prisoner here, there I was comparatively free, although in
a very narrow sense—a house which I never quitted, a garden sur-
rounded with walls I could not clear, these constituted my residence;
but you know it, as you have been there. In a word, being accustomed,,
to live within these bounds, I never cared to leave them. And so you
will understand, monsieur, that not having seen anything of the world,
I have nothing left to care for ; and therefore, if you relate anything,
you will be obliged to explain everything to me."
" And I will do so," said Aramis, bowing, " for it is my duty, mon-
seigneur."
" Well, then, begin by telling me who was my tutor."
" A worthy and, above all, an honourable gentleman, monseigneur;
fit guide both for body and soul. Had you ever any reason to complain
of him ? " /
"Oh,(no; quite the contrary. But this gentleman of yours often
used to tell me that my father and mother were dead. Did he deceive
me, or did he speak the truth ? "
t He was compelled to comply with the orders given him."
"Then he lied?"
" In one respect. Your father is dead."
" And my mother ? " " She is dead for you."
" But then she lives for others, does she not ? " " Yes."
"And I—and I, then" (the young man looked sharply at Aramis)
" am compelled to live in the obscurity of a prison? "
" Alas! I fear so."
"And that, because my presence in the world would lead to the re-
velation of a great secret ? "
"Certainly, a very great secret."
"My enemy must indeed be powerful, to be able to shut up in the
Bastille a child such as I then was." " He is."
" More powerful than my mother, then ?
X 2
308 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGEEONNE.
11 And why do you ask that ? "
" Because my mother would have taken my part."
Aramis hesitated. "Yes, monseigneur; more powerful than your
"i&otlier."
" Seeing, then, that my nurse and preceptor were carried off, and
that I, also, was separated from them—either they were, or I am, very
dangerous to my enemy ? "
" Yes; a peril from which he freed himself, by causing the nurse and
preceptor to disappear," answered Aramis, quietly.
" Disappear ! " cried, the prisoner—" but how did they disappear ? "
" In the surest possible way," answered Aramis ;—" they are dead."
The young man turned visibly pale, and passed his hand tremblingly
over his face. " From poison ? " he asked.
" From poison."
The prisoner reflected a moment. " My enemy must indeed have
been very cruel, or hard beset by necessity, to assassinate these two
innocent people, my sole support; for the worthy gentleman and the
poor nurse had never harmed a living being."
" In your family, monseigneur, necessity is stern. And so it is ne-
cessity which compels me, to my great regret, to tell you that this gen-
tleman and the unhappy lady have been assassinated."
" Oh, you tell me nothing I am not aware of," said the prisoner,
knitting his brows.
" How ? " " I suspected it."
"Why?" "I will tell you."
At this moment the young man, supporting himself on his two
elbows, drew close to Aramis's face, with such an expression of dignity,
of self-command, and of defiance even, that the bishop felt the elec-
tricity of enthusiasm strike in devouring flashes from that seared heart
of his, into 'his brain of adamant.
" Speak, monseigneur. I have already told you that, by conversing
with you, I endanger my life. Little value as it has, I implore you to
accept it as the ransom of your own."
"Well," resumed the young man, " this is why I suspected that they
had killed my nurse and my preceptor."
" Whom you used to call your father."
"Yes; whom I called my father, hut whose son I well knew I was
not."
" Who caused you to suppose so ? "
" For the same reason that you, monsieur, are too respectful for a
friend, he was also too respectful for a father."
" I, however," said Aramis, " have no intention to disguise myself."
The young man nodded assent, and continued:—"Undoubtedly, I
was not destined to perpetual seclusion," said the prisoner; " and that
which makes me believe so, above all, now, is the care that was taken to
render me as accomplished a cavalier as possible. The gentleman
attached to my person taught me everything he knew himself—mathe-
matics, a little geometry, astronomy, fencing, and riding. Every
morning I went through military exercises, and practised on horse-
back. Well, one morning during summer, it being very hot, I went to
sleep in the hall. Nothing up to that period, except the respect paid
me, had enlightened me, or even roused my suspicions. I lived as
children, as birds, as plants, as the air and the sun do. I had just
turned my fifteenth year "
" This, then, is eight years ago ? "
"Yes, nearly; but I have ceased to reckon time."
THE PRISONER. 309
" Excuse me; but what did your tutor tell you, to encourage you to
work ? "
" He used to say, that a man was bound to make for himself, in the
world, that fortune which Heaven had refused him at his birth. He
added, that, being a poor obscure orphan, I had no one but myself to
look to ; and that nobody either did, or ever would, take any interest
in me. I was then in the hall I have spoken of, asleep from fatigue in
fencing. My preceptor was in his room on the first floor, just over me.
Suddenly I heard him exclaim: and then he called, ' Perronnette !
Perronnette!5 It was my nurse whom he called."
" Yes, 1 know it," said Aramis. "Continue, monseigneur."
" Yery likely she was in the garden; for my preceptor came hastily
down stairs. I rose, anxious at seeing him anxious. He opened the
garden-door, still crying out,' Perronnette ! Perronnette !' The win-
dows of the hall looked into the court; the shutters were closed; but
through a chink in them I saw my tutor draw near a large well, which
was almost directly under the windows of his study. He stooped over
the brim, looked into the well, again cried out, and made wild and
affrighted gestures. Where I was, I could not not only see, but hear—
and see and hear I did."
" Go on, I pray you," said Aramis.
" Dame Perronnette came running up, hearing the governor's cries.
He went to meet her, took her by the arm, and drew her quickly
towards the edge; after which, as they both bent over it together,
' Look, look,' cried he,' what a misfortune!'
"'Calm yourself, calm yourself,' said Perronnette; 'what is the
matter ?'
"' The letter!' he exclaimed; ' do you see that letter ?' pointing to
the bottom of the well.
"' What letter ?' she cried.
"' The letter you see down there; the last letter from the queen.'
" At this word I trembled. My tutor—he who passed for my father,
he who was continually recommending me modesty and humility—in
correspondence with the queen!
"' The queen's last letter!' cried Perronnette, without showing more
astonishment than at seeing this letter at the bottom of the well; ' but
how came it there ?'
"' A chance, dame Perronnette—a singular chance. I was entering
my room, and on opening the door, the window, too, being open, a puff
of air came suddenly and carried off this paper—this letter of her
majesty's; I darted after it, and gained the window just in time to see
it flutter a moment in the breeze and disappear down the well.'
"'Well,'said dame Perronnette; 'and if the letter has fallen into
the well, 'tis all the same as if it was burnt; and as the queen burns all
her letters every time she comes '
" And so you see this lady who came every month was the queen,"
said the prisoner.
"' Doubtless, doubtless,' continued the old gentleman; but this
letter contained instructions—how can I follow them ?'
iC 6 Write immediately to her; give her a plain account of the accident,
and the queen will no doubt write you another letter in place of this."
"' Oh! the queen would never believe the story,' said the good gentle-
man, shaking his head; c she will imagine that I want to keep this
letter instead of giving it up like the rest, so as to have a hold over her.
She is so distrustful, and M. de Mazarin so This devil of an Italian
is capable of having us poisoned at the first breath of suspicion.'"
310 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Aramis almost imperceptibly smiled.
"' You know; dame Perronnette, they are both so suspicious in all that
concerns Philippe.'
"'Philippe' was the name they gave me," said the prisoner.
"'Well,'tis no use hesitating,' said dame Perronnette, 'somebody
must go down the well.'
"' Of course; so that the person who goes down may read the paper
as he is coming up.'
"' But let us choose some villager who cannot read, and then you will
be at ease.'
"' Granted; but will not any one who descends guess that a paper
must be important for which we risk a man's life ? However, you have
§iven me an idea, dame Perronnette ; somebody shall go down the well,
ut that somebody shall be myself.'
" But at this notion dame Perronnette lamented and cried in such a
manner, and so implored the old nobleman, with tears in her eyes, that
he promised her to obtain a ladder long enough to reach down, while
she went in search of some stouthearted youth, whom she was to per-
suade that a jewel had fallen into the well, and that this jewel was
wrapped in a paper. ' And as paper,' remarked my preceptor, ' natu-
rally unfolds- in water, the young man would not be surprised at
finding nothing, after all, but the letter wide open.'
"' But perhaps the writing will be already effaced by that time,' said
dame Perronnette.
"' No consequence, provided we secure the letter. On returning it to
the queen, she will see at once that,we have not betrayed her; ana con-
sequently, as we shall not rouse the distrust of Mazarin, we shall have
nothing to fear from him.'
"Having come to this resolution, they parted. I pushed back the
shutter, and, seeing that my tutor was about to re-enter, I threw my-
self on my couch, in a confusion of brain caused by all I had just
heard. My governor opened the door a few moments after, and thinking
I was asleep, gently closed it again. As soon as ever it was shut, I rose,
and, listening, heard the sound of retiring footsteps. Then I returned
to the shutter, and saw my tutor and dame Perronnette go out to-
getlier. I was alone in the house. They had hardly closed the gate
before I sprang from the window and ran to the well. Then, just as
my governor had leaned over, so leaned I. Something white and
luminous glistened in the green and quivering ripples of the water.
The brilliant disk fascinated and allured me; my eyes became fixed,
and' I could hardly breathe. The well seemed to draw me in with its
large mouth and icy breath; and I thought I read, at the bottom of the
water, characters of fire traced upon the letter the queen had touched.
Then, scarcely knowing what I was about, and urged on by one of
those instinctive impulses which drive men upon their destruction, I
lowered the cord from the windlass of the well to within about three
feet of the water, leaving the bucket dangling, and at the same time
taking infinite painsjnot to disturb that coveted letter, which was be-
ginning to change its white tint for a greenish hue—proof enough that
it was sinking,—and then, with the rope weltering in my hands, slid
down into the abyss. When I saw myself hanging over the dark pool,
when.I saw the sky lessening above my head, a cold shudder came over
me, a chill fear got the better of me, I was seized with giddiness, and
the hair rose on my head; but my strong will still reigned supreme over
all the terror and disquietude. I gained the water, and at once plunged
into it, holding on by one hand, while I immersed the other and seized
THE PRISONER. 311
the dear letter, which, alas! came in two in my grasp. I concealed the
two fragments in my body-coat, and, helping myself with my feet
against the sides of the pit, and clinging on with my hands, agile and
vigorous as I was, and, above all, pressed for time, I regained the brink,
drenching it as I touched it with the water that streamed off me. I
was no sooner out of the well with my prize, than I rushed into the
sunlight, and took refuge in a kind of shrubbery at the bottom of the
garden. As I entered my hiding-place, the bell which resounded when
the great gate was opened, rang. It was my preceptor come back again.
I had but just time. I calculated that it would take ten minutes before
he would gain my place of concealment, even if, guessing where I was,
he came straight to it; and twenty if he were obliged to look for me.
But this was time enough to allow me to read the cherished letter,
whose fragments I hastened to unite again. The writing was already
fading, but I managed to decipher it all."
" And what read you there, monseigneur ? " asked Aramis, deeply in-
terested.
" Quite enough, monsieur, to see that my tutor was a man of noble
rank, and that Perronnette, without being a lady of quality, was far
better than a servant; and also to perceive that I must myself be high-
born, since the queen, Anne of Austria, and Mazarin, the prime minis-
ter, commended me so earnestly to their care." Here the young man
paused, quite overcome.
" And what happened ? " asked Aramis.
" It happened, monsieur," answered he, " that the workman they had
summoned found nothing in the well, after the closest search; that my
governor perceived that the brink was all watery ; that I was not so
well dried by the sun as to escape dame Perronnette's observing that my
garments were moist; and, lastly, that I was seized with a violent fever,
owing to the chill and the excitement of my discovery, an attack of
delirium supervening, during which 1 related the whole adventure; so
that, guided by my avowal, my governor found under the bolster the
two pieces of the queen's letter."
"Ah!" said Aramis, "now I understand." "Beyond this, all is
conjecture. Doubtless the unfortunate lady and gentleman, not daring
to keep the occurrence secret, wrote all to the queen, and sent back to
her the torn letter."
" After which," said Aramis, " you were arrested and removed to the
Bastille." " As you see."
" Then your two attendants disappeared ? " " Alas!"
"Let us not take up our time with the dead, but see what can be
done with the living. You told me you were resigned." " I repeat it."
" Without any desire for freedom ? " " As I told you."
"Without ambition, sorrow, or thought ?"
The young man made no answer.
" Well," asked Aramis, " why are you silent ?"
"I think I have spoken enough," answered the prisoner; "and that
now it is your turn. I am weary." ^
Aramis gathered himself up, and a shade of <Hep solemnity spread
itself over his countenance. It was evident that he had reached the
crisis in the part he had come to the prison to play. " One question,"
said Aramis. " What is it? speak."
" In the house you inhabited there were neither looking-glasses nor
mirrors ?"
" What are those two words, and what is their meaning ?" asked the
young man; " I have no sort of knowledge of them."
312 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" They designate two pieces of furniture which reflect objects; so
that, for instance, you may see in them your own lineaments, as you see
mine now, with the naked eye."
"No; then there was neither a glass nor a mirror in the house,"
answered the young man.
Aramis looked round him. "Nor is there here either," he said;
" they have again taken the same precaution."
" To what end ?"
"You will know directly. Now, you have told me that you were
instructed in mathematics, astronomy, fencing, and riding; but you
have not said a word about history."
" My tutor sometimes related to me the principal deeds of the king
St. Louis, king Francis I., and king Henry IV."
" Is that all ?" " Very nearly."
" This also was done by design, then; just as they deprived you of
mirrors, which reflect the present, so they left you in ignorance of
history, which reflects the past. Since your imprisonment, books have
been forbidden you; so that you are unacquainted with a number of
facts, by means of which you would be able to reconstruct the shattered
edifice of your recollections and your hopes."
" It is true," said the young man. .
" Listen, then; I will in a few words tell you what has passed in
France during the last twenty-three or twenty-four years; that is, from
the probable date of your birth; in a word, from the time that interests
you."
" Say on." And the young man resumed his serious and attentive
attitude.
" Do you know who was the son of Henry IV. ?"
" At least I know who his successor was."
" How ? " " By means of a coin dated 1610, which bears the effigy
of Henry IV.; and another of 1612, bearing that of Louis XIII. So I
presumed that, there being only two years between the two dates, Louis
was Henry's successor."
" Then," said Aramis, " you know that the last reigning monarch was
Louis XIII.?"
" I do," answered the youth, slightly reddening.
" Well, he was a prince full of noble ideas and great projects, always,
alas! deferred by the troubles of the times and the struggle that his
minister Bichelieu had to maintain against the great nobles of France.
The king himself was of a feeble character; and died young and
unhappy." " I know it."
" He had been long anxious about having an heir; a care which
weighs heavily on princes, who desire to leave behind them more than
one pledge that their thoughts and their works will be continued."
"Did the king, then, die childless?" asked the prisoner, smiling.
"No, but he was long without one, and for a long while thought he
should be the last of his race. This idea had reduced him to the depths
of despair, when suddenly, his wife, Anne of Austria-—"
The prisoner trerflbled.
"Did you know," said Aramis, "that Louis XIII.'s wife was called
Anne of Austria?"
" Continue," said the young man, without replying to the question.
"When suddenly," resumed Aramis, "the queen announced an
interesting event. There was great joy at the intelligence, and a.ll
prayed for her happy delivery. On the 5th of September, 1638, she
gave birth to a son,"
THE PRISONER. 313
Here Aramis looked at his companion, and thought he observed him
turning pale. "You are about to hear," said Aramis, "an account
which few could now give; for it refers to a secret which they think
buried with the dead or entombed in the abyss of the confessional."
"And you will tell me this secret ?" broke in the youth.
"Oh!" said Aramis with unmistakeable emphasis, " I do not know
that I ought to risk this secret by intrusting it to one who has no
desire to quit the Bastille."
" I hear you, monsieur."
"The queen, then, gave birth to a son. But while the court was
rejoicing over the event, when the king had shown the new-born child
to the nobility and people, and was sitting gaily down to table to
celebrate the event, the queen, who was alone in her room, was again
taken ill and gave birth to a second son."
"Oh!" said the prisoner, betraying a better acquaintance with
affairs than he had owned to, "I thought that Monsieur was only
born a "
Aramis raised his finger: " Let me continue," he said.
The prisoner sighed impatiently, and paused.
"Yes," said Aramis, "the queen had a second son, whom dame
Perronnette, the midwife, received in her arms."
"Dame Perronnette !" murmured the young man.
" They ran at once to the banqueting-room, and whispered to the
king what had happened: he rose and quitted the table. But this time
it was no longer happiness that his face expressed, but something akin
to terror. The birth of twins changed into bitterness the joy to which
that of an only son had given rise, seeing that in Prance (a fact you are
assuredly ignorant of) it is the oldest of the king's sons who succeeds
his father." " I know it."
"And that the doctors and jurists assert that there is ground for
doubting whether he who first makes his appearance is the elder by
the law of heaven and of nature."
The prisoner uttered a smothered cry, and became whiter than the
coverlet under which he hid himself.
" Now you understand," pursued Aramis, " that the king, who, with
with so much pleasure, saw himself repeated in one, was in despair
about two; fearing that the second might dispute the first's claim to
seniority, which had been recognized only two hours before; and so
this second son, relying on party interests and caprices, might one day
sow discord and engender civil war in the kingdom; by these means
destroying the very dynasty he should have strengthened."
" On, I understand!—I understand !" murmured the young man.
"Well," continued Aramis; "this is what they relate, what they
declare; this is why one of the queen's two sons, shamefully parted
from his brother, shamefully sequestered, is buried in the prol'oundest
obscurity; this is why that second son has disappeared, and so com-
pletely, that not a soul in Prance, save his mother, is aware of his
existence."
" Yes! his mother, who has cast him off!" cried the prisoner in a tone
of despair.
_ " Except, also," Aramis went on, " the lady in the black dress; and,
finally, excepting "
"Excepting yourself. — Is it not? You, who come and relate all
this; you, who rouse in my soul curiosity, hatred, ambition, and, per-
haps, even the thirst of vengeance; except you, monsieur, who, if you
are the man whom I expect, whom the note I have received applies
314 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
to; whom, in short, Heaven ought to send me, must possess about
you " "What?" asked Aramis.
"A portrait of the king, Louis XIV., who at this moment reigns
upon the throne of Prance."
" Here is the portrait," replied the bishop, handing the prisoner a
miniature in enamel, on which Louis was depicted life-like, with a
handsome, lofty mien. The prisoner eagerly seized the portrait, and
gazed at it with devouring eyes.
"And now, mon seigneur," said Aramis, "here is a mirror." Aramis
left the prisoner time to recover his ideas.
" So high !—so high!" murmured the young man, eagerly comparing
the likeness of Louis with his own countenance reflected in the glass.
" What do you think of it?" at length said Aramis.
" I think, that I am lost," replied the captive; " the king will never
set me free."
"And I—I demand," added the bishop, fixing his piercing eyes sig-
nificantly upon the prisoner, " I demand which of the two is the king;
the one whom this miniature portrays, or whom the glass reflects ?"
" The king, monsieur," sadly replied the young man, "is he who is on
the throne, who is not in prison; and who, on the other hand, can
cause others to be entombed there. Royalty is power; and you see well
how powerless I am."
" Monseigneur," answered Aramis, with a respect he had not yet
manifested, "the king, mark me, will, if you desire it, be he who,
quitting his dungeon, shall maintain himself upon the throne, on
which his friends will place him."
" Tempt me not, monsieur," broke in the prisoner bitterly.
" Be not weak, monseigneur," persisted Aramis; " I have brought all
the proofs of your birth; consult them ; satisfy yourself that you are a
king's son; and then let us act." "No, no; it is impossible."
" Unless, indeed," resumed the bishop, ironically, " it be the destiny
of your race, that the brothers excluded from the throne should
be always princes void of courage and honesty, as was your uncle,
M. Gaston d'Orleans, who ten times conspired against his brother
Louis XIII."
" What!" cried the prince, astonished, "my uncle Gaston 'conspired
against his brother;' conspired to dethrone him ?"
"Exactly, monseigneur; for no other reason. I tell you the truth."
"And he had friends—devoted ones ?"
"As much so as I am to you."
"And, after all, what did he do ?—Failed !"
" He failed, I admit; but always through his own fault; and, for the
sake of purchasing—not his life—for the life of the king's brother is
sacred and inviolable—but his liberty, he sacrificed the lives of all his
friends, one after another. And so, at this day, he is the very shame
of history, and the detestation of a hundred noble families in this
kingdom."
"I understand, monsieur; either by weakness or treachery, my uncle
slew his friends."
" By weakness; which, in princes, is always treachery."
"And cannot a man fail, then, from incapacity and ignorance? Bo
you really believe it possible that a poor captive such as I, brought up,
not only at a distance from the court, but even from the world—do you
believe it possible that such a one could assist those of his friends who
should attempt to serve him ?" And as Aramis was about to reply, the
young man suddenly cried out, with a violence which betrayed the
THE PRISONER. 315
temper of his blood, "We are speaking of friends; but how can I have
any friends—I, whom no one knows; and have neither liberty, money,
nor influence, to gain any ?"
" I fancy I had the honour to offer myself to your royal highness."
" Oh, do not style me so, monsieur; 'tis either treachery or cruelty!
Bid me not think of ought else than these prison-walls, which confine
me; let me again love, or, at least, submit to my slavery and my
obscurity."
" Monseigneur, monseigneur; if you again utter these desperate
words—if, after having received proof of your high birth, you still
remain poor-spirited in body and soul, I will comply with your desire,
I will depart, and renounce for ever the service of a master, to whom
so eagerly I came to devote my assistance and my life !"
" Monsieur," cried the prince," would it not have been better for you
to have reflected, before telling me all that you have done, that you
have broken my heart for ever !"
" And so I desired to do, monseigneur."
" To talk to me about power, grandeur, and even royalty. Is a prison
the fitting place ? You wish to make me believe in splendour, and we
are lying hidden in night; you boast of glory, and we are smothering
our words in the curtains of this miserable bed; you give me glimpses
of absolute power, and I hear the step of the gaoler in the corridor—
that step which, after all, makes you tremble more than it doe^me. To
render me somewhat less incredulous, free me from the Bastille; let me
breathe the fresh air; give me my spurs and trusty sword, then we shall
begin to understand each other."
" It is precisely my intention to give you all this, monseigneur, and
more; only, do you desire it ?"
" A word more," said the prince. " I know there are guards in every
gallery, bolts to every door, cannon and soldiery at every barrier. How
will you overcome the sentries—spike the guns ? How will you break
through the bolts and bars ?"
"Monseigneur,—how did you get the note which announced my
arrival to you ? "
" You can bribe a gaoler for such a thing as a note."
" If we can corrupt one turnkey, we can corrupt ten."
"Well; I admit that it may be possible to release a poor captive from
the Bastille; possible so to conceal him that the king's people shall
not again ensnare him; possible, in some unknown retreat, to sustain
the'unhappy wretch in some suitable manner." J
"Monseigneur !" said Aramis, smiling.
" I admit that, whoever would do thus much for me, would seem
more than mortal in my eyes; but as you tell me I am a prince,
brother of a king, how can you restore me the rank and power which
my mother and my brother have deprived me of? And as, to effect
this, I must pass a life of war and hatred, how will you make me pre-
vail in those combats—render me invulnerable by my enemies ? Ah !
monsieur, reflect upon this; place me, to-morrow, in some dark cavern
in a mountain's base; yield me the delight of hearing in freedom the
sounds of river and plain, of beholding in freedom the sun of the blue
heavens, or the stormy sky, and it is enough. Promise me no more
than this, for, indeed, more you cannot give, and it would be a crime to
deceive me, since you call yourself my friend."
Aramis waited in silence. " Monseigneur," he resumed, after a
moment's reflection, " I admire the firm, sound sense which dictates
your wprds; I am happy to have discovered my monarch's mind."
316 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Again, again! oh! for mercy's sake," cried the prince, pressing his
icy hands upon his clammy brow, " do not play with me! I have no
need to be a king to be the happiest of men."
"But I, monseigneur, wish you to be a king for the good of
humanity."
" Ah!" said the prince, with fresh distrust inspired by the word;
" ah! with what then has humanity to reproach my brother ?"
" I forgot to say, monseigneur, that if you would allow me to guide
you, and if you consent to become the most powerful monarch on earth,
you will have promoted the interests of all the friends whom I devote
to the success of your cause, and these friends are numerous."
"Numerous ?"
" Less numerous than powerful, monseigneur."
" Explain yourself."
" It is impossible; I will explain, I swear before Heaven, on that day
that I see you sitting on the throne of France."
" But my brother ?"
" You shall decree his fate. Do you pity him ?"
" Him, who leaves me to perish in a dungeon ? No, I pity him not."
" So much the better."
" He might have himself come to this prison, have taken me by the
hand and have said, ' My brother, Heaven created us to love, not to
contend^with one another. I come to you. A barbarous prejudice has
condemned you to pass your days in obscurity, far from all men, and
deprived of every joy. I will make you sit down beside me; I will
buckle round your waist our father's sword. Will you take advantage
of this reconciliation to put down or to restrain me ? Will you employ
that sword to spill my blood?' 'Oh! never,' I would have replied to
him,' I look on you as my preserver, and will respect you as my master.
You give me far more than Heaven bestowed; for through you I
possess liberty and the privilege of loving and being loved in this
world.'"
" And you would have kept your word, monseigneur ?"
" On my life! While now—now that I have guilty ones to punish."
" In what manner, monseigneur ?"
" What do you say as to the resemblance that Heaven has given me
to my brother?"
"I say that there was in that likeness a providential instruction
which the king ought to have heeded; I say that your mother com-
mitted a crime in rendering those different in happiness and fortune
whom nature created so similar in her womb; and I conclude that the
object of punishment should be only to restore the equilibrium."
" By which you mean "
" That if I restore you your place on your brother's throne, he shall
takes yours in prison."
" Alas ! there is so much suffering in prison, especially to a man who
has drunk so deeply of the cup of enjoyment."
"Your royal highness will always be free to act as you may desire;
and if it seems good to you, after punishment, may pardon."
" Good. And now, are you aware of one thing, monsieur ?"
" Tell me, my prince."
" It is that 1 will hear nothing further from you till I am clear of
the Bastille."
" I was going to say to your highness that I should only have the
pleasure of seeing you once again."
" And when?"
THE PRISONER. 317
" The day when my prince leaves these gloomy walls."
" Heavens! how will you give me notice of it ?"
" By myself coming to fetch you."
"Yourself?" "My prince, do not leave this chamber save with
me, or if in my absence you are compelled to do so, remember that I
am not concerned in it."
" And so, I am not to speak a word of this to any one whatever, save
to you?"
" Save only to me." Aramis bowed very low, the prince offered his
hand.
" Monsieur," he said, in a tone that issued from his heart, " one word
more, my last. If you have sought me for my destruction; if you are
only a tool in the hands of my enemies; if from our conference, in
which you have sounded the depths of my mind, anything worse than
captivity result, that is to say, if death befall me, still receive my blessing,
for you will have ended my troubles and given me repose from the
tormenting fever that has preyed upon me these eight years."
" Monseigneur, wait the result ere you judge me," said Aramis.
" I say that, in such a case, I bless and forgive you. If, on the other
hand, you are come to restore me to that position in the sunshine of
fortune and glory to which I was destined by Heaven; if by your
means I am enabled to live in the memory of man, and confer lustre
on my race by deeds of valour, or by solid benefits bestowed upon my
people; if, from my present depths of sorrow, aided by your generous
hand, I raise myself to the very height of honour, then to you, whom I
thank with blessings, to you will I offer half my power and my glory;
though you would still be but partly recompensed, and your share must
always remain incomplete, since I could not divide with you the happi-
ness received at your hands."
" Monseigneur," replied Aramis, moved by the pallor and excitement
of the young man, " the nobleness of your heart fills me with joy and
admiration. It is not you who will have to thank me, but rather the
nation whom you will render happy, the posterity whose name you will
make glorious. Yes; I shall indeed, have bestowed upon you more than
life, as I shall have given you immortality." The prince offered his
hand to Aramis, who sank upon his knee and kissed it.
"It is the first act of homage paid to our future king," said he.
" When I see you again, I shall say,' Good day, sire.'"
" Till then," said the young man, pressing his wan and wasted fingers
over his heart,—" till then, no more dreams, no more strain upon my
life—it would break ! Oh, monsieur, how small is my prison—how low
the window—how narrow are the doors! To think that so much pride,
splendour, and happiness, should be able to enter in and remain here !"
" Your royal highness makes me proud," said Aramis, " since you
infer it is I who brought all this." And he rapped immediately on the
door. The gaoler came to open it with Baisemeaux, who, devoured by
fear and uneasiness, was beginning, in spite of himself, to listen at the
door. Happily, neither of the speakers had forgotten to smother his
voice, even in the most passionate outbreaks.
" What a confessor!" said the governor, forcing a laugh; " who would
believe that a mere recluse, a man almost dead, could have committed
crimes so numerous, and so long to tell of ? "
Aramis made no reply. He was eager to leave the Bastille, where
the secret which overwhelmed him seemed to double the weight of the
walls. As soon as they reached Baisemeaux's quarters, "Let us pro-
seed to business, my dear governor," said Aramis.
318 IHE VICOMTE DE BBAGEEONNM.
"Alas!" replied Baisemeaux.
" You have to ask me for my receipt for one hundred and fifty thou-
sand livres," said the bishop.
" And to pay over the first third of the sum," added the poor governor,
with a sigh, taking three steps towards his iron strong-box.
" Here is the receipt," said Aramis.
"And here is the money," returned Baisemeaux, with a threefold
sigh.
"The order instructed me only to give a receipt; it said nothing
about receiving the money," rejoined Aramis.
" Adieu, monsieur le gouverneur!'
And he departed, leaving Baisemeaux almost more than stifled with
joy and surprise at this regal present so liberally bestowed by the con-
fessor extraordinary to the Bastille.
CHAPTER LXIX.
How Mouston had become fatter without giving Porthos notice thereof, and of
the Troubles which consequently befell that worthy Gentleman.
Since the departure of Athos for Blois, Porthos and d'Artagnan
were seldom together. One was occupied with harassing duties for
the king; the other had been making many purchases of furni-
ture, which he intended to forward to his estate, and by aid of
which he hoped to establish in his various residences something of
that court luxury which he had witnessed in all its dazzling bright-
ness in his majesty's society. D'Artagnan, ever faithful, one morning
during an interval of service thought about Porthos, and being
uneasy at not having heard anything of him for a fortnight, directed
his steps towards his hotel, and pounced upon him just as he was
getting up. The worthy baron had a pensive—nay, more than pensive
—a melancholy air. He was sitting on his bed, only half-dressed, and
with legs dangling over the edge, contemplating a host of garments,
which with their fringes, lace, embroidery, and slashes of ill-assorted
hues, were strewed all over the floor. Porthos, sad and reflective as La
Pontaine's hare, did not observe d'Artagnan's entrance, which was
moreover screened at this moment by M. Mouston, whose personal
corpulency, quite enough at any time to hide one man from another,
was effectually double! by a scarlet coat which the intendant was
holding up for his ma iters inspection, by the sleeves, that he might
the better see it all ov Br. D'Artagnan stopped at the threshold and
looked at the pensive T orthos; and then, as the sight of the innumera-
able garments strewing the floor caused mighty sighs to heave from the
bosom of that excellent gentleman, d'Artagnan thought it time to put
an end to these dismal reflections, and coughed by way of announcing
himself.
" Ah !" exclaimed Porthos, whose countenance brightened with joy;
" ah! ah! Here is d'Ai tagnan. I shall then get hold of an idea!"
At these words Moust >n, doubting what was going on behind him,
got out of the way, smiling kindly at the friend of his master, who thus
found himself freed from the material obstacle which had prevented his
reaching d'Artagnan. Porthos made his sturdy knees crack again in
rising, and crossing the re ■tm in two strides, found himself face to face
With his friend, whom hi folded to his breast with a force of affection
HOW HOUSTON BECAME FATTEB. 319
that seemed to increase with every day. " Ah!" he repeated, " you are
always welcome, dear friend; but just now you are more welcome than
ever."
" But you seem in the dumps here ?" exclaimed d'Artagnan.
Porthos replied by a look expressive of dejection. " Well, then, tell
me all about it, Porthos, my friend, unless it is a secret."
" In the first place," returned Porthos, " you know I have no secrets
from you. This, then, is what saddens me."
" Wait a minute, Porthos; let me first get rid of all this litter of satin
and velvet."
" O, never mind," said Porthos, contemptuously; " it is all trash."
" Trash, Porthos ! Cloth at twenty livres an ell! gorgeous satin!
regal velvet!" " Then you think these clothes are "
" Splendid, Porthos, splendid! I'll wager that you alone in Prance
have so many; and suppose you never had any more made, and were to
live a hundred years, which wouldn't astonish me, you could still wear
a new dress the day of your death, without being obliged to see the
nose of a single tailor from now till then."
Porthos shook his head.
" Come, my friend," said d'Artagnan, " this unnatural melancholy
in you frightens me. My dear Porthos, pray get out of it then; and
the sooner the better."
"Yes, my friend, so I will; if indeed it is possible."
"Perhaps you have received bad news from Bracieux ?"
"No; they have felled the wood, and it has yielded a third more
than the estimate."
" Then has there been a falling-off in the pools of Pierrefonds ?"
"No, my friend; they have been fished, and there is enough left to
stock all the pools in the neighbourhood."
" Perhaps your estate at Vallon has been destroyed by an earth-
quake ?"
' "No, my friend ; on the contrary, the ground was struck by lightning
a hundred paces from the chateau, and a fountain sprung up in a place
entirely destitute of water."
" What in the world is the matter, then ? "
" The fact is, I have received an invitation for the fete at Vaux," said
Porthos, with a lugubrious expression.
" Well! do you complain of that? The king has caused a hundred
mortal heartburnings among the courtiers by refusing invitations.
And so, my dear friend, you are really going to Yaux? "
" Indeed lam!"
"You will see a magnificent sight." " Alas! I doubt it, though."
"Everything that is grand in Prance will be brought together
there!"
" Ah !" cried Porthos, tearing out a lock of his hair in despair.
" Eh ! good Heavens, are you ill ? " cried d'Artagnan.
" I am as well as the Pont-Neuf! It isn't that."
" But what is it, then ?" " 'Tis that I have no clothes!"
D'Artagnan stood petrified. "No clothes ! Porthos, no clothes !" he
cried, *' when I see at least fifty suits on the floor."
" Pifty truly ; but not one which fits me!"
"What? not one that fits you ? But are you not measured,then,
when you give an order ? "
" To be sure he is," answered Mouston; " but unfortunately I have
grown stouter."
" What! you stouter ? "
320 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"So much so that I am now bigger than the baron. Would you
believe it, monsieur ?"
" Parbleu ! it seems to me that is quite evident."
" Do you see, stupid ?" said Porthos, " that is quite evident! "
" But still, my dear' Porthos," resumed d'Artagnan, becoming
slightly impatient, " I don't understand why your clothes should not
fit you, because Mouston has grown stouter."
" I am going to explain it," said Porthos. " You remember having
related to me the story of the Roman general Antony, who had always
seven wild boars kept roasting, each cooked up to a different point; so
that he might be able to have his dinner at any time of the day he
chose to ask for it. Well, then, I resolved, as at any time I might be
invited to court to spend a week, I resolved to have always seven suits
ready for the occasion."
" Capitally reasoned, Porthos—only a man must have a fortune like
yours to gratify such whims. Without counting the time lost in being
measured, the fashions are always changing."
"That is exactly the point," said Porthos, "in regard to which I
flattered myself I had hit on a very ingenious device."
" Tell me what it is; for I don't doubt your genius."
" You remember what Mouston once was, then ? "
"Yes ; when he used to call himself Mousqueton."
" And you remember, too, the period when he began to grow fatter ? "
" No, not exactly. I beg your pardon, my good Mouston."
"Oh! you are not in fault, monsieur," said Mouston, graciously.
" You were in Paris, and as for us, we were at Pierrefonds."
" Well, well, my dear Porthos; there was a time when Mouston
began to grow fat. Is that what you wished to say ? "
"Yes, my friend; and I greatly rejoice over the period."
" Indeed, I believe you do," exclaimed d'Artagnan.
"You understand," continued Porthos, "what a world of trouble it
spared me."
" No, I do not, though."
" Look here, my friend. In the first place, as you have said, to be
measured is a loss of time, even though it occur only once a fortnight.
And then, one maybe travelling; and then you wish to have seven
suits always with you. In short, I have a horror of letting any one
take my measure. Confound it! either one is a nobleman or not. To
be scrutinized and scanned by a fellow who completely analyzes you, by
inch and line—'tis degrading ! Here, they find you too hollow; there,
too prominent. They recognize your strong and weak points. See,
now, when we leave the measurer's hands, we are like those strong-
holds whose angles and different thicknesses have been ascertained by
a spy."
" In truth, my dear Porthos, you possess ideas entirely your own."
" Ah ! you see when a man is an engineer."
" And has fortified Belle-Isle—'tis natural, my friend."
"Well, I had an idea, which would doubtless have proved a good
one, but for Mouston's carelessness."
D'Artagnan glanced at Mouston, who replied by a slight movement
of his body, as if to say, " You will see whether I am at all to blame in
all this."
" I congratulated myself, then," resumed Porthos," at seeing Mouston
get fat; and I did all I could, by means of substantial feeding, to make
him stout—always in the hope that he would come to equal myself in
girth, and could then be measured in my stead."
HOW MOUSTON BECAME FATTEJR. 321
" Ah!" cried d'Artagnan. " 1 see—that spared you both time and
humiliation."
"Consider my joy when, after a year and a half's judicious feeding—
for I used to feed him up myself—the fellow "
" Oh! I lent a good hand, myself, monsieur," said Mouston, humbly.
"That's true. Consider my joy when, one morning, I perceived
Mouston was obliged to squeeze in, as I once did myself, to get through
the little secret door that those fools of architects had made in the
chamber of the late Madame du Vallon, in the chateau of Pierrefonds.
And, by the way, about that door, my friend, I should like to ask you,
who know everything, why these wretches of architects, who ought by
rights to have the compasses in their eye, came to make • doorways
through which nobody but thin people could pass ? "
" Oh, those doors," answered d'Artagnan, were meant for gallants,
and they have generally slight and slender figures."
"Madame du Vallon had no gallant!" answered Porthos, majesti-
cally.
" Perfectly true, my friend," resumed d'Artagnan; " but the archi-
tects were imagining the possibility of your marrying again."
" Ah ! that is possible," said Porthos. " And now I have received an
explanation how it is that doorways are made too narrow, let us return
to the subject of Mouston's fatness. But see how the two things apply
to each other. I have always noticed that ideas run parallel. And so,
observe this phenomenon, d'Artagnan. I was talking to you of Mous-
ton, who is fat, and it led us on to Madame du Vallon "
" Who was thin ? "
" Hum! Is it not marvellous P "
" My dear friend, a savant of my acquaintance, M. Costar, has made
the same observation as you have, and he calls the process by some
Greek name which I forget."
" What! my remark is not then original ? " cried Porthos, astounded.
" j. thought I was the discoverer."
" My friend, the fact was known before Aristotle's days—that is to
say, nearly two thousand years ago."
" Well, well, 'tis no less true," said Porthos, delighted at the idea of
having concurred with the sages of antiquity.
" Wonderfully—but suppose we return to Mouston. It seems to me,
we have left him fattening under our very eyes."
" Ves, monsieur," said Mouston.
" Well," said Porthos, " Mouston fattened so well, that he gratified
all my hopes, by reaching my standard; a fact of which I was well able
to convince myself, by seeing the rascal, one day, in a waistcoat of mine,
which he had turned into a coat—a waistcoat, the mere embroidery of
which was worth a hundred pistoles."
"'Twas only to try it on, monsieur," said Mouston.
"Prom that moment, I determined to#ut Mouston in communica-
tion with my tailors, and to have him measured instead of myself."
"A capital idea, Porthos; but Mouston is a foot and a half shorter
than you."
Exactly! They measured him down to the ground, and the end of
the skirt came just below my knee."
" What a wonder you are, Porthos! Such a thing could happen
only to you."
" Ah! yes; pay your compliments; there is something to do it upon.
It was exactly at that time—that is to say, nearly two years and a half
ago—that I set out for Belle-Isle, instructing Mouston (so as always to
VOL. II. v
322 THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONJTE.
have, in every event, a pattern of every fashion) to have a coat made
for himself every month."
"And did Mouston neglect complying with your instructions ? Ah!
that would not be right, Mouston."
"No, monsieur, quite the contrary, quite the contrary!"
" No, he never forgot to have his coats made; but he forgot to inform
me that he had got stouter!"
" But it was not my fault, monsieur ! your tailor never told me."
" And this to such an extent, monsieur," continued Porthos, "that
the fellow in two years has gained eighteen inches in girth, and so
my last dozen coats are all too large, from a foot to a foot and a
half!"
"But the rest; those which were made when you were of the same
size?"
"They are no longer the fashion, my dear friend. "Were I to put
them on, I should look like a fresh arrival from Siam; and as though I
had been two years away from court."
"I understand your difficulty. Tou have how many new suits?
nine? thirty-six? and yet not one to wear. "Well, you must have a
thirty-seventh made, and give the thirty-six to Mouston."
" Ah, monsieur !" said Mouston, with a gratified air. " The truth
is, that monsieur has always been very generous to me."
" Do you mean to think that I hadn't that idea, or that I was deterred
by the expense? But it wants only two days to the fete; I received
the invitation yesterday; made Mouston post hither with my ward-
robe, and only this morning discovered my misfortune; and from now
till the day after to-morrow, there isn't a single fashionable tailor who
will undertake to make me a suit."
"That is to say, one covered all over with gold, isn't it?"
" I wish it so ! all over!"
"Oh, we shall manage it. Tou won't leave for three days. The
invitations are for Wednesday, and this is only Sunday morning."
"'Tis true; but Aramis has strongly advised me to be at Yaux
twenty-four hours beforehand." "How, Aramis?"
"Yes, it was Aramis who brought me the invitation."
" Ah! to be sure, I see. You are invited on the part of M. Eou-
quet."
" By no means ! by the king, dear friend. The letter bears the follow-
ing as large as life: CM. le Baron du Vallon is informed that the king
has condescended to place him on the invitation list '"
" Very good; but you leave with M. Bouquet ?"
" And when I think," cried Porthos, stamping on the floor, " when I
think I shall have no clothes, I am ready to burst with rage! I should
like to strangle somebody or destroy something !"
"Neither strangle anybody nor destroy anything, Porthos; I will
manage it all; put on one of your thirty-six suits and come with me to
a tailor."
" Pooh! my agent has seen them all this morning."
" Even M. Percerin ? " " Who is M. Percerin ?"
" Only the king's tailor!"
" Oh, ah, yes," said Porthos, who wished to appear to know the
king's tailor, but now heard his name mentioned for the first time;—
" to M. Percerin's, by J ove ! I thought he would be too much engaged."
" Doubtless he will be; but be at ease, Porthos; he will do for me
what he won't do for another. Only you must allow yourself to be
measured!"
WHO MESSi'EE JOHN PEBCEBIN was. 323
"Ah!" said Porthos, with a sigh, "'tis vexatious, but what would
you have me do ?"
" Do ? as others do; as the king does."
" What! do they measure the king, too ? does he put up with it ? "
" The king is a beau, my good friend, and so are you, too, whatever
you may say about it."
Porthos smiled triumphantly. " Let us go to the king's tailor," he
said; "and since he measures the king, I think, by my faith, I may well
allow him to measure me!"
CHAPTER LXX.
Who Messire John Percerin was.
The king's tailor, Messire Jean Percerin, occupied a rather large
house in the Rue St. Honore, near the Rue de l'Arbre Sec. He was a
man of great taste in elegant stuffs, embroideries, and velvet, being
hereditary tailor to the king. The preferment of his house reached as
far back as the time of Charles IX.; from whose reign dated, as we
know, fancies in bravery difficult enough to gratify. The Percerin of
that period was a Huguenot, like Ambroise Pare, and had been spared
by the queen of Navarre, the beautiful Margot, as they used to write
and say, too, in those days; because in sooth he was the only one who
could make for her those wonderful riding-habits which she loved to
wear, seeing that they were marvellously well suited to hide certain
anatomical defects, which the queen of Navarre used very studiously
to conceal. Percerin being saved, made, out of gratitude, some beautiful
black boddices, very inexpensive indeed for queen Catherine, who ended
by being pleased at the preservation of a Huguenot, on whom she had
long looked with aversion. But Percerin was a very prudent man;
and having heard it said, that there was no more dangerous sign for a
Protestant than to be smiled upon by Catherine; and having observed
that her smiles were more frequent than usual, he speedily turned
Catholic with all his family; and having thus become irreproachable,
attained the lofty position of master tailor to the crown of Prance.
Under Henry III., gay king as he was, this position was as good as the
height of one of the loftiest peaks of the Cordilleras. Now Percerin
had been a clever man all his life, and by way of keeping up his repu-
tation beyond the grave, took very good care ndt to make a bad death
of it; and so contrived to die very skilfully; and that at the very
moment he felt his powers of invention declining. He left a son and
daughter, both worthy of the name they were called upon to bear; the
son, a" cutter as unerring and exact as the square rule; the daughter
apt at embroidery, and at designing ornaments. The marriage of
Henry IY. and Marie de Medici, and the exquisite court-mourning for
the afore-mentioned queen, together with a few words let fall by M. de
Bassompiere, king of the beaux of the period, made the fortune of the
second generation of Percerins. M. Concino Concini, and his wife
Galligai, who subsequently shone at the Prench court, sought to Ita-
lianize the fashion, and introduced some Florentine tailors; but Percerin,
touched to the quick in his patriotism and his self-esteem, entirely
defeated these foreigners, and that so well, that Concino was the first
to give up his compatriots, and held the Prench tailor in such esteem,
ihat he would never employ any other; and thus wore a doublet of his
I 2
324 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
on the very day that Yitry blew out his brains with his pistol at the
Pont du Louvre.
And this is the doublet, issuing from M. Percerin's workshop, which
the Parisians rejoiced in hacking into so many pieces with the human
flesh it covered. Notwithstanding the favour Concino Concini had
shown Percerin, the King Louis XIII. had the generosity to bear no
malice to his tailor, and to retain him in his service. At the time thai,
Louis the Just afforded this great example of equity, Percerin had
brought up two sons, one of whom made his debut at the marriage of
Anne of Austria, invented that admirable Spanish costume in which
ltichelieu danced a saraband, made the costumes for the tragedy of
Mirame, and stitched on to Buckingham's mantle those famous pearls
which were destined to be scattered about the pavement of the Louvre.
A man becomes easily notable who has made the dresses of M. deBuck-
ingham, M. de Cinq-Mars, Mademoiselle Ninon, M. de Beaufort, and
Marion de Lorme. And thus Percerin the third had attained the sum-
mit of his glory when his father died. This same Percerin III., old,
famous, and wealthy, yet further dressed Louis XIV.; and having no
son, which was a great cause of sorrow to him, seeing that with himself
his dynasty would end, he had brought up several hopeful pupils. He
possessed a carriage, a country-house, men servants the tallest in Paris;
and by special authority from Louis XIV., a pack of hounds. He
worked for MM. de Lyonne and Letellier, under a sort of patronage;
but politic man as he was, and versed in state secrets, he never succeeded
in fitting M. Colbert. This is beyond explanation; it is matter for intui-
tion. Great geniuses of every kind live upon unseen, intangible ideas;
they act without themselves knowing why. The great Percerin (for,
contrary to the rule in dynasties, it was, above all, the last of the Perce-
rins who deserved the surname of Great), the great Percerin was
inspired when he cut a robe for the queen, or a coat for the king; he
could mount a mantle for Monsieur, the clock of a stocking for Ma-
dame; but, in spite of his supreme talent, he could never hit the
measure of M. Colbert. " That man," he used often to say, " is beyond
my art; my needle never can hit him off." We need scarcely say, that
Percerin was M. Bouquet's tailor, and that the surintendant highly
esteemed him. M. Percerin was nearly eighty years old, nevertheless
still fresh, and at the same time so dry, the courtiers used to say, that
he was positively brittle. His renown and his fortune were great enough
for M. le Prince, that king of fops, to take his arm when talking over
the fashions; and for those least eager to pay never to dare to leave their
accounts in arrear with him: for Master Percerin would for the first
time make clothes upon creait, but the second never, unless paid for
the former order.
It is easy to see at once that a tailor of such standing, instead of
running after customers, made difficulties about obliging any fresh
ones. And so Percerin declined to fit bourgeois, or those who had
but recently obtained patents of nobility. A story used to circulate
that even M. de Mazarin, in exchange for Percerin supplying him with
a full suit of ceremonial vestments as cardinal, one fine day slipped
letters of nobility into his pocket.
It was to the house of this great lord of tailors that d'Artagnan took
the despairing Porthos; who, as they were going along, said to his friend,
" Take care, my good d'Artagnan, not to compromise the dignity of a
man such as I am with the arrogance of this Percerin, who will, I
expect, be very impertinent; for I give you notice, my friend, that if he
is wanting in resnect to me I will chastise him."
WHO MESSIEE JOHN PERCERIN WAS. 325
" Presented by me," replied d'Artagnan, " you have nothing to fear,
even though you were what you are not."
" Ah! 'tis because "
" What ? Have you anything against Percerin, Porthos ? "
" I think that I once sent Houston to a fellow of that name."
" And then ? " " The fellow refused to supply me."
" Oh, a misunderstanding, no doubt, which 'tis pressing to set right.
Houston must have made a mistake." " Perhaps."
" He has confused the names."
" Possibly. That rascal Houston never can remember names."
" I will take it all upon myself." " Very good."
" Stop the carriage, Porthos; here we are."
"Here! how here? We are at the Halles- and you told me the
house was at the corner of the Rue de l'Arbre Sec."
" 'Tis true, but look."
" Well, I do look, and I see " " What ? "
" Pardieu ! that we are at the Halles!"
" You do not, I suppose, want our horses to clamber up on the top of
the carriage in front of us." "No."
" Nor the carriage in front of us to mount on the one in front of it.
Nor that the second should be driven over the roofs of the thirty or
forty others which have arrived before us ? "
" No, you are right, indeed. What a number of people! And what
are they all about ? "
" 'Tis very simple. They are waiting their turn."
" Bah! Have the comedians of the hotel de Bourgogne shifted their
quarters ? "
" No; their turn to obtain an entrance to H. Percerin's house."
" And are we going to wait too ? "
" Oh, we shall show ourselves more ready and less proud than they."
" What are we to do then ? "
" Get down, pass through the footmen and lackeys, and enter the
tailor's house, which I will answer for our doing, if you go first."
" Come then," said Porthos.
They both alighted and made their way on foot towards the esta-
blishment. The cause of the confusion was, that H. Percerin's doors
were closed, while a servant, standing before them, was explaining to
the illustrious customers of the illustrious tailor that just then H.
Percerin could not receive anybody. It was bruited about outside still,
on the authority of what the great lackey had told some great noble
whom he favoured, in confidence, that H. Percerin was engaged upon
five dresses for the king, and that, owing to the urgency of the case, he
was meditating in his office on the ornaments, colours, and cut of these
five suits. Some, contented with this reason, went away again, happy
to repeat it to others; but others, more tenacious, insisted on having
the doors opened, and among these last three Blue Ribands, intended
to take parts in a ballet, which would inevitably fail unless the said
three had their costumes shaped by the very hand of the great Percerin
himself. D'Artagnan pushing on Porthos, who scattered the groups of
people right and left, succeeded in gaining the counter, behind which
the journeymen tailors were doing their best to answer queries. (We
forgot to mention that at the door they wanted to put off Porthos like
the rest, but d'Artagnan showing himself, pronounced merely these
words—" The king's order," and was let in with his friend.) The poor
fellows had enough to do, and did their best, to reply to the demands
of the customers in the absence of tbeir master, leaving off drawing a
326 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
stitcli to turn a'sentence; and when wounded pride, or disappointed
expectation, brought down upon them too cutting rebukes, he who
was attacked made a dive and disappeared under the counter. The
line of discontented lords formed a very remarkable picture. Our
captain of musketeers, a man of sure and rapid observation, took it all
in at a glance; but having run over the groups, his eye rested on a
man in front of him. This man, seated upon a stool, scarcely showed
his head above the counter, which sheltered him. He was about forty
years of age, with a melancholy aspect, pale face, and soft luminous
eyes. He "was looking at d'Artagnan and the rest, with his chin resting
upon his hand, like a calm and inquiring amateur. Only on perceiving,
and doubtless recognizing, our captain, he pulled his hat down over his
eyes. It was this action, perhaps, that attracted d'Artagnan's attention.
If so, the gentleman who had pulled down his hat produced an effect
entirely different from what he had desired. In other respects his
costume was plain, and his hair evenly cut enough for customers, who
were not close observers, to take him for a mere tailor's apprentice,
Serched behind the board, and carefully stitching cloth or velvet,
fevertheless, this man held up his head too often to be very produc-
tively employed with his fingers. D'Artagnan was not deceived,—not
he; and ne saw at once that if this man was working at anything, it
certainly was not at velvet.
"Eh!" said he, addressing this man, "and so you have become a
tailor's boy, Monsieur Moliere ?"
"Hush, M. d'Artagnan!" replied the man, softly, "you will make
them recognize me.".
" Well, and what harm ?"
" The fact is, there is no harm, but "
" You were going to say there is no good in doing it either, is it not
so?"
" Alas! no; for I was occupied in looking at some excellent figures."
" Go on—go on, Monsieur Moliere. I quite understand the interest
you take in it—I will not disturb your study." " Thank you."
" But on one condition: that you tell me where M. Percerin really is."
" Oh! willingly; in his own room. Only "
" Only that one can't enter it ?" " Unapproachable."
"Tor everybody?"
" Eor everybody. He brought me here so that I might be at my ease
to make my observations, and then he went away."
" Well, my dear Monsieur Moliere, but you will go and tell him I
am here."
" I!" exclaimed Moliere, in the tone of a courageous dog, from which
you snatch the bone it has legitimately gained; " I disturb myself!
Ah! Monsieur d'Artagnan, how hard you are upon me!"
" If you don't go directly and tell M. Percerin that I am here, my
dear Moliere," said d'Artagnan, in a low tone, " I warn you of one
thing; that I won't exhibit to you thedriend I have brought with me."
Moliere indicated Porthos by an imperceptible gesture, " This gentle-
man, is it not ?" " Yes."
Moliere fixed upon Porthos one of those looks which penetrate the
minds and hearts of men. The subject doubtless appeared very pro-
mising to him, for he immediately rose and led the way into the adjoin-
ing chamber.
the patterns.
827
CHAPTER LXXI.
The Patterns.
During all this time the crowd was slowly rolling away, leaving at
every angle of the counter either a murmur or a menace, as the waves
leave foam or scattered seaweed on the sands, when they retire with
the ebbing tide. , In about ten minutes Moliere reappeared, making
another sign to d'Artagnan from under the hangings. The latter
hurried after him, with Porthos in the rear, and after threading a
labyrinth of corridors, introduced him to M. Percerin's room. The old
man, with his sleeves turned up, was gathering up in folds a piece of
told-flowered brocade, so as the better to exhibit its lustre. Perceiving
'Artagnan he put the silk aside, and came to meet him, by no means
radiant with joy, and by no means courteous, but take it altogether, in
a tolerably civil manner.
" The captain of the musketeers will excuse me, I am sure, for I am
engaged."
" Eh! yes, on the king's costumes; I know that, my dear Monsieur
Percerin. You are making three, they tell me."
" Pive, my dear monsieur, five."
" Three or five, 'tis all the same to me, my dear monsieur; and I
know that you will make them most exquisitely."
" Yes, I know. Once made they will be the most beautiful in the
world, I do not deny it; but that they may be the most beautiful in
the world, they must first be made; and to do this, captain, I am pressed
for time."
" Oh, bah! there are two days yet; 'tis much more than you require,
Monsieur Percerin," said d'Artagnan, in the coolest possible manner.
Percerin raised his head with the air of a man little accustomed to
be contradicted, even in his whims; but d'Artagnan did not pay the
least attention to the airs which the illustrious tailor began to assume.
" My dear M. Percerin," he continued, " I bring you a customer."
" Ah ! ah !" exclaimed Percerin, crossly.
"M. le Baron du Yallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds," continued
d'Artagnan. Percerin attempted a bow, which found no favour in the
eyes of the terrible Porthos, who, from his first entry into the room,
had been regarding the tailor askance.
" A very good friend of mine," concluded d'Artagnan.
" I will'attend to monsieur," said Percerin, " but later."
" Later ? but when ?" " When I have time."
" You have already told my valet as much," broke in Porthos, dis-
contentedly.
"Very likely," said Percerin; " I am nearly always pushed for time."
" My friend," returned Porthos, sententiously, " there is always time
when one chooses to find it."
Percerin turned crimson, a very ominous sign indeed in old men
blanched by age. " Monsieur is very free to confer his custom else-
where."
" Come, come, Percerin," interposed d'Artagnan, you are not in a
good temper to-day. Well, I will say one more word to you, which
will bring you on your knees; monsieur is not only a friend of mine,
but more, a friend of M. Fouquet's."
"Ah! ah!" exclaimed the tailor, "that is another thing." Then
328 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
turning to Porthos," Monsieur le baron is attached to the surinten-
dant ?" he inquired.
" I am attached to myself," shouted Porthos, at the very moment that
the tapestry was raised to introduce a new speaker in the dialogue.
Moliere was all observation, d'Artagnan laughed, Porthos swore.
" My dear Percerin," said d'Artagnan, " you will make a dress for the
baron. 'Tis I who ask you."
" To you I will not say nay, captain."
" But that is not all; you will make it for him at once."
"3Tis impossible before eight days."
" That then is as much as to refuse, because the dress is wanted for
the fete at Vaux."
" I repeat that it is impossible," returned the obstinate old man.
" By no means, dear Monsieur Percerin, above all if I ask you," said
a mild voice at the door, a silvery voice which made d'Artagnan prick
up his ears. It was the voice of Aramis.
" Monsieur d'Herblay!" cried the tailor.
" Aramis," murmured d'Artagnan.
" Ah! our bishop," said Porthos.
" Good morning, d'Artagnan; good morning, Porthos; good morning,
my dear friends," said Aramis. " Come, come, M. Percerin, make the
baron's dress; and I will answer for it you will gratify M. Fouquet."
And he accompanied the words with a sign, which seemed to say,
" Agree, and dismiss them."
It appeared that Aramis had over Master Percerin an influence
superior even to d'Artagnan's, for the tailor bowed in assent, and turn-
ing round upon Porthos, " Go and get measured on the other side,"
said he, rudely.
Porthos coloured in a formidable manner. D'Artagnan saw the storm
coming,and, addressing Moliere,said to him in an undertone, "You see
before you, my dear monsieur, a man who considers himself disgraced
if you measure the flesh and bones that Heaven has given him; study
this type for me, Master Aristophanes, and profit by it."
Moliere had no need of encouragement, and his gaze dwelt upon the
Baron Porthos. " Monsieur," he said, " if you will come with me, I
will make them take your measure without the measurer touching you."
" Oh!" said Porthos, "how do you make that out, my friend?"
" I say that they shall apply neither line nor rule to the seams of
your dress. It is a new method we have invented for measuring people
of quality, who are too sensitive to allow low-born fellows to touch
them. We know some susceptible persons who will not put up with
being measured, a process which, as I think, wounds the natural dignity
of man; and if perchance Monsieur should be one of these "
" Corbceuf! I believe I am too!"
" Well, that is a capital coincidence, and you will have the benefit of
our invention."
" But how in the world can it be done ?" asked Porthos, delighted.
"Monsieur," said Moliere, bowing, "if you will deign to follow me,
you will see."
Aramis observed this scene with all his eyes. Perhaps he fancied from
d'Artagnan's liveliness that he would leave with Porthos, so as not to
lose the conclusion of a scene so well begun. But, clear-sighted as he
was, Aramis deceived himself. Porthos and Moliere left together alone.
D'Artagnan remained with Percerin. Why ? From curiosity, doubt-
less; probably to enjoy a little longer the society of his good friend
Aramis. As Moliere and Porthos disappeared, d'Artagnan drew near
THE PATTERNS. 329
the bishop of Vannes, a proceeding which appeared particularly to
disconcert him.
" A dress for you also, is it not, my friend ?"
Aramis smiled. " No," said he. " You will go to Vaux, however ?"
" I shall go, but without a new dress. You forget, dear d'Artagnan,
that a poor bishop of Vannes is not rich enough to have new dresses for
every fete''
"Bah!" said the musketeer, laughing, "and do we write no more
poems now, neither ?"
" Oh! d'Artagnan," exclaimed Aramis, " I have long given over all
these follies."
" True," repeated d'Artagnan, only half convinced. As for Percerin,
he had relapsed into his contemplation of the brocades.
" Don't you perceive," said Aramis, smiling, " that we are greatly
boring this good gentleman, my dear d'Artagnan ?"
"Ah! ah!" murmured the musketeer, aside; "that is lam boring
you, my friend." Then aloud, "Well, then, let us leave; I have no
further business here, and if you are as disengaged as I, Aramis "
" No, not I—I wished "
" Ah! you had something particular to say to M. Percerin ? Why
did you not tell me so at once ?"
" Something particular, certainly," repeated Aramis. " but not for
you, d'Artagnan. But, at the same time, I hope you will believe that I
can never have anything so particular to say that a friend like you may
not hear it."
" Oh, no, no! I am going," said d'Artagnan, imparting to his voice
an evident tone of curiosity; for Aramis's annoyance, well dissembled
as it was, had not a whit escaped him; and he knew that, in that
impenetrable mind, everything, even the most apparently trivial, was
designed to some end; an unknown one; but one which, from the
knowledge he had of his friend's character, the musketeer felt must be
important.
On his part, Aramis saw that d'Artagnan was not without suspicion,
and pressed him. " Stay, by all means," he said, " this is what it is."
Then turning towards the tailor, " My dear Percerin," said he, " I am
even very happy that you are here, d'Artagnan."
" Oh, indeed," exclaimed the Gascon, for the third time, even less
deceived this time than before.
Percerin never moved. Aramis roused him violently, by snatching
from his hands the stuff upon which he was engaged, " My dear Per-
cerin," said he, " I have, near at hand, M. Lebrun, one of M. Fouquet's
painters."
"Ah, very good," thought d'Artagnan; "but why 'Lebrun ?'"
Aramis looked at d'Artagnan, who seemed to be occupied with an
engraving of Mark Antony. " And you wish to have made for him a
dress, similar to those of the Epicureans?" answered Percerin. And,
while saying this, in an absent manner, the worthy tailor endeavoured
to recapture his piece of brocade.
"An Epicurean's dress ?" asked d'Artagnan, in a tone of inquiry.
" I see," said Aramis, with a most engaging smile; " it is written that
our dear d'Artagnan shall know all our secrets this evening. Yes, my
friend, you have surely heard speak of M. Pouquet's Epicureans, have
you not ?"
" Undoubtedly. Is it not a kind of poetical society, of which La Fon-
taine, Loret, Pelisson, and Moliere are members, and which holds its
sittings at St. Mande?"
330 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
"Exactly so. Well, we are going to put our poets in uniform, and
enroll them in a regiment for the king."
"Oh, very well; I understand; a surprise M. Fouquet is getting up
for the king. Be at ease; if that is the secret about M. Lebrun, I will
not mention it."
" Always agreeable, my friend. No, Monsieur Lebrun has nothing to
do with this part of it; the secret which concerns him is far more
important than the other."
" Then, if it is so important as all that, I prefer not to know it," said
d'Artagnan, making a show of departure.
" Come in, M. Lebrun, come insaid Aramis, opening a side-door
with his right hand, and holding back d'Artagnan with his left.
" I'faith, I, too, am quite in the dark," quoth Percerin.
Aramis took an "opportunity," as is said in theatrical matters.—
" My dear M. Percerin," Aramis continued, " you are making fine dresses
for the king, are you not ? One in brocade; one in hunting-cloth; one
in velvet; one in satin; and one in Florentine stuffs ?"
"Yes; but how—do you know all that, monseigneur?" said Percerin,
astounded.
" It is all very simple, my dear monsieur; there will be a hunt, a
banquet, concert, promenade, and reception; these five kinds of dress
are required by etiquette."
"You know everything, monseigneur!"
" And a great many more things too," murmured d'Artagnan.
"But," cried the tailor, in triumph, "what you do not know, mon-
seigneur—prince of the church though you are—what nobody will
know—what only the king, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and myself do
know, is the colour of the materials and nature of the ornaments, and
the cut, the ensemlle, the finish of it all!"
"Well," said Aramis, "that is precisely what I have come to ask you,
dear Percerin."
"Ah, bah!" exclaimed the tailor, terrified, though Aramis had pro-
nounced these words in his sweetest and most honeyed voice. The
request appeared, on reflection, so exaggerated, so ridiculous, so mon-
strous to M. Percerin that, first he laughed to himself, then aloud, and
finished with a shout. D'Artagnan followed his example, not because
he found the matter so " very funny," but in order not to allow Aramis
to cool.
" At the outset, I appear to be hazarding an absurd question, do I
not ?" said Aramis. " But d'Artagnan, who is incarnate wisdom itself,
will tell you that I could not do otherwise, than ask you this."
" Let us see," said the attentive musketeer; perceiving with his won-
derful instinct, that they had only been skirmishing till now, and that
the hour of battle was approaching.
" Let us see," said Percerin, incredulously.
" Why, now," continued Aramis, " does M. Fouquet give the king a
fete 1—Is it not to please him ?"
" Assuredly," said Percerin. D'Artagnan nodded assent.
" By delicate attentions ? by some happy device ? by a succession of
surprises, like that of which we were talking of ?—the enrolment of our
Epicureans."
" Admirable."
"Well, then; this is the surprise we intend. M. Lebrun here is a
man who draws most exactly."
"Yes," said Percerin; "I have seen his pictures, and observed that
the dresses were highly elaborated. That is why I at once agreed to
TH3 PATTERNS.
331
make liim a costume—whether to agree with those of the Epicureans,
or an original one."
My dear monsieur, we accept your offer, and shall presently avail
ourselves of it; but just now, M. Lebrun is not in want of the dresses
you will make for himself, but of those you are making for the king."
Percerin made a bound backwards, which d'Artagnan—calmest and
most appreciative of men—did not consider overdone; so many strange
and startling aspects wore the proposal which Aramis had just hazarded.
" The king's dresses! Give the king's dresses to any mortal whatever !
Oh ! for once, monseigneur, your grace is mad!" cried the poor tailor in
extremity.
" Help me now, d'Artagnan," said Aramis, more and more calm and
smiling. " Help me now to persuade monsieur, for you understand;
do you not?" "Eh! eh!—not exactly, I declare."
" What! you do not understand that M. Eouquet wishes to afford
the king the surprise of finding his portrait on his arrival at Yaux; and
that the portrait, which will be a striking resemblance, ought to be
dressed exactly as the king will be on the day it is shown ?"
"Oh! yes, yes;" said the musketeer, nearly convinced, so plausible
was this reasoning. " Yes, my dear Aramis, you are right; it is a happy
idea. I will wager it is one of your own, Aramis."
" Weil, I don't know," replied the bishop; " either mine, or M.
Eouquet's." Then scanning Percerin, after noticing d'Artagnan's hesi-
tation," W ell, Monsieur Percerin," he asked, "What do you say to this ? "
" I say, that "
" That you are, doubtless, free to refuse. I know well—and I by no
means count upon compelling you, my dear monsieur. I will say more,
I even understand all the delicacy you feel in taking up with M.
Eouquet's idea; you dread appearing to flatter the king. A noble spirit,
M. Percerin, a noble spirit!" The tailor stammered. " It would, indeed,
be a very pretty compliment to pay the young prince," continued
Aramis; " but as the surintendant told me,' if Percerin refuse, tell him
that it will not at all lower him in my opinion, and I shall always
esteem him, oniy '"
" Only ?" repeated Percerin, rather troubled.
" Only," continued Aramis, "' I shall be compelled to say to the
king,'—you understand, my dear Monsieur Percerin, that these are M.
Eouquet's words—' I shall be constrained to say to the king, Sire, I had
intended to present your majesty with your portrait, but owing to a
feeling of delicacy, slightly exaggerated perhaps, although creditable,
when he is seeking to please the king! Oh, what a hateful word
you have uttered, monseigneur. Oppose ! Oh, 'tis not I who said it,
Heaven have mercy on me. I call the captain of the musketeers to
witness it! Is it not true, Monsieur d'Artagnan, that I have opposed
nothing ?"
D'Artagnan made a sign indicating that he wished to remain neutral.
He felt that there was an intrigue at the bottom of it, whether comedy
or tragedy; he was at his wit's end at not being able to fathom it, but
in the meanwhile wished to keep clear.
But already Percerin, goaded by the idea that the king should be
told he had stood in the way of a pleasant surprise, had offered Lebrun
a chair, and proceeded to brihg from a wardrobe four magnificent
dresses, the fifth being still in the workmen's hands; and these master
fie responsibility which
the will of M. Eouquet
332 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
pieces he successively fitted upon four lay figures, which, imported into
Prance in the time of Concini, had been given to Percerin II., by Mar-
shal d'Onore, after the discomfiture of the Italian tailors, ruined in
their competition. The painter set to work to draw and then to paint
the dresses. But Aramis, who was closely watching all the phases of his
toil, suddenly stopped him.
" I think you have not quite got it, my dear Lebrun," he said; " your
colours will deceive you, and on canvass we shall lack that exact resem-
blance which is absolutely requisite. Time is necessary for attentively
observing the finer shades."
" Quite true," said Percerin, " but time is wanting, and on that head,
you will agree with me, monseigneur, I can do nothing."
" Then the affair will fail," said Aramis, quietly, " and that because of
a want of precision in the colours."
Nevertheless Lebrun went on copying the materials and ornaments
with the closest fidelity—a process which Aramis watched with ill-con-
cealed impatience.
" What in the world, now, is the meaning of this imbroglio ? " the
musketeer kept saying to himself.
" That will certainly never do," said Aramis; " M. Lebrun close your
box, and roll up your canvass."
" But, monsieur," cried the vexed painter, " the light is abominable
here."
" An idea, M. Lebrun, an idea! If we had a pattern of the mate-
rials, for example, and with time, and a better light "
" Oh, then," cried Lebrun, " I would answer for the effect."
" Good!" said d'Artagnan, " this ought to be the knotty point of the
whole thing; they want a pattern of each of the materials. Mordioux !
will this Percerin give it now ? "
Percerin, beaten in his last retreat, and duped, moreover, by the
feigned good-nature of Aramis, cut out five patterns and handed them
to the bishop of Vannes.
" I like this better. That is your opinion, is it not ? " said Aramis to
d'Artagnan.
" My dear Aramis," said d'Artagnan, " my opinion is that you are
-always the same."
" And, consequently, always your friend," said the bishop, in a charm-
ing tone.
" Yes, yes," said d'Artagnan, aloud; then, in a low voice, " If I am
your dupe, double Jesuit that you are, I will not be your accomplice;
and to prevent it 'tis time I left this place." "Adieu, Aramis," he
added aloud, " adieu; I am going to rejoin Porthos."
" Then wait for me," said Aramis, pocketing the patterns," for I have
done, and shall not be sorry to say a parting word to our friend."
Lebrun packed up, Percerin put back the dresses into the closet,
Aramis put his hand on his pocket to assure himself the patterns
were secure,—and they all left the study.
CHAPTER LXXH.
Where, probably, Moliere formed his First Idea of the Bourgeois Gentilhomme.'
D'Artagnan found Porthos in the adjoining chamber; but no
(longer an irritated Porthos, or a disappointed Porthos, but Porthos
radiant, blooming, fascinating, and chatting with Moliere, who was
MOLIEEE'S PLAN. 33$
looking upon him. with a species of idolatry, and as a man would who
had not only never seen anything better, but not even ever anything so
good. Aramis went straight up to Porthos and offered him his delicate
white hand, which lost itself in the gigantic hand of his old friend,—an
operation which Aramis never hazarded without a certain uneasiness.
But the friendly pressure having been performed not too painfully for
him, the bishop of Yannes passed over to Moliere.
• "Well, monsieur," said he, "will you come with me to Saint-
Mande ? "
" I will go anywhere you like, monseigneur," answered Moliere.
" To Saint-Mande!" cried Porthos, surprised at seeing the proud
bishop of Yannes fraternising with a journeyman tailor. " What, Ara-
mis, are you going to take this gentleman to Saint-Mande ? "
" Yes," said Aramis, smiling, " our work is pressing."
" And besides, my dear Porthos," continued d'Artagnan," M. Moliere
is not altogether what he seems."
" In what way ? " asked Porthos.
" Why, this gentleman is one of M. Percerin's chief clerks, and is-
expected at Saint-Mande to try on the dresses which M. Pouquet has
ordered for the Epicureans."
"'Tis precisely so," said Moliere. "Yes, monsieur."
" Come, then, my dear M. Moliere," said Aramis," that is, if you
have done with M. du Yallon ? "
"We have finished," replied Porthos.
" And you are satisfied ? " asked d'Artagnan.
" Completely so," replied Porthos.
Moliere took his leave of Porthos with much ceremony, and grasped
the hand which the captain of the musketeers furtively offered him.
"Pray, monsieur," concluded Porthos, mincingly, "above all, be
exact."
" You wilL have your dress after to-morrow, monsieur le baron,"
answered Moliere. And he left with Aramis.
Then d'Artagnan, taking Porthos's arm, " What has this tailor done
for you, my dear Porthos," he asked, " that you are so pleased with
him ? "
" What has he done for me, my friend! done for me!" cried Porthos,
enthusiastically.
" Yes, I ask you, what he has done for you ? "
" My friend, he has done that which no tailor ever yet accomplished;
he has taken my measure without touching me !"
" Ah, bah ! tell me how he did it ?"
" Eirst, then, they went, I don't know where, for a number of lay
figures, of all heights and sizes, hoping there would be one to suit
mine; but the largest—that of the drum-major of the Swiss guard—
was two inches too short, and half a foot too slender." " Indeed !"
" It is exactly as I tell you, d'Artagnan; but he is a great man, or at
the very least a great tailor, is this M. Moliere. He was not at all put
at fault by the circumstance."
" What did he do, then ? "
" Oh ! it is a very simple matter. I'faith, 'tis an unheard of thing,
that people should have been so stupid as not to have discovered this
method from the first. What annoyance and humiliation they would
have spared me !" _ ,
" Not to speak of the dresses, my dear Porthos."
" Yes, thirty dresses."
" Well, my dear Porthos, come, tell me M. Moliere's plan,"
334 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Moliere ? You call Mm so, do you ? I shall make a point of recol-
lecting his name." "Yes; or Poquelin, if you prefer that."
"No; I like Moliere best. When I wish to recollect his name,
I shall think of Voliere (an aviary); and as I have one at Pierre-
fonds "
" Capital!" returned d'Artagnan; " and M. Moliere's plan ? "
" 'Tis this; instead of pulling me to pieces, as all these rascals do—
of making me bend in my back, and double my joints—all of them low
and dishonourable practices "
D'Artagnan made a sign of approbation with his head.
"' Monsieur,' he said to me," continued Porthos,"' a gentleman ought
to measure himself. Do me the pleasure to draw near this glass,'
and I drew near the glass. I must own I did not exactly understand
what this good M. Voliere wanted with me." " Moliere."
"Ah! yes, Moliere—Moliere. And as the fear of being measured
still possessed me,' Take care,' said I to him,' what you are going to do
with me; I am very ticklish, I warn you.' But he, with his soft
voice (for he is a courteous fellow, we must admit, my friend), he,
with his soft voice, 'Monsieur,' said he, 'that your dress may fit
you well, it must be made according to your figure. Your figure
is exactly reflected in this mirror. We shall take the measure of this
reflection.'"
"In fact," said d'Artagnan, "you saw yourself in the glass; but
where did they find one in which you could see your whole figure ? "
" My good friend, it is the very glass in wMch the king sees himself."
" Yes; but the king is a foot and a half shorter than you are."
" Ah ! well, I know not how that may be; it would no doubt be a
way of flattering the king; but the looking-glass was too large for me.
'Tis true that its height was made up of three Yenetian plates of glass,
placed one above another, and its breadth of the three similar pieces in
juxtaposition."
" Oh, Porthos! what excellent words you have command of. Where
in the world did you make the collection ? "
" At Belle-Isle. Aramis explained them to the architect."
" Ah! very good. Let us return to the glass, my friend."
"Then, this goodM. Yoliere " ——"Moliere."
" Yes—Moliere—you are right. You will see, now, my dear friend,
that I shall recoLlect his name too well. This excellent M. Moliere set
to work tracing out lines on the mirror, with a piece of Spanish chalk,
following in all the make of my arms and my shoulders, all the while
expounding this maxim, which I thought admirable. It is necessary
that a dress do not incommode its wearer."
" In reality," said d'Artagnan, "that is an excellent maxim, which is,
unfortunately, seldom carried out in practice."
" That is why I found it all the more astonishing, when he expatiated
upon it."
" Ah! he expatiated ? " " Parlleu!"
"Let me hear his theory."
"' Seeing that,' he continued,' one may, in awkward circumstances,
or in a troublesome position, have one's doublet on one's shoulder, and
not desire to take one's doublet off '"
" True," said d'Artagnan.
"' And so,' continued M. Voliere " " Moliere."
Moliere, yes. ' And so,' went on M. Moliere, ' you want to draw
your sword, monsieur, and you have your doublet on your back,
Yvhat do you do?'
MOLIEJBE'S PLAN. 335
"<I take it off,' I answered.
"' "Well, no,' lie replied. "' How no ?'
' I say that the dress should he so well made, that it can in no way
encumber you, even in drawing your sword.'
"' Ah, ah!' "5 Throw yourself on guard,' pursued he.
" I did it with such wondrous firmness, that two panes of glass burst;
out of the window.
" "Tis nothing, nothing,9 said he. ' Keep your position.'
" I raised my left arm in the air, the forearm gracefully bent, the
ruffle drooping, and my wrist curved, while my right arm, half ex-
tended, securely covered my waist with the elbow, and my breast with
the wrist."
" Yes," said d'Artagnan, " 'tis the true guard—the academic guard."
"You have said the very word, dear friend. In the meanwhile,
Voliere " " Moliere."
" Hold! I should certainly, after all, prefer to call him—what did you
say his other name was ? " " Poquelin."
"I prefer to call him Poquelin."
" And how will you remember this name better than the other ? "
"You understand, he calls himself Poquelin, does he not ? "
" Yes."
" I shall recall to mind Madame Coquenard." " Good."
" I shall change Coc into Foe, nard into lin ; and instead of Coque-
nard I shall have Poquelin."
"'Tis wonderful," cried d'Artagnan, astounded. " Go on, my friend,
I am listening to you with admiration."
" This Coquelin sketched my arm on the glass."
" I beg your pardon—Poquelin."
" What did I say, then ? " "You said Coquelin."
" Ah ! true. This Poquelin, then, sketched my arm on the glass;
but he took his time over it; he kept looking at me a good deal. The
fact is, that I was very handsome.
"' Hoes it weary you ? ' he asked.
"' A little,' I replied, bending a little in my hands,c but I could yet
hold out an hour.'
"' No, no, I will not allow it; the willing fellows will make it a duty
to support your arms, as of old, men supported those of the prophet.'
"' Very good,' I answered.
" ' That will not be humiliating to you ?'
"' My friend,' said I,' there is, I think, a great difference between
being supported and being measured.'"
" The distinction is full of sense," interrupted d'Artagnan.
" Then," continued Porthos, " he made a sign; two lads approached ;
one supported my left arm, while the other, with infinite address, sup-
ported my right.
"'Another, my man,' cried he. A third approached. 'Support
Monsieur by the waist,' said he. The gargon complied."
" So that you were at rest ? " asked d'Artagnan. ,
"Perfectly; and Pocquenard drew me on the glass."
" Poquelin, my friend."
"Poquelin—you are right. Stay, decidedly I prefer calling him
Voliere." " "Yes, and then it was over, wasn't it ?"
" During that time Voliere drew me on the mirror."
" 'Twas delicate in him."
" I much like the plan; it is respectful, and keeps every ©ne in his
place."
336 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" And there it ended ?"
" Without a soul having touched me, my friend."
" Except the three garsons who supported you."
" Doubtless ; but I have, I think, already explained to you the differ-
ence there is between.supporting and measuring."
" 'Tis true," answered d'Artagnan; who said afterwards to himself,
" I'faith, I greatly deceive myself, or I have been the means of a good
windfall to that rascal Moliere, and W3 shall assuredly see the scene hit
off to the life in some comedy or otheiPorthos smiled.
" What are you laughing at ?" asked d'Artagnan.
" Must I confess ? Well, I was laughing over my good fortune."
" Oh, that is true; I don't know a happier man than you. But what
is this last piece of luck that has befallen you ?"
" Well, my dear fellow, congratulate me."
" I desire nothing better."
" It seems I am the first who has had his measure taken in that
manner." " Are you sure of it ?"
" Nearly so. Certain signs of intelligence which passed between
Voliere and the other garsons showed me the fact."
" Well, my friend, that does not surprise me from Moliere," said
d'Artagnan. " Voliere, my friend."
" Oh, no, no, indeed; I am very willing to leave you to say Yoliere;
but myself I shall continue to say Moliere. Well, this, I was saying,
does not surprise me, coming from Moliere, who is a very ingenious
fellow, and inspired you with this grand idea."
" It will be of great use to him by-and-by, I am sure."
" Won't it be of use to him indeed! I believe you it will, and not a
little so; for you see my friend Moliere is of all known tailors the man
who best clothes our barons, comtes, and marquises—according to their
measure."
On this observation, neither the application nor depth of which shall
we discuss, d'Artagnan and Porthos quitted M. Percerin's house and
rejoined their carriage, wherein we* will leave them, in order to look
after Moliere and Aramis at Saint Mande.
CHAPTER LXXIII.
The Beehive, the Bees, and the Honey.
The bishop of Vannes, much annoyed at having met d'Artagnan at
M. Percerin's, returned to Saint Mande in no very good humour.
Molibre, on the other hand, quite delighted at having made such a
capital rough sketch, and at knowing where to find its original again,
whenever he should desire to convert his sketch into a picture, Moliere
arrived in the merriest of moods. All the first story of the left wing
was occupied by the most celebrated Epicureans in Paris, and those on
the freest footing in the house—every one in his oompartment, like the
bees in their cells, employed in producing the honey intended for that
royal cake which M. Fouquet proposed to offer his majesty Louis XIV.
during the fete at Yaux. Pelisson, his head leaning on his hand, was
engaged in drawing out the plan of the prologue to the " Facheux," a
comedy in three acts, which was to be put on the stage by Poquelin de
Moliere, as d'Artagnan called him, or Coquelin de Yoliere, as Porthos
styled him. Loret, with all the charming innocence of a gazetteer,—the
THE BEEHIVE, THE BEE3, AND THE HONEY. 337
gazetteers of all ages have always been so artless!—Loret was composing
an account of the fetes of Vaux, before those fetes had taken place.
La Fontaine sauntering about from one to the other, a wandering, absent,
boring, unbearable shade, who kept buzzing and humming at every-
body's shoulder a thousand poetic abstractions. He so often disturbed
Pelisson, that the latter, raising his head, crossly said, " At least, La
Fontaine, supply me with a rhyme, since you say you have the run of
the gardens of Parnassus."
""What rhyme do you want?" asked the Fabler, as Madame de
Sevigne used to call him.
" I want a rhyme to lumibre."
" Orniere," answered La Fontaine."
" Ah, but, my good friend, one cannot talk of wheel-ruts when cele-
brating the delights of Vaux," said Loret.
" Besides, it doesn't rhyme," answered Pelisson.
" How! doesn't rhyme!" cried La Fontaine, in surprise.
" Yes; you have an abominable habit, my friend,—a habit which
will ever prevent your becoming a poet of the first order. You rhyme
in a slovenly manner."
" Oh, oh, you think so, do you, Pelisson?"
" Yes, I do, indeed. Remember that a rhyme is never good so Ions*
as one can find a better."
" Then I will never write anything again but in prose," said La
Fontaine, who had taken up Pelisson's reproach in earnest. " Ah ! I
often suspected I was nothing but a rascally poet! Yes, 'tis the very
truth."
" Do not say so; your remark is too sweeping, and there is much
that is good in your ' Fables.'"
" Ana to begin," continued La Fontaine, following up his idea,£! I
will go and burn a hundred verses I have just made."
" Where are your verses ?" " In my head."
"Well, if they are in your head you cannot burn them."
" True," said La Fontaine; " but if I do not burn them "
" Well, what will happen if you do not burn them ?"
" They will remain in my mind, and I shall never forget them."
"The deuce!" cried Loret; " what a dangerous thing! One would
go mad with it!"
" The deuce! the deuce!" repeated La Fontaine; " what can I do ? "
" I have discovered the way," said Moliere, who had entered just at
this point of the conversation.
" What way ?" " Write them first and burn them afterwards."
"How simple it is! Well, I should never have discovered that.
What a mind that devil Moliere has!" said La Fontaine. Then,
striking his forehead, "Oh, thou wilt never be aught but an ass, Jean
la Fontaine!" he added.
" What are you saying there, my friend?" broke in Moliere, ap-
proaching the poet, whose aside he had heard.
" I say I shall never be aught but an ass," answered La Fontaine,
with a heavy sigh and swimming eyes. " Yes, my friend," he added,
with increasing grief, " it seems that I rhyme in a slovenly manner."
" Oh, 'tis wrong to say so."——" Nay, I am a poor creature!"
" Who said so ?"
" Parbleu! 'twas Pelisson; did you not, Pelisson ?"
Pelisson, again lost in his work, took good care not to answer.
" But if Pelisson said you were so," cried Moliere, " Pelisson has
seriously offended you." " Do you think so ?"
VOL. II. z
338 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Ah ! I advise you, as you are a gentleman, not to leave an insult
~ke that unpunished."
" How," exclaimed La Fontaine. "Did you ever fight?"
" Once only with a lieutenant in the light horse."
" What wrong had he done you ?"
" It seems he had run away with my wife."
" Ah, ah!" said Moliere, becoming slightly pale; but, as at La
Fontaine's declaration, the others had turned round, Moli&re kept
upon his lips the rallying smile which had so nearly died away, and
continuing to make La Fontaine speak
"And what was the result of the duel ?"
" The result was, that on the ground my opponent disarmed me, and
then made an apology, promising never again to set foot in my house."
" And you considered yourself satisfied," said Moliere.
" Not at all! on the contrary, I picked up my sword. CI beg your
pardon, monsieur,' I said,c I have not fought you because you were my
wife's friend, but because I was told I ought to fight. So, as I have
never known any peace save since you made her acquaintance, do me
the pleasure to continue your visits as heretofore, or, morbleu I let us
set to again.' And so," continued La Fontaine, "he was compelled to
resume his friendship with madame, and I continue to be the'happiest
of husbands."
All burst out laughing. Moliere alone passed his hand across his
eyes. Why ? Perhaps to wipe away a tear, perhaps to smother a sigh.
Alas! we know that Moliere was a moralist, but he was not a philosopher.
" 'Tis all the same," he said, returning to the topic of the conversation,
" Pelisson has insulted you."
" Ah, truly! I had already forgotten it."
" And I am going to challenge him on your behalf."
" Well, you can do so, if you think it indispensable."
" I do think it indispensable, and I am going "
" Stay," exclaimed La Fontaine, " I want your advice."
" Upon what ? this insult ?"
"No; tell me really now whether lumiere does not rhyme with
orniere."
" I should make them rhyme—ah ! I knew you would—and I have
made a hundred thousand such rhymes in my time."
" A hundred thousand!" cried La Fontaine, " four times as many as
La Pucelle, which M. Chaplain is meditating. Is it also on this subject
too that you have composed a hundred thousand verses ?"
" Listen to me, you eternally absent creature," said Moliere.
" It is certain," continued La Fontaine, " that legume, for instance,
rhymes with posthume." " In the plural, above all."
' Yes, above all in the plural, seeing that then it rhymes not with
three letters, but with,four; as ornikre does with lumiere"
"But ornihres and lumieres in the plural, my dear Pelisson," said
La Fontaine, clapping his hand on the shoulder of his friend, whose
insult he had quite forgotten, " and they will rhyme."
" Hem!" cried Pelisson.
"Moliere says so, and Moliere is a judge of it; he declares he has
himself made a hundred thousand verses."
" Come," said Moliere, laughing, " he is off now."
"It is like rivage, which rhymes admirably with herbage. I would
take my oath of it."—>—" But " said Moliere.
" I tell you all this," continued La Fontaine, " because you are pre-
paring a divertissement for Yaux, are you not ? "
THE BEEHIVE, THE BEES, AND THE HONEY. 339
" Yes, the ' Facheux.'"
" Ah, yes, the ' Facheuxyes, I recollect. Well, I was thinking a
prologue would admirably suit your divertissement."
" Doubtless it would suit capitally."
" Ah ! you are of my opinion ? "
<! So much so, that I asked you to write this prologue."
" You asked me to write it ? "
"Yes, you, and on your refusal begged you to ask Felisson, who is
encaged upon it at this moment."
" Ah ! that is what Pelisson is doing, then ?"
" I'faith, my dear Moli&re, you might indeed often be right."
" When ?" " When you call me absent. It is a wretched defect
I will cure myself of it, and do your prologue for you."
"But seeing that Pelisson is about it! "
" Ah, true, double rascal that I am! Loret was indeed right in saying
I was a poor creature."
" It was not Loret who said so, my friend."
"Well, then, whoever said so, 'tis the same to me! And so your
divertissement is called the 'Facheux?' Well, can you not make
keureux rhyme with facheux ?" " If obliged, yes."
" And even with capricieux." " Oh, no, no."
" It would be hazardous, and yet why so ?"
" There is too great a difference in the cadences."
" I was fancying," said La Fontaine, leaving Moliere for Loret—" I
was fancying "
" What were you fancying?" said Loret, in the middle of a sentence.
" Make haste."
" You are writing the prologue to the ' F&cheux,' are you not ?"
" No ! mordieu ! it is Pelisson."
"Ah, Pelisson!" cried La Fontaine, going over to him. "I was
fancying," he continued, "that the nymph of Yaux "
"Ah, beautiful!" cried Loret. "The nymph of Yaux ! thank you,
La Fontaine; you have just given me the two concluding verses of my
paper."
" Well, if you can rhyme so well. La Fontaine," said Pelisson, " tell
me now in what way you would begin my prologue ?"
"I should say, for instance, 'Oh ! nymph, who ' After 'who' I
should place a verb in the second person singular of the present
indicative; and should go on thus : ' this grot profound.'"
"But the verb, the verb ?" asked Pelisson.
"To admire the greatest king of all kings round," continued La
Fontaine,
" But the verb, the verb," obstinately insisted Pelisson. " This second
person singular of the present indicative ?"
" Well, then; quittest
" O, nymph, who quittest now this grot profound.
To admire the greatest king of all kings round."
"You would put'who quittest,' would you?" "Why not?"
"' Gentlest,'" after ' you who' ?"
" Ah ! my dear fellow," exclaimed La Fontaine, " you are a shocking
pedant!"
"Without counting," said Moli&re, "that the second verse, 'king of
all kings round,' is very weak, my dear La Fontaine."
" Then you see clearly I am nothing but a poor creature,—a shuffler,
as you said."
7 9
S40 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" I never said so." " Then, as Loret said."
" And it was not Loret neither; it was Pelisson."
" Well, Pelisson was right a hundred times over. But what annoys
me more than anything, my dear Moliere, is, that I fear we shall not
have our epicurean dresses."
"You expected yours, then, for the fete ?"
" Yes, for the fete, and then for after the fete. My housekeeper told
me that my own is rather faded."
" Diable! your housekeeper is right; rather more than faded!"
" Ah, you see," resumed La Pontaine, " the fact is, I left it on the
floor in my room, and my cat " "Well; your cat "
" She kittened upon it, which has rather altered its colour."
Moliere burst out laughing; Pelisson and Loret followed his example.
At this juncture, the bishop of Yannes appeared, with a roll of plans
and parchments under his arm. As if the angel of death had chilled
all gay and sprightly fancies—as if that wan form had scared away the
Graces to whom Xenocrates sacrificed—silence immediately reigned
through the study, and every one resumed his self-possession and his
pen. Aramis distributed the notes of invitation, and thanked them in
the name of M. Fouquet. " The surintendant," he said, " being kept to
his room by business, could not come and see them, but begged them to
send him some of the fruits of their day's work, to enable him to forget
the fatigue of his labour in the night."
At these words, all settled to work. La Fontaine placed himself at a
table, and set his rapid pen running over the vellum; Pelisson made a
fair copy of his prologue; Moliere gave fifty fresh verses, with which his
visit to Percerin had inspired him; Loret, his article on the marvellous
fetes he predicted; and Aramis, laden with booty like the king of the bees,
that great black drone, decked with purple and gold, re-entered his
apartment, silent and busy. But before departing, "Remember, gen-
tlemen," said he, " we all leave to-morrow evening."
" In that case, I must give notice at home," said Moliere.
" Yes; poor Moliere !" said Loret, smiling; " he loves his home."
"c He loves,' yes," replied Moliere, with his sad, sweet smile. "' He
loves,' that does not mean, they love him."
"As for me," said La Fontaine, "they love me at Chateau Thierry, I
am very sure."
Aramis here re-entered after a brief disappearance. " Will any one
go with me ?" he asked. " I am going by Paris, after having passed a
quarter of an hour with M. Fouquet. I offer my carriage."
" Good," said Moliere, " I accept it. I am in a hurry."
"I shall dine here," said Loret. " M. de Gourville has promised me
some craw-fish."
"He has promised me some whitings. Find a rhyme for that, La
Fontaine."
Aramis went out laughing, as only he could laugh, and Moliere foi-
lowed him. They were at the bottom of the stairs, when La Fontaine
opened the door, and shouted out—
" He has promised us some whitings,
In return for all our writings."
The shouts of laughter reached the ears of Fouquet, at the moment
Aramis opened the door of the study. As to Moliere, he had under-
taken to order the horses, while Aramis went to exchange a parting
word with the surintendant. "Oh, how they are laughing there!"
said Fouquet, with a sigh, "And do not you laugh, monseigneur ?"
THE BEEHIVE, THE BEES, AND THE HONEY. 341
" I laugh no longer now, M. d'Herblay."
" The fete is approaching; money is departing."
" Have I not told you that was my business ?"
" Y es, you promised me millions."
"You shall have them the day after the king's entree into Vaux."
Pouquet looked closely at Aramis, and passed his icy hand across his
moistened brow. Aramis perceived that the surintendant either doubted
him, or felt he was powerless to obtain the money. How could Fouquet
suppose that a poor bishop, ex-abbe, ex-musketeer, could find any ?
" Why doubt xne ?" said Aramis. Pouquet smiled and shook his
head. " Man of little faith !" added the bishop.
" My dear M. d'Herblay," answered Pouquet, " if I fall "
;;Well; if you'fall?'"
" I shall, at least, fall from such a height, that I shall shatter myself
in falling." Then giving himself a shake, as though to escape from him-
self, " Whence come you," said he, "my friend ?"
" Prom P^ris—from Percerin."
" And what have you been doing at Percerin's, for I suppose you
attach no such great importance to our poets' dresses ?"
" No.—I went to prepare a surprise." " Surprise ?"
"Yes; which you are to give the king." "And will it cost much?"
" Oh! a hundred pistoles you will give Lebrun."
" A painting ?—Ah! all the better! And what is this painting to
represent ?"
" I will tell you; then at the same time, whatever you may say of it,
I went to see the dresses for our poets."
" Bah ! and they will be rich and elegant ?"
" Splendid! There will be few great monseigneurs with so good.
People will see the difference there is between the courtiers of wealth
and those of friendship."
"Ever generous and graceful, dear prelate !" "In your school."
Pouquet grasped his hand. " And where are you going ?" he said.
" I am off to Paris, when you shall have given a certain letter."
" For whom ?" " M. de Lyonne."
" And what do you want with Lyonne ?"
" I wish to make him sign a lettre de cachet."
"' Lettre de cachet /' Do you desire to put somebody in the Bastille ? "
" On the contrary—to let somebody out." "And who ?"
" A poor devil — a youth, a lad who has been bastilled these ten
years, for two Latin verses he made against the Jesuits."
"' Two Latin verses!' and, for' two Latin verses,' the miserable being
has been in prison for ten years!" "Yes !"
"And has committed no other crime ?"
" Beyond this, he is as innocent as you, or I."
" On your word ?" " On my honour !"
" And his name is ?" " Seldon."
" Yes.—But it is too bad. You knew this, and you never told me!"
" 'Twas only yesterday his mother applied to me, monseigneur."
" And the woman is poor." " In the deepest misery."
"Oh! Heaven !" said Pouquet, "you sometimes bear with such in-
justice on earth, that I understand why there are wretches who doubt
in your existence. Stay, M. d'Herblay." And Pouquet, taking a pen,
wrote a few rapid lines to his colleague Lyonne. Aramis took the letter
and made ready to go."
"Wait," said Fouquet. He opened his drawer, and took out ten
government notes which were there, each for a thousand francs. " Stay,'*
342 the vicomte de beagelonne.
lie said; " set the son at liberty, and give this to the mother; but, above
all, tell her not " " What, monseigneur ?"
" That she is ten thousand livres richer than I. She would say, I am
but a poor surintendant! Go ! and I hope that God will bless these
who are mindful of his poor !"
" So also do I hope," replied Aramis, kissing Fouquet's hand.
And he went out quickly, carrying off the letter for Lyonne and the
notes for Seidon's mother, and taking up Moliere, who was beginning
to lose patience.
CHAPTER LXXIY.
Another Supper at the Bastille.
Seven o'clock sounded from the great clock of the Bastille, that
famous clock, which like all the accessories of the state prison,'the very
use of which is a torture, recalled to the prisoners' minds the destination
of every hour of their punishment. The timepiece of the Bastille,
adorned with figures, like most of the clocks of the period, represented
St. Peter in bonds. It was the supper hour of the unfortunate captives.
The doors, grating on their enormous hinges, opened for the passage of
the baskets and trays of provisions, the delicacy of which, as M. de
Baisemeaux has himself taught us, was regulated by the condition in
life of the prisoner. We understand on this head the theories of M.
de Baisemeaux, sovereign dispenser of gastronomic delicacies, head
cook of the royal fortress, whose trays, full laden, were ascending the
steep staircases, carrying some consolation to the prisoners in the
bottom of honestly-filled bottles. This same hour was that of M. le
Gouverneur's supper also. He had a guest to-day, and the spit
turned more heavily than usual. Boast partridges flanked with quails
and flanking a larded leveret; boiled fowls; ham, Med and sprinkled
with white wine; cardons of Guipuzcoa and la bisque ecrevisses: these
together with the soups and hors-d'oeuvre, constituted the governor's
bill of fare. Baisemeaux, seated at table, was rubbing his hands and
looking at the bishop of Yannes, who, booted like a cavalier, dressed
in grey and sword at side, kept talking of his hunger and testi-
fying the liveliest impatience. M. de Baisemeaux de Montlezun was
not accustomed to the unbending movements of his greatness, my lord
of Yannes, and this evening, Aramis becoming quite sprightly, volun-
teered confidence on confidence. The prelate had again a little
touch of the musketeer about him. The bishop just trenched on the
borders only of licence in his style of conversation. As for M. de
Baisemeaux, with the facility of vulgar people, he gave himself up
entirely upon this point of his guest's freedom. " Monsieur," said he,
" for indeed to-night I dare not call you monseigneur."
" By no means," said Aramis; " call me monsieur; I am booted."
" Do you know, monsieur, of whom you remind me this evening ?"
"No! faith," said Aramis, taking up his glass; "but I hope I
remind you of a capital guest."
" You remind me of two, monsieur. Franqois, shut the window; the
wind may annoy his greatness."
" And let him go," added Aramis. " The supper is completely served,
and we shall eat it very well without waiters. I like extremely to be
tete-d-tete when I am with a friend." Baisemeaux bowed respectfully.
" I like extremely," continued Aramis, " to help myself."
ANOTHER SUPPER AT THE BASTILLE. 343
"Betire, Frangois," cried Baisemeaux. "I was saying that your
greatness puts me in mind of two persons; one very illustrious, the late
cardinal, the great cardinal de la Rochelle, who wore boots like you."
" Indeed," said Aramis; " and the other ?"
"The other was a certain musketeer, very handsome, very brave,
very adventurous, very fortunate, who, from being abbe, turned muske-
teer, and from musketeer turned abbe." Aramis condescended to smile.
" From abbe," continued Baisemeaux, encouraged by Aramis's smile—
" from abbe, bishop,—and from bishop "
" Ah! stay there, I beg," exclaimed Aramis.
" I say, monsieur, that you gave me the idea of a cardinal."
" Enough, dear M. Baisemeaux. As you said, I have on the boots of a
cavalier, but I do not intend, for all that, to embroil myself with the
church this evening."
" But you have wicked intentions, however, monseigneur."
" Oh, yes, wicked I own, as everything mundane is."
" You traverse the town and the streets in disguise ?"
" In disguise, as you say."
" And do you still make use of your sword ?"
"Yes, I should think so; but only when I am compelled. Dome
the pleasure to summon Francois." " Have you no wine there ? "
" 'Tis not for wine, but because it is hot here and the window is shut."
" I shut the windows at supper-time so as not to hear the sounds or
the arrival of couriers."
" Ah, yes. You hear them when the window is open ?"
" But too well, and that disturbs me. You understand."
"Nevertheless I am suffocated. Frangois." Francois entered, "Open
the windows, I pray you, Master Frangois," said Aramis. " You will
alloW him, dear M. Baisemeaux."
" You are at home here," answered the governor. The window was
opened. " Do you not think," said M. de Baisemeaux, " that you will
find yourself very lonely, now M. de la Fere has returned to his house-
holcfgods at Blois ? He is a very old friend, is he not ?"
" You know it as I do, Baisemeaux, seeing that you were in the
musketeers with us."
" Bah! with my friends I reckon neither bottles of wine nor years."
" And you are right. But I do more than love M. de la Fere, dear
Baisemeaux; I venerate him."
"Well, for my part, though 'tis singular," said the governor, "I
prefer M. d'Artagnan to him. There is a man for you, who drinks long
and well! That kind of people allow you at least to penetrate their
thoughts."
" Baisemeaux, make me tipsy to-night; let us have a debauch as of
old, and if I have a trouble at the bottom of my heart, I promise
you, you shall see it as you would a diamond at the bottom of your
glass."
" Bravo!" said Baisemeaux, and he poured out a great glass of wine
and drank it off at a draught, trembling with joy at the idea of being, by
hook or by crook, in the secret of some high archiepiscopal misde-
meanor. While he was drinking he did not see with what attention
Aramis was noting the sounds in the great court. A courier came in
about eight o'clock as Frangois brought in the fifth bottle, and, although
the courier made a great noise, Baisemeaux heard nothing.
" The devil take him," said Aramis.
"What! who?" asked Baisemeaux. "I hope 'tis neither the wine
you drink nor he who is the cause of your drinking it."
844 THE vicomte de bbagelonne.
"No; it is a horse, who is making noise enough in the court for a
whole squadron."
" Pcoh ! some courier or other," replied the governor, redoubling his
numerous bumpers. " Yes; and may the devil take him, and so quickly
that we shall never hear him speak more ! Hurrah ! hurrah!"
" You forget me, Baisemeaux! my glass is empty," said Aramis,
showing his dazzling goblet.
" Upon honour, you delight me. Francois, wine !"
Francois entered. " Wine, fellow! and better."
" Yes, monsieur, yes; but a courier has just arrived."
" Let him go to the devil, I say." " Yes, monsieur, but "
" Let him leave his news at the office; we will see to it to-morrow.
To-morrow, there will be time to-morrow; there will be daylight," said
Baisemeaux, chanting the words.
" Ah, monsieur," grumbled the soldier Francois, in spite of himself,
" monsieur."
" Take care," said Aramis, " take care!"
"Of what? dear M. d'Herblay," said Baisemeaux, half intoxicated.
" The letter which the courier brings to the governor of a fortress is
sometimes an order." " Nearly always."
" Do not orders issue from the ministers ? "
"Yes, undoubtedly ; but "
" And what do these ministers do but countersign the signature of
the king ? "
" Perhaps you are right. Nevertheless, 'tis very tiresome when you
are sitting before a good table, tete-a-tete with a friend—Ah! I beg
your pardon, monsieur; I forgot it is I who engage you at supper, and
that I speak to a future cardinal."
" Let us pass over that, dear Baisemeaux, and return to our soldier,
to Franqois."
" Well, and what has Francois done ? " " He has demurred!"
" He was wrong, then."
" However, he has demurred, you see; 'tis because there is something
extraordinary in this matter. It is very possible that it was not Fran-
cois who was wrong in demurring, but you, who will be wrong in not
listening to him."
" Wrong ? I to be wrong before Francois ? that seems rather hard."
" Pardon me, merely an irregularity. But I thought it my duty to
make an observation which I deem important."
" Oh ! perhaps you are right*" stammered Baisemeaux. " The king's
order is sacred; but as to orders that arrive when one is at supper, I
repeat that the devil "
"If you had said as much to the great cardinal—hem! my dear
Baisemeaux, and if his order had any importance."
" I do it that I may not disturb a bishop. Mordieux ! am I not, then,
excusable ? "
" Do not forget, Baisemeaux, that I have worn the soldier's coat, and
I am accustomed to see everywhere obedience."
" You wish, then "
" I wish that you should do your duty, my friend; yes, at least before
this soldier.'? .
" 'Tis mathematically true," exclaimed Baisemeaux. Francois still
waited: " Let them send this order of the king's up to me," he repeated,
recovering himself. And he added in a low tone, " Do you know what
it is ? I will tell you something about as interesting as this. ' Beware of
fire near the powder magazineor,' Look close after such a one, who
s clever at escaping.' Ah! if you only knew, monseigneur, how many
ANOTHER SUPPER AT THE BASTILLE. 345
times I have been suddenly awakened from the very sweetest and deep-
est slumber, by messengers arriving at full gallop to tell me, or rather
bring me a slip of paper, containing these words: ' Monsieur de Baise-
meaux, what news?' 'Tis clear enough that those who waste"their
time writing such orders have never slept in the Bastille. They would
know better; the thickness of my walls, the vigilance of my officers,
the number of rounds we go. But, indeed, what can you expect, mon-
seigneur ? It is their business to write and torment me when I am at
rest, and to trouble me when I am happy," added Baisemeaux, bowing
to Aramis. " Then let them do their business."
" And do you do yours," added the bishop, smiling.
Francois re-entered; Baisemeaux took from his hands the minister's
order. He slowly undid it, and as slowly read it. Aramis pretended
to be drinking, so as to be able to watch his host through the glass.
Then, Baisemeaux having read it: "What was I just saying?" he
exclaimed. " What is it ?" asked the bishop.
" An order of release ! There, now; excellent news indeed to disturb
us!"
" Excellent news for him whom it concerns, you will at least agree,
my dear governor!"
" And at eight o'clock in the evening !" " It is charitable!"
" Oh ! charity is all very well, but it is for that fellow who says he is
so weary and tired, but not for me who am amusing myself," said Baise-
meaux, exasperated.
" Will you lose by him, then ? And is the prisoner who is to be set
at liberty a high payer ?"
" Oh, yes, indeed! a miserable, five-franc rat!"
" Let me see it," asked M. d'Herblay. " It is no indiscretion ?"
"By no means; read it."
" There is ' Urgent' on the paper; you have seen that, I suppose ? "
" Oh, admirable ! ' Urgent!—a man who has been there ten years !
It is urgent to set him free to-day, this very evening, at eight o'clock !—
urgent!" And Baisemeaux, shrugging his shoulders with an air of
supreme disdain, flung the order on the table and began eating again.
" They are fond of these dodges!" he said, with his mouth full; " they
seize a man, some fine day, maintain him for ten years, and write to you,
'Watch this fellow well,' or 'Keep him very strictly.' And then, as
soon as you are accustomed to look upon the prisoner as a dangerous
man, all of a sudden, without cause or precedent, they write—' Set him
at libertyand actually add to their missive—' urgent.' You will own,
my lord, 'tis enough to make any one shrug his shoulders !"
" What do you expect ? It is they who write," said Aramis, " and it
is for you to execute the order."
" Good! good ! execute it! Oh, patience! You must not imagine
that I am a slave."
" Gracious Heaven! my very good M. Baisemeaux, who ever said so ?
Your independence is known." " Thank Heaven ! "
" But your good heart also is known." " Ah ! don't speak of it!"
" And your obedience to your superiors. Once a soldier, you see,
Baisemeaux, always a soldier."
" And so I shall strictly obey; and to-morrow morning, at day-break,
the prisoner referred to shall be set free."
" To-morrow ? " " At dawn."
" Why not this evening, seeing that the lettre de cachet bears, both
on the direction and inside,' urgent / '"
" Because this evening we are at supper, and our affairs are urgent
too!"
346 the vicomte de bragelonne.
" Dear Baisemeaux, booted though I be, I feel myself a priest, and
charity has higher claims upon me than hunger and thirst. This un-
fortunate man has suffered long enough, since you have just told me
that he has been your prisoner these ten years. Abridge his suffering.
His good time has come; give him the benefit quickly. God will repay
you in Paradise with years of felicity."
" You wish it ? " " I intreat you."
" "What! in the very middle of our repast ?"
" I implore you; such an action is worth ten Benedicites."
" It shall be as you desire, only our supper will get cold."
" Oh! never heed that."
Baisemeaux leaned back to ring for Erangois, and by a very natural
motion turned round towards the door. The order had remained on
the table; Aramis seized the opportunity when Baisemeaux was not
looking to change the paper for another, folded in the same manner,
and which he took from his pocket. " Erangois," said the governor,
" let the major come up here with the turnkeys of the Bertaudiere."
Erangois bowed and quitted the room, leaving the two companions
alone.
CHAPTER LXXY.
The General of the Order.
There was now a brief silence, during which Aramis never removed
his eyes from Baisemeaux for a moment. The latter seemed only half
decided to disturb himself thus in the middle of supper, and it was clear
he was seeking some pretext, whether good or bad, for delay, at any rate
till after dessert. And it appeared also that he had hit upon a pretext
at last.
" Eh! but it is impossible!" he cried.
" How, impossible?" said Aramis. "Give me a glimpse of this im-
possibility." '
" 'Tis impossible to set a prisoner at liberty at such an hour. Where
can he go to, he, who is unacquainted with Paris ?"
" He will go wherever he can."
" You see, now, one might as well set a blind man free!"
" I have a carriage, and will take him wherever he wishes."
"You have an answer for everything. Erangois, tell monsieur le
major to go and open the cell of M. Seldon, No. 3, Bertaudiere."
" Seldon!" exclaimed Aramis, very naturally. "You said Seldon, I
think ?"
" I said Seldon, of course. 'Tis the name of the man they set free."
" Oh ! you meant to say Marchiali ?" said Aramis.
"Marchiali? oh! yes, indeed. No, no, Seldon."
" I think you are making a mistake. Monsieur Baisemeaux."
" I have read the order." " And I also."
" And I saw ' Seldon5 in letters as large as that," and Baisemeaux
held up his finger.
" And I read ' Marchiali,' in characters as large as this," said Aramis,
also holding up two fingers.
" To the proof; let us throw a light on the matter," said Baisemeaux,
confident he was right. " There is the paper, you have only to read it."
"I read 'Marchiali,'" returned Aramis, spreading out the paper.
"Look."
THE GENEEAL OF, THE OEDEE. 347
Baisemeaux looked, and his arms dropped suddenly. " Yes, yes/' he
said, quite overwhelmed; " yes, Marchiali. 'Tis plainly written Mar-
chiali! Quite true!" " Ah!"
" How ? the man of whom we have talked so much ? The man
whom they are every day telling me to take such care of?"
" There is ' Marchiali,'" repeated the inflexible Aramis.
" I must own it, monseigneur." But I understand absolutely nothing
about it." "You believe your eyes, at any rate."
" To tell me very plainly there is ' Marchiali.'"
" And in a good handwriting, too."
" 'Tis a wonder! I still see this order and the name of Seldon,
Irishman. I see it. Ah! I even recollect that under this name there
was a blot of ink." " No, there is no ink; no, there is no blot."
" Oh! but there was, though; I know it, because I rubbed the powder
that was over the blot."
" In a word, be it how it may, dear M. Baisemeaux," said Aramis,
" and whatever you may have seen, the order is signed to release Mar-
chiali, blot or no blot."
"The order is signed to release Marchiali," repeated Baisemeaux,
mechanically, endeavouring to regain his courage.
" And you are going to release, this prisoner. If your heart dictates
to you to deliver Seldon also, I declare to you I will not oppose it the
least in the world." Aramis accompanied this remark with a smile,
the irony of which effectually dispelled Baisemeaux's confusion of mind,
and restored his courage.
" Monseigneur," he said, " this Marchiali is the very same prisoner
whom the other day a priest, confessor of our order, came to visit in so
imperious and so secret a manner."
" I don't know that, monsieur," replied the bishop.
" 'Tis no such long time ago, dear Monsieur d'Herblay."
" It is true. But with us, monsieur, it is good that the man of to-day
should no longer know what the man of yesterday did."
"In any case," said Baisemeaux, "the visit of the Jesuit confessor
must have given happiness to this man."
Aramis made no reply, but recommenced eating and drinking. As for
Baisemeaux, no longer touching anything that was on the table, he
again took up the order and examined it in every way. This investi-
gation, under ordinary circumstances, would have made the ears of the
impatient Aramis burn with anger; but the bishop of Yannes did not
become incensed for so little, above all, when he had murmured to him-
self that to do so was dangerous. " Are you going to release Marchiali ?"
he said. " What mellow and fragrant sherry this is, my dear governor."
" Monseigneur," replied Baisemeaux, " I shall release the prisoner
Marchiali when I have summoned the courier who brought the order,
and above all, when, by interrogating him, I have satisfied myself."
" The order is sealed, and the courier is ignorant of the contents.
What do you want to satisfy yourself about?"
' " Be it so, monseigneur; but I shall send to the ministry, and M, do
Lyonne will either confirm or withdraw the order."
" What is the good of all that ?" asked Aramis, coldly.
" What good ? " Yes; what is your object, I ask ?"
"The object of never deceiving oneself, monseigneur, nor being
wanting in the respect which a subaltern owes to his superior officers,
nor infringing the duties of that service which one has voluntarily
accepted."
"Very good; you have just spoken so eloquently, that I cannot but
848 the vicomte de bbagelonhe.
admire you. It is true that a subaltern owes respect to his superiors ;
he is guilty when he deceives himself, and he should be punished if he
infringe either the duties or laws of his office." Baisemeaux looked at
the bishop with astonishment.
" It follows," pursued Aramis, " that you are going to ask advice, to
put your conscience at ease in the matter ?" " Yes, monseigneur."
" And if a superior officer gives you orders, you will obey ?"
" Never doubt it, monseigneur."
" You know the king's signature well, M. de Baisemeaux ?"
" Yes, monseigneur."
" Is it not on this order of release ?" " It is true, hut it may "
" Be forged, you mean ?" " That is evident, monseigneur."
" You are right. And that of M. de Lyonne ?"
" I see it plain enough on the order; but for the same reason that the
king's signature may have been forged, so also, even more likely, may
M. de Lyonne's."
" Your logic has the stride of a giant, M. de Baisemeaux," said Ara-
mis; " and your reasoning is irresistible. But on what special grounds
•do you base your idea that these signatures are false ? "
" On this: the absence of counter-signatures. Nothing checks his
majesty's signature; and M. de Lyonne is not there to tell me he has
signed."
"Well, Monsieur de Baisemeaux," said Aramis, bending an eagle
glance on the governor, " I adopt so frankly your doubts, and your
mode of clearing them up, that I will take a pen, if you will give me
one." Baisemeaux gave him a pen.
" And a sheet of white paper," added Aramis.
Baisemeaux handed some paper.
"Now, I—I, also—I, here present—incontestably, I—am going to
write an order to which I am certain you will give credence, incre-
dulous as you are!"
Baisemeaux turned pale at this icy assurance of manner. It seemed
to him that that voice of the bishop's, but just now so playful and so
gay, had become funereal and sad; that the wax-lights changed into the
tapers of a mortuary chapel, and the glasses of wine into chalices of
blood.
Aramis took a pen and wrote. Baisemeaux, in terror, read over his
shoulder.
" A. M. D. G." wrote the bishop; and he drew a cross under these four
letters, which signify ad majorem Dei gloriam, " to the greater glory of
God;" and thus he continued, "It is our pleasure that the order
brought to M. de Baisemeaux de Montlezun, governor, for the king, of
the castle of the Bastille, be held by him good and effectual, and. be
immediately carried into operation. (Signed) D'Hebblay,
" General of the Order, by the grace of God."
Baisemeaux was so profoundly astonished, that his features remained
contracted, his lips parted, and his eyes fixed. He did not move an
inch, nor articulate a sound. Nothing could be heard in that large
chamber but the buzzing of a little moth, which was fluttering about
the candles. Aramis, without even deigning to look at the man whom
he had reduced to so miserable a condition, drew from his pocket a
small case of black wax; he sealed the letter, and stamped it with a
seal suspended at his breast, beneath his doublet, and when the opera-
lion was concluded, presented—still in silence—the missive to M. de
Baisemeaux. The latter, whose hands trembled in a manner to excite
THE GENERAL OF THE OBDEE. 343
pity, turned a dull and meaningless gaze upon the letter. A last gleam
of feeling played over his features, and he fell, as if thunderstruck, on a
chair.
" Come, come," said Aramis, after a long silence, during which the
governor of the Bastille had slowly recovered his senses, " do not lead
me to believe, dear Baisemeaux, that the presence of the general of the
Order is as terrible aS His, and that men die merely from having seen
Him. Take courage, rouse yourself; give me your hand, and obey."
Baisemeaux, reassured, if not satisfied, obeyed, kissed Aramis's hand,
and rose. " Immediately ? " he murmured.
" Oh, there is no pressing haste, my host; take your place again, and
do the honours over this beautiful dessert."
" Monseigneur, I shall never recover such a shock as this; I who
have laughed, who have jested with you! I who have dared to treat
you on a footing of equality! "
" Say nothing about it, old comrade," replied the bishop, who per-
ceived how strained the cord was, and how dangerous it would have
been to break it; " say nothing about it. Let us each live in our own
way: to you, my protection and my friendship; to me, your obedience..
Having exactly fulfilled these two requirements, let us live happily."
Baisemeaux reflected; he perceived, at a glance, the consequences of
this withdrawal of a prisoner by means of a forged order; and, putting
in the scale the guarantee offered him by the official order of the
general, did not consider it of any value.
Aramis divined this. " My dear Baisemeaux," said he, " you are a
simpleton. Lose this habit of reflection when I give myself the trouble-
to think for you."
And at another gesture he made, Baisemeaux bowed again. i: How
shall I set about it ? " he said.
" What is the process for releasing a prisoner ? "
" I have the regulations."
" Well, then, follow the regulations, my friend."
" I go with my major to the prisoner's room, and conduct him, if he-
is a personage of importance."
" But this Marchiali is not an important personage," said Aramis,
carelessly.
" I don't know," answered the governor; as if he would have said,
" It is for you to instruct me."
" Then if you don't know it, I am right; so act towards Marchiali
as you act towards one of obscure station."
" Good; the regulations so provide. They are to the effect, that the
turnkey, or one of the lower officials, shall bring the prisoner before
the governor, in the office."
" Well, 'tis very wise, that; and then ? "
" Then we return to the prisoner the valuables he wore at the time of
his imprisonment, his clothes and papers, if the minister's order have
not otherwise directed."
" What was the minister's order as to this Marchiali ? "
"Nothing; for the unhappy man arrived here without jewels, with-
out papers, and almost without clothes."
" See how simple it all is. Indeed, Baisemeaux, you make a moun-
tain of everything. Remain here, and make them bring the prisoner
to the governor's house."
Baisemeaux obeyed. He summoned his lieutenant, and gave him am
order, which the latter passed on, without disturbing himself about it,
to the next whom it concerned.
350 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
Half an hour afterwards they heard a gate shut in the court; it was
the door to the dungeon, which had just rendered up its prey to the-
free air. Aramis blew out all the candles which lighted the room but
one, which he left burning behind the door. This flickering glare pre-
vented the sight from resting steadily on any object. It multiplied
tenfold the changing forms and shadows of the place, by its wavering
uncertainty. Steps drew near.
" Go and meet your men," said Aramis to Baisemeaux.
The governor obeyed. The sergeant and turnkeys disappeared.
Baisemeaux re-entered, followed by a prisoner. Aramis had placed
himself in the shade; he saw without being seen. Baisemeaux, in an
agitated tone of voice, made the young man acquainted with the order
which set him at liberty. The prisoner listened, without making a
single gesture or saying a word.
"You will swear ('tis the regulation that requires it)," added the
governor, "never to reveal anything that you have seen or heard in the
Bastille."
The prisoner perceived a crucifix; he stretched out his hands, and
swore with his lips. " And now, monsieur, you are free, whither do
you intend going?"
The prisoner turned his head, as if looking behind him for some
protection, on which he ought to rely. Then was it that Aramis
came out of the shade: "lam here," he said, " to render the gentleman
whatever service he may please to ask."
The prisoner slightly reddened, and without hesitation passed his
arm through that of Aramis. " God have you in his holy keeping," he
said, in a voice the firmness of which made the governor tremble as
much as the form of the blessing astonished him.
Aramis on shaking hands with Baisemeaux, said to him: " Does my
order trouble you ?"
"Do you fear their finding it here, should they come to search ?"
" I desire to keep it, mon seigneur," said Baisemeaux. " If they found
it here it would be a certain indication I should be lost, and in that
case you would be a powerful and a last auxiliary for me."
"Being your accomplice, you mean?" answered Aramis, shrugging
his shoulders. " Adieu, Baisemeaux," said he.
The horses were in waiting, making the carriage shake again with
their impatience. Baisemeaux accompanied the bishop to the bottom
of the steps. Aramis caused his companion to mount before him, then
followed, and without giving the driver any further order," Go on,"
said he. The carriage rattled over the pavement of the courtyard. An
officer with a torch went before the horses, and gave orders at every
post to let them pass. During the time taken in opening all the
barriers, Aramis barely breathed, and you might have heard his " sealed
heart knock against his ribs." The prisoner, buried in a corner of the
carriage, made no more sign of life than his companion. At length, a
jolt more severe than the others announced to them that they had
cleared the last watercourse. Behind the carriage closed the last gate,
that in the Hue St. Antoine. No more walls either on the right or
left; heaven everywhere, liberty everywhere, and life everywhere.
The horses, kept in check by a vigorous hand, went quietly as far as the
middle of the faubourg. There they began to trot. Little by little,
whether they warmed over it, or whether they were urged, they gained
in swiftness, and once past Bercy, the carriage seemed to fly, so great
was the ardour of the coursers. These horses ran thus as far as
Yilleneuve St. George's, where relays were waiting. Then four instead
THE TEMPTEE. 351
of two whirled the carriage away in the direction of Mehun^ and pulled
up for a moment in the middle of the forest of Senarl. No doubt, the
order had been given the postillion beforehand, for Aramis had no
occasion even to make a sign.
" What is the matter ?" asked the prisoner, as if waking from a long
dream.
" The matter is, monseigneur," said Aramis, " that before going
further, it is necessary your royal highness and I should converse."
"I will wait an opportunity, monsieur," answered the young prince.
"We could not have a better, monseigneur; we are in the middle of
a forest, and no one can hear us." " The postillion ?"
" The postillion of this relay is deaf and dumb, monseigneur."
" I am at your service, M. d'Herblay."
" Is it your pleasure to remain in the carriage ?"
"Yes, we are comfortably seated, and I like this carriage; for it has
restored me to liberty."
" Wait, monseigneur; there is yet a precaution to be taken."
"What?" "We are here on the highway; cavaliers or carriages
travelling like ourselves might pass, and seeing us stopping, deem us in
some difficulty. Let us avoid offers of assistance, which would em-
barrass us."
" Give the postillion orders to conceal the carriage in one of the side
avenues."
" 'Tis exactly what I wished to do, monseigneur."
Aramis made a sign to the deaf and dumb driver of the carriage,
whom he touched on the arm. The latter dismounted, took the leaders
by the bridle, and led them over the velvet sward and the mossy grass
of a winding alley, at the bottom of which, on this moonless night, the
deep shades formed a curtain blacker than ink. This done, the man
lay down on a slope near his horses, who, on either side, kept nibbling
the young oak shoots.
" I am listening," said the young prince to Aramis; " but what are
you doing there?"
"lam disarming myself of my pistols, of which we have no further
need, monseigneur."
CHAPTER LXXVI.
The Tempter,
" My prince," said Aramis, turning in the carriage towards his com-
panion, "weak creature as I.am, so unpretending in genius, so low
in the scale of intelligent beings, it has never yet happened to me to
converse with a man without penetrating his thoughts through that
living mask which has been thrown over our mind, in order to retain
its expression. But to-night, in this darkness, in the reserve which
you maintain, I can read nothing on your features, and something
tells me that I shall have great difficulty in wresting from you a sincere
declaration. I beseech you then, not for love of me, for subjects should
never weigh as anything in the balance which princes hold, but for
love of yourself, to retain every syllable, every inflexion which, under
our present grave circumstances, will all have a sense and value as
important as any ever uttered in the world."
"I listen," repeated the young prince, "decidedly, without either
eagerly seeking or fearing anything you are about to say to me." And
352 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
he buried himself still deeper iu the thick cushions of the carriage,
trying to deprive his companion not only of the sight of him, but even
of the very idea of his presence.
Black was the darkness which fell wide and dense from the summits
of the intertwining trees. The carriage, covered in by this vast roof,
would not have received a particle of light, not even if a ray could have
struggled through the wreaths of mist which were rising in the avenue
of the wood.
"Monseigneur," resumed Aramis, "you know the history of the
government which to-day controls France. The king issued from an
infancy imprisoned like yours, obscure as yours, and confined as yours;
only, instead of ending, like yourself, this slavery in a prison—this
obscurity in solitude—these straitened circumstances in concealment,
he was fain to bear all these miseries, humiliations, and distresses, in
full daylight, under the pitiless sun of royalty; or an elevation so
flooded with light, where every stain appears a miserable blemish, and
every glory a stain. The king has suffered; it rankles in his mind:
and he will avenge himself. He will be a bad king. I say not that he
will pour out blood, like Louis XI., or Charles IX.; for he has no
mortal injuries to avenge; but he wili devour the means and substance
of his people; for he has himself undergone wrongs in his own interest
and money. In the first place, then, I quite acquit my conscience,
when I consider openly the merits and faults of this prince; and if I
condemn him, my conscience absolves me."
Aramis paused. It was not to listen if the silence of the forest
remained undisturbed, but it was to gather up his thoughts from the
very bottom of his soul—to leave the thoughts he had uttered sufficient
time to eat deeply into the mind of his companion.
" All that Heaven does, Heaven does well," continued the bishop of
Vannes; " and I am so persuaded of it, that I have long been thankful
to have been chosen depositary of the secret which I have aided you to
discover. To a just Providence was necessary an instrument, at once
penetrating, persevering, and convinced, to accomplish a great work.
1 am this instrument. • I possess penetration, perseverance, conviction;
I govern a mysterious people, who has taken for its motto, the motto of
God, 'Patiens quia ceternus.'" The prince moved. "I divine, mon-
seigneur, why you are raising your head, and are surprised at the
people I have under my command. You did not know you were
dealing with a king—oh ! monseigneur, king of a people very humble,
much disinherited; humble, because they have no force save when
creeping; disinherited, because never, almost never in this world, do
my people reap the harvest they sow, nor eat the fruit they cultivate.
They labour for an abstract idea; they heap together all the atoms of
their power, to form one man; and round this man, with the sweat of
their labour, they create a misty halo, which his genius shall, in turn,
render a glory gilded with the rays of all the crowns in Christendom.
Such is the man you have beside you, monseigneur. It is to tell you
that he has drawn you from the abyss for a great purpose, and that he
desires, for this sublime purpose, to raise you above the powers of the
earth—above himself."
The prince lightly touched Aramis's arm. " You speak to me," he
said, " of that religious order whose chief you are. For me, the result
of your words is, that the day you desire to hurl down the man you
shall have raised, the event will be accomplished; and that you will
keep under your hand your creation of yesterday."
" Undeceive yourself, monseigneur," replied the bishop. " I should
THE TEMPTER. 358
not take the trouble to play this terrible game with your royal high-
ness, if I had not a double interest in gaining it. The day you are
elevated, you are elevated for ever; you will overturn the footstool, as
you rise, and will send it rolling so far, that not even the sight of it
will ever again recall to you its right to gratitude."
"Oh, monsieur !"
"Your movement, monseigneur, arises from an excellent disposition.
I thank you. Be well assured, I aspire to more than gratitude! I am
convinced that, when arrived at the summit, you will judge me still
more worthy to be your friend; and then, monseigneur, we two will do
such great deeds, that ages hereafter shall long speak of them."
" Tell me plainly, monsieur—tell me without disguise—what I am
to-day, and what you aim at my being to-morrow."
"You are the son of King Louis XIII., brother of Louis XIV.,
natural and legitimate heir to the throne of Prance. In keeping you
near him, as Monsieur has been kept—Monsieur your younger brother
—the king reserved to himself the right of being legitimate sovereign.
The doctors only could dispute his legitimacy. But the doctors always
prefer the king who is, to the king who is not. Providence has willed
that you should be persecuted; and this persecution to-day consecrates
you king of Prance. You had then aright to reign, seeing that it is
disputed; you had a right to be proclaimed, seeing that you have been
concealed; and you possess royal blood, since no one has dared to shed
yours, as your servants' has been shed. Now see, then, what this
Providence, which you have so often accused of having in every way
thwarted you, has done for you. It has given you the features, figure,
age, and voice of your brother; and the very causes of your persecu-
tion are about to become those of your triumphant restoration. To-
morrow, after to-morrow—from the very first, regal phantom, living
shade of Louis XIV., you will sit upon his throne, whence the will of
Heaven, confided in execution to the arm of man, will have hurled
him, without hope of return."
"I understand," said the prince, "my brother's blood will not be
.shed, then."
"You will be sole arbiter of his fate."
" The secret of which they made an evil use against me ? "
"You will employ it against him. What did he do to conceal it?
He concealed you. Living image of himself, you will defeat the con-
spiracy of Mazarin and Anne of Austria. You, my prince, will have
the same interest in concealing him, who will, as a prisoner, resemble
you, as you will resemble him as king."
" I fall back on what I was saying to you. Who will guard him ? "
" Who guarded you ?"
"You know this secret—you have made use of it with regard to
myself. Who else knows it ? "
" The queen-mother and Madame de Chevreuse."
" What will they do ? " " Nothing, if you choose."
" How is that ? "
" How can they recognize you, if you act in a manner that no one
can recognize you ? "
" 'Tis true; but there are grave difficulties."
" State them, prince."
" My brother is married; I cannot take my brother's wife."
" I will cause Spain to consent to a divorce; it is in the interest of
your new policy; it is human morality. All that is really noble and
really useful in this world will find its account therein."
VOL. II. 2 A
354 THE VIC031TE DE BEAGELONXE.
" The imprisoned kin g will speak."
" To whom do you think he should speak—to the walls ? "
" You mean, by walls, the men in whom you put confidence."
" If need be, yes. And besides, your royal highness "
" Besides ? "
" I, was going to say, that the designs of Providence do not stop on
such a fair road. Every scheme of this calibre is completed by its
results, like a geometrical calculation. The king, in prison, will not be
for you the cause of embarrassment that you have been for the king
enthroned. His soul is naturally proud and impatient; it is, more-
over, disarmed and enfeebled, by being accustomed to honours, and by
the license of supreme power. The same Providence which has willed
that the concluding step in the geometrical calculation I have had the
honour of describing to your royal highness should be your accession
to the throne, and the destruction of him who is hurtful to you, has
also determined that the conquered one shall soon end both his own
and your sufferings. Therefore, his soul and body have been adapted
for but a brief agony. Put into prison as a private individual, left
alone with your doubts, deprived of everything, you have exhibited a
solid, enduring principle of life, in withstanding all this. But your
brother, a captive, forgotten, and in bonds, will not long endure the
calamity; and Heaven will resume his soul at the appointed time—that
is to say, soon."
At this point in Aramis' gloomy analysis, a bird of night uttered
from the depths of the forest that prolonged and plaintive cry which
makes every creature tremble.
" I will exile the deposed king," said Philippe, shuddering; " 'twill
be more humane."
" The king's good pleasure will decide the point," said Aramis.
" But has the problem been well put ? Have I brought out the solu-
tion according to the wishes or the foresight of your royal highness ?"
"Yes, monsieur, yes; you have forgotten nothing—except, indeed, two
things." " The first ?"
" Let us speak of it at once, with the same frankness we have already
conversed in. Let us speak of the causes which may bring about the'
ruin of all the hopes we have conceived. Let us speak of the risks we
are running."
" They would be immense, infinite, terrific, insurmountable, if, as I
have said, all things did not concur in rendering them of absolutely no
account. There is no danger either for you or for me, if the constancy
and intrepidity of your royal highness are equal to that perfection of
resemblance to your brother which nature has bestowed upon you. I
repeat it, there are no dangers, only obstacles; a word, indeed, which I
find in all languages, but have always ill-understood, and, were I king,
would have obliterated as useless and absurd."
" Yes, indeed, monsieur; there is a very serious obstacle, an insur-
mountable danger, which you are forgetting."
" Ah !" said Aramis.
" There is conscience, which cries aloud; remorse, which never dies."
" True, true," said the bishop; "there is a weakness of heart of which
you remind me. You are right, too, for that indeed is an immense
obstacle. The horse afraid of the ditch, leaps into the middle of it, and
is killed ! The man who tremblingly crosses his sword with that of
another leaves loopholes, whereby his enemy has him in his power."
" Have you a brother ?" said the young man to Aramis.
" I am alone in the world," said the latter, with a hard, dry voice.
THE TEMPTER. 355
"But, surely, there is some one in the world whom you love?"
added Philippe. " No one!—Yes, I love you."
The young man sank into so profound a silence, that the mere sound
of his respiration seemed like a roaring tumult for Aramis. " Mon-
seigneur," he resumed, " I have not said all I had to say to your royal
highness; I have not offered you all the salutary counsels and useful
resources which I have at my disposal. It is useless to flash bright
visions before the eyes of one who seeks and loves darkness; useless,
too, is it to let the magnificence of the cannon's roar be heard in the
ears of one who loves repose and the quiet of the country. Mon-
seigneur, I have your happiness spread out before me in my thoughts ;
listen to my words; precious they indeed are, in their import and their
sense, for you who look with such tender regard upon the bright
heavens, the verdant meadows, the pure air. I know a country instinct
with delights of every kind, an unknown paradise, a secluded corner of
the world.—where alone, unfettered and unknown, in the thick covert
of the woods, amidst flowers, and streams of rippling water, you will
forget all the misery tha t human folly has so recently allotted you. Oh!
listen to me, my prince. I do not jest. I have a heart, and mind, and
soul, and can read to the depths of your own. I will not take you,
incomplete for your task, in order to cast you into the crucible of my
own desires, or my caprice, or my ambition. Everything or nothing.
You are chilled and galled, sick at heart, almost overcome by the excess
of emotion, which but one hour's liberty has produced in you. Eor me,
that is a certain and unmistakable sign that you do not wish to con-
tinue at liberty. Would you prefer a more humble life, a life more
suited to your strength ? Heaven is my witness, that I wish your hap-
piness to be the result of the trial to which I have exposed you."
" Speak, speak," said the prince, with a vivacity which did not escape
Aramis.
" I know," resumed the prelate," in the Bas-Poiton, a canton, of which,
no one in Prance suspects the existence. Twenty leagues of country is
immense, is it not ? Twenty leagues, monseigneur, all covered with
water and herbage, and reeds of the most luxuriant nature; the whole
studded with islands covered with woods of the densest foliage. These
large marshes, covered with reeds as with a thick mantle, sleep silently
and calmly beneath the sun's soft and genial rays. A few fishermen
with their families indolently pass their lives away there, with their
large rafts of poplars and alders, the flooring formed of reeds, and the
roof woven out of thick rushes. These barks, these floating-houses,
are wafted to and fro by the changing winds. Whenever they touch a
bank, it is but by chance; and so gently, too, that the sleeping fisherman
is not awakened by the shock. Should he wish to land, it is merely
because he has seen a large flight of landrails or plovers, of wild ducks,
teal, widgeon, or woodcocks, which fall an easy prey to his nets or his
gun. Silver shad, eels, greedy pike, red and grey mullet, fall in masses
into his nets; he has but to choose the finest and largest, and return
the others to the waters. Never yet has the foot of man, be he soldier
or simple citizen, never has any one, indeed, penetrated into that dis-
trict. The sun's rays there are soft and tempered ; in plots of solid
earth, whose soil is rich and fertile, grows the vine, which nourishes with
its generous juice its black and white grapes. Once a week, a boat is
sent to fetch the bread which has been baked at an oven—the common
property of all. There—like the seigneurs of early days—powerful,
because of your dogs, your fishing-lines, your guns, and your beautiful
reed-built house, would you live, rich in the produce of the chase, in the
356 THE VICOMTE HE BEAGELONKE.
plenitude of perfect security. There would years of your life roll away,
at the end of which, 110 longer recognizable, for you would have been
perfectly transformed, you would have succeeded in acquiring a destiny
accorded to you by Heaven. There are a thousand pistoles in this bag,
monseigneur—more, far more, than sufficient to purchase the whole
marsh of which I have spoken; more than enough to live there as
many years as you have days to live ; more than enough to constitute
you the richest, the freest, and the happiest man in the country.
Accept it, as I offer it you—sincerely, cheerfully. Forthwith, without
a moment's pause, I will unharness two of my horses, which are
attached to the carriage yonder, and they, accompanied by my servant
—my deaf and dumb attendant—shall conduct you—travelling through-
out the night, sleeping during the day—to the locality I have men-
tioned; and I shall, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing that I
have rendered to my prince the service that he himself most preferred.
I shall have made one man happy; and Heaven for that will hold me
in better account than if I had made one man powerful; for that is far
more difficult. And now, monseigneur, your answer to this proposi-
tion ? Here is the money. Nay, do not hesitate. At Poiton, you can
risk nothing, except the chance of catching the fevers prevalent there;
and even of them, the so-called wizards of the country may cure you,
for the sake of your pistoles. If you play the other game, you run the
chance of being assassinated on a throne, or of being strangled in a
prison. Upon my soul, I assure you, now I begin to compare them
together, I should hesitate which of the two I should accept."
" Monsieur," replied the young prince, " before I determine, let me
alight from this carriage, walk on the ground, and consult that still
voice within me, which Heaven bids address us all. Ten minutes is all
I ask, and then you shall have your answer."
" As you please, monseigneur," said Aramis, bending before him with
respect'; so solemn and august in its tone and address had been the
voice which had just spoken:
CHAPTER LXXVII.
Crown and Tiara.
Aramis was the first to descend from the carriage; he held the door
open for the young man. He saw him place his foot on the mossy
ground with a trembling of the whole body, and walk round the
carriage with an unsteady and almost tottering step. It seemed as
if the poor prisoner was unaccustomed to walk on God's earth. It
was the loth of August, about eleven o'clock at night; thick clouds,
portending a tempest, overspread the heavens, and shrouded all light
and prospect beneath their heavy folds. The extremities of the avenues
were imperceptibly detached from the copse, by a lighter shadow of
opaque grey, which, upon closer examination, became visible in the
midst of the obscurity. But the fragrance which ascended from the
grass, fresher and more penetrating than that which exhaled from the
trees around him; the warm and balmy air which enveloped him for
the first time for many years past; the ineffable enjoyment of liberty
in an open country, spoke to the prince in so seducing a language, that
notwithstanding the great caution, we would almost say the dissimula-
tion of his character, of which we have tried to give an idea, he could
not restrain his emotion, and breathed a sigh of joy. Then, by degrees,
CROWN AND TIARA. 357
he raised his aching head and inhaled the perfumed air, as it was wafted
in gentle gusts across his uplifted face. Crossing his arms on his chest,
as if to control this new sensation of delight, he drank in delicious
draughts of that mysterious air which penetrates at night-time through
lofty forests. The sky he was contemplating, the murmuring waters,
the moving creatures, was not this reality ? Was not Aramis a madman
to suppose that he had aught else to dream of in this world ? Those ex-
citing pictures of country life, so free from cares, from fears, and troubles,
that ocean of happy days which glitters incessantly before all youthful
imaginations, are real allurements wherewith to fascinate a poor, un-
happy prisoner, worn out by prison life, and emaciated by the close air
of the Bastille. It was the picture, it will be remembered, drawn by
Aramis, when he offered the thousand pistoles which he had with him
in the carriage to the prince, and the enchanted Eden which the deserts
of Bas-Poiton hid from the eyes of the world. Such were the reflec-
tions of Aramis as he watched, with an anxiety impossible to describe,
the silent progress of the emotions of Phillippe, whom he perceived
gradually becoming more and more absorbed in his meditations. The
young prince was offering up an inward prayer to Heaven, to be
divinely guided in this trying moment, upon which his life or death
depended. It was an anxious time for the bishop of Vannes, who had
never before been so perplexed. His iron will, accustomed to overcome
all obstacles, never finding itself inferior or vanquished on any occa-
sion, to be foiled in so vast a project from not having foreseen the
influence which a view of Nature in all its luxuriance would have on
the human mind. Aramis, overwhelmed by anxiety, contemplated
with emotion the painful struggle which was taking place in Philippe's
mind. This suspense lasted the whole ten minutes which the young
man had requested. During this space of time, which appeared an
eternity, Philippe continued gazing with an imploring and sorrowful
look towards the heavens; Aramis did not remove the piercing glance
he had fixed on Philippe. Suddenly the young man bowed his head.
His thoughts returned to the earth, his looks perceptibly hardened,
his brow contracted, his mouth assuming an expression of fierce
courage; and then again his look became fixed, but this time it wore a
worldly expression, hardened by covetousness, pride, and strong desire.
Aramis's look then became as soft as it had before been gloomy.
Philippe, seizing his hand in a quick, agitated manner, exclaimed,—
" Let us go where the crown of France is to be found!"
" Is this your decision, monseigneur ?" asked Aramis. " It is."
" Irrevocably so?"
Philippe did not even deign to reply. He gazed earnestly at the
bishop, as if to ask him if it were possible for a man to waver after
having once made up his mind.
"Those looks are flashes of fire which portray character," said
Aramis, bowing over Philippe's hand; " you will be great, monseigneur,
I will answer for that."
" Let us resume our conversation. I wished to discuss two points
with you; in the first place, the dangers or the obstacles we may meet
with. That point is decided. The other is the conditions you intend
imposing on me. It is your turn to speak, M. d'Herblay."
" The conditions, monseigneur ?"
" Doubtless. You will not allow so mere a trifle to stop me, and you
will not do me the injustice to suppose that I think you have no
interest in this affair. Therefore, without subterfuge or hesitation,
tell me the truth."
358 THE "VICOMTE EE BEAGELOH^'E.
" I will do so, monseigneur. Once a king "
" "When will that be ? "
" To-morrow evening—I mean in the night."
" Explain yourself."
" When I shall have asked your highness a question."
"Do so." "I sent to your highness a man in my confidence, with
instructions to deliver some closely-written notes, carefully drawn up,
which will thoroughly acquaint your highness with the different
persons who compose and will compose your court."
" I perused all the notes."
" Attentively ?" " I know them by heart."
"And understood them? Pardon me, but I may venture to ask
that question of a poor, abandoned captive of the Bastille. It will not
be requisite in a week's time to further question a mind like yours,
when you will then be in full possession of liberty and power."
" Interrogate me, then, and I will be a scholar repeating his lesson
to his master."
"We will begin with your family, monseigneur."
" My mother, Anne of Austria! all her sorrows, her painful malady.
Oh! I know her—I know her."
"Your second brother?" asked Aramis, bowing.
" To these notes," replied the prince, " you have added portraits so
faithfully painted, that I am able to recognize the persons whose
characters, manners, and history, you have so carefully portrayed.
Monsieur, my brother, is a fine, dark young man, with a pale face; he
does not love his wife, Henrietta, whom I, Louis XIV., loved a little,
and still flirt with, even although she made me weep on the day
she wished to dismiss Mademoiselle de la Valliere from her service in
disgrace."
" You will have to be careful with regard to watchfulness of the
latter," said Aramis; " she is sincerely attached to the actual king.
The eyes of a woman who loves are not easily deceived."
" She is fair, has blue eyes, whose affectionate gaze will reveal her
identity. She halts slightly in her gait; she writes a letter every day,
to which I shall have to send an answer by M. de Saint-Aignan."
" l)o you know the latter ?"
" As if I saw him, and I know the last verses he composed for me,
as well as those I composed in answer to his."
" Very good. Do you know your ministers ?"
" Colbert, an ugly, dark-browed man, but intelligent enough; his
hair covering his forehead, a large, heavy, full head; the mortal enemy
of M. Bouquet."
" As for the latter, we need not disturb ourselves about him."
" IS1 o; because necessarily you will require me to exile him, I
suppose?"
Aramis, struck with admiration at the remark, said, " You will be-
come very great, monseigneur."
" You see," added the prince, "that I know my lesson by heart, and
with Heaven's assistance, and yours afterwards, I shall seldom go
wrong."
"You have still, a very awkward pair of eyes to deal with, mon-
seigneur."
" Yes, the captain of the musketeers, M. d'Artagnan, your friend."
" Yres; I can well say 'my friend.'"
" He who escorted La Valliere to LeChaillot; he who delivered up
Monk, fastened in an iron box, to Charles II.; he who so faithfully
CROWN AND TIARA. 359
served my mother; he to whom the crown of France owes so much
that it owes everything. Do you intend to ask me to exile him also ?" ;
" Never, sire. D'Artagnan is a man to whom, at a certain given
time, I will undertake to reveal everything; but be on your guard
with him; for if he discovers our plot before it is revealed to him, you
or I will certainly be killed or taken. He is a bold, enterprising man."
" I will think over it. Now tell me about M. Fouquet; what do you
wish to be done with regard to him ?"
" One moment more, I entreat you, monseigneur; and forgive me, if
I seem to fail iu respect in questioning you further."
" It is your duty to do so, and, more than that, your right also."
" Before we pass to M. Fouquet, I should very much regret forgetting
another friend of mine."
" M. du Vallon, the Hercules of France, you mean; oh! as far as he
is concerned, his fortune is safe."
"No; it is not he whom I intended to refer to."
" The com A. ds la Fere, then."
" And his son, the son of all four of us."
"That poor boy who is dying of love for La Yalliere, whom my
brother so disloyally deprived him of? Be easy on that score, I
shall know how to restore him. Tell me only one thing, Monsieur
d'Herblay; do men, when they love, forget the treachery that has been
shown them ? Can a man ever forgive the woman who has betrayed
him ? Is that a French custom, or is it one of the laws of the human
heart?"
" A man who loves deeply, as deeply as Raoul loves Mademoiselle de la
Yalliere, finishes by forgetting the fault or crime of the woman he
loves; but I do not know if Raoul will be able to forget."
" I will see after that. Have you anything further tojsay about your
friend ?" " No; that is all."
"Well, then, now for M.Fouquet. What do you wish me to do
for him?"
" To continue him as surintendant, as he has hitherto acted, I
entreat you."
" Be it so; but he is the first minister at present."
" Not quite so."
" A king, ignorant and embarrassed as I shall be, will, as a matter of
course, require a first minister of state."
" Your majesty will require a friend."
" I have only one, and that is yourself."
"You will have many others by-and-by, but none so devoted, non-
so zealous for your glory."
" You will be my first minister of state."
"Not immediately, monseigneur; for that would give rise to too
much suspicion and astonishment."
" M. de Richelieu, the first minister of my grandmother, Marie de
Medici, was simply bishop of Lucon, as you are bishop of Yannes."
" I perceive that your royal highness has studied my notes to great
advantage; your amazing perspicacity overpowers me with delight."
"I am perfectly aware that M. de Richelieu, by means of the queen's
protection, soon became cardinal."
"It would be better," said Aramis, bowing, "that I should not be
appointed first minister until after your royal highness had procured
my nomination as cardinal."
"You shall be nominated before two months are past, Monsieur
d'Herblay. But that is a matter of very trifling moment;. you would
360 THB VICOMTE DE BRAGELONKE.
not offend me if you were to ask more than that, and you would cause
me serious regret if you were to limit yourself to that."
" In that case I have something still further to hope for, monsei-
gneur." " Speak ! speak! "
" M. Fouquet will not keep long at the head of affairs, he will soon
get old. He is fond of pleasure, consistently so with his labours,
thanks to that amount of youthfulness which he still retains; but
this youthfulness will disappear at the approach of the first serious
annoyance, or at the first illness he may experience. We will spare
him the annoyance, because he is an agreeable and noble-hearted
man; but we cannot save him from ill-health. So it is determined.
When you shall have paid all M. Fouquet's debts, and restored the
finances to a sound condition, M. Fouquet will be able to remain the
sovereign ruler in his little court of poets and painters, but we shall have
made him rich. When that has been done, and I shall have become
your royal highness's prime minister, I shall be able to think of my own
interests and yours."
The young man looked at his interrogator.
" M. de Iiichelieu, of whom we were speaking just now, was very
blamable in the fixed idea he had of governing France alone,
unaided. He allowed two kings, the king Louis XIII. and himself, to
be seated upon the same throne, whilst he might have installed them
more conveniently upon two separate and distinct thrones."
" Upon two thrones ?" said the young man, thoughtfully.
" In fact," pursued Aramis, quietly, " a cardinal, prime minister of
France, assisted by the favour and by the countenance of his Most
Christian Majesty the king of France, a cardinal to whom the king his
master lends the treasures of the state, his army, his counsel, such a
man would be acting with twofold injustice in applying these mighty
resources to France alone. Besides," added Aramis, " you will not be
a king such as your father was; delicate in health, slow in judgment,
whom all things wearied; you will be a king governing by your brain
and by your sword; you would have in the government of the state no
more than you could manage unaided; I should only interfere with
you. Besides, our friendship ought never to be, I do not say impaired,
but in any way affected, by a secret thought. 1 shall have given you
the throne of France, you will confer on me the throne of St. Peter.
Whenever your loyal, firm, and mailed hand shall have joined in ties
of intimate association the hand of a pope such as I shall be, neither
Charles the Fifth, who owned two-thirds of the habitable globe, nor
Charlemagne, who possessed it entirely, will be able to reach to half
your stature. I have no alliances, I have no predilections; I will not
throw you into persecutions of heretics, nor will I cast you into
the troubled waters of family dissension; I will simply say to you:
The whole universe is our own; for me the minds of men, for you their
bodies. And as I shall be the first to die, you will have my inherit-
ance. What do you say of my plan, monseigneur ? "
" I say that you render me happy and proud, for no other reason
.than that of having comprehended you thoroughly. Monsieur d'Her-
blay, you shall be cardinal, and when cardinal, my prime minister; and
then you will point out to me the necessary steps to be taken to secure
your election as pope, and I will take them. You can ask what
guarantees from me you please."
" It is useless. I shall never act except in such a manner that you
are the gainer; I shall never ascend the ladder of fortune, fame, or
position, until I shall have first seen you placed upon the round of the
THE CHATEAU DE VAUX-LE-VICOMTE. 361
ladder immediately above me; I shall always hold myself sufficiently
aloof from you to escape incurring your jealousy, sufficiently near to
sustain your personal advantage and to watch over your friendship.
All the contracts in the world are easily violated because the interest
included in them inclines more to one side than to another. With
us, however, it will never be the case; I have no need of any
guarantees." "And so—my brother—will disappear ? "
" Simply. We will remove him from his bed by means of a plank
which yields to the pressure of the finger. Having retired to rest as a
crowned sovereign, he will awaken in captivity. Alone you will rule
from that moment, and you will have no interest dearer and better
than that of keeping me near you."
" I believe it. There is my hand on it, Monsieur d'Herblay,"
"Allow me to kneel before you, sire, most respectfully. We will
embrace each other on the day we shall both have on our temples, you
the crown, and I the tiara."
" Still embrace me this very day also, and be, for and towards me,
more than great, more than skilful, more than sublime in genius; be
kind and indulgent—be my father ?"
Aramis was almost overcome as he listened to his voice; he fancied
he detected in his own heart an emotion hitherto unknown to him;
but this impression was speedily removed. " His father!" he thought;
" yes, his Holy Father."
And they resumed their places in the carriage, which sped rapidly
along the road leading to Vaux-le-Vicomte.
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
The Chateau de Vaux-le-Vicomte.
The chateau of "Vaux-le-Vicomte, situated about a league from
Melun, had been built by Fouquet in 1655, at a time when there was a
scarcity of money in France; Mazarin had taken all that there was,
and Fouquet expended the remainder. However, as certain men have
fertile faults and useful vices, Fouquet, in scattering broadcast millions
of money in the construction of this palace, had found a means of
gathering, as the result of his generous profusion, three illustrious men
together: Levan, the architect of the building; Leqotre, the designer
of the gardens; and Lebrun, the decorator of the apartments. If the
Chateau de Vaux possessed a single fault with which it could be re-
proached, it was its grand, pretentious character. It is even at the
present day proverbial to calculate the number of acres of roofing, the
reparation of which would, in our age, be the ruin of fortunes cramped
and narrowed as the epoch itself. Vaux-le-Vicomte, when its magnifi-
cent gates, supported by Caryatides, have been passed through, has the
principal front of the main building opening upon a vast, so-called,
court of honour, enclosed by deep ditches, bordered by a magnificent
stone balustrade. Nothing could be more noble in appearance than
the forecourt of the middle, raised upon the flight of steps, like a king
upon his throne, having around it four pavilions forming the angles,
the immense Ionic columns of which rose majestically to the whole
height of the building. The freizes ornamented with arabesques, and
the pediments which crowned the pilasters, conferred richness and
grace upon every part of the building, while the domes which sur-
362 THE YICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
mounted the whole added proportion and majesty. This mansion,
built by a subject, bore a far greater resemblance to those royal resi-
dences which Wolsey fancied he was called upon to construct, in order
to present them to his master from the fear of rendering him jealous.
But if magnificence and splendour were displayed in any one particular
part of this palace more than in another,—if anything could be pre-
ferred to the wonderful arrangement of the interior, to the sumptuous-
ness of the gilding, and to the profusion of the paintings and statues,
it would be the park and gardens of Yaux. The jets d'eau, which were
regarded as wonderful in 1653, are still so, even at the present time;
the cascades awakened the admiration of kings and princes; and as for
the famous grotto, the theme of so many poetical effusions, the residence
of that illustrious nymph of Yaux, whom Pelisson made converse with
La Fontaine, we must be spared the description of all its beauties. "YYe
will do as Despreaux did,—we will enter the park, the trees of which
are of eight years' growth only, and whose summits even yet, as they
proudly tower aloft, blushingly unfold their leaves to the earliest rays
of the rising sun. Lenotre had accelerated the pleasure of the Mecsenas
of his period; all the nursery-grounds had furnished trees whose
growth had been accelerated by careful culture and rich manure.
Every tree in the neighbourhood which presented a fair appearance of
beauty or stature, had been taken up by its roots and transplanted to
the park. Bouquet could well afford to purchase trees to ornament his
park, since he had bought up three villages and their appurtenances
(to use a legal word) to increase its extent. M. de Scudery said of this
palace, that, for the purpose of keeping the grounds and gardens well
watered, M. Bouquet had divided a river into a thousand fountains,
and gathered the waters of a thousand fountains into torrents. This
same ..Monsieur de Scudery said a great many other things in his
"Clelie," about this palace of Yalterre, the charms of which he de-
scribes most minutely. "We should be far wiser to send our curious
readers to Yaux to judge for themselves, than to refer them to the
<c Clelie;" and yet there are as many leagues from Paris to Yaux, as
there are volumes of the " Clelie."
This magnificent palace had been got ready for the reception of the
greatest reigning sovereign of the time. M. Bouquet's friends had
transported thither, some their actors and their dresses, others their
troops of sculptors and artists; not forgetting others with their ready-
mended pens,—floods of impromptus were contemplated. The cascades,
somewhat rebellious, nymphs though they were, poured forth their
waters brighter and clearer than crystal; they scattered over the bronze
tritons and nereids their waves of foam, which glistened like fire in the
rays of the sun. An army of servants were hurrying to and fro in
squadrons in the courtyard and corridors; while Bouquet, who had
only that morning arrived, walked all through the palace with a calm,
observant glance, in order to give his last orders, after his intendants
had inspected everything.
It was, as we have said, the 15th of August. The sun poured down
its burning rays upon the heathen deities of marble and bronze; it
raised the temperature of the water in the conch shells, and ripened,
on the walls, those magnificent peaches, of which the king, fifty years
later, spoke so regretfully, when, at Marly, on an occasion of a scarcity
of the finer sorts of peaches being complained of, in the beautiful gar-
dens there—gardens which had cost France double the amount that
had been expended on Yaux,— the great king observed to some one,
" You are far too young to have eaten any of M. Fouquet's peaches."
THE CHATEAU DE VAUX.-LE-VICOMTE. 363
Oh! fame ! Oh ! the blazonry of renown! Oh! the glory of this
earth ! That very man whose judgment was so sound and accurate
where merit was concerned,—he who had swept into his coffers the
inheritance of Nicholas Fouquet, who had robbed him of Lenotre and
Lebrun, and had sent him to rot for the remainder of his life in one of
the state prisons—merely remembered the peaches of that vanquished,
crushed, forgotten enemy ! It was to little purpose that Fouquet had
squandered thirty millions of francs in the fountains of his gardens, in
the crucibles of his sculptors, in the writing-desks of his literary
friends, in the portfolios of his painters; vainly had he fancied that
thereby he might be remembered. A peach—a blushing, rich-flavoured
fruit, nestling in the trellis-work on the garden-wall, hidden beneath
its long green leaves,—this small vegetable production, that a dormouse
would nibble up without a thought, was sufficient to recall to the
memory of this great monarch the mournful shade of the last surin-
tendant of France.
With a perfect reliance that Aramis had made arrangements fairly
to distribute the vast number of guests throughout the palace, and that
he had not omitted to attend to any of the internal regulations for
their comfort, Fouquet devoted his entire attention to the ensemble
alone; in one direction Gourville showed him the preparations which
had been made for the fireworks ; in another, Moliere led him over the
theatre; at last, after he had visited the chapel, the salons, and the
galleries, and was again going downstairs, exhausted with fatigue,
Fouquet saw Aramis on the staircase. The prelate beckoned to him.
The surintendant joined his friend, and, with him, paused before a
large picture scarcely finished. Applying himself, heart and soul, to
his work, the painter, Lebrun, covered with perspiration, stained with
paint, pale from fatigue and inspiration of genius, was putting the last
finishing touches with his rapid brush. It was the portrait of the king,
whom they were expecting, dressed in the court-suit which Percerin
had condescended to show beforehand to the bishop of Yannes. Fou-
quet placed himself before this portrait, which seemed to live, as one
might say, in the cool freshness of its flesh, and in its warmth of colour.
He gazed upon it long and fixedly, estimated the prodigious labour
that had been bestowed upon it, and, not being able to find any recom-
pense sufficiently great for this Herculean effort, he passed his arm
round the painter's neck, and embraced him. The surintendant, by
this action, had utterly ruined a suit of clothes worth a thousand
pistoles, but he had satisfied, more than satisfied, Lebrun. It was a
happy moment for the artist; it was an unhappy one for M. Percerin,
who was walking behind Fouquet, and was engaged in admiring, in
Lebrun's painting, the suit that he had had made for his majesty, a
perfect objet cVart, as he called it, which was not to be matched except
in the wardrobe of the surintendant. His distress and his exclamations
were interrupted by a signal which had been given from the summit of
the mansion. In the direction of Melun, in the still empty, open plain,
the sentinels of Yaux had perceived the advancing procession of the
king and the queens. His majesty was entering into Melun with his
long train of carriages and cavaliers.
" In an hour " said Aramis to Fouquet.
" In an hour !" replied the latter, sighing.
"And. the people who ask one another what is the good of these
royal fetes!" continued the bishop of Yannes, laughing, with his false
smile.
" Alas ! I, too, who am not the people, ask the same thing."
364 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" I will answer you in four-and-twenty hours, monseigneur. Assume
a cheerful countenance, for it should be a day of true rejoicing."
" Well, believe me or not, as you like, d'Herblay," said the surin-
tendant, with a swelling heart, pointing at the cortege of Louis, visible
in the horizon, " he certainly loves me but very little, nor do I care
much for him; but, I cannot tell you how it is, that since he is ap-
proaching towards my house "
u Well, what?" " Well, then, since I know he is on his way here,
as my guest, he is more sacred than ever for me; he is my acknowledged
sovereign, and as such is very dear to me."
" Dear ? yes," said Aramis, playing upon the word, as the Abbe
Tenay did, at a later period, with Louis XV.
" Do not laugh, d'Herblay; I feel that if he were really to wish it, I
could love that young man."
" You should not say that to me," returned Aramis, "but rather to
M. Colbert."
" To M. Colbert!" exclaimed Fouquet. " Why so ? "
" Because he would allow you a pension out of the king's privy purse,
as soon as he becomes sur intend ant," said Aramis, preparing to leave
as soon as he had dealt this last blow.
" Where are you going ?" returned Fouquet, with a gloomy look.
"To my own apartment, in order to change my costume, mon-
seigneur."
" Whereabouts are you lodging, d'Herblay ? "
" In the blue room on the second story."
" The room immediately over the king's room ? " " Precisely."
" You will be subject to very great restraint there. What an idea to
condemn yourself to a room where you cannot stir or move about!"
" During the night, monseigneur, I sleep or read in my bed."
" And your servants ? "
" I have only one person with me. I find my reader quite sufficient.
Adieu, monseigneur ; do not overfatigue yourself; keep yourself fresh
for the arrival of the king."
"We shall see you by-and-by, I suppose, and shall see our friend
du Yallon also ?"
" He is lodging next to me, and is at this moment dressing."
And Fouquet, bowing, with a smile, passed on like a commander-in-
chief who pays the different out-posts a visit after the enemy has been
signalled in sight.
CHAPTER LXXIX.
The Wine of Melun.
The king had, in point of fact, entered Melun with the intention of
merely passing through the city. The youthful monarch was most
eagerly anxious for amusements; only twice during the journey had he
been able to catch a glimpse of La Valliere, and, suspecting that his
only opportunity of speaking to her would be after nightfall, in the
gardens, and after the ceremonial of reception had been gone through,
he had been very desirous to arrive at Vaux as early as possible. But
he reckoned without his captain of the musketeers, and without M.
Colbert. Like Calypso, who could not be consoled at the departure of
Ulysses, our Gascon could not console himself for not having guessed
THE WINE OF MELUN. 365
why Aramis had asked Percerm to show him the kind's new costumes.
" There is not a doubt," he said to himself, " that my friend the bishop
of Vannes had some motive in that;" and then he began to rack his
brains most uselessly. D'Artagnau, so intimately acquainted with all
the court Intrigues, who knew the position of Eouquet better even
than Pouquet himself did, had conceived the strangest fancies and sus-
picions at the announcement of the fete, which would have ruined a
wealthy man, and which became impossible, utter madness even, for a
man so destitute as he was. And then, the presence of Aramis, who
had returned from Belle-Isle, and been nominated by Monsieur Pouquet
inspector-general of all the arrangements; his perseverence in mixing
himself up with all the surintendant's affairs; his visits to Baisemeaux;
—all this suspicious singularity of conduct had excessively troubled
and tormented d'Artagnan during the last several weeks.
" "With men of Aramis' stamp," he said, " one is never the stronger
except sword in hand. So long as Aramis continued a soldier, there
was hope of getting the better of him; but since he has covered his
cuirass with a stole, we are lost. But what can Aramis's object pos-
sibly be ? " And d'Artagnan plunged again into deep thought. " What
does it matter to me, after all," he continued, " if his only object is to
overthrow M. Colbert ? And what else can he be after ? " And d'Ar-
tagnan rubbed his forehead—that fertile land, whence the ploughshare
of his nails had turned up so many and such admirable ideas in his
time. He, at first, thought of talking the matter over with Colbert,
but his friendship lor Aramis, the oath of' earlier days, bound him too
strictly. He revolted at the bare idea of such a thing, and, besides, he
hated the financier too cordially. Then, again, he wished to unburden
his mind to the king; but yet the king would not be able to under-
stand the suspicions, which had not even a shadow of reality at their
base. He resolved to address himself to Aramis, direct, the first time
he met him. " I will take him," said the musketeer, " between a couple
of candles, suddenly, and when he least expects it, I will place my
hand upon his heart, and he will tell me What will he tell me ?
Yes, he will tell me something, for, mordioux ! there is something in it,
I know."
Somewhat calmer, d'Artagnan made every preparation for the journey,
and took the greatest care that the military household of the king, as
yet very inconsiderable in numbers, should be well officered and well
disciplined in its meagre and limited proportions. The result was that,
through the captain's arrangements, the king, on arriving at Melun,
saw himself at the head of the musketeers, his Swiss guards, as well as
a picket of the Prench guards. It might almost have been called a
small army. M. Colbert looked at the troops with great delight: he
even wished there had been a third more in number.
" But why ? " said the king.
"In order to show greater honour to M. Pouquet," replied Colbert.
" In order to ruin him the sooner," thought d'Artagnan.
When this little army appeared before Melun, the chief magistrates
came out to meet the king, and to present him with the keys of the
city, and invited him to enter the Hotel de Ville, in order to partake of
the wine of honour. The king, who expected to pass through the city
and to proceeed to Yaux without delay, became quite red in the face
, from vexation.
" Who was fool enough to occasion this delay ? " muttered the king,
between his teeth, as the chief magistrate was in the middle of a long
address.
366 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONKE.
"Not I, certainly" replied d'Artagnan, "but I believe it was M.
Colbert."
Colbert, having heard his name pronounced, said, " What was M.
d'Artagnan good enough to say ?"
"I was good enough to remark, that it was you who stopped the
king's progress, so that he might taste the vin de Brie. Was I right ? "
" Quite so, monsieur."
" In that case, then, it was you whom the king called some name or
other." " What name ? "
" I hardly know; but wait a moment—idiot, I think it was—no, no,
it was fool or stupid. Yes; his majesty said that the man who had
thought of the vin de Melun was something of the sort."
D'Artagnan, after this broadside, quietly caressed his moustache ;
M. Colbert's large head seemed to become larger and larger than ever.
D'Artagnan, seeing how ugly anger made him, did not stop half-way.
The orator still went on with his speech, while the king's colour was
visibly increasing.
" Mordioux ! " said the musketeer, coolly, " the king is going to have
an attack of determination of blood to the head. Where the deuce
did you get hold of that idea, Monsieur Colbert ? You have no luck."
" Monsieur," said the financier, drawing himself up, " my zeal for the
king's service inspired me with the idea." " Bah !"
"Monsieur, Melun is a city, an excellent city, which pays well, and
which it would be imprudent to displease."
" There now ! I, who do not pretend to be a financier, saw only one
idea in your idea." " What was that, monsieur ? "
" That of causing a little annoyance to M. Bouquet, who is making
himself quite giddy on his donjons yonder, in waiting for us."
This was a home-stroke, hard, enough in all conscience. Colbert was
completely thrown out of his saddle by it, and retired, thoroughly discom-
fited. Fortunately, the speech was now at an end; the king drank the wine
which was presented to him, and then every one resumed the progress
through the city. The king bit his lips in anger, for the evening was
closing in, and all hope of a walk with La Yalliere was at an end. In
order that the whole of the king's household should enter Vaux, four
hours at least were necessary, owing to the different arrangements.
The king, therefore, who was boiling with impatience, hurried forward
as much as possible, in order to reach it before night-fall. But, at the
moment he was setting off again, other and fresh difficulties arose.
" Is not the king going to sleep at Melun ? " said Colbert, in a low
tone of voice, to d'Artagnan.
M. Colbert must have been badly inspired that day, to address him-
self in that manner to the chief of the musketeers; for the latter
guessed that the king's intention was very far from that of remaining
where he was. D'Artagnan would not allow him to enter Yaux except
he were well and strongly accompanied; and desired that his majesty
would not enter except with all the escort. On the other hand, ho
felt that these delays would irritate that impatient character beyond
measure. In what way could he possibly reconcile these two diffi-
culties ? D'Artagnan took up Colbert's remark, and determined to
repeat it to the king.
" Sire," he said, " M. Colbert has been asking me if your majesty does
not intend to sleep at Melun."
" Sleep at Melun ! What for ? " exclaimed Louis XIY. " Sleep at
Melun ! Who, in Hdaven's name, can have thought of such a thing,
when M. Bouquet is expecting us this evening ? "
THE WINE OE MELUN. 367
" It was simply," returned Colbert, quickly, " the fear of causing
your majesty any delay; for, according to established etiquette, you
cannot enter any place, with the exception of your own royal resi-
dences, until the soldiers' quarters have been marked out by the quar-
termaster, and the garrison properly distributed."
D'Artagnan listened with the greatest attention, biting his mou-
stache to conceal his vexation; and the queens listened attentively also.
They were fatigued, and would have liked to have gone to rest without
proceeding any farther; and especially, in order to prevent the king
walking about in the evening with M. de Saint-Aignan and the ladies
of the court; for, if etiquette required the princesses to remain within
their own rooms, the ladies of honour, as soon as they had performed
the services required of them, had no restriction placed upon them, but
were at liberty to walk about as they pleased. It will easily be con-
jectured that all these rival interests, gathering together in vapours,
must necessarily produce clouds, and that the clouds would be followed
by a tempest. The king had no moustache to gnaw, and therefore kept
biting the handle of his whip instead, with ill-concealed impatience.
How could he get out of it? D'Artagnan looked as agreeable as
possible, and Colbert as sulky as he could. Whom was there he could
get in a passion with ?
"We will consult the queen," said Louis XIV., bowing to the royal
ladies. And this kindness of consideration, which softened Maria-
Theresa's heart, who was of a kind and generous disposition, when left
to her own free will, replied:
" I shall be delighted to do whatever your majesty wishes,"
" How long will it take us to get to Vaux ? " inquired Anne of Austria,
in slow and measured accents, and placing her hand upon her bosom,
where the seat of her pain lay.
"An hour for your majesties' carriages," said d'Artagnan; " the roads
are tolerably good."
The king looked at him. "And a quarter of an hour for the king,"
he hastened to add.
"We should arrive by daylight ? " said Louis XIV.
"But the billeting of the king's military escort," objected Colbert,
softly, "will make his majesty lose all the advantage of his speed, how-
ever'quick he may be."
" Double ass that you are!" thought d'Artagnan: " if I had any
interest or motive in demolishing your credit, I could do it in ten
minutes. If I were in the king's place," he added, aloud, " I should,
in going to M. Pouquet, leave my escort behind, me; I should go to
him as a friend; I should enter accompanied only by my captain of the
guards; I should consider that I was acting more nobly, and should be
invested with a still more sacred character by doing so."
Delight sparkled in the king's eyes. " That is indeed a very good
suggestion. We will go to see a friend as friends; those gentlemen
who are with the carriages can go slowly: but we who are mounted
will ride on." And he, rode off, accompanied by all those who were
mounted. Colbert hid his ugly head behind his horse's neck.
" I shall be quits," said d'Artagnan, as he galloped along, " by getting
a little talk with Aramis this evening. And then, M. Bouquet is a man
of honour. Mordioux ! I have said so, and it must be so."
And this was the way how, towards seven o'clock in the evening,
without announcing his arrival by the din of trumpets, and without
even his advanced guard, without out-riders or musketeers, the king
presented himself before the gate of Vaux, where Pouquet, who had
3G3 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
been informed of his royal guest's approach, had been waiting for the
last half-hour, with his head, uncovered, surrounded by his household
and his friends.
CHAPTER LXXX.
Nectar and Ambrosia.
M. Fouquet held the stirrup of the king, who, having dismounted,
bowed most graciously, and more graciously still held out his hand to
him, which Fouquet, in spite of a slight resistance on the king's part,
carried respectfully to his lips. The king wished to wait in the first
court-yard for the arrival of the carriages, nor had he long to wait, for
the roads had been put into excellent order by the surintendant, and a
stone would hardly have been found of the size of an egg the whole
way from Melun to Yaux; sq that the carriages, rolling along as though
on a carpet, brought the ladies to Vaux, without jolting or fatigue, by
eight o'clock. They were received by Madame Fouquet, and at the
moment they made their appearance, a light as bright as day burst forth
from all the trees, and vases, and marble statues. This species of enchant-
ment lasted until their majesties had retired into the palace. All these
wonders and magical effects which the chronicler has heaped up, or
rather preserved, in his recital, at the risk of rivalling the creations of
aromancist; these splendours whereby night seemed conquered and
nature corrected; together with every delight and luxury combined for
the satisfaction of all the senses, as well as of the mind, Fouquet did in
real truth offer to his sovereign in that enchanting retreat of which no
monarch could at that time boast of possessing an equal. We do not
intend to describe the grand banquet, at which all the royal guests were
present, nor the concerts, nor the fairy-like and magical transforma-
tions and metamorphoses; it will be more than enough for our purpose
to depict the countenance which the king assumed, and which, from
being gay, soon wore a gloomy, constrained, and irritated expression.
He remembered his own residence, royal though it was, and the mean
and indifferent style of luxury which prevailed there, and which com-
prised only that which was merely useful for the royal wants, without
being his own personal property. The large vases of the Louvre, the
old furniture and plate of Henry II., of Francis I., of Louis XI., were
merely historical monuments of earlier days; they were nothing but
specimens of art, the relics of his predecessors; while with Fouquet,
the value of the article was as much in the workmanship as in the article
itself. Fouquet ate from a gold service, which artists in his own employ
had modelled and cast for himself alone. Fouquet drank wines of which
the king of France did not even know the name, and drank them out
of goblets each more precious than the whole royal cellar.
What, too, can be said of the apartments, the hangings, the pictures,
the servants and officers, of every description, of his household P What
can be said of the mode of service in which etiquette was replaced by
order; stiff formality, by personal, unrestrained comfort; the happiness
and contentment of the guest became the supreme law of all who obeyed
the host. The perfect swarm of busily-engaged persons moving about
noiselessly; the multitude of guests—who were, however, even less mime-
rous than the servants who waited on them,—the myriads of exquisitely-
prepared dishes, of gold and silver vases; the floods of dazzling light, the
masses of unknown flowers of which the hot-houses had been despoiled,
NECTAR AND AMBROSIA. 369
and which were redundant with all the luxuriance of unequalled beauty;
the perfect harmony of everything which surrounded them, and which
indeed was no more than the prelude of the promised fete, more than
charmed all who were there, and who testified their admiration over
and over again, not by voice or gesture, but by deep silence and rapt
attention, those two languages 01 the courtier which acknowledge the
hand of no master powerful enough to restrain them.
As for the king, his eyes filled with tears ; he dared not look at the
queen. Anne of Austria, whose pride, as it ever had been, was superior
to that of any creature breathing, overwhelmed her host by the con-
tempt with which she treated everything handed to her. The young
queen, kind-hearted by nature and curious by disposition, praised
Bouquet, ate with an exceedingly good appetite, and asked the names of
the different fruits which were placed upon the table, bouquet replied,
that he was not aware of their names. The fruits came from his own
stores ; he had often cultivated them himself, having an intimate
acquaintance with the cultivation of exotic fruits and plants. The
king felt and appreciated the delicacy of the reply, but was only the
more humiliated at it; he thought that the queen was a little too fami-
liar in her manners, and that Anne of Austria resembled Juno a little
too much, in being too proud and haughty; his chief anxiety, however,
was himself, that he might remain cold and distant in his behaviour,
bordering slightly on the limits of extreme disdain or of simple admi-
ration.
But Bouquet had foreseen all that; he was, in fact, one of those men
who foresee everything. The king had expressly declared that so long
as he remained under M. Bouquet's roof he did not wish his own dif-
ferent repasts to be served in accordance with the usual etiquette, and
that he would, consequently, dine with the rest of the society; but by
the thoughtful attention of the surintendant, the king's dinner was
served up separately, if one may so express it, in the middle of the gene-
ral table; the dinner, wonderful in every respect, from the dishes of
which it was composed, comprised everything the king liked, and which
he generally preferred to anything else. Louis had no excuse—he, indeed,
who had the keenest appetite in his kingdom—for saying that he was
not hungry. Nay, M. Bouquet even did better still; he certainly, in obe-
dience to the king's expressed desire, seated himself at the table, but as
soon as the soups were served, he rose and personally waited on the
kin?, while Madame Bouquet stood behind the queen-mother's arm-
chair. The disdain of Juno and the sulky fits of temper of Jupiter
could not resist this excess of kindly feeling and polite attention. The
queen ate a biscuit dipped in a glass of San-Lucar wine; and the king
ate of everything, saying to M. Bouquet: " It is impossible, monsieur
le surintendant, to dine better anywhere." Whereupon the whole
court began, on all sides, to devour the dishes spread before them, with
such enthusiasm that it looked like a cloud of Egyptian locusts settling
down upon the uncut crops.
As soon, however, as his hunger was appeased, the king became dull
and gloomy again; the more so in proportion to the satisfaction he fan-
cled he had manifested, and particularly on account of the deferential
manner which his courtiers had shown towards Bouquet. D'Artagnan,
who ate a good deal and drank but little, without allowing it to be
noticed, did not lose a single opportunity, but made a great number of
observations which he turned to good profit.
When the supper was finished, the king expressed a wish not to lose
the promenade. The park was illuminated; the .moon, too, as if she had
VOL. II. 2 B
370 the vicomte ee beagelonne.
placed herself at the orders of the lord of Vaux, silvered the tree6 and
lakes with her bright phosphoric light. The air was soft and balmy ; the
gravelled walks through the thickly-set avenues yielded luxuriously to
the feet. The fete was complete in every respect, for the king, having
met La Valliere in one of the winding paths of the wood, was able to
press her by the hand and say, " I love you," without any one overhear-
ing him except M. d'Artagnan who followed, and M. Fouquet who
preceded him.
The night of magical enchantments stole on. The king having re-
quested to be shown bis room, there was immediately a movement in
every direction. The queens passed to their own apartments, accom-
panied by the music of theorbos and lutes; the king found his mus-
keteers awaiting him on the grand flight of steps, for M. Fouquet had
brought them on from Melun, and had invited them to supper.
D'Artagnan's suspicions at once disappeared. He was weary, he had
supped well, and wished, for once in his life, thoroughly to enjoy
a fete given by a man who was in every sense of the word a king.
" M. Fouquet," he said, " is the man for me."
The king was conducted with the greatest ceremony to the chamber
of Morpheus, of which we owe some slight description to our readers.
It was the handsomest and the largest in the palace. Lebrun had
painted on the vaulted ceiling the happy, as well as disagreeable, dreams
with which Morpheus affects kings as well as other men. Everything
that sleep gives birth to that is lovely, its perfumes, its flowers and
and nectar, the wild voluptuousness or deep repose of the senses, had
the painter enriched with his frescoes. It was a composition as soft
and pleasing in one part as dark and gloomy and terrible in another.
The poisoned chalice, the glittering dagger suspended over the head of
the sleeper ; wizards and phantoms with hideous masks, those half dim
shadows more terrific than the brightness of flame or the blackness of
night; these, and such as these, he had made the companions of his
more pleasing pictures. No sooner had the king entered the room
than a cold shiver seemed to pass through him, and on Fouquet
asking him the cause of it, the king replied, as pale as death,—
" I am sleepy, that is all."
" Does your majesty wish for your attendants at once."
" No; I have to talk with a few persons first," said the king. " Will
you have the goodness to tell M. Colbert I wish to see him." Fouquet
bowed and left the room.
CHAPTER LXXXI.
A Gascon, and a Gascon and a half.
D'Artagnan had determined to lose no time, and in fact he never
was in the habit of doing so. After having inquired for Aramis, he
had looked for him in every direction until he had succeeded in finding
him. Besides, no sooner had the king entered into Vaux, than Aramis
had retired to his own room, meditating doubtlessly some new piece of
gallant attention for his majesty's amusement. D'Artagnan desired the
servants to announce him, and found on the second story (in a beautiful
room called the Blue Room, on account of the colour of its hangings)
the bishop of Vannes in company with Porthos and several of the
modern epicureans. Aramis came forward to embrace his friend, and
A GASCON, AND A GASCON AND A HALF. 371
offered him the best seat. As it was after awhile generally remarked
among those present that the musketeer was reserved, and wished for
an opportunity for conversing secretly with Aramis, the epicureans took
their leave. Porthos, however, did not stir; for true it is, that having
dined exceedingly well, he was fast asleep in his arm-chair; and the
freedom of conversation therefore was not interrupted by a third person.
Porthos had a deep, harmonious snore, and people might talk in the
midst of its loud bass without fear of disturbing him. D'Artagnan felt
that he was called upon to open the conversation.
" Well, and so we have come to Vaux," he said.
" Why, yes, d'Artagnan. And how do you like the place ?"
" Very much, and I like M. Fouquet also."
, " Is he not a charming host ?"
" No one could be more so."
" I am told that the king began by showing a great distance in his
manner towards M. Fouquet, but that his majesty became much more
cordial afterwards."
" You did not notice it, then, since you say you have been told so ?"
"No; I was engaged with those gentlemen who have just left the
room about the theatrical performances and the tournament which are
to take place to-morrow."
"Ah, indeed! you are the comptroller-general of the fetes here,
then?"
"You know I am a friend of all kinds of amusement where the
exercise of the imagination is required; I have always been a poet in
one way or another."
" Yes, I remember the verses you used to write, they were charming."
" I have forgotten them; but I am delighted to read the verses of
others, when those others are known by the names of Moliere, Pelisson,
La Fontaine, &c."
" Do .you know what idea occurred to me this evening, Aramis ?"
"No; tell me what it was, for I should never be able to guess it,
you have so many."
" Well, the idea occurred to me, that the true king of France is not
Louis XIV."
"What!" said Aramis, involuntarily, looking the musketeer full in
the eyes. " No, it is Monsieur Fouquet."
Aramis breathed again and smiled. " Ah ! you are like all the rest,
jealous," he said. " I would wager that it was M. Colbert who turned
that pretty phrase." D'Artagnan, in order to throw Aramis off his
guard, related Colbert's misadventure with regard to the vin de Melun.
" He comes of a mean race, does Colbert," said Aramis.
" Quite true."
"When I think, too," added the bishop, "that that fellow will be
your minister within four months, and that you will serve him as
blindly as you did Richelieu or Mazarin "
" And as you serve M. Fouquet," said d'Artagnan.
" With this difference, though, that M. Fouquet is not M. Colbert."
" True, true," said d'Artagnan, as he pretended to become sad and
full of reflection ; and then, a moment after, he added, " Why do you
tell me that M. Colbert will be minister in six months ? "
" Because M. Fouquet will have ceased to be so," replied Aramis.
" He will be ruined, you mean ?" said d'Artagnan.
' Completely so,"
" Why does he give these fStes, then ?" said the musketeer, in a tone
so full of thoughtful consideration, and so well assumed, that the bishop
2 b 2
372 THE YICOMTE DK BBAGELONNE.
■was for the moment deceived by it. " Why did you not dissuade him.
from it?"
The latter part of the phrase was just a little too much, and Aramis's
former suspicions were again aroused. " It is done with the object of
humouring the king."
" By ruining himself?" " Yes, by ruining himself for the king."
" A singular calculation that."
" Necessity." " I don't see that, dear Aramis."
" Do you not ? Have you not remarked M. Colbert's daily increasing
antagonism, and that he is doing his utmost to drive the king to get
rid of the surintendant ?"
" One must be blind not to see it."
" And that a cabal is formed against M. Bouquet ? "
" That is well known."
" "What likelihood is there that the king would join a party formed
against a man who will have spent everything he had to please him."
" True, true," said d'Artagnan, slowly, hardly convinced, yet curious
to broach another phase of the conversation. " There are follies, and
follies," he resumed, " and I do not like those you are committing."
" "What do you allude to ?"
" As for the banquet, the ball, the concert, the theatricals, the tour-
naments, the cascades, the fireworks, the illuminations, and the presents
—these are all well and good, I grant; but why were not these expenses
sufficient? Was it necessary to have new liveries and costumes for
your whole household ? "
" You are quite right. I told M. Bouquet that myself; he replied,
that if he were rich enough he would offer the king a newly-erected
chateau, from the vanes at the top of the house to the very cellar;
completely new inside and out; and that, as soon as the king had left,
he would burn the whole building and its contents, in order that it
might not be made use of by any one else."
How completely Spanish!"
" I told him so, and he then added this : ' Whoever advises me to
spare expense, I shall look upon as my enemy.'"
" It is positive madness; and that portrait too!"
" What portrait ? " said Aramis.
" That of the king, and the surprise as well."
" What surprise ?" " The surprise you seem to have in view, and
on account of which you took some specimens away, when I met you
at Percerin's." D'Artagnan paused. The shaft was discharged, and all
he had to do was to wait and watch its effect.
" That is merely an act of graceful attention," replied Aramis.
D'Artagnan went up to his friend, took hold of both his hands, and
looking him full in the eyes, said, " Aramis, do you still care for me a
very little ?" " What a question to ask!"
" Very good. One favour, then. Why did you take some patterns of
the king's costumes at Percerin's."
" Come with me and ask poor Lebrun, who has been working upon
them for the last two days and two nights."
" Aramis, that may be the truth for everybody else, but for me "
" Upon my word, d'Artagnan, you astonish me."
" Be a little considerate for me. Tell me the exact truth; you would
not like anything disagreeable to happen to me, would you ?"
" My dear friend, you are becoming quite incomprehensible. What
suspicion can you possibly have got hold of?"
"Do you believe in my instinctive feelings ? Pormerly, you used to
A GASCON, AND A GASCON AND A HALF. 373
have faith in them. "Well, then, an instinct tells me, that you have
some concealed project on foot." " I—a project ?"
" I am convinced of it." "What nonsense!"
" I am not only sure of it, but I would even swear it."
" Indeed, d'Artagnan, you cause me the greatest pain. Is it likely,
if'I have any project in hand, that I ought to keep secret from
you, I should tell you about it ? If I had one that I could and ought to
have revealed, should I not have already told it to you ?"■
" No, Aramis, no. There are certain projects which are never revealed
until the favourable opportunity arrives."
"In that case, my dear fellow," returned the bishop, laughing, "the
only thing now is, that the ' opportunity' has not yet arrived."
D'Artagnan shook his head with a sorrowful expression. " Oh, friend-
ship, friendship i" he said," what an idle word you are ! Here is a man,
who, if I were but to ask it, would suffer himself to be cut in pieces for
my sake." "You are right," said Aramis, nobly.
" And this man, who would shed every drop of blood in his veins for
me, will not open the smallest corner of his heart. Friendship, I repeat,
is nothing but a mere unsubstantial shadow and a lure, like everything
else in this world which is bright and dazzling."
" It is not thus you should speak of our friendship," replied the
bishop, in a firm, assured voice; for ours is not of the same nature as
those you have been speaking of."
"Look at us, Aramis ; three out of the old ' four.' You are deceiving
me; I suspect you; and Porthos is fast asleep. An admirable trio of
friends, don't you think so ? A beautiful relic of former times."
" I can only tell you one thing, d'Artagnan, and I swear it on the
Bible; I love you just as I used to do. If I ever suspect you, it is on
account of others, and not on account of either of us. In everything
I may do, and should happen to succeed in, you will find your fourth
Will you promise me the same favour ?"
" If I am not mistaken, Aramis, your words—at the moment you pro-
nounce them—are full of generous feeling." " That is possible."
" You are conspiring against M. Colbert. If that be all, mordioux,
tell me so at once. I have the instrument in my own hand, and will
pull out the tooth easily enough."
Aramis could not restrain a smile of disdain which passed across
his noble features. " And supposing that I were conspiring against
Colbert, what harm would there be in that ? "
"No, no ; that would be too trifling a matter for you to take in hand,
and it was not on that account you asked Percerin for those patterns of
the king's costumes. Oh! Aramis, we are not enemies, remember, but
brothers. Tell me what you wish to undertake, and, upon the word of
a d'Artagnan, if I cannot help you, I will swear to remain neuter."
" I am undertaking nothing" said Aramis.
" Aramis, a voice speaks within me, and seems to enlighten my dark-
ness ; it is a voice which has never yet deceived me. It is the king you
are conspiring against."
" The king ?" exclaimed the bishop, pretending to be annoyed.
"Your face will not convince me; the king, I repeat."
" Will you help me?" said Aramis, smiling ironically.
Aramis, I will do more than help you—I will do more than remain
neuter—I will save you." " You are mad d'Artagnan."
" I am the wiser of the two, in this matter."
" You to suspect me of wishing to assassinate the king!"
"Who spoke of that at all?" said the musketeer.
374 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONHE.
"Well, let us understand each other. I do not see what anyone
can do to a legitimate king as ours is, if he does not assassinate him."
D'Artagnan did not say a word. " Besides, you have your guards and
your musketeers here," said the bishop. " True."
" Tou are not in M. Bouquet's house, but in your own."
" True; but in spite of that, Aramis, grant me, for pity's sake, but one
single word of a true friend."
"A friend's word is the truth itself. If I think of touching, even
with my finger, the son of Anne of Austria, the true king of this realm
of Prance—if I have not the firm intention of prostrating myself before
his throne—if in every idea I may entertain to-morrow, here at Vaux
will not be the most glorious day my king ever enjoyed—may Heaven's
lightning blast me where I stand!" Aramis had pronounced these
words, with his face turned towards the alcove of his own bed-room;
where, d'Artagnan, seated with his back towards the alcove, could not
suspect that any one was lying concealed. The earnestness of his words,
the studied slowness with which he pronounced them, the solemnity of
his oath, gave the musketeer the most complete satisfaction. He took
hold of both Aramis's hands, and shook them cordially. Aramis had
endured reproaches without turning pale, and had blushed as he lis-
tened to words of praise. D'Artagnan, deceived, did him honour; but
d'Artagnan, trustful and reliant, made him feel ashamed. " Are you
going away ?" he said, as he embraced him, in order to conceal the flush
on his face.
" Yes; my duty summons me. I have to get the watchword. It
seems I am to be lodged in the king's ante-room. Where does Porthos
sleep?"
" Take him away with you, if you like, for he snores like a park of
artillery." "Ah ! he does not stay with you, then ?" said d'Artagnan.
"Not the least in the world. He has his room to himself, but I don't
know where ?"
" Very good!" said the musketeer; from whom this separation of the
two associates removed his last suspicion, and he touched Porthos
lightly on the shoulder; the latter replied by a terrible yawn. " Come,"
said d'Artagnan.
"What, d'Artagnan, my dear fellow, is that you!" What a lucky
chance ? Oh, yes—true; I had forgotten; I am at the fetes at Vaux."
" Yes; and your beautiful dress too."
"Yes, it was very attentive on the part of Monsieur Coquelin de
Voliere, was it not ?"
" Hush!" said Aramis. " You are walking so heavily, you will make
the flooring give way."
"True," said the musketeer; "this room is above the dome, I think."
"And I did not choose it for a fencing-room, I assure you," added the
bishop. " The ceiling of the king's room has all the sweetness and calm
delights of sleep. Do not forget, therefore, that my flooring is merely
the covering of his ceiling. Good night, my friends, and in ten minutes
I shall be fast asleep." And Aramis accompanies! them to the door,
laughing quietly all the while. As soon as they were outside, he bolted
the door, hurriedly; closed up the chinks of the windows, and then called
out, "Monseigneur! — monseigneur !" Philippe made his appearance
from the alcove, as he pushed aside a sliding panel placed behind
the bed.
" M. d'Artagnan entertains a great many suspicions, it seems," he said.
"Ah !—you recognized M. d'Artagnan, then ?"
" Before you called him by his name, even."
A GASCON, AND A GASCON AND A HALF. 375
" He is your captain of musketeers."
" He is very devoted to me," replied Philippe, laying a stress upon the
personal pronoun.
" As faithful as a dog; hut he bites sometimes. If d'Artagnan does
not recognize you before the other has disappeared, rely upon d'Artagnan
to the end of the world; for, in that case, if he has seen nothing, he will
keep his fidelity. If he sees, when it is too late, he is a Gascon, and will
never admit that he has been deceived."
" I thought so. What are we to do, now ? "
" You will go and take up your post at our place of observation, and
watch the moment of the king's retiring to rest, so as to learn how that
ceremony is performed."
" Yery good. Where shall I place myself? "
" Sit down on this folding-chair. 1 am going to push aside a portion
of the flooring; you will look through the opening, which answers to
one of the false windows made in the dome of the king's apartment.
Can you see ?"
" Yes," said Philippe, starting as at the sight of an enemy; "I see the
king!" " What is he doing ?"
" He seems to wish some man to sit down close to him."
" M. Pouquet ?" " No, no; wait a moment "
" Look at the notes and portraits, my prince."
" The man, whom the king wishes to sit down in his presence is M".
Colbert."
" Colbert sit down in the king's presence!" exclaimed Aramis, "it is
impossible." " Look."
Aramis looked through the opening in the flooring, "Yes," he said.
" Colbert himself. Oh, monseigneur! what can we be going to hear—
and what can result from this intimacy ?"
" Nothing good, for M. Pouquet, at all events."
The prince did not deceive himself.
We have seen that Louis XIV. had sent for Colbert, and that Colbert
had arrived. The conversation began between them by the king
according to him one of the highest favours that he had ever done; it
was true the king was alone with his subject. " Colbert," said he, " sit
down."
The intendant, overcome with delight, for he feared he should be
dismissed, refused this unprecedented honour.
" Does he accept ? " said Aramis. " No, he remains standing."
" Let us listen, then." And the future king, and the future pope,
listened eagerly to the simple mortals whom they held under their feet,
ready to crush them if they had liked.
" Colbert," said the king, " you have annoyed me exceedingly to-day."
" I know it, sire."
"Very good; I like that answer. Yes, you kne# it, and there was
courage in having done it."
" I ran the risk of displeasing your majesty, but I risked also con-
cealing what were your true interests from you."
" What! you were afraid of something on my account ?"
" I was, sire, even if it were of nothing more than an indigestion,"
said Colbert; " for people do not give their sovereigns such banquets
as the one of to-day, except it be to stifle them under the weight of
good living." Colbert waited the effect which this coarse jest would
produce upon the king; and Louis XIV.; who was the vainest and
the most fastidiously delicate man in his kingdom, forgave Colbert the
joke.
376 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
" The truth is," he said, " that M. Fouquet has given me too good a
meal. Tell me, Colbert, where does he get all the money required for
this enormous expenditure,—can you tell?"
" Yes, I do know, sire."
" Will you be able to prove it with tolerable certainty ?"
" Easily; to the very farthing." " I know you are very exact."
" It is the principal qualification required in an intendant of
finances." " But all are not so."
" I thank your majesty for so flattering a compliment from your own
lips."
" M. Fouquet, therefore, is rich—very rich, and I suppose every man
knows he is so."
" Every one, sire; the living as well as the dead."
" What does that mean, Monsieur Colbert ?"
" The living are witnesses of M. Fouquet's wealth,—they admire and
applaud the result produced; but the dead, wiser and better informed
than we are, know how that wealth was obtained—and they rise up in
accusation."
" So that M. Fouquet owes his wealth to some cause or other."
" The occupation of an intendant very often favours those who
practise it."
"You have something to say to me more confidentially, I perceive;
do not be afraid, we are quite alone."
"I am never afraid of anything under the shelter of my own con-
science, and under the protection of your majesty," said Colbert,
bowing. " If the dead therefore were to speak "
" They do speak sometimes, sire,—read."
"Ah!" murmured Aramis, in the prince's ear, who, close beside
him, listened without losing a syllable, " since you are placed here,
monseigneur, in order to learn your vocation of a king, listen to a piece
of infamy—of a nature truly royal. You are about to be a witness of
one of those scenes which the foul fiend alone can conceive and execute.
Listen attentively,—you will find your advantage in it."-
The prince redoubled his attention, and saw Louis XIV. take from
Colbert's hands a letter which the latter held out to him.
" The late cardinal's handwriting," said the king.
" Your majesty has an excellent memory," replied Colbert, bowing;
" it is an immense advantage for a king who is destined for hard work
to recognize handwritings at the first glance."
The king read Mazarin's letter, and, as its contents are already known
to the reader, in consequence of the misunderstanding between Madame
de Chevceuse and Aramis, nothing further would be learnt if we stated
them here again.
" I do not quite understand," said the king, greatly interested.
" Your majesty has not yet acquired the habit of going through the
public accounts."
" I see that it refers to money which had been given to M. Fouquet."
" Thirteen millions. A tolerably good sum."
" Yes. Well, and these thirteen millions are wanting to balance the
total of the accounts. That is what I do not very well understand.
How was this deficit possible ?"
" Possible, I do not say; but there is no doubt about the fact that it
really is so."
" You say that these thirteen millions are found to be wanting in
the accounts ?"
" I do not say so, but the registry does."
A GASCON, AND A GASCON AND A HALF. 377
" And this letter of M. Mazarin indicates the employment of the
sum, and the name of the person with whom it was deposited ?"
" As your majesty can judge for yourself."
" Yes; and the result is, then, that M. Fouquet has not yet restored
the thirteen millions."
" That results from the accounts, certainly, sire."
" Well, and, consequently——"
" Well, sire, in that case, inasmuch as M. Fouquet has not yet given
hack the thirteen millions, he must have appropriated them to his own
purposes; and with those thirteen millions one could incur four times
and a little more as much expense, and make four times as great a
display, as your majesty was able to do at Fontainebleau, where we
only spent three millions altogether, if you remember."
For a blunderer, the souvenir he had evoked was a very skilfully-con-
trived piece of baseness; for by the remembrance of his own fete he,
for the first time, perceived its inferiority compared with that of
Fouquet. Colbert received back again at Yaux what Fouquet had
given him at Fontainebleau, and, as a good financier, he returned it
with the best possible interest. Having once disposed the king's mind
in that way, Colbert had nothing of much importance to detain him.
He felt that such was the case, for the king too had again sunk into a
dull and gloomy state. Colbert awaited the first word from the king's
lips with as much impatience as Philippe and Aramis did from their
place of observation.
" Are you aware what is the natural consequence of all this, Monsieur
Colbert ?" said the king, after a few moments' reflection.
" No, sire, I do not know." '
" Well, then, the fact of the appropriation of the thirteen millions, if
it can be proved " "But it is so already."
" I mean if it were to be declared and certified, Monsieur Colbert."
" I think it will be to-morrow, if your majesty "
" Were we not under M. Fouquet's roof, you were going to say, per-
haps," replied the king, with something of nobleness in his manner.
" The king is in his own palace wherever he may be, and especially in
houses which his own money has paid for."
" I think," said Philippe, in a low tone to Aramis, " that the architect
who constructed this dome ought, anticipating what use could be made
of it, so to have contrived that it might easily be made to fall on the
heads of scoundrels such as that M. Colbert."
" I thought so too," replied Aramis; " but M. Colbert is so very near
the king at "this moment."
" That is true, and that would open the succession."
" Of which your younger brother would reap all the advantage,
monseigneur. But stay, let us keep quiet, and go on listening."
" We shall not have long to listen," said the young prince.
" Why not, monseigneur ?"
"Because if I were the king, I should not reply anything further."
" And what would you do ? "
" I should wait until to-morrow morning to give myself time for
reflection."
Louis XIY. at last raised his eyes, and finding Colbert attentively
waiting for his next remark, said, hastily changing the conversation,
Monsieur Colbert, I perceive it is getting very late, and I shall now
retire to bed. By to-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind."
" Yery good, sire," returned Colbert, greatly incensed, although he
restrained himself in the presence of the king.
378 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELOfJjSTE.
The king made a gesture of adieu, and Colbert withdrew with a
respectful bow. "My attendants," cried the king; and, as they en-
tered the apartment, Philippe was about to quit his post of observation.
"A moment longer," said Aramis to him, with his accustomed
■gentleness of manner; " what has just now taken place is only a
detail, and to-morrow we shall have no occasion to think anything more
about it; but the ceremony of the king's retiring to rest, the etiquette
observed in addressing the king, that indeed is of the greatest import-
ance. Learn, sire, and study well how you ought to go to bed of a
night. Look! look!"
CHAPTER, LXXXII.
Colbert.
History will tell us, or rather history has told us, of the various
events of the following day, of the splendid fetes given by the surin-
tendant to his sovereign. There was nothing but amusement and
delight allowed to prevail throughout the whole of the following day;
there was a promenade, a banquet, a comedy to be acted, and a comedy,
too, in which, to his great amazement, Porthos recognized M. Coquelin
de Voliere as one of the actors, in the piece called "Les Facheux."
Full of pre-occupation, however, from the scene of the previous even-
ing, and hardly recovered from the effects of the poison which Colbert
had then administered to him, the king, during the whole of the day,
so brilliant in its effects, so full of unexpected and startling novelties,
in which all the wonders of the "Arabian Nights'Entertainments"
seemed to be reproduced for his especial amusement—the king, we say,
showed himself cold, reserved, and taciturn. Nothing could smooth
the frowns upon his face ; every one who observed him noticed that a
deep feeling of resentment of remote origin, increased by slow degrees,
as the source becomes a river, thanks to the thousand threads of water
which increase its body, was keenly alive in the depths of the king's
heart. Towards the middle of the day only did he begin to resume a
little serenity of manner, and by that time he had, in all probability,
made up his mind. Aramis, who followed him step by step in his
thoughts, as in his walk, conclued that the event that he was expecting
would not be long before it was announced. This time Colbert seemed
to walk in concert with the bishop of Vannes, and had he received for
every annoyance which he inflicted on the king a word of direction
from Aramis, he could not have done better. During the whole of the
day the king, who, in all probability, wished to free himself from some
of the thoughts which disturbed his mind, seemed to seek La Valliere's
society as actively as he seemed to show his anxiety to flee that of M. Col-
bert or M. Fouquet. The evening came. The king had expressed a wish
not to walk in the park until after cards in the evening. In the interval
between supper and the promenade, cards and dice were introduced.
The king won a thousand pistoles, and, having won them, put them in
his pocket, and then rose, saying, " And now, gentlemen, to the park."
He found the ladies of the court already there. The king, we have
before observed, had won a thousand pistoles and had put them in
his pocket; but M. Fouquet had somehow contrived to lose ten
thousand, so that among the courtiers there was still left a hundred
and ninety thousand francs profit to divide, a circumstance which made
COLBEBT. 379
the countenances of the courtiers and the officers of the king's house-
hold the most joyous countenances in the world. It was not the same,
however, with the king's face; for, notwithstanding his success at play,
to which he was by no means insensible, there still remained a slight
shade of dissatisfaction. Colbert was waiting for or upon him at the
corner of one of the avenues; he was most probably waiting there in
consequence of a rendezvous which had been given him by the king, as
Louis XIY., who had avoided him, or who had seemed to avoid him,
suddenly made him a sign, and they then struck into the depths of the
park together. But La Valliere, too, had observed the king's gloomy
aspect and kindling glances; she had remarked this—and as nothing
which lay hidden or smouldering in his heart was impenetrable to her
affection—she understood that this repressed wrath menaced some one;
she prepared to withstand the current of his vengeance, and intercede
like an an&el of mercy. Overcome by sadness, nervously agitated, deeply
distressed at having been so long separated from her lover, disturbed at
the sight of that emotion which she had divined, she accordingly pre-
sentea herself to the king with an embarrassed aspect, which, in his
then disposition of mind, the king interpreted unfavourably. Then, as
they were alone, or nearly alone, inasmuch as Colbert, as soon as he
perceived the young girl approaching, had stopped and drawn back a
dozen paces—the king advanced towards La Valliere and took her by
the hand, " Mademoiselle," he said to her, " should I be guilty of an
indiscretion if I were to inquire if you are indisposed ? for you seem to
breathe as if you were oppressed by some secret cause of uneasiness,
and your eyes are filled with tears."
" Oh! sire, if I be indeed so, and if my eyes are indeed full of tears,
I am sorrowful only at the sadness which seems to oppress your
majesty."
" My sadness ? You are mistaken, mademoiselle; no, it is not sad-
ness I experience." " What is it, then, sire ?"
" Humiliation." " Humiliation ? oh ! sire, what a word for you
to use."
" I mean, mademoiselle, that wherever I may happen to be, no one else
ought to be the master. Well, then, look round you on every side, and
judge whether I am not eclipsed—I, the king of France—before the
king of these wide domains. Oh!" he continued, clenching his hands
and teeth, " when I think that this king "
" Well, sire ? " said Louise, terrified.
"——That this king is a faithless, unworthy servant, who becomes proud
and self-sufficient with property which belongs to me, and which he
has stolen. And, therefore, am I about to change this impudent
minister's fete into a sorrow and mourning, of which the nymph of
Vaux, as the poets say, shall not soon lose the remembrance."
" Oh! your majesty "
"Well, mademoiselle, are you about to take M. Fouquets part?"
said Louis, impatiently. .
" No, sire; I will cnly ask whether you are well informed. Your
majesty has more than once learnt the value of accusations made at
C°Louis XIV. made a sign for Colbert to approach. " Speak, Monsieur
Colbert," said the young prince, " for I almost believe that Mademoi-
selle de la Valliere has need of your assurance before she can put any
faith in the king's word. Tell mademoiselle what M. Fouquet has
done; and you, mademoiselle, will perhaps have the kindness to listen.
It will not be long."
380 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
Why did Louis XIV. insist upon it in such a manner ? A very
simple reason—his heart was not at rest; his mind was not thoroughly
convinced ; he imagined there was some dark, hidden, tortuous intrigue
concealed beneath these thirteen millions of francs; and he wished that
the pure heart of La Valliere, which had revolted at the idea of a theft
or robbery, should approve—even were it only by a single word—the
resolution he had taken, and which, nevertheless, he hesitated about
carrying into execution.
"Speak, monsieur, said La Valliere to Colbert, who had advanced;
" speak, since the king wishes me to listen to you. Tell me, what is the
crime with which M. Fouquet is charged ? "
" Oh ! not very heinous, mademoiselle," he returned; " a simple
abuse of confidence."
" Speak, speak, Colbert; and when you shall have related it, leave
us, and go and inform M. d'Artagnan that I have certain orders to give
him."
"M. d'Artagnan, sire!" exclaimed La Valliere; " but why send for
M. d'Artagnan ? I entreat you to tell me."
" Pardieu! in order to arrest this haughty, arrogant Titan, who, true
to his menace, threatens to scale my heaven."
" Arrest M. Fouquet, do you say ? "
" Ah ! does that surprise you ? " " In his own house ? "
" Why not ? If he be guilty, he is guilty in his own house as any-
where else."
" M. Fouquet, who at this moment is ruining himself for his sove-
reign."
" In plain truth, mademoiselle, it seems as if you were defending this
traitor."
Colbert began to chuckle silently. The king turned round at the
sound of this suppressed mirth.
" Sire," said La Valliere, " it is not M. Fouquet I am defending ; it is
yourself."
" Ale ! you defend me ? "
" Sire, you would be dishonouring yourself, if you were to give such
an order."
" Dishonour myself!" murmured the king, turning pale with anger.
" In plain truth, mademoiselle, you show a strange persistance in what
you say."
" If I do so, sire, my only motive is that of serving your majesty,"
replied the noble-hearted girl; " for that I would risk, I would sacrifice
my very life, without the slightest reserve."
Colbert seemed inclined to grumble and complain. La Valliere, that
timid, gentle lamb, turned round upon him, and with a glance like
lightning, imposed silence upon him. " Monsieur," she said, " when the
king acts well, whether, in doing so, he does either myself or those who
belong to me, an injury, I have nothing to say; but were the king to
confer a benefit either upon me or mine, and if he acted badly, I should
tell him so."
" But it appears to me, mademoiselle," Colbert ventured to say," that
I too love the king."
"Yes, monsieur, we both love him, but each in a different manner,"
replied La Valliere, with such an accent that the heart of the young
king was powerfully affected by it. "I love him so deeply, that the
whole world is aware of it; so purely, that the king himself does not
doubt my affection. He is my king ana my master; I am the humblest
of his servants. But he who touches his honour touches my life.
COLBEBT. 3$ J.
Therefore, I repeat, that they dishonour the king who advise him to
arrest M. Bouquet under his own roof."
Colbert hung down his head, for he felt that the king had abandoned
him. However, as he bent his head, he murmured, " Mademoiselle, I
have only one word to say."
" Do not say it, then, monsieur; for I would not listen to it. Besides,
what could you have to tell me ? That M. Bouquet has been guilty of
certain crimes ? I know he has, because the king has said so; and
from the moment the king said,' I think so,' I have no occasion for
other lips to say, ' I affirm it.' But, were M. Bouquet the vilest of
men, I should say aloud,' M. Bouquet's person is sacred to the king
because he is the king's host. Were his house a den of thieves, were
Vaux a cave of coiners or robbers, his home is sacred, his palace is
inviolable, since his wife is living in it; and that is an asylum which
even executioners would not dare to violate.'"
La Yalliere paused, and was silent. In spite of himself, the king
could not but admire her; he was overpowered by the passionate energy
of her voice; by the nobleness of the cause she advocated. Colbert
yielded, overcome by the inequality of the struggle. At last, the king
breathed again more freely, shook his head, and held out his hand to
La Yalliere. " Mademoiselle," he said gently, " why do you decide
against me ? Do you know what this wretched fellow will do, if I give
him time to breathe again ? "
" Is he not a prey which will always be within your grasp ? "
"And if he escapes, and takes to flight?" exclaimed Colbert.
" Well, monsieur, it will always remain on record, to the king's
eternal honour, that he allowed M. Bouquet to flee; and the more
guilty he may have been, the greater will the king's honour and glory
appear, when compared with such misery and such shame."
Louis kissed La Yalliere's hand, as he knelt before her.
" I am lost," thought Colbert; then suddenly his face brightened up
again. " Oh ! no, no, not yet," he said to himself.
And while the king, protected from observation by the thick covert
of an enormous lime, pressed La Yalliere to his breast, with all the
ardour of ineffable affection, Colbert tranquilly looked among the
papers in his pocket-book, and drew out of it a paper folded in the
form of a letter, slightly yellow, perhaps, but which must have been
very precious, since the intendant smiled as he looked at it; he then
bent a look, full of hatred, upon the charming group which the young
girl and the king formed together—a group which was revealed for a
moment, as the light of the approaching torches shone upon it. Louis
notiqed the light reflected upon La Yalliere's white dress. "Leave me,
Louise," he said, " for some one is coming."
" Mademoiselle, mademoiselle, some one is coming," cried Colbert, to
expedite the young girl's departure.
Louise disappeared rapidly among the trees ; and then, as the king,
who had been on his knees before the young girl, was rising from his
humble posture Colbert exclaimed, " Ah ! Mademoiselle de la Yalliere
has let something fall."
" What is it ? " inquired the king.
" A paper—a letter—something white; look there, sire."
The king stooped down immediately, and picked up the letter, crum-
pling it in his band as he did so; and at the same moment the torches
arrived, inundating the darkness of the scene with a flood of light as
bright as day.
382
the vicomte de bkagelonne.
CHAPTER LXXXHI.
Jealousy.
The torches we have just referred to, the eager attention which
every one displayed, and the new ovation paid to the king by Fouquet,
arrived in time to suspend the effect of a resolution which La Yalliere
had already considerably shaken in Louis XIV.'s heart. He looked at
Fouquet with a feeling almost of gratitude for having given La Yalliere
an opportunity of showing herself so generously disposed, so powerful
in the influence she exercised over his heart. The moment of the last
and greatest display had arrived. Hardly had Fouquet conducted the
king towards the chateau, than a mass of fire burst from the dome of
Yaux, with a prodigious uproar, pouring a flood of dazzling light on
every side, and illumining the remotest corners of the gardens. The
fireworks began. Colbert, at twenty paces from the king, who was sur-
rounded and feted by the owner of Yaux, seemed, by the obstinate
persistance of his gloomy thoughts, to do his utmost to recall Louis's
attention, which the magnificence of the spectacle was already, in his
opinion, too easily diverting. Suddenly, just as Louis was on the point
of holding it out to Fouquet, he perceived in his hand the paper
which, as he believed, La Yalliere had dropped at his feet as she hurried
away. The still stronger magnet of love drew the young prince's atten-
tion towards the souvenir of his idol; and, by the brilliant light, which
increased momentarily in beauty, and drew forth from the neighbouring
villages loud exclamations of admiration, the king read the letter, which
he supposed was a loving and tender epistle which La Yalliere had
destined for him. But as he read it, a death-like pallor stole over his
face, and an expression of deep-seated wrath, illumined by the many-
coloured fires which rose brightly and soaringly around the scene,
produced a terrible spectacle, which every one would have shuddered
at, could they only have read into his heart, which was torn by the
most stormy and most bitter passions. There was no truce for him now,
influenced as he was by jealousy and mad passion. From the very
moment when the dark truth was revealed to him, every gentler feel-
ing seemed to disappear; pity, kindness of consideration, the religion
of hospitality, all were forgotten. In the bitter pang which wrung his
heart, still too weak to hide his sufferings, he was almost on the point
of uttering a cry of alarm, and calling his guards to gather round him.
This letter which Colbert had thrown down at the king's feet, the
reader has doubtless guessed, was the same that had disappeared with
the porter Toby, at Fontainebleau, after the attempt which Fouquet
had made upon La Yalliere's heart. Fouquet saw the king's pallor,
and was far from guessing the evil; Colbert saw the king's anger, and
rejoiced inwardly at the approach of the storm. Fouquet's voice drew
the young prince from his wrathful reverie.
"What is the matter, sire?" inquired the surintendant, with an
expression of graceful interest.
Louis made a violent effort over himself, as he replied, " Nothing."
" I am afraid your majesty is suffering ? "
" I am suffering, and have already told you so, monsieur; but it is
nothing."
And the king, without waiting for the termination of the fireworks,
turned towards the chateau. Fouquet accompanied him, and the whole
JEALOUSY. 383
court followed after them, leaving the remains of the fireworks burning
for their own amusement. The surintendant endeavoured again to
question Louis XIV., but could not succeed in obtaining a reply. He
imagined there had been some misunderstanding between Louis and
La Yalliere in the park, which had resulted in a slight quarrel ; and
that the king, who was not ordinarily sulky by disposition, but com-
pletely absorbed by his passion for La Yalliere, had taken a dislike to
every one because his mistress had shown herself offended with him.
'This idea was sufficient to console him; he had even a friendly and
kindly smile for the young king, when the latter wished him good
night. This, however, was not all the king had to submit to ; he was
obliged to undergo the usual ceremony, which on that evening was
marked by the closest adherence to the strictest etiquette. The next
day was the one fixed for the departure; it was but proper that the
guests should thank their host, and should show him a little attention
in return for the expenditure of his twelve millions. The only remark,
approaching to amiability, which the king could find to say to M.
Fouquet, as he took leave of him, was in these words, " Monsieur
Fouquet, you shall hear from me. Be good enough to desire M. d'Ar-
tagnan to come here."
And the blood of Louis XIII., who had so profoundly dissimulated
his feelings, boiled in his veins; and he was perfectly ready to get M.
Fouquet's throat cut, with the same readiness, indeed, as his predecessor
had caused the assassination of le Marechal d'Ancre; and so he dis-
guised the terrible resolution he had formed, beneath one of those
royal smiles which are the lightning flashes indicating coups d'etat.
Fouquet took the king's hand and kissed it; Louis shuddered through-
out his whole frame, but allowed M. Fouquet to touch his hand with
his lips. Five minutes afterwards, d'Artagnan, to whom the royal
order had been communicated, entered Louis XIY.'s apartment.
Aramis and Philippe were in theirs, still eagerly attentive, and still
listening with all their ears. The king did not even give the captain of
the musketeers time to approach his arm-chair, but ran forward to
meet him. " Take care," he exclaimed, " that no one enters here."
" Very good, sire," replied the captain, whose glance had for a long
time past analyzed the ravages on the king's countenance. He gave
the necessary order at the door; but, returning to the king, he said,
" Is there something fresh the matter, your majesty ? "
" How many men have you here ?" inquired the king, without
making any other reply to the question addressed to him.
" What for, sire ? "
" How many men have you, I say ?" repeated the king, stamping
upon the ground with his foot. " I have the musketeers."
" Well; and what others ? " " Twenty guards and thirteen Swiss."
" How many men will be required to "
"To do what, sire?" replied the musketeer, opening his large, calm
eyes. " To arrest M. Fouquet."
D'Artagnan fell back a step. " To arrest M. Fouquet!" he burst
forth.
" Are you going to tell me that it is impossible!" exclaimed the king,
with cold and vindictive passion.
"I never say that anything is impossible," replied d'Artagnan,
wounded to the quick. " Yery well; do it, then."
D'Artagnan turned on his heel, and made his way towards the door ;
it was but a short distance, and he cleared it in half a dozen paces:
when he reached it he suddenly paused, and said, " Your majesty will
384 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
forgive me, but, in order to effect this arrest, I should like written
directions."
" For what purpose—and since when has the king's word been insuf-
ficient for you ? "
" Because the word of a king, when it springs from a feeling of anger,
may possibly change when the feeling changes."
"A truce to set phrases, monsieur; you have another thought
besides that ? "
"Oh, I, at least, have certain thoughts and ideas, which, unfor-
tunately, others have not," d'Artagnan replied, impertinently.
The king, in the tempest of his wrath, hesitated, and drew back in
the face of d'Artagnan's frank courage, just as a horse crouches on his
haunches under the strong hand of a bold and experienced rider.
" What is your thought P " he exclaimed.
" This, sire," replied d'Artagnan: " you cause a man to be arrested
when you are still under his roof; and passion is alone the cause of
that. AVhen your anger shall have passed away you will regret what
you have done; and then I wish to be in a position to show you your
signature. If that, however, should fail to be a reparation, it will at
least show us that the king is wrong to lose his temper."
"Wrong to lose his temper !" cried the king, in a loud, passionate
voice. "Did not my father, my grandfather too, before me, lose their
temper at times, in Heaven's name ? "
" The king your father and the king your grandfather never lost
their temper except when under the protection of their own palace."
" The king is master wherever he may be."
" That is a flattering, complimentary phrase which cannot proceed
from any one but M. Colbert; but it happens not to be the truth. The
king is at home in every man's house when he has driven its owner out
of it."
The king bit his lips, but said nothing.
" Can it be possible ? " said d'Artagnan; " here is a man who is posi-
tively ruining himself in order to please you, and you wish to have him
arrested! Mordioux ! Sire, if my name were Fouquet, and people
treated me in that manner, I would swallow at a single gulp all the
fireworks and other things, and I would set fire to them, and blow my-
self and everybody else up to the sky. But it is all the same: it is your
wish, and it shall be done."
" Go," said the king; " but have you men enough ? "
" Do you suppose I am going to take a whole host to help me ?
Arrest M. Fouquet! why, that is so easy that a very child might do it!
It is like drinking a glass of bitters: one makes an ugly face, and that
is all."
" If he defends himself ? "
" He! not at all likely. Defend himself when such extreme harsh-
ness as you are going to practise makes the man a very martyr! Nay,
I am sure that if he has a million of francs left, which I very much
douht, he would be willing enough to give it in order to have such a
termination as this. But what does that matter? it shall be done at
once."
" Stay," said the king; " do not make his arrest a public affair."
" That will be more difficult."
" Why so ?" " Because nothing is easier than to go up to M. Fou-
quet in the midst of a thousand enthusiastic guests who surround him,
and say,1 In the king's name, I arrest you.' But to go up to him, to
turn him first one way and then another, to drive him up into one of the
JEALOUSY. 385
corners of the chess-board, in such a way that ho cannot escape; to
take him away from his guests, and keep him a prisoner for you, with-
out one of them, alas! having heard anything about it; that indeed is a
real difficulty, the greatest of all, in truth; and I hardly see how it is
to be done."
"You had better say it is impossible, and you will have finished
much sooner. Heaven help me, but I seem to be surrounded by people
who prevent me doing what I wish."
" I do not prevent your doing anything. Are you decided ?"
" Take care of M. Fouquet, until I shall have made up my mind by
to-morrow morning." " That shall be done, sire."
" And return, when I rise in the morning, for further orders; and
now leave me to myself."
"You do not even want M. Colbert, then?" said the musketeer,
firing this last shot as he was leaving the room. The king started.
"With his whole mind fixed on the thought of revenge, he had forgotten
the cause and substance of the offence.
" No, no one," he said; " no one here! Leave me."
D'Artagnan quitted the room. The king closed the door with his
own.hands, and began to walk up and down his apartment at a furious
pace, like a wounded bull in an arena, dragging after him the coloured
streamers and iron darts. At last he began to take comfort in the
expression of his violent feelings.
" Miserable wretch that lie is ! not only does he squander my finances,
but with his ill-gotten plunder he corrupts secretaries, friends, generals,
artists, and all, and tries to rob me of the one to whom I am most
attached. And that is the reason why that perfidious girl so boldly
took his part! Gratitude! and who can tell whether it was not a
•stronger feeling—love itself?" He gave himself up for a moment to his
bitter reflections. " A satyr !" he thought, with that abhorrent hate
with which young men regard those more advanced in life, who still
think of love. "A man who has never found opposition or resistance
in any one, who lavishes his gold and jewels in every direction, ana
who retains his staff of painters in order to take the portraits of his
mistresses in the costume of goddesses." The king trembled with
passion as he continued—" He .pollutes and profanes everything that
belongs to me! He destroys everything that is mine. He will be my
death at last, 1 know. That man is too much for me; he is my mortal
■enemy, and he shall fall! I hate him—I hate him—I hate him!" and
as he pronounced these words, he struck the arm of the chair in which
he was sitting violently, over and over again, and then rose like one in
an epileptic fit. " To-morrow! to-morrow ! oh, happy day !" ho mur-
mured, " when the sun rises, no other rival will that bright orb have
but me. That mau shall fall so low, that when people look at the
utter ruin which my anger shall have wrought, they will be forced to
■confess at least that I am indeed greater than he." The king, who
was incapable of mastering his emotions any longer, knocked over with
a blow of his fist a small table placed close to his bedside, and in the
bitterness of feeling from which he was suffering, almost weeping, and
half-suff'ocated by his passion, he threw himself on his bed, dressed as
he was, and bit the sheets in the extremity of his passion, trying to
find repose of body at least there. The bed creaked beneath his weight,
and with the exception of a few broken sounds, which escaped from his
overburdened chest, absolute silence soon reigned in the chamber of
Morpheus.
VOL. II. 2 C
386
THE VICOMTK DE BE AGE LON N E.
CHAPTER LXXXIV.
High Treason.
The ungovernable fury which took possession of the king at the
sight and at the perusal of Fouquet's letter to La Yalliere by degrees
subsided into a feeling of pain and extreme weariness. Youth, in-
vigorated by health and lightness of spirits, and requiring that what it
loses should be immediately restored—youth knows not those endless,
sleepless nights which enable us to realize the fahle of the vulture
unceasingly feeding on Prometheus. In instances where the man of
middle life, in his acquired strength of will and purpose, and the old
man, in his state of exhaustion, find an incessant augmentation of their
bitter sorrow, a young man, surprised by the sudden appearance of a
misfortuue, weakens himself in sighs, and groans, and tears, in direct
struggles with it, and is thereby far sooner overthrown by the inflexible
enemy with whom he is engaged. Once overthrown, his struggles
cease. Louis could not hold out more than a few minutes, at the end
of which he had ceased to clench his hands, and to burn up with his
looks the invisible objects of his hatred; he soon ceased to attack with
his violent imprecations not M. Fouquet alone, but even La Yalliere
herself; from fury he subsided into despair, and from despair to pro-
stration. After he had thrown himself for a few minutes to and fro
convulsively on his bed, his nerveless arms fell quietly down; his head
lay languidly on his pillow; his limbs, exhausted from his excessive
emotions, still trembled occasionally, agitated by slight muscular con-
tractions; and from his breast only faint and unfrequent sighs still
issued. Morpheus, the tutelary deity of the apartment, towards whom
Louis raised his eyes, wearied by his anger and reddened by his tears,
showered down upon him the sleep-inducing poppies with which his
hands were filled; so that the king gently closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Then it seemed to him, as it often happens in that first sleep, so light
and gentle, which raises the body above the couch, the soul above the
earth—it seemed to him, we say, as if. the god Morpheus, painted on
the ceiling, looked at him with eyes resembling human eyes; that
something shone brightly, and moved to and fro in the dome above the
sleeper; that the crowd of terrible dreams which thronged together in
his brain, and which were interrupted for a moment, half-revealed a
human face, with a hand resting against the mouth, and in an attitude
of deep and absorbed meditation. And strange enough, too, this man
bore so wonderful a resemblance to the king himself, that Louis fancied
he was looking at his own face reflected in a mirror; with the excep-
tion, however, that the face was saddened by a feeling of the pro-
foundest pity. Then it seemed to him as if the dome gradually re-
tired, escaping from his gaze, and that the figures and attributes painted
by Lebrun became darker, and darker as the distance became more
and more remote. A gentle, easy movement, as regular as that by
which a vessel plunges beneath the waves, had succeeded to the im-
movableness of the bed. Doubtless the king was dreaming, and in
this dream the crown of gold, which fastened the curtains together,
seemed to recede from his vision, just as the dome, to which it remained
suspended, had done, so that the winged genius which, with both its
hands, supported the crown, seemed, though vainly so, to call upon the
king, who was fast disappearing from it. The bed still sunk. Louis,
HIGH TBEASON. 387
with his eyes open, could not resist the deception of this cruel halluci-
nation. At last, as the light of the royal chamber faded away into
darkness and gloom, something cold, gloomy, and inexplicable in its
nature seemed to infect the air. No paintings, nor gold, nor velvet
hangings, were visible any longer, nothing but walls of a dull grey
colour, which the increasing gloom made darker every moment. And
yet the bed still continued to descend, and after a minute, which
seemed in its duration almost an age to the king, it reached a stratum
of air, black and still as death, and then it stopped. The king could
no longer see the light in his room, except as from the bottom of a
well we can see the light of day. " I am under the influence of a
terrible dream," he thought. " It is time to awaken from it. Come!
let me wake up." »
Every one has experienced what the above remark conveys; there is
hardly a person who, in the midst of a nightmare, whose influence is
suffocating, has not said to himself, by the help of that light which
still burns in the brain when every human light is extinguished, " V H
nothing but a dream, after all." This was precisely what Louis XI \
said to himself; but when he said, " Come, come! wake up," he per-
ceived that not only was he already awake, but still more, that he had
his eyes open also; he then looked all round him. On his right hand
and on his left two armed men stood silently, each wrapped in a huge
cloak and the face covered with a mask; one of them held a small lamp
in his hand, whose glimmering light revealed the saddest picture a
king could look upon. Louis could not help saying to himself that his
dream still lasted, and that all he had to do to cause it to disappear was
to move his arms or to say something aloud; he darted from his bed,
and found himself upon the damp, moist ground. Then, addressing
himself to the man who held the lamp in his hand, he said,—
" What is this, monsieur, and what is the meaning of this jest ?"
" It is no jest," replied in a deep voice the masked figure that held
the lantern.
"Do you belong to M.Eouquet ?" inquired the king, greatly astonished
at his situation.
" It matters very little to whom we belong," said the phantom; " we
are your masters now, that is sufficient."
The king, more impatient than intimidated, turned to the other
masked figure. " If this is a comedy," he said, " you will tell M. Eouquet
that I find it unseemly and improper, and that I desire it should
cease."
The second masked person to whom the king had addressed himself
was a man of huge stature and vast circumference. He held himself
erect and motionless as a block of marble. "Well!" added the king,
stamping his foot, " you do not answer!"
"We do not answer you, my good monsieur," said the giant in a
stentorian voice, " because there is nothing to answer."
"At least, tell me what you want?" exclaimed Louis, folding his
arms with a passionate gesture.
" You will know by-and-by," replied the man who held the lamp.
" In the mean time tell me where I am ? " " Look."
Louis looked all round him; but by the light of the lamp which the
masked figure raised for the purpose, he could perceive nothing but the
damp walls which glistened here and there with the slimy traces of the
snail. " Oh ! oh! a dungeon," said the king.
" No, a subterranean passage." 4,
" Which leads ?"——"Will you be good enough "to follow us.'*
2 c 2
388 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
"I shall not stir from hence !" cried the king.
"If you are obstinate, my dear young friend," replied the taller and
stouter of the two, " I will lift you up in my arms, will roll you up in a
cloak, and if you are stifled there, why so much the worse for you."
And as he said this, he disengaged from beneath his cloak a hand of
which Milo of Crotona would have envied him the possession, on the
day when he had that unhappy idea of rending his last oak. The king
dreaded violence, for he could well believe that the two men into
whose power he had fallen had not gone so far with any idea of drawing
back, and that they would consequently be ready to proceed to extre-
mities, if necessary. He shook his head, and said: " It seems I have
fallen into the hands of a couple of assassins. Move on, then."
* Neither of the men answered a word to this remark. The one who
carried the lantern walked the first, the king followed him, while the
second masked figure closed the procession. In this manner they
passed along a winding gallery of some length, with as many staircases
leading out of it as are to be found in the mysterious and gloomy
palaces of Ann Had cliff's creation. All these windings and turnings,
during which the king heard the sound of falling water over his head,
ended at last in a long corridor closed by an iron door. The figure
with the lamp opened the door with one of the keys he wore suspended
at his girdle, where, during the whole of the time, the king had heard
them rattle. As soon as the door was opened and admitted the air,
Louis recognized the balmy odours which are exhaled by the trees
after a hot summer's day. He paused, hesitatingly, for a moment or
two ; but his huge companion who followed him thrust him out of the
subterranean passage.
"Another blow," said the king, turning towards the one who had
just had the audacity to touch his sovereign; "what do you intend to
do with the king of France ?"
" Try and forget that word," replied the man with the lamp, in a
tone which as little admitted of a reply as one of the famous decrees of
Minos.
"You deserve to be broken on the wheel for the word you have just
made use of," said the giant, as he extinguished the lamp his companion
handed to him; "but the king is too kindhearted."
Louis, at that threat, made so sudden a movement, that it seemed as
if he meditated flight; but the giant's hand was in a moment placed
on his shoulder, and fixed him motionless where he stood. " But tell
me, at least, where wo are going," said the king.
" Come," replied the former of the two men, with a kind of respect in
his manner, and leading his prisoner towards a carriage which seemed
to be in waiting.
The carriage was completely concealed amid the trees. Two horses,
with their feet fettered, were fastened by a halter to the lower branches
of a large oak.
" Get in," said the same man, opening the carriage door and letting
down the step. The king obeyed, seated himself at the back of the
carriage, the padded door of which was shut and locked immediately
upon him and his guide. As for the giant, he cut the fastenings by
which the horses were bound, harnessed them himself, and mounted on
the box of the carriage, which was unoccupied. The carriage set off
immediately at a quick trot, turned into the road to Paris, and in the
forest of Senart found a relay of horses fastened to the trees in the
same manner the first horses had been, and without a postilion.
The man on .the box changed the horses, and continued to follow
HIGH TREASON. 339
the road towards Paris with the same rapidity, and entered the city
about three o'clock in the morning. The carriage proceeded along
the faubourg Saint-Antoine, and, after having called out to the sentinel,
" by the king's order," the driver conducted the horses into the circular
inclosure of the Bastille, looking out upon the courtyard, called La
Cour du Gouvernement. There the horses drew up, reeking with
sweat, at the flight of steps, and a sergeant of the guard ran for-
ward. " Go and wake the governor," said the coachman in a voice of
thunder.
With the exception of this voice, which might have been heard at
the entrance of the faubourg Saint-Antoine, everything remained as
calm in the carriage as in the prison. Ten minutes afterwards, M. de
Baisemeaux appeared in his dressing-gown on the threshold of the
door. "What is the matter now?" he asked; "and whom have you
brought me there?"
The man with the lantern opened the carriage-door, and said two or
three words to the one who acted as driver, who immediately got down
from his seat, took up a short musket which he kept under his feet,
and placed its muzzle on the prisoner's chest.
" And fire at once if he speaks!" added aloud the man who alighted
from the carriage.
"Very good!" replied his companion, without any other remark.
With this recommendation, the person who had accompanied ths
king in the carriage ascended the flight of steps, at the top of which the
governor was awaiting him. "Monsieur d'Herblay !" said the latter.
" Hush !" said Aramis. " Let us go into your room."
" Good heavens! what brings you here at this hour ?"
"A mistake, my dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux," Aramis replied
quietly. " It appears that you were quite right the other day."
" What about ?" inquired the governor.
" About the order of release, my dear friend."
" Tell me what you mean, monsieur—no, monseigneur," said the
governor, almost suffocated by surprise and terror.
" It is a very simple affair; you remember, dear M. de Baisemeaux,
that an order of release was sent to you."
" Yes, for Marchiali."
" Yery good !" we both thought that it was for Marchiali ?"
" Certainly; you will recollect, however, that I would not believe it,
but that you compelled me."
" Oh ! Baisemeaux, my good fellow, what a word to make use of!—
strongly recommended, that was all."
" Strongly recommended, yes; strongly recommended to give him up
to you: and that you carried him off with you in your carriage."
"Well, my dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, it was a mistake; it was
discovered at the ministry, so that I now bring you an order from the
king to set at liberty Seldon, that poor Scotch fellow, you know."
" Seldon ! are you sure this time ?"
" Well, read it yourself," added Aramis, handing him the order.
"Why," said Baisemeaux, "this order is the very same that has
already passed through my hands." " Indeed ?"
" It is the very one I assured you I saw the other evening. Parbleu !
I recognize it by the blot of ink."
" I do not know whether it is that; but all I know is, that I bring it
for you."
" But, then, about the other ?" " What other ?"
" Marchiali ? " " I have got him here with me."
390 THE VIC01ITE DE BBAGELONKE.
" But that is not enough for me. I require a new order to take him
back again."
"Don't talk such nonsense, my dear Baisemeaux; you talk like a
child! Where is the order you received respecting Marchiali ?"
Baisemeaux ran to his iron chest and took it out. Aramis seized
hold of it, coolly tore it in four pieces, held them to the lamp, and
burnt them. " Good heaven ! what are you doing?" exclaimed Baise-
meaux, in an extremity of terror.
"Look at your position a little quietly, my dear governor," said
Aramis, with his imperturbable self-possession, " and you will see how
very simple the whole affair is. Tou no longer possess any order justi-
fying Marchiali's release." " I am a lost man!"
" Far from it, my good fellow, since I have brought Marchiali back
to you, and it is just the same as if he had never left."
" Ah!" said the governor, completely overcome by terror.
" Plain enough, you see ; and you will go and shut him up imme-
diately." " I should think so, indeed."
" And you will hand over this Seldon to me, whose liberation is au-
thorized by this order. Do you understand ?"
"I 1 " "You do understand, I see," said Aramis. "Very
good." Baisemeaux clasped his hands together.
" But why, at all events, after having taken Marchiali away from
me, do you bring him back again?" cried the unhappy governor, in a
paroxysm of terror, and completely dumbfounded.
" Por a friend, such as you are," said Aramis—" for so devoted a ser-
vant, I have no secrets;" and he put his mouth close to Baisemeaux's
ear, as he said in a low tone of voice, " you know the resemblance be-
tween that unfortunate fellow, and -" "And the king ?—yes !"
" Very good; the very first use that Marchiali made of his liberty was
to persist . Can you guess what ?"
" How is it likely I should guess ?"
"To persist in saying that he was the king of Prance; to dress him-
self up in clothes like those of the king ; and then pretend to assume
that he was the king himself." " Gracious Heavens!"
" That is the reason why I have brought him back again, my dear
friend. He is mad, and lets every one see how mad he is."
" What is to be done, then ?"
" That is very simple; let no one hold any communication with him.
You understand, that when his peculiar style of madness came to the
king's ears, the king, who had pitied his terrible affliction, and saw how
his kindness of heart had been repaid by such black ingratitude, be-
came perfectly furious; so that, now—and remember this very distinctly,
dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, for it concerns you most closely—so that
there is now, I repeat, sentence of death pronounced against all those
who may allow him to communicate with any one else but me, or the
.king himself. You understand, Baisemeaux, sentence of death!"
" You need not ask me, whether I understand."
" And now, let us go down, and conduct this poor devil back to his
dungeon again, unless you prefer he should come up here."
" What would be the good of that ?"
" It would be better, perhaps, to enter his name in the prison-book at
once!" " Of course, certainly; not a doubt of it."
" In that case, have him up."
Baisemeaux ordered the drums to be beaten, and the bell to be rung,
as a warning to every one to retire, in order to avoid meeting a prisoner,
about whom it was desired to observe a certain mystery. Then, when
A NIGHT AT THE BASTILLE. 391
the passages were free, he went to take the prisoner from the carriage,
at whose breast, Porthos, faithful to the directions which had been ■
given him, still kept his musket levelled. " Ah! is that you, miserable
wretch ?" cried the governor, as soon as he perceived the king. " Yery
good, very good." And immediately, making the king get out of the car-
riage, he led him, still accompanied by Porthos, who had not taken off
his mask, and Aramis, who again resumed his, up the stairs, to the
second Bertaudiere, and opened the door of the room in which Philippe
for six long years had bemoaned his existence. The king entered into
the cell without pronouncing a single word : he was pale and haggard.
Baisemeaux shut the door upon him, turned the key twice in the
lock, and then returned to Aramis. " It is quite true," he said, in a low
tone, " that he has a rather strong resemblance to the king; but still
less so than you said."
" So that," said Aramis, " you would not have been deceived by the
substitution of the one for the other." " What a question !"
" You are a most valuable fellow, Baisemeaux," said Aramis; " and
now, set Seldon free."
" Oh, yes. I was going to forget that. I will go and give orders
at once." " Bah! to-morrow will he time enough."
" 1 To-morrow !'—oh, no. This very minute."
"Well; go off to your affairs, I shall go away to mine. But it is
quite understood, is it not ?" " What' is quite understood' ? "
" That no one is to enter the prisoner's cell, except with an order from
the king; an order which I will myself bring."
" Quite so. Adieu, monseigneur."
Aramis returned to his companion. " Now, Porthos, my good fellow,
back again to Yaux, and as fast as possible."
" A man is light and easy enough, when he has faithfully served his
king; and, in serving him, saved his country," said Porthos. " The
horses will be as light as if they had nothing at all behind them. So
let us be off." And the carriage, lightened of a prisoner, who might
well be—as he in fact was—very heavy for Aramis, passed across the
drawbridge of the Bastille, which was raised again immediately behind it,
CHAPTER LXXXY.
A Night at the Bastille.
Pain, anguish, and suffering in human life, are always in proportion
to the strength with which a man is endowed. "We will not pretend to
say that Heaven always apportions to a man's capability of endurance
the anguish with which he afflicts him; such, indeed, would not be
exact, since Heaven permits the existence of death, which is, some-
times, the only refuge open to those who are too closely pressed—too
bitterly afflicted, as far as the body is concerned. Suffering is in pro-
portion to the strength which has been accorded to a person; in other
words, the weak suffer more, where the trial is the same, than the
strong. And what are the elementary principles, we may ask, which
compose human strength ? Is it not—more than anything else—exer-
cise, habit, experience ? We shall not even take the trouble to demon-
strate that, for it is an axiom in morals, as in physics. When the
young king, stupified and crushed in every sense and feeling, found
himself led to a cell in the Bastille, he fancied that death itself is but a
392 THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONNE.
sleep; that it, too, has its dreams as well; that the bed had broken
through the flooring of his room at Yaux; that death had resulted from
the occurrence; and that, still carrying out his dream, as the king,
Louis XIV., now no longer living, was dreaming one of those horrors,
impossible to realize in life, which is termed dethronement, imprison-
ment, and insult towards a sovereign, who formerly wielded unlimited
power. To be present at—an actual witness, too—of this bitterness of
death; to float, undecisively, in an incomprehensible mystery, between
resemblance and reality; to hear everything, to see everything, without
interfering with a single detail of agonizing suffering, was—so the king
thought within himself—a torture far more terrible, since it might last
for ever. "Is this what is termed eternity—hell?" he murmured, at
the moment the door closed upon him, which Baisemeaux had himself
shut. He did not even look round him; and in the room, leaning
with his back against the wall, he allowed himself to be carried away by
the terrible supposition, that he was already dead, as he closed his eyes,
in order to avoid looking upon something even worse still. " How can
I have died?" he said to himself, sick with terror. "The bed might
have been let down by some artificial means ? But no! I do not
remember to have received any contusion, nor any shock either.
V ould they not rather have poisoned me at one of my meals, or with
the fumes of wax, as they did my ancestress, Jeanne d'Albret ? " Sud-
denly, the chill of the dungeon seemed to fall like a cloak upon Louis5
shoulders. " I have seen," he said, " my father lying dead upon his
funeral couch, in his regal robes. That pale face, so calm and worn;
those hands, once so skilful, lying nerveless by his side; those limbs
stiffened by the icy grasp of death; nothing there betokened a sleep
peopled with dreams. And yet how numerous were the dreams which
Heaven might have sent that royal corpse—him, whom so many others
had preceded, hurried away by him into eternal death ! No, that king
was still the king; he was enthroned still upon that funeral couch, as
upon a velvet arm-chair; he had not abdicated aught of his majesty.
God, who had not punished him, cannot, will not punish me, who have
done nothing." A strange sound attracted the young man's attention.
He looked round him, and saw on the mantel-shelf, just below an enor-
mous crucifix, coarsely painted in fresco on the wall, a rat of enormous
size engaged in nibbling a piece of dry bread, but fixing, all the time, an
intelligent and inquiring look upon the new occupant of the cell. The
king could not resist a sudden impulse of fear and disgust; he moved back
towards the door uttering a loud cry; and, as if he had but needed this
cry, which escaped from his breast almost unconsciously, to recognize
himself, Louis knew that he was alive and in full possession of his
natural senses. "A prisoner!" he cried. "I—I, a prisoner!" He
looked round him for a bell to summon some one to him. " There are
no bells at the Bastille," he said, " and it is in the Bastille I am impri-
soned. In what way can I have been made a prisoner ? It must have
been owing to a conspiracy of M. Bouquet. I have been drawn to
Vaux, as into a snare. M. Bouquet cannot be acting alone in this affair.
His agent . That voice I but just now heard was M. d'Herblay's; I
recognized it. Colbert was right, then. But what is Bouquet's object ?
To reign in my place and stead ?—Impossible. Yet, who knows!"
thought the king, relapsing into gloom again. " Perhaps, my brother,
the due d'Orleans, is doing that which my uncle wished to do during
the whole of his life against my father. But the queen ?—My mother,
too? And La Yalliere? Oh! La Yalliere, she will have been aban-
doned to Madame. Dear, dear girl! Yes, it is—it must be so. They
A NIGHT AT THE BASTILLE. 393
must have shut her up, as they have me. We are separated for ever!"
And at this idea of separation, the poor lover burst into a flood of tears,
and sobs and groans.
" There is a governor in this place," the king continued, in a fury of
passion ; " I will speak to him, I will summon him to me."
He called, but no voice replied to his. He seized hold of his chair,
and hurled it against the massive oaken door. The wood resounded
against the door, and awakened many a mournful echo in the profound
depths of the staircase; but from a human creature, not one.
This was a fresh proof for the king of the slight regard in which he
was held at the Bastille. Therefore, when his first fit of anger had
passed away, having remarked a barred window, through which there
passed a stream of light, lozenge-shaped, which must be, he knew, the
bright orb of approaching day, Louis began to call out, at first gently
enough, then louder and louder still; but no one replied to him.
Twenty other attempts which he made, one after another, obtained no
other or better success. His blood began to boil within him, and
mount to his head. His nature was such, that, accustomed to command,
he trembled at the idea of disobedience. By degrees, his anger in-
creased more and more. The prisoner broke the chair, which was too
heavy for him to lift, and made use of it as a battering-ram to strike
against the door. He struck so loudly, and so repeatedly, that the per-
spiration soon began to pour down his face. The sound became
tremendous and continuous; some stifled, smothered cries replied in
different directions. This sound produced a strange effect upon the
king. He paused to listen to it; it was the voices of the prisoners,
formerly his victims, now his companions. The voices ascended like
vapours through the thick ceilings and the massive walls, and rose in
accusation against the author of this noise, as doubtless their sighs and
tears accused, in whispered tones, the author of their captivity. After
having deprived so many people of their liberty, the king came among
them to rob them of their rest. This idea almost drove him mad; it
redoubled his strength, or rather his will, bent upon obtaining some
information, or a conclusion to the affair. "With a portion of the
broken chair he recommenced the noise. At the end of an hour, Louis
heard something in the corridor, behind the door of his cell, and a
violent blow, which was returned upon the door itself, made him cease
his own.
"Are you mad?" said a rude brutal voice. "What is the matter
with you this morning ?"
"This morning!" thought the king; but he said aloud, politely,
" Monsieur, are you the governor of the Bastille ?"
" My good fellow, your head is out of sorts," replied the voice; " but
that is no reason why you should make such a terrible disturbance.
Be quiet: mordieu!"
" Are you the governor ?" the king inquired again.
He heard a door on the corridor close; the gaoler had just left, not
even condescending to reply a single word. When the king had:
assured himself of this departure, his fury knew no longer any bounds.
As agile as a tiger, he leaped from the table to the window, and struck
the iron bars with all his might. He broke a pane of glass, the pieces
of which fell clanking into the courtyard below. He shouted with
increasing hoarseness, " The governor, the governor!" This access
lasted fully an hour, during which time he was in a burning fever.
With his hair in disorder and matted on his forehead, his dress torn
and whitened, his linen in shreds, the king never rested until his
594 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
strength was utterly exhausted, and it was not until then that he
clearly understood the pitiless thickness of the walls, the impenetrable
nature of the cement, invincible to all other influence but that of time,
and possessed of no other weapon but despair. He leaned his forehead
against the door, and let the feverish throbbings of his heart calm by
•degrees; it had seemed as if one single additional pulsation would have
made it burst.
"A moment will come when the food which is given to the
prisoners will be brought to me. I shall then see some one, I shall
speak to him, and get an answer."
And the king tried to remember at what hour the first repast of the
prisoners was served at the Bastille; he was ignorant even of this
detail. The feeling of remorse at this remembrance smote him like the
keen thrust of a dagger, that he should have lived for five-and-twenty
years a king, and in the enjoyment of every happiness, without having
bestowed a moment's thought on the misery of those who had been
unjustly deprived of their liberty. The king blushed from very shame.
He felt that Heaven, in permitting this fearful humiliation, did no
more than render to the man the same torture as was inflicted by that
man upon so many others. Nothing could be more efficacious for
reawakening his mind to religious influences than the prostration of
his heart, and mind, and soul beneath the feeling of such acute wretched-
ness. But Louis dared not even kneel in prayer to God to entreat
him to terminate his bitter trial.
" Heaven is right," he said; " Heaven acts wisely. It would be
cowardly to pray to Heaven for that which I have so often refused to
my own fellow-creatures."
He had reached this stage of his reflections, that is, of his agony of
mind, when a similar noise was again heard behind his door, followed
this time by the sound of the key in the lock, and of the bolts being
withdrawn from their staples. The king bounded forward to be nearer
to the person who was about to enter, but, suddenly reflecting that it
was a movement unworthy of a sovereign, he paused, assumed a noble
and calm expression, which for him was easy enough, and waited with
his back turned towards the window, in order, to some extent, to con-
ceal his agitation from the eyes of the person who was about entering.
It was only a gaoler with a basket of provisions. The king looked at the
man with restless anxiety, and waited until he spoke.
"Ah!"said the latter, "you have broken your chair. I said you
had done so! "Why, you must have become quite mad."
" Monsieur," said the king, " be careful what you say; it will be a
very serious affair for you."
The gaoler placed the basket on the table, and looked at his prisoner
steadily. " What do you say ?" he said.
" Desire the governor to come to me," added the king, in accents full
of calm dignity.
" Come, my boy," said the turnkey, " you have always been very quiet
and reasonable, but you are getting vicious, it seems, and I wish you
to know it in time. You have broken your chair, and made a great
disturbance; that is an offence punishable by imprisonment in one of
the lower dungeons. Promise me not to begin over again, and 1 will
not say a word about it to the governor ?"
" I wish to see the governor," replied the king, still controlling his
passion.
" He will send you off to one of the dungeons, I tell you: so take
care." " I insist upon it, do you hear ?"
THE SHADOW OF M. FOUQUET. 39E
"Ah! ah! your eyes are becoming wild again. Very good! I shall
take away your knife."
And the gaoler did what he said, quitted the prisoner, and closed the
door, leaving the king more astounded, more wretched, and more
isolated than ever. It was useless, though he tried it, to make the
same noise again on his door, and equally useless that he threw the
plates and dishes out of the window; not a single sound was heard in
answer. Two hours afterwards he could not be recognized as a king,
a gentleman, a man, a human being ; he might rather be called a mad-
man, tearing the door with his nails, trying to tear up the flooring of
his cell, and uttering such wild and fearful cries that the old Bastille
seemed to tremble to its very foundations for having revolted against
its master. As for the governor, the gaoler did not even think of dis-
turbing him ; the turnkeys and the sentinels had reported the occur-
rence to him, but what was the good of it ? were not these madmen
common enough in the fortress ? and were not the walls still stronger
than they? M. de Baisemeaux, thoroughly impressed with what
Aramis had told him, and in perfect conformity with the king's order,
hoped only that one thing might happen; namely, that the madman
Marchiali might be mad enough to hang himself to the canopy of his
bed, or to one of the bars of the window. In fact, the prisoner was
anything but a profitable investment for M. Baisemeaux, and became
more annoying than agreeable to him. These complications of Seldon
and Marchiali—the complications, first of setting at liberty and then
imprisoning again, the complications arising from the strong likeness
in question—had at last found a very proper denouement. Baisemeaux
even thought he had remarked that M. d'Herbiay himself was not
altogether dissatisfied at it.
"And then, really," said Baisemeaux to his next in command, "an
ordinary prisoner is already unhappy enough in being a prisoner; he
suffers quite enough indeed to induce one to hope charitably enough
that his death may not be far distant. With still greater reason, then,
when the prisoner has gone mad, and might bite and make a terrible
disturbance in the Bastille ; why, in that case, it is not simply an act
of mere charity to wish him dead; it would be almost a good and even
commendable action, quietly to put him out of his misery."
And the good-natured governor thereupon sat down to his late
breakfast.
CHAPTER LXXXVI.
The Shadow of M. Fouquet.
D'Aetagxan, still confused and oppressed by the conversation he
had just had with the king, could not resist asking himself if he were
really in possession of his senses; if he were really and truly at Vaux;
if he, d'Artagnan, were really the captain of the musketeers and M.
Bouquet the owner of the chateau, in which Louis XIV. was at that
moment partaking of his hospitality. These reflections were not those
of a drunken man, although everything was in prodigal profusion at
Vaux, and the surintendant's wines had met with a distinguished
reception at the fete. The Gascon, however, was a man of calm self-
possession; and no sooner did he touch his bright steel blade, than he
knew how to adopt morally the cold, keen weapon as his guide of action.
S96 THE VJCOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
" Well," he said, as he quitted the royal apartment, " I seem now to be
mixed up historically with the destinies of the king and of the minister;
it will be written, that M. d'Artagnan, a younger son of a Gascon family,
placed his hand on the shoulder of M. Nicolas Pouquet, the surin-
tendant of the finances of Prance. My descendants, if I have any,
will flatter themselves with the distinction which this arrest will confer,
just as the members of the De Luynes family have done with regard to
the estates of the poor marechal d'Ancre. But the question is, to exe-
cute the king's directions in a proper manner. Any man would
know how to say to M. Pouquet, 'Your sword, monsieur.' But it is not
every one who would be able to take care of M. Fouquet without others
knowing anything about it. How am I to manage, then, so that M.
le Surintendant pass from the height of favour to the direst disgrace ;
that Yaux be turned into a dungeon for him; that after having been
steeped to his lips, as it were, in all the perfumes and incense of
Assuerus, he is transferred to the gallows of Haman; in other words,
of Euguerrand de Marigny ? And at this reflection, d'Artagnan's
brow became clouded with perplexity. The musketeer had certain
scruples on the matter, it must be admitted. To deliver up to death
(for not a doubt existed that Louis hated Pouquet mortally) the man
who had just shown himself so delightful and charming a host in every
way, was a real case of conscience. " It almost seems," said d'Artagnan
to himself. " that if I am not a poor, mean, miserable fellow, I should
let M. Pouquet know the opinion the king has about him. Yet, if I
betray my master's secret, I shall be a false-hearted, treacherous knave,
a traitor too, a crime provided for and punishable by military laws—so
much so, indeed, that twenty times, informer days when wars were rife,
I have seen many a miserable fellow strung up to a tree for doing,
in a small degree, what my scruples counsel me to do to a greater
extent now. No, I think that a man of true readiness of wit ought
to get out of this difficulty with more skill than that. And now, let
us admit that I do possess a little readiness of invention, it is not
at all certain, though; for, after having for forty years absorbed so
large a quantity, I shall be lucky if there were to be a pistole's-worth
left." D'Artagnan buried his head in his hands, tore his moustache in
sheer vexation, and added, " What can be the reason of M. Pouquet's
disgrace ? There seem to me to be three good ones: the first, because
M. Colbert don't like him; the second, because he wished to fall in
love with Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and lastly, because the king
likes M. Colbert and loves Mademoiselle de la Valliere. Gh! he is a
lost man ! But shall I put my foot on his neck, I, of all men, when he
is falling a prey to the intrigues of a set of women and clerks ? For
shame ! If he be dangerous, I will lay him low enough; if, however, he
be only persecuted, I will look on. I have come to such a decisive deter-
mination, that neither king nor living man shall change my opinion. If
Athos were here, he would do as I have done. Therefore, instead of
going, cold-bloodedly, up to M. Pouquet, and arresting him off-hand
and shutting him up altogether, I will try and conduct myself like a
man who understands what good manners are. People will talk
about it, of course ; but they sball talk well of it, I am determined."
And d'Artagnan, drawing by a gesture peculiar to himself his shoulder-
belt over his shoulder, went straight off to M. Pouquet, who, after he
had taken leave of his guests, was preparing to retire for the night
and to sleep tranquilly after the triumphs of the day. The air was
still perfumed or infected, whichever way it may be considered, with
the odour of the fireworks. The wax-lights were dying away in their
THE SHADOW OF M. FOTTQUET. 397
sockets, the flowers fell unfastened from the garlands, the groups of
dancers and courtiers were separating in the saloons. Surrounded by
his friends, who complimented him and received his flattering remarks
in return, the surintendant half-closed his wearied eyes. He longed
for rest and quiet; he sank upon the bed of laurels which had been
heaped up for him for so many days past; it might almost have been
said that he seemed bowed beneath the weight of the new debts which
he had incurred for the purpose of giving the greatest possible honour
to this fete. Fouquet had just retired to his room, still smiling, but
more than half-dead. He could listen to nothing more, he could
hardly keep his eyes open; his bed seemed to possess a fascinating and
irresistible attraction for him. The god Morpheus, the presiding deity
of the dome painted by Lebrun, had extended his influence over the
adjoining rooms, and showered down his most sleep-inducing poppies
upon the master of the house. Fouquet, almost entirely alone, was
being assisted by his valet-de-chambre to undress, when M. d'Artagnan
appeared at the entrance of the room. D'Artagnan had never been
able to succeed in making himself common at the court; and not-
withstanding he was seen everywhere and on all occasions, he never
failed to produce an effect wherever and whenever he made his
appearance. Such is the happy privilege of certain natures, which
in that respect resemble either thunder or lightning; every one
recognizes them; but their appearance never fails to arouse surprise
and astonishment, and whenever they occur the impression is always
left that the last was the loudest or brightest and most violent.
""What! M. d'Artagnan?" said Fouquet, who had already taken his
right arm out of the sleeve of his doublet.
" At your service," replied the musketeer.
" Come in," my dear M. d'Artagnan." " Thank you."
" Have you come to criticise the fete ? You are ingenious enough in
your criticisms, I know ? " " By no means."
" Are not your men looked after properly ? " " In every way."
" You are not comfortably lodged, perhaps ?"
" Nothing could be better."
" In that case, I have to thank you for being so amiably disposed, and
I must not fail to express my obligations to you for all your flattering
kindness."
These words were as much as to say, " My dear d'Artagnan, pray go
to bed, since you have a bed to lie down on, and let me do the same."
D'Artagnan did not seem to understand it.
" Are you going to bed already ? " he said to the surintendant.
" Yes; have you anything to say to me ? "
" Nothing, monsieur, nothing at all. You sleep in this room, then ?"
" Yes; as you see."
" You have given a most charming fete to the king."
"Do you think so ? "
" Oh! beautiful!" " Is the king pleased ? "
" Enchanted." " Did he desire you to say as much to me ? "
"He would not choose so unworthy a messenger, monseigneur."
"You do not do yourself justice, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" Is that your bed, there ?"
" Yes; but why do you ask ? Are you not satisfied with your own ?"
"May I speak frankly to you ?" " Most assuredly."
"Well, then, I am not."
Fouquet started; and then replied, " Will you take my room, Mon-
isieur d'Artagnan ? "
398 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" What! deprive you of it, monseigneur ? never!"
" What am I to do, then ?" " Allow me to share yours with you."
Fouquet looked at the musketeer fixedly, " Ah! ah!" he said,
" you have just left the king." " I have, monseigneur."
"And the king wishes you to pass the night in my room ?"
" Monseigneur " " Yery well, Monsieur d'Artagnan, very well.
You are the master here."
" I assure you, monseigneur, that I do not wish to abuse "
Fouquet turned to his valet, and said, " Leave us." When the man
had left, he said to d'Artagnan, " You have something to say to me ?"
« j « a man 0f your superior intelligence cannot have come to
talk with a man like myself, at such an hour as the present, without
grave motives." " Do not interrogate me."
" On the contrary. What do you want with me ?"
" Nothing more than the pleasure of your society."
" Come into the garden, then," said the surintendant suddenly, " or
into the park." " No," replied the musketeer hastily, "no."
" Why ? " " The fresh air "
" Come, admit at once that you arrest me," said the surintendant to
the captain. " Never !" said the latter.
" You intend to look after me, then ?"
"Yes, monseigneur, I do, upon my honour."
" Upon your honour!—ah! that is quite another thing! so I am
to be arrested in my own house." " Do not say such a thing."
" On the contrary, I will proclaim it aloud."
" If you do so, I shall be compelled to request you to be silent."
" Yery good! Violence towards me, and in my own house, too!"
"We do not seem to understand each other at all. Stay a moment;
there is a chess-board there; we will have a game, if you have no objec-
tion." " Monsieur d'Artagnan, I am in disgrace, then ? "
" Not at all; but "
" I am prohibited, I suppose, from withdrawing from your sight."
" 1 da not understand a word you are saying, monseigneur; and if
you wish me to withdraw, tell me so."
" My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, your mode of action is enough to
drive me mad ; I was almost sinking for want of sleep, but you have
completely awakened me."
" I shall never forgive myself, I am sure; and if you wish to reconcile
me with myself, why go to sleep in your bed in my presence; I shall be
delighted at it."
" I am under surveillance, I see."
" I will leave the room if you say such a thing as that."
" You are beyond my comprehension."
" Good night, monseigneur," said d'Artagnan, as he pretended to
withdraw.
Fouquet ran after him. "I will not lie down," he said. "Seriously,
and since you refuse to treat me as a man, and since you finesse with
me, I will try and set you at bay, as a hunter does a wild boar."
" Bah!" cried d'Artagnan,.pretending to smile.
" I shall order my horses, and set of for Paris," said Fouquet, sounding
the heart of the captain of the musketeers.
" If that be the case, monseigneur, it is very different."
" You will arrest me, then ?"
"No, but I shall go with you."
" That is quite sufficient, Monsieur d'Artagnan," returned Fouquet,
in a cold tone of voice. " It is not idly that you have acquired your
THE SHADOW OE M. FOUQUET. 899
reputation as a man of intelligence and full of resources; but with me
that is quite superfluous. Let us two come to the point. Grant me a
service. Why do you arrest me ? What have I done ?"
" Oh! I know nothing about what you may have done; but I do not
arrest you—this evening, at least!"
" This evening !" said Fouquet, turning pale, " but to-morrow ?"
" It is not to-morrow just yet, monseigneur. Who can ever answer
for the morrow ? "
" Quick, quick, captain ! let me speak to M. d'Herblay."
" Alas ! that is quite impossible, monseigneur. I have strict orders to
see that you hold no communication with any one."
" With M. d'Herblay, captain—with your friend !"
"Monseigneur, is M. d'Herblay the only person with whom you
. ought to be prevented holding any communication ? "
Fouquet coloured, and then assuming an air of resignation, he said:
" You are right, monsieur; you have taught me a lesson that I ought
not to have provoked. A fallen man cannot assert his right to anything,
even from those whose fortunes he may have made; for a still greater
reason, he cannot claim anything from those to whom he may never
have had the happiness of doing a service."
" Monseigneur !" " It is perfectly true, Monsieur d'Artagnan ;
you have always acted in the most admirable manner towards me—id
such a manner, indeed, as most becomes the man who is destined to
arrest me. You, at least, have never asked me anything."
" Monseigneur," replied the Gascon, touched by his eloquent and noble
tone of grief, " will you, I ask it as a favour, pledge me your word as a
man of honour that you will not leave this room ? "
" What is the use of it, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, since you keep
watch and ward over me? Do you suppose that I should struggle
against the most valiant sword in the kingdom ? " .
" It is not that, at all, monseigneur; but that I am going to look for
M. d'Herblay, and, consequently, to leave you alone."
Fouquet uttered a cry of delight and surprise.
" To look for M. d'Herblay! to leave me alone!" he exclaimed,
clasping his hands together.
" Which is M. d'Herblay's room ? The blue room, is it not ? "
"Yes, my friend, yes."
" Your friend! thank you for that word, monseigneur; you confer it
upon me to-day, at least, even if you have never done so before."
"Ah! you have saved me."
" It will take me a good ten minutes to go from hence to the blue
room, and to return ?" said d'Artagnan " Nearly so."
" And then to wake Aramis, who sleeps very soundly when he is
asleep, I put that down at another five minutes; making a total of
fifteen minutes' absence. And now, monseigneur, give me your word
that you will not in any way attempt to make your escape, and that
when I return, I shall find you here again."
" I give it you, monsieur," replied Fouquet, with an expression of the'
warmest and deepest gratitude.
D'Artagnan disappeared. Fouquet looked at him as he quitted the
room, waited with a feverish impatience until the door was closed
behind him, and as soon as it was shut, flew to his keys, opened two or
three secret doors concealed in various articles of furniture in the room,
looked vainly for certain papers, which doubtless he had left at Saint-
Mande, and which he seemed to regret not having found in them; then
hurriedly seizing hold of letters, contracts, paper writings, he heaped
400 THE VICOMTE EE BKAGELONNE.
them up into a pile, which he burnt in the extremest haste upon the
marble hearth of the fire-place, not even taking time to draw from the
interior of it the vases and pots of flowers with which it was filled. As
soon as he had finished, like a man who has just escaped an imminent
danger, and whose strength abandons him as soon as the danger is past,
he sank down completely overcome on a couch. When d'Artagnan
returned, he found Pouquet in the same position; the worthy mus-
keteer had not the slightest doubt that Pouquet, having given his word,
would not even think of failing to keep it, but he had thought it most
likely that Pouquet would turn his (d'Artagnan's) absence to the best
advantage in getting rid of all the papers, memorandums, and contracts,
which might possibly render his position, which was even now serious
enough, still more dangerous than ever. And so, lifting up his head
like a dog who gains the scent, he perceived a certain odour resembling
smoke which he fully relied upon finding in the atmosphere, and having
found it, he made a movement of his head in token of satisfaction.
When d'Artagnan had entered, Pouquet had, on his side, raised his
head, and not one of d'Artagnan's movements had escaped him. And
then the looks of the two men met, and they both saw that they had
understood each other without exchanging a syllable.
" Well!" asked Pouquet, the first to speak. " and M. d'Herblay ? "
"Upon my word, monseigneur," replied d'Artagnan, "M. d'Herblay
must be desperately fond of walks by night, and composing verses by
moonlight in the park of Vaux, with some of your poets, in all proba-
bility, for he is not in his own room."
" What! not in his own room ?" cried Pouquet, whose last hope had
thus escaped him; for unless he could ascertain in what way the bishop
of Yannes could assist him, he perfectly well knew that in reality he
could not expect assistance from any one but him.
" Or, indeed," continued d'Artagnan, " if he is in his own room, he
has very good reasons for not answering."
" But surely you did not call him in such a manner that he could
have heard you ? "
" You can hardly suppose, monseigneur, that having already exceeded
my orders, which forbade me leaving you a single moment—you can
hardly suppose, I say, that I should have been mad enough to rouse the
whole house and allow myself to be seen in the corridor of the bishop of
Yannes, in order that M. Colbert might state with positive certainty
that I gave you time to burn your papers."
"My papers?" "Of course; at least that is what I should have
done in your place; when any one opens a door for me, I always avail
myself of it."
" Yes, yes, and I thank you, for I have availed myself of it."
"And you have done perfectly right. Every man has his own
peculiar secrets with which others have nothing to do. But let us
return to Aramis, monseigneur."
" Well, then, I tell you, you could not have called loud enough, or
.Aramis would have heard you."
"However softly any one may call Aramis, monseigneur, Aramis
always hears when he has an interest in hearing. I repeat what I said
before—Aramis was not in his own room, or Aramis had certain reasons
for not recognizing my voice, of which I am ignorant, and of which you
even may be ignorant yourself, notwithstanding your liege-man is his
greatness the lord bishop of Vannes."
Pouquet drew a deep sigh, rose from his seat, made three or four
turns in his room, and finished by seating himself, with an expression of
THE SHADOW OP M. FOUQUET. 401
extreme dejection, upon his magnificent bed with velvet hangings, and
trimmed with the costliest lace. D'Artagnan looked at Fouquet with
feelings of the deepest and sincerest pity.
" I have seen a good many men arrested in my life," said the mus-
keteer, sadly; " I have seen both M. de Cinq-Mars and M. de Clialais
arrested, though I was very young then. I have seen M. de Conde
arrested with the princes; I have seen M. de Betz arrested; I have
seen M. Broussel arrested. Stay a moment, monseigneur, it is disa-
greeable to have to say, but the very one of all those whom you most
resemble at this moment was that poor fellow Broussel. You were
very near doing as he did, putting your dinner napkin in your port-
folio, and wiping your mouth with your papers. Mordioux! Mon-
seigneur Fouquet, a man like you ought not to be dejected in this
manner. Suppose your friends saw you."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," returned the surintendant, with a smile
full of gentleness, " you do not understand me; it is precisely because
my friends do not see me, that I am such as you see me now. I do not
live, exist even, isolated from others; I am nothing when left to myself.
Understand that throughout my whole life I have passed every moment
of my time in making friends, whom I hoped to render my stay and
support. In times of prosperity, all these cheerful, happy voices—and
rendered so through and by my means—formed in my honour a concert
of praises and kindly actions. In the least disfavour, these humbler
voices accompanied in harmonious accents the murmur of my own
heart. Isolation I have never yet known. Poverty (a phantom I have
sometimes beheld, clad in rags, awaiting me at the end of my journey
through life)—this poverty has been the spectre with which many of my
own friends have trifled for years past, which they poetize and caress,
and which has attracted me towards them. Poverty! I accept it,
acknowledge it, receive it, as a disinherited sister; for poverty is not
solitude, nor exile, nor imprisonment. Is it likely 1 shall ever be poor,
with such friends as Pelisson, as La Fontaine, as Moliere ? with such a
mistress as Oh! if you knew how utterly lonely and desolate I
feel at this moment, and how you, who separate me from all I love,
seem to resemble the image of solitude, of annihilation, and of death
itself."
"But I have already told you, Monsieur Fouquet," replied d'Artag-
nan, moved to the depths of his soul, " that you exaggerate matters a
great deal too much. The king likes you."
" No, no," said Fouquet, shaking his head.
"M. de Colbert hates you."
" M. de Colbert! What does that matter to me ?"
" He will ruin you."
" Oh ! I defy him to do that, for I am ruined already."
At this singular confession of the surintendant, d'Artagnan cast his
glance all round the room; and although he did not open his lips, Fou-
quet understood him so thoroughly, that he added: " What can be
done with such we'alth of substance as surrounds us, when a man can no
longer cultivate his taste for the magnificent ? Do you know what good
the greater part of the wealth and the possessions which we rich enjoy,
confer upon us? merely to disgust us, by their very splendour even,
with everything which does not equal this splendour. vaux ! you will
say, and the wonders of Vaux! What then ? What boot these won-
ders ? If I am ruined, how shall I fill with water the urns which my
Naiads bear in their arms, or force the air into the lungs of my Tritons ?
To be rich enough, Monsieur d'Artagnan, a man must be too rich."
VOL. II. 2 D
402 THE VICOHTE BE BBAGELOKKE.
B'Artagnan shook his head.
" Oh ! I know very well what you think," replied Pouquet quickly.
"If Vaux were yours, you would sell it, and would purchase an estate
in the country; an estate which should have woods, orchards, and land
attached, and that this estate should be made to support its master.
"With forty millions you might "
" Ten millions," interrupted d'Artagnan.
" Not a million, my dear captain. No one in Prance is rich enough
to give two millions for Vaux, and to continue to maintain it as I have
done; no one could do it, no one would know how."
" Well," said d'Artagnan," in any case, a million is not abject misery."
" It is not far from it, my dear monsieur. But you do not understand
me. No; I will not sell my residence at Yaux; I will give it to you,
if you like ;" and Pouquet accompanied these words with a movement
of the shoulders to which it would be impossible to do justice.
" Give it to the king; you will make a better bargain."
" The king does not require me to give it to him," said Pouquet; "he
will take it away from me with the most perfect ease and grace, if it
please him to do so; and that is the reason why I should prefer to see
it perish. Bo you know, Monsieur d'Artagnan, that if the king did not
happen to be under my roof, I would take this candle, go straight to the
dome, and set fire to a couple of huge chests of fusees and fireworks
which are in reserve there, and would reduce my palace to ashes."
" Bah!" said the musketeer, negligently. " At all events, you would
not be able to burn the gardens, and that is the best part about the
place."
"And yet," resumed Pouquet, thoughtfully, "what was I saying?
Great Heavens! burn Yaux! destroy my palace! But Yaux is not
mine; this wealth, these wonderful creations are, it is true, the property,
as far as sense of enjoyment goes, of the man who has paid for them;
but as far as duration is concerned, they belong to those who created
them. Yaux belongs to Lebrun, to Lenotre, to Pelisson, to Levan,
to La Pontaine, to Moliere ; Vaux belongs to posterity, in fact. You
see, Monsieur d'Artagnan, that my very house ceases to be my own."
" That is all well and good " said d'Artagnan; " that idea is agreeable
enough, and I recognize M. Pouquet himself in it. That idea, indeed,
makes me forget that poor fellow Broussel altogether; and I now fail
to recognize in you the whining complaints of that old frondeur. If
you are ruined, monsieur, look at the affair manfully, for you too, mor-
diou-x ! belong to posterity, and have no right to lessen yourself in any
way. Stay a moment, look at me, I who seem to exercise in a degree a
kind of superiority over you, because I arrest you; fate, which distri-
butes their different parts to the comedians of this world, accorded to
me a less agreeable and less advantageous part to fill than yours has
been; I am one of those who think that the parts which kings and
powerful nobles are called upon to act are infinitely of more worth than
the parts of beggars or lackeys. It is far better on the stage—on the
stage, I mean, of another theatre than the theatre of this world,—it is
far better to wear a fine coat and to talk fine language, than to walk the
boards shod with a pair of old shoes, or to get one's backbone gently
caressed by a sound thrashing with a stick. In one word, you have been
a prodigal with money, you have ordered and been obeyed—have been
steeped to the lips in enjoyment; while I have dragged my tether after
me, have been commanded and have obeyed, and have drudged my life
away. "Well! although I may seem of such trifling importance beside
you, monseigneur, I do declare to you, that the recollection of what I
the shadow of m. tottqttet. 403
have done serves me as a spur, and prevents me from bowing my old
head too soon. I shall remain unto the very end, a good trooper; and
when my turn comes, I shall fall perfectly straight, all in a heap, still
alive, after having selected my place beforehand. Do as I do, Monsieur
Eouquet, you will not find yourself the worse for it; that happens only
once in a lifetime to men like yourself, and the chief thing is, to do it well
when the chance presents itself. There is a Latin proverb,—the words
have escaped me, but I remember the sense of it very well, for I
have thought over it more than once, which says,' The end crowns the
work !'"
Eouquet rose from his seat, passed his arm round d'Artagnan's neck,
and clasped him in a close embrace, whilst with the other hand he
pressed his hand. " An excellent homily," he said after a moment's
pause. "A soldier's, monseigneur."
" You have a regard for me, in telling me all that." "Perhaps."
Eouquet resumed his pensive attitude once more, and then, a moment
after, he said" Where can M. d'Herblay be ? I dare not ask you to
send for him."
" You would not ask me, because I would not do it, Monsieur Eou-
quet. People would learn it, and Aramis, who is not mixed up with
the affair, might possibly be compromised and included in your
disgrace."
"I will wait here till daylight," said Eouquet. " Yes; that is best."
" What shall we do when daylight comes ? "
" I know nothing at all about it, monseigneur."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan, will you do me a favour ? "
" Most willingly."
" You guard me, I remain, you are acting in the full discharge of
your duty, I suppose ? " " Certainly."
" Yery good, then ; remain as close to me as my shadow, if you like;
and I infinitely prefer such a shadow to any one else."
D'Artagnan bowed at this compliment.
"But, forget that you are Monsieur d'Artagnan, captain of the
musketeers; forget that I am Monsieur Eouquet, surintendant of the
finances; and let us talk about my affairs."
" That is rather a delicate subject." " Indeed ? "
"Yes; but, for your sake, Monsieur Eouquet, I will do what may
almost be regarded as an impossibility."
" Thank you. What did the king say to you ?" " Nothing."
"Ah! is that the way you talk ? " " The deuce! "
" What do you think of my situation ? " " Nothing "
" However, unless you have some ill feeling against me "
" Your position is a difficult one."
"In what respect ? " " Because you are under your own roof."
" However difficult it may be, yet 1 understand it very well."
" Do you suppose that, with any one else but yourself, 1 should have
shown so much frankness ? "
" What! so much frankness, do you say ? you, who refuse to tell me
the slightest thing ? "
" At all events, then, so much ceremony and consideration."
" Ah! I have nothing to say in that respect."
"One moment, monseigneur; let me tell you how I should have
behaved towards any one else but yourself. It might be, that I hap-
pened to arrive at your door just as your guests or your friends had
left you—or, if they had not yet gone, I should wait until they were
leaving, and should then catch them one after the other, like rabbits;
2d2
404 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
I should lock them up quietly enough; I should steal softly along the
carpet of your corridor, and with one hand upon you, before you
suspected the slightest thing about it, I should keep you safely until my
master's breakfast in the morning. In this way, I should just the same
have avoided all publicity, all disturbance, all opposition; but there
would also have been no warning for M. Fouquet, no consideration for
his feelings, none of those delicate concessions which are shown by
persons who are essentially courteous in their natures, whenever the
decisive moment may arrive. Are you satisfied with that plan ? "
" It makes me shudder."
" I thought you would not like it. It would have been very dis-
agreeable to have made your appearance to-morrow, without any pre-
paration, and to have asked you to deliver up your sword."
" Oh! monsieur, I should have died from sheer shame and anger."
"Your gratitude is too eloquently expressed. I have not done
enough to deserve it, I assure you."
" Most certainly, monsieur, you will never get me to believe that."
""Well, then, monseigneur, if you are satisfied with what I have
done, and have somewhat recovered from the shock which I prepared
you for as much as I possibly could, let us allow the few hours that
remain to pass away undisturbed. You are harassed, and require to
arrange your thoughts; I beg you, therefore, to go to sleep, or pretend
to go to sleep, either on your bed, or in your bed; I shall sleep in this
arm-chair; and when I fall asleep, my rest is so sound that a cannon
would not wake me."
Fouquet smiled. " I except, however," continued the musketeer,
" the case of a door being opened, whether a secret door, or any other;
or the case of any one going out of, or coming into, the room. For
anything like that, my ear is as quick and sensitive as possible. Any
creaking noise makes me start. It arises, I suppose, from a natural
antipathy to anything of the kind. Move about as much as you like;
walk up and down in any part of the room ; write, efface, destroy, burn
—nothing like that will prevent me from going to sleep, or even pre-
vent me from snoring; but do not touch either the key or the handle
of the door! for I should start up in a moment, and that would shake
my nerves terribly."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Fouquet, " you are certainly the most
witty and the most courteous man I ever met with; and you will leave
me only one regret, that of having made your acquaintance so late."
D'Artagnan drew a deep sigh, which seemed to say, " Alas! you have
perhaps made it too soon." He then settled himself in his arm-chair,
while Fouquet, half lying on his bed and leaning on his arm, was
meditating upon his adventure. In this way, both of them, leaving the
candles burning, awaited the first dawn of day; and when Fouquet
happened to sigh too loudly, d'Artagnan only snored the louder. Not
a single visit, not even from Aramis, disturbed their quietude: not a
sound, even, was heard throughout the vast palace. Outside, however,
the guards of honour on duty, and the patrols of the musketeers, paced
up and down; and the sound of their feet could be heard on the gravel
walks. It seemed to act as an additional soporific for the sleepers;
while the murmuring of the wind through the trees, and the unceasing
music of the fountains, whose waters fell tumbling into the basins, still
went on uninterruptedly, without being disturbed at the slight noises
and matters of trifling moment which constitute the life and death of
human nature.
THE MOBNING.
405
CHAPTER LXXXVIL
The Morning.
In opposition to the sad and terrible destiny of the king imprisoned
in the Bastille, and tearing, in sheer despair, the bolts and bars of his
dungeon, the rhetoric of the chroniclers of old would not fail to present,
as a complete antithesis, the picture of Philippe lying asleep beneath
the royal canopy. "We do not pretend to say that such rhetoric is
always bad, and always scatters, in places it should not, the flowers with
which it embellishes and enlivens history. But we shall, on the present
occasion, carefully avoid polishing the antithesis in question, but shall
proceed to draw another picture as carefully as possible, to serve as a
companion to the one we have drawn in the last chapter. The young
prince descended from Aramis's room, in the same way the king had
descended from the apartment dedicated to Morpheus. The dome
gradually and slowly sank down under Aramis's pressure, and Philippe
stood beside the royal bed, which had ascended again after having
deposited its prisoner in the secret depths of the subterranean passage.
Alone, in the presence of all the luxury which surrounded him; alone,
in the presence of his power; alone, with the part he was about to be
forced to act, Philippe for the first time felt his heart, and mind, and
soul expand beneath the influence of a thousand varied emotions, which
are the vital throbs of a king's heart. But he could not help changing
colour when he looked upon the empty bed, still tumbled by his
brother's body. This mute accomplice had returned, after having
completed the work it had been destined to perform; it returned with
the traces of the crime; it spoke to the guilty author of that crime,
with the frank and unreserved language which an accomplice never
fears using towardsJhs companion in guilt; for it spoke the truth.
Philippe bent over the bed, and perceived a pocket-handkerchief lying
on it, which was still damp from the cold sweat which had poured
from Louis XIV.'s face. This sweat-bestained handkerchief terrified
Philippe, as the blood of Abel had terrified Cain.
"I am now face to face with my destiny," said Philippe, with his
eyes on fire, and his face lividly white. " Is it likely to be more
terrifying than my captivity has been sad and gloomy ? "When I am
compelled to follow out, at every moment, the sovereign power and
authority I have usurped, shall I never cease to listen to the scruples
of my heart ? Yes! the king has lain on this bed; it is indeed his
head that has left its impression on this pillow; his bitter tears which
have stained this handkerchief; and yet, I hesitate to throw myself
on the bed, or to press in my nand the handkerchief which is em-
broidered with my brother's arms. Away with this weakness; let me
imitate Mi d'Herblay, who asserts that a man's action should always be
one degree above his thought; let me imitate M. d'Herblay, whose
thoughts are of and for himself alone, who regards himself as a man
of honour, so long as he injures or betrays his enemies only. I, I
alone, should have occupied this bed, if Louis XIV. had not, owing to
my mother's criminal abandonment of me, stood in my way; and this
handkerchief, embroidered with the arms of Prance, would, in right
and justice, belong to me alone, if, as M. d'Herblay observes, I had been
left in my place in the royal cradle. Philippe, son of Prance, take your
place on that bed; Philippe, sole king of Prance, resume the blazonry
406 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
which is yours ! Philippe, sole heir presumptive to Louis XIII., your
father, show yourself without pity or mercy for the usurper who, at this
moment, has not even to suffer the agony of the remorse of all that you
have had to submit to."
With these words, Philippe, notwithstanding an instinctive repug-
nance of feeling, and in spite of the shudder of terror which mastered
his will, threw himself on the royal bed, and forced his muscles to press the
still warm place where Louis XIV. had lain, while he buried his burning
face in the handkerchief still moistened by his brother's tears. With
his head thrown back and buried in the soft down of his pillow,
Philippe perceived above him the crown of Prance, suspended, as we
have stated, by angels with outspread golden wings.
A man may be ambitious of lying in a lion's den, but can hardly hope
to sleep there quietly. Philippe listened attentively to every sound;
his heart panted and throbbed at the very suspicion of approaching
terror and misfortune; but confident in his own strength, which was
confirmed by the force of an overpowering resolute determination, he
waited until some decisive circumstance should permit him to judge
for himself. He hoped that some imminent danger would be
revealed for him, like those phosphoric lights of the tempest which
show the sailors the altitude of the waves against which they have to
struggle. But nothing approached. Silence, the mortal enemy of rest-
less hearts, the mortal enemy of ambitious minds, shrouded in the
thickness of its gloom during the remainder of the night the future
king of Prance, who lay there sheltered beneath his stolen crown.
Towards the morning a shadow, rather than a body, glided into the royal
chamber; Philippe expected his approach, and neither expressed nor
exhibited any surprise.
"Well, M. d'Herblay ?" he said. "Well, sire, all is done."
" How ?" " Exactly as we expected."
"Did he resist?" " Terribly! tears and entreaties."
" And then ? " " A perfect stupor."
"But, at last?" "Oh! at last, a complete victory, and absolute
silence."
"Did the governor of the Bastille suspect anything?" "Nothing."
"The resemblance, however—— "That was the cause of the
success."
" But the prisoner cannot fail to explain himself. Think well of that.
I have myself been able to do that, on a former occasion." •
"I have already provided for everything. In a few days, sooner
if necessary, we will take the captive out of his prison and will send
him out of the country, to a place of exile so remote ."
" People can return from their exile, Monsieur d'Herblay."
" To a place of exile so distant, I was going to say, that human strength
and the duration of human life would not be enough for his return."
And once more a cold look of intelligence passed between Aramis and
the young king.
"And M. du Vallon?" asked Philippe, in order to change the con-
versation.
" He will be presented to you to-day, and confidentially will con-
gratulate you on the danger which that conspirator has made you run."
" What is to be done with him ?" " With M. du Vallon ?"
" Yes; confer a dukedom on him, I suppose."
"A dukedom," replied Aramis, smiling in a significant manner.
" Why do you laugh, Monsieur d'Herblay ?"
" I laugh at the extreme caution of your idea,"
THE MOBNING. 407
" Cautious, why so ?"
" Your majesty is doubtless afraid that that poor Porthos may pro-
bably become a troublesome witness, and you wish to get rid of him."
" What! in making him a duke ?"
" Certainly; you would assuredly kill him, for he would die from joy,
and the secret would die with him."
" Good heavens!" " Yes," said Aramis phlegmatioally; "I should
lose a very good friend."
At this moment, and in the middle of this idle conversation, under
the light tone of which the two conspirators concealed their joy and
pride at their mutual success, Aramis heard something which made
him prick up his ears.
" What is that ?" said Philippe. " The dawn, sire."
"Well?" "Well, before you retired to bed last night, you pro-
bably decided to do something this morning at the break of day."
"Yes, I told my captain of the musketeers," replied the young man
hurriedly, "that I should expect him."
" If you told him that, he will certainly be here, for he is a most
punctual man."
" I hear a step in the vestibule."——" It must be he."
" Come, let us begin the attack," said the young king resolutely.
"Be cautious, for heaven's sake; to begin the attack, and with
d'Artagnan, would be madness. D'Artagnan knows nothing, he has
seen nothing; he is a hundred miles from suspecting our mystery in
the slightest degree; but if he comes into this room the first this
morning, he will be sure to detect something which has taken place, and
which he would think his business to occupy himself about. Before we
allow d'Artagnan to penetrate into this room, we must air the room
thoroughly, or introduce so many people into it, that the keenest scent
in the whole kingdom may be deceived by the traces of twenty different
persons."
" But how can I send him away, since I have given him a rendez-
vous?" observed the prince, impatient to measure swords with so
redoubtable an antagonist.
" I will take care of that," replied the bishop, " and in order to begin,
I am going to strike a blow which will completely stupify our man."
" He too is striking a blow, for I hear him at the door," added the
prince hurriedly.
And in fact, a knock at the door was heard at that moment. Aramis
was not mistaken; for it was indeed d'Artagnan who adopted that mode
of announcing himself.
We have seen how he passed the night in philosophizing with
M. Fouquet, but the musketeer was very wearied even of feigning to
fall asleep, and as soon as the dawn illumined with its pale blue light
the sumptuous cornices of the surintendant's room, d'Artagnan rose
from his arm-chair, arranged his sword, brushed his coat and hat with
his sleeve, like a private soldier getting ready for inspection.
'j Are you going out ?" said Fouquet.
' Yes, monseigneur. And you ?" " No, I shall remain."
" You give me your word?" " Certainly."
" Very good. Besides, my only reason for going out, is to try and
get that reply,—you know what I mean ? "
" That sentence, you mean "
" Stay, I have something of the old Boman in me. This morning,
when I got up, I remarked that my sword had not caught in one of
the aigvAllettes, and that my shoulder-belt had slipped quite off. That
is an infallible sign."
408 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" Of prosperity ?" "Yes, be sure of it; for every time that thati
confounded belt of mine sticks fast to my back, it always signified a
punishment from M. de Treville, or a refusal of money by M. de
Mazarin. Every time my sword hung fast to my shoulder-belt, it
always predicted some disagreeable commission or another for me to
execute, and I have had showers of them all my life through. Every
time, too, my sword danced about in its sheath, a duel, fortunate in its
result, was sure to follow; whenever it dangled about the calves of my
legs, it was a slight wound; every time it fell completely out of the
scabbard, I was booked, and made up my mind that I should have to
remain on the field of battle, with two or three months under the
surgeon's care into the bargain."
" I never knew your sword kept you so well informed," said Eouquet,
with a faint smile, which showed how he was struggling against his own
weaknesses. " Is your sword bewitched, or under the influence of some
charm ?"
" IVliy, you must know that my sword may almost be regarded as
part of my own body. I have heard that certain men seem to have
warnings given them by feeling something the matter with their legs,
or by a throbbing of their temples. With me, it is my sword that
warns me. Well, it told me of nothing this morning. But, stay a
moment—look here, it has just fallen of its own accord into the last
hole of the belt. Do you know what that is a warning of?" " No."
" Well, that tells me of an arrest that will have to be made this very day."
" Well," said the surintendant, more astonished than annoyed by
this frankness," if there is nothing disagreeable predicted to you by your
sword, I am to conclude that it is not disagreeable for you to arrest me.5"
" You! arrest you !" " Of course. The warning "
" Does not concern you, since you have been arrested ever since
yesterday. It is not you I shall have to arrest, be assured of that.
That is the reason why I am delighted, and also the reason why I said
that my day will be a happy one."
And with these words, pronounced with the most affectionate gra-
ciousness of manner, the captain took leave of Eouquet in order to
wait upon the king. He was on the point of leaving the room, when
Eouauet said to him, " One last mark of your kindness."
" What is it, monseigneur ?"
" M. d'Herblay; let me see Monsieur d'Herblay."
" I am going to try and get him to come to you."
D'Artagnan did not think himself so good a prophet. It was written
that the day would pass away and realize all the predictions that had
been made in the morning. He had accordingly knocked, as we have
seen, at the king's door. The door opened. The captain thought that
it was the king who had just opened it himself; and this supposition
was not altogether inadmissible, considering the state of agitation in
which he had left Louis XIY. the previous evening; but instead of
his royal master, whom he was on the point of saluting with the
greatest respect, he perceived the long, calm features of Aramis. So
extreme was his surprise, that he could hardly refrain from uttering
a loud exclamation. " Aramis!" he said.
" Good morning, dear d'Artagnan," replied the prelate, coldly.
" You here!" stammered out the musketeer.
"His majesty desires you to report that he is still sleeping, after
having been greatly fatigued during the whole night."
"Ah!" said d'Artagnan, who could not understand how the bishop
of Yannes, who had been so indifferent a favourite the previous evening,
the king's fkiend. 40S»
had become in half a dozen hours the largest mushroom of fortune
which had ever sprung up in a sovereign's bedroom. In fact, to trans-
mit the orders of the king even to the mere threshold of that monarch's
room, to serve as an intermediary of Louis XIV., so as to be able to
give a single order in his name at a couple of paces from him, he must
be greater than Richelieu had ever been to Louis XIII. D'Artagnan's
expressive eye, his half-opened lips, his curling moustache, said as
much indeed in the plainest language to the chief favourite, who
remained calm and perfectly unmoved.
" Moreover," continued the bishop, " you will be good enough,
monsieur le capitaine des mousquetaires, to allow those only to pass
int9 the king's room this morning who have special permission. His
majesty does not wish to be disturbed just yet."
" But," objected d'Artagnan, almost on the point of refusing to obey
this order, and particularly of giving unrestrained passage to the sus-
picions which the king's silence had aroused—" but, monsieur l'eveque,
his majesty gave me a rendezvous for this morning."
" Later, later," said the king's voice, from the bottom of the alcove; a
voice which made a cold shudder pass through the musketeer's veins.
He bowed, amazed, confused, and stupified by the smile with which
Aramis seemed to overwhelm him, as soon as those words had been
pronounced.
" And then," continued the bishop, " as an answer to what you were
coming to ask the king, my dear d'Artagnan, here is an order of his
majesty, which you will be good enough to attend to forthwith, for it
concerns M. Fouquet."
D'Artagnan took the order which was held out to him. " To be set
at liberty!" he murmured. "Ah!" and he uttered a second "ah!"
still more full of intelligence than the former; for this order explained
Aramis's presence with the king, and that Aramis, in order to have
obtained Fouquet's pardon, must have made considerable progress in
the royal favour, and that this favour explained, in its tenor, the
hardly conceivable assurance with which M. d'Herblay issued the
orders in the king's name. For d'Artagnan it was quite sufficient to
have understood something in order to understand everything. He
bowed and withdrew a couple of steps, as if he were about to leave.
" I am going with you," said the bishop. " "Where to?"
" To M. Fouquet; I wish to be a witness of his delight."
" Ah ! Aramis, how you puzzled me j ust now!" said d'Artagnan agam.
" But you understand now, I suppose ?"
" Of course I understand," he said, aloud; but then added in a low
tone to himself, almost hissing the words through his teeth, "No, no,
I do not understand yet. But it is all the same, for here is the order
for it." And then he added, "I will lead the way, monseigneur," and
he conducted Aramis to Fouquet's apartments.
CHAPTER LXXXV1II.
The King's Friend.
Fouquet was waiting with anxiety; he had already sent away many
of his servants and his friends, who, anticipating the usual hour of
his ordinary receptions, had called at his door to inquire after him.
Preserving the utmost silence respecting the danger which hung sus-
410 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
pended over his head, he only asked them, as he did every one indeed
who came to the door, where Aramis was. When he saw d'Artagnan
return, and when he perceived the bishop of Yannes behind him, he
could hardly restrain his delight; it was fully equal to his previous
uneasiness. The mere sight of Aramis was a complete compensation
to the surintendant for the uuhappiness he had undergone in being
arrested. The prelate was silent and grave; d'Artagnan completely
bewildered by such an accumulation of events.
" Well, captain; so you have brought M. d'Herblay to me ?"
" And something better still, monseigneur."
" Y/hat is that ?" " Liberty."
" I am free!" " Yes; by the king^s order."
bouquet resumed his usual serenity, that he might interrogate
Aramis with his look.
" Oh ! yes, you can thank M. l'eveque de Yannes," pursued d'Artag-
nan, " for it is indeed to him that you owe the change that has taken
place in the king."
" Oh!" said Fouquet, more humiliated at the service than grateful at
its success.
" But you," continued d'Artagnan, addressing Aramis—" you, who
have become M. Fouquet's protector and patron, can you not do some-
thing for me?"
" Anything you like, my friend," replied the bishop, in a calm voice.
" One thing only, then, and I shall be perfectly satisfied. How have
you managed to become the favourite of the king, you who have never
spoken to him more than twice in your life ?"
" From a friend such as you are," said Aramis, " I cannot conceal
anything." " Ah! very good, tell me, then."
" Yery well. You think that I have seen the king only twice, whilst
the fact is I have seen him more than a hundred times; only we have
kept it very secret, that is all." And without trying to remove the
colour which at this revelation made d'Artagnan's face flush scarlet,
Aramis turned towards M. Fouquet, who was as much surprised as the
musketeer. "Monseigneur," he resumed, "the king desires me to
inform you that he is more than ever your friend, and that your beau-
tiful fete, so generously offered by you on his behalf, has touched him
to the very heart."
And thereupon he saluted M. Fouquet with so much reverence of
manner, that the latter, incapable of understanding a man wjiose
diplomacy was of so prodigious a character, remained incapable of
uttering a single syllable, and equally incapable of thought or move-
ment. I)'Artagnan fancied he perceived that these two men had some-
tiling to say to each other, and he was about to yield to that feeling of
instinctive politeness which in such a case hurries a man towards the
door, when he feels his presence is an inconvenience for others; but his
eager curiosity, spurred on by so many mysteries, counselled him to
remain.
Aramis thereupon turned towards him and said, jn a quiet tone,
" You will not forget, my friend, the king's order respecting those
whom he intends to receive this morning on rising." These words
were clear enough, and the musketeer understood them; he therefore
bowed to Fouquet, and then to Aramis,—to the latter with a slight
admixture of ironical respect,—and disappeared. _
Yo sooner had he left, than Fouquet, whose impatience had hardly
been ablo to wait for that moment, darted towards the door to close it,
and then returning to the bishop, he said, "My dear d'Herblay, I think
THE KING'S FJBIEND. 411
it now high time you should explain to me what has passed, for, in plain
and. honest truth, I do not understand anything."
"We will explain all that to you," said Aramis, sitting down, and
making Bouquet sit down also. " Where shall I begin ?"
"With this first of all. Why does the king set me at liberty ?"
"You ought rather to ask me what was his reason for having you
arrested."
" Since my arrest, I have had time to think over it, and my idea is,
that it arises out of some slight feeling of jealousy. My fete put M.
Colbert out of temper, and M. Colbert discovered some cause of. com-
plaint against me; Belle-Isle, for instance "
" No; there is no question at all just now of Belle-Isle."
" What is it, then ?"
" Do you remember those receipts for thirteen millions, which M. de
Mazarin contrived to get stolen from you."-1—" Yes, of course!"
" Well, you are already pronounced to be a public robber."
" Good heavens!"
" Oh! that is not all. Do you also remember that letter you wrote
to La Valliere ?" " Alas! yes."
" And that proclaims you a traitor and suborner."
" Why should he have pardoned me, then ?"
"We have not yet arrived at that part of our argument. I wish
you to be quite convinced of the fact itself. Observe this well: the
king knows you to he guilty of an appropriation of public funds. Oh !
of course I know that you have done nothing of the kind ; but, at all
events, the king has not seen the receipts, and he cannot do otherwise
than believe you criminal."
" I beg your pardon, I do not see "
"You will see presently, though. The king, moreover, having read
your love-letter to La Valliere, and the offers you there made her,
cannot retain any doubt of your intentions with regard to that young
lady; you will admit that, I suppose ?" " Certainly. But, conclude."
"In a few words. The king is, therefore, a powerful, implacable,
and eternal enemy for you."
" Agreed. But am I, then, so powerful, that he has not dared to
sacrifice me, notwithstanding his hatred, with all the means which my
weakness, or my misfortunes, may have given him as a hold upon me?"
" It is clear, beyond all doubt," pursued Aramis coldly, " that the king
has quarrelled irreconcilably with you."
" But, since he absolves me "
" Do you believe it likely ?" asked the bishop, with a searching look.
" Without believing in his sincerity of heart, I believe in the truth of
-the fact."
Aramis slightly shrugged his shoulders.
" But why, then, should Louis XIV. have commissioned you to tell
me what you have just stated ? "
" The king charged me with nothing for you."
" With nothing !" said the surintendant, stupified. " But, that order,
then "
" Oh! yes. You are quite right. There is an order, certainly;" and
these words were pronounced by Aramis in so strange a tone, that
Bouquet could not resist starting.
" You are concealing something from me, I see. What is it P"
Aramis softly rubbed his white fingers over his chin, but said
nothing.
" Does the king exile me ?
412 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONEE.
"Do not act as if you were playing at the game children play at
when they have to try and guess where a thing has been hidden, and
are informed by a bell being rung, when they are approaching near to
it, or going away from it."
" Speak, then." " Guess."
" You alarm me."
"Bah ! that is because you have not guessed, then."
" What did the king say to you ? In the name of our friendship, do
not deceive me." " The king has not said a word to me."
" You are killing me with impatience, d'Herblay. Am I still surin-
tendant ?" " As long as you like."
" But what extraordinary empire have you so suddenly acquired over
his majesty's mind?" " Ah ! that is it."
" You make him do as you like." " I believe so."
" It is hardly credible." " So any one would say."
"D'Herblay, by our alliance, by our friendship, by everything you
hold the dearest in the world, speak openly, I implore you. By what
means have you succeeded in overcoming Louis XIV.'s prejudices,
for he did not like you, I know ?"
"The king will like me note," said Aramis, laying a stress upon the
last word.
" You have something particular, then, between you ? " " Yes."
" A secret, perhaps ?" " Yes, a secret." _
" A secret of such a nature as to change his majesty's interests ?"
" You are, indeed, a man of superior intelligence, monseigneur, and
have made a very accurate guess. I have, in fact, discovered a secret,
of a nature to change the interests of the king of France."
" Ah !" said Bouquet, with the reserve of a man who does not wish to
ask any questions.
"And you shall judge of it yourself," pursued Aramis; "and you
shall tell me if I am mistaken with regard to the importance of this
secret."
" I am listening, since you are good enough to unbosom yourself to
me; only do not forget that I have asked you nothing which may be
indiscreet in you to communicate."
Aramis seemed, for a moment, as if he were collecting himself.
" Do not speak!" said Bouquet; "there is still time enough."
" Do you remember," said the bishop, casting down his eyes, " the
birth of Louis XIY. ?" "As it were yesterday."
" Have you ever heard anything particular respecting his birth ?"
"Nothing; except that the king was not really the son of
Louis XIIL"
" That does not matter to us, or the kingdom either; he is the son of
his father, says the Brench law, whose father is recognized by the law."
" True; but it is a grave matter, when the quality of race3 is called
into question."
" A merely secondary question, after all. So that, in fact, you have
never learnt or heard anything particular ?" " Nothing."
" That is where my secret begins. The queen, you must know, in-
stead of being delivered of one son, was delivered of two children."
Bouquet looked up suddenly, as he replied. "And the second is dead ?"
" You will see. These twins seemed likely to be regarded as the pride
of their mother, and the hope of Brance; but the weak nature of the
king, his superstitious feelings, made him apprehend a series of conflicts
between two children whose rights were equal; and so he put out of
the way—he suppressed—one of the twins."
THE KING'S FBIEND. 413
" Suppressed, do you say ?"
" Be patient. Beth the children grew up; the one on the throne,
whose minister yon are—the other, who is my friend, in gloom and
isolation."
" Good Heavens! What are you saying, Monsieur d'Herblay ? And
what is this poor prince doing ?"
" Ask me, rather, what he has done ?" " Yes, yes."
" He was brought up in the country, and then thrown into a fortress
which goes by the name of the Bastille."
" Is it possible ?" cried the surintendant, clasping his hands.
" The one was the most fortunate of men; the other the most unhappy
and most miserable of all living beings."
" Does his mother not know this ?"
" Anne of Austria knows it all."
" And the king ?" " Knows absolutely nothing."
" So much the better !" said Fouquet.
This remark seemed to make a great impression on Aramis; he looked
at Fouquet with the most anxious expression of countenance.
" I beg your pardon; I interrupted you," said Fouquet.
" I was saying," resumed Aramis, " that this poor prince was the
unhappiest of human beings, when Heaven, whose thoughts are over
all his creatures, undertook to come to his assistance."
" Oh! in what way ? Tell me ?"
" You will see. The reigning king—I say the reigning king—you can
guess very well why ? " " No. W hy ? "
" Because both of them, being legitimately entitled from their birth,
ought both to have been kings. Is not that your opinion ? "
'"It is, certainly." "Unreservedly so?"
" Most unreservedly; twins are one person in two bodies."
" I am pleased that a legist of your learning and authority should
have pronounced such an opinion. It is agreed, then, that both of them
possessed the same rights, is it not ?"
" Incontestably so! but, gracious Heavens, what an extraordinary cir-
cumstance." " We are not at the end of it yet.—Patience."
" Oh ! I shall find 'patience' enough."
" Heaven wished to raise up for that oppressed child an avenger, or a
supporter, or vindicator, if you prefer it. It happened that the reign-
ing king, the usurper—(you are quite of my opinion, I believe, that it
is an act of usurpation quietly to enjoy, and selfishly to assume the right
over, an inheritance to which a man has only the right of one half?)—"
" Yes, usurpation is the word."
" In that case, I continue. It was Heaven's will that the usurper
should possess, in the person of his first minister, a man of great talent,
of large and generous nature."
"Well, well," said Fouquet, "I understand; you have relied upon
me to repair the wrong which has been done to this unhappy brother
of Louis XIY. You have thought well; 1 will help you. I thank you,
d'Herblay, I thank you."
" Oh, no, it is not that at all; you have not allowed me to finish," said
Aramis, perfectly unmoved.
" I will not say another word, then."
" M. Fouquet, I was observing, the minister of the reigning sovereign
was suddenly taken into the greatest aversion, and menaced with the
ruin of his fortune, with loss of liberty, with loss of life even, by in-
trigue and personal hatred, to which the king gave too readily an atten-
tire ear. But Heaven permits (still, however, out of consideration for
414 THE VICChlTE DE BEAGELONNE.
the unhappy prince who had been sacrificed) that M. Fouquet should
in his turn have a devoted friend who knew this state secret, and felt
that he possessed strength and courage enough to divulge this secret,
after having had the strength to carry it locked up in his own heart for
twenty years."
"Do not go on any farther," said Fouquet, full of generous feelings.
"I understand you, and can guess everything now. You went to see
the king when the intelligence of my arrest reached you; you implored
him, he refused to listen to you; then you threatened him with that
secret, threatened to reveal it, and Louis XIV., alarmed at the risk of
its betrayal, granted to the terror of your indiscretion what he refused
to your generous intercession. I understand, I understand; you have
the king in your power; I understand."
"You understand nothing as yet," replied Aramis, "and again you
have interrupted me. And then, too, allow me to observe that you pay
no attention to logical reasoning, and seem to forget what you ought
most to remember."
" Yf hat do you mean ? "
" You know upon what I laid the greatest stress at the beginning of
our conversation ? "
" Y'es, his majesty's hate, invincible hate for me; yes, but what feel-
ing of hate could resist the threat of such a revelation ? "
" Such a revelation, do you say ? that is the very point where your
logic fails you. What! do you suppose that if I had made such a
revelation to the king, I should have been alive now ? "
"It is not ten minutes ago since you were with the king ?"
" That may be. He might not have bad the time to get me killed
outright, but he would have had the time to get me gagged and thrown
into a dungeon. Come, come, show a little consistency in your reasoning,
mordieu"
And by the mere use of this word, which was so thoroughly his old
musketeer's expression, forgotten by one who never seemed to forget
anything, Fouquet could not but understand to what a pitch of exalt-
ation, the calm, impenetrable bishop of Vannes had wrought himself.
He shuddered at it.
" And then," replied the latter, after having mastered his feelings,
" should I be the man I really am, should I be the true friend you re-
gard me as, if I were to expose you, you whom the king hates already
bitterly enough, to a feeling still more than ever to be dreaded in that
young man ? To have robbed him, is nothing; to have addressed the
woman he loves, is not much; but to hold in your keeping both his
crown and his honour, why, he would rather pluck out your heart with
his own hands."
" You have not allowed him to penetrate your secret, then ? "
" I would sooner, far sooner, have swallowed at one draught all the
poisons that Mithridates drank in twenty years, in order to try and
avoid death, than have betrayed my secret to the king."
" What have you done, then ? "
" Ah ! now we are coming to the point, monseigneur. I think I shall
not fail to excite a little interest in you. You are listening, I hope ? "
" How can you ask me if I am listening ? Go on."
Aramis walked softly all round the room, satisfied himself that they
were alone, and that all was silent, and then returned and placed him-
self close to the arm-chair in which Fouquet was seated, awaiting with
the deepest anxiety the revelations he had to make.
" I forgot to tell you," resumed Aramis, addressing himself to Fou-
THE KING'S FRIEND. 415
quet, who listened to him with the most absorbed attention—" I forgot
to mention a most remarkable circumstance respecting these twins,
namely, that God had formed them so startlingly, so miraculously, like
each other, that it would be utterly impossible to distinguish the one
from the other. Their own mother would not be able to distinguish
them." " Is it possible?" exclaimed Pouquet.
" The same noble character in their features, the same carriage, the
same stature, the same voice."
" But their thoughts ? degree of intelligence ? their knowledge of
human life ? "
" There is inequality there, I admit, monseigneur. Yes; for the prisoner
of the Bastille is, most incontestably, superior in every way to his
brother; and if, from his prison, this unhappy victim were to pass to
the throne, Prance would not, from the earliest period of its history,
perhaps, have had a master more powerful by his genius and true
nobleness of character."
Pouquet buried his face in his hands, as if he were overwhelmed by
the weight of this immense secret. Aramis approached him.
"There is a further inequality," he said, continuing his work of
temptation, " an inequality which concerns yourself, monseigneur, be-
tween the twins, both sons of Louis XIII., namely, the last comer does
not know M. Colbert."
Pouquet raised his head immediately—his features were pale and
distorted. The bolt had hit its mark—not his heart, but his mind and
comprehension.
" I understand you," he said to Aramis; " you are proposing a con-
spiracy to me ?" " Something like it."
" One of those attempts, which, as you said at the beginning of this
conversation, alters the fate of empires ?"
"And of the surintendant too; yes, monseigneur."
" In a word, you propose that I should agree to the substitution of
the son of Louis XIII., who is now a prisoner in the Bastille, for the
son of Louis XIII., who is now at this moment asleep in the Chamber
of Morpheus ?"
Aramis smiled with the sinister expression of the sinister thought
which was passing through his brain. " Exactly," he said.
" Have you thought," continued Fouquet, becoming animated with
that strength of talent which in a few seconds originates and matures
the conception of a plan, and with that largeness of view which fore-
sees all its consequences, and embraces all its results at a glance—"have
you thought that we must assemble the nobility, the clergy, and the
third estate of the realm; that we shall have to depose the reigning
sovereign, to disturb by so frightful a scandal the tomb of their dead
father, to sacrifice the life, the honour of a woman, Anne of Austria,
the life and peace of mind and art of another woman, Maria Theresa;,
and suppose that all were done, if we were to succeed in doing it "
" I do not understand you," continued Aramis, coldly. " There is
not a single word of the slightest use in what you have just said."
"What!" said the surintendant, surprised, "a man like you refuse to
view the practical bearings of the case.* Bo you confine yourself to the
childish delight of a political illusion, and neglect the chances of its
being carried into execution; in other words, the reality itself, is it
possible?"
My friend," said Aramis, emphasizing the word with a kind of
disdainful familiarity, " what does Heaven do in order to substitute one
king for another?"
416. THE VICOMTE HE BBAGELONNE.
" Heaven!" exclaimed Fouquet,—"Heaven gives directions to its agent,
who seizes upon the doomed victim, hurries him away, and seats" the
triumphant rival on the empty throne. But you forget that this agent
is called death. Oh ! Monsieur d'Herblay, in heaven's name, tell me if
you have had the idea "
"There is no question of that, monseigneur; you are going beyond
the object in view. Who spoke of Louis XIY.'s death ? who spoke of
adopting the example which Heaven sets in following out the strict
execution of its decrees? No, I wish you to understand that Heaven
effects its purposes without confusion or disturbance, without exciting
comment or remark, without difficulty or exertion; and that men
inspired by Heaven—succeed like Heaven itself in all their undertakings,
in all they attempt, in all they do." " What do you mean ? "
"I mean, my friend," returned Aramis, with the same intonation on
the word friend that he had applied to it the first time—" I meant that
if there has been any confusion, scandal, and even effort in the sub-
stitution of the prisoner for the king, I defy you to prove it."
"What!" cried Fouquet, whiter than the handkerchief with which
he wiped his temples, " what do you say ?"
" Go to the king's apartment," continued Aramis, tranquilly, " and
you who know the mystery, I defy even you to perceive that the
prisoner of the Bastille is lying in his brother's bed."
"But the king?" stammered Fouquet, seized with horror at the
intelligence.
"What king?" said Aramis, in his gentlest tone; "the one who
hates you, or the one who likes you ?"
" The king of yesterday ?"
" The king of yesterday! be quite easy on that score; he has gone to
take the place in the Bastille which his victim has occupied for such a
long time past."
" Great God ! And who took him there ? " " I!"
" You ? " " Yes, and in the simplest way. I carried him away last
night; and while he was descending into gloom, the other was ascending
into light. I do not think there has been any disturbance created in
any way. A flash of lightning without thunder never awakens any
one."
Fouquet uttered a thick, smothered cry, as if he had been struck by
some invisible blow, and clasping his head between his clenched hands,
he murmured: "You did that ?"
" Cleverly enough, too; what do you think of it ?"
"You dethroned the king ? imprisoned him, too ?"
" Y es, that has been done."
" And such an action has been committed here, at Vaux ? "
" Yes, here, at Yaux, in the Chamber of Morpheus. It would almost
seem that it had been built in anticipation of such an act."
" And at what time did it occur ?"
" Last night, between twelve and one o'clock."
Fouquet made a movement as if he were on the point of springing
upon Aramis; he restrained himself. "At Yaux; under my roof!"
he said, in a half-strangled voice.
" I believe so! for it is still your house, and is likely to continue so,
since M. Colbert cannot rob you of it now."
"It was under my roof, then, monsieur, that you committed this
crime?" "This crime !" said Aramis, stupified.
"This abominable crime!" pursued Fouquet, becoming more and
more excited; " this crime more execrable than an assassination! this
THE KING'S FRIEND. 417
crime which dishonours my name for ever, and entails upon me the
horror of posterity."
"You are not in your senses, monsieur," replied Aramis in an irre-
solute tone of voice; " you are speaking too loudly; take care !"
" I will call out so loudly, that the whole world shall hear me."
" Monsieur Fouquet, take care !"
Fouquet turned round towards the prelate, whom he looked at full in
the face. "You have dishonoured me," he said, "in committing so
foul an act of treason, so heinous a crime upon my guest, upon one
who was peacefully reposing beneath my roof. Oh ! woe, woe, is me!"
" Woe to the man, rather, who beneath your roof meditated the ruin
of your fortune, your life. Do you forget that ?"
" He was my guest, my sovereign."
Aramis rose, his eyes literally bloodshot, his mouth trembling con-
vulsively. " Have I a man out of his senses to deal with ? " he said.
" You have an honourable man to deal with." " You are mad."
" A man who will prevent you consummating your crime."
" You are mad, I say."
" A man who would sooner, oh ! far sooner, die; who would kill you
even, rather than allow you to complete his dishonour."
And Fouquet snatchejj up his sword, which d'Artagnan had placed
at the head of his bed, and clenched it resolutely in his hand. Aramis
frowned, and thrust his hand into his breast as if in search of a weapon.
This movement did not escape Fouquet, who, full of nobleness and
pride in his magnanimity, threw his sword to a distance from him, and
approached Aramis so close as to touch his shoulder with his disarmed
hand. "Monsieur," he said, "I would sooner die here on the spot
than survive this terrible disgrace; and if you have any pity left for
me, I entreat you to take my life."
Aramis remained silent and motionless.
"You do not reply ?" said Fouquet.
Aramis raised his head gently, and a glimmer of hope might be seen
once more to animate his eyes. "Eeflect, monseigneur," he said,
" upon everything we have to expect. As the matter now stands, the
king is still alive, and his imprisonment saves your life."
"Yes," replied Fouquet, " you may have been acting on my behalf,
but I will not, do not, accept your services. But, first of all, I do not
wish your ruin. You will leave this house."
Aramis stifled the exclamation which almost escaped his broken heart.
"I am hospitable towards all who are dwellers beneath my roof,"
continued Fouquet, with an air of inexpressible majesty; " you will not
be more fatally lost, than he whose ruin you have consummated."
" You will be so," said Aramis, in a hoarse, prophetic voice, " you will
be so, believe me."
" I accept the augury, Monsieur d'Herblay; but nothing shall prevent
me, nothing shall stop me. You will leave Vaux—you must leave
France; I give you four hours to place yourself out of the king's
reach."
" Four hours ?" said Aramis scornfully and incredulously.
"Upon the word of Fouquet, no one shall follow you before the
expiration of that time. You will therefore have four hours' advance
of those whom the king may wish to dispatch after you."
"Four hours!" repeated Aramis, in a thick smothered voice.
" It is more than you will need to get on board a vessel and flee to
Belle-Isle, which I give you as a place of refuge."
"Ah!" murmured Aramis.
VOL. IL 2 E
41S THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
"Belle-Isle is as much mine for you, as Vaux is mine for the king.
Go, d'Herblay, go! as long as I live, not a hair of your head shall be
injured."
" Thank you," said Aramis, with a cold irony of manner.
"Go at once, then, and give me your hand, before we both hasten
away ; you to save your life, I to save my honour."
Aramis withdrew from his breast the hand he had concealed there ;
it was stained with his blood. He had dug his nails into his flesh, as if
in punishment for having nursed so many projects, more vain, insen-
sate, and fleeting than the life of man himself. Bouquet was horror-
stricken, and then his heart smote him with pity. He threw open his
arms as if to embrace him.
"I had no arms," murmured Aramis, as wild and terrible in his
wrath as the shade of Dido. And then, without touching Bouquet's
hand, he turned his head aside, and stepped back a pace or two. His
last word was an imprecation, his last gesture a curse, which his blood-
stained hand seemed to invoke, as it sprinkled on Bouquet's face a few
drops of blood which flowed from his breast. And both of them darted
out of the room by the secret staircase which led down to the inner
court-yard. Bouquet ordered his best horses, while Aramis paused at
the foot of the staircase which led to Porthos's apartment. He reflected
profoundly and for some time, while Bouquet's carriage left the stone-
paved court-yard at full gallop.
"Shall I go alone ?" said Aramis to himself, "or warn the prince ?
Oh! fury! Warn the prince, and then—do what? Take him with
me? To carry this accusing witness about with me everywhere?
War, too, would follow—civil war, implacable in its nature ! And
without any resource save myself—it is impossible! What could he
do without me ? Oh! without me he would be utterly destroyed.
Yet who knows—let destiny be fulfilled —condemned he was, let
him remain so then ! Good or evil Spirit — gloomy and scornful Power,
whom men call the Genius of man, thou art a power more restlessly
uncertain, more baselessly useless, than the wild wind in the moun-
tains; Chance thou term'st thyself, but thou art nothing; thou in-
flamest everything with thy breath, crumbiest mountains at thy
approach, and suddenly art thyself destroyed at the presence of the
Cross of dead wood, behind which stands another Power invisible like
thyself—whom thou deniest, perhaps, but whose avenging hand is on
thee, and hurls thee in the dust dishonoured and unnamed! Lost!
—I am lost! What can be done ? Blee to Belle-Isle ? Yes, and leave
Porthos behind me, to talk and relate the whole affair to every one!
Porthos, too, who will have to suffer for what he has done. I will not
let poor Porthos suffer. He seems like one of the members of my own
frame; and his grief or misfortune would be mine as well. Porthos
shall leave with me, and shall follow my destiny. It must be so."
And Aramis, apprehensive of meeting any one to whom his hurried
movements might appear suspicious, ascended the staircase without
being perceived. Porthos, so recently returned from Paris, was already
in a profound sleep; his huge body forgot its fatigue, as his mind forgot
its thoughts. Aramis entered, light as a shadow, and placed his nervous
grasp on the giant's shoulder. " Come, Porthos," he cried, " come."
Porthos obeyed, rose from his bed, opened his eyes, even before his
intelligence seemed to be aroused.
" We are going off," said Aramis. " Ah !" returned Porthos.
"We shall go mounted, and faster than we have ever gone in our
lives." " Ah !" repeated Porthos.
the counteksign at the bastille. 419
" Dress yourself, my friend."
And lie helped the giant to dress himself, and thrust his gold and
diamonds into his pocket. Whilst he was thus engaged, a slight noise
attracted his attention, and on looking up, he saw d'Artagnan watching
them through the half-opened door. Aramis started.
"What the devil are you doing there in such an agitated manner ?"
said the musketeer. " Hush !" said Porthos.
"We are going off on a mission of great importance," added the
bishop.
" You are very fortunate," said the musketeer.
" Oh, dear me!" said Porthos, " I feel so wearied; I would far
sooner have been fast asleep. But the service of the king "
" Have you seen M. Bouquet ?" said Aramis to d'Artagnan.
" Yes, this very minute, in a carriage."
"What did he say to you ?" '"Adieunothing more."
" Was that all ?"
" What else do you think he could say ? Am I worth anything now,
since you have all got into such high favour ? "
"Listen," said Aramis, embracing the musketeer; "your good time-
are returning again. You will have no occasion to be jealous i.
anyone." "Ah! bah!"
"I predict that something will happen to you to-day which will
increase your importance more than ever." " Really ? "
"You know that I know all the news ?" "Oh, yes !"
" Come, Porthos, are you ready ? Let us go."
" I am quite ready, Aramis."
" Let us embrace d'Artagnan first." " Most certainly."
"But the horses ?" Oh ! there is no want of them here. Will
you have mine ?"
" No; Porthos has his own stud. So adieu! adieu !"
The two fugitives mounted their horses beneath the captain of the
musketeer's eyes, who held Porthos's stirrup for him, and gazed after
them until they were out of sight.
" On any other occasion," thought the Gascon, " I should say that
those gentlemen are making their escape; but in these days politics
seem so changed that that is what is termed going on a mission. I
have no objection; let me attend to my own affairs, that is quite
enough;" and he philosophically entered his apartments.
CHAPTER LXXXIX.
Showing how the Countersign was respected at the Bastille.
Bouquet tore along as fast as his horses could drag him. On his
way he trembled with horror at the idea of what had just been revealed
to him.
"What must have been," he thought, "the youth of those extra-
ordinary men, who, even as age is stealing fast upon them, still are able
to conceive such plans, and can carry them out without flinching ?"
At one moment he could not resist the idea that all that Aramis had
just been recounting to him was nothing more than a dream, and
whether the fable itself was not the snare; so that when Bouquet
arrived at the Bastille, he might possibly find an order of arrest, which
would send him to join the dethroned king. Strongly impressed with
2 e 2
420 THE VICOMTE DE BllAGELONNE.
this idea, he gave certain sealed orders on his route, while fresh horse3
were being harnessed to his carriage. These orders were addressed to
M. d'Artagnan and to certain others whose fidelity to the king was far
above suspicion.
" In this way," said Bouquet to himself," prisoner or not, I shall have
performed the duty which I owe to my honour. The orders will not
reach them until after my return, if I should return free, and conse-
quently they will not have been unsealed. I shall take them back
again. If I am delayed, it will be because some misfortune will have
befallen me; and in that case assistance will be sent for me as well as
for the king."
Prepared in this manner, the surintendant arrived at the Bastille;
he had travelled at the rate of five leagues and a half the hour. Every
circumstance of delay which Aramis had escaped in his visit to the
Bastille befel Bouquet. It was useless his giving his name, equally
useless his being recognized: he could not succeed in obtaining an
entrance. By dint of entreaties, threats, commands, he succeeded in
inducing a sentinel to speak to one of the subalterns, who went and
told the major. As for the governor, they did not even dare to disturb
him. Bouquet sat in his carriage, at the outer gate of the fortress,
chafing with rage and impatience, awaiting the return of the officers,
who at last re-appeared with a sufficiently sulky air.
" Well," said Bouquet, impatiently, "what did the major say?"
"Well, monsieur," replied the soldier, "the major laughed in my
face. He told me that M. Bouquet was at Vaux, and that even were
he at Paris, M. Bouquet would not get up at so early an hour as the
present."
" Mordieu! you are a perfect set of fools," cried the minister,
darting out of the carriage; and before the subaltern had had time to
shut the gate Bouquet sprang through it, and ran forward in spite of
the soldier, who cried out for assistance. Bouquet gained ground,
regardless of the cries of the man, who, however, having at last come
up with Bouquet, called out to the sentinel of the second gate, " Look
out, look out, sentinel!" The man crossed his pike before the minister;
but the latter, robust and active, and hurried away, too, by his passion,
wrested the pike from the soldier, and struck him a violent blow on the
shoulder with it. The subaltern, who approached too closely, received
his part of the blows as well. Both of them uttered loud and furious
cries, at the sound of which the whole of the first body of the advanced
guard poured out of the guard-house. Among them there was one,
however, who recognized the surintendant, and who called out, " Mon-
seigneur, ah! monseigneur. Stop, stop, you fellows ! " And he effect-
ually checked the soldiers, who were on the point of revenging their
companions. Bouquet desired them to open the gate; but they refused
to do so without the countersign; he desired them to inform the
governor of his presence; but the latter had already heard the dis-
turbance at the gate. He ran forward, followed by his major, and
accompanied by a picket of twenty men, persuaded that an attack was
being made on the Bastille. Baisemeaux also recognized Bouquet
immediately, and dropped his sword, which he had held brandishing
about in his hand.
" Ah! monseigneur," he stammered, " how can I excuse "
" Monsieur," said the surintendant, flushed with anger, and heated
by his exertions, "I congratulate you. Your watch and ward are
admirably kept."
Baisemeaux turned pale, thinking that this remark was said ironi-
THE COUNTERSIGN AT THE BASTILLE. 421
cally, and portended a furious burst of anger. But Bouquet had
recovered his breath, and, beckoning the sentinel and the subaltern,
who were rubbing their shoulders, towards him, he said, " There are
twenty pistoles for the sentinel, and fifty for the officer. Pray, receive
my compliments, gentlemen. I will not fail to speak to his majesty
about you. And now, Monsieur Baisemeaux, a word with you."
And he followed the governor to his official residence, accompanied
by a murmur of general satisfaction. Baisemeaux was already trem-
bling with shame and uneasiness. Aramis's early visit, from that
moment, seemed to possess consequences which a functionary such as
he (Baisemeaux) was, was perfectly justified in apprehending. It was
quite another thing, however, when Fouquet, in a sharp tone of voice,
and with an imperious look, said, "You have seen M. d'Herblay this
morning ? " " Yes, monseigneur."
" And are you not horrified at the crime of which you have made
yourself an accomplice ? "
"Well," thought Baisemeaux, "good so far;" and then he added,
aloud, " But what crime, monseigneur, do you allude to ? "
" That for which you can be quartered alive, monsieur—do not forget
that! But this is not a time to show anger. Conduct me immediately
to the prisoner."
" To what prisoner ? " said Baisemeaux, tremblingly.
"You pretend to be ignorant ? Very good—it is the best thing for
you, perhaps, to do; for if, in fact, you were to admit your participa-
tion in it, it would be all over with you. I wish, therefore, to seem ta
believe in your assumption of ignorance."
" I entreat you, monseigneur "
" That will do. Lead me to the prisoner."
" To Marchiali ? " " Who is Marchiali ? "
" The prisoner who was brought back this morning by M. d'Her-
blay."
"He is called Marchiali?" said the surintendant, his conviction
somewhat shaken by Baisemeaux's cool manner.
"Yes, monseigneur; that is the name under which he was inscribed
here."
Fouquet looked steadily at Baisemeaux, as if he would read his very
heart; and perceived, with that clear sightedness which men possess
who are accustomed to the exercise of power, that the man was speak-
ing with the most perfect sincerity. Besides, in observing his face for
a few moments, he could not believe that Aramis would have chosen
such a confidant.
" It is the prisoner," said the surintendant to him, "whom M. d'Her-
blay carried away the day before yesterday ? " " Yes, monseigneur."
"And whom he brought back this morning?" added Fouquet,
quickly: for he understood immediately the mechanism of Aramis's
plan. " Precisely, monseigneur."
" And his name is Marchiali, you say ?" " Yes, Marchiali."
" If monseigneur has come here to remove him, so much the better,
for I was going to write about him."
" What has he done, then ? "
"Ever since this morning he has annoyed me extremely. He has
had such terrible fits of passion, as almost to make me believe that he
would bring the Bastille itself down about our ears."
" I will soon relieve you of his presence," said Fouquet.
" Ah ! so much the better." " Conduct me to his prison."
" Will monseigneur give me the order? "
422 THE YICOMTE HE BEAGELONNE.
" "What order ? " " An order from the king."
" Wait until I sign you one."
" That will not be sufficient, monseigneur. I must have an order
from the king."
Fouquet assumed an irritated expression. " As you are so scrupu-
lous," he said, " with regard to allowing prisoners to leave, show me
the order by which this one was set at liberty."
Baisemeaux showed him the order to release Seldon.
" Very good," said Bouquet; " but Seldon is not Marchiali.
" But Marchiali is not at liberty, monseigneur; he is here."
"But you said that M. d'Herhlay carried him away and brought
him back again."
" I did not say so."
" So surely did you say it, that I almost seem to hear it now."
" It was a slip of my tongue, then, monseigneur."
" Take care, Monsieur Baisemeaux, take care."
"I have nothing to fear, monseigneur; I am acting according to
strict regulation."
"Do you dare to say so ?"
" I would say so in the presence of an apostle himself. M. d'Her-
blay brought me an order to set Seldon at liberty; and Seldon is free."
" I tell you that Marchiali has left the Bastille."
" You must prove that, monseigneur."
"Let me see him."
"You, monseigneur, who govern this kingdom, know very well that
no one can see any of the prisoners without an express order from the
king."
" M. d'Herblay has entered, however."
" That is to be proved, monseigneur."
" Monsieur de Baisemeaux, once more I warn you to pay particular
attention to what you are saying."
" All the documents are there, monseigneur."
" M. d'Herblay is overthrown."
" Overthrown ?—M. d'Herblay! Impossible !"
" You see that he has undoubtedly influenced you."
"No, monseigneur; what does, in fact, influence me, is the king's
service. I am doing my duty. Give me an order from him, and you
shall enter."
"Stay, monsieur le gouverneur, I give you my word that if you
allow me to see the prisoner, I will give you an order from the king at
once." " Give me it now, monseigneur."
" And that, if you refuse me, I will have you and all your officers
arrested oh the spot."
" Before you commit such an act of violence, monseigneur, you will
reflect," said Baisemeaux, who had turned very pale, " that we will
only obey an order signed by the king; and that it will be just as easy
for you to obtain one to see Marchiali as to obtain one to do me so
much injury; me, too, who am perfectly innocent."
"True, true!" cried Fouquet, furiously; "perfectly true. M. de
Baisemeaux," he added, in a sonorous voice, drawing the unhappy
governor towards him, " do you know why I am so anxious to speak
to the prisoner?"
"No, monseigneur; and allow me to observe that you are terrifying
me out of my senses; I am trembling all over, and feel as if I were
going to faint."
"You will stand a better chance of fainting outright, Monsieur
THE COUNTEKSIGN AT THE BASTILLE. 423
Baisemeaux, when I return here at the head of ten thousand men
and thirty pieces of cannon."
" Good Heavens, monseigneur, you are losing your senses."
■' When I have roused the whole. population of Paris against you
and your cursed towers, and have battered open the gates of this place,
and hanged you up to the bars of that tower in the corner there."
" Monseigneur! monseigneur ! for pity's sake."
" I give you ten minutes to make up your mind," added Pouquet, in
a calm voice. " I will sit down here, in this armchair, and wait for
you; if, in ten minutes' time, you still persist, I leave this place, and
you may think me as mad as you like; hut you will see !"
Baisemeaux stamped his foot on the ground like a man in a state of
despair, but he did not reply a single syllable: whereupon Pouquet
seized a pen and ink, and wrote
" Order for M. le Prevot des Marchands to assemble the municipal
guard and to march upon the Bastille for the king's service."
Baisemeaux shrugged his shoulders. Pouquet wrote:—
" Order for the duo de Bouillon and M. le prince de Conde to assume
the command of the Swiss guards, of the king's guards, and to march
upon the Bastille for the king's service."
Baisemeaux reflected. Pouquet still wrote:—
" Order for every soldier, citizen, or gentleman to seize and appre-
bend, wherever he may be found, le chevalier d'Herblay, dveque de
Yannes, and his accomplices, who are: 1st, M. de Baisemeaux, governor
of the Bastille, suspected of the crimes of high treason and rebel-
lion "
" Stop, monseigneur!" cried Baisemeaux; " I do not understand a
single thing of the whole matter; but so many misfortunes, even
were it madness itself that had set them at work, might happen
here in a couple of hours, that the king, by whom I shall be judged,
will see whether I have been wrong in withdrawing the countersign
before so many imminent catastrophes. Come with me to the keep,
monseigneur, you shall see Marchiali."
Pouquet darted out of the room, followed by Baisemeaux as he
wiped the perspiration from his face. " What a terrible morning !"
he said; " what a disgrace !" " Walk faster," replied Pouquet.
Baisemeaux made a sign to the gaoler to precede tliem. He was
afraid of his companions, which the latter could not fail to perceive.
" A truce to this child's play," he said, roughly. " Let the man
remain here, take the keys yourself, and show me the way. Not a single
person, do you understand, must hear what is going to take place here."
" Ah !" said Baisemeaux, undecided.
"Again," cried Pouquet. "Ah! say 'no' at once, and I will
leave the Bastille and will myself carry my own despatches."
Baisemeaux bowed his head, took the keys, and unaccompanied,
except by the minister, ascended the staircase. The higher they
advanced up the spiral staircase, certain smothered murmurs became
distinct cries and fearful imprecations. " What is that?" asked Pou-
quet.
" That is your Marchiali," said the governor; " that lis the way these
madmen call out."
And he accompanied that reply with a glance more indicative of
injurious allusions, as far as Pouquet was concerned, than of polite-
ness. The latter trembled; he had just recognized in one cry more
terrible than any that had preceded it, the king's voice. He paused
on the staircase, snatching the bunch of keys from Baisemeaux, who
424 TnE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
thought this new madman was going to dash out his brains with one of
them. " Ah!" he cried, " M. d'Herblay did not say a word about that."
"Give me the keys at once !" cried Bouquet, tearing them from his
hand. "Which is the key of the door I am to open." "That one."
A fearful cry, followed by a violent blow against the door, made the
whole staircase resound with the echo. "Leave this place," said
Bouquet to Baisemeaux, in a threatening voice.
" I ask nothing better," murmured the latter, " there will be a
couple of madmen face to face, and the one will kill the other, I am sure."
" Go !" repeated Bouquet. " If you place your foot in this staircase
before I call you, remember that you shall take the place of the meanest
prisoner in the Bastille."
" This job will kill me, I am sure it will," muttered Baisemeaux, as
he withdrew with tottering steps.
The prisoner's cries became more and more terrible. When Bouquet
had satisfied himself that Baisemeaux had reached the bottom of the
staircase, he inserted the key in the first lock. It was then that he
heard the hoarse, choking voice of the king, crying out, in a frenzy
of rage, " Help, help! I am the king." The key of the second door
was not the same as the first, and Bouquet was obliged to look for it on
the bunch. The king, however, furious and almost mad with rage and
passion, shouted at the top of his voice, " It was M. Bouquet who
brought me here. Help me against M. Bouquet! I am the king!
Help the king against M. Bouquet!"
These cries tore the minister's heart with mingled emotions. They
were followed by a shower of terrible blows levelled against the door
with a part of the broken chair with which the king had armed
himself. Bouquet at last succeeded in finding the key. The king
was almost exhausted; he could hardly articulate distinctly as he
shouted, "Death to Bouquet! death to the traitor Bouquet!" The
door flew open.
CHAPTEE XC.
The King's Gratitude.
The two men were on the point of darting towards each other when
they suddenly and abruptly stopped, as a mutual recognition took
place, and each uttered a cry of horror.
" Have you come to assassinate me, monsieur ? " said the king when
he recognized Bouquet.
" The king in this state!" murmured the minister.
Nothing could be more terrible indeed than the appearance of the
young prince at the moment Bouquet had surprised him; his clothes
were m tatters; his shirt, open and torn to rags, was stained with sweat,
and with the blood which streamed from his lacerated breast and arms.
Haggard, ghastly pale, his hair in dishevelled masses, Louis XIY.
presented the most perfect picture of despair, hunger, and fear com-
bined, that could possibly be united in one figure. Bouquet was so
touched, so affected and disturbed by it, that he ran towards him with
his arms stretched out and his eyes filled with tears. Louis held up the
massive piece of wood of which he had made such a furious use.
" Sire," said Bouquet,, in a voice trembling with emotion, "do you not
recognize the most faithful of your friends ?"
THE KING'S GRATITUDE. 425
"A friend—you!" repeated Louis gnashing his teeth in a manner
which betrayed his hate and desire for speedy vengeance.
" The most respectful of your servants," added Fouquet, throwing
himself on his knees. The king let the rude weapon fall from his
grasp. Fouquet approached him, kissed his knees, and took him in his
arms with inconceivable tenderness.
" My king, my child," he said, " how you must have suffered! "
Louis recalled to himself by the change of situation, looked at him-
self, and ashamed of the disordered state of his apparel, ashamed of his
conduct, and ashamed of the air of pity and protection that was shown
towards him, drew back. Fouquet did not understand this movement;
he did not perceive that the king's feeling of pride would never forgive
him for having been a witness of such an exhibition of weakness.
" Come, sire," he said, " you are free."
" Free ? " repeated the king. " Oh! you set me at liberty, then, after
having dared to lift up your hand against me."
"You do not believe that!" exclaimed Fouquet indignantly; "you
cannot believe me to be guilty of such an act."
And rapidly, warmly even, he related the whole particulars of the
intrigue, the details of which are already known to the reader. While
the recital continued, Louis suffered the most horrible anguish of mind;
and when it was finished, the magnitude of the danger he had run
struck him far more than the importance of the secret relative to his
twin brother.
"Monsieur," he said suddenly to Fouquet, "this double birth is a
falsehood; it is impossible—you cannot have been the dupe of it."
" Sire!"
" It is impossible, I tell you, that the honour, the virtue of my mother
can be suspected. And my first minister has not yet done justice on
the criminals ?"
" Reflect, sire, before you are hurried away by your anger," replied
Fouquet. " The birth of your brother "
" I have only one brother—and that is Monsieur. You know it as
well as myself. There is a plot, I tell you, beginning with the governor
of the Bastille."
" Be careful, sire, for this man has been deceived as every one else
has by the prince's likeness to yourself."
" Likeness ? Absurd ! " " This Marchiali must be singularly like
your majesty, to be able to deceive every one's eye," Fouquet persisted.
"Ridiculous!" "Do not say so, sire; those who had prepared
everything in order to face and deceive your ministers, your mother,
your officers of state, the members of your family, must be quite con-
fident of the resemblance between you."
"But where are these persons, then ?" murmured the king.
" At Vaux."
"At Vaux ! and you suffer them to remain there!"
" My most pressing duty seemed to be your majesty's release. I have
accomplished that duty; and now, whatever your majesty may com-
mand, shall be done. I await your orders."
Louis reflected for a few moments,
" Muster all the troops in Paris," he said.
" All the necessary orders are given for that purpose," replied Fouquet.
" You have given orders!" exclaimed the king.
" For that purpose, yes, sire; your majesty will be at the head of ten
thousand men in less than an hour."
The only reply the king made was to take hold of Fouquet's hand
426 THE VIC01ITE DE BKAGEEONNE.
with such an expression of feeling, that it was very easy to perceive how
strongly he had, until that remark, maintained his suspicians of the
minister, notwithstanding the latter's intervention.
" And with these troops," he said, " we shall go at once and besiege in
your house the rebels who by this time will have established and en-
trenched themselves there."
"I should be surprised if that were the case," replied Fouquet.
" Why?" "Because their chief—the very soul of the enterprize,
having been unmasked by me, the whole plan seems to me to have
miscarried."
" You have unmasked this false prince also ? "
" No, I have not seen him." " Whom have you seen, then P"
" The leader of the enterprise, not that unhappy young man; the
latter is merely an instrument, destined through his whole life to
wretchedness, I plainly perceive."
"'Most certainly." "It is M. l'Abbe d'Herblay, eveque deVannes."
"Your friend." "He was my friend, sire," replied Fouquet nobly.
"An unfortunate circumstance for you," said the king in a less
generous tone of voice.
" Such friendships, sire, had nothing dishonourable in them so long as
I was ignorant of the crime."
"You should have foreseen it."
" If I am guilty, I place myself in your majesty's hands."
" Ah! Monsieur Fouquet, it was not that I meant," returned the
king, sorry to have shown the bitterness of his thought in such a man-
ner. "Well! I assure you that notwithstanding the mask with which
the villain covered his face, l had something like a vague suspicion that
it might be he. But with this chief of the enterprise there was a man
of prodigious strength, the one who menaced me with a force almost
herculean, what is he ? "
"It must be his friend the Baron du Yallon, formerly one of the
musketeers."
" The friend of d'Artagnan ? the friend of the Comte de la Fere.
Ah!" exclaimed the king, as he paused at the name of the latter, " we
must not forget the connection that existed between the conspirators
•and M. de Bragelonne."
" Sire, sire, do not go too far ! M. de la Fere is the most honourable
man in France. Be satisfied with those whom I deliver up to you."
" With those whom you deliver up to me, you say ? Very good, for
you will deliver up those who are guilty to me."
" What does your majesty understand by that ? " inquired Fouquet.
"I understand," replied the king, "that we shall soon arrive at Vaux
with a large body of troops, that we will lay violent hands upon that nest
of vipers, and that not a soul shall escape."
"Your majesty will put these men to death ! " cried Fouquet.
" To the very meanest of them." " Oh ! sire."
"Let us understand each other, Monsieur Fouquet," said the king,
haughtily. " We no longer live in times when assassination was the
only and the last resource which kings had in their power. No!
Heaven be praised ! I have parliaments who sit and judge in my name,
and I have scaffolds on which my supreme authority is carried out."
Fouquet turned pale. "I will take the liberty of observing to your
majesty, that any proceedings instituted respecting these matters would
bring down the greatest scandal upon the dignity of the throne. The
august name of Anne of Austria must never be allowed to pass the lips
of the people accompanied by a smile."
THE ZING'S GRATITUDE. 427
" Justice must be done, however, monsieur."
" Good, sire; but the royal blood cannot be shed on a scaffold."
" The royal blood ! you believe that!" cried the kin 2 with fury in
his voice, stamping his foot on the ground. " This double birth is an
invention ; and in that invention particularly, do I see M. d'Herblay's
crime. It is the crime I wish to punish rather than their violence, or
their insult."
"And punish it with death, sire ?" " With death; yes,monsieur."
" Sire," said the surintendant with firmness, as he raised his head
proudly, " your majesty will take the life, if you please, of your brother
Philippe of Prance; that concerns you alone, and you will doubtless
consult the queen mother upon the subject. Whatever she may com-
mand will be perfectly correct. I do not wish to mix myself up in it,
not even for the honour of your crown, but I have a favour to ask of
you, and I beg to submit it to you."
" Speak," said the king, in no little degree agitated by his minister's
last words. " What do you require ? "
" The pardon of M. d'Herblay and of M. du Yallon."
" My assassins."
" Two rebels, sire, that is all."
" Oh ! I understand, then, you ask me to forgive your friends."
" My friends!" said Pouquet, deeply wounded.
"Your friends, certainly; but the safety of the state requires that <m
exemplary punishment should be inflicted on the guilty."
" I will not permit myself to remind your majesty that I have just
restored you to liberty, and have saved your life." " Monsieur!"
" I will not allow myself to remind your majesty that had M. d'Her-
blay wished to carry out his character of an assassin, he could very
easily have assassinated your majesty this morning in the forest of
Senart, and all would have been over."
The king started.
"A pistol bullet through the head," pursued Pouquet, "and the dis-
figured features of Louis XIV. which no one could have recognized,
would be M. d'Herblay's complete and entire justification."
The king turned pale and giddy at the idea of the danger he had
escaped.
" If M. d'Herblay," continued Pouquet, " had been an assassin, he
had no occasion to inform me of his plan, in order to succeed. Preed
from the real king, it would have been impossible to guess the false
king. And if the usurper had been recognized by Anne of Austria, he
would still have been a son for her. The usurper, as far as Monsieur
d'Herblay's conscience was concerned, was still a king of the blood of
Louis XIII. Moreover, the conspirator, in that course, would have had
security, secrecy, and impunity. A pistol-bullet would have procured
him all that. Por the sake of Heaven, sire, grant me his forgiveness."
The king, instead of being touched by the picture he had drawn, so
faithful in all its details, of Aramis's generosity, felt himself most pain-
fully and cruelly humiliated by it. His unconquerable pride revolted
at the idea that a man had held suspended at the end of his finger the
thread of his royal life. Every word that fell from Pouquet's lips, and
which he thought most efficacious in procuring his friend's pardon,
seemed to pour another drop of poison into the already ulcerated heart
of Louis XIV. Nothing could bend or soften him. Addressing him-
self to Pouquet, he said, " I really don't know, monsieur, why you
should solicit the pardon of these men. What good is there in asking
that which can be obtained without solicitation ?"
42S THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELOXJJE.
" I do not understand you. sire."
" It is not difficult, either. Where am I now ? "
" In the Bastille, sire."
" Yes; in a dungeon. I am looked upon as a madman, am I not ?"
" Yes, sire."
" And no one is known here but Marehiali ? " " Certainly."
"Well; change nothing in the position of affairs. Let the madman
rot in the dungeon of the Bastille, and M. d'Herblay and M. du Vallon
will stand in no need of my forgiveness. Their new king will absolve
them."
" Your majesty does me a great injustice, sire; and you are wrong,"
replied Bouquet, drily; " I am not child enough, nor is M. d'Herblay
silly enough, to have omitted to make all these reflections; and if I
had wished to make a new king, as you say, I had no occasion to have
come here to force open all the gates and doors of the Bastille, to free
you from this place. That would show a want of common sense even.
Your majesty's mind is disturbed by anger; otherwise you would be
far from offending, groundlessly, the very one of your servants who has
rendered you the most important service of all."
Louis perceived that he had gone too far, that the gates of the Bas-
tille were still closed upon him; whilst, by degrees, the floodgates were
gradually being opened behind which the generous-hearted Fouquet
had restrained his anger. " I did not say that to humiliate you, Heaven
knows, monsieur," he replied. " Only you are addressing yourself to
me, in order to obtain a pardon, and I answer you according as my con-
science dictates. And so, judging by my conscience, the criminals we
speak of are not worthy of consideration or forgiveness."
Fouquet was silent.
" What I do, is as generous," added the king, " as what you have
done, for I am in your power. I will even say, it is more generous,
inasmuch as you place before me certain conditions upon which my
liberty, my life, may depend; and to. reject which is to make a sacrifice
of them both."
" I was wrong, certainly," replied Fouquet. " Yes.—I had the appear-
ance of extorting a favour; I regret it, and intreat your majesty's for-
giveness."
" And you are forgiven, my dear monsieur Fouquet," said the king
with a smile, which restored the serene expression of his features which
so many circumstances had altered since the preceding evening.
" I have my own forgiveness," replied the minister, with some degree
of persistance; "but M. d'Herblay, and M. du Vallon?"
" They will never obtain theirs, as long as I live." replied the inflex-
ible king. " Do me the kindness not to speak of it again."
" Your majesty shall be obeyed."
" And you will bear me no ill will for it."
" Oh! no, sire; for I anticipated it as being most likely."
" You had 'anticipated' that I should refuse to forgive those gen-
tlemen?"
" Certainly; and all my measures were taken in consequence."
" What do you mean to say ?" cried the king, surprised.
" M. d'Herblay came, as may be said, to deliver himself into my
hands. M. d'Herblay left to me the happiness of saving my king and
my country. I could not condemn M. d'Herblay to death; nor could I,
on the other hand, expose him to your majesty's most justifiable wrath;
it would have been just the same, as if I had killed him myself."
" Well! and what have you done ?"
the false king. 429
" Sire, I gave M. d'Herblay the best horses in my stables, and four
hours' start over all those your majesty might, probably, dispatch after
him."
"Be it so!" murmured the king. "But still, the world is wide
enough and large enough for those whom I may send to overtake your
horses, notwithstanding the' four hours' start' which you have given to
M. d'Herblay."
" In giving him those four hours, sire, I knew I was giving him his
life, and he will save his life."
" In what way ?"
" After having gallopped as hard as possible, with the four hours'
start, before your musketeers, he will reach my chateau of Belle-Isle,
where I have given him a safe asylum."
" That may be ! But you forget that you have made me a present of
Belle-Isle." " But not for you to arrest my friends."
" You take it back again, then ?" "As far as that goes—yes, sire."
" My musketeers will capture it, and the affair will be at an end."
" Neither your musketeers, nor your whole army could take Belle-
Isle," said Bouquet, coldly. " Belle-Isle is impregnable."
The king became perfectly livid; a lightning flash seemed to dart
from his eyes. Bouquet felt that he was lost, but he was not one to
shrink when the voice of honour spoke loudly within him. He bore the
king's wrathful gaze; the latter swallowed his rage, and after a few
moments' silence, said, "Are we going to return to Yaux ?"
" I am at your majesty's orders," replied Bouquet, with a low bow ;
" but I think that your majesty can hardly dispense with changing your
clothes previous to appearing before your court."
" We shall pass by the Louvre," said the king. " Come." And
they left the prison, passing before Baisemeaux, who looked com-
pletely bewildered as he saw Marchiali once more leave; and, in his
helplessness, tore out the few remaining hairs he had left. It was per-
fectly true, however, that Bouquet wrote and gave him an authority for
the prisoner's release, and that the king wrote beneath it, " Seen and
approved, Louisa piece of madness, that Baisemeaux, incapable of
putting two ideas together, acknowledged, by giving himself a terrible
blow with his fist on his jaws.
CHAPTER XCI.
The False King.
In the meantime, usurped royalty was playing out its part bravely at
Vaux. Philippe gave orders that for his petit lever, the grandes entrees,
already prepared to appear before the king, should be introduced. He
determined to give this order notwithstanding the absence of M. d'Her-
blay, who did not return, and our readers know for what reason. But
the prince, not believing that absence could be prolonged, wished, as
all rash spirits do, to try his valour and his fortune when far from all
protection and all counsel. Another reason urged him to this—Anne
of Austria was about to appear; the guilty mother was about to stand
in the presence of her sacrificed son. Philippe was not willing, if he had
a weakness, to render the man a witness of it before whom he was
bound thenceforth to display so much strength. Philippe opened his
folding doors, and several persons entered silently. Philippe did not stir
430 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
whilst his valets-cle-chambre dressed him. He had watched, the even-
ing before, all the habits of his brother, and played the king in such a
manner as to awaken no suspicion. He was then completely dressed
in his hunting costume when he received his visitors. His own memory
and the notes of Aramis announced everybody to him, first of all Anne
of Austria, to whom Monsieur gave his hand, and then Madame with
M. de Saint-Aignan. He smiled at seeing these countenances, but
trembled on recognizing his mother. That figure so noble, so im-
posing, ravaged by pain, pleaded in his heart the cause of that famous
queen who had immolated a child to reasons of state. He found his
mother still handsome. He knew that Louis XIV. loved her, and he
promised himself to love her likewise, and not to prove a cruel chastise-
ment for her old age. He contemplated his brother with a tenderness
easily to be understood. The latter had usurped nothing over him, had
cast no shade over his life. A separate branch, he allowed the stem to
rise without heeding its elevation or the majesty of its life. Philippe
promised himself to be a kind brother to this prince, who required
nothing but gold to minister to his pleasures. He bowed with a
friendly air to Saint-Aignan, who was all reverences and smiles, and
tremblingly held out his hand to Henrietta, his sister-in-law, whose
beauty struck him; but he saw inthe eyes of that princess an expression
of coldness which would facilitate, as he thought, their future relations.
" How much more easy," thought he, "it will be to be the brother of
that woman than her gallant, if she evinces towards me a coldness that
my brother could not have for her, and which is imposed upon me as a
duty." The only visit he dreaded at this moment was that of the
queen ; his heart—his mind—had just been shaken by so violent atrial,
that, in spite of their firm temperament, they would not, perhaps, sup-
port another shock. Happily the queen did not come. Then com-
menced, on the part of Anne of Austria, a political dissertation upon
the welcome M. Pouquet had given to the house of Prance. She
mixed up ^hostilities with compliments addressed to the king and
questions as to his health, with little maternal flatteries and diplomatic
artifices.
"Well, my son," said she, "are you convinced with regard to M
Pouquet ?"
" Saint-Aignan," said Philippe, " have the goodness to go and enquire
after the queen."
At these words, the first Philippe had pronounced aloud, the slight dif-
ference that there was between his voice and that of the king was
sensible to maternal ears, and Anne of Austria looked earnestly at her
son. Saint-Aignan left the room, and Philippe continued.
" Madame, I do not like to hear M. Pouquet ill-spoken of, you know
I do not—and you have even spoken well of him yourself."
" That is true; therefore I only question you on the state of your
sentiments with respect to him."
" Sire," said Henrietta, " I, on my part, have always liked M. Pouquet.
He is a man of good taste,—he is a superior man."
" A surintendant who is never sordid or niggardly," added Monsieur;
"and who pays in gold all the orders I have on him."
"Every one in this thinks too much of himself, and nobody for the
state," said the old queen. " M. Pouquet, it is a fact, M. Pouquet is
ruining the state."
"Well, mother!" replied Philippe, in rather a lower key, "doycu
likewise constitute yourself the buckler of M. Colbert ? "
"How is that ? " replied the old queen, rather surprised.
THE FALSE KING. 431
"Why, in truth," replied Philippe, "you speak that just as your old
friend Madame de Chevreuse would speak."
" Why do you mention Madame de Chevreuse to me!" said she,
"and what sort of humour are you in to-day towards me ? "
Philippe continued: " Is not Madame de Chevreuse always in league'
against somebody ? Has not Madame de Chevreuse been to pay you a
visit, mother ? "
" Monsieur, you speak to me now in such a manner that I can almost
fancy I am listening to your father."
" My father did not like Madame de Chevreuse, and had good reason
for not liking her," said the prince. "Por my part,. I like her no
better than he did; and if she thinks proper to come here as she for-
merly did, to sow divisions and hatreds under the pretext of begging
money—why "
"Well! what?" said Anne of Austria, proudly, herself provoking
the storm.
"Well!" replied the young man firmly, "I will drive Madame de
Chevreuse out of my kingdom—and with her all who meddle with secrets
and mysteries."
He had not calculated the effect of this terrible speech, or perhaps he
wished to judge of the effect of it, like those who, suffering from a
chronic pain, and seeking to break the monotony of that suffering, touch
their wound to procure a sharper pang. Anne of Austria was near faint-
ing; her eyes, open but meaningless, ceased to see for several seconds ;
she stretched out her arms towards her other son, who supported and
embraced her without fear of irritating the king.
" Sire," murmured she, "you treat your mother cruelly."
"In what, madame?" replied he. "I am only speaking of Madame
de Chevreuse; does my, mother prefer Madame de Chevreuse to the
security of the state and to the security of my person. Well, then,
madame, I tell you Madame de Chevreuse is returned to Prance to
borrow money, and that she addressed herself to M. Pouquet to sell him
a certain secret."
" A certain secret! " cried Anne of Austria.
" Concerning pretended robberies that monsieur le surintendant had
committed, which is false," added Philippe. " M. Pouquet rejected her
offers with indignation, preferring the esteem of the king to all com-
plicity with intriguers. Then Madame de Chevreuse sold the secret to
M. Colbert, and as she is insatiable, and was not satisfied with having
extorted a hundred thousand crowns from that clerk, she has flown still
higher, and has endeavoured to find still deeper springs. Is that true,
madame ? "
"You know all, sire," said the queen, more uneasy than irritated.
"Now," continued Philippe, " I have good reason to dislike this fury,
who comes to my court to plan the dishonour of some and the ruin of
others. If God has suffered certain crimes to be committed, and has
concealed them in the shade of his clemency, I will not permit
Madame de Chevreuse to have the power to counteract the designs of
God."
The latter part of this speech had so agitated the queen-mother, that
her son had pity on her. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly;
she did not feel that in that kiss, given in spite of repulsions and bitter-
nesses of the heart, there was a pardon for eight years of horrible suf-
fering. Philippe allowed the silence of a moment to swallow the emotions
that had just developed themselves. Then, with a cheerful smile:
"We will not go to-day," said hes" I have a plan." And, turning
433 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
towards the door, he hoped to see Aramis, whose absence began to alarm
him. The queen-mother wished to leave the room.
"Remain where you are, mother," said he, " I wish you to make your
peace with M. Fouquet."
" I bear no ill-will towards M. Fouquet; I only dreaded his prodi-
galities."
" We will put that to rights, and will take nothing of the surintendant
but his good qualities."
" What is your majesty looking for? " said Henrietta, seeing the king's
eyps constantly turned towards the door, and wishing to let fly a little
poisoned arrow at his heart, supposing he was so anxiously expecting
either La Valliere or a letter from her.
"My sister," said the young man, who had divined her thought,
thanks to that marvellous perspicuity of which fortune was from that
time about to allow him the exercise, " my sister, I am expecting a most
distinguished man, a most able counsellor, whom I wish to present to
you all, recommending him to your good graces. Ah! come in then,
d'Artagnan."
" What does your majesty wish ?" said d'Artagnan, appearing.
" Where is monsieur the bishop of Yannes, your friend ? "
" Why, sire "
" I am waiting for him, and he does not come. Let him be sought
for."
D'Artagnan remained for an instant stupified; but soon, reflecting
that Aramis had left Yaux secretly with a mission from the king, he
concluded that the king wished to preserve the secret of it, " Sire,"
replied he, " does your majesty absolutely require M. d'Herblay to be
brought to you ? "
" Absolutely is not the word," said Philippe; " I do not want him so
particularly as that; but if he can be found "
" I thought so," said d'Artagnan to himself.
" Is this M. d'Herblay bishop of Yannes ? " " Yes, madame."
" A friend of M. Fouquet ?" " Yes, madame, an old musketeer."
Anne of Austria blushed.
" One of the four braves who formerly performed such wonders."
The old queen repented of having wished to bite; she broke off the
conversation, in order to preserve the rest of her teeth. " Whatever
may be your choice, sire," said she, " I have no doubt it will be excel-
lent." All bowed in support of that sentiment.
" You will find in him," continued Philippe, " the depth and penetra-
tion of M. de Richelieu, without the avarice of M. de Mazarin !"
" A prime minister, sire ?" said Monsieur in a fright.
v " I will tell you all about that, brother; but it is strange that M.
d'Herblay is not here !" He called out.
" Let M. Fouquet be informed that I wish to speak to him—oh!
before you, before you; do not retire!"
M. de Saint-Aignan returned, bringing satisfactory news of the
queen, who only kept her bed from precaution, and to have strength to
carry out all the king's wishes. Whilst everybody was seeking M.
Fouquet and Aramis, the new king quietly continued his experiments,
and everybody, family, officers, servants, had not the least suspicion,
his air, voice, and manners, were so like the king's. On his side, Philippe
applying to all countenances the faithful notice and design furnished
by his accomplice Aramis, conducted himself so as not to give birth to
a doubt in the minds of those who surrounded him. Nothing from
that time could disturb the usurper. With what strange facility had
THE FALSE KING. 43£
Providence just reversed the most elevated fortune of the world to sub-
stitute the most humble in its stead! Philippe admired the goodness
of God with regard to himself, and seconded it with all the resources of
his admirable nature. But he felt, at times, something like a shadow
gliding between him and the rays of his new glory. Aramis did not
appear. The conversation had languished in the royal family; Philippe,
preoccupied, forgot to dismiss his brother and Madame Henrietta.
The latter were astonished, and began, by degrees, to lose all patience.
Anne of Austria stooped towards her son's ear, and addressed some
words to him in Spanish. Philippe was completely ignorant of that
language; and grew pale at this unexpected obstacle. But, as if the
spirit of the imperturbable Aramis had covered him with his infalli-
bility, instead of appearing disconcerted, Philippe rose. " Well! what ? "
said Anne of Austria.
"What is all that noise?" said Philippe, turning round towards the
door of the second staircase.
And a voice was heard, saying: " This way ! this way ! A few steps
more, sire!"
" The voice of M. Fouquet," said d'Artagnan, who was standing close
to the queen-mother.
" Then M. d'Herblay cannot be far off," added Philippe.
But he then saw what he little thought to see so near to him. All eyes
were turned towards the door at which M. Fouquet was expected to
enter; but it was not M. Fouquet who entered. A terrible cry re-
sounded from all corners of the chamber, a painful cry uttered by the
king and all present. It is not given to men, even to those whose
destiny contains the strangest elements, and accidents the most wonderful,
to contemplate a spectacle similar to that which presented itself in the
royal chamber at that moment. The half-closed shutters only admitted
the entrance of an uncertain light passing through large velvet curtains
lined with silk. In this soft shade, the eyes were by degrees dilated,
and every one present saw others rather with trust than with positive
sight. There could, not however, escape, in these circumstances, one of
the surrounding details; and the new object which presented itself
appeared as luminous as if it had been enlightened by the sun. So it
happened with Louis XIV., when he showed himself pale and frowning
in the doorway of the secret stairs. The face of Fouquet appeared
behind him, impressed with sorrow and sternness. The queen-mother,
who perceived Louis XIV., and who held the hand of Philippe, uttered
the cry of which we have spoken, as if she had beheld a phantom.
Monsieur was bewildered, and kept turning his head in astonishment,
from one to the other. Madame made a step forward, thinking she
saw the form of her brother-in-law reflected in a glass. And, in fact,
the illusion was possible. The two princes, both pale as death—for
we renounce the hope of being able to describe the fearful state of Phi-
lippe—both trembling, and clenching their hands convulsively, measured
each other with their looks, and darted their eyes, like poniards, into
each other. Mute, panting, bending forward, they appeared as if about
to spring upon an enemy. The unheard of resemblance of countenance,
gesture, shape, height, even to the resemblance of costume, produced
by chance—for Louis XIV. had been to the Louvre and put on a violet-
coloured dress—the perfect analogy of the two princes, completed the
consternation of Anne of Austria. And yet she did not at once guess
the truth. There are misfortunes in life that no one will accept;
people would rather believe in the supernatural and the impossible.
Louis had not reckoned upon these obstacles. He expected he had
VOL. II. 2 F
434 THE VICOHTE DE BEAGELONNE.
only to appear and be acknowledged. A living sun, he could not
endure the suspicion of parity with any one. He did not admit that
every torch should not become darkness at the instant he shone out
with his conquering ray. At the aspect of Philippe, then, he was perhaps
more terrified than any one round him, and his silence, his immobility
were, this time, a concentration and a calm which precede violent
explosions of passion.
JBut Pouquet! who could paint his emotion and stupor in presence
of this living portrait of his master! Pouquet thought Aramis was
right, that this newly-arrived was a king as pure in his race as the
other, and that, for having repudiated all participation in this coup
d'etat, so skilfully got up by the General of the Jesuits, he must be a
mad enthusiast unworthy of ever again dipping his hands in a political
work. And then it was the blood of Louis XIII. which Pouquet was
sacrificing to the blood of Louis XIII.; it was to a selfish ambition he
was sacrificing a noble ambition; it was to the right of keeping he
sacrificed the right of having. The whole extent of his fault was
revealed to him by the simple sight of the pretender. All which passed
in the mind of Pouquet was lost upon the persons present. He had
five minutes to concentrate his meditations upon this point of the case
of conscience; five minutes, that is to say five ages, during which
the two kings and their family scarcely found time to breathe after so
terrible a shock. D'Artagnan, leaning against the wall, in front of
Pouquet, with his hand to his brow, asked himself the cause of such a
wonderful prodigy. He could not have said at once why he doubted,
but he knew assuredly that he had reason to doubt, and that in this
meeting of the two Louis XIYs. lay all the difficulty which during lato
days had rendered the conduct of Aramis so suspicious to the mus-
keteer. These ideas were, however, enveloped in thick veils. The
actors in this assembly seemed to swim in the vapours of a confused
waking. Suddenly Louis XIV., more impatient and more accustomed
to command, ran to one of the shutters which he opened, tearing the
curtains in his eagerness. A flood of living light entered the chamber,
and made Philippe draw back to the alcove. Louis seized upon this
movement with eagerness, and addressing himself to the queen,—
" My mother," said he, " do you not acknowledge your son, since
every one here has forgotten his king!" Anne of Austria started, and
raised her arms towards Heaven, without being able to articulate a
single word.
" My mother," said Philippe, with a calm voice, " do you not acknow-
^edge your son ?" And this time, in his turn, Louis drew back.
As to Anne of Austria, struck in both head and heart with remorse,
she lost her equilibrium. No one aiding her, for all were petrified, she
sank back in her fauteuil, breathing a weak, trembling sigh. Louis
could not endure this spectacle and this affront. He bounded towards
d'Artagnan, upon whom the vertigo was beginning to gain, and who
staggered as he caught at the door for support.
"Arnoi! mousquetaire!" said he. "Look us in the face and say
which is the paler, he or I!"
This cry roused d'Artagnan, and stirred in his heart the fibre of
obedience. He shook his head, and, without more hesitation, he walked
straight up to Philippe, upon whose shoulder he laid his hand, saying,
" Monsieur, you are my prisoner!"
Philippe did not raise his eyes towards Heaven, nor stir from the
spot, where he seemed nailed to the floor, his eye intensely fixed upon
the king his brother. He reproached him by a sublime silence with all
porthos thinks he is pursuing a duchy. 435
his misfortunes past, with all his tortures to come. Against this lan-
guage of the soul the king felt he had no power; he cast down his eyes,
dragging away precipitately his brother and sister, forgetting his mother
sitting motionless within three paces of the son whom she left a second
time to be condemned to death. Philippe approached Anne of Austria,
and said to her, in a soft and nobly agitated voice,—
" If I were not your son, I should curse you, my mother, for having
rendered me so unhappy."
D'Artagnan felt a shudder pass through the marrow of his bones.
He bowed respectfully to the young prince, and said, as he bent, "Ex-
cuse me, monseigneur, I am but a soldier, and my oaths are his who has
just left the chamber."
" Thank you, M. d'Artagnan. But what is become of M. d'Herblay?"
" M. d'Herblay is in safety, monseigneur," said a voice behind them;
" and no one, while I live and am free, shall cause a hair to fall from
his head."
" Monsieur Fouquet!" said the prince, smiling sadly.
" Pardon me, monseigneur," said Fouquet, kneeling, " but he who is
just gone out from hence was my guest."
"Here are," murmured Philippe, with a sigh, "brave friends and
good hearts. They make me regret the world. On, M. d'Artagnan, I
follow you."
At the moment the captain of the musketeers was about to leave the
room with his prisoner, Colbert appeared, and, after remitting an order
from the king to d'Artagnan, retired. D'Artagnan read the paper, and
then crushed it in his hand with rage.
" What is it ?" asked the prince.
" Bead, monseigneur," replied the musketeer.
Philippe read the following words, hastily traced by the hand of the
king:—" M. d'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the lies Sainte-
Marguerite. He will cover his face with an iron vizor, which the
prisoner cannot raise without peril of his life."
" That is just," said Philip, with resignation, "I am ready."
" Aramis was right," said Fouquet, in a low voice to the musketeer;
" this one is quite as much of a king as the other."
" More!" replied d'Artagnan. " He only wants you and me."
CHAPTER XCII.
In which Porthos thinks he is pursuing a Duchy.
Aramis and Porthos, having profited by the time granted them by
Fouquet, did honour to the French cavalry by their speed. Porthos
did not clearly understand for what kind of mission he was forced to
display so much velocity ; but as he saw Aramis spurring on furiously,
he, Porthos, spurred on in the same manner. They had soon, in this
manner, placed twelve leagues between them and Vaux; they were
then obliged to change horses, and organize a sort of post arrangement.
It was during a relay that Porthos ventured to interrogate Aramis
discreetly.
"Hush!" replied the latter, "know only that our fortune depends
upon our speed."
As if Porthos had still been the musketeer, without a sou or a.
2 E 2
433 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELOHNE.
niaille, of 1626, he pushed forward. That magic word "fortune"
always means something in the human ear. It means enough for those
who have nothing: it means too much for those who have enough.
"I shall be made a duke !" said Porthos, aloud. He was speaking
to himself.
" That is possible," replied Aramis, smiling after his own fashion, as
the horse of Porthos passed him. The head of Aramis was, notwith-
_standing, on fire; the activity of the body had not yet succeeded in
"subduing that of the mind. All that there is in raging passions, in se-
vere toothaches, or mortal threats twisted, gnawed, and grumbled in the
thoughts of the vanquished prelate, His countenance exhibited very
visible traces of this rude combat. Pree upon the highway to abandon
himself to every impression of the moment, Aramis did not fail to swear
at every start of his horse, at every inequality in the road. Pale, at
times inundated with boiling sweats, then again dry and icy, he beat
his horses and made the blood stream from their sides. Porthos, whose
dominant fault was not sensibility, groaned at this. Thus travelled
they on for eight long hours, and then arrived at Orleans. It was four
o'clock in the afternoon. Aramis, on observing this, judged that
nothing demonstrated pursuit to be possible. It would be without
example that a troop capable of taking him and Porthos should be fur-
nished with relays sufficient to perform forty leagues in eight hours.
Thus, admitting pursuit, which was not at all manifest, the fugitives
were five hours in advance of their pursuers.
Aramis thought that there might be no imprudence in taking a little
rest, but that to continue would make the matter more certain. Twenty
leagues more, performed with the same rapidity, twenty more leagues
devoured, and no one, not even d'Artagnan, could overtake the enemies
of the king. Aramis felt obliged, therefore, to inflict upon Porthos the
pain of mounting on horseback again. They rode on till seven o'clock
in the evening, and had only one post more between them and Blois.
But here a diabolical accident alarmed Aramis greatly. There were no
horses at the post. The prelate asked himself by what infernal machi-
nation his enemies had succeeded in depriving him of the means of
going further,—he who never recognized chance as a deity, he who
found a cause for every result, he preferred believing that the refusal
of the postmaster, at such an hour, in such a country, was the conse-
quence of an order emanating from above ; an order given with a view
of stopping short the king-maker in the midst of his flight. But at the
moment he was about to fly into a passion, so as to procure either a horse
or an explanation, he was struck with the recollection that the Comte
de la Pere lived in the neighbourhood.
"I am not travelling," said he; "I do not want horses for a whole
stage. Pind me two horses to go and pay a visit to a nobleman of my
acquaintance who resides near this place."
" What nobleman ?" asked the postmaster.
" M. le Comte de la Pere."
" Oh!" replied thfe postmaster, uncovering with respect," a very worthy
nobleman. But, whatever may be my desire to make myself agreeable
to him, I cannot furnish you with horses, for all mine are engaged by
M. le Due de Beaufort."
" Indeed!" said Aramis, much disappointed.
" Only " continued the postmaster, " if you will put up with a little
carriage I have, I will harness an old blind horse, who has still his legs
left, and will draw you to the house of M. le Comte de la Pere."
" That is worth a louis," eaid Aramis.
porthos thinks he is pursuing a duchy. 437
" No, monsieur, that is never worth more than a crown; that is what
M. Grimaud, the comte's intendant, always pays me when he makes
use of that carriage; and I should not wish the Comte de la Fere to
have to reproach me with having imposed on one of his friends."
"As you please," said Aramis, " particularly as regards disobliging the
Comte de la Fere; only I think I have a right to give you a louis for
your idea."
" Oh ! doubtless !" replied the postmaster, with delight. And he
himself harnessed the old horse to the creaking carriage. In the mean
time Porthos was curious to behold. He imagined he had discovered
the secret, and he felt pleased, because a visit to Athos, in the first
place, promised him much satisfaction, and, in the next, gave him
the hopes of finding at the same time a good bed and a good supper.
The master, having got the carriage ready, ordered one of his men to
drive the strangers to La Fere. Porthos took his seat by the side of
Aramis, whispering in his ear, " I understand."
" Ah ! ah !" said Aramis, " and what do you understand, my friend ? "
"We are going, on the part of the king, to make some great pro-
posal to Athos." " Pooh !" said Aramis.
" You need tell me nothing about it," added the worthy Porthos,
endeavouring to place himself so as to avoid the jolting, " you need tell
me nothing, I shall guess."
" Well! do, my friend; guess away."
They arrived at Athos' dwelling about nine o'clock in the evening,
favoured by a splended moon. This cheerful light rejoiced Porthos
beyond expression; but Aramis appeared annoyed by it in an equal
degree. He could not help showing something of this to Porthos, who
replied " Ay ! ay! I guess how it is ! the mission is a secret one."
These were his last words in the carriage. The driver interrupted
him by saying, " Gentlemen, you are arrived."
Porthos and his companion alighted before the gate of the little chateau,
where we are about to meet again with Athos and Bragelonne, the
latter of whom had disappeared since the discovery of the infidelity of
La Yalliere. If there be one saying more true than another, it is
this: great griefs contain within themselves the germ of their consola-
tion. This painful wound, inflicted upon Raoul, had drawn him nearer
to his father again; and God knows how sweet were the consolations
which flowed from the eloquent mouth and generous heart of Athos.
The wound was not cicatrized, but Athos, by dint of conversing with
his son and mixing a little more of his life with that of the young man,
had brought him to understand that this pang of a first infidelity is
necessary to every human existence; and that no one has loved without
meeting with it. Raoul listened often, but never understood. Nothing
replaces in the deeply-afflicted heart the remembrance and thought of
the beloved object. Raoul then replied to the reasonings of his father:
" Monsieur, all that you tell me is true; I believe that no one has
suffered in the affections of the heart so much as you have; but you are
a man too great from intelligence, and too severely tried by misfortunes,
not to allow for the weakness of the soldier who suffers for the first
time. I am paying a tribute which I shall not pay a second time; per-
mit me to plunge myself so deeply in my grief that I may forget myself
in it, that 1 may drown even my reason in it."
"Raoul! Raoul!"
" Listen, monsieur. Never shall I accustom myself to the idea, that
Louise, the most chaste and the most innocent of women, has been able
bo basely to deceive a man so honest and so true a lover as I am.
433 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
Never can I persuade myself that I see that sweet and good mask
change into a hypocritical and lascivious face. Louise lost! Louise
infamous! Ah! monseigneur, that idea is much more cruel to me
than Eaoul abandoned—Eaoul unhappy !"
Athos then employed the heroic remedy. He defended Louise
against Eaoul, and justified her perfidy by her love. " A woman who
would have yielded to a king, because he is a king," said he, " would
deserve to be styled infamous; but Louise loves Louis. Both young,
they have forgotten, he his rank, and she her vows. Love absolves
everything, Eaoul. The two young people loved each other with sin-
cerity."
And when he had dealt this severe poniard-thrust, Athos, with a
sigh, saw Eaoul bound away under the cruel wound, and fly to the
thickest recesses of the wood, or the solitude of his chamber, whence,
an hour after, he would return, pale, trembling, but subdued. Then,
coming up to Athos with a smile, he would kiss his hand, like the dog
who, having been beaten, caresses a good master, to redeem his fault.
Eaoul redeemed nothing but his weakness, and only confessed his
grief. Thus passed- away the days that followed that scene in which
Athos had so violently shaken the indomitable pride of the king.
Never, when conversing with his son, did he make any allusion to that
scene; never did he give him the details of that vigorous lecture, which
might, perhaps, have consoled the young man, by showing him his
rival humbled. Athos did not wish that the offended lover should
forget the respect due to the king. And when Bragelonne, ardent,
furious, and melancholy, spoke with contempt of royal words, of the
equivocal faith which certain madmen draw from promises falling
from thrones, when, passing over two centuries, with the rapidity of
a bird which traverses a narrow strait, to go from one world to the
other, Eaoul ventured to predict the time in which kings would become
less than other men, Athos said to him, in his serene persuasive voice,
" You are right, Eaoul; all that you say will happen; kings will lose
their privileges, as stars which have completed their time lose their
splendour. But when that moment shall come, Eaoul, we shall be
dead. And remember well what I say to you. In this world, all,
men, women, and kings, must live for the present. "We can only
live for the future for God."
This was the manner in which Athos and Eaoul were, as usual,
conversing, and walking backwards and forwards in the long alley of
limes in the park, when the bell which served to announce to the comte
either the hour of dinner or the arrival of a visitor, was rung; and,
without attaching any importance to it, he turned towards the house
with his son; and at the end of the alley they found themselves in the
presence of Aramis and Porthos.
CHAPTER XCin.
The last Adieux.
Eaoul uttered a cry, and affectionately embraced Porthos. Aramis
and Athos embraced like old men; and this embrace itself being a
question for Aramis, he immediately said, " My friend we have not long
to remain with you."
" Ah!" said the comte.
THE LAST ADIEUS. 439
" Only time to tell you of my good fortune," interrupted Porbkos.
" Ak!" said Raoul.
Atkos looked silently at Aramis, wkose somkre air kad already ap-
peared to kim -very little in karmony with the good news Porthos
spoke of.
" What is tke good fortune tkat kas kappened to you ? Let us kear
it," said Raoul, witk a smile.
" Tke king kas made me a duke," said tke wortky Portkos, witk an
air of mystery, in tke ear of tke young man, " a duke ky brevet."
But tke asides of Portkos were always loud enougk to ke keard by
everybody. His murmurs were in tke diapason of ordinary roaring.
Atkos keard him, and uttered an exclamation which made Aramis
start. The latter took Atkos by tke arm, and, after having asked
Portkos's permission to say a word to his friend in private, " My dear
Atkos," ke began, " you see me overwhelmed witk grief."
" Witk grief, my dear friend ? " cried tke comte ; " ok, wkat ? "
" In two words. I have raised a conspiracy against the king; tkat
conspiracy kas failed, and, at this moment, I am doubtless pursued."
"You are pursued!—a conspiracy! Ek! my friend, wkat do you
tell me ?"
" A sad truth. I am entirely ruined."
" Well, but Portkos—this title of duke—what does all tkat mean ?"
" That is tke subject of my severest pain; tkat is tke deepest of my
wounds. I have, believing in an infallible success, drawn Portkos
into my conspiracy. He has thrown himself into it, as you know ke
would do, witk all his strength, without knowing wkat he was about;
and now, ke is as muck compromised as myself—as completely ruined
as I am."
" Good God!" And Atkos turned towards Portkos, who was smiling
complacently.
" I must make you acquainted witk tke whole. Listen to me," con-
tinued Aramis; and he related the history as we know it. Atkos,
during tke recital, several times felt tke sweat break from his fore-
head. " It was a great idea," said ke, " but a great error."
" Eor which I am punished, Atkos."
" Therefore, I will not tell you my entire thought."
" Tell it, nevertheless." " It is a crime."
" Capital, I know it is. Lese majeste."
" Portkos ! poor Portkos !"
"What would you advise me to do? Success, as I have told you,
was certain."
" M. Bouquet is an honest man."
"And I am a fool for having so ill judged of him," said Aramis.
" Ok, the wisdom of man ! Oh, vast millstone which grinds a world!
and which is one day stopped by a grain of sand which has fallen, no
one knows how, in its wheels."
" Say, by a diamond, Aramis. But tke thing is done. How do you
think of acting ? "
" I am taking away Porthos. The king will never believe that tkat
wortky man has acted innocently. He never can believe that Portkos
kas thought be was serving tke king, whilst acting as ke kas done.
His head would pay for my fault. It shall not be so."
" You are taking him away, whither ? "
"To Belle-Isle, at first. Tkat is an impregnable place of refuge.
Then I have tke sea, and a vessel to pass over into England, where I
have many relations."
440 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONKE.
" You ? in England ? "
" Yes, or else into Spain, where I have still more."
" But, our excellent Porthos ! you ruin him, for the king will con-
fiscate all his property."
" All is provided for. I know how, when once in Spain, to reconcile
myself with Louis XIV., and restore Porthos to favour."
" You have credit, seemingly, Aramis!" said Athos, with a dis-
creet air.——"Much; and at the service of my friends."
These words were accompanied by a warm pressure of the hand.
" Thank you," replied the comte.
" And while we are on that head," said Aramis, " you also are a mal-
content; you also, Raoul, have griefs to lay to the king. Follow our
example; pass over into Belle-Isle. Then we shall see, I guarantee
upon my honour, that in a month there will be war between France
and Spain on the subject of this son of Louis XIII., who is an Infante
likewise, and whom France detains inhumanly. Now, as Louis XIY.
would have no inclination for a war on that subject, I will answer for a
transaction, the result of which must bring greatness to Porthos and to
me, and a duchy in France to you, who are already a grandee of Spain.
"Will you join us ? "
"No; for my part I prefer having something to reproach the king
with; it is a pride natural to my race to pretend to a superiority over
royal races. Doing what you propose, I should become the obliged of
the king; I should certainly be a gainer on that ground, but I should
be a loser in my conscience.—No, thank you! "
" Then, give me two things, Athos,—your absolution."
" Oh! I give it you if you have really wished to avenge the weak and
the oppressed against the oppressor."
" That is sufficient for me," said Aramis, with a blush which was lost
in the obscurity of the night. "And now, give me your two best
horses to gain the second post, as I have been refused any under the
pretext of the Due de Beaufort being travelling in this country."
"You shall have the two best horses, Aramis; and I again recom-
mend Porthos strongly to you."
" Oh! have no fear on that head. One word more: do you think I
am manoeuvring for him as I ought ? "
" The evil being committed, yes; for the king would not pardon him,
and you have, whatever may be said, always a supporter in M. Fouquet,
who will not abandon you, he being himself compromised, notwith-
standing his heroic action."
" You are right. And that is why, instead of gaining the sea at once,
which would proclaim my fear and guilt, that is why I remain upon
French ground. But Belle-Isle will be for me whatever ground I wish
it to be, English, Spanish, or Roman; all will consist, with me, in the
standard I shall think proper to unfurl."
" How so ? "
" It was I who fortified Belle-Isle; and, whilst I defend it, nobody
can take Belle-Isle from me. And then, as you have said just now,
M. Fouquet is there. Belle-Isle will not be attacked without the sig-
nature of M. Fouquet."
" That is true. Nevertheless, be prudent. The king is both cunning
and strong." Aramis smiled.
"I again recommend Porthos to you," repeated the comte, with a
sort of cold persistance.
" "Whatever becomes of me, comte," replied Aramis, in the same tone,
" our brother Porthos will fare as I do,"
THE LAST ADIEUX. 441
Athos bowed whilst pressing the hand of Aramis, and turned to em-
brace Porthos with much emotion.
" I was born lucky, was I not ? " murmured the latter, transported
with happiness, as he folded his cloak round him.
" Come, my dear friend," said Aramis.
Raoul was gone out to give orders for the saddling of the horses. The
group was already divided. Athos saw his two friends on the point of
departure, and something like a mist passed before his eyes, and
weighed upon his heart.
"It is strange," thought he, " whence comes the inclination I feel to
embrace Porthos once more?"—At that moment Porthos turned
round, and he came towards his old friend with open arms. This last
endearment was tender as in youth, as in times when the heart was
warm, and life happy. And then Porthos mounted his horse. Aramis
came back once more to throw his arms round the neck of Athos. The
latter watched them along the high road, elongated by the shade, in
their white cloaks. Like two phantoms they seemed to be enlarged on
departing from the earth, and it was not in the mist, but in the de-
clivity of the ground that they disappeared. At the end of the perspec-
tive, both seemed to have given a spring with their feet, which made
them vanish as if evaporated into the clouds.
Then Athos, with an oppressed heart, returned towards the house,
saying to Bragelonne, " Raoul, I don't know what it is that has just
told me that I have seen these two men for the last time."
" It does not astonish me, monsieur, that you should have such a
thought," replied the young man, "for I have at this moment the same,
and think also that I shall never see MM. du Vallon and D'Herblay
again."
" Oh ! you," replied the comte, " you speak like a man rendered sad
by another cause; you see everything in black; you are young, and if
you chance never to see those old friends again, it will be because they
no longer exist in the world in which you have many years to pass.
But I "
Raoul shook his head sadly, and leant upon the shoulder of the
comte, without either of them finding another word in their hearts,
which were ready to overflow.
All at once a noise of horses and voices, from the extremity of the
road to Blois, attracted their attention that way. Plambeaux-bearers
shook their torches merrily among the trees of their route, and turned
round, from time to time, to avoid distancing the horsemen who fol-
lowed them. These flames, this noise, this dust of a dozen richly
caparisoned horses, formed a strange contrast in the middle of the night
with the melancholy funeral disappearance of the two shadows of
Aramis and Porthos. Athos went towards the house; but he had
hardly reached the parterre, when the entrance gate appeared in a
blaze; all the flambeaux stopped and appeared to enflame the road. A
cry was heard of " M. le Due de Beaufort"—and Athos sprang towards
the door of his house. But the due had already alighted from his horse,
and was looking around him.
" I am here, monseigneur," said Athos.
" Ah ! good evening, dear comte," said the prince, with that frank
cordiality which won him so many hearts. " Is it too late for a friend?"
" Ah! my dear prince—come in !" said the comte.
And, M. de Beaufort leaning on the arm of Athos, they entered the
house, followed by Raoul, who walked respectfully and modesty among
the officers of the prince, with several of whom he was acquainted.
442
THE VICOilTE DE BBAGELONNE.
CHAPTER XCIY.
Monsieur de Beaufort.
The prince turned round at the moment when Raoul, in order to
leave him alone with Athos, was shutting the door, and preparing to
go with the other officers into an adjoining apartment.
" Is that the young man I have heard M. le Prince speak so highly
of?" asked M. de Beaufort. "It is, monseigneur."
" He is quite the soldier; let him stay, comte, we cannot spare him."
" Remain, Raoul, since monseigneur permits it," said Athos.
" Mafoi! he is tall and handsome!" continued the duke. "Will
you give him to me, monseigneur, if I ask him of you ?"
" How am I to understand you, monseigneur ?" said Athos.
" Why, I call upon you to bid you farewell."
" Farewell!" "Yes, in good truth. Have you no idea of what I
am about to become ?"
" Why, I suppose, what you have always been, monseigneur, — a
valiant prince, and an excellent gentleman."
" I am going to become an African prince,—a Bedouin gentleman.
The king is sending me to make conquests among the Arabs."
" What do you tell me, monseigneur ?"
" Strange, is it not ? I, the Parisian par essence—I, who have reigned
in the faubourgs, and have been called King of the Holies,—I am going
to pass from the Place Maubert to the minarets of Gigelli; I become
from a frondeur an adventurer !"
" Oh, monseigneur, if you did not yourself tell me that "
" It would not be credible, would it ? Believe me, nevertheless, and
we have but to bid each other farewell. This is what comes of getting
into favour again." " Into favour ?"
" Yes. You smile. Ah, my dear comte, do you know why I have
accepted this enterprise; can you guess ? "
" Because your highness loves glory above everything."
" Oh ! no; there is no glory in firing muskets at savages. I see no
glory in that, for my part, and it is more probable that I shall there
meet with something else. But I have wished, and still wish earnestly,
my dear comte, that my life should have that last facet, after all
the whimsical exhibitions I have seen myself make during fifty years.
For, in short, you must admit that it is sufficiently strange to be
born the grandson of a king, to have made war against kings, to have
been reckoned among the powers of the age, to have maintained my
rank, to feel Henry IV. within me, to be great admiral of France—and
then to go and get killed at Gigelli, among all those Turks, Saracens,
and Moors."
" Monseigneur, you dwell strangely upon that subject," said Athos
in an agitated voice. " How can you suppose that so brilliant a destiny
will be extinguished in that remote and miserable scene?"
" And can you believe, just and simple man as you are, that if I gr
into Africa for this ridiculous motive, I will not endeavour to come out
of it without ridicule ? Will I not give the world cause to speak of
me? And to be spoken of, now-a-days, when there are Monsieur le
Prince, M. de Turenne, and many others, my contemporaries, I, admiral
of France, grandson of Henry IV., king of Pa^H have I anything left
MONSIEUR DE BEAUFORT. 443
but to get myself killed ! Cordieu ! I will be talked of, I tell you; 1
shall be killed whether or not; if not there, somewhere else."
"Why, monseigneur, this is only exaggeration; and hitherto you
have demonstrated nothing of that kind but in bravery."
" Peste! my dear friend, there is bravery in facing scurvy, dysentery,
locusts, and poisoned arrows, as my ancestor St. Louis did. Do you
know those fellows still use poisoned arrows ? And then, you know
me of old, I fancy, and you know that when I once make up my mind
to a thing, I do it in earnest."
"Yes, you made up your mind to escape from Vincennes."
"Ay, but you aided me in that, my master; and, a propos, I turn
this way and turn that, without seeing my old friend, M. Yaugrimaud.
How is he ?"
" M. Yaugrimaud is still your highness's most respectful servant,"
said Athos, smiling.
" I have a hundred pistoles here for him, which I bring as a legacy.
My will is made, comte."
" Ah! monseigneur! monseigneur!"
" And you may understand that if Grimaud's name were to appear
in my will " The due began to laugh; then addressing Eaoul, who,
from the commencement of' this conversation, had sunk into a profound
revery, "Young man," said he, "I know there is to be found here a
certain de Youvray wine, and I believe " Eaoul left the room pre-
eipitately to order the wine. In the mean time M. de Beaufort took
the hand of Athos.
" What do you mean to do with him P" asked he.
" Nothing, at present, monseigneur."
" Ah! yes, I know; since the passion of the king for La Yalliere."
"Yes, monseigneur."
" That is all true, then, is it ? I think I know her, that little La
Yalliere. She is not particularly handsome, if I remember right ?"
"No, monseigneur," said Athos.
"Do you know whom she reminds me of?"
" Does she remind your highness of any one ?"
" She reminds me of a very agreeable girl, whose mother lived in the
Halles." " Ah ! ah !" said Athos, smiling.
" Oh! the good' old times," added M. de Beaufort. " Yes, La Yalliero
reminds me of that girl."
" Who had a son. had she not ?"
" I believe she nad," replied the due, with careless naivete, and a
complaisant forgetfulness, of which no words could translate the tone
and the vocal expression. " Now, here is poor Eaoul, who is your son,
I believe."
"Yes, he is my son, monseigneur."
" And the poor lad has been cut out by the king, and he frets."
" Better than that, monseigneur, he abstains."
"You are going to let the boy rust in idleness; you are wrong.
Come, give him to me."
" My wish is to keep him at home, monseigneur. I have no longe-,
anything in the world but him, and as long as he likes to remain "
* Well, well," replied the due. " I could, nevertheless, have soon put
matters to rights again. I assure you, I think he has in him the stuff
of which marechals of Prance are mad?; I have seen more than one
produced from such."
"That is very possible, monseigneur; but it is the king who makes
marechals of Prance, and Eaoul will never accept anything of the king"
444 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
Raoul interrupted this conversation by his return. He preceded
Grimaud, whose still steady hands carried the plateau with one glass
and a bottle of the due's favourite wine. On seeing his old protege, the
due uttered an exclamation of pleasure.
" Grimaud! Good evening, Grimaud!" said he; " how goes it?"
The servant bowed profoundly, as much gratified as his noble inter-
locutor was.
" Two old friends!" said the due, shaking honest Grimaud's shoulder
after a vigorous fashion ; which was followed by another still more pro-
found and delighted bow from Grimaud.
" But, what is this, comte, only one glass ? "
"I should not think of drinking with your highness, unless your
highness permitted me," replied Athos, with noble humility.
Cordieu! you were right to bring only one glass, we will both drink
out of it, like two brothers in arms. Begin, comte."
" Do me the honour," said Athos, gently putting back the glass.
"You are a charming friend," replied the due de Beaufort, who
drank, and passed the goblet to his companion. " But that is not all,"
continued he, " I am still thirsty, and I wish to do honour to this hand-
some young man, who stands here. I carry good luck with me,
vicomte," said he to Raoul; " wish for something while drinking out of
my glass, and the plague stifle me if what you wish does not come to
pass!" He held the goblet to Raoul, who hastily moistened his lips,
and replied with the same promptitude.
" I have wished for something, monseigneur." His eyes sparkled with
a gloomy fire, and the blood mounted to his cheeks; he terrified Athos,
if only with his smile.
" And what have you wished for ?" replied the due, sinking back into
his fauteuil, whilst with one hand he returned the bottle to Grimaud,
and with the other gave him a purse.
" Will you promise me, monseigneur, to grant me what I wish for r"
" JPardieu! That is agreed upon ? "
" I wished, monsieur le due, to go with you to Gigelli."
Athos became pale, and was unable to conceal his agitation. The
due looked at his friend, as if desirous to assist him to parry this unex-
pected blow.
" That is difficult, my dear vicomte, very difficult," added he, in a
lower tone of voice.
" Pardon me, monseigneur, I have been indiscreet," replied Raoul,
in a firm voice; " but as you yourself invited me to wish "
" To wish to leave me ?" said Athos.
" Oh ! monsieur can you imagine "
"Well! mordieu!" cried the due, "the young vicomte is right!
What can he do here? He will rot with grief."
Raoul blushed, and the excitable prince continued : "War is a dis-
traction ; we gain everything by it; we can only lose one thing by it—
life—then so much the worse!"
" That is to say memory," said Raoul, eagerly; " and that is to say,
so much the better !"
He repented of having spoken so warmly when he saw Athos rise
and open the window; which was, doubtless, to conceal an emotion.
Raoul sprang towards the comte, but the latter had already overcome
his emotion, and turned to the lights with a serene and impassible
countenance. "Well, come," said the due, "let us see! Shall he go,
or shall he not ? If he goes, comte, he shall be my aide-de-camp, my
son."
MOHSIETTE DE BEAUFOET. 445
4 Monseigneur!" cried Eaoul, bending his knee.
" Monseigneur !" cried Athos, taking the hand of the due; " Raoul
shall do just as he likes."
" Oh! no, monsieur, just as you like," interrupted the young man.
"By la Corbleu!" said the prince in his turn, "it is neither the
comte nor the vicomte that shall have his way, it is I. I will take him
away. The marine offers a superb future, my friend."
Raoul smiled again so sadly, that this time Athos felt his heart
penetrated by it, and replied to him by a severe look. Raoul com-
prehended it all; he recovered his calmness, and was so guarded,
that not another word escaped him. The due at length rose, on
observing the advanced hour,and said with much animation, "I am in
great haste, but if I am told I have lost time in talking with a friend,
I will reply I have gained a good recruit."
" Pardon me, monsieur le due," interrupted Raoul, " do not tell the
king so, for it is not the king I will serve."
"Eh! my friend, whom then will you serve ? The times are past
when you might have said, 'I belong to M. de Beaufort.' No, now-a-
days, we all belong to the king, great or small. Therefore, if you serve
on board my vessels, there can be nothing equivocal in it, my dear
vicomte ; it will be the king you will serve."
Athos waited with a kind of impatient joy for the reply about to be
made to this embarrassing question by Raoul, the intractable enemy of
the king, his rival. The father hoped that the obstacle would overcome
the desire. He was thankful to M. de Beaufort, whose lightness, or
generous reflection had thrown an impediment in the way of the depar-
ture of a son now his only joy. But Raoul, still firm and tranquil:
"Monsieur le due," replied he, "the objection you make I have
already considered in my mind. I will serve on board your vessels,
because you do me the honour to take me with you; but I shall there
serve a more powerful master than the king, I shall serve God!"
" God ! how so ? " said the due and Athos together.
" My intention is to make profession, and become a knight of Malta,"
added Bragelonne, letting fall, one by one, words more icy than the
drops which fall from bare trees after the tempests of winter.
Under this blow Athos staggered and the prince himself was moved.
Grimaud uttered a heavy groan, and let fall the bottle, which was
broken without anybody paying attention to it. M. de Beaufort looked
the young man in the face, and read plainly, though his eyes were
cast down, the fire of resolution before which everything must give
way. As to Athos he was too well acquainted with that tender, but in-
flexible, soul; he could not hope to make it deviate from the fatal road it
had just chosen. He could only press the hand the due held out to
him. " Comte, I shall set off in two days for Toulon," said M. de
Beaufort. " Will you meet me at Paris, in order that I may know
your determination ? "
" I will have the honour of thanking you there, mon prince, for all
your kindnesses," replied the comte.
" And be sure to bring the vicomte with you, whether he follows me
or does not follow me," added the due; " he has my word, and I only
ask yours."
Having thrown a little balm upon the wound of the paternal heart,
he pulled the ear of Grimaud, whose eyes sparkled more than usual,
and regained his escort in the parterre. The horses, rested and
refreshed, set off with spirit through this beautiful night, and soon
placed a considerable distance between their master and the chateau.
446 THE VICOHTE EE BBAGELONNE.
Athos and Bragelonne were again face to face. Eleven o'clock was
striking. The father and son preserved a profound silence towards
each other, where an intelligent observer would have expected cries
and tears. But these two men were of such a nature that all emotion
plunged itself where it was lost for ever when they had resolved to
confine it to their own hearts. They passed, then, silently and almost
breathlessly the hour which preceded midnight. The clock, by strik-
ing, alone pointed out to them how many minutes had lasted the painful
journey made by their souls in the immensity of the remembrances of
the past and of the fears of the future. Athos rose first, saying, " It is
late—till to-morrow."
Eaoul rose, and in his turn embraced his father. The latter held
him clasped to his breast, and said in a tremulous voice, " In two days
you will have left me, then—left me for ever, Raoul!"
" Monsieur," replied the young man, " I had formed a determination,
that of piercing my heart with my sword; but you would have thought
that cowardly. I have renounced that determination, and therefore
we must part."
" You leave me by going, Eaoul."
" Listen to me again, monsieur, I implore you. If I do not go, I
shall die here of grief and love. I know how long a time I have to live
thus. Send me away quickly, monsieur, or you will see me basely die
before your eyes—in your house—this is stronger than my will—stronger
than my strength—you may plainly see that within one month I have
lived thirty years, and that I approach the end of my life."
" Then," said Athos, coldly, " you go with the intention of getting
killed in Africa ? Oh ! tell me! do not lie!"
Eaoul grew deadly pale, and remained silent for two seconds, which
were to his father two hours of agony. Then, all at once: " Monsieur,"
said he, " I have promised to devote myself to God. In exchange for
this sacrifice which I make of my youth and my liberty, I will only ask
of Him one thing, and that is, to preserve me for you, because you are
the only tie which attaches me to this world. God alone can give me
the strength not to forget that I owe you everything, and that nothing
ought to be with me before you."
Athos embraced his son tenderly, and said:
"You have just replied to me on the word of honour of an honest
man; in two days we shall be with M. de Beaufort at Paris, and you will
then do what will be proper for you to do. You are free, Eaoul; adieu."
And he slowly gained his bedroom. Eaoul went down into the
garden, and passed the night in the alley of limes.
CHAPTER XCY.
Preparations for Departure.
Athos lost no more time in combating this immutable resolution.
He gave all his attention to preparing, during the two days the due had
granted him, the proper appointments for Eaoul. This labour chiefly
concerned Grimaud, who immediately applied himself to it with the
goodwill and intelligence we know he possessed. Athos gave this
worthy servant orders to take the route to Paris when the equipments
should be ready, and not to expose himself to keeping the due waiting,
or to delay Eaoul, so that the due should perceive his absence, he him-
PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE. 417
self, the day after the visit of M. de Beaufort, set off for Paris witli his
$>on.
Por the poor young man it was an emotion easily to be understood,
■ffius to return to Paris amongst all the people who had known and
loved him. Every face recalled a suffering to him who had suffered so
much, to him who had loved so much, some circumstance of his love.
Eaoul, on approaching Paris, felt as if he were dying. Once in Paris,
he really existed no longer. When he reached Guiche's residence, he
was informed that Guiche was with Monsieur. Eaoul took the road to
the Luxembourg, and when arrived, without suspecting that he was
going to the place where La Valliere had lived, he heard so much music
and respired so many perfumes, he heard so much joyous laughter, and
saw so many dancing shadows, that, if it had not been for a charitable
woman, who perceived him so dejected and pale beneath a doorway, he
would have remained there a few minutes, and then would have gone
away never to return. But, as we have said, in the first antechambers
he had stopped, solely for the sake of not mixing himself with all those
happy existences which he felt were moving around him in the adjacent
saloons. And as one of Monsieur's servants, recognizing him, had asked
him. if he wished to see Monsieur or Madame, Eaoul had scarcely
answered him, but had sunk down upon a bench near the velvet door-
way, looking at a clock, which had stood for nearly an hour. The
servant had passed on, and another, better acquainted with him, had
come up, and interrogated Eaoul whether he should inform M. Guiche
of his being there. This name even did not rouse the recollections of
poor Eaoul. The persistent servant went on to relate that Guiche had
just invented a new game of lottery, and was teaching it to the ladies.
Eaoul opening his large eyes, like the absent man in Theophrastus, had
made no answer, but his sadness had increased by it two shades. With
his head hanging down, his limbs relaxed, his mouth half open for the
escape of his sighs, Eaoul remained, thus forgotten, in the antechamber,
when all at once a lady's robe passed, rubbing against the doors of a
lateral saloon which opened upon the gallery. A lady, young, pretty,
and gay, scolding an officer of the household, entered by that way, and
expressed herself with much vivacity. The officer replied in calm but
firm sentences: it was rather a little love pet than a quarrel of courtiers,
and was terminated by a kiss on the fingers of the lady. Suddenly, on
perceiving Eaoul, the lady became silent, and pushing away the officer:
" Make your escape, Malicorne," said she; " I did not think there was
any one here. I shall curse you, if they have either heard or seen us I"
Malicorne hastened away. The young lady advanced behind Eaoul,
and stretching her joyous face over him as he lay:
" Monsieur is a gallant man," said she, " and no doubt "
She here interrupted herself by uttering a cry: "Eaoul!" said she*
blushing.
" Mademoiselle de Montalais!" said Eaoul, more pale than death.
He rose unsteadily, and tried to make his way across the slippery
mosaic of the floor; but she had comprehended that savage and cruel
grief; she felt that in the flight of Eaoul there was an accusation, or at
least a suspicion against herself. A woman, ever vigilant, she did not
think she ought to let the opportunity slip of making a justification
but Eaoul, though stopped by her in the middle of the gallery, did not
seem disposed to surrender without a combat. He took it up in a tone
so cold and embarrassed, that if they had been thus surprised, the whole
court would have had no doubt about the proceedings of Mademoiselle
de Montalais.
448 THE VICOMTE DE BEA.GELOK NE,
"All! monsieur," said she with disdain, " what you are doing is very
unworthy of a gentleman. My heart inclines me to speak to you; you
compromise me by a reception almost uncivil; you are wrong, mon-
sieur; and you confound your friends with your enemies. Farewell!"
Raoul had sworn never to speak of Louise, never even to look at
those who might have seen Louise; he was going into another world,
that he might never meet with anything Louise had seen, or anything
she had touched. But after the first shock of his pride, after having
had a glimpse of Montalais, the companion of Louise—Montalais, who
reminded him of the turret of Blois and the joys of youth, all his reason
faded away.
" Pardon me, mademoiselle; it enters not, it cannot enter into my
thoughts to be uncivil."
" Do you wish to speak to me ? " said she, with the smile of former
days. " Well! come somewhere else; for here we may be surprised."
" Oh!" said he.
She looked at the clock, doubtingly, then having reflected:
" In my apartment," said she, " we shall have an hour to ourselves."
And, taking her course, lighter than a fairy, she ran up to her chamber,
followed by Raoul. Shutting the door, and.placing in the hands of her
cameriste, the mantle she had held upon her arm,
"You were seeking M. de Guiche, were you not ?" said she to Raoul.
"Yes, mademoiselle."
" I will go and ask him to come up here, presently, after I have spoken
to you." " Do so, mademoiselle."
" Are you angry witb me ? "
Raoul looked at her for a moment, then, casting down his eyes,
"Yes," said he.
" You think I was concerned in the plot which brought about your
rupture, do you not ? "
" Rupture !" said he, with bitterness. " Oh! mademoiselle, there
can be no rupture where there has been no love."
" An error," replied Montalais; " Louise did love you."
Raoul started. " Not with love, I know; but she liked you, and
you ought to have married her before you set out for London."
Raoul broke into a sinister laugh, which made Montalais shudder.
" You tell me that very much at your ease, mademoiselle. Do people
marry whom they like ? You forget that the king then kept for him-
self as his mistress her of whom we are speaking."
"Listen," said the young woman, pressing the cold hands of Raoul in
her own," you were wrong in every way; a man of your age ought never
to leave a woman of her's alone."
" There is no longer any faith in the world then," said Raoul.
"'No, vicomte," said Montalais, quietly. "Nevertheless, let me tell you,
that if instead of loving Louise coldly and philosophically, you had
endeavoured to awaken her to love "
" Enough, I pray you, mademoiselle," said Raoul. " I feel that you
are all, of both sexes, of a different age from me. You can laugh, and
you can banter agreeably. I, mademoiselle, I loved Mademoiselle
de " Raoul could not pronounce her name,—" I loved her; well! I
put faith in her—now I am quits by loving her no longer."
" Oh, vicomte!" said Montalais, pointing to his reflection in a
mirror.
"I know what you mean, mademoiselle; lam much altered, am I
not ? Well! do you know why ? Because my face is the mirror of my
heart, the inside has changed as
PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE. 449
" You are consoled, then ? " said Montalais, sharply.
" No, I shall never be consoled."
" I don't understand you, Monsieur de Bragelonne."
" I care but little for that. I do not too well understand myself."
"You have not even tried to speak to Louise ?"
" Who! I ? " exclaimed the young man, with eyes flashing fire; " I!
—why do you not advise me to marry her ? Perhaps the king would
consent now." And he rose from his chair full of anger.
"I see," said Montalais, "that you are not cured, and that Louise has
one enemy the more."
" One enemy the more!"
" Yes; favourites are but little beloved at the court of France."
" Oh! while she has her lover to protect her, is not that enough ? She
has chosen him of such a quality that her enemies cannot prevail against
her." But, stopping all at once, "And then she has you for a friend,
mademoiselle," added he, with a shade of irony which did not glide off
the cuirass.
" Who! I ?—Oh, no ! I am no longer one of those whom Mademoi-
selle de la Valliere deigns to look upon; but "
This but, so big with menaces and storms; this but, which made the
heart of Raoul beat, such griefs did it presage for her whom lately he
loved so dearly; this terrible but, so significant in a woman like
Montalais, was interrupted by a moderately loud noise heard by the
speakers, proceeding from the alcove behind the wainscoting. Monta-
lais turned to listen, and Raoul was already rising, when a lady entered
the room quietly by the secret door, which she closed after her.
" Madame !" exclaimed Raoul, on recognizing the sister-in-law of
the king.
" Stupid wretch ! " murmured Montalais, throwing herself, but too
late, before the princess, " I have been mistaken in an hour!" She had,
however, time to warn the princess, who was walking towards Raoul.
" M. de Bragelonne, madame." And at these words the princess drew
back, uttering a cry in her turn.
"Your royal highness," said Montalais, with volubility, "is kind
enough to think of this lottery, and "
The princess began to lose countenance. Raoul hastened his depar-
ture, without yet divining all; but he felt that he was in the way.
Madame was preparing a word of transition to recover herself, when a
closet opened in front of the alcove, and M. de Guiche issued, all radiant
also from that closet. The most pale of the four, we must admit, was still
Raoul. The princess, however, was near fainting, and was obliged to lean
upon the foot of the bed for support. No one ventured to support her.
This scene occupied several minutes of terrible silence. But Raoul broke
it. He went up to the comte, whose inexpressible emotion made his knees
tremble, and taking his hand, " Dear comte," said he, " tell Madame I
am too unhappy not to merit my pardon; tell her also that I have loved
in the course of my life, and that the horror of the treachery that has
been practised on me renders me inexorable for all other treachery that
may be committed around me. This is why, mademoiselle," said he,
smiling, to Montalais, " I never would divulge the secret of the visits
of my friend to your apartment. Obtain from Madame—from Madame
who is so clement and so generous,—obtain her pardon for you whom
she has just surprised also. You are both free, love each other, be
happy!"
The princess felt for a moment the despair which cannot be described;
it was repugnant to her, notwithstanding the exquisite delicacy which
VOL. II. 2 a
450 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELON2TE.
Eaoul had exhibited, to feel herself at the mercy of an indiscretion. It
was equally repugnant to her to accept the evasion offered by this deli-
cate deception. Agitated, nervous, she struggled against the double
stings of the two troubles. Eaoul comprehended her position, and
came once more to her aid. Bending his knee before her: " Madame !"
said he in a low voice, " in two days I shall be far from Paris; in a fort-
night I shall be far from France, where I shall never be seen again."
" Are you going away, then ? said she, with great delight.
" With M. de Beaufort,"
"Into Africa!" cried Guiche, in his turn. "You, Eaoul—oh! my
friend—into Africa, where everybody dies !"
And forgetting everything, forgetting that that forgetfulness itself
compromised the princess more eloquently than his presence, "In-
grate!" said he, "and you have not even consulted me!" And he
embraced him; during which time, Montalais had led away Madame,
and disappeared herself.
Eaoul passed his hand over his brow, and said with a smile, " I have
been dreaming!" Then warmly to Guiche, who, by degrees, absorbed
him. " My friend," said he, " I conceal nothing from you, who are the
elected of my heart. I am going to seek death in yonder country; your
secret will not remain in my breast more than a year."
" Oh, Eaoul! a man !"
" Do you know what is my thought, Guiche ? This is it—' I shall
live more, being buried beneath the earth, than I have lived for this
month past. We are Christians, my friend, and if such suffering were
to continue, I would not be answerable for the safety of my soul.' "
Guiche was anxious to raise objections.
"Not one word more on my account," said Eaoul; "but advice to
you, dear friend; what I am going to say to you is of much greater
importance."
" What is that ? "
"Without doubt, you risk much more than I do, because you love."
" Oh!" " It is a joy so sweet to me to be able to speak to you
thus ! Well, then, Guiche, beware of Montalais."
" What! of that kind friend ?"
"She was the friend of her you know of. She ruined her by
pride." " You are mistaken."
" And now, when she has ruined her, she would ravish from her the
only thing that renders that woman excusable in my eyes."
"What is that ?" "Her love."
" What do you mean by that ? "
" I mean that there is a plot formed against her who is the mistress
of the king—a plot formed in the very house of Madame.
" Can you think so ?" " I am certain of it."
" By Montalais ? " " Take her as the least dangerous of the enemies
I dread for the other !"
"Explain yourself clearly, my friend; and, if I can understand
you "
" In two words. Madame has been jealous of the king."
"I know she has "
" Oh! fear nothing—you are beloved—you are beloved,' Guiche ; do
you feel the value of these three words ? They signify that you can
raise your head, that you can sleep tranquilly, that you can thank God
every minute of your life. You are beloved; that signifies that you may
hear everything, even the counsel of a friend who wishes to preserve
your happiness. You are beloved, Guiche—you are beloved! You do
PLANCHET'S IN VENT 02 Y. 451
not endure those atrocious nights, those nights without end, which,
with arid eye and devoured heart, others pass through who are destined
to die. You will live long, if you act like the miser who, bit by bit,
crumb by crumb, collects and heaps up diamonds and gold. You are
beloved!—allow me to tell you what you must, do that you may be
beloved for ever."
Guiche contemplated for some time this unfortunate young man
half mad with despair, till there passed through his heart something
like remorse at his own happiness. Raoul suppressed his feverish
excitement, to assume the voice and countenance of an impassible
man. " They will make her, whose name I should wish still be able to
pronounce—they will make her suffer. Swear to me that you will not
second them in anything—but that you will defend her, when possible,
as I would have done myself."
" I swear I will," replied Guiche.
" And," continued Raoul, " some day, when you shall have rendered
her a great service—some day when she shall thank you, promise me to
say these words to her—' I have done you this kindness, madame, by the
warm desire of M. de Bragelonne, whom you so deeply injured.5 55
" I swear I will," murmured Guiche.
" That is all. Adieu! I set out to-morrow, or the day after, for
Toulon. If you have a few hours to spare, give them to me.55
" All! all!" cried the young man. " Thank you !"
"And what are you going to do now ?"
" I am going to meet M. le Comte at the house of Planchet, where
we hope to find M. d'Artagnan."
"M. d'Artagnan?" "Yes, I wish to embrace him before my
departure. He is a brave man, who loves me dearly. Farewell, my
friend; you are expected, no doubt; you will find me, when you wish,
at the lodgings of the comte. Farewell!"
The two young men embraced. They who might have seen them
both thus, would not have hesitated to say, pointing to Raoul: " That
is the happy man!"
CHAPTER XCYI.
Planchet's Inventory.
Athos, during the visit made to the Luxembourg by Raoul, had
gone to Planchet's residence to inquire after d'Artagnan. The gentle-
man, on arriving at the Rue des Lombards, found the shop of the
grocer in great confusion; but it was not the encumberment of a lucky
sale, or that of an arrival of goods. Planchet was not throned, as usual,
upon sacks and barrels. No. A young man with a pen behind his
ear, and another with an account book in his hand, were setting down
a number of figures, whilst a third counted and weighed. An inventory
was being taken. Athos, who had no knowledge of commercial matters,
felt himself a little embarrassed by the material obstacles and the
majesty of those who were thus employed. He saw several customers
sent away, and asked himself whether he, who came to buy nothing,
would not be more properly deemed importunate. He therefore asked
very politely if he could see M. Planchet. The reply, pretty carelessly
given was, that M. Planchet was packing his trunks. These words
surprised Athos. " How! his trunks!" said he, "is M. Planchet going
away?" "Yes, monsieur, directly."
9 "a 9.
452 THE VICOMTE DE BUA.GELONNE.
" Then, if you please, inform him that M. le comte de la Fere desires
to speak to him for a moment."
At mention of- the comte's name, one of the young men, no doubt
accustomed to hear it pronounced with respect, immediately went to
inform Planchet. It was at this moment that Itaoul, after his painful
scene with Montalais and Guiche, arrived at the grocer's house.
Planchet left his job directly he received the comte's message.
"Ah! monsieur le comte!" exclaimed he, "how glad I am to see
you ! What good star brings you here ?"
" My dear Planchet," said Athos, pressing the hand of his son, whose
sad look he silently observed,—" we are come to learn of you But in
what confusion do I find you! You are as white as a miller; where
have you been rummaging ? "
" Ah, diable! take care, monsieur; don't come near me till I have
well shaken myself."
'('£Wha.t for ? Flour or dust only whiten."
' No, no; what you see on my arms is arsenic."
" Arsenic ?" " Yes; I am making my provision for the rats."
" Aye, I suppose in an establishment like this the rats play a con-
spicuous part."
"It is not with this establishment I concern myself, M. le Comte.
The rats have robbed me of more here than they will ever rob me
of again."
" What do you mean ?"
"Why, you may have observed, monsieur, my inventory is being
taken."
" Are you leaving trade, then ?"
"Eh! mon Dieu! yes. I have disposed of my business to one of my
young men."
" Bah! you are rich, then, I suppose ?"
" Monsieur, I have taken a dislike to the city; I don't know whether
it is because I am growing old, and, as M. d'Artagnan one day said,
when we grow old we more often think of the things of our youth; but
for some time past I have felt myself attracted towards the country and
gardening; I was a countryman formerly." And Planchet marked
this confession with a little rather pretentious laugh for a man making
profession of humility.
Athos made a gesture of approval, and then added:—" You are going
to buy an estate then ?" "I have bought one, monsieur."
"Ah! that is still better."
"A little house at Fontainebleau, with something like twenty acres o-f
land round it."
" Yery well, Planchet! Accept my compliments on your acquisition."
" But, monsieur, we are not comfortable here; the cursed dust makes
you cough. Corbleu! I should not wish to poison the most worthy
gentleman in the kingdom."
Athos did not smile at this little pleasantry which Planchet had
aimed at him, in order to try his strength in mundane facetiousness.
"Yes," said he, " let us have a little talk by ourselves—in your own
room, for example. You have a room, have you not ?"
" Certainly, monsieur le comte."
"Upstairs, perhaps?" And Athos, seeing Planchet a little embar-
rassed, wished to relieve him by going first.
" It is—but—" said Planchet, hesitating.
Athos was mistaken in the cause of this hesitation, and, attributing
it to a fear the grocer might have of offering humble hospitality—
planchet's inventory. 453
"Never mind, never mind," said he, still going up, "the dwelling of
a tradesman in this quarter is not expected to he a palace. Come on !"
Eaoul nimbly preceded him, and entered first. Two cries were heard
simultaneously—we may say three. One of these cries dominated over
the others; it was uttered by a woman. The other proceeded from the
mouth of Eaoul; it was an exclamation of surprise. He had no sooner
made it than he shut the door sharply. The third was from fright;
Planchet had proffered it.
" I ask your pardon!" added he, " Madame is dressing."
Eaoul had, no doubt, seen that what Planchet said was true, for he
turned round to go down stairs again.
"Madame " said Athos; "Oh! pardon me, Planchet, I did not
know that you had upstairs "
" It is Triichen," added Planchet, blushing a little.
" It is whom you please, my good Planchet; but pardon my rudeness."
"No, no; go up now, gentlemen."
" We will do no such thing," said Athos.
" Oh! madame having notice, has had time "
"No, Planchet; farewell!"
"Eh, gentlemen! you would not disoblige me by thus standing on
the staircase, or by going away without having sat down."
" If we had known you had a lady upstairs," replied Athos, with his
customary coolness, "we would have asked permission to pay our
respects to her."
Planchet was so disconcerted by this little extravagance, that he
forced the passage, and himself opened the door to admit the comte and
his son. Triichen was quite dressed: costume of the shopkeeper's wife,
rich and coquettish; German eyes attacking French eyes. She ceded
the apartment after two curtseys, and went down into the shop—but
not without having listened at the door, to know what Planchet's
gentlemen visitors would say of her. Athos suspected that, and there-
fore turned the conversation accordingly. Planchet, on his part, was
burning to give explanations, which Athos avoided. But, as certain
tenacities are stronger than all others, Athos was forced to hear
Planchet recite his idyls of felicity, translated into a language more
chaste than that of Longus. So Planchet related how Triichen had
charmed his ripe age, and brought good luck to his business, as Euth
did to Boaz.
" You want nothing now, then, but heirs to your property."
" If I had one, he would have three hundred thousand livres," said
Planchet.
" Humph! you must have one then," said Athos, phlegmatically;
" if only to prevent your little fortune being lost."
This word little fortwae placed Planchet in his rank, like the voice of
the sergeant when Planchet was but a piqueur in the regiment of
Piedmont, in which Eochefort had placed him. Athos perceived that
the grocer would marry Triichen, and, in spite of fate, establish a
family. This appeared the more evident to him when he learned that
the young man to whom Planchet was selling his business was her
cousin. Having heard all that was necessary of the happy prospects of
the retiring grocer," "What is M. d'Artagnan about," said he," he is not
at the Louvre ?"
" Ah! monsieur le comte, Monsieur d'Artagnan has disappeared."
"Disappeared!" said Athos, with surprise.
" Oh! monsieur, we know what that means."
" But, I do not know."
454
THE YICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Whenever M. d'Artagnan disappears it is always for some mission
or some great affair."
"Has he said anything to you about it ?" " Never."
"Tou were acquainted with his departure for England formerly, were
you not ? "
" On account of the speculation," said Planchet, heedlessly.
" The speculation !"
" I mean " interrupted Planchet, quite confused.
""Well, well; neither your affairs nor those of your master are in
question: the interest we take in him alone has induced me to apply to
you. Since the captain of the musketeers is not here, and as we cannot
learn from you where we are likely to find M. d'Artagnan, we will take
our leave of you. Au revoir, Planchet, au revoir. Let us be gone,
Raoul."
" Monsieur le comte, I wish I were able to tell you "
"Oh, not at all; I am not the man to reproach a servant with
discretion."
This word "servant" struck rudely on the ears of the demi-million-
naire Planchet, but natural respect and bonhomie prevailed over pride.
" There is nothing indiscreet in telling you, monsieur le comte, M.
d'Artagnan came here the other day " " Ah, ah !"
" And remained several hours consulting a geographical chart."
" Tou are right, then, my friend; say no more about it."
" And the chart is there as a proof," added Planchet, who went to
fetch from the neighbouring wall, where it was suspended by a twist,
forming a triangle with the bar of the window to which it was fast-
ened—the plan consulted by the captain on his last visit to Planchet.
This plan, which he brought to the comte, was a map of France, upon
whicn the practised eye of that gentleman discovered an itinerary,
marked out with small pins; wherever a pin was missing, a hole
denoted its having been there. Athos, by following with his eye the
pins and the holes, saw that d'Artagnan had taken the direction of the
south, and gone as far as the Mediterranean, towards Toulon. It was near
Cannes that the marks and the punctured places ceased. The Comte
de la Fere puzzled his brains for some time, to divine what the mus-
keteer could be going to do at Cannes, and what motive could have led
him to examine the banks of the Yar. The reflections of Athos sug-
gested nothing. His accustomed perspicacity was at fault. Raoul's
researches were nqt more successful than his father's.
" Never mind," said the young man to the comte, who silently, and
with his finger, had made him understand the route of d'Artagnan;
" we must confess that there is a Providence always occupied in con-
necting our destiny with that of M. d'Artagnan. There he is on the
coast of Cannes, and you, monsieur, will, at least, conduct me as far as
Toulon. Be assured that we shall meet with him more easily upon our
route than upon this map."
Then, taking leave of Planchet, who was scolding his shopmen, even
the cousin of Triichen, his successor, the gentlemen set out to pay a
visit to M. de Beaufort. On leaving the grocer's shop, they saw a coach,
charms of Mademoiselle Triichen and the
j&very one journeys towards happiness by the route he chooses,"
said Raoul, in a melancholy tone.
" Road to Fontainebleau!" cried Planchet to his coachman.
THE INVENTORY OF M. HE BEAUFORT.
455
CHAPTER XCVXI.
The Inventory of M. de Beaufort.
To liave talked of d'Artagnan with Planchet, to have seen Planchet
quit Paris to bury himself in his country retreat, had been for Athos
and his son like a last farewell to the noise of the capital—to their life
of former days. What, in fact, did these men leave behind them—one
of whom had exhausted the past age in glory, and the other the present
age in misfortune ? Evidently, neither of them had anything to ask of
his contemporaries. They had only to pay a visit to M. de Beaufort,
and arrange with him the particulars of the departure. The due was
lodged magnificently in Paris. He had one of those superb establish-
ments pertaining to great fortunes, which certain old men remembered
to have seen flourish in the times of wasteful liberality in Henry III.'s
reign. Then, really, several great nobles were richer than the king.
They knew it, used it, and never deprived themselves of the pleasure of
humiliating his royal majesty when they had an opportunity. It was
this egotistical aristocracy which Richelieu had constrained to contri-
bute, with its blood, its purse, and its duties, to what was from his time
styled the king's service. From Louis XI—that terrible mower down
of the great—to Richelieu, how many families had raised their heads!
How many from Richelieu to Louis XIV. had bowed their heads never
to raise them again! But M. de Beaufort was born a prince, and of a
blood which is not shed upon scaffolds, unless by the decree of peoples.
This prince had kept up a grand style of living. How did he maintain
his horses, his people, and his table ? Nobody knew; himself less than
others. Only there were then privileges for the sons of kings, to whom
nobody refused to become a creditor, whether from respect, devoted-
ness, or a persuasion that they would some day be paid.
Athos and Raoul found the mansion of the due in as much confu-
sion as that of Planchet. The due, likewise, was making his inven-
tory; that is to say, he was distributing to his friends everything of
value he had in his house. Owing nearly two millions—an enormous
amount in those days—M. de Beaufort had calculated that he could
not set out for Africa without a good round sum; and, in order to find
that sum, he was distributing to his old creditors plate, arms, jewels,
and furniture, which was more magnificent than selling it, and brought
him back double. In fact, how could a man to whom ten thousand
livres were owing, refuse to carry away a present of six thousand, en-
hanced in merit from having belonged to a descendant of Henry IV. ?
And how, after having carried away that present, could he refuse ten
thousand livres more to this generous noble P This, then, was what had
happened. The due had no longer a dwelling-house—that had become
useless to an admiral whose place of residence is his ship; he had no
longer need of superfluous arms, when he was placed amidst his cad-
nons; no more jewels, which the sea might rob him of; but he had
three or four hundred thousand crowns fresh in his coffers. And
throughout the house there was a joyous movement of people who
believed they were plundering monseigneur. The prince had, in a
supreme degree, the art of making happy the creditors the most to be
pitied. Every distressed man, every empty purse, found with him
patience and intelligence of his position. To some he said, "I wish I
had what you have, I would give it you." And to others," I have but
456 THE VICOMTE HE BEAGELONNE.
this silver ewer, it is worth at least five hundred livres,—take it." The
effect of which was—so truly is courtesy a current payment—that the
prince constantly found means to renew his creditors. This time he
used no ceremony; it might be called a general pillage. He gave up
everything. The oriental fable of the poor Arab, who carried away
from the pillage of a palace a kettle at the bottom of which was con-
cealed a bag of gold, and whom everybody allowed to pass without
jealousy,—this fable had become a truth in the prince's mansion. Many
contractors paid themselves upon the offices of the due. Thus, the
provision department, who plundered the clothes-presses and the har-
ness-rooms, attached very little value to things which tailors and
saddlers set great store by. Anxious to carry home to their wives pre-
serves given them by monseigneur, many were seen bounding joyously
along, under the weight of earthen jars and bottles, gloriously stamped
with the arms of the prince. M. de Beaufort finished by giving away
his horses and the hay from his lofts. He made more than thirty
happy with kitchen utensils; and thirty more, with the contents of his
cellar. Still further; all these people went away with the conviction
that M. de Beaufort only acted in this manner, to prepare for a new
fortune concealed beneath the Arab tents. They repeated to each
other, while devastating his hotel, that he was sent to Gigelli by the
king, to reconstruct his lost fortunes; that the treasures of Africa
would be equally divided between the admiral and the king of France;
that these treasures consisted in mines of diamonds, or other fabulous
stones; the gold and silver mines of Mount Atlas did not even obtain
the honour of being named. In addition to the mines to be worked,
—which could not be begun till after the campaign—there would be
the booty made by the army. M. de Beaufort would lay his hands
upon all the rich pirates had robbed Christendom of since the battle of
Bepanto. The number of millions from these sources defied calcula-
tion. Why, then, should he who was going in quest of such treasures
set any store by the poor utensils of his past life ? And, reciprocally,
why should they spare the property of him who spared it so little
himself ?
Such was the position of affairs. Athos, with his investigating glance,
saw what was going on at once. He found the admiral of France a
little exalted, for he was rising from a table of fifty covers, at which the
guests had drunk long and deeply to the prosperity of the expedition;
at which, with the dessert, the remains of the meal had been given to
the servants, and the empty dishes and plates to the curious. The
prince was intoxicated with his ruin and his popularity at the same
time. He had drunk his old wine to the health of his future wine.
When he saw Athos and Baoul,—
" There is my aide-de-camp being brought to me!" he cried. " Come
hither, comte; come hither, vicomte." Athos tried to find a passage
through the heaps of linen and plate.
"An! step over, step over!" said the due, offering a full glass to
Athos. The latter took it ; Baoul scarcely moistened his lips.
" Here is your commission," said the prince to Baoul. " I had pre-
pared it, reckoning upon you. Tou will go on before me as far as
Antibes."
" Yes, monseigneur."
" Here is the order." And de Beaufort gave Baoul the order. " Do
you know anything of the sea ?"
" Yes, monseigneur; I have travelled with M. le Prince."
" That is well. All these barges and lighters must be in attendance
THE INVENTORY OF M. DE BEAUFORT. 457
to form an escort, and carry my provisions. The army must be prepared
to embark in a fortnight at latest."
" That shall he done, monseigneur."
" The present order gives you the right to visit and search all the
isles along the coast; you will there make the'enrolments and levies
you may want for me." " Yes, monsieur le due."
" And as you are an active man, and will work freely, you will spend
much money." " I hope not, monseigneur."
" But I reckon you will. My intendant has prepared orders of a
thousand livres, drawn upon the cities of the south; he will give you
a hundred of them. Now, dear vicomte, begone."
Athos interrupted the prince. "Keep your money, monseigneur;
war is to be made among the Arabs with gold as well as lead."
" I wish to try the contrary," replied the due; " and then, you are
acquainted with my ideas upon the expedition—plenty of noise, plenty
of fire, and, if so it must be, I shall disappear in the smoke." Having
spoken thus, M. de Beaufort began to laugh; but his mirth was not
reciprocated by Athos and Raoul. He perceived this at once. " Ah,"
said he, with the courteous egotism of his rank and his age, " you are
such people as a man should not see after dinner; you are cold, stiff,
and dry, when I am all fire, all suppleness, and all wine. No, devil
take me! I should always see you fasting, vicomte, and you, comte, if
you wear such a face as that, you will see me no more."
He said this, pressing the hand of Athos, who replied with a smile,—
" Monseigneur, do not talk so grandly because you happen to have
plenty of money. I predict that within a month you will be dry,
stiff, and cold, in presence of your strong box, and that then, having
Raoul at your elbow, quite fasting, you will be surprised to see
him gay, animated, and generous, because he will have some new
crowns to offer you."
"God grant it may be so!" cried the delighted due. "Comte, stay
with me."
"No, I shall go with Raoul; the mission with which you charge
him is a troublesome and a difficult one. Alone, it would be too much
for him to execute. You do not observe, monseigneur, you have given
him a command of the first order."
" Bah!" " And in the marine."
" That may be true. But when people resemble him, do they not do
all that is required of them ?"
" Monseigneur, I believe you will find no where so much zeal and
intelligence, so much real bravery, as in Raoul; but if he failed in your
embarkation, you would only meet with what you deserve."
" Humph! you are scolding me, then."
"Monseigneur, to provision a fleet, to assemble a flotilla, to enrol
your maritime force, would take an admiral a year. Raoul is a cavalry
officer, and you allow him a fortnight!"
" I tell you he will get through."
" He may; but I will help him."
" To be sure you will; I reckoned upon you, and still further believe
that when we are once at Toulon you will not let him depart alone."
" Oh!" said Athos, shaking his head.
" Patience! patience!"
" Monseigneur, permit us to take our leave,"
" Begone, then, and my good fortune attend you."
" Adieu! monseigneur; and may your good fortune attend you
likewise."
453 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELOKNE.
" Here is an expedition admirably commenced!" said Atkos to his
son. " No provisions—no store flotilla! What can be done, thus ? "
" Humph !" murmured Raoul; " if all are going to do as I am, pro-
visions will not be wanted."
" Monsieur," replied 'Athos, sternly, " do not be unjust and senseless
in your egotism, or your grief, whichever you please to call it. If you
set out for this war solely with the intention of getting killed in it, you
stand in need of nobody, and it was scarcely worth while to recommend
you to M. de Beaufort. But when you have been introduced to the
prince commandant—when you have accepted the responsibility of a
post in his army, the question is no longer about you but about all
those poor soldiers, who, as well as you, have hearts and bodies, who
will weep for their country and endure all the necessities of their
human condition. Remember, Raoul, that an officer is a minister as
useful as a priest, and that he ought to have more charity than a
priest."
" Monsieur, I know it, and have practised it; I would have continued
to do so still, but "
"You forget also that you are of a country which is proud of its
military glory; go and die if you like, but do not die without honour
and without advantage to France. Cheer up, Raoul! do not let my
words grieve you; I love you, and wish to see you perfect."
" I love your reproaches, monsieur," said the young man, mildly;
" they alone may cure me, because they prove to me that some one loves
me still."
" And now, Raoul, let us be off; the weather is so fine, the heavens
are so pure, those heavens which we shall always find above our heads,
which you will see more pure still at Gigelli, and which will speak to
you of me there, as they speak to me here of God."
The two gentlemen, after having agreed on this point, talked over
the wild freaks of the duke, convinced that France would be served in
a very incomplete manner, as regarded both spirit and practice, in the
ensuing expedition; and having summed up his policy under the word
vanity, they set forward, in obedience to their will rather than to their
destiny. The sacrifice was accomplished.
CHAPTER XCVIIL
The Silver Dish.
The journey passed off pretty well. Athos and his son traversed
France at the rate of fifteen leagues per day: sometimes more, some-
times less, according to the intensity of Raoul's grief. It took them a
fortnight to reach Toulon, and they lost all traces of d'Artagnan at
Antibes. They were forced to believe that the captain of the musketeers
was desirous of preserving an incognito on his route, for Athos derived
from his inquiries an assurance that such a cavalier as he described had
exchanged his horse for a well-closed carriage on quitting Avignon.
Raoul was much affected at not meeting with d'Artagnan. His affec-
tionate heart longed to take a farewell and receive consolation from
that heart of steel. Athos knew from experience that d'Artagnan
became impenetrable when engaged in any serious affair, whether on
his own account, or in the service of the king. He even feared to offend
his friend, or thwart him by too pressing inquiries. And yet when
THE SILVEE DISH. 459
Eaoul commenced his labour of classing the flotilla, and got together
the chalands and lighters to send them to Toulon, one of the fishermen
told the comte that his boat had been laid up to refit since a trip he
had made on account of a gentleman who was in great haste to embark.
Athos, believing that this man was telling a falsehood in order to be
left at liberty to fish, and so gain more money when all his companions
were gone, insisted upon having the details. The fisherman informed
him that six days previously, a man had come in the night to hire his
boat, for the purpose of visiting the island of St. Honorat. The price
was agreed upon, but the gentleman had arrived with an immense
carriage case, which he insisted upon embarking, in spite of all the
difficulties which opposed themselves to that operation. The fisher-
man had wished to retract. He had even threatened, but his threats
had procured him nothing but a shower of blows from the gentleman's
cane, which fell upon his shoulders sharp and long. Swearing and
grumbling, he had recourse to the syndic of his brotherhood at Antibes,
who administer justice among themselves and protect each other; but
the gentleman had exhibited a certain paper, at the sight of which the
syndic, bowing to the very ground, had enjoined obedience from the
fisherman, and abused him for having been refractory. They then
departed with the freight.
"But all this does not tell us," said Athos, "how you have injured
your boat."
" This is the way. I was steering towards St. Honorat as the gentle-
man had desired me; but he changed his mind, and pretended that I
could not pass to the south of the abbey."
"And why not?"
" Because, monsieur, there is in front of the square tower of the
Benedictines, towards the southern point, the bank of the Moines."
" A rock ?" asked Athos.
" Level with the water, and below the water; a dangerous passage,
but one I have cleared a thousand times; the gentleman required me
to land him at St. Marguerite's."
"Well?"--—"Well, monsieur!" cried the fisherman, with his Pro-
vencal accent, " a man is a sailor, or he is not; he knows his course, or
he is nothing but a fresh-water lubber. I was obstinate, and wished
to try the channel. The gentleman took me by the collar, and told
me quietly he would strangle me. My mate armed himself with a
hatchet, and so did I. We had the affront of the night before to pay
him out for. But the gentleman drew his sword, and used it in such
an astonishingly rapid manner, that we neither of us could get near
him. I was about to hurl my hatchet at his head, and I had a right to
do so, hadn't I, monsieur ? for a sailor aboard is master, as a citizen is
in his chamber; I was going, then, in self-defence, to cut the gentleman
in two, when all at once—believe me or not, monsieur—the great carriage
case opened of itself, I don't know how, and there came out of it a sort
of a phantom, his head covered with a black helmet and a black mask,
something terrible to look upon, which came towards me threatening
with its fist."
" And that was—? " said Athos.
" That was the devil, monsieur; for the gentleman, with great glee,
cried out on seeing him: ' Ah! thank you, monseigneur!'"
" A strange story !" murmured the comte, looking at Raoul.
" And what did you do ? " asked the latter of the fisherman.
"You must know, monsieur, that two poor men, such as we are,
could be no match for two gentlemen; but when one of them is the
460 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
devil we had no chance ! My companion and I did not stop to consult
one another; we made but one jump into the sea, for we were within
seven or eight hundred feet of the shore."
" Well, and then ? "
" Why, and then, monsieur, as there was a little wind from the south-
west, the boat drifted into the sands of Sainte-Marguerite's."
" Oh !—but the two travellers ? "
" Bah ! you need not be uneasy about them! It was pretty plain
that one was the devil, and protected the other; for when we recovered
the boat, after she got afloat again, instead of finding these two crea-
tures injured by the shock, we found nothing, not even the carriage or
the case."
"Very strange! very strange!" repeated the comte. "But since
that, what have you done, my friend ? "
" I made my complaint to the governor of Sainte-Marguerite's, who
brought my finger under my nose by telling me. if I plagued him
-with such silly stories he would have me flogged."
" What! did the governor say so ? "
" Yes, monsieur; and yet my boat was injured, seriously injured, for
the prow is left upon the point of Sainte-Marguerite's, and the car-
penter asks a hundred and twenty livres to repair it."
" Very well," replied Eaoul; " you will be exempted from the ser-
vice. Go."
"Wewill go to Sainte-Marguerite's, shall we?"said the comte to
Bragelonne, as the man walked away.
" Yes, monsieur, for there is something to be cleared up; that man
does not seem to me to have told the truth."
"Nor to me neither, Eaoul. The story of the masked man and the
carriage having disappeared, may be told to conceal some violence these
fellows have committed upon their passenger in the open sea, to punish
-him for his persistance in embarking."'
" I formed the same suspicion; the carriage was more likely to con-
tain property than a man."
" We shall see to that, Eaoul. This gentleman very much resembles
• d'Artagnan ; I recognise his mode of proceeding. Alas! we are no
longer the young invincibles of former days. Who knows whether the
hatchet or the iron bar of this miserable coaster has not succeeded in
■doing that which the best blades of Europe, balls, and bullets have not
been able to do in forty years ? "
That same day they set out for Sainte-Marguerite's, on board a
chasse-maree come from Toulon under orders. The impression they
felt on landing was a singularly pleasing one. The isle was full of
flowers and fruits. In its cultivated part it served as a garden for the
governor. Orange, pomegranate, and fig trees bent beneath the weight
of their golden or purple fruits. All around this garden, in the uncul-
tivated parts, the red partridges ran about in coveys among the bram-
bles and. tufts of junipers, and at every step of the comte and Eaoul a
terrified rabbit quitted his thyme and heath to scuttle away to his
burrow. In fact, this fortunate isle was uninhabited. Plat, offering
nothing but a tiny bay for the convenience of embarkation, and under
the protection of the governor, who went shares with them, smug-
glers made use of it as a provisional entrepot, at the expense of
not killing the game or devastating the garden. With this compromise,
the governor was in a situation to be satisfied with a garrison of eight
•men to guard his fortress, in which twelve cannons accumulated their
x;oats of mouldy green. The governor was a sort of happy farmer, har-
TEE SILVER DISH. 4G1
vesting wines, ngs, oil, and oranges, preserving his citrons and cedrats
in the sun of his casemates. The fortress, encircled by a deep ditch, its
only guardian, arose like three heads upon turrets connected with each
other by terraces covered with moss.
Athos and Raoul wandered for some time round the fences of the
garden without finding anyone to introduce them to the governor.
They ended by making their own way into the garden. It was at the
hottest time of the day. Everything sought shelter beneath grass or
stone. The heavens spread their fiery veils as if to stifle all noises, to
envelope all existences; the rabbit under the broom, the fly under the
leaf, slept as the wave did beneath the heavens. Athos saw nothing
living but a soldier, upon the terrace between the second and third
court, who was carrying a basket of provisions on his head. This man
returned almost immediately without his basket, and disappeared in
the shade of his sentry-box. Athos supposed this man must have been
carrying dinner to some one, and, after having done so, returned to dine
himself. All at once, they heard some one call out, and raising their
heads, perceived in the frame of the bars of the window something of a
white' colour, like a hand that was waved backwards and forwards—
something shining, like a polished weapon struck by the rays of the
sun. And before they were able to ascertain what it was they saw, a
luminous train, accompanied by a hissing sound in the air, called their
attention from the donjon to the ground. A second dull noise was
heard from the ditch, and Raoul ran to pick up a silver plate which
was rolling along the dry sand. The hand which had thrown this
plate made a sign to the two gentlemen and then disappeared. Athos
and Raoul, approaching each other, commenced an attentive examina-
tion of the dusty plate, and they discovered, in characters traced upon
the bottom of it with the point of a knife, this inscription :
"J am the brother of the king of France—a prisoner to-day,—a
madman to-morrovo. French gentlemen and Christians, pray to God for
the soul and the reason of the son of yomr masters."
The plate fell from the hands of Athos whilst Raoul was endeavouring
to make out the meaning of these dismal words. At the same instant
they heard a cry from the top of the donjon. As quick as lightning
Raoul bent down his head, and forced down that of his father likewise.
A musket barrel glittered from the crest of the wall. A white smoke
floated like a plume from the mouth of the musket, and a ball was
flattened against a stone within six inches of the two gentlemen.
" Cordieu!" cried Athos. " What, are people assassinated here ? Come
down, cowards as you are!"
" Yes, come down!" cried Raoul, furiously shaking his fist at the
castle.
One of the assailants—he who was about to fire—replied to these
cries by an exclamation of surprise; and, as his companion, who wished
to continue the attack, had re-seized his loaded musket, he who had
cried out threw up the weapon, and the ball flew into the air. Athos
and Raoul seeing them disappear from the platform, expected they
would come to them, and waited with a firm demeanour. Five minutes
had not elapsed, when a stroke upon a drum called the eight soldiers of
the garrison to arms, and they showed themselves on the other side of
the ditch with their muskets in hand. At the head of these men was
an officer, whom Athos and Raoul recognized as the one who had fired
the first musket. The man ordered the soldiers to " make ready."
"We are going to be shot!" cried Raoul; "but, sword-in-hand, at
least, let us leap the ditch! We shall kill at least two of these
462 THE VICOMTE EE BEAGELONNE.
sooundrels, when their muskets are empty." And, suiting the action to
the word, Raoul was springing forward, followed by Athos, when a well-
known voice resounded behind them—" Athos! Raoul!"
"D'Artagnan!" replied the two gentlemen.
" Recover arms! Mordioux!" cried the captain to the soldiers. " I
was sure I could not be mistaken !"
" What is the meaning of this ?" asked Athos. " What! were we to
be shot without warning ?"
" It was I who was going to shoot you, and if the governor missed
you, I should not have missed you, my dear friends. How fortunate it
is that I am accustomed to take a long aim, instead of firing at the
instant I raise my weapon! I thought I recognized you. Ah! my
dear friends, how fortunate !" And d'Artagnan wiped his brow, for
he had run fast, and emotion with him was not feigned.
" How!" said Athos. " And is the gentleman who fired at us the
governor of the fortress ?" " In person."
" And why did he fire at us ? What have we done to him ? "
" Pardieu! You received what the prisoner threw to you ? "
" That is true."
" That plate the prisoner has written something on the bottom
of it, has he not?" "Yes."
" Good Heavens ! I was afraid he had."
And d'Artagnan, with all the marks of mortal disquietude, seized the
plate, to read the inscription. When he had read it, a fearful pallor
spread over his countenance. " Oh ! Good Heavens!" repeated he.
"" Silence!—Here is the governor."
" And what will he do to us ? Is it our fault ?"
" It is true, then ?" said Athos, in a subdued voice. " Is it true ?"
" Silence! I tell you—silence ! If he only believes you can read; if
he only suspects you have understood; I love you, my dear friends, I
will be killed for you. But "
" ' But '" said Athos and Raoul.
" But, I could not save you from perpetual imprisonment, if I saved
you from death. Silence, then! Silence again!"
The governor came up, having crossed the ditch upon a plank bridge.
" Well!" said he to d'Artagnan, " what stops us ?"
" You are Spaniards—you do not understand a word of French," said
the captain, eagerly, to his friends, in a low voice.
"Well!" replied he, addressing the governor, "I was right; these
gentlemen are two Spanish captains with whom I was acquainted at
Ypres, last year; they don't know a word of French."
"Ah'."said the governor, sharply. "And yet they were trying to
read the inscription on the plate."
D'Artagnan took it out of his hands, effacing the characters with the
point of his sword.
" How!" cried the governor—"what are you doing ? I cannot read
them now!"
" It is a state secret," replied d'Artagnan, bluntly; " and as you
know that, according to the king^s order, it is under the penalty of death
any one should penetrate it, I will, if you like, allow you to read it, and
have you shot immediately afterwards."
During this apostrophe—half serious, half ironical—Athos and Raoul
preserved the coolest, most unconcerned silence.
" But, is it possible," said the governor, " that these gentlemen do not
comprehend at least some words?"
" Suppose they do! If they do understand a few spoken words, ifc
CAPTIVE AND GAOLEBS. 463
does not follow that they should understand what is written. They
cannot even read Spanish. A noble Spaniard, remember, ought never
to know how to read.55
The governor was obliged to be satisfied with these explanations, but
he was still tenacious. " Invite these gentlemen to come to the for-
tress,55 said he.
" That I will willingly do. I was about to propose it to you." The
fact is, the captain had quite another idea, and would have wished his
friends a hundred leagues off. But he was obliged to make the best of
it. He addressed the two gentlemen in Spanish, giving them a polite
invitation, which they accepted. They all turned towards the entrance
of the fort, and the incident being exhausted, the eight soldiers re-
turned to their delightful leisure for a moment disturbed by this unex-
pected adventure.
CHAPTER XCIX.
Captive and Gaolers.
When they had entered the fort, and whilst the governor was mak-
ing some preparations for the reception of his guests—" Come," said
Athos, "let us have a word of explanation whilst we are alone.
"It is simply this," replied the musketeer. " I have conducted hither
a prisoner, who the king commands shall not be seen. You came
here, he has thrown something to you through the lattice of his
window; I was at dinner with the governor, I saw the object thrown,
and I saw Raoul pick it up. It does not take long to understand this.
I understood it; and I thought you in intelligence with my prisoner.
And then 55
" And then——you commanded us to be shot."
" Ma foi ! I admit it; but, if I was the first to seize a musket, for-
tunately, I was the last to take aim at you."
" If you had killed me, d'Artagnan, I should have had the good for-
tune to die for the royal house of France, and it would be an honour to
die by your hand—you, its noblest and most loyal defender."
" What the devil, Athos, do you mean by the royal house ?55 stam-
mered d'Artagnan. "You don't mean that you, a well-informed and
sensible man, can place any faith in the nonsense written by an idiot ? "
" 1 do believe in it."
"With so much the more reason, my dear chevalier, from your
having orders to kill all those who do believe in it," said Raoul.
" That is because," replied the captain of the musketeers—" because
every calumny, however absurd it may be, has the almost certain chance
of becoming popular."
"No, d'Artagnan," replied Athos, promptly; "but because the king
is not willing that the secret of his family should transpire among the
l^ople, and cover with shame the executioners of the son of Louis
" Do not talk in such a childish manner, Athos, or I shall begin to
think you have lost your senses. Besides, explain to me how it is pos-
sible Louis XIII. should have a son in the Isle of Sainte-Marguerite ?"
" A son whom you have brought hither masked, in a fishing boat,"
said Athos. " Why not ? "
D'Artagnan was brought to a pause.
" Ah! ah!" said he; " whence do you know that a fishing boat ? "
464 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" Brought you to Sainte-Marguerite's with the carriage containing
the prisoner—with a prisoner whom you styled monseigneur. Oh ! I
am acquainted with all that," resumed the comte. D'Artagnan bit his
moustache.
" If it were true," said he, " that I had brought hither in a boat and
with a carriage a masked prisoner, nothing proves that this prisoner
must be a prince—a prince of the house of France ? "
" Oh! ask that of Aramis," replied Athos coolly.
" Of Aramis!" cried the musketeer, quite at a stand. " Have you
seen Aramis ? "
"After his discomfiture at Yaux, yes; I have seen Aramis,a fugitive,
pursued, ruined; and Aramis has told me enough to make me believe
in the complaints that this unfortunate young man cut upon the bottom
of the plate."
D'Artagnan's head sunk upon his breast with confusion. " This is
the way," said he, " in which God turns to nothing that which men call
their wisdom! A fine secret must that be of which twelve or fifteen
persons hold the tattered fragments! Athos, cursed be the chance
which has brought you face to face with me in this affair ! for now "
" "Well," said Athos, with his customary mild severity, " is your secret
lost because I know it P Consult your memory, my friend. Have I
not borne secrets as heavy as this ? "
"You have never borne one so dangerous," replied d'Artagnan, in a
tone of sadness. " I have something like a sinister idea that all who are
concerned with this secret will die, and die unfortunately."
" The will of God be done !" said Athos," but here is your governor."
D'Artagnan and his friends immediately resumed their parts. The
governor, suspicious and hard, behaved towards d'Artagnan with a
politeness almost amounting to obsequiousness. With respect to the
travellers, he contented himself with offering them good cheer, and
never taking his eye from them. Athos and Raoul observed that he
often tried to embarrass them by sudden attacks, or to catch them off
their guard; but neither the one nor the other gave him the least
advantage. Whafc d'Artagnan had said was probable, if the governor
did not believe it to be quite true. They rose from table to repose
awhile.
" What is this man's name ? I don't like the looks of him," said
Athos to d'Artagnan in Spanish.
" De Saint-Mars " replied the captain.
" He is then, I suppose, the prince's gaoler ? "
" Eh! how can I tell ? I may be kept at Sainte-Marguerite for ever."
" Oh! no, not you!"
" My friend, I am in the situation of a man who finds a treasure in
the midst of a desert. He would like to carry it away, but he cannot;
he would like to leave it, but he dares not. The king will not dare to
recall me, for fear no one else should serve him as faithfully as I should ;
he regrets not having me near him, from being aware that no one will
be of so much service near his person as myself. But it will happen as
it may please God."
" But," observed Raoul, " your not being certain proves that your
situation here is provisional, and you will return to Paris ? "
"Ask these gentlemen," interrupted the governor, "what was their
purpose in coming to Sainte-Marguerite ? "
" They came from learning there was a convent of Benedictines at
Sainte-Honorat which is considered curious; and from being told
there was excellent shooting in the island.",
CAPTIVE AND GAOLERS 465
" That is quite at their service, as well as yours " replied Saint-Mars,
D'Artagnan politely thanked him.
" When will they depart ? " added the governor. •'
" To-morrow," replied d'Artagnan.
M. de Saint-Mars went to make his rounds, and left d'Artagnan alone
with the pretended Spaniards.
" Oh ! " exclaimed the musketeer, " here is a life with a society that
suits me but little. I command this man, and he bores me, mordiovx !
Come, let us have a shot or two at the rabbits; the walk will be beau-
tiful, and not fatiguing. The isle is but a league and a half in length,
upon a breadth of a league; a real park. Let us try to amuse ourselves."
"As you please, d'Artagnan; not for the sake of amusing ourselves,
but to gain an opportunity for talking freely."
D'Artagnan made a sign to a soldier, who brought the gentlemen
some guns, and then returned to the fort.
"And now," said the musketeer, "answer me the question put to you
by that black-looking Saint-Mars: What did you come to do at the
Lerin Isles ?" " To bid you farewell."
" Bid me farewell! What do you mean by that ? Is Baoul going
anywhere?" "Yes."
" Then I will lay a wager it is with M. de Beaufort ? "
" With M. de Beaufort it is, my dear friend; you always guess rightly."
" From habit."
Whilst the two friends were commencing their conversation, Baoul,
with his head hanging down and his heart oppressed, seated himself on
a mossy rock, his gun across his knees, looking at the sea—looking at
the heavens, and listening to the voice of his soul—he allowed the
sportsmen to attain a considerable distance from him. D'Artagnan
remarked his absence.
" He has not recovered the blow," said he to Athos.
" He is struck to death."
"Oh! your fears exaggerate, I hope. Baoul is of a fine nature.
Around all hearts so noble as his, there is a second envelope which
forms a cuirass. The first bleeds, the second resists."'
"No," replied Athos, "Baoul will die of it."
" Mordioux ! " said d'Artagnan, in a melancholy tone. And he did
not add a word to this exclamation. Then, a minute after, " Why do
you let him go ? " " Because he insists upon going."
"And why do you not go with him ? "
" Because I could not bear to see him die."
D'Artagnan l&oked his friend earnestly in the face. " You know one
thing," continued the comte, leaning upon the arm of the captain;
" you know that in the course of my life I have been afraid of but
few things. Well! I have an incessant, gnawing, insurmountable
fear that a day will arrive in which I shall hold the dead body of
that boy in my arms."
" Oh!" murmured d'Artagnan; "oh!"
" He will die, I know, I have a perfect conviction of that; but I
would not see him die."
" How is this, Athos ? you come and place yourself in the presence
of the bravest man you say you have ever seen, of your own d'Ar-
tagnan, of that man without an equal, as you formerly called him,
and you come and tell him with your arms folded that you are afraid
of witnessing the death of your son, you who have seen all that can
be seen in this world! Why have you this fear, Athos ? Man upon
this earth must expect everything, and ought to face everything."
VOL II. 2 H
466 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" Listen to me, my friend. After having worn myself out upon this
earth of which you speak, I have preserved but two religions; that of life,
my friendships, my duty as a father—that of eternity, love and respect
for God. Now, I have within me the revelation that if God should
decree that my friend or my son should render up his last sigh in my
presence oh! no, I cannot even tell you, d'Artagnan !"
" Speak, speak, tell me!"
" I am strong against everything, except against the death of those 1
love. For that only there is no remedy. He who dies, gains; he who
sees others die, loses. No; this it is—to know that I should no more
meet upon earth him whom I now behold with joy; to know that there
would nowhere be a d'Artagnan any more, nowhere again be a Eaoul,
oh ! I am old, see you, I have no longer courage; I pray God to spare
me in my weakness; but if he struck me so plainly and in that fashion,
I should curse him. A Christian gentleman ought not to curse his
God, d'Artagnan; it is quite enough to have cursed a king !"
" Humph!" said d'Artagnan, a little confused by this violent tempest
of grief.
" Let me speak to him, Athos. Who knows ? "
" Try, if you please, but I am convinced you will not succeed."
" I will not attempt to console him, I will serve him."
"You will?" "Doubtless, I will. Do you think this would he
the first time a woman had repented of an infidelity ? I will go to him,
I tell you."
Athos shook his head, and continued his walk alone. D'Artagnan,
cutting across the brambles, rejoined Eaoul, and held out his hand
to him. " Well, Eaoul I You have something to say to me ?"
"I have a kindness to ask of you,"replied Bragelonne. "Ask it,then."
" You will some day return to France ? " " I hope so."
" Ought I to write to Mademoiselle de la Valliere ?"
"No; you must not."
" But I have so many things to say to her."
" Come and say them to her, then."
"Never!" " Pray, what virtue do you attribute to a letter, which
your speech might not possess ?"
" Perhaps you are right."
"She loves the king," said d'Artagnan, bluntly; "and she is an
honest girl."
Eaoul started. " And you, you! whom she abandons, she, perhaps,
loves better than she does the king, but after another fashion."
" D'Artagnan, do you believe she loves the king ? "
" To idolatry. Her heart is inaccessible to any other feeling. You
might continue to live near her, and would be her best friend."
" Ah!" exclaimed Eaoul, with a passionate burst of repugnance for
such a painful hope.
" Will you do so ?" " It would be base."
" That is a very absurd word, which would lead me to think
slightly of your understanding. Please to understand, Eaoul, that it
is never base to do that which is imposed by a superior force. If
your heart says to you, 'Go there, or die,' why go there, Eaoul. Was
she base or brave, she whom you loved, in preferring the king to you,
the king whom her heart commanded her imperiously to prefer to
you ? No, she was the bravest of women. Do then as she has done.
Obey yourself. Do you know one thing of which I am sure, Eaoul'? "
" What is that ? " " Why, that by seeing closely with the eyes
of a jealous man "
captive and gaolers. 467
" Well ?" " Well! you would cease to love her."
" Then I am decided, my dear d'Artagnan."
" To set off to see her again ? "
" No; to set off that I may never see her again. I wish to love her
for ever."
" Humph ! I must confess," replied the musketeer, " that is a con-
elusion which I was far from expecting."
" This is what I wish, my friend. You will see her again, and you
will give her a letter which, if you think proper, will explain to her as
to yourself, what is passing in my heart. Bead it; I prepared it last
night. Something told me I should see you to-day." He held the
letter out, and d'Artagnan read it
" Mademoiselle,—You are not wrong in my eyes in not loving me.
You have only been guilty of one fault towards me, that of having left
me to believe you loved me. This error will cost me my life. I
pardon you, but I cannot pardon myself. It is said that happy lovers
are deaf to the complaints of rejected lovers. It will not be so with
you, who did not love me, except with anxiety. I am sure that if I
had persisted in endeavouring to change that friendship into love,
you would have yielded out of a fear of bringing about my death, or
of lessening the esteem I had for you. It is much more delightful
to me to die, knowing you are free and satisfied. How much,
then, will you love me, when you will no longer fear either my
presence or my reproaches! You will love me, because, however
charming a new love may appear to you, God has not made me in
anything inferior to him you have chosen, and because my devoted-
ness, my sacrifice, and my painful end will assure me, in your eyes,
a certain superiority over him. I have allowed to escape, in the candid
credulity of my heart, the treasure I possessed. Many people tell me
that you loved me enough to lead me to hope you would have loved
me much. That idea takes from my mind all bitterness, and leads me
only to blame myself. You will accept this last farewell, and you will
bless me for having taken refuge in the inviolable asylum where all
hatred is extinguished, and where all love endures for ever. Adieu,
mademoiselle. If your happiness could be purchased by the last drop
of 'my blood, I would shed that drop. I willingly make the sacrifice of
it to my misery !
"Eaoul, Yicomte de Bragelonne."
" The letter is very well," said the captain. " I have only one fault
to find with it."
" Tell me what that is ? " said Raoul.
" Why, it is, that it tells everything, except the thing which exhales,
like a mortal poison, from your eyes and from your heart; except
the senseless love which still consumes you." Baoul grew paler, but
remained silent.
" Why did you not write simply these words:—
"' Mademoiselle,—Instead of cursing you, I love you and I die.'"
" That is true," exclaimed Eaoul, with a sinister kind of joy.
And tearing the letter he had just taken back, he wrote the following
words upon a leaf of his tablets:—
" To procure the happiness of once more telling you I love you, I
commit the baseness of writing to you; and to punish myself for that
baseness, I die." And he signed it.
"You will give her these tablets, captain, will you not?"
" When ?" asked the latter.
2 h 2
468 the vicomte de beagelonne.
"On the day," said Bragelonne, pointing to the last sentence, "on
the day when you can place a date under these words." And he sprang
away quickly to join Athos, who was returning with slow steps.
As they re-entered the fort, the sea rose with that rapid, gusty vehe-
mence which characterizes the Mediterranean; the ill humour of the
element became a tempestc Something shapeless, and tossed about
violently by the waves, appeared just off the coast.
" What is that ?" said Athos,—" a wrecked boat ?"
" No, it is not a boat," said d'Artagnan.
"Pardon me," said Raoul, "there is a barque gaining the port
rapidly."
Yes, there is a barque in the creek, which is prudently seeking
shelter here; but that which Athos points to in the sand is not a boat
at all—it has run aground."
" Yes, yes, I see it."
"It is the carriage which I threw into the sea, after landing the
prisoner."
"Well!" said Athos, "if you will take my advice, d'Artagnan, you
will burn that carriage, in order that no vestige of it may remain,
without which the fishermen of Antibes, who have believed they had to
do with the devil, will endeavour to prove that your prisoner was but a
man."
"Your advice is good, Athos, and I will this night have it carried out,
or rather, I will carry it out myself; but let us go in, for the rain falls
heavily, and the lightning is terrific."
As they were passing over the ramparts to a gallery of which d'Arta-
gnan had the key, they saw M. de Saint-Mars directing his steps
towards the chamber inhabited by the prisoner. Upon a sign from
d'Artagnan, they concealed themselves in an angle of the staircase.
" What is it ?" said Athos.
" You will see. Look. The prisoner is returning from chapel."
And they saw, by the red flashes of the lightning against the violet
fog which the wind stamped upon the bankward sky, they saw pass
gravely, at six paces behind the governor, a man clothed in black and
masked by a vizor of polished steel, soldered to a helmet of the same
nature, which altogether enveloped the whole of his head. The fire of
the heavens cast red reflections upon the polished surface, and these
reflections, flying off capriciously, seemed to be angry looks launched
by this unfortunate, instead of imprecations. In the middle of the
gallery, the prisoner stopped for a moment, to contemplate the infinite
horizon, to respire the sulphurous perfumes of the tempest, to drink in
thirstily the hot rain, and to breathe a sigh resembling a smothered
roar.
" Come on, monsieur," said Saint-Mars, sharply to the prisoner, for
he already became uneasy at seeing him look so long beyond the walls.
" Monsieur, come on!"
"Say monseigneur!" cried Athos, from his corner, with a voice so
solemn and terrible, that the governor trembled from head to foot.
Athos insisted upon respect being paid to fallen majesty. The prisoner
turned round.
"Who spoke?" asked Saint-Mars.
"It was I," replied d'Artagnan, showing himself promptly. "You
know that is the order."
" Call me neither Monsieur nor Monseigneur," said the prisoner in
his turn, in a voice that penetrated to the very soul of Raoul; " call me
Accubsed !" He passed on, and the iron door creaked after him.
PROMISES. 469
" That is truly an unfortunate man!" murmured the musketeer in a
hollow whisper, pointing out to Eaoul the chamber inhabited by the
prince.
CHAPTER C.
Promises.
Scarcely had d'Artagnan re-entered his apartment with his two
friends, than one of the soldiers of the fort came to inform him that the
governor was seeking for him. The barque which Eaoul had perceived
at sea, and which appeared so eager to gain the port, came to Sainte-
Marguerite with an important despatch for the captain of the mus-
keteers. On opening it, d'Artagnan recognized the writing of the
king: " I should think," said Louis XIV., " you will have completed
the execution of my orders, Monsieur d'Artagnan; return then imme-
diately to Paris, and join me at the Louvre."
" There is the end of my exile!" cried the musketeer with joy; " God
be praised, I am no longer a gaoler!" And he showed the letter to
Athos.
"So then you must leave us?" replied the latter, in a melancholy
tone.
" Yes, but to meet again, dear friend, seeing that Eaoul is old enough
now to go alone with M. de Beaufort, and who will prefer his father
going back in company with M. d'Artagnan, to forcing him to travel
two hundred leagues solitarily to reach home at La Pere; would you
not, Eaoul?"
" Certainly," stammered the latter, with an expression of tender
regret.
"No, no, my friend," interrupted Athos, "I will never quit Eaoul
till the day his vessel shall have disappeared on the horizon. As long as
he remains in Prance, he shall not be separated from me."
" As you please, dear friend; but we will, at least, leave Sainte-
Marguerite together; take advantage of the barque which will convey
me back to Antibes."
"With all my heart; we cannot too soon be at a distance from this
fort, and from the spectacle which saddened us so just now."
The three friends quitted the little isle, after paying their respects to
the governor, and by the last flashes of the departing tempest they took
their farewell of the white walls of the fort. D'Artagnan parted from
his friends that same night, after having seen fire set to the carriage
upon the shore by the orders of Saint-Mars, according to the advice the
captain had given him. Before getting on horseback, and after leaving
the arms of Athos: " My friends," said he, " you bear too much resem-
blance to two soldiers who are abandoning their post. Something
warns me that Eaoul will require being supported by you in his rank-
Will you allow me to ask permission to go over into Africa with a.
hundred good muskets ? The king will not refuse me, and I will take
you with me."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," replied Eaoul, pressing his hand with emo-
tion, " thanks for that offer, which would give us more than we wish,
either monsieur le comte or I. I, who am young, stand in need of
labour of mind and fatigue of body; monsieur le comte wants the pro-
foundest repose. You are his best friend. I recommend him to your
470 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
care. In watching over him, you will hold both our souls in your
hands."
"I must go; my horse is all in a fret," said d'Artagnan, with whom
the most manifest sign of a lively emotion was the change of ideas in a
conversation. " Come, comte, how many days longer has Raoul to stay
here ? "
" Three days, at most."
"And how long will it take you to reach home ? "
"Oh! a considerable time," replied Athos. "I shall not like the
idea of being separated too quickly from Raoul. Time will travel too
fast of itself to require me to aid it by distance. I shall only make
half-stages."
"And why so, my friend? Nothing is more dull than travelling
slowly; and hostelry life does not become a man like you."
" My friend, I came hither on post-horses; but I wish to purchase
two animals of a superior kind. Now, to take them home fresh, it
would not be prudent to make them travel more than seven or eight
leagues a day."
" Where is Grimaud ? "
" He arrived yesterday morning, with Raoul's appointments; and I
have left him to sleep."
" That is, never to come back again," d'Artagnan suffered to escape
him. " Till we meet again, then, dear Athos—and if you are diligent,
well I shall embrace you the sooner." So saying, he put his foot in
the stirrup, which Raoul held.
" Farewell!" said the young man, embracing him.
"Farewell!" said d'Artagnan, as he got into his saddle.
His horse made a movement which divided the cavalier from his
friends. This scene had taken place in front of the house chosen by
Athos, near the gates of Antibes, whither d'Artagnan, after his supper,
had ordered his horses to be brought. The road began to extend there,
white and undulating in the vapours of the night. The horse eagerly
respired the salt, sharp perfume of the marshes. D'Artagnan put him
into a trot; and Athos and Raoul sadly turned towards the house. All
at once they heard the rapid approach of a horse's steps, and at first
believed it to be one of those singular repercussions which deceive the
ear at every turn in a road. But it was really the return of the horse-
man. They uttered a cry of joyous surprise; and the captain, spring-
ing to the ground like a young man, seized within his arms the two
beloved heads of Athos and Raoul. He held them long embraced
thus, without speaking a word, or suffering the sigh which was bursting
his breast to escape him. Then, as rapidly as he had come back, he set
off again, with a sharp application of his spurs to the sides of his fiery
horse.
" Alas!" said the comte, in a low voice, " alas ! alas!"
" Evil presage!" on his side, said d'Artagnan to himself, making up
for lost time. " I could not smile upon them. An evil presage !"
The next day, Grimaud was on foot again. The service commanded
by M. de Beaufort was happily accomplished. The flotilla, sent to
Toulon by the exertions of Raoul, had set out, dragging after it in little
nutshells, almost invisible, the wives and friends of the fishermen and
smugglers put in requisition for the service of the fleet. The time, so
short, which remained for the father and son to live together, appeared
to have doubled in rapidity, as the swiftness of everything increases
which inclines towards mixing with the gulf of eternity. Athos and
Raoul returned to Toulon, which began to be filled with the noise of
PROMISES. 471
carriages, with the noise of arms, with the noise of neighing horses.
The trumpeters sounded their spirited marches; the drummers sig-
nalized their strength; the streets were overflowing with soldiers,
servants, and tradespeople. The due de Beaufort was everywhere,
superintending the embarkation with the zeal and interest of a good
captain. He encouraged even the most humble of his companions;
he scolded his lieutenants, even those of the highest rank. Artillery,
provisions, baggage, he insisted upon seeing all himself. He examined
the equipment of every soldier; he assured himself of the health and
soundness of every horse. It was plain that, light, boastful, egotistical,
in his hotel, the gentleman became the soldier again—the high noble, a
captain—in face of the responsibility he had accepted. And yet, it
must be admitted that, whatever was the care with which he presided
over the preparations for departure, it was easy to perceive careless
precipitation, and the absence of all the precaution which make the
French soldier the first soldier in the world, because, in that world, he
is the one most abandoned to his own physical and moral resources.
All things having satisfied, or appearing to have satisfied, the admiral,
he paid his compliments to Eaoul, and gave the last orders for sailing,
which was ordered the next morning at daybreak. He invited the
comte and his son to dine with him; but they, under a pretext of the
service, kept themselves apart. Gaining their hostelry, situated under
the trees of the great Place, they took their repast in haste, and Athos
led Eaoul to the rocks which dominate the city, vast grey mountains,
whence the view is infinite, and embraces a liquid horizon, which
appears, so remote is it, on a level with the rocks themselves. The
night was fine, as it always is in these happy climates. The moon,
rising behind the rocks, unrolled, like a silver sheet, upon the blue
carpet of the sea. In the road, manoeuvred silently the vessels which
had just taken their rank to facilitate the embarkation. The sea,
loaded with phosphoric light, opened beneath the hulls of the barques
which transported the baggage and munitions; every dip of the prow
Eloughed up this gulf of white flames; and from every oar dropped
quid diamonds. The sailors, rejoicing in the largesses of the admiral,
were heard murmuring their slow and artless songs. Sometimes, the
grinding of the chains was mixed with the dull noise of shot falling
into the holds. These harmonies, and this spectacle, oppress the heart
like fear,- and dilate it like hope. All this life speaks of death. Athos
had seated himself with his son, upon the moss, among the brambles
of the promontory. Around their heads passed and repassed large
bats, carried along in the fearful whirl of their blind chase. The feet
of Eaoul were across the edge of the cliff, and bathed in that void
which is peopled by vertigo, and provokes to annihilation. When the
moon had risen to its full height, caressing with its light the neigh-
bouring peaks, when the watery mirror was illumined in its full extent,
and the little red fires had made their openings in the black masses of
every ship, Athos collected all his ideas, and all his courage, and said:
" God has made all that we see, Eaoul; He has made us, also—poor
atoms mixed up with this great universe. We shine like those fires
and those stars; we sigh like those waves; we suffer like those great
ships, which are worn out in ploughing the waves, in obeying the wind
which urges them towards an end, as the breath of God blows us
towards a port. Everything likes to live, Eaoul; and everything is
beautiful in living things."
" Monsieur," said Eaoul, " we have before us a beautiful spectacle!"
*' How good d'Artagnan is!" interrupted Athos, suddenly, " and
472 THE VICOHTE HE BRAGELONNE.
what a rare good fortune it is to be supported duringa whole life by
such a friend as he is ! That is what you have wanted, Raoul."
" A friend !" cried Raoul, " I have wanted a friend !"
" M. de Guiche is an agreeable companion," resumed the comte coldly,
" but I believe, in the times in which you live, men are more engaged in
their own interests and their own pleasures than they were in our times.
You have sought a secluded life; that is a great happiness, but you have
•lost your strength in it. "We four, more weaned from these delicate
abstractions which constitute your joy, we furnished much more resist-
ance when misfortune presented itself."
" I have not interrupted you, monsieur, to tell you that I had a friend,
and that that friend is M. Guiche. Certes, he is good and generous, and
moreover he loves me. But I have lived under the guardianship of
another friendship, monsieur, as precious and as strong as that of which
you speak, since that is yours."
" I have not been a friend for you, Raoul," said Athos.
" Eh ! monsieur, and in what respect not ? "
" Because I have given you reason to think that life has but one face,
because, sad and severe, alas ! 1 have always cut off for you, without,
God knows, wishing to do so, the joyous buds which incessantly
spring from the tree of youth; so that at this moment I repent of
uot having made of you a more expansive, dissipated, animated man."
" I know why you say that, monsieur. No, it is not you who have
made me what I am; it was love which took me at the time when chil-
dren have only inclinations; it is the constancy natural to my character,
which with other creatures is but a habit. I believed that I should
always be as I was; I thought God had cast me in a path quite
cleared, quite straight, bordered with fruits and flowers. I had watch-
ing over me your vigilance and your strength. I believed myself to be
vigilant and strong. Nothing prepared me; I fell once, and that once
deprived me of courage for the whole of my life. It is quite true that
I wrecked myself. Oh, no, monsieur! you are nothing in my past but
a happiness—you are nothing in my future but a hope! No, 1 have no
reproach to make against life, such as you made it for me; I bless you,
and I love you ardently."
" My dear Raoul, your words do me good. They prove to me that
you will act a little for me in the time to come."
" I shall only act for you, monsieur."
" Raoul, what I have never hitherto done with respect to you, I will
henceforward do. I will be your friend, not your father. We will live
in expanding ourselves, instead of living and holding ourselves pri-
soners, when you come back. And that will be soon, will it not ? "
" Certainly, monsieur, for such an expedition cannot be long."
"Soon then, Raoul, soon, instead of living moderately upon my
income, I will give you the capital of my estates. It will suffice for
launching you into the world till my death; and you will give me,
I hope, before that time, the consolation of not seeing my race
extinct."
" I will do all you shall command," eaid Raoul, much agitated.
" It is not necessary, Raoul, that your duty as aide-de-camp should
lead you into too hazardous enterprises. You have gone through
your ordeal; you are known to be good.under fire. Remember that
war with the Arabs is a war of snares, ambuscades, and assassinations."
" So it is said, monsieur."
" There is never much glory in falling in an ambuscade. It is a death
which always implies a little rashness or want of foresight. Often,
PROMISES. 473
indeed, he who falls in it meets with but little pity. They who are not
pitied, Raoul, have died uselessly. Still further, the conqueror laughs
and we Frenchmen ought not to allow stupid infidels to triumph over
our faults. Bo you clearly understand what I am saying to you, Raoul ?
God forbid I should encourage you to avoid encounters."
" I am naturally prudent, monsieur, and I have very good fortune,"
said Raoul, with a smile which chilled the heart of his poor father;
" for," the young man hastened to add, " in twenty combats in which I
have been, I have only received one scratch."
" There is in addition," said Athos," the climate to be dreaded: that is
an ugly end, that fever ! King Saint-Louis prayed God to send him an
arrow or the plague, rather than the fever." >•
" Oh, monsieur! with sobriety, with reasonable exercise "
" I have already obtained from M. de Beaufort a promise that his
despatches shall be sent off every fortnight to France. You, as his aide-
de-camp, will be charged with expediting them, and will be sure not to
forget me."
" No, monsieur," said Raoul, almost choked with emotion.
" Besides, Raoul, as you are a good Christian, and I am one also, we
ought to reckon upon a more special protection of God and his guardian
angels. Promise me, that if anything evil should happen to you, on
any occasion, you will think of me at once."
" First and at once ! Oh! yes, monsieur."
" And will call upon me ?"
" Instantly."
" You dream of me sometimes, do you not, Raoul ?"
" Every night, monsieur. During my early youth I saw you in my
dreams, calm and mild, with one hand stretched out over my head, ana
that it was that made me sleep so soundly—formerly."
"We love each other too dearly," said the comte, "that from this
moment, in which we separate, a portion of both our souls should not
travel with one and the other of us, and should not dwell wherever we
may dwell. Whenever you may be sad, Raoul, I feel that my heart
will be drowned in sadness; and when you smile on thinking of me, be
assured you will send me, from however remote a distance, a ray of
your joy."
" I will not promise you to be joyous," replied the young man; "but
you may be certain that I will never pass an hour without thinking
of you, not one hour, I swear, unless I be dead."
Athos could contain himself no longer; he threw his arm round the
neck of his son, and held him embraced with all the powers of his heart.
The moon began to be now eclipsed by twilight; a golden band sur-
rounded the horizon, announcing the approach of day. Athos threw
his cloak over the shoulders of Raoul, and led him back to the city,
where burdens and porters were already in motion, like a vast ant-hill.
At the extremity of the plateau, which Athos and Bragelonne were
quitting, they saw a dark shadow moving uneasily backwards and for-
wards, as if in indecision or ashamed to be seen. It was Grimaud, who,
in his anxiety, had tracked his master, and was waiting for him.
" Oh! my good Grimaud," cried Raoul, " what do you want ? You
are come to tell us it is time to be gone, have you not ?"
"Alone?" said Grimaud, addressing Athos, and pointing to Raoul
in a tone of reproach, which showed to what an extent the old man was
troubled.
"Oh! you are right!" cried the comte. "No, Raoul, do not go
alone; no, he shall not be left alone in a strange land, without some
474 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
friendly hand to support him, some friendly heart to recall to him all
he loved!"
"IP" said Grimaud.
" You, yes, you!" cried Eaoul, touched to his inmost heart.
" Alas!" said Athos, " you are very old, my good Grimaud."
" So much the better," replied the latter, with an inexpressible depth
of feeling and intelligence.
" But ithe embarkation is begun," said Eaoul, " and you are nob
prepared."
" Yes," said Grimaud, showing the keys of his trunks, mixed with
those of his ypung master.
" But," again objected-Eaoul, "you cannot leave monsieur le comte
thus alone; monsieur le comte whom you have never quitted?"
Grimaud turned his dimmed eyes upon Athos and BaoUl, as if to
measure the strength of both. The comte uttered not a word.
" Monsieur le comte will prefer my going," said Grimaud.
" I should," said Athos, by an inclination of the head.
At that moment the drums suddenly rolled, and the clarions filled
the air with their inspiring notes. The regiments destined for the
expedition began to debouch from the city. They advanced to the
number of five, each composed of forty companies. Eoyals marched
first, distinguished by their white uniform, faced with blue. The
ordonnance colours, quartered crosswise, violet and dead leaf, with a
sprinkling of golden fleurs-de-lis, left the white-coloured flag, with its
fleur-de-lised cross, to dominate over the whole. Musketeers at the
wings, with their forked sticks and their muskets on their shoulders;
pikemen in the centre, with their lances, fourteen feet in length, marched
gaily towards the transports, which carried them in detail to the ships.
The regiments of Picardy, Navarre, Normandy, and Eoyal Yaisseau,
followed after. M. de Beaufort had known well how to select his troops.
He himself was seen closing the march with his staff,—it would take a
full hour before he could reach the sea. Eaoul with Athos turned his
steps slowly towards the beach, in order to take his place when the
prince embarked. Grimaud, boiling with the ardour of a young man,
superintended the embarkation of' Eaoul's baggage in the admiral's
vessel. Athos, with his arm passed through that of the son he was
about to lose, absorbed in melancholy meditation, was deaf to the noise
around him. An officer came quickly towards them to inform Eaoul
that M. de Beaufort was anxious to have him by his side.
" Have the kindness to tell the prince," said Eaoul, " that I request
he will allow me this hour to enjoy the company of my father."
"No, no," said Athos, "an aide-de-camp ought not thus to quit his
general.' Please to tell the prince, monsieur, that the vicomte will join
him immediately." The officer set off at a gallop.
" Whether we part here or part there," added the comte, " it is no
less a separation." He carefully brushed the dust off his son's coat,
and passed his hand over his hair as they walked along. " But, Eaoul,"
said he, " you want money. M. de Beaufort's train will be splendid,
and I am certain it will be agreeable to you to purchase horses and arms,
which are very dear things in Africa. Now, as you are not actually in
the service of the king or M. de Beaufort, and are simply a volunteer, you
must not reckon upon either pay or largesses. But I should not like
you to want for anything at Gigelli. Here are two hundred pistoles;
if you would please me, Eaoul, spend them."
Eaoul pressed the hand of his father, and, at the turning of a street
they saw M. de Beaufort, mounted upon a magnificent white genet, which
PROMISES. 47&
replied by graceful curvets, to the applauses of the women of the city.
The due called Raoul, and held out his hand to the comte. He spoke to
him for some time, with such a kindly expression, that the heart of the
oor father even felt a little comforted. It was, however, evident to
oth father and son that their walk was directed to nothing less than a
punishment. There was a terrible moment—that at which, on quitting
the sands of the shore, the soldiers and sailors exchanged the last kisses
with their families and friends; a supreme moment, in which, notwith-
standing the clearness of the heavens, the warmth of the sun, of the
perfumes of the air, and the rich life that was circulating in their veins,,
everything appeared black, everything appeared bitter, everything
created doubts of a God, whilst speaking by the mouth, even, of God.
It was customary for the admiral and his suite to embark the last; the
cannon waited to announce, with its formidable voice, that the leader
had placed his foot on board his vessel. Athos, forgetful of both the
admiral and the fleet, and of his own dignity as a strong man, opened
his arms to his son, and pressed him, convulsively, to his heart.
" Accompany us on board," said the due, very much affected; " you
will gain a good half-hour."
" No," said Athos, "my farewell is spoken. I do not wish to speak a
second."
" Then, vicomte, embark—embark quickly!" added the prince, wish-
ing to spare the tears of these two men, whose hearts were bursting.
And paternally, tenderly, very much as Porthos might have done, he
took Raoul in his arms and placed him in the boat; the oars of which,
at a signal, immediately were dipped in the waves. Himself, forgetful
of ceremony, he jumped into his boat, and pushed it off with a vigor-
ous foot. " Adieu!" cried Raoul.
Athos replied only by a sign, but he felt something burning on his
hand; it was the respectful kiss of Grimaud—the last farewell of the-
faithful dog. This kiss given, Grimaud jumped from the step of the
mole upon the stem of a two-oared yawl, which had just been taken in
tow by a chaland served by twelve galley-oars. Athos seated himself on
the mole, stunned, deaf, abandoned. Every instant took from him one
of the features, one of the shades of the pale face of his son. "With his
arms hanging down, his eyes fixed, his mouth open, he remained con-
founded with Raoul—in one same look, in one same thought, in one
same stupor. The sea, by degrees, carried away boats and faces, until
at the distance at which men become nothing but points—loves, nothing
but remembrances. Athos'saw his son ascend the ladder of the admi-
ral's ship, he saw him lean upon the rail of the deck, and place himself
in such a manner as to be always an object in the eye of his father. In
vain the cannon thundered, in vain from the ship sounded a long and
loud tumult, responded to by immense acclamations from the shore; in
vain did the noise deafen the ear of the father, and the smoke obscure
the cherished object of all his aspirations. Raoul appeared to him up
to the last moment; and the imperceptible atom, passing from black to
pale, from pale to white, from white to nothing, disappeared for Athos
—disappeared very long after for all the eyes of the spectators, had dis-
appeared both gallant ships and swelling sails. Towards mid-day, when
the sun devoured space, and scarcely the tops of the masts dominated,
the incandescent line of the sea, Athos perceived a soft, aerial shadow
rise, and vanish as soon as seen. This was the smoke of a cannon, which
M. de Beaufort ordered to be fired as a last salute to the coast of France.
The point was buried in its turn beneath the sky, and Athos returned
painfully and slowly to his hostelry.
470
TEE VIC03ITE DE BEAGELONNE.
CHAPTER CI.
Among Women.
.D'Artagnan had not been able to hide his feelings from his friends
so much as he would have wished. The stoical soldier, the impassible
man-at-arms, overcome by fear and presentiments, had yielded, for a
few minutes, to human weakness. When, therefore, he had silenced
his heart and calmed the agitation of his nerves, turning towards his
lackey, a silent servant, always listening, in order to obey the more
promptly
" Rabaud," said he," mind, we must travel thirty leagues a day."
" At your pleasure, captain," replied Rabaud.
And from that moment, d'Artagnan, accommodating his action to
the pace of his horse, like a true centaur, employed his thoughts about
nothing—that is to say, about everything. He asked himself why the
king had sent for him back; why the Iron Mask had thrown the silver
plate at the feet of Raoul? As to the first subject, the reply was
negative; he knew right well that the king's calling him was from
necessity. He still further knew that Louis XIV. must experience an
imperious want of a private conversation with one whom the posses-
si on of such a secret placed on a level with the highest powers of the
kingdom. But as to saying exactly what the king^s wish was, d'Arta-
gnan found himself completely at a loss. The musketeer had no more
doubts, either upon the reason which had urged the unfortunate
Philippe to reveal his character and his birth. Philippe, hidden for
ever beneath a mask of iron, exiled to a country where the men seemed
little more than slaves of the elements, Philippe, deprived even of the
society of d'Artagnan, who had loaded him with honours and delicate
attentions, had nothing more to see than spectres and griefs in this
world, and despair beginning to devour him, he poured himself forth
in complaints, in the belief that his revelations would raise an avenger
for him. The manner in which the musketeer had been near killing
his two best friends, the destiny which had so strangely brought Athos
to participate in the great state secret, the farewell of Raoul, the
obscurity of that future which threatened to end in a melancholy
death; all this threw d'Artagnan incessantly back to lamentable pre-
dictions and forebodings, which the rapidity of his pace did not
dissipate, as it used formerly to do. D'Artagnan passed from these
considerations to the remembrance of the proscribed Porthos and
Aramis. He saw them both, fugitives, tracked, ruined—laborious
architects of a fortune they must lose; and, as the king called for his
man of execution in hours of vengeance and malice, d'Artagnan
trembled at the idea of receiving some commission that would make
his very heart bleed. Sometimes, when ascending hills, when the
winded horse breathed hard from his nostrils, and heaved his flanks,
the captain, left to more freedom of thought, reflected upon the prodi-
gious genius of Aramis, a genius of astucity and intrigue, such as the
Fronde and the civil war had produced but two. Soldier, priest, and
diplomatist; gallant, avaricious, and cunning; Aramis had never taken
the good things of this life but as stepping-stones to rise to bad ones.
Generous in spirit, if not high in heart, he never did ill but for the sake
■of shining a little more brilliantly. Towards the end of his career, at
the moment of reaching the goal, like the patrician Fuscus, he had
AMONG WOMEN. 477
made a false step upon a plank, and had fallen into the sea. But
Porthos, the good harmless Porthos! To see Porthos hungry, to see
Mousqueton without gold lace, imprisoned perhaps; to see Pierrefonds,
Bracieux, razed to the very stones, dishonoured even to the timber,—
these were so many poignant griefs for d'Artagnan, and every time
that one of these griefs struck him, he bounded like a horse at the sting
of the gadfly beneath the vaults of foliage where he has sought shade
and shelter from the burning sun. Never was the man of spirit sub-
jected to ennui, if his body was exposed to fatigue; never did the man
healthy of body fail to find life light, if he had something to engage his
mind. D'Artagnan, riding fast, thinking as constantly, alighted from
his horse in Paris, fresh and tender in his muscles as the athlete pre-
paring for the gymnasium. The king did not expect him so soon, and
had just departed for tbe chase towards Meudon. D'Artagnan, instead,
of riding after the king, as he would formerly have done, took off his
boots, had a bath, and waited till his majesty should return dusty and
tired. He occupied the interval of five hours in taking, as people say,
the air of the house, and in arming himself against all ill-chances. He
learnt that the king, during the last fortnight, had been gloomy; that
the queen-mother was ill and much depressed; that Monsieur, the
king's brother, was exhibiting a devotional turn; that Madame had the
vapours; and that M. de Guiche was gone to one of his estates. He
learnt that M. Colbert was radiant; that M. Pouquet consulted a fresh
physician every day, who still did not cure him, and that his principal
complaint was one which physicians do not usually cure, unless they
are political physicians. The king, d'Artagnan was told, behaved in
the kindest manner to M. Pouquet, and did not allow him to be ever
out of his sight; but the surintendant, touched to the heart, like one of
those fine trees which a worm has punctured, was declining daily, in
spite of the royal smile, that sun of court trees. D'Artagnan learnt
that Mademoiselle de la Yalliere had become indispensable to the king,
that the king, during his sporting excursions, if he did not take her
with him, wrote to her frequently, no longer verses, but, what was still
much worse, prose, and that whole pages at a time. Thus, as the
poetical Pleiad of the day said, the first king in the world was seen
descending from his horse with an ardour beyond compare, and on the
crown of his hat scrawling bombastic phrases, which M. de Saint-Aignan,
aide-de-camp in perpetuity, carried to La Yalliere at the risk of founder-
ing his horses. During this time, deer and pheasants were left to the
free enjoyments of their nature, hunted so lazily, that, it was said, the
art of venery ran great risk of degenerating at the court of France.
D'Artagnan then thought of the wishes of poor Raoul, of that de-
sponding letter destined for a woman who passed her life in hoping,
and as d'Artagnan loved to philosophize a little occasionally, he re-
solved to profit by the absence of the king to have a minute's talk with
Mademoiselle de la Yalliere. This was a very easy affair: while the
king was hunting, Louise was walking with some other ladies in one of
the galleries of the Palais Royal, exactly where the captain of the
musketeers had some guards to inspect. D'Artagnan did not doubt*
that if he could but open the conversation upon Raoul, Louise might
give him grounds for writing a consolatory letter to the poor exile; and;
hope, or at least consolation for Raoul, in the state of heart in which he
had left him, was the sun, was life to two men who were very dear to
our captain. He directed his course, therefore, to the spot where he
knew he should find Mademoiselle de la Yalliere. D'Artagnan found La-
Yalliere the centre of a circle. In her apparent solitude, the king's
478 THE YICOMTE BE BBAGELONNE.
favourite received, like a queen, more perhaps than the queen, a homage
of which Madame had been so proud, when all the king's looks were
directed to her and commanded the looks of the courtiers. D'Artagnan,
although no squire of dames, received, nevertheless, civilities and at-
tentions from the ladies; he was polite, as a brave man always is, and
his terrible reputation had conciliated as much friendship among the
men as admiration among the women. On seeing him enter, therefore,
they immediately accosted him; and, as is not unfrequently the case
with fair ladies, opened the attack by questions. " Where had he been ?
What had become of him so long ? Why had they not seen him as
usual make his fine horse curvet in such beautiful style, to the delight
and astonishment of the curious from the king's balcony ?"
He replied, that he had just come from the land of oranges. This set
all the ladies laughing. Those were times in which everybody travelled,
but in which, notwithstanding, a journey of a hundred leagues was a
problem often solved by death.
'"From the land of oranges?"' cried Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Charente. " From Spain ?" "Eh ! eh !" said the musketeer.
" From Malta ?" said Montalais.
" Ma foi! You are coming very near, ladies."
" Is it an island ?" asked La Valliere.
. " Mademoiselle," said d'Artagnan; " I will not give you the trouble
of seeking any further; I come from the country where M. de Beaufort
is, at this moment, embarking for Algiers."
" Have you seen the army ?" asked several warlike fair ones.
" As plainly as I see you," replied d'Artagnan.
" And the fleet ?" " Yes; I saw everything."
"Have we any of us any friends there?" said Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente, coldly, but in a manner to attract attention to a ques-
tion that was not without a calculated aim.
" Why," replied d'Artagnan, " yes; there were M. de la Guillotiere,
M. de Manchy, M. de Bragelorme "
La Valliere became pale. " M. de Bragelonne !" cried the perfidious
Athenaxs. " Eh, what!—is he gone to the wars ?—he!"
Montalais troa upon her toe, but in vain.
" Do you know what my opinion is ?" continued she, addressing
d'Artagnan.
" No, mademoiselle; but I should like very much to know it."
" My opinion is, then, that all the men who go to this war, are despe-
rate, desponding men, whom love has treated ill; and who go to try if
they cannot find black women more kind than fair ones have been."
Some of the ladies laughed. La Valliere was evidently confused.
Montalais coughed loud enough to waken the dead.
" Mademoiselle," interrupted d'Artagnan," you are in error when
you speak of black women at Gigelli; the women there are not black ;
it is true, they are not white—they are yellow."
" Yellow!" exclaimed the bevy of fair beauties.
" Eh! do not disparage it. I have never seen a finer colour to match
with black eyes and a coral mouth."
" So much the better for M. de Bragelonne," said Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente, with persistant malice. " He will make amends for
his loss. Poor fellow!"
A profound silence followed these words; and d'Artagnan had time
to observe and reflect that women—those mild doves—treat each other
much more cruelly than tigers and bears. But making La Valliere
pale did not satisfy Athenais;" she determined to make her blush like-
AMONG WOMEN. 479
wise. Eesuming the conversation without pause, "Do you know,
Louise," said she, " that that is a great sin on your conscience ?"
" What sin, mademoiselle?" stammered the unfortunate girl, looking
round her for support, without finding it.
" Eh!—why ?" continued Athena'is, "the poor young man was affi-
anced to you; he loved you, you cast him off."
" Well, and that is a right every honest woman has," said Montalais,
in an affected tone. " When we know we cannot constitute the happi-
ness of a man, it is much better to cast him off."
"Cast him off! or refuse him!—that's all very well," said Athenais,
" but that is not the sin Mademoiselle de la Yalliere has to reproach
herself with. The actual sin, is sending poor Bragelonne to the wars;
and to wars in which death is to be met with." Louise pressed her
hand over her icy brow. " And if he dies," continued her pitiless tor-
mentor, " you will have killed him. That is the sin."
Louise, half-dead, caught at the arm of the captain of the mus-
keteers, whose face betrayed unusual emotion. " You wished to speak
with me, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said she, in a voice broken by anger
and pain. " What had you to say to me?"
D'Artagnan made several steps along the gallery, holding Louise on
his arm; then, when they were far enough removed from the others—
" What I had to say to you, mademoiselle," replied he, " Mademoiselle
de Tonnay-Charente has just expressed; roughly, and unkindly, it is
true, but still in its entirety."
She uttered a faint cry; and, struck to the heart by this new wound,
she went on her way, like one of those poor birds which, struck to
death, seek the shade of the thicket to die in. She disappeared at one
door, at the moment the king was entering by another. The first
glance of the king was directed towards the empty seat of his mistress.
Not perceiving LaValliere, a frown came over his brow; but as soon as
he saw d'Artagnan, who bowed to him—" Ah ! monsieur!" cried he,
" you have been diligent! 1 am much pleased with you." This was
the superlative expression of royal satisfaction. Many men would have
been ready to lay down their lives for such a speech from the king.
The maids of honour and the courtiers, who had formed a respectful
circle round the king on his entrance, drew back, on observing he
wished to speak privately with his captain of the musketeers. The
king led the way out of the gallery, after having again, with his eyes,
sought eyery where for La Valliere, whose absence he could not account
for. The moment they were out of the reach of curious ears, " Well!
Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "the prisoner?"
" Is in his prison, sire."
" What did he say on the road ?" " Nothing, sire."
" What did he do ?"
" There was a moment at which the fisherman—who took me in his
boat to Sainte-Marguerite—revolted, and did his best to kill me. The
the prisoner defended me instead of attempting to fly."
The king became pale. " Enough!" said he; ana d'Artagnan bowed.
Louis walked about his cabinet with hasty steps. "Were you at
Antibes," said he, " when Monsieur de Beaufort came there ?"
" " No, sire; I was setting off when monsieur le due arrived."
" Ah !" which was followed by a fresh silence. " Whom did you see
there?" "A great many persons," said d'Artagnan, coolly.
The king perceived that he was unwilling to speak. " I have sent for
you, monsieur le capitaine, to desire you to go and prepare my lodgings
at Nantes." " At Nantes!" cried d'Artagnan.
480 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" In Bretagne." " Yes, sire, it is in Bretagne. Will your majesty
make so long a journey as to Nantes ?"
" The States are assembled there," replied the king, " I have two
demands to make of them: I wish to be there."
" When shall I set out ?" said the captain.
" This evening—to-morrow—to-morrow evening; for you must stand
in need of rest." " I have rested, sire."
" That is well. Then between this and to-morrow evening, when you
please."
D'Artagnan bowed as if to take his leave; but, perceiving the king
very much embarrassed, " Will your majesty," said he, stepping two
paces forward, " take the court with you?" "Certainly I shall."
"Then your majesty will, doubtless, want the musketeers?" And
the eye of the king gank beneath the penetrating glance of the captain.
" Take a brigade of them," replied Louis.
" Is that all ? Has your majesty no other orders to give me ?"
"No—ah—yes." " I am all attention, sire."
" At the castle of Nantes, which I hear is very ill arranged, you will
adopt the practice of placing musketeers at the door of each of the
principal dignitaries I shall take with me."
" Of the principal ?" " Yes."
" For instance, at the door of M. de Lyonne " Yes."
" At that of M. Litellier ?" " Yes."
" Of M. de Brienne ?" " Yes."
" And of monsieur le surintendant ?" " Without doubt."
" Very well, sire. By to-morrow I shall have set out."
" Oh, yes; but one more word, Monsieur d'Artagnan. At Nantes
you will meet with M. le due de Gesvres, captain of the guards. Be
sure that your musketeers are placed before his guards arrive. Prece-
dence always belongs to the first comer." " Yes, sire."
" And if M. de Gesvres should question you ?"
" Question me, sire ! Is it likely that M. de Gesvres should question
me?" And the musketeer, turning cavalierly on his heel,disappeared.
" To Nantes!" said he to himself, as he descended the stairs. Why
did he not dare to say, from thence to Belle-Isle ?"
As he reached the great gates, one of M. Brienne's clerks came
running after him, exclaiming, "Monsieur d'Artagnan! I beg your
pardon "
" What is the matter, Monsieur Ariste ?"
" The king has desired me to give you this order."
" Upon your cash-box ?" asked the musketeer.
" No, monsieur; upon that of M. Fouquet."
D'Artagnan was surprised, but he took the order, which was in the
king's own writing, and was for two hundred pistoles. "What!"
thought he, after having politely thanked M. Brienne's clerk, " M. Fou-
quet is to pay for the journey, then ! Mordioux ! that is a bit of pure
Louis XI.! Why was not this order upon the chest of M. Colbert ?
He would have paid it with such joy." And d'Artagnan, faithful to his
principle of never letting an order at sight get cold, went straight to
the house of M. Fouquet, to receive his two hundred pistoles.
THE LA-ST SUPPEU.
4S1
CHAPTER CIT.
The Last Supper.
The surintendant had no doubt received advice of the approaching
departure, for he was giving a farewell dinner to his friends. Prom
the bottom to the top of the house, the hurry of the servants bear-
ing dishes, and the diligence of the registres, denoted an approaching
change in both offices and kitchen. D'Artagnan, with his order in
his hand, presented himself at the bureaux, when he was told it was
too late to pay cash, the chest was closed. He only replied—" On
the king's service."
The clerk, a little put out by the serious air of the captain, re-
plied, that " that was a very respectable reason, but that the customs
of the house were respectable likewise; and, that in consequence, he
begged the bearer to call again next day." D'Artagnan asked if he
could not see M. Pouquet. The clerk replied that M. le Surintendant
did not interfere with such details; and rudely closed the outer door
izi d'Artagnan's face. But the latter had foreseen this stroke, and
placed his boot between the door and the door-case, so that the lock did
not catch, and the clerk was still nose to nose with his interlocutor.
This made him change his tone, and say, with terrified politeness, " If
monsieur wishes to speak to M. le Surintendant, he must go to the
antechambers; these are the offices, where monseigneur never comes."
" Oh! very well! Where are they ? " replied d'Artagnan.
" On the other side of the court," said the clerk, delighted at being
free.
D'Artagnan crossed the court, and fell in with a crowd of servants.
"Monseigneur sees nobody at this hour," he was answered by a
fellow carrying a vermeil dish, in which were three pheasants and
twelve quails.
" Tell him," said the captain, laying hold of the servant by the end of
his dish, "that I am M. d'Artagnan, captain of his Majesty's mus-
keteers."
The fellow uttered a cry of surprise and disappeared; d'Artagnan
following him slowly. He arrived just in time to meet M. Pelisson in
the antechamber: the latter, a little pale, came hastily out of the
dining-room to learn what was the matter.—D'Artagnan smiled.
" There is nothing unpleasant, Monsieur Pelisson ; only a little order
to receive the money for."
" Ah !" said Fouquet's friend, breathing more freely; and he took
the captain by the hand, and, dragging him behind him, led him into
the dining-room, where a number of friends surrounded the surintend-
ant, placed in the centre, and buried in the cushions of a fauteuil.
There were assembled all the Epicureans who so lately at Yaux did the
honours of the mansion of wit and money of M. Pouquet. Joyous
friends, for the most part faithful, they had not fled their protector at
the approach of the storm, and, in spite of the threatening heavens, in
spite of the trembling earth, they remained there, smiling, cheerful, as
devoted to misfortune as they had been to prosperity. On the left of
the surintendant was Madame de Belliere; on his right was Madame
Pouquet; as if braving the laws of the world, and putting all vulgar
reasons of propriety to silence, the two protecting angels of this man united
to offer him, at the moment of the crisis, the support of their inter-
VOL. II. 2 I
482 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
twined arms. Madame de Belliere was pale, trembling, and full of
respectful attentions for Madame la Surintendante, who, with one hand
on the hand of her husband, was looking anxiously towards the door by
which Pelisson had gone out to bring in d'Artagnan. The captain
entered at first full of courtesy, and afterwards of admiration, when,
with his infallible glance, he had divined as well as taken in the ex-
pression of every face. Fouquet raised himself up in his chair.
" Pardon me, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "if I did not come to
receive you when coming in the king's name." And he pronounced
the last words with a sort of melancholy firmness, which filled the
hearts of his friends with terror.
"Monseigneur," replied d'Artagnan, "I only come to you in the
king's name to demand payment of an order for two hundred pistoles."
The clouds passed from every brow but that of Pouquet, which still
remained overcast.
" Ah ! then," said he, " perhaps you are also setting out for Nantes ?"
" I do not know whither I am setting out for, monseigneur."
"But," said Madame Pouquet, recovered from her fright, "you are
not going so soon, monsieur le capitaine, as not to do us the honour to
take a seat with us ? "
"Madame, I should esteem that a great honour done to me, but I am
so pressed for time, that, you see, I have been obliged to permit myself
to interrupt your repast to procure payment of my note."
" The reply to which shall be gold," said Fouquet, making a sign to
his intendant, who went out with the order which d'Artagnan handed
to him. - ,
"Oh!" said the latter, "I was not uneasy about the payment; the
house is good."
A painful smile passed over the pale features of Fouquet.
" Are you in pain ? " asked Madame de Belliere.
" Do you feel your attack coming on ? " asked Madame Fouquet.
" N either, thank you both," said Fouquet.
"'Your attack?" said d'Artagnan, in his turn; "are you unwell,
monseigneur ? "
" I have a tertian fever, which seized me after the fate at Vaux."
" Caught cold in the grottoes, at night, perhaps ? "
"No, no; nothing but agitation, that was all."
" The too much heart you displayed in your reception of the king,"
said La Fontaine, quietly, without suspicion that he was uttering a
sacrilege.
""We cannot devote too much heart to the reception of our king,"
said Fouquet, mildly, to his poet.
"Monsieur meant to say the too great ardour," interrupted d'Ar-
tagnan, with perfect frankness and much amenity. "The fact is,
monseigneur, that hospitality was never practised as at Vaux."
Madame Fouquet permitted her countenance to show clearly that
if Fouquet had conducted himself well towards the king, the king
had not rendered the like to the minister. But d'Artagnan knew
the terrible secret. He alone with Fouquet knew it; those two men
had not, the one the courage to complain, the other the right to ac-
cuse. The captain, to whom the two hundred pistoles were brought,
was about to take leave, when Fouquet, rising, took a glass of wine,
and ordered one to be given to d'Artagnan.
" Monsieur," said be," to the health of the king, whatever may happen."
"And to your health, monseigneur, whatever may happen," said
d'Artagnan.
THE LAST SUPPER. 483
He bowed, with these words of evil omen, to all the company, who
rose as soon as they heard the sound of his spurs and boots at the
bottom of the stairs.
" I, for a moment, thought it was me and not my money he wanted,"
said Eouquet, endeavouring to laugh.
" You !" cried his friends.; " and what for, in the name of Heaven ? "
" Oh! do not deceive yourselves, my dear brothers in Epicurus,"
said the surintendant; " I will not make a comparison between the
most humble sinner on the earth and the God we adore, but remem-
ber, he gave one day to his friends a repast which is called the Last
Supper, and which was nothing but a farewell dinner, like that which
we are making at this moment."
A painful cry of denial arose from all parts of the table. " Shut the
doors," said Eouquet, and the . servants disappeared. " My friends,"
continued Eouquet, lowering his voice, " what was I formerly ? "What
am I now P Consult among yourselves, and reply. A man like me
sinks when he does not continue to rise. What shall we say, then,
when he really sinks ? I have no more money, no more credit; I have
no longer anything but powerful enemies, and powerless friends."
" Quick !" cried Pelisson, rising. " Since you explain yourself with
that frankness, it is Our duty to be frank, likewise. Yes, you are
ruined—yes, you are hastening to your ruin—stop. And, in the first
place, what money have we left ? "
" Seven hundred thousand livres," said the intendant.
" Bread," murmured Madame Eouquet.
" Relays," said Pelisson, " relays, and fly !"
" Whither ? " " To Switzerland—to Savoy—but fly!"
" If monseigneur flies," said Madame Belliere," it will be said that he
was guilty, and was afraid."
" More than that, it will be said that I have carried away twenty
millions with me."
" We will draw up memoirs to justify you," said La Eontaine. " Ely!"
" I will remain," said Eouquet. " And, besides, does not everything
serve me?"
" You have Belle-Isle," cried the Abbe Eouquet.
" And I am naturally going there, when going to Nantes," replied the
surintendant. " Patience, then, patience !"
"Before arriving at Nantes, what a distance! " said. Madame Eouquet..
"Yes, I know that well," replied Fouquet. " But'what is to be done-
there ? The king summons me to the States. I know well it is for the
purpose of ruining me; but to refuse to go would be to evince uneasi-
ness."
"Well, I have discovered the means of reconciling everything," cried
Pelisson. " You are going to set out for Nantes."
Eouquet looked at him with an air of surprise.
"But with friends; but in your own carriage as far as Orleans; in
your barge as far as Nantes ; always ready to defend yourself, if you
are attacked; to escape, if you are threatened. In fact, you will carry
your money against all chances; and, whilst flying, you will only have'
obeyed the king; then, reaching the sea when you like, you will em-
bark for Belle-Isle, and from Belle-Isle you will shoot out wherever it
may please you, like the eagle which rushes into space when it has,
been driven from its eyrie."
A general assent followed Pelisson's words. "Yes, do so," said
Madame Eouquet to her husband.
"Bo so," said Madame Belliere.
2 12
48-1 the vicohte de bragelonne.
" Do it! do it!" cried all his friends.
"I will do so," replied Fouquet.
" This very evening ? "—7—" In an hour ? "
" Immediately." " With seven hundred thousand livres you can
lay the foundation of another fortune," said the Abbe Fouquet. " What
is there to prevent our arming corsairs at Belle-Isle ? "
" And if necessary, we will go and discover a new world," added La
Fontaine, intoxicated with projects and enthusiasm.
A knock at the door interrupted this concert of joy and hope. "A
courier from the king," said the master of the ceremonies.
A profound silence immediately ensued, as if the message brought
by this courier was nothing but a reply to all the projects given birth
to an instant before. Every one waited to see what the master would
do. His brow was streaming with perspiration, and he was really
suffering from his fever at that instant. He passed into his cabinet, to
receive the king's message. There prevailed, as we have said, such a
silence in the chambers, and throughout the attendance, that from the
dining-room could be heard the voice of Fouquet, saying, "That is
well, monsieur." This voice was, however, broken by fatigue, trem-
bling with emotion. An instant after, Fouquet called Gourville, who
crossed the gallery amidst the universal expectation. At length, he
himself re-appeared among his guests; but it was no longer the same
pale, spiritless countenance they had beheld when he left them; from
pale he had become livid; and from spiritless, annihilated. A living
spectre, he advanced with his arms stretched out, his mouth parched,
like a shade that comes to salute friends of former days. On seeing
him thus, every one cried out, and every one rushed towards Fouquet.
The latter, looking at Pelisson, leant upon the surintendante, and
pressed the icy hand of the Marquise de Belliere.
"Well!" said he, in a voice which had nothing human in it.
" What has happened, my God !" said some one to him.
Fouquet opened his right hand, which was clenched, humid, and dis-
played a paper, upon which Pelisson cast a terrified glance. He read
the following lines, written by the king's hand:
"' Dear and well-beloved Monsieur Fouquet,—Give us, upon
that which you have left of ours, the sum of seven hundred thousand
livres. of which we stand in need to prepare for our departure.
"' And, as we know your health is not good, we pray God to restore
you to health, and to have you in his holy keeping. "' Louis.
" ' The present letter is to serve as a receipt.'"
A murmur of terror circulated through the apartment.
" Well!" cried Pelisson, in his turn," you have received that letter?"
" Received it, yes !"
" What will you do, then ? "
" Nothing, since I have received it." " But "
"If I have received it, Pelisson, I have paid it," said the surin-
tendant, with a simplicity that went to the heart of all present.
"You have paid it!" cried Madame Fouquet. "Then we are
ruined!"
" Come, no useless words," interrupted Pelisson. "After money, life.
Monseigneur, to horse ! to horse ! "
" What, leave us !" at once cried both the women, wild with grief.
" Eh! monseigneur, in saving yourself, you save us all. To horse!"
" But he cannot hold himself on. Look at him."
." Oh ! if he takes time to reflect " said the intrepid Pelisson.
IX THE CARRIAGE OF M. COLBERT. 4S5
v He is right," murmured Fouquet.
" Monseigneur! Monseigneur !" cried Gourville, rushing up the
stairs, four steps at once. " Monseigneur ! " " Well! What ? "
"I escorted, as you desired, the king's courier with the money."
"Yes." "Well! when I arrived at the Palais Royal, I saw "
" Take breath, my poor friend, take breath; you are suffocating."
" What did you see ? " cried the impatient friends.
" I saw the musketeers mounting on horseback," said Gourville.
" There, then! " cried all voices at once; " there, then! is there an
instant to be lost ? "
Madame Pouquet rushed downstairs, calling for her horses; Madame
de Belliere flew after her, catching her in her arms, and saying:
" Madame, in the name of his safety, do not show anything, do not
manifest any alarm."
Pelisson ran to have the horses put to the carriages. And, in the
mean time, Gourville gathered in his hat all that the weeping friends
were able to throw into it of gold and silver—the last offering, the pious
alms made to misfortune by poverty. The surintendant, dragged along
by some, carried by others, was shut up in his carriage. Gourville took
the reins, and mounted the box. Pelisson supported Madame Pouquet,
who-had fainted. Madame de Belliere had more strength, and was well
paid for it; she received Pouquet's last kiss. Pelisson easily explained
this precipitate departure by saying that an order from the king had
summoned the minister to Nantes.
CHAPTER Cin.
In the Carriage of M. Colbert.
As Gourville had seen, the king's musketeers were mounting and
following their captain. The latter, who did not like to be confined in
his proceedings, left his brigade under the orders of a lieutenant, and
set off, on his part, upon post horses, recommending his men to use all
diligence. However rapidly they might travel, they could not arrive
before him. He had time, in passing along the Rue des Petits-
Champs, to see a thing which afforded him plenty of food for thought
and conjecture. He saw M. Colbert coming out fircm his house to get
into his carriage, which was stationed before the door. In this carriage
d'Artagnan perceived the hoods of two women, and being rather
curious, he wished to know the names of the women concealed beneath
these hoods. To get a glimpse at them, for they kept themselves closely
covered up, he urged his horse so near to the carriage, that he drove
him against the step with such force as to shake everything containing
and contained. The terrified women uttered, the one a faint cry, by
which d'Artagnan recognized a young woman, the other an impreca-
tion, by which he recognized the vigour and a plomb which half a
century bestows. The hoods were thrown back: one of the women was
MadameVanel, the other was the duchesse de Chevreuse. D'Artagnan's
eyes were quicker than those of the ladies; he had seen and known
them, whilst they did not recognize him; ana as they laughed at their
fright, pressing each other's hands,—
Humph !" said d'Artagnan, " the old duchesse is not more difficult
in her friendships than she was formerly. She paying her court to
436 the vicomte de beagelohke.
the mistress of M. Colbert! Poor M. Pouquet! that presages you
nothing good!"
He rode on. M. Colbert got into his carriage, and this noble trio
commenced a sufficiently slow pilgrimage towards the wood of Vin-
cennes. Madame de Chevreuse set down Madame Vanel -at her
husband's house, and, left alone with M. Colbert, she chatted upon
affairs, whilst continuing her ride. She had an inexhaustible fund of
conversation, had that dear duchesse, and as she always talked for the
ill of others, always with a view to her own good, her conversation
amused her interlocutor, and did not fail to leave a favourable impres-
sion behind. _ ,
She taught Colbert, who, poor man! was ignorant of it, how great
a minister he was, and how Pouquet would soon become nothing. She
promised to rally around him, when he should become surintendant,
all the old nobility of the kingdom, and questioned him as to the pre-
ponderance it would be proper to allow LaYalliere to take. She
praised him, she blamed him, she bewildered him. She showed him
the secret of so many secrets, that, for a moment, Colbert feared he
must have to do with the devil. She proved to him that she held in her
hand the Colbert of to-day, as she had held the Pouquet of yesterday;
and as he asked her very simply the reason of her hatred for the surin-
tendant: " Why do you yourself hate him ? " said she.
"Madame, in politics," replied he, "the differences of system may
bring about divisions between men. M. Fouquet always appeared to
me to practise a system opposed to the true interests of the king."
She interrupted him.—" I will say no more to you about M. Pouquet.
The journey the king is about to take to Nantes will give a good
account of him. M. Fouquet, for me, is a man quite gone by—and
for you also."
Colbert made no reply. "On his return from Nantes," continued
the duchesse, "the king, who is only anxious for a pretext, will find
that the States have not behaved well—that they have made too few
sacrifices. The States will say that the imposts are too heavy, and that
the surintendant has ruined them. The king will lay all the blame on
M. Fouquet, and then "
"And then ? " said Colbert.
" Oh! he will be disgraced. Is not that your opinion ? "
Colbert darted a glance at the duchesse, which plainly said: " If
M. Pouquet be only disgraced, you will not be the cause of it."
"Your place, ivfr Colbert," the duchesse hastened to say, "must be
quite a marked place. Do you perceive any one between the king and
yourself, after the fall of M. Fouquet ? "
" I do not understand," said he.
"You will understand. To what does yourambition aspire P"
"I have none." "It was useless then to overthrow the surin-
tendant, Monsieur Colbert. That is idle."
"I had the honour to tell you, Madame "
" Oh! yes, I know, all about the interest of the king—but, if you
please, we will speak of your own."
" Mine ! that is to say the affairs of his majesty."
"In short, are you, or are you not ruining M. Fouquet? Answer
without evasion." " Madame, I ruin nobody."
"I cannot then comprehend why you should purchase of me the
letters of M. Mazarin concerning M. Fouquet. Neither can I conceive
why you have laid those letters before the king."
Colbert, half stunified, looked at the duchesse with an air of constraint,
IN THE CARRIAGE OE M. COLBERT. 487
" Madame," said he, " I can less easily conceive how you, who received
the money, can reproach me on that head."
" That is," said the old duchesse, " because we must will that which we
wish for, unless we are not able to obtain what we wish."
" Well ! said Colbert, quite confounded by such coarse logic."
" You are not able, Jiein! Speak."
" I am not able, I allow, to destroy certain influences near the king."
" Which combat for M. Fouquet ? What are they ? Stop, let me
help you."
" Do, madame." " La Valliere ? "
" Oh! very little influence; no knowledge of business, and small
means. M. Fouquet has paid his court to her."
" To defend him would be to accuse herself, would it not P "
" I think it would."
" There is still another influence, what do you say to that ? ",
" Is it considerable ? " " The queen-mother, perhaps ? "
" Her majesty, the queen-mother, has for M. Fouquet a weakness
very prejudicial to her son."
" Never believe that," said the old duchesse, smiling.
" Oh !" said Colbert, with incredulity, " I have often experienced it."
"Formerly?" "Very recently, madame, atVaux. It was she
who prevented the king from having M. Fouquet arrested."
" People do not always entertain the same opinions, my dear inon-
sieur. That which the queen may have wished recently, she would not,
perhaps, to-day."
"And why not ?" said Colbert, astonished.
" Oh! the reason is of very little consequence."
" On the contrary, I think it is of great consequence; for, if I were
certain of not displeasing her majesty the queen-mother, all my scruples
would be removed."
" Well! have you never heard talk of a certain secret ? "
" A secret ? " " Call it what you like. In short, the queen-mother
has conceived a horror for all those who have participated, in one
fashion or another, in the discovery of this secret, and M. Fouquet I
believe to be one of these."
"Then," said Colbert, "we may be sure of the assent of the queen-
mother ?"
" I have just left her majesty, and she assures me so."
" So be it, then, madame."
"But there is something further: do you happen to know a man who
was the intimate friend of M. Fouquet, a M. d'Herblay, a bishop, I
believe ? " " Bishop of Vannes."
"Well! this M. d'Herblay, who also knew the secret, the queen-
mother is having him pursued with the utmost rancour." "In-
deal!"
So hotly pursued, that if he were dead, she would not be satisfied
with anything less than his head, to satisfy her he would never speak
again."
"And is that the desire of the queen-mother ?"
" An order is given for it."
" This Monsieur d'Herblay shall be sought for, madame."
" Oh! it is well known where he is." Colbert looked at the duchesse.
" Say where, madame." " He is at Belle-Isle-en-Mer."
" At the residence of Monsieur Fouquet ?" " At the residence of
M. Fouquet."
" He shall be taken."
488 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
It; was now the duehesse's turn to smile. " Do not fancy that so easy,"
said she, "and do not promise it so lightly."
" Why not, madame ? "
" Because M. d'Herblay is not one of those people who can be taken
just when you please."
" He is a rebel, then !"
" Oh ! Monsieur Colbert, we folks have passed all our lives in making
rebels, and yet you see plainly, that so far from being taken, we take
others."
Colbert fixed upon the old duchesse one of those fierce looks of which
no words can convey the expression, accompanied by a firmness which
was not wanting in grandeur. " The times are gone," said he, " in
which subjects gained duchies by making war against the king of
Prance. If M. d'Herblay conspires, he will perish on the scaffold.
That will give, or will not give, pleasure to his enemies,—that is of very
little importance to us."
And this us, a strange word in the mouth of Colbert, made the
duchesse thoughtful for a moment. She caught herself reckoning
inwardly with this man.—Colbert had regained his superiority in the
conversation, and he was desirous of keeping it.
"You ask me, madame," he said, "to have this M. d'Herblay
arrested ? " " I!—I asked you nothing of the kind ! "
" I thought you did, madame. But as I have been mistaken, we will
leave him alone; the king has said nothing about him."
The duchesse bit her nails.
" Besides," continued Colbert, " what a poor capture would this bishop
be! A bishop game for a king! Oh ! no, no; I will not even take the
least notice of him."
The hatred of the duchesse now discovered itself.
" Game for a woman ! " said she, " and the queen is a woman. If she
wishes to have M. d'Herblay arrested, she has her reasons for it. Be-
sides, is not M. d'Herblay the friend of him who is destined to fall ? "
" Oh! never mind that," said Colbert. " This man shall be spared,
if he is not the enemy of the king. Is that displeasing to you ? "
" I say nothing."
"Yes—you wish to see him in prison, in the Bastille for instance."
" I believe a secret better concealed behind the walls of the Bastille
than behind those of Belle-Isle."
" I will speak to the king about it; he will clear up the point."
" And whilst waiting for that enlightenment, Monsieur l'Eveque de
Yannes will have escaped. I would do so."
"Escaped! he! and whither would he escape ? Europe is ours, in
will, if not in fact."
" He will always find an asylum, monsieur^ It is evident you know
nothing of the man you have to do with. You do not know d'Her-
blay; you did not know Aramis. He was one of those four musketeers
who, under the late king, made Cardinal de Richelieu tremble, and
who, during the regency, gave so much trouble to Monseigneur
Mazarin."
^ "But, madame, what can he do, unless he has a kingdom to back
him ?" " He has one, monsieur."
" A kingdom, he! what Monsieur d'Herblay ? "
" I repeat to you, monsieur, that if he wants a kingdom, he either has
it, or will have it."
"Well, as you are so earnest that this rebel should not escape,
madame, I promise you he shall not escape."
IN THE CARRIAGE OF M. COLBERT. 4S9
" Belle-Isle is fortified, M. Colbert, and fortified by him."
"If Belle-Isle were also defended by him, Belle-Isle is not impreg-
nable; and if Monsieur l'Eveque de vannes is shut up in Belle-Isle,
well, madame, the place will be besieged, and he will be taken."
"You may be very certain, monsieur, that the zeal which you dis-
play for the interests of the queen-mother, will affect her majesty
warmly, and that you will be magnificently rewarded for it; but what
shall I tell her of your projects respecting this man ? "
" That when once taken, he shall be shut up in a fortress from which
her secret shall never escape."
""Very well, Monsieur Colbert, and we may say, that, dating from this
instant, we have formed a solid alliance; that is, you and I, and that I
am perfectly at your service."
"It is I, madame, who place myself at yours. This Chevelier d'Her-
blay is a kind of Spanish spy, is he not ? " " More than that."
" A secret ambassador ? " " Higher still."
" Stop—King Philip III. of Spain is a bigot. He is, perhaps, the
confessor of Philip III." " You must go much higher than that."
" Mordieu ! " cried Colbert, who forgot himself so far as to swear in
the presence of this great lady, of this old friend of the queen-mother—
of the Duchesse de Chevreuse, in short. " He must then be the general
of the Jesuits ? "
" I believe you have guessed at last," replied the duchesse.
" Ah ! then, madame, this man will ruin us all if we do not ruin him;
and we must make haste to do it, too."
"That was my opinion, monsieur, but I did not dare to give it you."
" And it is fortunate for us that he has attacked the throne, and not us."
" But, mark this well, M. Colbert. M. d'Herblay is never discou-
raged; and if he has missed one blow, he will be sure to make another:
he will begin again. If he has allowed an opportunity to escape of
making a king for himself, sooner or later, he will make another, of
whom, to a certainty, you will not be prime minister."
Colbert knitted his brow with a menacing expression.
" I feel assured that a prison will settle this affair for us, madame, in
a manner satisfactory for both." The duchesse smiled again.
" Oh! if you knew," said she, " how many times Aramis has got out
of prison!"
" Oh !" replied Colbert, " we will take care he shall not get out this
time."
" But you have not attended to what I said to you just now. Do you
remember that Aramis was one of the four invincibles whom Richelieu
dreaded ? And at that period the four musketeers were not in pos-
session of that which they have now—money and experience."
Colbert bit his lips.
" We will renounce the idea of the prison," said he, in a lower tone;
" we will find a retreat from which the invincible will not possibly
escape."
" That is well spoken, our ally !" replied the duchesse. " But it is
getting late ; had we not better return ? "
" The more willingly, madame, from my having my preparations to
make for setting out with the king."
" To Paris ! " cried the duchesse to the coachman.
And the carriage returned towards the faubourg Saint Antoine,
after the conclusion of the treaty which gave up to death the last friend
of Pouquet, the last defender of Belle-Isle, the ancient friend of Marie
Michon, the new enemy of the duchesse.
THE VICOjITE EE BBAGKELOJSTHE.
CHAPTER'CIV.
The two Lighters.
D'Artagnan had set off; Fouquet likewise was gone, and he with a
rapidity which doubled the tender interest of his friends. The first
moments of this journey, or better to say, of this flight, were troubled
by the incessant fear of all the horses and all the carriages which could
be perceived behind the fugitive. It was not natural, in fact, if
Louis XIV. was determined to seize this prey, that he should allow it to
escape; the young lion was already accustomed to the chase, and he had
bloodhounds sufficiently ardent to allow him to depend upon them.
But insensibly all the fears were dispersed; the surintendant, by hard
travelling, placed such a distance between himself and his persecutors,
that no one of them could reasonably be expected to overtake him. As
to his position, his friends had made it excellent for him. Was he not
travelling to join the king at Nantes, and what did the rapidity prove
but his zeal to obey ? He arrived, fatigued but reassured, at Orleans,
where he found, thanks to the care of a courier who had preceded him,
a handsome lighter of eight oars. These lighters, in the shape of gon-
dolas, rather wide and rather heavy, containing a small covered chamber
in shape of a deck, and a chamber in the poop, formed by a tent, then
acted as passage-boats from Orleans to Nantes, by the Loire, and this
passage, a long one in our days, appeared then more easy and convenient
than the high road, with its post hacks or its bad, scarcely hung car-
riages. Bouquet went on board this lighter, which set out immediately.
The rowers, knowing they had the honour of conveying the surinten-
dant of the finances, pulled with all their strength, and that magic
word, the finances, promised them a liberal gratification, of which they
wished to prove themselves worthy. The lighter bounded over the
tiny waves of the Loire. Magnificent weather, one of those sun risings
that empurple landscapes, left the river all its limpid serenity. The
current and the rowers carried Fouquet along as wings carry a bird, and
he arrived before Beaugency without any accident having signalised the
voyage. Fouquet hoped to be the first to arrive at Nantes ; there he
would see the notables and gain support among the principal members
of the States; he would make himself necessary, a thing very easy for a
man of his merit, and would delay the catastrophe, if he did not
succeed in avoiding it entirely. " Besides," said Gourville to him, " at
Nantes, you will make out, or we will make out the intentions of your
enemies ; we will have horses always ready to convey you to the inex-
tricable Foitou, a barque in which to gain the sea, and when once in the
open sea, Belle-Isle is the inviolable port. Tou see, besides, that no
one is watching you, no one is following you." He had scarcely finished
when they discovered at a distance, behind an elbow formed by the
river, the masts of a large lighter, which was coming down. The rowers
of Fouquet's boat uttered a cry of surprise on seeing this galley.
" What is the matter ? " asked Fouquet.
" The matter is, monseigneur," replied the patron of the barque, " that
it is a truly remarkable thing—that lighter comes along like a hurricane."
Gourville started, and mounted on the deck, in order to see the better.
Fouquet did not go up with him, but he said to Gourville with a
restrained mistrust: " See what it is, dear friend."
The lighter had just passed the elbow. It came on so fast, that behind
THE TWO LIGHTEBS. 491
it might be seen to tremble the white train of its wake illumined with
the fires of day.
"How they go, repeated the patron, "how they go ! They must be
well paid ! I did not think," he added, "that oars of wood could behave
better than ours, but those yonder prove the contrary."
"Well they may," said one of the rowers, "they are twelve, and we
are but eight."
" Twelve rowers!" replied Gourville, " twelve! impossible."
The number of eight rowers for a lighter had never been exceeded,
even for the king. This honour had been paid to monsieur le surin-
tendant, much more for the sake of haste than of respect.
" What does that mean ?" said Gourville, endeavouring to distinguish
beneath the tent which was already apparent, travellers which the
most piercing eye could not yet have succeeded in discovering.
" They must be in a hurry, for it is not the king," said the patron.
Bouquet shuddered. _ .
" By what do you know that it is not the king ?" said Gourville.
" In the first place, because there is no white flag with fleurs de lis,
which the royal lighter always carries."
" And then," said Bouquet, " because it is impossible it should be the
king, Gourville, as the king was still in Paris yesterday."
Gourville replied to the surintendant by a look which said: " Ton
were there yourself yesterday."
"And by what do' you make out they are in such haste?" added he
for the sake of gaining time.
"By this, monsieur," said the patron; "these people must have set
out a long while after us, and they have already nearly overtaken us." .
" Bah!" said Gourville, " who told you that they do not come from
Beaugency or from Moit even ?"
" We have seen no lighter of that shape, except at Orleans. It comes
from Orleans, monsieur, and makes great haste."
Bouquet and Gourville exchanged a glance. The patron remarked
their uneasiness, and to mislead him, Gourville immediately said :
" Some friend, who has laid a wager he would catch us; let us win
the wager, and not allow him to come up with us."
The patron opened his mouth to reply that that was impossible,
when Bouquet said with much hauteur,—
" If it is any one who wishes to overtake us, let him come."
"We can try, monseigneur," said the patron, timidly, "Come, you
fellows, put out your strength, row, row!"
" IN o," said Bouquet, " stop short, on the contrary."
"Monseigneur! what folly!" interrupted Gourville, stooping towards
his ear.
"Quite short!" repeated Bouquet. The eight oars stopped, and
resisting the water, they created a retrograde motion in the lighter. It
was stopped. The twelve rowers in the other did not, at first, perceive
this manoeuvre, for they continued to urge on their boat so vigorously
that it arrived quickly within musket-shot. Bouquet was short-sighted,
Gourville was annoyed by the sun, which was full in his eyes; the
patron alone, with that habit and clearness which are acquired by
a constant struggle with the elements, perceived distinctly the travellers
in the neighbouring lighter.
" I can see them!" cried he, "there are two."
" I can see nothing," said Gourville.
" You will not be long before you distinguish them: in twenty strokes
of their oars they will be within twenty paces of us."
492 THE VICOHTE DE BEAHELONNE.
But what the patron announced was not realised; the lighter
imitated the movement commanded by Bouquet, and instead of coming
to join its pretended friends, it stopped short m the middle of the river.
" I cannot comprehend this," said the patron.
" Nor I, neither," said Gourville.
"You who can see so plainly the people in that lighter," resumed
Bouquet, " try to describe them to us, patron, before we are too far off."
" I thought I saw two," replied the boatman, " I can only see one
now, under the tent."
" What sort of man is he ?"
" He is a dark man, large shoulders, short necked."
A little cloud at that moment passed across the azure of the heavens,
and darkened the sun. Gourville, who was still looking, with one hand
over his eyes, became able to see what he sought, and all at once,
jumping from the deck into the chamber where Bouquet awaited him:
" Colbert!" said he, in a voice broken by emotion.
"Colbert!" repeated Bouquet, "Oh! how strange!-but no, it is
impossible!"
" I tell you I recognized him, and he, at the same time, so plainly
recognized me, that ,he is just gone into the chamber on the poop.
Perhaps the king has sent him to make us come back."
" In that case he would join us, instead of lying by. What is he
doing there ?"
" He is,watching us, without doubt."
" I do not like uncertainty," said Bouquet; " let us go straight up to
him."
" Oh ! monseigneur, do not do that, the lighter is full of armed men."
" He would arrest me, then, Gourville P Why does he not come on P "
" Monseigneur, it is not consistent with your dignity to go to meet
even your ruin."
" But to allow them to watch me like a malefactor!"
"Nothing tells us that they are watching you, monseigneur; be
patient!"
" What is to be done, then ?"
" Do not stop; you were only going so fast to appear to obey the
king's order with zeal. Redouble the speed. He who lives will see!"
"That's just. Come!" cried Bouquet; "since they remain stock-
still yonder, let us go on, on our part."
The patron gave the signal, and Bouquet's rowers resumed their task
with all the success that could be looked for from men who had rested.
Scarcely had the lighter made a hundred fathoms, than the other, that
with the twelve rowers, resumed its course equally. This position lasted
all the day, without any increase or diminution of distance between
the two vessels. Towards evening Bouquet wished to try the inten-
tions of his persecutor. He ordered his rowers to pull towards the
shore, as if to effect a landing. Colbert's lighter imitated this ma-
noeuvre, and steered towards the shore in a slanting direction. By the
greatest chance, at the spot where Bouquet pretended to wish to land,
a stableman, from the chateau of Langeais, was following the flowery
banks leading three horses in halters. Without doubt the people of
the twelve-oared lighter fancied that Bouquet was directing his course
towards horses prepared for his flight, for four or five men, armed with
muskets, jumped from the lighter on to the shore, and marched along
the banks, as if to gain ground on the horses and horseman. Bouquet,
satisfied of having forced the enemy to a demonstration, considered it
evident, and put his boat in motion again. Colbert's people returned
THE TWO LIGHTEES. 493
likewise to theirs, and the course of the two vessels was resumed with
fresh perseverance. Upon seeing this, Fouquet felt himself threatened
closely, and in a prophetic voice—"Well, Gourville," said he, whis-
peringly, " what did I say at our last repast, at my house ? Am I
going, or not, to my ruin ?" " Oh! monseigneur !"
" These two boats, which follow each other with so much emulation,
as if we were disputing, M. Colbert and I, a prize for swiftness on the
Loire, do they not aptly represent our two fortunes; and do you not
believe, Gourville, that one of the two will be wrecked at Nantes ?"
"At least," objected Gourville,"there is still uncertainty; you are
about to appear at the States; you are about to show what sort of man
you are; your eloquence and your genius for business are the buckler
and sword that will serve to defend you, if not to conquer with. The
Bretons do not know you; and when they shall know you your cause
is won! Oh! let M. Colbert look to it well, for his lighter is as much
exposed as yours to being upset. Both go quickly, his faster than yours,
it is true; we shall see which will be wrecked first."
Fouquet, taking Gourville's hand—" My friend," said he," everything
considered, remember the proverb,' First come, first served!' Well!
M. Colbert takes care not to pass me. He is a prudent man, that
M.Colbert!"
He was right; the two lighters held their course as far as Nantes,
watching each other. When the surintendant landed, Gourville hoped
he should be able to seek refuge at once and have relays prepared.
But, at the landing, the second lighter joined the first, and Colbert,
approaching Fouquet, saluted him on the quay with marks of the pro-
foundest respect—marks so significant, so public, that their result was
the bringing of the whole population upon La Fosse. Fouquet was
completely self-possessed; he felt that in his last moments of greatness
he had obligations towards himself. He wished to fall from such a
height that his fall should crush some one of his enemies. Colbert
was there—so much the worse for Colbert. The surintendant, there-
lore, coming up to him, replied with that arrogant winking of the eyes
peculiar to him—" What! is that you, M. Colbert ?"
" To offer you my respects, monseigneur," said the latter.
"Were you in that lighter?"—pointing to the one with twelve
rowers. " Yes, monseigneur."
"Of twelve rowers?" said Fouquet; "what luxury, M. Colbert.
For a momejit, I thought it was the queen-mother or the king."
" Monseigneur !"—and Colbert blushed.
" This is a voyage that will cost those who have to pay for it dear,
Monsieur l'lntendant!" said Fouquet. "But you have, happily,
arrived! You see, however," added he, a moment after, " that I, who
had but eight rowers, arrived before you." And he turned his back
towards him, leaving him uncertain whether all the tergiversations of
the second lighter had escaped the notice of the first. At least he did
not give him the satisfaction, of showing that he had been frightened.
Colbert, so annoyingly attacked, did not give way.
"JE have not been quick, monseigneur," he replied, " because I fol-
lowed your example whenever you stopped."
"And why did you do that, Monsieur Colbert?" cried Fouquet,
irritated by this base audacity; " as you had a superior crew to mine,
why did you not either join me or pass me?"
" Out of respect," said the intendant, bowing to the ground.
Fouquet got into a carriage which the city sent to him, we know not
why or how, and he repaired to la Mai-son de Nantes, escorted by a
494 the yic03ite de beagelonne.
vast crowd of people, who for several days had been boiling with the
expectation of a convocation of the States. Scarcely was he installed,
when Gourville went out to go and order horses upon the route to
Poitiers and Yannes, and a boat at Paimboeuf. He performed these
various operations with so much mystery, activity, and generosity,
that never was Fouquet, then labouring under an access of fever, more
near being saved, except for the co-operation of that immense disturber
of human projects—chance. A report was spread during the night,
that the king was coming in great haste upon post horses, and that
he would arrive within ten or twelve hours at latest. The people,
while waiting for the king, were greatly rejoiced to see the musketeers,
freshly arrived with Monsieur d'Artagnan, their captain, and quartered
in the castle, of which they occupied all the posts, in quality of guard
of honour. M. d'Artagnan, who was very polite, presented himself
about ten o'clock, at the lodgings of the surintendant, to pay his
respectful compliments to him; and although the minister suffered from
fever, although he was in such pain as to be bathed in sweat, he would
receive M. d'Artagnan, who was delighted with that honour, as will be
seen by the conversation they had together.
CHAPTER CY.
Friendly Advice.
Fouquet was gone to bed, like a man who clings to life, and who
economises as much as possible, that slender tissue of existence, of
which the shocks and angles of this world so quickly wear out the irre-
parable tenuity. D'Artagnan appeared at the door of this chamber,
and was saluted by the surintendant with a very affable " good day."
" Bon jour! monseigneur," replied the musketeer, " how did you get
through the journey ?"
" Tolerably well, thank you."
"And the fever?" But sadly. I drink, as you see. I am
scarcely arrived, and I have already levied a contribution of tisane
upon N? htes."
"Yea should sleep first, monseigneur."
"Eh! corlleu! my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, I should be very
glad to sleep."
" Who hinders you ?" " Why you, in the first place."
" I ? Ah, monseigneur !"
" No doubt you do. Is it at Nantes as it was at Paris, do you not
come in the king's name ?"
"For heaven's sake, monseigneur," replied the captain, "leave the
king alone! The day on which I shall come on the part of the king,
for the purpose you mean, take my word for it, I will not leave you
long in doubt. You will see me place my hand on my sword, accord-»
ing to the ordonnance, and you will hear me say at once in my cere-
raonial voice,' Monseigneur, in the name of the king, I arrest you!'"
"You promise me that frankness?" said the surintendant.
" Upon my honour! But we are not come to that, believe me."
" What makes you think that, Monsieur d'Artagnan ? For my part,
I think quite the contrary."
" l have heard speak of nothing of the kind," replied d'Artagnan.
" Eh! eh!" said Fouquet.
FBIENDLY ADVICE. 495
Indeed, no. You are an agreeable man, in spite of your fever. The
liing ought not, cannot help loving you, at the bottom of his heart."
bouquet's face implied doubt. "But, M. Colbert?" said he; "does
M. Colbert love me as much as you say ?"
" i don't speak of M. Colbert," replied d'Artagnan. " He is an ex-
ceptional man, is that M. Colbert! He does not love you; that, is very
possible; but, mordioux! the squirrel can guard himself against the
adder with very little trouble."
" Do you know, that you are speaking to me, quite as a friend," re-
plied bouquet; " and that, upon my life! I have never met with a man
of your intelligence, and your heart ? "
" You are pleased to say so," replied d'Artagnan. " Why did you
wait till to-day, to pay me such a compliment ?"
" Blind as we are !" murmured bouquet.
"Your voice is getting hoarse," said d'Artagnan; "drink, monseig-
neur, drink!" And he offered him a cup of tisane, with the most
friendly cordiality; bouquet took it, and thanked him by a bland
smile. " Such things only happen to me," said the musketeer. " I have
passed ten years under your very beard, while you were rolling about
tons of gold. You were clearing an annual pensiqn of four millions;
you never observed me ; and you find out there is such a person in the
world, just at the moment "
" I am about to fall," interrupted bouquet. " That is true, my dear
Monsieur d'Artagnan.".
" I did not say so."
" But you thought so; and that is the same thing. Well! if I fall,
take my word as truth I. shall not pass a single day without saying to
myself, as I strike my brow, 'bool! fool!—stupid mortal! You had a
Monsieur d'Artagnan under your eye and hand, and you did not em-
ploy him, you did not enrich him !'"
" You quite overwhelm me," said the captain. " I esteem you
greatly."
" There exists another man, then, who does not think as M. Colbert
does," said the surintendant.
" How this M. Colbert sticks in your stomach ! He is worse than
your fever!"
" Oh ! I have good cause," said bouquet. " Judge for yourself." And
he related the details of the course of the lighters, and the hypocritical
persecution of Colbert. " Is not this a clear sign of my ruin ?"
D'Artagnan became serious. " That is true," said he. " Yes; that
has a bad odour, as M. de Treville used to say." And' he fixed upon
M. bouquet his intelligent and significant look.
" Am I not clearly designated in that, captain ? Is not the king
bringing me to Nantes to get me away from Paris, where I have so
many creatures, and to possess himself of Belle-Isle ?"
" Where M. d'Herblay is," added d'Artagnan. bouquet raised his
head. " As for me, monseigneur," continued d'Artagnan," I can assure
you the king has said nothing to me against you." " Indeed!"
" The king commanded me to set out for Nantes, it is true; and to
say nothing about it to M. de Gesvres." " My friend."
" To M/ de Gesvres, yes, monseigneur," continued the musketeer,
whose eyes did not cease to speak a language different from the lan-
guage of his lips. " The king, moreover, commanded me to take a
brigade of musketeers, which is apparently superfluous, as the country
is quite quiet."
A brigade!" said bouquet, raising himself upon his elbow
496 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELOKXE.
" Ninety-six horsemen, yes, monseigneur. The same number as were
employed in arresting MM. de Chalais, de Cinq-Mars, and Montmo-
rency."
Fouquet pricked up his ears at these words, pronounced without ap-
parent value. " And besides ? " said he.
" Well! nothing but insignificant orders; such as guarding the castle,
guarding every lodging, allowing none of M. de Gesvres' guards to oc-
cupy a single post. —M. de Gesvres, your friend."
" And for myself," cried Fouquet, " what orders had you ?"
" For you, monseigneur ?—not the smallest word."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan; the safety of my honour, and, perhaps, of my
life, is at stake. You would not deceive me?"
" I ?—and to what end ? Are you threatened ? Only there really
is an order with respect to carriages and boats "
"' An order?' " "Yes; but it cannot concern you—a simple mea-
sure of police."
" What is it, captain—what is it ?"
" To forbid all horses or boats to leave Nantes, without a pass, signed
by the king."' " Great God ! but "
D'Artagnan began to laugh. "All that is not to be put into execu-
tion before the arrival of the king at Nantes. So that you see, plainly,
monseigneur, the order in no wise concerns you."
Fouquet became thoughtful, and d'Artagnan feigned not to observe
his pre-occupation—" It is evident, by my thus confiding to you the
orders which have been given to me, that I am friendly towards you,
and that I endeavour to prove to you, that none of them are directed
against you."
" Without doubt!—without doubt!" said Fouquet, still absent.
" Let us recapitulate," said the captain, his glance beaming with ear-
nestness. " A special and severe guard of the castle, in which your
lodging is to be—is it not ?"
" Do you know that castle ?"
" Ah! monseigneur, a true prison! The total absence of M. de
Gesvres, who has the honour of being one of your friends. The closing
of the gates of the city, and of the river without a pass; but, only when
the king shall have arrived."
" Please to observe, Monsieur Fouquet, that if, instead of speaking to
a man like you, who are one of the first in the kingdom, I were speak-
ing to a troubled uneasy conscience—I should compromise myself for
ever! What a fine opportunity for any one who wished to be free!
No police, no guards, no orders; the water free, the roads free, Mon-
sieur d'Artagnan obliged to lend his horses, if required! All this
ought to re-assure you, Monsieur Fouquet, for the king would not have
left me thus independent, if he had had any evil designs. In truth,
Monsieur Fouquet, ask me whatever you like, I am at your service;
and, in return, if you will consent to it, render me a service, that of
offering my compliments to Aramis and Porthos, in case you embark
for Belle-Isle, as you have a right to do, without changing your dress,
immediately, in your robe-de-chambre—just as you are." Saying these
words, and with a profound bow, the musketeer, whose looks had lost
none of their intelligent kindness, left the apartment. He had not
reached the steps of the vestibule, when Fouquet, quite beside himself,
hung to the bell-rope, and shouted, "My horses !—my lighter !" But
nobody answered! The surintendant dressed himself with everything
that came to hand.
" Gourville !—Gourville !" cried he, while slipping his watch into his
FRIENDLY ADVICE. 49?
ocket. And the bell sounded again, whilst Fouquet repeated, " Gour-
ville!—Gourville!"
Gourville at length appeared, breathless and pale.
"Let us be gone! Let us be gone!" cried Fouquet, as soon as he
saw him.
" It is too late !" said the surintendant's poor friend.
" Too late !—why ?" "Listen!" And they heard the sounds of
trumpets and drums in front of the castle.
" What does that mean, Gourville ?"
" It is the king coming, monseigneur." " The king !"
" The king, who has ridden double stages, who has killed horses, and
who is eight hours in advance of your calculation."
"We are lost!" murmured Fouquet. " Brave d'Artagnan, all is over,
thou hast spoken to me too late!"
The king, in fact, was entering the city, which soon resounded with
the cannon from the ramparts, and from a vessel which replied from
the lower part of the river. Fouquet's brow darkened; he called his
valets de chambre, and dressed in ceremonial costume. From his window,
behind the curtains, he could see the eagerness of the people, and the
movement of a large troop, which had followed the prince, without its
being to be guessed how. The king was conducted to the castle with
great pomp, and Fouquet saw him dismount under the portcullis, and
speak something in the ear of d'Artagnan, who held his stirrup. D'Ar-
tagnan, when the king had passed under the arch, directed his steps
towards the house Fouquet was in; but so slowly, and stopping so
frequently to speak to his musketeers, drawn up as a hedge, that
it might be said he was counting the seconds, or the steps, before
accomplishing his message. Fouquet opened the window to speak to
him in the court.
"Ah!" cried d'Artagnan, on perceiving him, "are you still there,
monseigneur ? "
And that word still completed the proof to Fouquet of how much
information, and how many useful counsels were contained in the first
visit the musketeer had paid him. The surintendant sighed deeply.
" Good Heavens! yes, monsieur," replied he. " The arrival of the
king has interrupted me in the projects I had formed."
" Oh! then you know that the king is arrived ?"
" Yes, monsieur, I have seen him; and this time you come from
him "
" To inquire after you, monseigneur; and, if your health is not too
bad, to beg you to have the kindness to repair to the castle."
" Directly, Monsieur d'Artagnan, directly ?"
"Ah! dam!" said the captain, "now the king is come, there is no
more walking for anybody—no more free-will; the pass-word governs
all now, you as well as me, me as well as you."
Fouquet heaved a last sigh, got into his carriage, so great was his
weakness, and went to the castle, escorted by d'Artagnan, whose polite-
ness was not less terrifying this time, than it had but just before been
eonsoling and cheerful.
VOL. II.
498
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
CHAPTER CVL
How the King, Louis XIV., played his little Part.
As Fouquet was alighting from his carriage, to enter the castle of
Nantes, a man of mean appearance went up to him with marks of the
greatest respect, and. gave him a letter. D'Artagnan endeavoured to
prevent this man from speaking to Fouquet, and oushed him away, but
the message had been given to the surintendant. Fouquet opened the
letter and read it, and instantly a vague terror, which d'Artagnan did
not fail to penetrate, was painted upon the countenance of the first
minister. Fouquet put the paper into the portfolio which he had under
his arm, and passed on towards the king's apartments. D'Artagnan,
through the small windows made at every landing of the donjon stairs,
saw, as he went up behind Fouquet, the man who had delivered the
note, look around him on the place, and make signs to several persons,
who disappeared into the adjacent streets, after having themselves re-
peated the signals made by the person we have named. Fouquet was
made to wait for a moment upon the terrace of which we have spoken,
terrace which abutted on the little corridor, at the end of which the
aoset of the king was established. Here d'Artagnan passed on before
the surintendant, whom, till that time, he had. respectfully accom-
panied, and entered the royal cabinet.
"Well?" asked Louis-XIY., who, on perceiving him, threw on to
the table covered with papers a large green cloth.
" The order is executed, sire." " And Fouquet ? "
"Monsieur le surintendant follows me," said d'Artagnan.
" In ten minutes let him be introduced," said the king, dismissing
d'Artagnan again with a gesture. The latter retired; but had scarcely
reached the corridor at the extremity of which Fouquet was waiting
for him, when he was recalled by the king's bell.
" Did he not appear astonished ? " asked the king.
"Who, sire?" "Fouquet" repeated the king, without saying
monsieur, a particularity which confirmed the captain of the mus-
keteers in his suspicions.
" No, sire," replied he. " That's well!" And a second time Louis
dismissed d'Artagnan.
Fouquet had not quitted the terrace where he had been left by his
guide. He reperused his note, which was thus conceived:—
" Something is being contrived against you. Perhaps, they will not
dare to carry it out at the castle; it will be on your return home. The
house is already surrounded by musketeers. Do not enter. A white
horse is in waiting for you behind the esplanade ! "
Fouquet recognized the writing and the zeal of Gourville. Not being
willing that, if any evil happened to himself, this paper should com-
promise a faithful friend, the surintendant was busy tearing it into a
thousand morsels, spread about by the wind from the balustrade of the
terrace. D'Artagnan found him watching the flight of the last scraps
into space.
" Monsieur," said he, " the king waits for you."
Fouquet walked with a deliberate step into the little corridor, where
MM. de Brienne and Rose were at work, whilst the Due de Saint-
Aignan, seated on a little chair, likewise in the corridor, appeared to be
HOW THE KING, LOUIS XIV., PLAYED HIS LITTLE PAET. 49y
waiting for orders, with feverish impatience, his sword between his
legs. It appeared strange to Fouquet that MM. Brienne, Eose, and de
Saint-Aignan, in general so attentive and obsequious, should scarcely
take the least notice, as he, the surintendant, passed. But how could
he expect to find it otherwise among courtiers, he whom the king no
longer called anything but Fouquet ? He raised his head, determined
to look every one and every thing bravely in the face, and entered the
king's apartment, where a little bell, which we already know, had an-
nounced him to his majesty.
The king, without rising, nodded to him, and with interest: " "Well!
how are you, Monsieur Fouquet ? " said he.
"I am in a high fever," replied the surintendant; "but I am at the
king's service."
"That is well; the States assemble to-morrow; have you a speech
ready ? "
Fouquet looked at the king with astonishment. " I have not, sire,"
replied he; " but I will improvise one. I am too well acquainted with
affairs to feel any embarrassment. I have only one question to ask;
will your majesty permit me ? "
" Certainly; ask it."
" Why has your majesty not done his first minister the honour to
give him notice of this in Paris ? "
" Tou were ill; I was not willing to fatigue you."
"Never did a labour—never did an explanation fatigue me, sire;
and, since the moment is come for me to demand an explanation of
my king "
" Oh, Monsieur Fouquet! an explanation upon what ? "
" Upon your majesty's intentions with respect to myself."
The king blushed. " I have been calumniated," continued Fouquet,
warmly, "and I feel called upon to provoke the justice of the king to
make inquiries."
" You say all this to me very uselessly, Monsieur Fouquet; I know
what I know."
"Your majesty can only know things as they have been told to you;
and I, on my part, have said nothing to you, whilst others have spoken
many, and many times "
" What do you wish to say ? " said the king, impatient to put an end
to this embarrassing conversation.
" I will go straight tp the fact, sire; and I accuse a man of having
injured me in your majesty's opinion."
"INobody has injured you, Monsieur Fouquet."
" That reply proves to me, sire, that I am right."
" Monsieur Fouquet, I do not like people to be accused."
"Not when one is accused !"
"We have already spoken too much about this affair."
"Your majesty will not allow me to justify myself."
"I repeat that I do not accuse you."
Fouquet, with a half-bow, made a step backward. " It is certain,"
thought he, " that he has made up his mind. He alone who cannot
go back can show such obstinacy. Not to see the danger now would
be to be blind indeed; not to shun it would be stupid." He resumed
aloud : " Did your majesty send for me for any business ? "
" No, Monsieur Fouquet, but for some advice I have to give you."
"I respectfully await it, sire."
" Eest yourself, Monsieur Fouquet, do not throw away your strength •
the session of the States will be short, and when my secretaries shall
2 K 2
500 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
have closed it, I do not wish business to be talked of in France for a
fortnight."
" Has the king nothing to say to me on the subject of this assembly
of the States ? " "No, Monsieur Fouquet."
"Not to me, the surintendant of the finances ? "
" Best yourself, I beg you; that is all I have to say to you."
Fouquet bit his lips and hung down his head. He was evidently
busy with some uneasy thought. This uneasiness struck the king.
" Are you angry at having to rest yourself, M. Fouquet ?" said he.
"Yes, sire, I am not accustomed to take rest."
" But you are ill; you must take care of yourself."
"Your majesty spoke just now of a speech to be pronounced to-
morrow."
His majesty made no reply; this unexpected stroke embarrassed
him. Fouquet felt the weight of this hesitation. He thought he could
read a danger in the eyes of the young prince, which his fear would
precipitate. " If I appear frightened, I am lost," thought he.
• The king, on his part, was only uneasy at the alarm of Fouquet.
"Has he a suspicion of anything ?" murmured he.
" If his first word is severe," again thought Fouquet; " if he becomes
angry, or feigns to be angry for the sake of a pretext, how shall I
extricate myself ? Let us smooth the declivity a little. Gourville was
right."
" Sire," said he suddenly, " since the goodness of the king watches
over my health to the point of dispensing with my labour, may I not
be allowed to be absent from the council of to-morrow ? I could pass
the day in bed, and will entreat the king to grant me his physician,
that we may endeavour to find a remedy against this cursed fever."
" So be it, Monsieur Fouquet, as you desire; you shall have a holiday
to-morrow, you shall have the physician, and shall be restored to
health."
" Thanks !" said Fouquet, bowing. Then, opening his game
" Shall I not have the happiness of conducting your majesty to my
residence of Belle-Isle ?"
And he looked Louis full in the face, to judge of the effect of such a
proposal. The king blushed again.
" Do you know," replied he, endeavouring to smile, " that you have
just said—' My residence of Belle-Isle' ?" "Yes, sire."
" "VVell! do you not remember," continued the king in the same
cheerful tone, " that you gave me Belle-Isle ?"
" That is true again, sire. Only as you have not taken it, you will
come with me and take possession of it." " I mean to do so."
" That was, besides, your majesty's intention as well as mine; and I
cannot express to your majesty how happy and proud I have been at
seeing all the king's military household come from Paris for this taking
possession."
The king stammered out that he did not bring the musketeers for
that alone.
" Oh, I am convinced of that," said Fouquet, warmly; " your majesty
knows very well that you have nothing to do but to come alone with a
cane in your hand, to bring to the ground all the fortifications of Belle-
Isle."
" Peste!" cried the king; " I do not wish those fine fortifications,
which cost so much to erect, should fall at all. No, let them stand
against the Dutch and the English. You would not guess what I want
to see at Belle-Isle, Monsieur Fouquet: it is the pretty peasants
HOW THE KING, LOUIS XIV., PLAYED HIS LITTLE PACT. 501
and women of the lands on the sea-shore, who dance so well, and are so
seducing with their scarlet petticoats! I have heard great boast of
your pretty tenants, monsieur le surintendant; well, let me have a sight
of them." " Whenever your majesty pleases."
" Have you any means of transport ? It should be to-morrow, if
you like."
The surintendant felt this stroke, which was not adroit, and replied,
"No, sire; I was ignorant of your majesty's wish; above all, I was
ignorant of your haste to see Belle-Isle, and I am prepared with
nothing."
" You have a boat of your own, nevertheless ? "
" I have five; but they are all in the port, or at Paimbceuf; and to
join them, or bring them hither, we should require at least twenty-
four hours. Have I any occasion to send a courier ? Must I do so ?"
" Wait,a little; put an end to the fever,—wait till to-morrow."
" That is true; who knows but that by to-morrow we may not have
a hundred other ideas?" replied Fouquet, now perfectly convinced,
and very pale.
The king started, and stretched his hand out towards his little bell,
but Pouquet prevented his ringing.
" Sire," said he, " I have an ague,—I am trembling with cold. If I
remain a moment longer, I shall most likely faint. I request your
majesty's permission to go and conceal myself beneath the bedclothes."
Indeed, you are all in a shiver; it is painful to behold! Come,
Monsieur Pouquet, begone! I will send to inquire after you."
" Your majesty overwhelms me with kindness. In an hour I shall
be better."
" I will call some one to reconduct you," said the king.
" As you please, sire; I would gladly take the arm of any one."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan !" cried the king, ringing his little bell.
" Oh! sire," interrupted Pouquet, laughing in such a manner as made
the prince feel cold, "would you give me the captain of your mus-
keteers to take me to my lodgings ? A very equivocal kind of honour
that, sire ! A simple footman, I beg."
" And why, M. Pouquet ? M. d'Artagnan conducts me often, and
well!"
" Yes, but when he conducts you, sire, it is to obey you; whilst me "
" Go on !" " If I am obliged to return home supported by the ■
leader of the musketeers, it would be everywhere said you had had me
arrested."
" Arrested!" replied the king, who became paler than Fouquet him-
self,—" arrested! oh !"
"And why would they not say so?" continued Pouquet, still laugh-
ing, " and I would lay a wager there would be people found wicked
enough to laugh at it." This sally disconcerted the monarch. Pouquet
was skilful enough, or fortunate enough, to make Louis XIV. recoil
before the appearance of the fact he meditated. M. d'Artagnan, when
he appeared, received an order to desire a musketeer to accompany the
surintendant.
" Quite unnecessary," said the latter: " sword for sword; I prefer
Gourvflle, who is waiting for me below. But that will not prevent me
enjoying the society of M. d'Artagnan. I am glad he will see Belle-Isle,
he who is so good a judge of fortifications."
D'Artagnan bowed, without at all comprehending what was going on.
Fouquet bowed again and left the apartment, affecting all the slowness
of a man who walks with difficulty. When once out of the castle
502 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONJNE.
" I am saved !" said he. " Oh! yes, disloyal king, you shall see Belle-
Isle, but it shall be when I am no longer there!"
He disappeared, leaving d'Artagnan with the king.
" Captain," said the king, " you will follow M. Bouquet at the dis-
tance of a hundred paces." "Yes, sire."
" He is going to his lodgings again. You will go with him." " Yes,
sire."
"You will arrest him in my name, and will shut him up in a carriage."
" In a carriage. Well! sire ?"
" In such a fashion that he may not, on the road, either converse with
any one, or throw notes to people he may meet."
" That will be rather difficult, sire." " Not at all."
" Pardon me, sire, I cannot stifle M. Pouquet, and if he asks for
liberty to breathe, I cannot prevent him by shutting up glasses and
blinds. He will throw out at the doors all the cries and notes possible."
" The case is provided for, Monsieur d'Artagnan; a carriage with a
trellis will obviate both the difficulties you point out."
"A carriage with an iron trellis !" cried d'Artagnan; "but a carriage
with an iron trellis is not made in half an hour, and your majesty com-
mands me to go immediately to M. Bouquet's lodgings."
" Therefore, the carriage in question is already made."
" Ah ! that is quite a different thing," said the captain; " if the carriage
is ready made, very well, then, we have only to set it going."
"It is ready with the horses harnessed to it." "Ah!"
" And the coachman, with the outriders, waiting in the lower court of
the castle."
D'Artagnan bowed. " There only remains for me to ask your majesty
to what place I shall conduct M. Pouquet."
"To the castle of Angers, at first." " Yery well, sire."
" Afterwards we will see." " Yes, sire."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan, one last word: you have remarked that for
making this capture of M. Pouquet, I have not employed my guards,
on which account M. de Gevres will be furious."
"Your majesty does not employ your guards," said the captain, a
little humiliated, " because you mistrust M. de Gevres, that is all."
" That is to say, monsieur, that I have more confidence in you."
" I know that very well, sire! and it is of no use to make so much
of it."
" It is only for the sake of arriving at this, monsieur, that if, from
this moment, it should happen that by any cnance, any chance what-
ever, M. Fouquet should escape—such chances have been, monsieur "
" Oh! very often, sire; but for others, not for me."
" And why not with you ? "
" Because I, sire, have, for an instant, wished to save M. Pouquet."
_ The king started. " Because," continued the captain, " I had then a
right to do so, having guessed your majesty's plan, without your having
spoken io me of it, and that I took an interest in M. Fouquet. Now,
was I not at liberty to show my interest in this man ?"
" In truth, monsieur, you do not reassure me with regard to your
services."
" If I had saved him then, I was perfectly innocent; I will say more,
I should have done well, for M. Pouquet is not a bad man. But he was
not willing; his destiny prevailed; he let the hour of liberty slip by.
So much the worse ! Now I have orders, I will obey those orders, and
M. Pouquet you may consider as a man arrested. He is at the castle
of Angers, is M. Pouquet."
THE WHITE HORSE AND THE BLACK HORSE. 503
" Oh! you have not got him yet, captain."
" That concerns me; every one to his trade, sire; only, once more,
reflect! Do you seriously give me orders to arrest M. Pouquet, sire ?"
" Yes, a thousand times, yes!"
"Write it, then." " Here is the letter."
D'Artagnan read it, bowed to the king, and left the room. Prom the
height of the terrace he perceived Gourville, who went by with a joyous
air towards the lodgings of M. Pouquet
CHAPTER CYIi;
The White Horse and the Black Horse.
" That is rather surprising," said d'Artagnan, " Gourville running
about the streets so gaily, when he is almost certain that M. Pouquet is
in danger; when it is almost equally certain that it was Gourville who
warned M. Pouquet just now by the note which was torn into a thousand
pieces upon the terrace, and given to the winds by monsieur le surintend-
ant. Gourville is rubbing his hands, that is because he has done some-
thing clever. Whence comes M. Gourville? Gourville is coming from the
Rue aux Herbes. Whither does the Rue aux Herbes lead ?" And d'Ar-
tagnan followed along the tops of the houses of Nantes dominated by
the castle, the line traced by the streets, as he would have done upon a
topographical plan ; only, instead of the dead, flat paper, the living chart
rose in, relief with the cries, the movements, and the shadows of the
men and things. Beyond the inclosure of the city, the great verdant
plains stretched out, bordering the Loire, and appeared to run towards
the empurpled horizon, which was cut by the azure of the waters and
the dark green of the marshes. Immediately outside the gates of
Nantes two white roads were seen diverging like the separated fingers
of a gigantic hand. D5 Artagnan, who had taken in all the panorama at
a glance by crossing the terrace, was led by the line of the Rue aux
Herbes to the mouth of one of those roads which took its rise under
the gate of Nantes. One step more, and he was about to descend
the stairs, take his trellised carriage, and go towards the lodgings of M.
Pouquet. But chance decreed that at the moment of replunging into
the staircase, he was attracted by a moving point which was gaining
ground upon that road.
" What is that ?" said the musketeer to himself; " a horse galloping,
—a runaway horse, no doubt. What a pace he is going at!" The
moving point became detached from the road, and entered into the
fields. " A white horse," continued the captain, who had just seen the
colour thrown out luminously against the dark ground, "and he is
mounted; it must be some boy whose horse is thirsty and has run
away with him to the drinking-place, diagonally." These reflections,
rapid as lightning, simultaneous with visual perception, d'Artagnan
had already forgotten when he descended the first steps of the staircase.
Some morsels of paper were spread over the stairs, and shone out white
against the dirty stones. "Eh! eh!" said the captain to himself,
" here are some of the fragments of the note torn by M. Pouquet.
Poor man ! he had given his secret to the wind; the wind will have no
more to do with it, and brings it back to the king. Decidedly, Pouquet,
you play with misfortune! the game is not a fair one,—fortune is
against you. The star of Louis XIV. obscures yours; the adder is
504 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
stronger and more cunning than the squirrel." D'Artagnan picked up
one of these morsels of paper as he descended. " Goutville's pretty
little hand!" cried he, whilst examining one of the fragments of the
note; " I was not mistaken." And he read the word " horse." " Stop!"
said he; and he examined another, upon which there was not a letter
traced. Upon a third he read the word "white;" "white horse," re-
peated he, like a child that is spelling. "Ah, mordioux/" cried the
suspicious spirit, " a white horse!" And, like to that grain of powder
which, burning, dilates into a centripled volume, d'Artagnan, enlarged
by ideas and suspicions, rapidly reascended the stairs towards the
terrace. The white horse was still galloping in the direction of the
Loire, at the extremity of which, melted into the vapours of the water,
a little sail appeared, balancing, like an atom. "Oh, oh!" cried the
musketeer, " there is but a man who flies who would go at that pace
pcross ploughed lands; there is but one Fouquet, a financier, to ride
thus in open day upon a white horse; there is no one but the lord of
Belle-Isle who would make his escape towards the sea, while there are
such thick forests on the land; and there is but one d'Artagnan in
the world to catch M. Fouquet, who has half an hour's start, and who
will have gained his boat within an hour." This being said, the mus-
keteer gave orders that the carriage with the iron trellis should be taken
immediately to a thicket situated just outside the city. He selected his
best horse, jumped upon his hack, galloped along the Hue aux Herbes,
taking, not the road Fouquet had taken, but the bank itself of the
Loire, certain that he should gain ten minutes upon the total of the
distance, and, at the intersection of the two lines, come up with the
fugitive, who could have no suspicion of being pursued in that direction.
In the rapidity of the pursuit, and with the impatience of the per-
secutor, animating himself in the chase as in war, d'Artagnan, so
mild, so kind towards Fouquet, was surprised to find himself become
ferocious and almost sanguinary. For a long time he galloped without
catching sight of the white horse. His fury assumed the tints of rage;
he doubted of himself,—he suspected that Fouquet had buried himself
in some subterranean road, or that he had changed the white horse for
one of those famous black ones, as swift as the wind, which d'Artagnan,
at Saint-Mande, had so frequently admired, and envied their vigorous
lightness.
At these moments, when the wind cut his eyes so as to make the
water spring from them, when the saddle had become burning hot,
when the galled and spurred horse reared with pain, and threw behind
him a shower of dust and stones, d'Artagnan, raising himself in his
stirrups, and seeing nothing on the waters,—nothing beneath the trees,
looked up into the air like a madman. He was losing his senses. In
the paroxysms of his eagerness he dreamt of aerial ways,—the discovery
of the following century; he called to his mind Daedalus and his vast
wings, which had saved him from the prisons of Crete. A hoarse sigh
broke from his lips, as he repeated, devoured by the fear of ridicule,
" I! I! duped by a Gourville! I! They will say I am growing old,—
they will say I have received a million to allow Fouquet to escape!"
And he again dug his spurs into the sides of his horse: he had ridden
astonishingly fast. Suddenly, at the extremity of some open pasture-
ground, behind the hedges, he saw a white form which showed itself,
disappeared, and at last remained distinctly visible upon a rising
ground. D'Artagnan's heart leaped with joy. He wiped the streaming
sweat from his brow, relaxed the tension of his knees,—by which the
horse breathed more freely,—and, gathering up his reins, moderated the
THE WHITE HOESE AND THE BLACK HOESE. 505
speed of the vigorous animal, his active accomplice in this man-hunt.
He had then time to study the direction of the road, and his position
with regard to Fouquet. The surintendant had completely winded his
horse by crossing soft grounds. He felt the necessity of gaining a more
firm footing, and turned towards the road by the shortest secant line.
D'Artagnan, on his part, had nothing to do but to ride straight beneath
the sloping shore, which concealed him from the eyes of his enemy; so
that he would cut him off on his road when he came up to him. Then
the real race would begin,—then the struggle would be in earnest.
D'Artagnan gave his horse good breathing-time. He observed that
the surintendant had relaxed into a trot, which was to say, he likewise
was indulging his horse. But both of them were too much pressed for
time to allow them to continue long at that pace. The white horse
sprang off like an arrow the moment his feet touched firm ground.
D'Artagnan dropped his hand, and his black horse broke into a gallop.
Both followed the same route; the quadruple echoes of the course were
confounded. Fouquet had not yet perceived d'Artagnan. But on
issuing from the slope, a single echo struck the air, it was that of the
steps of d'Artagnan's horse, which rolled along like thunder. Fouquet
turned round, and saw behind him, within a hundred paces, his enemy
bent oversthe neck of his horse. There could he no doubt—the shining
baldrick, the red cassock—it was a musketeer. Fouquet slackened his
hand likewise, and the white horse placed twenty-feet more between his
adversary and himself.
" Oh, but," thought d'Artagnan, becoming very anxious, " that is
not a common horse M. Fouquet is upon—let us see!" And he atten-
tively examined with his infallible eye, the shape and capabilities of the
courser. Bound full quarters—a thin long tail—large hocks—thin legs,
dry as bars of steel—hoofs hard as marble. He spurred his own, but
the distauce between the two remained the same. D'Artagnan listened
attentively; not a breath of the horse reached him, andjyet he seemed
to cut the air. The black horse, on the contrary, began to blow like a
blacksmith's bellows.
"I must overtake him, if I kill my horse," thought the musketeer:
and he began to saw the mouth of the poor animal, whilst he buried
the rowels of his merciless spurs in his sides. The maddened horse
gained twenty toises, and came up within pistol-shot of Fouquet.
"Courage!" said the musketeer to himself, "courage! the white
horse will perhaps grow weaker, and if' the horse does not fall, the
master must fall at last." But horse and rider remained upright
together, and gaining ground by degrees. D'Artagnan uttered a wild
cry, which made Fouquet turn round, and added speed to the white
horse.
" A famous horse! a mad rider !" growled_ the captain. " Hola!
mordioux ! Monsieur Fouquet! stop! in the king's name !" Fouquet
made no reply.
"Do you hear me?" shouted d'Artagnan, whose horse had just
stumbled.
" Pardieu /" replied Fouquet, laconically; and rode on faster.
D'Artagnan was nearly mad; the blood rushed boiling to his temples
and his eyes. "Tn the king's name !" cried he again ; " stop, or I will
bring you down with a pistol-shot!"
"Do !" replied Fouquet, without relaxing his speed.
D'Artagnan seized a pistol and cocked it, hoping that the noise of
the spring would stop his enemy. " You have pistols likewise," said he;
" turn, and defend yourself."
506 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE.
Fouquet did turn round at the noise, and looking d'Artagnan full in
the face, opened with his right hand, the part of his dress which con-
cealed his body, hut he did not even touch his holsters. There were not
more than twenty paces between the two.
"Mordioux/" said d'Artagnan, " I will not assassinate you; if you
will not fire upon me, surrender ! what is a prison,? "
" I would rather die !" replied Fouquet; I shall suffer less."
D'Artagnan, drunk with despair, hurled his pistol to the ground. " I
will take you alive!" said he; and by a prodigy of skill of which this
incomparable horseman alone was capable, he threw his horse forward
to within ten paces of the white horse; already his hand was stretched
out to seize his prey.
" Kill me! kill me! " cried Fouquet; " it is more humane ! "
" No ! alive—alive!" murmured the captain.
At this moment his horse made a false step for the second time, and
Fouquet's again took the lead. It was an unheard-of spectacle, this
race between two horses which were only kept alive by the will of their
riders. It might be said that d'Artagnan rode carrying his horse along
between his knees. To the furious gallop had succeeded the fast trot,
and that had sunk to what might be scarcely called a trot at all. And
the chase appeared equally warm in the two fatigued athletce. D'Ar-
tagnan, quite in despair, seized his second pistol, and cocked it.
" At your horse ! not at you ! " cried he to Fouquet. And he fired.
The animal was hit in the quarters—he made a furious bound, and
plunged forward. At that moment d'Artagnan's horse fell dead.
" I am dishonoured!" thought the musketeer; " I am a miserable
wretch ! for pity's sake, M. Fouquet, throw me one of your pistols that
I may blow out my brains! " But Fouquet rode on.
" For mercy's sake ! for mercy's sake!" cried d'Artagnan ; " that
which you will not do at this moment, I myself will do within an hour;
but here, upon this road, I should die bravely; I should die esteemed;
do me that service, M. Fouquet!"
M. Fouquet made no reply, but continued to trot on. D'Artagnan
began to run after his enemy. Successively he threw off his hat, his
coat, which embarrassed him, and then the sheath of his sword, which
got between his legs as he was running. The sword in his hand even
became too heavy, and he threw it after the sheath. The white horse
began to rattle in his throat; d'Artagnan gained upon him. From a
trot the exhausted animal sunk to a staggering walk—the foam from
his mouth was mixed with blood. " D'Artagnan made a desperate
effort, sprang towards Fouquet, and seized him by the leg, saying in a
broken breathless voice, " I arrest you in the king's name ! blow my
brains out, if you like—we have both done our duty."
Fouquet hurled far from him, into the river, the two pistols which
d'Artagnan might have seized, and dismounting from his horse—" I am
your prisoner, monsieur," said he; "will you take my arm, for I see
you are ready to faint ? "
" Thanks!" murmured d'Artagnan, who, in fact, felt the earth
moving from under his feet, and the sky melting away over his head;
and he rolled upon the sand, without breath or strength. Fouquet
hastened to the brink of the river, dipped some water in his hat, with
which he bathed the temples of the musketeer, and introduced a few
drops between his lips. D'Artagnan raised himself up, looking round
with a wandering eye. He saw Fouquet on bis knees, with his wet hat
in his hand, smiling upon him with ineffable sweetness. " You are not
gone then?" cried he. "Oh, monsieur ! the true king in royalty, in
the squirrel falls, and the adder flies. 507
heart, in soul, is not "Louis of the Louvre, or Philippe of §ginte-
Marguerite; it is you, the proscribed, the condemned !" *
" I, who this day am ruined by a single error, M. d'Artagnan."
" What, in the name of Heaven! is that ? "
" I should have had you for a friend! But how shall we return to
Nantes ? We are a great way from it."
" That is true," said d'Artagnan, gloomy and sad.
" The white horse will recover, perhaps ; he is a good horse! Mount,
Monsieur d'Artagnan; I will walk till you have rested a little."
" Poor beast! and wounded too !" said the musketeer.
" He will go, I tell you; I know him; but we can do better still, let
us both get up, and ride slowly." v
"We can try," said the captain. But they had scarcely charged the
animal with this double load, than he began to stagger, then, with a
great effort, walked a few minutes, then staggered again, and sunk down
dead by the side of the black horse, which he had just managed to
come up to.
"We will go on foot—destiny wills it so—the walk will be pleasant,"
said Fouquet, passing his arm through that of d'Artagnan.
" Mordioux!" cried the latter, with a fixed eye, a contracted brow,
and a swelling heart—" A disgraceful day!"
They walked slowly the four leagues that separated them from the
little wood behind which waited the carriage with the escort. When
Fouquet perceived that sinister machine, he said to d'Artagnan, who
cast down his eyes as ashamed of Louis XIV., " There is an idea which
is not that of a brave man, Captain d'Artagnan; it is not yours. What
are these gratings for ? " said he.
" To prevent your throwing letters out." "Ingenious ! "
" But you can speak, if you cannot write," said d'Artagnan.
" Can I speak to you ? "
"Why—certainly, if you wish to do so."
Fouquet reflected for a moment, then looking the captain full in the
face, " One single word," said he; " will you remember it ? "
" I will not forget it."
" Will you speak it to whom I wish ? " " I will."
" Saint-Mandd," articulated Fouquet, in a low voice. •
" Well! and for whom ? "
" For Madame de Belliere or Pelisson."
" It shall be done."
The carriage passed through Nantes, and took the route of Angers.
CHAPTER CVni.
In which the Squirrel falls,—in which the Adder flies.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The king, full of impatience,
went to his cabinet on the terrace, and kept opening the door of the
corridor, to see what his secretaries were doing. M. Colbert, seated in
the same place M. de Saint-Aignan had so long occupied in the morning,
was chatting, in a low voice, with M. de Brienne. The king opened the
door suddenly, and addressing them, " What do you say?" asked he.
"We were speaking of the first sitting of the States," said M. de
Brienne, rising.
" Very well," replied the king, and returned to his room.
508 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
Five minutes after, the summons of the bell recalled Rose, whose
hour it was.
" Have you finished your copies ? " asked the king. " Not yet, sire."
" See, then, if M. d'Artagnan is returned." " Not yet, sire."
" It is very strange !" murmured the king. " Call M. Colbert."
Colbert entered; he had been expecting this moment all the morning.
" Monsieur Colbert," said the king, very sharply; " it must be ascer-
tained what is become of M. d'Artagnan."
Colbert, in his calm voice, replied, " Where would your majesty desire
him to be sought for ? "
" Eh ! monsieur ! do you not know to what place I have sent him ? "
replied Louis, acrimoniously. "Your majesty has not told me."
" Monsieur, there are things that are to be guessed; and you, above
all others, do guess them."
" I might have been able to imagine, sire; hut I do not presume to
be positive."
Colbert had not finished these words when a much rougher voice
than that of the king interrupted the interesting conversation thus
begun between the monarch and his clerk.
" D'Artagnan !" cried the king, with evident joy.
D'Artagnan, pale and in evidently bad humour, cried to the king, as
he entered, " Sire, is it your majesty who has given orders to my mus-
keteers ? "
" What orders ? " said the king. " About M. Fouquet's house ?"
" None !" replied Louis.
"Ah! ah!" said d'Artagnan, biting his moustache; "I was not
mistaken, then; it was monsieur here and he pointed to Colbert.
" What orders ? Let me know," said the king.
" Orders to turn a house inside out, to beat M. Fouquet's servants,
to force the drawers, to give over a peaceful house to pillage! Mor-
dioux I these are savage orders!"
" Monsieur !" said Colbert, becoming pale.
" Monsieur," interrupted d'Artagnan, " the king alone, understand--
the king alone has a right to command my musketeers; but, as to you,
I forbid you to do it, and I tell you so before his majesty; gentlemen who
wear swords are not fellows with pens behind their ears."
" D'Artagnan ! d'Artagnan !" murmured the king.
" It is humiliating," continued the musketeer; " my soldiers are dis-
graced. I do not command retires, thank you, nor clerks of the intend-
ance, mordioux ! "
" Well! but what is all this about ?" said the king, with authority.
" About this, sire; monsieur—monsieur, who could not guess your
majesty's orders, and consequently could not know I was gone to
arrest M. Fouquet; monsieur, who has caused the iron cage to be con-
structed for his patron of yesterday—has sent M. de Roncherat to the
lodgings of M. Fouquet, and, under pretence of taking away the surin-
tendant's papers, they have taken away the furniture. My musketeers
have been placed round the house all the morning; such were my
orders. Why did any one presume to order them to enter ? Why,
by forcing them to assist in this pillage, have they been made accom-
plices in it? Mordioux! we serve the king, we do, but we do not
serve M. Colbert!"
" Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, sternly, " take care; it is
not in my presence that such explanations, and made in this tone, should
take place."
" I have acted for the good of the king," said Colbert, in a faltering
THE SQUIEEEL FALLS, AND THE ADDED FLIES. 509
voice; " it is hard to be so treated by one of your majesty's officers, and
that without vengeance, on account of the respect I owe the king."
"The respect you owe the king!" cried d'Artagnan, whose eyes
flashed fire, consists, in the first place, in making his authority respected,
and making his person beloved. Every agent of a power without
control represents that power, and when people curse the hand which
strikes them, it is to the royal hand that God makes the reproach, do
you hear? Must a soldier, hardened by forty years of wounds and
blood, give you this lesson, monsieur ? Must mercy be on my side,
and ferocity on yours? You have caused the innocent to be arrested,
bound, and imprisoned!"
" The accomplices, perhaps, of M. Pouquet," said Colbert.
" Who told you that M. Pouquet had accomplices, or even that he
was guilty ? The king alone knows that, his justice is not blind!
When he shall say, ' Arrest and imprison' such and such people, then
he shall be obeyed. Do not talk to me then any more of the respect you
owe the king, and be careful of your words, that they may not chance
to convey any menace; for the king will not allow those to be threatened
who do him service by others who do him disservice; and if in case I
should have, which God forbid ! a master so ungrateful, I would make
myself respected."
Thus saying, d'Artagnan took his station haughtily m the king's
cabinet, his eye flashing, his hand on his sword, his lips trembling,
afl'ecting much more anger than he really felt. Colbert, humiliated and
devoured with rage, bowed to the king as if to ask his permission to
leave the room. The king, crossed in his pride and in his curiosity,
knew not which part to take. D'Artagnan saw him hesitate. To remain
longer would have been an error; it was necessary to obtain a triumph
over Colbert, and the only means was to touch the king so near and so
strongly to the quick, that his majesty would have no other means of
extricating himself but choosing between the two antagonists. D'Ar-
tagnan then bowed as Colbert had done; but the king, who, in prefer-
ence to everything else was anxious to have all the exact details of the
arrest of the surintendant of the finances from him who had made him
tremble for a moment—the king, perceiving that the ill-humour of
d'Artagnan would put off for half an hour at least the details he was
burning to be acquainted with—Louis, we say, forgot Colbert, who had
nothing new to tell him, and recalled his captain of the musketeers.
" In the first place," said he, " let me see the result of your commis-
sion, monsieur; you may repose afterwards."
D'Artagnan, who was just passing through the door, stopped at the
voice of the king, retraced his steps, and Colbert was forced to leave
the closet. His countenance assumed almost a purple hue, his black
and threatening eyes shone with a dark fire beneath their thick brows;
he stepped out, bowed before the king, half drew himself up in passing
d'Artagnan, and went away with death in his heart. D'Artagnan, on '
being left alone with the king, softened immediately, and composing
his countenance: " Sire," said he, " you are a young king. It is by
the dawn that people judge whether the day will be fine or dull. How,
sire, will the people, whom the hand of God has placed under your law,
argue of your reign, if, between them and you, you allow angry and
violent ministers to act ? But let us speak of me, sire, let us leave a
discussion that may appear idle, and perhaps inconvenient to you. Let
us speak of me. I have arrested M. Bouquet."
" You took plenty of time about it," said the king sharply.
D'Artagnan looked at the king. "I perceive that I have expressed
510 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
myself badly. I announced to your majesty that I had arrested Mon-
sieur Fouquet."
" You did; and what then ? "
"Well! I ought to have told your majesty that M.Fouquet had
arrested me; that would have been more just. I re-establish the truth,
then ; I have been arrested by M. Fouquet."
It was now the turn of Louis XIV. to be surprised. His majesty was
astonished in his turn. D'Artagnan, with his quick glance, appreciated
what was passing in the heart of his master. He did not allow him
time to put any questions. He related, with that poetry, that pictur-
esqueness, which perhaps he alone possessed at that period, the evasion
of Fouquet, the pursuit, the furious race, and, lastly, the inimitable
generosity of the surintendant, who might have fled ten times over,
who might have killed the adversary attached to the pursuit of him,
and who had preferred imprisonment, and perhaps worse, to the humi-
liation of him who wished to ravish his liberty from him. In proportion
as the tale advanced, the king became agitated, devouring the narrator's
words, and knocking his finger-nails against each other.
" It results from this, then, sire, in my eyes at least, that the man
who conducts himself thus is a gallant man, and cannot be an enemy to
the king. That is my opinion, and I repeat it to your majesty. I know
what the king will say to me, and I bow to it: reasons of state—so be
it! That in my eyes is very respectable. But I am a soldier, I have
received my orders, my orders are executed—very unwillingly on my
part, it is true, but they are executed. I say no more."
" Where, is M. Fouquet at this moment ?" asked Louis, after a short
silence.
" M. Fouquet, sire," replied d'Artagnan, " is in the iron cage that
M. Colbert had prepared for him, and is going, as fast as four vigorous
horses can drag him, towards Angers."
" Why did you leave him on the road ?"
"Because your majesty did not tell me to go to Angers. The proof,
the best proof of what I advance, is that the king desired me to be
sought for but this minute. And then I have another reason."
"What is that?" "Whilst I was with him, poor M. Fouquet
would never attempt to escape."
" Well!" cried the king, with stupefaction.
"Your majesty ought to understand, and does understand certainly,
that my warmest wish is to know that M. Fouquet is at liberty. I have
given him one of my brigadiers, the most stupid I could find among
my musketeers, in order that the prisoner might have a chance of
escaping."
" Are you mad, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried the king, crossing his
arms on his breast. " Do people speak such enormities, even when they
have the misfortune to think them ?"
" Ah ! sire, you cannot expect that I should be the enemy of M. Fou-
quet, after what he has just done for you and me. No, no; if you
desire that he should remain under your locks and bolts, never give
him in charge to me; however closely-wired might be the cage, the bird
would, in the end, fly away."
" I am surprised," said the king, in a stern tone, " you have not fol-
lowed the fortunes of him whom M. Fouquet wished to place upon my
throne. You had in him all you want—affection and gratitude. In
my service, monsieur, you only find a master."
" If M. Fouquet had not gone to seek you in the Bastille, sire," re-
plied d'Artagnan, with a deeply impressive manner, "one single man
THE SQUIRREL FALLS, AND THE ADDER FLIES. 511
would have gone there, and that man would have been me—you know
that right well, sire."
The king was brought to a pause. Before that speech of his captain
of the musketeers, so frankly spoken and so true, the king had nothing
to offer. On hearing d'Artagnan, Louis remembered the d'Artagnan
of former times; him who, at the Palais Royal, held himself concealed
behind the curtains of his bed, when the people of Paris, led on by
Cardinal de Retz, came to assure themselves of the presence of the
king; the d'Artagnan whom he saluted with his hand at the door of his
carriage, when repairing to Notre-Dame on his return to Paris; the
soldier who had quitted his service at Blois; the lieutenant whom
he had recalled near his person when the death of Mazarin restored
him his power; the man he had always found loyal, courageous, and
devoted. Louis advanced towards the door and called Colbert. Colbert
had not left the corridor where the secretaries were at work. Colbert
appeared.
" Colbert, have you made a perquisition at the house of M. Pouquet ?"
" Tes, sire."
" What has it produced ?"
" M. de Roncherat, who was sent with your majesty's musketeers,
has remitted me some papers," replied Colbert.
" I will look at them. Give me your hand." " My band, sire!"
"Yes, that I may place it in that of M. d'Artagnan. In fact,
M. d'Artagnan," added he, with a smile, turning towards the soldier,
who, at the sight of the clerk, had resumed his haughty attitude, "you
do not know this man; make his acquaintanee." And he pointed to
Colbert. " He has been but a moderate servant in subaltern positions,
but he will be a great man if I raise him to the first rank."
" Sire !" stammered Colbert, confused with pleasure and fear.
" I have understood why," murmured d'Artagnan in the king's ear;
"he was jealous."
" Precisely, and his jealousy confined his wings."
" He will henceforth be a winged serpent," grumbled the musketeer,
with a remains of hatred against his recent adversary.
But Colbert, approaching him, ofi'ered to his eyes a physiognomy so
different from that which he had been accustomed, to see him wear; he
appeared so good, so mild, so easy; his eyes took the expression of an
intelligence so noble, that d'Artagnan, a connoisseur in physiognomies,
was moved, and almost changed in his convictions. Colbert pressed
his hand.
" That which the king has just told you, monsieur, proves how well
his majesty is acquainted with men. The inveterate opposition I have
displayed, up to this day, against abuses and not against men, proves
that I had it in view to prepare for my king a great reign, for my country
a great blessing. I haye many ideas, M. d'Artagnan; you will see them
expand in the sun of public peace; and if I have not the certainty and
good fortune to conquer the friendship of honest men, I am at least
certain, monsieur, that I shall obtain their esteem. Por their admira-
tion, monsieur, I would give my life."
This change, this sudden elevation, this mute approbation of the
king, gave the musketeer matter for much reflection. He bowed civilly
to Colbert, who did not take his eyes off him. The king, when he saw
they were reconciled, dismissed them. They left the room together.
As soon as they were out of the cabinet, the new minister stopping, the
captain said:
" Is it possible, M. d'Artagnan, that with such an eye as yours, you
512 • THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE.
have not, at the first glance, at the first inspection, discovered what
sort of man lam?"
"Monsieur Colbert," replied the musketeer, "the ray of the sun
which we have in our eyes, prevents us from seeing the most ardent
flames. The man in power radiates, you know; and since you are
there, why should you continue to persecute him who has just fallen
into disgrace, and fallen from such a height ?"
" I! monsieur," said Colbert; " oh, monsieur ! I would never perse-
cute him. I wished to administer the finances, and to administer them
alone, because I am ambitious, and, above ail, because I have the most
entire confidence in my own merit; because I know that all the gold of
this country will fall beneath my eyes, and I love to look at the king's
gold; because, if I live thirty years, in thirty years not a denier of it
will remain in my hands; because, with that gold I will build grana-
ries, edifices, cities, and dig ports; because I will create a marine, will
equip navies which shall bear the name of Prance to the most distant
peoples; because I will create libraries and academies; because I will
make of France the first country in 'the world, and the richest. These
are the motives for my animosity against M. Fouquet, who prevented
my acting. And then, when I shall be great and strong, when France
is great and strong, in my turn then I will cry,' Mercy !'"
Mercy, did you say; then ask his liberty, of the king. The king
only crushes him on your acount."
Colbert again raised his head. " Monsieur," said he," you know that
it is not so, and that the king has his personal enmities against M.
Fouquet; it is not for me to teach you that."
" But the king will be tired ; he will forget."
" The king never forgets, M. d'Artagnan. Hark! the king calls.
He is going to issue an order. I have not influenced him, have I ?
Listen."
" The king, in fact, was calling his secretaries. " Monsieur d'Arta-
gnan," said he. " I am here, sire."
" Give twenty of your musketeers to M. de Saint-Aignan, to form a
guard for M. Fouquet."
D'Artagnan and Colbert exchanged looks. " And from Angers," con-
tinued the king, " they will conduct the prisoner to the Bastille, in
Paris."
" You were right," said the captain to the minister.
" Saint-Aignan," continued the king, " you will have any one shot,
who shall attempt to speak privately with M. Fouquet, during the
journey."
" But myself, sire ? " said the duke.
"You, monsieur,''you will only speak to him in the presence of
the musketeers." The duke bowed, and departed to execute, his com-
mission.
D'Artagnan was about to retire, likewise; but the king stopped him.
"Monsieur," said he, "you will go immediately, and take possession
of the isle and fief of Belle-Isle-en-Mer."
" Yes, sire. Alone ?"
" You will take a sufficient number of troops to prevent delay, in
case the place should be contumacious."
A murmur of adulatory incredulity arose from the group of cour-
tiers. " That is to be done," said d'Artagnan.
" I saw the place in my infancy," resumed the king, " and I do not
wish to see it again. You have heard me ? Go, monsieur, and do not
return without the keys of the place."
belle-isle-en-heb. 513
Colbert went up to d'Artagnan. "A commission which, if you carry
It out well," said he, " will be worth a marechal's baton to you."
" Why do you employ the words,' if you carry it out well' P"
" Because it is difficult."
" Ah! in what respect ? "
"You have friends in Belle-Isle, Monsieur d'Artagnan; and it is
not an easy thing for men like you to march over the bodies of their
friends to obtain success."
D'Artagnan hung down his head, whilst Colbert returned to the
king. A quarter of an hour after, the captain received the written
order- from the king, to blow up the fortress of Belle-Isle, in case of
resistance, with the power of life and death over all the inhabitants or
refugees, and an injunction not to allow one to escape.
" Colbert was right," thought d'Artagnan; " my baton of a mare-
chal of France will cost the lives of my two friends. Only they seem
to forget that my friends are not more stupid than the birds, and that
they will not wait for the hand of the fowler to extend their wings.
I will show them that hand so plainly, that they will have quite time
enough to see it. Poor Porthos! Poor Aramis. No; my fortune
shall not cost your wings a feather."
Having thus determined, d'Artagnan assembled the royal army, em-
barked it at Paimboeuf, and set sail, without losing a moment.
CHAPTER C1X.
Belle-Isle-en-Mer.
At the extremity of the mole, which the furious sea beats at evening
tide, two men, holding each other by the arm, were conversing in an
animated and expansive tone, without the possibility of any other
human being hearing their words, borne away, as they were, one by one,
by the gusts of wind, with the white foam swept from the crests of the
waves. The sun had just gone down in the vast sheet of the reddened
ocean, like a gigantic crucible. From time to time, one of these men,
turning towards the east, cast an anxious, inquiring look over the sea.
The other, interrogating the features of his companion, seemed to seek
for information in his looks. Then, both silent, both busied with
dismal thoughts, they resumed their walk. Every one has already
perceived that those two men were our proscribed heroes, Porthos and
Aramis, who had taken refuge in Belle-Isle, since the ruin of their
hopes, since the discomfiture of the vast plan of M. d'Herblay.
''It is of no use your saying anything to the contrary, my dear
Aramis," repeated Porthos, inhaling vigorously the saline air with
which he filled his powerful chest. " It is of no use, Aramis. The
disappearance of all the fishing-boats that went out two days ago, is
not an ordinary circumstance. There has been no storm at sea; the
weather has been constantly calm, not even the lightest gale; and even
if we had had a tempest, all our boats would not have foundered. I
repeat, it is strange. This complete disappearance astonishes me, I tell
you."
" True," murmured Aramis. "You are right, friend Porthos; it is
true, there is something strange in it."
" And, further," added Porthos, whose ideas the assent of the bishop
VOL. ii. 2 L
514 THIS VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
of Yannes seemed to enlarge; "and, farther, have you remarked
that if the boats have perished, not a single plank has been washed
ashore ? "
" I have remarked that, as well as you."
" Have you remarked, besides, that the two only boats we had left in
the whole island, and which I sent in search of the others "
Aramis here interrupted his companion by a cry, and by so sudden a
movement, that Porthos stopped as if he were stupifled. " What do
you say, Porthos! What!—You have sent the two boats "
" In search of the others! Yes; to be sure I have," replied Porthos,
quite simply.
" Unhappy man! What have you done ? Then we are indeed lost,"
cried the bishop.
" Lost!—what did you say ?" exclaimed the terrified Porthos. " How
lost ? Aramis. How are we lost ?"
Aramis bit his lips. " Nothing! nothing! Your pardon, I meant to
say " " What ?"
" That if we were inclined—if we took a fancy to make an excursion
by sea, we could not."
"Very good ! and why should that vex you ? A fine pleasure, ma foi !
For my part, I don't regret it at all. What I regret is, certainly not
the more or less amusement we can find at Belle-Isle;—what I regret,
Aramis, is Pierrefonds; is Bracieux; is le Yallon; is my beautiful
Prance! Here, we are not in Prance, my dear friend; we are—I know
not where. Oh ! I tell you, in the full sincerity of my soul, and your
affection will excuse my frankness, but I declare to you I am not happy
at Belle-Isle. No ; in good truth, I am not happy!"
Aramis breathed a long, but stifled sigh. " Dear friend," replied he;
" that is why it is so sad a thing you have sent the two boats we had
left in search of the boats which disappeared two days ago. If you had
not sent them away, we would have departed."
" ' Departed!' And the orders, Aramis ? " " What orders ? "
" Farbleu I Why the orders you have been constantly, and on all
occasions, repeating to me—that we were to hold Belle-Isle against the
usurper. You know very well!"
" That is true!" murmured Aramis again.
" You see then, plainly, my friend, that we could not depart; and
that the sending away of the boats in search of the others is not pre-
judicial to us in any way."
Aramis was silent; and his vague glance, luminous as that of a gull,
hovered for a long time over the sea, interrogating space, and seeking to
pierce the very horizon.
" With all that, Aramis," continued Porthos, who adhered to his idea,
and that the more closely from the bishop having found it correct—
" with all that, you give me no explanation about what can have hap-
pened to these unfortunate boats. I am assailed by cries and com-
plaints whichever way I go. The children cry at seeing the desolation
of the women, as if I could restore the absent husbands and fathers,
What do you suppose, my friend, and what ought I to answer them ?"
" Suppose, then, my good Porthos, and say nothing."
This reply did not satisfy Porthos at all. He turned Eway, grumbling
some words in a very ill humour. Aramis stopped the valiant soldier.
" Do you remember," said he, in a melancholy tone, pressing the two
hands of the giant between his own with an affectionate cordiality, " do
you remember, my friend, that in the glorious days of our youth—do
you remember, Porthos, when we were all strong and valiant—we, and
BELLE-ISLE-EN-MEB. 515
the other two—if we had then had an inclination to return to Trance,
do you think this sheet of salt water would have stopped us ?"
" Oh!" said Porthos; " but, six leagues!"
" If you had seen me get astride of a plank, would you have remained
on land, Porthos ?"
" No, pardieu ! No ! Aramis. But, nowadays, what sort of a plank
should we want, my friend ! I, in particular." And the Seigneur de
Bracieux cast a proud glance over his colossal rotundity, with a loud
laugh. " And do you mean seriously to say you are not tired of Belle-
Isle also a little, and that you would not prefer the comforts of your
dwelling—of your episcopal palace, at Yannes ? Come, confess !"
" No," replied Aramis, without daring to look at Porthos.
" Let us stay where we are, then," said his friend, with a sigh; which,
in spite of the efforts he made to restrain it, escaped with a loud report
from his breast. " Let us remain!—let us remain ! And yet," added
he, " and yet, if we seriously wished, but that decidedly—if we had a
fixed idea, one firmly taken, to return to' Prance, and there were no
boats "
" Have you remarked another thing, my friend ?—that is, since the
disappearance of our barques, during the two days' absence of the
fishermen, not a single small boat has landed on the shores of the isle?"
" Yes, certainly! you are right. I have remarked it also, and the
observation was the more naturally made, for, before the last two fatal
days, we saw barques and shallops arrive by dozens."
" I must inquire," said Aramis, suddenly, and with great agitation.
" And then, if I had a raft constructed "
" But there are some canoes, my friend; shall I go on board one ?"
" A canoe!—a canoe ! Can you think of such a thing, Porthos ? A
canoe to be upset in. No, no,"said the bishop of Yannes; "it is not
our trade to ride upon the waves. "We will wait, we will wait."
And Aramis continued walking about with increased agitation.
Porthos, who grew tired of following all the feverish movements of his
friend—Porthos, who, in his calmness and belief, understood nothing of
the sort of exasperation which was betrayed by his continual convul-
sive starts—Porthos stopped him. " Let us sit down upon this rock,"
said he. " Place yourself there, close to me, Aramis, and I conjure you,
for the last time, to explain to me in a manner I can comprehend—
explain to me, what we are doing her\"
" Porthos," said Aramis, much embarrassed.
" I know that the false king wished to dethrone the true king. That
is a fact, that I understand. Well "
" Yes," said Aramis.
" I know that the false king formed the project of selling Belle-Isle
to the English. I understand that too." " Yes."
" I know that we engineers and captains came and threw ourselves
into Belle-Isle to take the direction of the works, and the command of
ten companies levied and paid by M. Pouquet, or rather the ten compa-
nies of his son-in-law. All that is plain."
Aramis arose in a state of great impatience. He might be said to be
a lion importuned by a gnat. Porthos held him by the arm. " But
what I cannot understand, what, in spite of all the efforts of my mind,
and all my reflections, I cannot comprehend, and never shall compre-
hend, is, that instead of sending us troops, instead of sending us rein-
forcements of men, munitions, and provisions, they leave us without
boats, they leave BelleHsle without arrivals, without help; it is that
instead of establishing with us a correspondence, whether by signals, or
2 L 2
516 the vicomte de bbagelonne.
written or verbal communications, all relations with us are intercepted.
Tell me, Aramis, answer me, or rather, before answering me, will you
allow me to tell you what I have thought ? Will you hear what my
idea is, what imagination I have conceived ?"
The bishop raised his head. "Well! Aramis," continued Porthos,
" I have thought, I have had an idea, I have imagined that an event has
taken place in France. I dreamt of M. Fouquet all the night, I dreamt
of dead fish, broken eggs, chambers badly furnished, meanly kept. Bad
dreams, my dear d'Herblay; very unlucky, such dreams !"
"Porthos, what is that yonder?" interrupted Aramis, rising sud-
denly, and pointing out to his friend a black spot upon the empurpled
line of the water.
"A barque!" said Porthos; "yes, it is a barque! Ah! we shall
have some news at last."
" There are two !" cried the bishop, on discovering another mast;
"two! three! four!"
" Five !" said Porthos, in his turn. " Six ! seven ! Ah ! mon Dieu!
mon Dieu! it is a whole fleet!"
" Our boats returning, probably," said Aramis, very uneasily, in spite
of the assurance he affected.
"They are very large for fishing-boats," observed Porthos, "and do
you not remark, my friend, they come from the Loire ? "
" They come from the Loire yes "
" And look ! everybody here sees them as well as ourselves; look, the
women and children are beginning to get upon the jetty."
An old fisherman passed. "Are those our barques, yonder ?" asked
Aramis.
The old man looked steadily into the horizon.
"No, monseigneur," replied he, " they are lighter boats in the king's
service."
"Boats in the royal service?" replied Aramis, starting. "How ho
you know that ?" said he. " By the flag."
" But," said Porthos, " the boat is scarcely visible; how the devil, my
friend, can you distinguish the flag ?"
" I see there is one," replied the old man; " our boats, or trade lighters,
do not carry any. That sort of craft is generally used for the transport
of troops." " Ah !" said Aramis.
" Vivat /" cried Porthos, "the" are sending us reinforcements, don't
you think they are, Aramis ? " " Probably. Unless it is the English
coming."
"By the Loire? That wrould have an ill look, Porthos; for they
must have come through Paris!"
" You are right; they are reinforcements, decidedly, or provisions."
A.ramis leant his head upon his hands, and made no reply. Then, all
at once,—" Porthos," said he, "have the alarm sounded."
" The alarm ! do you think of such a thing ?''
" Yes, and let the cannoniers mount to their batteries, let the artil-
lerymen be at their pieces, and be particularly watchful of the coast
batteries."
Porthos opened his eyes to their widest extent. He looked atten-
tively at his friend, to convince himself lie was in his proper senses.
" I will do it, my dear Porthos," continued Aramis, in his most bland
tone; " I will go and have these orders executed myself, if you do not
go, my friend."
"Well! I will go instantly!" said Porthos, who went to execute the
orders, casting all the while looks behind him, to see if the bishop of
BELLE-ISLE-EN-MEK. 517
Vannes were not deceived; and if, on returning to more rational ideas,
he would not recall him. The alarm was sounded, the trumpets brayed,
and drums rolled; the great bell of the belfry was put in motion.
The dikes and moles were quickly filled with the curious and soldiers;
the matches sparkled in the hands of the artillerymen, placed behind
the large cannon bedded in their stone carriages. "When every man
was at his post, when all the preparations for the defence were made :
"Permit me, Aramis, to try to comprehend," whispered Porthos,
timidly, in Aramis's ear.
" My dear friend, you will comprehend but too soon," murmured
M. d'Herblay, in reply to this question of his lieutenant.
"The fleet which is coming yonder, with sails unfurled, straight
towards the port of Belle-Isle, is a royal fleet, is it not ?"
"But as there are two kings in Prance, Porthos, to which of these
two kings does this fleet belong ?"
" Oh! you open my eyes," replied the giant, stunned by this argu-
ment.
And Porthos, for whom the reply of his friend had just opened the
eyes, or rather thickened the bandage which covered his sight, went
with his best speed to the batteries to overlook his people, and exhort
every one to do his duty. In the mean time, Aramis, with his eye
fixed on the horizon, saw the ships continue to draw nearer. The
people and the soldiers, mounted upon all the summits or irregularities
of the rocks, could distinguish the masts, then the lower sails, and at
last the hulls of the lighters, bearing at the masthead the royal flag of
Prance. It was quite night when one of these vessels, which had
created such a sensation among the inhabitants of Belle-Isle, was
moored within cannon-shot of the place. It was soon seen, notwith-
standing the darkness, that a sort of agitation reigned on board this
vessel, from the side of which a skiff was lowered, of which the three
rowers, bending to their oars, took the direction of the port, and in a
few instants struck land at the foot of the fort. The commander of
this yaul jumped on shore. He had a letter in his hand, which he
waved in the air, and seemed to wish to communicate with somebody.
This man was soon recognized by several soldiers, as one of the pilots of
the island. He was the patron of one of the two barques kept back by
Aramis, and which Porthos, in his anxiety with regard to the fate of
the fishermen who had disappeared for two days, had sent in search
of the missing boats. He asked to be conducted to M. d'Herblay.
Two soldiers, at a signal from a sergeant, placed him between them,
and escorted him. Aramis was upon the quay. The envoy presented
himself before the bishcp of Vannes. The darkness was almost com-
plete, notwithstanding the flambeaux borne at a small distance by the
soldiers who were following Aramis in his rounds.
" Well, Jonathan, from whom do you come ?"
" Monseigneur, from those who captured me."
" Who captured you ?"
" You know, monseigneur, we set out in search of our comrades ?"
"Yes; and afterwards?" "Well! monseigneur, within a short
league we were captured by a chasse-maree belonging to the king."
" Ah !" said Aramis. " Of which king ? " cried Porthos. Jonathan
stared. " Speak!" continued the bishop.
" We were captured, monseigneur, and joined to those who had been
taken yesterday morning."
"What was the cause of the mania for capturing you all?" said
Porthos.
518 the vic01ite he bragelonne.
" Monsieur, to prevent us from telling you," replied Jonathan.
Porthos was again at a loss to comprehend. " And they have released
you to-day ?" asked he.
" That I might tell you they have captured us, monsieur."
"Trouble upon trouble," thought honest Porthos.
During this time Aramis was reflecting.
"Humph 1" said he, "then I suppose it is a royal fleet blockading
the coasts ? "
"Yes, monseigneur." "Who commands it?"
" The captain of the king's musketeers."
" D'Artagnan ? " " D'Artagnan ! " exclaimed Porthos.
" I believe that is the name."
" And did he give you this letter ? " " Yes, monseigneur."
" Bring the flambeaux nearer."
" It is his writing," said Porthos,
Aramis eagerly read the following lines:—
" Order of the king to take Belle-Isle ; or to put the garrison to the
sword, if they resist; order to make prisoners of all the men of the
garrison ; signed, D'Artagnan, who, the day before yesterday, arrested
M. Fouquet, for the purnose of his being sent to the Bastille."
Aramis turned pale, and crushed the paper in his hands.
" What is it?" asked Porthos. " Nothing, my friend, nothing."
"Tell me, Jonathan ?" " Monseigneur ? "
"Did you speak to M. d'Artagnan ?" "Yes, monseigneur."
"What did he say to you ? "
" That for more ample information, he would speak with mon-
seigneur."
" Where ? " " On board his own vessel."
" On board his vessel!" and Porthos repeated, " On board his vessel!"
"M. le mousquetaire," continued Jonathan, "told me to take you
both on board my canoe, and bring you to him."
" Let us go at once," exclaimed Porthos. " Dear d'Artagnan ! "
But Aramis stopped him. "Are you mad?" cried he. "Who
knows that it is not a snare ? "
" Of the other king's ? " said Porthos, mysteriously.
" A snare, in fact! That's what it is, my friend."
"Very possibly; what is to be done, then? If d'Artagnan sends
for us "
" Who assures you that d'Artagnan sends for us ? "
"Yes, but but his writing "
"Writing is easily counterfeited. This looks counterfeited —trem-
bling "
" You are always right; but, in the mean time, we know nothing."
Aramis was silent.
" It is true," said the good Porthos, " we do not want to know any-
thing."
" What shall I do ? " asked Jonathan.
"You will return on board this captain's vessel."
"Yes, monseigneur."
" And will tell him that we beg he will himself come into the island."
" Ah ! I comprehend!" said Porthos.
" Yes, monseigneur," replied Jonathan; "but if the captain should
refuse to come to Belle-Isle ? "
" If he refuses, as we have cannon, we will make use of them."
" What! against d'Artagnan ? "
" If it is d'Artagnan, Porthos, he will come. Go, Jonathan, go !"
the explanations op akami3. 519
" Ma foi I I no longer comprehend anything," murmured Porthos.
"I will make you comprehend all, my dear fried; the time for it is
come: sit down upon this gun-carriage, open your ears, and listen well
to me."
" Oh ! pardieu! I shall listen, no fear of that."
" May I depart, monseigneur ? " cried Jonathan.
" Yes, be gone, and bring back an answer. Allow the canoe to pass,
you men there ! " And the canoe pushed off to regain the fleet.
Aramis took Porthos by the hand, and commenced the explanations.
CHAPTER CX.
The Explanations of Aramis.
"What I have to say to you, friend Porthos, will probably surprise
you, but it will instruct you."
"I like to be surprised," said Porthos, in a kindly tone; "do not
spare me, therefore, I beg. I am hardened against emotions; don't
fear, speak out."
" It is difficult, Porthos, it is—difficult; for, in truth, I warn you a
second time, I have very strange things, very extraordinary things, to
tell you."
" Oh! you speak so well, my friend, that I could listen to you for
days together. Speak, then, "I beg—and—-stop, I have an idea: I will,
to make your task more easy, I will, to assist you in telling me such
things, question you."
" I shall be pleased at your doing so."
" What are we going to fight for, Aramis ? "
" If you make me many such questions as that—if you would render
my task the easier by interrupting my revelations thus, Porthos, you
will not help me at all. So far, on the contrary, that is precisely the
Gordian knot. But, my friend, with a man like you, good, generous,
and devoted, the confession must be made bravely. I have deceived
you, my worthy friend."
" You have deceived me !"
" Good Heavens! yes."
- " Was it for my good, Aramis ? "
" I thought so, Porthos; I thought so sincerely, my friend."
"Then," said the honest seigneur of Bracieux, "you have rendered
me a service, and I thank you for it; for if you had not deceived me, I
might have deceived myself. In what, then, have you deceived me,
say ? "
"In that I was serving the usurper against whom Louis XIV., at
this moment, is directing his efforts."-
"The usurper!" said Porthos, scratching his head. "That is-
well, I do not too clearly comprehend that! "
" He is one of the two kings who are contending for the crown of
Prance."
" Yery well! Then you were serving him who is not Louis XIV. ? "
" You have hit upon the matter in a word."
" It results that "
" It results that we are rebels, my poor friend."
" The devil! the devil! " cried Porthos, much disappointed.
520 TIIE VICOWTE DE BEAGELONXE.
" Oh ! but, dear Porthos, be calm, we shall still find means of getting
out of the affair, trust me."
" It is not that which makes me uneasy," replied Porthos; " that
which alone touches me is that ugly word rebels."
"Ah! but "
" And so, according to this, the duchy that was promised me "
" It was the usurper who was to give it to you."
" And that is not the same thing, Aramis," said Porthos, majestically.
" My friend, if it had only depended upon me, you should have be-
come a prince." Porthos began to bite his nails after a melancholy
fashion.
" That is where you have been wrong," continued he, " in deceiving
me; for that promised duchy I reckoned upon. Oh ! I reckoned upon
it seriously, knowing you to be a man of your word, Aramis."
" Poor Porthos! pardon me, I implore you !"
" So then," continued Porthos, without replying to the bishop's
prayer, " so then, it seems, I have quite fallen out with Louis XIY. ?"
" Oh! I will settle all that, my good friend, I will settle all that. I
will take it upon myself alone!"
"Aramis!" "No, no, Porthos, I conjure you, let me act. No
false generosity! No inopportune devotedness! You knew nothing
of my projects. You have done nothing of yourself. With me it is
different. I am alone the author of the plot. I stood in need of my
inseparable companion: I called upon you, and you came to me, in
remembrance of our ancient device. 'All for one, one for all.' #My
crime was being an egotist." '
" N ow, that is a word I like," said Porthos; " and seeing that you have
acted entirely for yourself, it is impossible for me to blame you. It is
natural."
And upon this sublime reflection, Porthos pressed the hand of his
friend cordially.
In presence of this ingenuous greatness of soul, Aramis felt himself
little. It was the second time he had been compelled to bend before
real superiority of heart, much more powerful than splendour of mind.
He replied by a mute and energetic pressure to the kind endearment of
his friend.
"Now," said Porthos," that we have come to an explanation, now
that I am perfectly aware of our situation with respect to Louis XIV.,
I think, my friend it is time to make me comprehend the political
intrigue of which we are the victims—for I plainly see there is a political
intrigue at the bottom of all this."
"D'Artagnan, my good Porthos, d'Artagnan is coming, and will
detail it to you in all its circumstances; but, excuse me, I am deeply
grieved, I am bowed down by pain, and I have need of all my presence
ot mind, of all my reflection, to extricate* you from the false step
in which I have so imprudently involved you; but nothing can be more
clear, nothing more plain, than your position, henceforth. The king
Louis XIV. has no longer now but one enemy: that enemy is myselfi
myself alone. I have made you a prisoner, you have followed me,
to-day I liberate you, you fly back to your prince. You can perceive,
Porthos, there is not a single difficulty in all this."
" Do you think so ?" said Porthos. " I am quite sure of it."
" Then why," said the admirable good sense of Porthos, " then why,
if we are in such an easy position, why, my friend, do we prepare
cannon, muskets, and engines of all sorts ? It seems to me it would be
much more simple to say to Captain d'Artagnan: ' My dear friend, we
THE EXPLANATIONS OF ABAMIS. 521
have been mistaken; that error is to be repaired; open the door to us,
let us pass through, and, good day!'"
" Ah! that!" said Aramis, shaking his head.
"Why do you say 'that'? Do you not approve of my plan, my
friend?"
" X see a difficulty in it." " What is it ?"
" The hypothesis that d'Artagnan may come with orders which will
oblige us to defend ourselves."
What! defend ourselves against d'Artagnan ? Polly! Against the
good d'Artagnan!"
Aramis once more replied by shaking his head.
" Porthos," at length said he, " if I have had the matches lighted and
the guns pointed, if I have had the signal of alarm sounded, if I have
called every man to his post upon the ramparts, those good ramparts of
Belle-Isle which you have so well fortified, it is for something. Wait
to judge; or rather, no, do not wait "
What can I do?"
" If I knew, my friend, I would have told you."
" But there is one thing much more simple than defending ourselves:
—a boat, and away for Prance—where "
" My dear friend," said Aramis, smiling with a strong shade of sadness,
" do not let us reason like children; let us be men in council and execu-
tion.—But, hark! I hear a hail for landing at the port. Attention,
Porthos, serious attention !"
" It is d'Artagnon, no doubt," said Porthos, in a voice of thunder,
approaching the parapet. '
"Yes, it is I," replied the captain of the musketeers, running lightly
up the steps of the mole, and gaining rapidly the little esplanade upon
which his two friends waited for him. As soon as he came towards
them, Porthos and Aramis observed an officer who followed d'Artagnan,
treading apparently in his very steps. The captain stopped upon the
stairs of the mole, when half-way up. Ilis companion imitated him.
"Make your men draw back," cried d'Artagnan to Porthos and
Aramis; " let them retire out of hearing." The order being given by
Porthos, was executed immediately. Then-d'Artagnan, turning towards
him who followed him:
" Monsieur," said he," we are no longer here on board the king's
fleet, where, in virtue of your order, you spoke so arrogantly to me just
now."
" Monsieur," replied the officer, " I did not speak arrogantly to you;
I simply, but rigorously, obeyed what 1 had been commanded. I have
been directed to follow you. I follow you. I am directed not to allow
you to communicate with any one without taking cognizance of what
you do; I mix myself, therefore, with your communications."
D'Artagnan trembled with rage, and Porthos and Aramis, who heard
this dialogue, trembled likewise, but with uneasiness and fear.
D'Artagnan, biting.his moustache with that vivacity which denoted in
him the state of an exasperation closely to be followed by a terrible
explosion, approached the officer.
" Monsieur," said he, in a low voice, so much the more impressive,
that affecting a calm it threatened a tempest—" monsieur, when I sent
a canoe hither, you wished to know what I wrote to the defenders
of Belle-Isle. You produced an order to that effect; and, in my turn,
I instantly showed you the note I had written. When the patron of
the boat sent by me returned, when I received the reply of these two
gentlemen (and he pointed to Aramis and Porthos), you heard every
522 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
word of what the messenger said. All that was plainly in your orders,
all that was well executed, very punctually, was it not ?"
" Yes, monsieur," stammered the officer; " yes, without doubt, but—"
" Monsieur," continued d'Artagnan, growing warm—" monsieur,
when I manifested the intention of quitting my vessel to cross to
Belle-Isle, you required to accompany me; I did not hesitate; I
brought you with me. You are now at Belle-Isle, are you not ?"
" Yes, monsieur; but "
" But the question no longer is of M. Colbert, who has given you
that order, or of whomsoever in the world, you are following the
instructions: the question now is of a man who is a clog upon M. d'Arta-
gnan, and who is alone with M. d'Artagnan upon steps whose feet are
bathed by thirty feet of salt water; a bad position for that man, a bad
position, monsieur! I warn you."
"But, monsieur, if I am a restraint upon you," said the officer
timidly, and almost faintly, "it is my duty which——"
" Monsieur, you have had the misfortune, you, or those who sent you,
to insult me. It is done. I cannot seek redress from those who employ
you,—they are unknown to me, or are at too great a distance.
But you are under my hand, and I swear that if you make one step
behind me when I raise my feet to go up to those gentlemen,—I swear
to you by my name, I will cleave your head in two with my sword, and
pitch you into the water. Oh! it will happen! it will happen! I have
only been six times angry in my life, monsieur, and, on the five times
which have preceded this, I have killed my man."
The officer did not stir; he became pale under this terrible threat,
but replied with simplicity, " Monsieur, you are wrong in acting against
my orders."
Porthos and Aramis, mute and trembling at the top of the parapet,
cried to the musketeer, " Dear d'Artagnan, take care!"
D'Artagnan made them a sign to keep silence, raised his foot with a
terrifying calmness to mount the stair, and turned round, sword in
hand, to see if the officer followed him. The officer made a sign of the
cross and stepped up. Porthos and Aramis, who knew their d'Artagnan,
uttered a cry, and rushed down to prevent the blow they thought they
already heard. But d'Artagnan, passing his sword into his left hand,—
" Monsieur," said he to the officer, in an agitated voice, " you are a
brave man. You ought better to comprehend what I am going to say
to you now than that which I have just said to you."
" Speak, Monsieur d'Artagnan, speak," replied the brave officer.
" These gentlemen we have just seen, and against whom you have
orders, are my friends."
" I know they are, monsieur."
" You can understand if I ought to act towards them as your instruc-
lions prescribe." " I understand your reserves."
" Very well; permit me, then, to converse with them without a
witness."
" Monsieur d'Artagnan, if I yielded to your request, if I did that
which you beg me to do, I should break my word; but if I do not do
it, I shall disoblige you. I prefer the one to the other. Converse with
your friends, and do not despise me, monsieur, for doing for the sake of
you, whom I esteem and honour; do not despise me for committing for
you, and you alone, an unworthy act." D'Artagnan, much agitated,
passed his arms rapidly round the neck of the young man, and went up
to his friends. The officer, enveloped in his cloak, sat down on the
damp weed-covered steps.
THE EXPLANATIONS OF AKAMIS. 523
" Well!" said d'Artagnan to his friends, " such is my position, judge
for yourselves." They all three embraced. All three pressed each
other in'their arms as in the glorious days of their youth.
" What is the meaning of all these rigours ?" said Porthos.
"You ought to have some suspicions of what it is," said d'Artagnan.
" Not much, I assure you, my dear captain; for, in fact, I have done
nothing, no more has Aramis," hastened the worthy baron to say.
D'Artagnan darted a reproachful look at the prelate, which pene-
crated that hardened heart.
" Dear Porthos!" cried the bishop of Vannes.
"You see what has been done against you," said d'Artagnan; "in-
terception of all that is coming to or going from Belle-Isle. Your
boats are all seized. If you had endeavoured to fly, you would have
fallen into the hands of the cruisers which plough the sea in all direc-
tions, on the watch for you. The king wants you to be taken, and he
will take you." And d'Artagnan tore several hairs from his grey mous-
fcache. Aramis became sombre, Porthos angry.
" My idea was this," continued d'Artagnan; " to make you both
come on board, to keep you near me, and restore you your liberty.
But now, who can say that when I return to my ship, I may not find a
superior; that I may not find secret orders which will take from me
my command, and give it to another, who will dispose of me and you
without hopes of help ?"
"We must remain at Belle-Isle," said Aramis resolutely; "and I
assure you, for my part, I will not surrender easily." Porthos said
nothing. D'Artagnan remarked the silence of his friend.
" I have another trial to make of this officer, of this brave fellow who
accompanies me, and whose courageous resistance makes me very
happy; for it denotes an honest man, who, although an enemy, is a
thousand times better than a complaisant coward. Let us try to learn
from him what he has the right of doing; and what his orders permit
or forbid."
" Let us try," said Aramis.
D'Artagnan came to the parapet, leant over towards the steps of the
mole, and called the officer, who immediately came up. "Monsieur,"
said d'Artagnan, after having exchanged the most cordial courtesies,
natural between gentlemen, who know and appreciate each other wor-
thily—" monsieur, if I wished to take away these gentlemen from this
place, what would you do ?"
" I should not oppose it, monsieur; but having direct orders, formal
orders, to take them under my guard, I should detain them."
" Ah !" said d'Artagnan.
" That's all over," said Aramis, gloomily. Porthos did not stir.
" But still take Porthos," said the bishop of Vannes ; " he can prove
to the king, I will help him in doing so, and you also can, Monsieur
d'Artagnan, that he has had nothing to do in this affair."
" Hum !" said d'Artagnan. " Will you come ? Will you follow me,
Porthos ? The king is merciful."
" I beg to reflect," said Porthos, nobly.
" You will remain here, then ?"
" Until fresh orders," cried Aramis, with vivacity.
"Until we have had an idea," resumed d'Artagnan; "and I now
believe that will not be long first, for I have one already."
"Let us say adieu, then," said Aramis; "but in truth, my good
Porthos, you ought to go." " No!" said the latter, laconically.
"As you please," replied Aramis, a little wounded in his nervous
524 THE VICOMTE DE BKAGELONNE.
susceptibility at the morose tone of his companion. " Only I am re-
assured by the promise of an idea from d'Artagnan, an idea I fancy I
have divined."
"Let us see," said the musketeer, placing his ear near Aramis's
mouth. The latter spoke several words rapidly, to which d'Artagnan
replied, " That is it, precisely."
" Infallible, then!" cried Aramis.
" Luring the first emotion that this resolution will cause, take care of
yourself, Aramis." " Oh ! don't be afraid."
" Now, monsieur," said d'Artagnan to the officer, "thanks, a thousand
thanks! You have made yourself three friends for life."
" Yes," added Aramis. Porthos alone said nothing, but merely
bowed.
D'Artagnan having tenderly embraced his two old friends, left Belle-
Isle with the inseparable companion M. Colbert had given him. Thus,
with the exception of the explanation with which the worthy Porthos
had been willing to be satisfied, nothing had changed in appearance in
the fate of the one or of the other, " Only," said Aramis, " there is
d'Artagnan's idea."
D'Artagnan did not return on board without examining to the
bottom the idea he had discovered. Now, we know that when d'Arta-
gnan did examine, according to custom, daylight pierced through. As
to the officer, become mute again, he left him full measure to meditate.
Therefore, on putting his foot on board his vessel, moored within
cannon-shot of the island, the captain of the musketeers had already
got together all his means, offensive and defensive.
He immediately assembled his council, which consisted of the officers
serving under his orders. These were eight in number: a chief of the
maritime forces; a major directing the artillery; an engineer, the
officer we are acquainted with, and four lieutenants. Having assembled
them in the chamber of the poop, d'Artagnan arose, took off his hat,
and addressed them thus:—
" Gentlemen, I have been to reconnoitre Belle-Isle-en-Mer, and I
have found it a good and solid garrison; moreover, preparations are
made for a defence that may prove troublesome. I therefore intend to
send for two of the principal officers of the place, that we may converse
with them. Having separated them from their troops and their cannon,
we shall be better able to deal with them: particularly with good rea-
soning. Is this your opinion, gentlemen ? "
The major of artillery rose.
" Monsieur," said he, with respect, but with firmness, " I have heard
you say that the place is preparing to make a troublesome defence. The
place is then, as you know, determined upon rebellion ? "
D'Artagnan was visibly put out by this reply; but he was not a man
to allow himself to be subdued by so little, and resumed
" Monsieur," said he, " your reply is just. But you are ignorant that
Belle-Isle is a fief of M. Fouquet's, and the ancient kings gave the
right to the seigneurs of Belle-Isle to arm their people."
The major made a movement.
" Oh! do not interrupt me," continued d'Artagnan. " You are going
to tell me that that right to arm themselves against the English was not
a right to arm themselves against their king. But it is not M. Fouquet,
I suppose, who holds Belle-Isle at this moment, since I arrested M.
Fouquet the day before yesterday. Now the inhabitants and defenders
of Belle-Isle know nothing of that arrest. You would announce it to
them in vain. It is a thing so unheard-of and extraordinary, so unex-
result of the ideas of the king, and of d'artagnan. 525
pected, tliat they would not believe you. A Breton serves bis master,
and not bis masters; he serves bis master till be has seen him dead.
Now the Bretons, as far as I know, have not seen the body of M.
Bouquet. It is not then surprising that they hold out against that
which is not M. Bouquet or his signature."
•The major bowed in sign of assent.
" That is why," continued d'Artagnan, " I propose to cause two of
the principal officers of the garrison to come onboard my vessel. They
will see you, gentlemen; they will see the forces we have at our dis-
posal; they will consequently know to what they have to trust, and the
fate that attends them, in case of rebellion. We will affirm to them,
upon our honour, that M. Bouquet is a prisoner, and that all resistance
can only be prejudicial to them. We will tell them that the first
cannon that is fired, there will be no mercy to be expected from the
king. Then, I hope at least, they will no longer resist. They will
yield without fighting, and we shall have a place given up to us in a
friendly way, which it might cost us much trouble to subdue."
The officer who had followed d'Artagnan to Belle-Isle was preparing
to speak, but d'Artagnan interrupted him.
" ifes, I know what you are going to tell me, monsieur; I know that
there is an order of the king's to prevent all secret communications with
the defenders of Belle-Isle, and that is exactly why I do not offer to
communicate but in the presence of my staff."
And d'Artagnan made an inclination of the head to his officers,
which had for object attaching a value to that condescension.
The officers looked at each other as if to read their opinions in their
eyes, with the intention of evidently acting, after they should have
agreed, according to the desire of d'Artagnan. And already the latter
saw with joy that the result of their consent would be sending a barque
to Porthos and Aramis, when the king's officer drew from his pocket a
folded paper, which he placed in the hands of d'Artagnan.
This paper bore upon its superscription the number 1.
" What, more still!" murmured the surprised captain.
" Bead, monsieur," said the officer, with a courtesy that was not free
from sadness.
D'Artagnan, full of mistrust, unfolded the paper, and read these words:
" Prohibition to M. d'Artagnan to assemble any council whatever,
or to deliberate in any way before Belle-Isle be surrendered and the
prisoners shot. Signed—Louis."
D'Artagnan repressed the movement of impatience that ran through
his whole body, and, with a gracious smile,
" That is well, monsieur," said he; " the king's orders shall be com-
plied with."
CHAPTER CXI.'
Result of the Ideas of the King, and the Ideas of d'Artagnan.
The blow was direct, It was severe, mortal. D'Artagnan, furious at
having been anticipated by an idea of the king's, did not, however, yet
despair; and, reflecting upon the idea he had brought back from Belle-
Isle, he augured from it a new means of safety for his friends.
" Gentlemen," said he, suddenly, " since the king has charged some
other than myself with his secret orders, it must be because I no longer
possess his confidence, and I should be really unworthy of it, if I had
526 THE YICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
the courage to hold a command subject to so many injurious suspicions.
I will go then immediately and carry my resignation to the king. I
give it before you all, enjoining you all to fall back with me upon the
coast of France, in such a way as not to compromise the safety of the
forces his majesty has confided to me. For this purpose, return all to
your posts ; within an hour, we shall have the ebb of the tide. To your
posts, gentlemen ! I suppose," added he, on seeing that all prepared to
obey him, except the surveillant officer, " you have no orders to object,
this time ? "
And d'Artagnan almost triumphed while speaking these words. This
plan was the safety of his friends. The blockade once raised, they might
embark immediately, and set sail for England or Spain, without fear of
being molested. Whilst they were making their escape, d'Artagnan
would return to the king; would justify his return by the indignation
which the mistrusts of Colbert had raised in him; he would be sent
back with full powers, and he would take Belle-Isle; that is to say, the
cage, after the birds had flown. But to this plan the officer opposed a
second order of the king's. It was thus conceived
" From the moment M. d'Artagnan shall have manifested the desire
of giving in his resignation, he shall no longer be reckoned leader of
the expedition, and every officer placed under his orders shall be held
to no longer obey him. Moreover, the said Monsieur d'Artagnan
having lost that quality of leader of the army sent against Belle-Isle,
shall set out immediately for France, in company of the officer who will
have remitted the message to him, and who will consider him as a pri-
soner for whom he is answerable."
Brave and careless as he was, d'Artagnan turned pale. Everything
had been calculated with a depth which, for the first time in thirty
years, had recalled to him the solid foresight and the inflexible logic of
the great cardinal. He leant his head on his hand, thoughtful, scarcely
breathing. " If I were to put this order into my pocket," thought he,
" who would know it, or who would prevent my doing it ? Before the
king had had time to be informed, I should have saved those poor
fellows yonder. Let us exercise a little audacity ! My head is not one
of those which the executioner strikes off for disobedience. We will
disobey !" But at the moment he was about to adopt this plan, he saw
the officers around him reading similar orders which the infernal agent
of the thoughts of Colbert had just distributed to them. The case of
disobedience had been foreseen, as the others had been.
" Monsieur," said the officer, coming up to him, " I await your good
pleasure to depart."
" I am ready, monsieur," replied d'Artagnan, grinding his teeth.
The officer immediately commanded a canoe to receive M. d'Artagnan
and himself. At sight of this he became almost mad with rage.
" How," stammered he, " will you carry on the direction of the
different corps ?"
" When you are gone, monsieur," replied the commander of the fleet,
it is to me the direction of the whole is committed."
" Then, monsieur," rejoined Colbert's man, addressing the new
leader, "it is for you that this last order that has been remitted to me
is intended. Let us see your powers."
" Here they are," said the sea officer, exhibiting a royal signature. ^
" Here are your instructions," replied the officer, placing the folded
paper in his hands; and turning towards d'Artagnan, " come, monsieur,"
said he, in an agitated voice (such despair did he behold in that man of
iron), " do me the favour to depart at once."
the ancestors of pokthos. 527
" Immediately !" articulated d'Artagnan feebly, subdued, crushed by-
implacable impossibility.
And he let himself slide down into the little boat, which started,
favoured by wind and tide, for the coast of Prance. The king's guards
embarked with him. The musketeer still preserved the hope of reach-
ing Nantes quickly, and of pleading the cause of his friends eloquently
enough to incline the king to mercy. The barque flew like, a swallow.
D'Artagnan distinctly saw the land of Prance profiled in black against
the white clouds of night.
" Ah ! monsieur," said he, in a low voice, to the officer, to whom, for
an hour, he had ceased speaking, " what would I give to know the in-
structions for the new commander ! They are all pacific, are they not ?
and "
He did not finish; the sound of a distant cannon rolled over the
waters, then another, and two or three still louder. D'Artagnan
shuddered.
" The fire is opened upon Belle-Isle," replied the officer. The canoe
had just touched the soil of Prance.
CHAPTER CXII.
The Ancestors of Porthos.
When d'Artagnan had quitted Aramis and Porthos,' the latter re-
turned to the principal fort to converse with the greater liberty. Porthos,
still thoughtful, was a constraint upon Aramis, whose mind had never
felt itself more free.
" Dear Porthos," said he, suddenly, " I will explain d'Artagnan's idea
to you." " What idea, Aramis ?"
" An idea to which we shall owe our liberty within twelve hours."
" Ah! indeed!" said Porthos, much astonished. " Let us see it."
"Did you remark, in the scene our friend had with the officer, that
certain orders restrained him with regard to us ?"
"Yes, I did remark that."
"Well! D'Artagnan is going to give in his resignation to the king,
and during the confusion which will result from his absence, we will get
away, or rather you will get away, Porthos, if there is a possibility of
flight only for one."
Here Porthos shook his head and replied: " We will escape together,
Aramis, or we will remain here together."
"You are a generous heart," said Aramis, "only your melancholy
uneasiness afflicts me."
" I am not uneasy," said Porthos.
" Then you are angry with me."
" I am not angry with you."
"Then why, my friend, do you put on such a dismal countenance ?"
"I will tell you: 1 am making my will." And while saying these
words, the good Porthos looked sadly in the face of Aramis.
"Your will!" cried the bishop. "What then! do you think yourself
lost?"
" I feel fatigued. It is the first time, and there is a custom in our
family."
" What is it, my friend ? "
" My grandfather was a man twice as strong as I am."
528 THE VICOIITE HE BEAGELONXE.
"Indeed!" said Aramis; "then your grandfather must have been
Samson himself."
"No; his name was Antoine. Well! he was about my age, when
setting out one day for the chase, he felt his legs weak, he who had never
known this before."
" What was the meaning of that fatigue, my friend P "
"Nothing good, as you will see; for having set out, complaining still
of the weakness of his legs, he met a wild boar, which made head against
him; he missed him with his arquebuse, and was ripped up by the beast,
and died directly."
" There is no reason in that why you should alarm yourself, dear
Porthos."
" Oh ! you will see. My father was as strong again as I am. He was
a rough soldier, under Henry III. and Henry IV.; his name was not
Antoine, but Gaspard, the same as M. de Coligny. Always on
horseback, he had never known what lassitude was. One evening, as he
rose from table, his legs failed him."
" He had supped heartily, perhaps," said Aramis, " and that was why
he staggered."
"Bah ! A friend of M. de Bassompierre, nonsense ! No, no, he was
astonished at feeling this lassitude, and said to my mother, who laughed
at him, ' Would not one believe I was going to meet with a wild boar,
as the late M. du Vallon, my father, did ? '"
" Well ? " said Aramis.
"Well! having this weakness, my father insisted upon going down
into the garden, instead of going to bed; his foot slipped on the first
stair; the staircase was steep; my father fell against a stone angle in
which an iron hinge was fixed. The hinge opened his temple; and he
lay dead upon the spot."
Aramis, raised his ey^s to his friend: " These are two extraordinary
circumstances," said he; " let us not infer that there may succeed a
third. It is not becoming in a man of your strength to be supersti-
tious, my brave Porthos. Besides, when were your legs seen to fail ?
Never have you been so firm, so superb; why, you could carry a house
on your shoulders."
"At this moment," said Porthos, "I feel myself pretty active; but
at times I vacillate, I sink ; and lately this phenomenon, as you say,
has occurred four times. I will not say that this frightens me, but
it annoys me. Life is an agreeable thing. I have money; I have fine
estates; I have horses that I love; I have also friends I love: d'Ar-
tagnan, Athos, Raoul, and you."
The admirable Porthos did not even take the trouble to dissimulate
to Aramis the rank he gave him in his friendship. Aramis pressed his
hand: " We will still live many years," said he, " to preserve in the
world specimens of rare men. Trust yourself to me, my friend; we
have no reply from d'Artagnan, that is a good sign. He must have
given orders to get the vessels together and clear the seas. On my part,
I have just issued directions that a barque should be rolled upon rollers
to the mouth of the great cavern of Locmaria, which you know, where
we have so often laid wait for the foxes."
" Yes, and which terminates at the little creek by a trench which we
discovered the day that splendid fox escaped that way."
" Precisely. In case of misfortunes, a barque is to be concealed for
us in that cavern ; indeed, it must be there by this time. We will wait
for a favourable moment, and, during the night, to sea!"
" That is a good idea; what shall we gain by it ? "
THE ANCESTORS OF PORTHOS. 529
"We shall gain by it—that nobody knows that grotto, or rather its
issue, except ourselves and two or three hunters of the island ; we shall
gain fay it—that if the island is occupied, the scouts, seeing no barque
UDon the shore, will never imagine we can escape, and will cease to.
watch." " I understand."
" Well! the legs ? " " Oh! excellent, just now."
" You see then, plainly, that everything conspires to give us quietude
and hope. D'Artagnan will clear the sea and make us free. No more
royal fleet or descent to be dreaded. Vive Dieu 1 Porthos, we have
still half a century of good adventures before us, and if I once touch
Spanish ground, I swear to you," added the bishop with a terrible
energy, " that your brevet of duke is not such a chance as it is said to
be."
"We will live in hope," said Porthos, a little enlivened by the reno-
vated warmth of his companion.
All at once a cry resounded in their ears" To arms ! to arms! "
This cry, repeated by a hundred voices, brought to the chamber
where the two friends were conversing, surprise to the one, and uneasi-
ness to the other. Aramis opened the window; he saw a crowd of people
running with flambeaux. Women were seeking places of safety, the
armed population were hastening to their posts.
" The fleet! the fleet!" cried a soldier, who recognized Aramis,
" The fleet ?" repeated the latter.
" Within half cannon-shot," continued the soldier.
" To arms !" cried Aramis.
i " To arms !" repeated Porthos, formidably. And both rushed forth
towards the mole, to place themselves within the shelter of the bat-
teries. Boats, laden with soldiers, were seen approaching; they took
three directions, for the purpose of landing at three points at once.
"What must be done ?" said an officer of the guard.
" Stop them; and if they persist, fire!" said Aramis.
Pive minutes after, the cannonade commenced. These were the
shots that d'Artagnan had heard as he landed in Prance. But the
boats were too near the mole to allow the cannon to aim correctly.
They landed, and the combat commenced hand to hand.
" What's the matter, Porthos?" said Aramis to his friend.
"Nothing! nothing!—only my legs; it is really incomprehensible !—
they will be better when we charge." In fact, Porthos and Aramis did
eharge with such vigour; they so thoroughly animated their men, that
the royalists re-embarked precipitately, without gaining anything but
the wounds they carried away.
Eh ! but, Porthos," cried Aramis, " we must have a prisoner, quick !
quick !" Porthos bent over the stair of the mole, and seized by the
nape of the neck one of the officers of the royal army who was waiting to
embark till all his people should be in the boat. The arm of the giant
lifted up his prey, which served him as a buckler, as he recovered him-
self, without a shot being fired at him.
" Here is a prisoner for you," said Porthos coolly to Aramis.
"Well!" cried the latter, laughing, "have you not calumniated your
legs ?"
" It was not with my legs I took him," said Porthos, " it was with
my arms!"
vOL. II.
530
the vicohte de beagelonne.
CHAPTER CXIII.
The Son of Biscarrat.
The Bretons of the Isle were very proud of this victory; Aramis
did not encourage them in the feeling.
" What will happen," said he to Porthos, when everybody was gone
home, " will be that the anger of the king will be roused by the account
of the resistance; and that these brave people will be decimated or
shot when they are taken, which cannot fail to take place."
" From which it results then," said Porthos, " that what we have
done is of no use."
" For the moment it may be of some," replied the bishop, "for we have
a prisoner from whom we shall learn what our enemies are preparing
to do."
"Yes, let us interrogate the prisoner," said Porthos, "and the means
of making him speak are very simple. We are going to supper; we
will invite him to join us; when he drinks he will talk."
This was done. The officer was at first rather uneasy, but became
reassured on seeing what sort of men he had to deal with. He gave,
without having any fear of compromising himself, all the details imagi-
nable of the resignation and departure of d'Artagnan. He explained
how, after that departure, the new leader of the expedition had ordered
a surprise upon Belle-Isle. There his explanations stopped. Aramis
and Porthos exchanged a glance which evinced their despair. No
more dependence to be placed upon the brave imagination 01 d'Arta-
gnan, consequently, no more resources in the event of defeat. Aramis,
continuing his interrogations, asked the prisoner what the leaders of
the expedition contemplated doing with the leaders of Belle-Isle.
" The orders are," replied he, " to kill during the combat, and hang
afterwards."
Porthos and Aramis looked at each other again, and the colour
mounted to their faces.
" I am too light for the gallows," replied Aramis; " people like me are
not hung."
"And I am too heavy," said Porthos; "people like me break the
cord."
"I am sure," said the prisoner, gallantly, "that we could have pro-
cured you what sort of death you preferred."
" A thousand thanks !" said Aramis seriously. Porthos bowed.
"One more cup of wine to your health," said he, drinking himself-
From one subject to another the chat with the officer was prolonged.
He was an intelligent gentleman, and suffered himself to be led away
by the charm of Aramis's wit and Porthos's cordial bonhomie.
" Pardon me," said he, " if I address a question to you; but men who
are in their sixth bottle have a clear right to forget themselves a little."
" Address it!" said Porthos; " address it!"
" Speak," said Aramis.
" Were you not, gentlemen, both in the musketeers of the late king P"
" Yes, monsieur, and of the best of them, if you please," said Porthos,
" That is true; I should say even the best of all soldiers, messieurs,
if I did not fear to offend the memory of my father."
Of your father ?" cried Aramis.
THE SON OF BISCAEKAT. 531
" Do you know what my name is ? "
" Ma foil no, monsieur; but you can tell us, and "
" I am called Georges de Biscarrat."
"Oh !" cried Porthos, in his turn, "Biscarrat! Do you remember
that name, Aramis ?"
" Biscarrat!" reflected the bishop. " It seems to me "
" Try to recollect, monsieur," said the officer.
" JPardieu!" that won't take me long," said Porthos. "Biscarrat—
called Cardinal—one of the four who interrupted us the day on which
we formed our friendship with d'Artagnan, sword in hand."
" Precisely, gentlemen."
" The only one," cried Aramis, eagerly," we did not wound."
" Consequently, a good blade," said, the prisoner.
" That's true ! very true!" exclaimed both the friends together. "Ma
foil Monsieur Biscarrat, we are delighted to make the acquaintance of
such a brave man's son."
Biscarrat pressed the hands held out to him by the two ancient mus-
keteers. Aramis looked at Porthos as much,as to say—Here is a man
who will help us, and without delay,—" Confess, monsieur," said he,
" that it is good to have once been a good man."
" My father always said so, monsieur."
" Confess, likewise, that it is a sad circumstance in which you find
yourself, of falling in with men destined to be shot or hung, and to
learn that these men are old acquaintances—old hereditary acquain-
tances."
" Oh! you are not reserved for such a frightful fate as that, mes-
sieurs and friends!" said the young man, warmly.
" Bah ! you said so yourself."
"I said so just now, when I did not know you; but now that I
know you, I say—you will avoid this dismal fate, if you like."
" How—if we like !" cried Aramis, whose eyes beamed with intelli-
gence as he looked alternately at the prisoner and Porthos.
"Provided," continued Porthos, looking, in his turn, with noble
intrepidity at M. Biscarrat and the bishop — "provided nothing dis-
graceful be required of us."
"Nothing at all will be required of you, gentlemen," replied the
officer—" what should they ask of you ? If they find you they will kill
you, that is a settled thing; try, then, gentlemen, to prevent their
finding you."
" I don't think I am mistaken," said Porthos, with dignity; " but it
appears evident to me that if they want to find us, they must come and
seek us here."
" In that you are perfectly right, my worthy friend," replied Aramis,
constantly consulting with his looks the countenance of Biscarrat, who
was silent and constrained. " You wish, Monsieur de Biscarrat, to say
something to us, to make us some overture, and you dare not—is not
that true ?"
" Ah ! gentlemen and friends ! it is because in speaking I betray my
duty. But, hark! I hear a voice which liberates mine by dominating
over it."
" Cannon !" said Porthos.
" Cannon and musketry, too !" cried the bishop.
On hearing at a distance, among the rocks, these sinister reports of a
combat which they thought had ceased. " What can that be ? " asked
Porthos.
" Eh! pardieu.'" cried Aramis; "this is just wrhat I expected."
9 r 9
532 TIIE YICOMTE DE BBAGELO>*>'E.
"What is that ?"
" The attack made by you was nothing but a feint; is not that true,
monsieur? And whilst your companions allowed themselves to be
repulsed, you were certain of effecting a landing on the other side ot
1 lie island."
" Oh! several, monsieur."
"We are lost, then," said the bishop of Yannes, quietly.
" Lost! that is possible," replied the seigneur de Pierrefonds, " but
we are not taken or hung." And so saying, he rose from the table,
went straight to the wall, and coolly took down his sword and pistols,
which he examined with the care of an old soldier who is preparing
for battle, and who feels that his life, in a great measure, depends
upon the excellence and the good condition of his arms.
At the report of the cannon, at the news of the surprise which
might deliver up the isle to the royal troops, the terrified crowd
rushed precipitately to the fort to demand assistance and advice from
their leaders. Aramis, pale and downcast, between two fiambeaux,
showed himself at the window which looked into the principal court, full
of soldiers waiting for orders and bewildered inhabitants imploring
.succour.
"My friends," said d'Herblay, in a grave and sonorous voice, M.
Pouquet, your protector, your friend, your father, has been arrested
by an order of the king, and thrown into the Bastille." A long cry
of fury and menace came floating up to the window at which the
bishop stood, and enveloped him in a vibrating fluid.
" Avenge Monsieur Pouquet!" cried the most excited of his hearers,
" and death to the royalists! "
"No,my friends," replied Aramis, solemnly; "no, my friends; no
resistance. The king is master in his kingdom. The king is the
mandatory of God. The king and God have struck M. Pouquet.
Humble yourselves before the hand of God. Love God and the
king who have struck M. Pouquet. But do not avenge your seigneur,
do not think of avenging him. You would sacrifice yourselves in
vain—you, your wives and children, your property, and your liberty.
Lay down your arms, my friends—lay down your arms! since the
king commands you so to do—and retire peaceably to your dwellings.
It is I who ask you to do so; it is I who beg you to do so; it is I
who now, in the hour of need, command you to do so, in the name of
M. Pouquet."
The crowd collected under the window uttered a prolonged growl of
anger and terror. "The soldiers of Louis XIY. have entered the
island," continued Aramis. " Prom this time it would no longer be a
combat between them and you—it would be a massacre. Begone, then,
begone and forget; this time I command you, in the name of the
Lord."
The mutineers retired slowly, submissive and silent.
"Ah! but what have you just been saying there, my friend?" said
Porthos.
" Monsieur," said Biscarrat to the bishop, " you may save all these
inhabitants but you will neither save yourself nor your friend."
" Monsieur de Biscarrat," said the bishop of Yannes. with a singular
accent of nobleness and courtesy, " Monsieur de Biscarrat, be kind
enough to resume your liberty."
" I am very willing to do so, monsieur, but "
" That would render us a service, for, when announcing to the king's
lieutenant the submission of the islanders, you will perhaps obtain
THE GROTTO OE LOCMARIA. 533
some grace for us on informing him of the manner in which that sub-
mission has been effected."
" Grace !" replied Porthos with flashing eyes, " what is the meaning
of that word?"
Aramis touched the elbow of his friend roughly, as he had been
accustomed to do in the days of their youth, when he wanted to
warn Porthos that he had committed, or was about to commit a
blunder. Porthos understood him, and was silent immediately.
" I will go, messieurs," replied Biscarrat, a little surprised likewise at
the word " grace" pronounced by the haughty musketeer, of whom, some
instants before, he had related and boasted with so much enthusiasm
the heroic exploits with which his father had delighted him.
" Go, then, Monsieur Biscarrat," said Aramis, bowing to him, " and
at parting receive the expression of our entire gratitude."
" But you, messieurs, you whom I take honour to call my friends,
since you have been willing to accept that title, what will become of
you in the mean time?" replied the officer, very much agitated at
taking leave of the two ancient adversaries of his father.
"We will wait here."
" But, mon Dieu /—the order is formal."
" I am bishop of Yannes, Monsieur de Biscarrat; and they no more
shoot a bishop than they hang a gentleman."
" Ah ! yes, monsieur—yes, monseigneur," replied Biscarrat; " it is true,
you are right, there is still that chance for you. Then, I will depart, I
will repair to the commander of the expedition, the king's lieutenant.
Adieu ! then, messieurs, or rather, to meet again, I hope."
The worthy officer, then jumping upon a horse given him by Aramis
departed in the direction of the sound of the cannon, and which,
by bringing the crowd into the fort, had interrupted the conversation
of the two friends with their prisoner. Aramis watched his departure,
and when left alone with Porthos, "Well, do you comprehend ? " said
he. "Mafoi! no."
" Did not Biscarrat inconvenience you here ? "
"No; he is a brave fellow."
"Yes; but the grotto of Locmaria—is it necessary all the world
should know it ? "
"Ah! that is true, that is true; I comprehend. We are going to
escape by the cavern."
"If you please," replied Aramis, joyously. "Forward, my friend
Porthos; our boat awaits us, and the king has not caught us yet."
CHAPTER CXIY.
The Grotto of Locmaria.
The cavern of Locmaria was sufficiently distant from the mole, to
render it necessary for our friends to husband their strength to arrive
there. Besides, night was advancing; midnight had struck at the fort.
Porthos and Aramis were loaded with money and arms. They walked
then, across the heath, which is between the mole and the cavern,
listening to every noise, and endeavouring to avoid ambushes. Prom
time to time, on the road, which they had carefully left on their left
hand, passed fugitives coming from the interior, at the news of the
534 THE VICOHTE DE BRAGELONNE.
landing of the royal troops. Aramis and Porthos, concealed behind
some projecting mass of rock, collected the words which escaped from
the poor people who fled trembling, carrying with them their most
valuable effects, and tried, whilst listening to their complaints, to draw
something from them for their own interest. At length, after a rapid
course, frequently interrupted by prudent stoppages, they reached the
deep grottoes, into which the foreseeing bishop of Yannes had taken
care to have rolled upon cylinders a good barque capable of keeping
the sea at this fine season.
"My good friend," said Porthos, after having respired vigorously,
"we are arrived, it seems. But I thought you spoke of three men,
three servants, who were to accompany us. I don't see them—where
are they ? "
" Why should you see them, dear Porthos ? " replied Aramis. " They
are certainly waiting for us in the cavern, and, no doubt, are resting
for a moment, after having accomplished their rough and difficult
task."
Aramis stopped Porthos, who was preparing to enter the cavern.
" Will you allow me, my friend," said he to the giant, " to pass in first ?
I know the signal I have given to these men; who not hearing it, would
be very likely to fire upon you or slash away with their knives in the
dark."
" Go on, then, Aramis; go on—go first; you are all wisdom and
prudence; go on. Ah ! there is that fatigue again, of which I spoke
to you. It has just seized me again."
Aramis left Porthos sitting at the entrance of the grotto, and bowing
his head, he penetrated into the interior of the cavern, imitating the
cry of the owl. A little plaintive cooing, a scarcely distinct cry, re-
plied from the depths of the cave. Aramis pursued his way cautiously,
and soon was stopped by the same kind of cry as he had first uttered,
and this cry sounded within ten paces of him.
" Are you there, Yves ? " said the bishop.
"Yes, monseigneur; Goenne is here likewise. His son accompanies
" That is well. Are all things ready ?" " Yes, monseigneur."
"Go to the entrance of the grottoes, my good Yves, and you will
there find the Seigneur de Pierrefonds, who is resting after the fatigue
of our journey. And if he should happen not to be able to walk, lift
him up, and bring him hither to me."
The three men obeyed. But the recommendation given to his ser-
vants was useless. Porthos, refreshed, had already himself commenced
the descent, and his heavy step resounded amongst the cavities, formed
and supported by columns of silex and granite. As soon as the Sei-
gneur de Bracieux had rejoined the bishop, the Bretons lighted a
lantern with which they were furnished, and Porthos assured his friend
that he felt as strong again as ever.
"Let us visit the canoe," said Aramis, " and satisfy ourselves at once
what it will hold."
" Do not go too near with the light," said the patron Yves; " for, as
you desired me, monseigneur, I have placed under the bench of the
poop, in the coffer you know of, the barrel of powder, and the musket-
charges that you sent me from the fort."
"Yery well," said Aramis; and, taking the lantern himself, he ex-
amined minutely all parts of the canoe, with the precautions of a man
who is neither timid nor ignorant in the face of danger. The canoe
was long, light, drawing little water, thin of keel; in short, one of
THE GROTTO 03? LOCMABIA. 535
those which have always been so well constructed at Belle-Isle; a little
high in its sides, solid upon the water, very manageable, furnished with
planks which, in uncertain weather, form a sort of bridge over which
the waves glide and which protect the rowers. In two well-closed
coffers, placed beneath the benches of the prow and the poop, Aramis
found bread, biscuit, dried fruits, a quarter of bacon, a good provision
of water in leathern bottles; the whole forming rations sufficient for
people who did not mpan to quit the coast, and would be able to re-
victual, if necessity commanded. The arms, eight muskets, and as
many horse-pistols, were in good condition, and all loaded. There were
additional oars, in case of accident, and that little sail called trinquet,
which assists the speed of the canoe at the same time the boatmen
row, which is so useful when the breeze is slack. "When Aramis had
seen all these things, and appeared satisfied with the result of his in-
spection, "Let us consult, Porthos," said he, "to know if we must
endeavour to get the barque out by the unknown extremity of the
grotto, following the descent and the shade of the cavern, or whether
it be better, in the open air, to make it slide upon the rollers through
the bushes, levelling the road of the little beach, which is but twenty
feet high, and gives at its foot, in the tide, three or four fathoms of
good water upon a sound bottom."
"It must be as you please, monseigneur," replied the patron Yves,
respectfully; " but I don't believe that by the slope of the cavern, and
in the dark, in which we shall be obliged to manoeuvre our boat, the
road will be so convenient as in the open air. I know the beach well,
and can certify that it is as smooth as a grass plat in a garden; the
interior of the grotto, on the contrary, is rough; without again reckon-
ing, monseigneur, that at the extremity we shall come to the trench
which leads into the sea, and perhaps the canoe will not pass down it."
" I have made my calculations," said the bishop, " and I am certain
it would pass."
" So be it; I wish it may, monseigneur," continued the patron ; "but
your greatness knows very well that to make it reach the extremity of
the trench, there is an enormous stone to be lifted—that under which
the fox always passes, and which closes the trench up like a door."
" That can be raised," said Porthos, "that is nothing."
"Oh! I know that monseigneur has the strength of ten men," re-
plied Yves ; " but that is giving monseigneur a great deal of trouble."
" I think the patron may be right," said Aramis; " let us try the open
air passage."
"The more so, monseigneur," continued the fisherman, "that we
should not be able to embark before day, it would require so much
labour, and that as soon as daylight appears, a good vedette placed
outside the grotto would be necessary, indispensable even, to watch the
manoeuvres of the lighters or the cruisers that are upon the look-out
for us."
" Yes, yes, Yves, your reasons are good; we will go by the beach."
And the three robust Bretons went to the boat, and were beginning
to place their rollers underneath it to put it in motion, when the dis-
tant barking of dogs was heard, proceeding from the interior.
Aramis darted out of the grotto, followed by Porthos. Dawn just
tinted with purple and white the waves and the plain ; through the dim
light the young melancholy firs waved their tender branches over the
pebbles, and long flights of crows were skimming with their black
wings over the thin fields of buck-wheat. In a quarter of an hour it
would be clear daylight; the awakened birds joyously announced it to
536 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
all nature. The barkings which had been heard, which had stopped the
three fishermen engaged in moving the boat, and had brought Aramis
and Porthos out of the cavern, were prolonged in a deep gorge within
about a league of the grotto.
" It is a pack of hounds," said Porthos; " the dogs are upon a scent."
" Who can be hunting at such a moment as this ? " said Aramis.
"And this way, particularly," continued Porthos, "this way, where
they may expect the army of the royalists."
" The noise comes nearer. Yes, you are right, Porthos, the dogs are
on a scent. But, Yves !" cried Aramis, " Come here ! come here ! "
Yves ran towards him, letting fall the cylinder which he was about
to place under the boat when the bishop's call interrupted him.
" What is the meaning of this hunt, patron ? " said Porthos.
" Eh ! monseigneur, I cannot understand it," replied the Breton.
" It is not at such a moment that the Seigneur de Locmaria would
hunt. No, and yet the dogs "
" Unless they have escaped from the kennel."
"No," said Goenne, "they are not the Seigneur de Loemaria's
hounds."
" In common prudence," said Aramis, " let us go back into the
grotto; the voices evidently draw nearer, we shall soon know what we
have to trust to."
They re-entered, but had scarcely proceeded a hundred steps in the
darkness, when a noise like the hoarse sigh of a creature in distress
resounded through the cavern, and breathless, rapid, terrified, a fox
passed like a flash of lightning before the fugitives, leaped over the boat
and disappeared, leaving behind it its sour scent, which was percepti-
ble for several seconds under the low vaults of the cave.
" The fox ! " cried the Bretons, with the joyous surprise of hunters.
" Accursed chance ! " cried the bishop, " our retreat is discovered."
" How so ? " said Porthos, " are we afraid of a fox ? "
"Eh ! my friend, what do you mean by that, and why do you name
the fox ? It is not the fox alone, Pardieu ! But don't you know, Por-
thos, that after the fox' come hounds, and after the hounds men ? "
Porthos hung his head. As if to confirm the words of Aramis, they
heard the yelping pack come with frightful swiftness upon the trail of
the animal. Six foxhounds burst out at once upon the little heath,
with a cry resembling the noise of a triumph.
" There are the dogs plain enough! " said Aramis, posted on the look-
out behind a chink between two rocks; " now, who are the huntsmen ?"
" If it is the Seigneur de Locmaria's," replied the patron, " he will
leave the dogs to hunt the grotto, for he knows them, and will not
enter in himself, being quite sure that the fox will come out at the
other side; it is there he will go and wait for him."
" It is not the Seigneur de Locmaria who is hunting," replied Ara-
mis, turning pale in spite of his efforts to maintain a good countenance.
" Who is it, then ? " said Porthos. " Look !"
Porthos applied his eye to the slit, and saw at the summit of a hillock
a dozen horsemen urging on their horses in the track of the dogs,
shouting, " Tdiaut! tdiaut! "
"The guards !" said he. "Yes, my friend, the king's guards."
" The king's guards ! do you say, monseigneur!" cried "the Bretons,
becoming pale in their turns.
" And Biscarrat at their head, mounted upon my grey horse," con-
tinued Aramis.
The hounds at the same moment rushed into the grotto like an
the geotto. 537
avalanche, and the depths of the cavern were filled with their deafening
cries.
"Ah ! the devil!" said Aramis, resuming all his coolness at the sight
of this certain, inevitable danger. " I am perfectly satisfied we are lost,
but we have, at least, one chance left. If the guards who follow their
hounds happen to discover there is an issue to the grotto, there is no
more help for us, for on entering they must see both us and our boat.
The dogs must not go out of the cavern. The masters must not enter."
" That is clear," said Porthos.
" You understand," added Aramis, with the rapid precision of com-
rnand; " there are six dogs which will be forced to stop at the great
stone under which the fox has glided—but at the too narrow opening of
which they shall be themselves stopped and killed."
The Bretons sprang forward, knife in hand. In a few minutes there
was a lamentable concert of growls, and mortal howlings—and then,
nothing.
" That's well!" said Aramis, coolly, " now for the masters! "
" What is to be done with them ? " said Porthos.
"'Wait their arrival, conceal ourselves, and kill them."
" Kill them! " replied Porthos.
" There are sixteen," said Aramis, " at least, up at present."
" And well armed," added Porthos, with a smile of consolation.
" It will last about ten minutes," said Aramis. " To work!"
And with a resolute air he took up a musket, and placed his hunting-
knife between his teeth.
" Yves, Goenne, and his son," continued Aramis," will pass the mus-
kets to us. You, Porthos, will fire when they are dose. We shall have
brought down eight before the others are aware of anything—that is
certain ; then all,'there are five of us, we will despatch the other eight,
knife in hand."
" And poor Biscarrat ? " said Porthos.
Aramis reflected a moment—" Biscarrat the first," replied he coolly;
" He knows us."
CHAPTER CXY.
The Grotto.
In spite of the sort of divination which was the remarkable side of
the character of Aramis, the event, subject to the chances of things over
which uncertainty presides, did not fall out exactly as the bishop of
Vannes had foreseen. Biscarrat, better mounted than his companions,
arrived the first at the opening of the grotto, and comprehended that
the fox and the dogs were all engulfed in it. Only struck by that super-
stitious terror which every dark and subterraneous way naturally im-
presses upon the mind of man, he stopped at the outside of the grotto,
and waited till his companions should have assembled round him.
"Well!" asked the young men,coming up out of breath, and unable
to understand the meaning of his inaction.
"Well! I cannot hear the dogs; they and the fox must be alien-
gulfed in this cavern."
" They were too close up," said one of the guards, " to have lost scent
all at once. Besides, we should hear them from one side or another.
They must, as Biscarrat says, be in this grotto."
533 THE VICOAITE DE BEAGELONNE.
"But then," said one of the young men, "why don't they give
tongue ?" ■" It is strange !" said another."
" Well, hut," said a fourth, "let us go into this grotto. Does it hap-
pen to be forbidden that we should enter it ?"
" No," replied Biscarrat. " Only as it looks as dark as a wolf's mouth,
we might break our necks in it." "
" Witness the dogs," said a guard, " who seem to have broken theirs."
" What the devil can have become of them ?" asked the young men
in chorus. And every master called his dog by his name, whistled to
him in his favourite note, without a single one replying to either the
call or the whistle.
" It is perhaps an enchanted grotto," said Biscarrat; " let us see."
And jumping from his horse, he made a step into the grotto.
" Stop! stop! I will accompany you," said one of the guards, on
seeing Biscarrat disappear in the shade of the cavern's mouth.
" No," replied Biscarrat, "there must be something extraordinary in
the place—don't let us risk ourselves all at once. If in ten minutes
you do not hear of me you can come in, but not all at once."
" Be it so," said the young men, who, besides, did not see that Biscarrat
ran much risk in the enterprise, " we will wait for you." And without
dismounting from their horses, they formed a circle round the grotto.
Biscarrat entered then alone, and advanced through the darkness till
he came in contact with the muzzle of Porthos's musket. The resistance
which his chest met with astonished him; he naturally raised his hand
and laid hold of the icy barrel. At the same instant, Yves lifted a knife
against the young man which was about to fall upon him with all the
force of a Breton's arm, when the iron wrist of Porthos stopped it half
way. Then, like low muttering thunder, his voice growled in the
darkness; " I will not have him killed !"
Biscarrat found himself between a protection and a threat, the one
almost as terrible as the other. However brave the young man might
be, he could not prevent a cry escaping him, which Aramis immediately
suppressed by placing a handkerchief over his mouth. " Monsieur de
Biscarrat," said he, in a low voice, " we mean you no harm, and you
must know that, if you have recognised us ; but, at the first word, the
first sigh, or the first breath, we shall be forced to kill you as we have
killed your dogs."
" Yes, I recognise you, gentlemen," said the officer in a low voice.
" But, why are you here—what are you doing here ? Unfortunate men!
I thought you were in the fort ?"
And you, monsieur, you were to obtain conditions for us, I think ?"
" I did all I was able, messieurs, but "
" But what ?" " But there are positive orders."
" To kill us ?" Biscarrat made no reply. It would have cost him too
much to speak of the cord to gentlemen. Aramis understood the
silence of his prisoner.
" Monsieur Biscarrat," said he, "you would be already dead if we had
not had regard for your youth and our ancient association with your
father ; but you may yet escape from the place by swearing that you
will not tell your companions what you have seen."
" I will not only swear that I will not speak of it," said Biscarrat, " but
I still further swear that I will do everything in the world to prevent
my companions from setting foot in the grotto."
" Biscarrat! Biscarrat!" cried several voices from the outside, comiDg
like a whirlwind into the cave.
" Reply," said Aramis. " Here am IJ" cried Biscarrat.
THE GEOTTO. 539
" Now, begone; we depend upon your loyalty." And he left his hold
of the young man, who hastily returned towards the light.
"Biscarrat! Biscarrat!" cried the voices, still nearer. And the
shadows of several human forms projected into the interior of the
grotto.
Biscarrat rushed to meet his friends in order to stop them, and met
them just as they were adventuring into the cave. Aramis and Porthos
listened with the intense attention of men whose life depends upon
a breath of air.
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed one of the guards, as he came to the light,
" how pale you are !"
" Pale!" cried another, "you ought to say livid."
" I!" said the young man, endeavouring to collect his faculties.
"In the name of Heaven! what has happened to you?" exclaimed
all voices.
" You have not a drop op blood in your veins, my poor friend," said
one of them, laughing.
" Messieurs, it is serious," said another, " he is going to faint; does
any one of you happen to have any salts ?" And they all laughed.
All these interpellations, all these jokes crossed each other round
Biscarrat as the balls cross each other in the fire of a melee. He
recovered himself amidst a deluge of interrogations.
. " Wliat do you suppose I have seen ?" asked he. " I was too hot
when I entered the grotto, and I have been struck with the cold;
that is all."
" But the dogs, the dogs, have you seen them again—did you see
anything of them—do you know anything about them ?"
" I suppose they have gone out by; another way."
" Messieurs," said one of the young men, " there is in that which is
going on, in the paleness and silence of our friend, a mystery which
Biscarrat will not, or cannot, reveal. Only, and that is a certainty,
Biscarrat has seen something in the grotto. Well! for my part, I am
very curious to see what it is, even if it were the devil! To the grotto!
messieurs, to the grotto !"
" To the grotto !" repeated all the voices. And the echo of the
cavern carried like a menace to Porthos and Aramis, " To the grotto!
to the grotto!"
Biscarrat threw himself before [his companions. " Messieurs !
messieurs !" cried he, " in the name of Heaven ! do not go in !"
"Why, what is there so terrific in the cavern?" asked several at
once. " Come, speak, Biscarrat."
" Decidedly, it is the devil he has seen," repeated he who had before
advanced that hypothesis.
" Well!" said another; " if he has seen him, he need not be selfish;
he may as well let us have a look at him in our turns."
" Messieurs! messieurs! I beseech you," urged Biscarrat.
" Nonsense i—Let us pass !"
" Messieurs, I implore you not to enter!"
" Why, you went in yourself."
Then one of the officers who—of a riper age than the others—had,
till this time remained behind, and had said nothing, advanced, "Mes-
sieurs," said he, with a calmness, which contrasted with the animation
of the young men, " there is in this some person, or something, that
is not the devil; but which, whatever it may be, has had sufficient
power to silence our dogs. We must know who this some one is, or
what this something is."
54(9 THE VICOHTE DE BKAGELONNE.
Biscarrat made a last effort to stop his friends, but it was useless. In
vain he threw himself before the most rash; in vain he clung to the
rocks to bar the passage; the crowd of young men rushed into the
cave, in the steps of the officer who had spoken last, but who had
sprung in first, sword in hand, to face the unknown danger. Biscarrat,
repulsed by his friends, not able to accompany them, without passing
in the eyes of Porthos and Aramis, for a traitor and a perjurer, with
painfully attentive ear and still supplicating hands leant against the
rough side of a rock which he thought must be exposed to the fire of
the musketeers. As to the guards, they penetrated further and further,
with cries that grew weaker as they advanced. All at once, a discharge
of musketry, growling like thunder, exploded beneath the vault. Two
or three balls were flattened against the rock where Biscarrat was leaning.
At the same instant cries, howlings, and imprecations burst forth, and
the little troop of gentlemen re-appeared—some pale, some bleeding—
all enveloped in a cloud of smoke, which the outward air seemed to
draw from the depths of the cavern. " Biscarrat! Biscarrat!" cried the
fugitives, " you knew there was an ambuscade in that cavern, and you
have not warned us ! Biscarrat, you are the cause that four of us have
been killed! Woe be to you ! Biscarrat!"
" You are the cause of my being wounded to death," said one of the
young men, gathering his blood in his hand, and casting it into the face
of Biscarrat. " My blood be upon your head!" And he rolled in agony
at the feet of the young men.
" But, at least, tell us who is there ?" cried several furious voices.
Biscarrat remained silent. " Tell us, or die!" cried the wounded man,
raising himself upon one knee, and lifting towards his companion an
arm bearing a useless sword. Biscarrat rushed towards him, opening his
breast for the blow, but the wounded man fell back not to rise again—
uttering a groan which was his last. Biscarrat, with hair on end, hag-
gard eyes, and bewildered head, advanced towards the interior of the
cavern, saying, " You are right. Death to me, who have allowed my
companions to be assassinated. I am a base wretch !" And throwing
away his sword, for he wished to die without defending himself, he
rushed head foremost into the cavern. The others followed him. The
eleven who remained out of sixteen, imitated his example; but they did
not go farther than the first. A second discharge laid five upon the
icy sand; and, as it was impossible to see whence this murderous thunder
issued, the others fell back with a terror that can be better imagined
than expressed. But, far from flying, as the others had done, Biscarrat
remained safe and sound, seated on a fragment of rock, and waited.
There were only six gentlemen left.
" Seriously," said one of the survivors, "is it the devil ?"
" Ma foi! it is much worse," said another,
" Ask Biscarrat, he knows."
" Where is Biscarrat ?" The young men looked round them, and saw
that Biscarrat did not answer.
" He is dead!" said two or three voices.
" Oh ! no," replied another; "I saw him through the smoke, sitting
quietly on a rock. He is in the cavern; he is waiting for usY
" He must know who are there."
" And how should he know them ?"
" He was taken prisoner by the rebels."
" That is true. Well! let us call him, and learn from him whom we
have to deal with." And all voices shouted, " Biscarrat! Biscarrat'."
But Biscarrat did not answer.
THE GROTTO. 541
" Good!" said the officer who had shown so much coolness in the
affair. " We have no longer any need of him; here are reinforcements
coming."
In fact, a company of the guards, left in the rear by their offibers,
whom the ardour of the chase had carried away—from seventy-five to
eighty men—arrived in good order, led by their captain and the first
lieutenant. The five officers hastened to meet their soldiers; and, in a
language the eloquence of which may be easily imagined, they related
ttm adventure, and asked for aid. The captain interrupted them.
" Where are your companions?" demanded he.
" Dead !" " But there were sixteen of you !"
" Ten are dead. Biscarrat is in the cavern, and we are five."
" Biscarrat is then a prisoner ?" " Probably."
" No, for here he is—look." In fact, Biscarrat appeared at the open-
ing of the grotto.
" He makes us a sign to come on," said the officer. "Come on!"
" Come on !" cried all the troop. And they advanced to meet Biscarrat.
" Monsieur," said the captain, addressing Biscarrat, " I am assured,
that you know who the men are in that grotto, and who make such a
desperate defence. In the king's name I command you to declare what
you know."
" Captain," said Biscarrat, " you have no need to command me; my
word has been restored to me this very instant; and I come in the
name of these men." " To tell me who they are ?"
" To tell you they are determined to defend themselves to the death,
unless you grant them good terms."
" How many are there of them, then ?"
" There are two," said Biscarrat.
" There are two—and want to impose conditions upon us ?"
" There are two, and they have already killed ten of our men."
" What sort of people are they—giants ?"
" Better than that. Do you remember the history of the bastion
Saint-Gervais, captain?"
" Yes; where four musketeers held out against an army."
" Well, these two men were of those musketeers."
" And their names ?"
" At that period they were called Porthos and Aramis. Now, they
are styled M. d'Herblay and M. du Yallon."
" And what interest have they in all this ?"
" It is they who held Belle-Isle for M. Bouquet."
A murmur ran through the ranks of the soldiers on hearing the two
words " Porthos and Aramis." " The musketeers! the musketeers!"
repeated they. And among all these brave men, the idea that they
were going to have a struggle against two of the oldest glories of the
Erench army, made a shiver, half enthusiasm, half terror, run through
them. In fact, those four names—d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and
Aramis, were venerated among all who wore a sword: as, in anti-
quity, the names of Hercules, Theseus, Castor, and Pollux, were
venerated.
" Two men—and they have killed ten in two discharges! That is
impossible, Monsieur Biscarrat!"
" Eh! captain," replied the latter, " I do not tell you that they have
not with them two or three men, as the musketeers of the bastion Saint-
Gervais had two or three lackeys ; but, believe me, captain, I have seen
these men, I have been taken prisoner by them—I know they them-
selves alone could suffice to destroy an army."
542 THE VICOXITE HE BRAGELONNE.
" That we shall see," said the captain, " and that in a moment too.
Gentlemen, attention!"
At this reply, no one stirred, and all prepared to obey. Biscarrat
alone risked a last attempt. "Monsieur," said he, in a low voice,
" believe me; let us pass on our way. Those two men, those two lions
you are going to attack, will defend themselves to the death. They
have already killed ten of our men; they will kill double the number,
and end by'killing themselves rather than surrender. "What shall we
gain by fighting them P"
"We shall gain the consciousness, monsieur, of not having made
eighty of the king's guards retire before two rebels. If I listened
to your advice, monsieur, I should be a dishonoured man; and
by dishonouring myself I should dishonour the army. Forward,
men!"
And he marched first as far as the opening of the grotto. There he
halted. The object of this halt was to give to Biscarrat and his compa-
nions time to describe to him the interior of tbe grotto. Then, when
he believed he had a sufficient acquaintance with the places, he divided
his company into three bodies, which were to enter successively, keeping
up a sustained fire in all directions. No doubt, in this attack they
should lose five more men, perhaps ten; but, certainly, they must end
by taking the rebels, since there was no issue; and, at any rate, two
men could not kill eighty.
" Captain," said Biscarrat, " I beg to be allowed to march at the head
of the first platoon."
"So be it," replied the captain; "you have all the honour of it.
That is a present I make you."
" Thanks !" replied the young man, with all the firmness of his race.
" Take your sword, then."
" I shall go as I am, captain," said Biscarrat, " for I do not go to kill,
I go to be killed."
And placing himself at the head of the first platoon, with his head
uncovered and his arms crossed,—" March, gentlemen! said he.
CHAPTER CXV1.
An Homeric Song.
It is time to pass into the other camp, and to describe at once the
combatants and the field of battle. Aramis and Porthos had gone
to the grotto of Locmaria with the expectation of finding there their
canoe ready armed, as well as the three Bretons, their assistants; and
they at first hoped to make the barque pass through the little issue
of the cavern, concealing, in that fashion, both their labours and
their flight. The arrival of the fox and the dogs had obliged them to
remain concealed. The grotto extended the space of about a hundred
toises, to that little slope dominating a creek. Formerly, a temple of
the Celtic divinities, when Belle-Isle was still called Colonese, this
grotto had seen more than one human sacrifice accomplished m its
mysterious depths. The first entrance to the cavern was by. a modei'ate
descent, above which lieaped-up rocks formed a low arcade; the inte-
rior, very unequal as to the ground, dangerous from the* rocky in-
equalities of the vault, was subdivided into several compartments which
commanded each other and joined each other by means of several
AN HOMERIC SONG. 543
rough, broken steps, fixed right and left, in enormous natural
pillars. At the third compartment, the vault was so low, the passage
so narrow, that the barque would scarcely have passed without touching
the two sides; nevertheless, in a moment of despair, wood softens and
stone becomes compliant under the breath of human will. Such was
the thought of Aramis, when, after having fought the fight, he decided
upon flight—a flight certainly dangerous, since all the assailants were
not dead ; and that, admitting the possibility of putting the barque to
sea, they would have to fly in open day, before the conquered, so inte-
rested on recognizing their small number, in pursuing their conquerors.
When the two discharges had killed ten men, Aramis, habituated to
the windings of the cavern, went to reconnoitre them one by one—
counted them, for the smoke prevented seeing outside; and he imme-
diately commanded that the canoe should be rolled as far as the great
stone, the closure of the liberating issue. Porthos collected all his
strength, took the canoe up in his arms, and raised it up, whilst the
Bretons made it run rapidly along the rollers. They had descended
into the third compartment; they had arrived at the stone which
walled up the outlet. Porthos seized this gigantic stone at its base,
applied to it his robust shoulder, and gave a heave which made this
wall crack. A cloud of dust fell from the vault with the ashes of ten
thousand generations of sea-birds, whose nests stuck like cement to the
rock. At the third shock the stone gave way; it oscillated for a minute.
Porthos, placing his back against the neighbouring rock, made an arch
with his foot, which drove the block out of the calcareous masses which
served for hinges and cramps. The stone fell, and daylight was visible
brilliant, radiant, which rushed into the cavern by the opening, and the
blue sea appeared to the delighted Bretons. They then began to lift
the barque over the barricade. Twenty more toises, and it might glide
into the ocean. It was during this time, that the company arrived, was
drawn up by the captain, and disposed for either an escalade or an
assault. Aramis watched over everything, to favour the labours of his
friends. He saw the reinforcements, he counted the men, he convinced
himself at a single glance of the insurmountable peril to which a fresh
combat would expose them. To escape by sea, at the moment the
cavern was about to be invaded, was impossible. In fact, the daylight
which had just been admitted to the two last compartments had exposed
to the soldiers the barque being rolled towards the sea, the two rebels
within musket-shot, and one of their discharges would riddle the boat
if it did not kill the five navigators. Besides, supposing everything,—if
the barque escaped with the men on board of it, how could the alarm
be suppressed—how could notice to the royal lighters be prevented P
What could hinder the poor canoe, followed by sea, and watched from
the shore, from succumbing before the end of the day ? Aramis, digging
his hands into his grey hair with rage, invoked the assistance of God
and the assistance of the demon. Calling to Porthos, who was working
alone more than all the rollers—whether of flesh or of wood—"My
friend," said he, "our adversaries have just received a reinforcement."
" Ah ! ah !" said Porthos, quietly, " what is to be done, then ?"
" To recommence the combat," said Aramis, " is hazardous."
" Yes," said Porthos, " for it is difficult to suppose that out of two one
should not be killed, and certainly, if one of us were killed, the other
would get himself killed also." Porthos spoke these words with that
heroic nature which, with him, grew greater with all the phases of
matter. .
544 THE VICOMTE HE BRAGELONNE.
Aramis felt it like a spur to his heart. " We shall neither of us be
killed if you do what I tell you, friend Porthos."
" Tell me what."
"These people are coming down into the grotto." "Yes."
"We could kill about fifteen of them, but not more."
" How many are there in all ?" asked Porthos.
" They have received a reinforcement of seventy-five men."
" Seventy-five and five, eighty. Ah! ah !" said. Porthos.
" If they fire all at once they will riddle us with balls."
" Certainly they will."
" Without reckoning," added Aramis, " that the detonations might
occasion fallings in of the cavern."
"Aye," said Porthos, "a piece of falling rock just now grazed my
shoulder a little."
" You see, then 1" " Oh! it's nothing."
"We must determine upon something quickly. Our Bretons are
going to continue to roll the canoe towards the sea." " Very well."
" We two will keep the powder, the balls, and the muskets here."
"But only two, my dear Aramis—we shall never fire three shots
together." said Porthos, innocently, "the defence by musketry is a
bad one."
" Pind a better, then."
" I have found one," said the giant, eagerly ; " I will place myself in
ambuscade behind the pillar with this iron bar, and invisible, unattack-
able, if they come in in floods, I can let my bar fall upon their skulls,
thirty times in a minute. Eein ! what do you think of the project ?
You smile!"
"Excellent, dear friend, perfect! I approve it greatly; only you
will frighten them, and half of them will remain outside to take us by
famine. What we want, my good friend, is the entire destruction of
the troop; a single man left standing ruins us."
" You are right, my friend, but how can we attract them, pray ?"
" By not stirring, my good Porthos."
"Well! we won't stir, then; but when they shall be all together "
" Then leave it to me, I have an idea."
" If it is thus, and your idea be a good one—and your idea is most
likely to be good—I am satisfied."
" To your ambuscade, Porthos, and count how many enter."
"But-you, what will you do ?"
" Don't trouble yourself about me; I have a task to perform."
" I think I can hear cries."
"It is they! To your post. Keep within reach of my voice and
hand."
Porthos took refuge in the second compartment, which was absolutely
black with darkness. Aramis glided into the third ; the giant held in
his hand an iron bar of about fifty pounds weight. Porthos handled this
lever, which had been used in rolling the barque, with marvellous
facility. During this time, the Bretons had pushed the barque to the
beach. In the enlightened compartment, Aramis, stooping and con-
eealed, was busied in some mysterious manoeuvre. A command was
given in a loud voice. It was the last order of the captain commandant.
Twenty-five men jumped from the upper rocks into the first compart-
ment of the grotto, and having taken their ground, began to fire. The
echoes growled, the hissing of the balls cut the air, an opaque smoke
filled the vault.
"To the left! to the left!" cried Biscarrat, who, in his first assault,
THE DEATH OE A TITAN. 545
had seen the passage to the second chamber, and who, animated by the
smell of powder, wished to guide his soldiers in that direction. The
troop accordingly precipitated themselves to the left—the passage gra-
dually growing narrower. Biscarrat, with his hands stretched forward,
devoted to death, marched in advance of the muskets. " Come on!
come on !" exclaimed he, "I see daylight !"
" Strike, Porthos !" cried the sepulchral voice of Aramis.
Porthos breathed a heavy sigh—but he obeyed. The iron bar fell
full and direct Upon the head of Biscarrat, who was dead before he had
ended his cry. Then the formidable lever rose ten times in ten seconds,
and made ten corpses. The soldiers could see nothing; they heard
sighs and groans; they stumbled over dead bodies, but as they had no
conception of the cause of all this, they came forward jostling each
other. The implacable bar, still falling, annihilated the lirst platoon,
without a single sound having warned the second which was quietly
advancing, only this second platoon commanded by the captain, had
broken a thin fir, growing on the shore, and, with its resinous_ branches
twisted together, the captain had made a flambeau. - On arriving at the
compartment where Porthos, like the exterminating angel had destroyed
all he touched, the first rank drew back in terror. No firing had replied
to that of the guards, and yet their way was stopped by a heap of dead
bodies—they literally walked in blood. Porthos was still behind his
pillar. The captain, on enlightening with the trembling flame of the fir
this frightful carnage, of which he in vain sought the cause, drew back
towards the pillar, behind which Porthos was concealed. Then a gigantic
hand issued from the shade, and fastened on the throat of the captain, who
uttered a stifled rattle; his stretched out arms beating the air, the torch
fell and was extinguished in blood. A second after, the corpse of the
captain fell close to the extinguished torch, and added another body to
the heap of dead which blocked up the passage. All this was effected
as mysteriously as if by magic. At hearing the rattling in the throat
of the captain, the soldiers who accompanied him had turned round :
they had caught a glimpse of his extended arms, his eyes starting from
their sockets, and then the torch fell and they were left in darkness.
Prom an unreflective, instinctive, mechanical feeling, the lieutenant
cried,—" Pire!"
Immediately a volley of musketry flamed, thundered, roared in the
cavern, bringing down enormous fragments from the vaults. The
cavern was lighted for an instant by this discharge, and then imme-
diately returned to a darkness rendered still thicker by the smoke. To
this succeeded a profound silence, broken only by the steps of the third
brigade, now entering the cavern.
CHAPTER CXVII.
The Death of a Titan.
At the moment when Porthos, more accustomed to the darkness than
all these men coming from open daylight, was looking round him to see
if in this night Aramis were not making him some signal, he felt his
arm gently touched, and a voice low as a breath murmured in his ear,
" Come."——" Oh !" said Porthos.
"Hush said Aramis, if possible, still more softly.
And amidst the noise of the third brigade, which continued to ad-
vance, amidst the imprecations of the guards left alive, of the dying,
VOL. II. 2 N
546 THE VICOHTE DE BRAGELONNE.
rattling their last sigh, Aramis and Porthos glided imperceptibly along
the granite walls of the cavern. Aramis led Porthos into the last but
one compartment, and showed him, in a hollow of the rocky wall, a
barrel of powder weighing from seventy to eighty pounds, to which he
had just attached a match. "My friend," said he to Porthos, "you will
take this barrel, the match of which I am going to set fire to, and throw
it amidst our enemies; can you do so ? "
" Farbleu!" replied Porthos; and he lifted the barrel with one hand.
" Light it!"
" Stop," said Aramis, " till they are all massed togther, and then, my
Jupiter, hurl your thunder-bolt among them."
" Light it," repeated Porthos.
" On my part," continued Aramis, " I will join our Bretons, and help
them to get the canoe to the sea. I will wait for you on the shore;
launch it strongly, and hasten to us."
" Light it," said Porthos a third time.
" But do you understand me ? "
" Parbleu!" said Porthos again, with laughter that he did not even
attempt to restrain; " when a thing is explained to me I understand it;
begone, and give me the light."
Aramis gave the burning match to Porthos, who held out his arm to
him, his hands being engaged. Aramis pressed the arm of Porthos
with both his hands, and fell back to the outlet of the cavern where the
three rowers awaited him.
Porthos, left alone, applied the spark bravely to the match. The
spark—a feeble spark, first principle of a conflagration—shone in the
darkness like a fire-fly, then was deadened against the match which it
inflamed, Porthos enlivening the flame with his breath. The smoke
was a littlo dispersed, and by the light of the sparkling match objects
might, for two seconds, be distinguished. It was a short but a splendid
spectacle, that of this giant, pale, bloody, his countenance lighted by the
fire of the match burning in surrounding darkness ! The soldiers saw
him—they saw the barrel he held in his hand—they at once understood
what was going to happen. Then, these men, already filled with terror
at the sight of what had been accomplished—filled with terror at
thinking of what was going to be accomplished—threw forth together
one shriek of agony. Some endeavoured to fly, but they encountered
the third brigade which barred their passage; others mechanically took
aim and attempted to fire their discharged muskets; others fell upon
their knees. Two or three officers cried out to Porthos to promise him
his liberty if he would spare their lives. The lieutenant of the third
brigade commanded his men to fire; but the guards had before them
their terrified companions, who served as a living rampart for Porthos.
We have said that the light produced by the spark and the match did
not last more than two seconds; but during these two seconds this is
what it illumined—in the first place, the giant, enlarging in the dark-
ness ; then, at ten paces from him, a heap of bleeding bodies, crushed,
mutilated, in the midst of whom still lived some last struggle of agony,
which lifted the mass as a last respiration raises the sides of a shapeless
monster expiring in the night. Every breath of Porthos, whilst enliv-
ening the match, sent towards this heap of bodies a sulphureous hue
mingled with streaks of purple. In addition to this principal group,
scattered about the grotto, as the chance of death or the surprise of the
blow had stretched them, some isolated bodies seemed to threaten by
their gaping wounds. Above the ground, soaked by pools of blood, rose,
heavy and sparkling, the short, thick pillars of the cavern, of which the
THE DEATH OF A TITAN. 547
strongly marked shades threw out the luminous particles. And all this
was seen by.the tremulous light of a match attached to a barrel of pow-
der, that is to say, a torch which, whilst throwing a light upon the dead
past, showed the death to come.
As I have said, this spectacle did not last above two seconds. During
this short space of time an officer of the third brigade got together eight
men armed with muskets, and, through an opening, ordered them to fire
uponPorthos. But they who received the order to fire trembled so, that
three guards fell by the discharge, and the five other balls went hissing to
splinter the vault, plough the ground, or indent the sides of the cavern.
A burst of laughter replied to this volley; then the arm of the giant
swung round; then was seen to pass through the air, like a falling star,
the train of fire. The barrel, hurled a distance of thirty feet, cleared
the barricade of the dead bodies, and fell amidst a group of shrieking
soldiers, who threw themselves on their faces. The officer had followed
the brilliant train in the air; he endeavoured to precipitate himself
upon the barrel and tear out the match before it reached the powder it
contained. Useless devotedness! The. air had made the flame attached
to the conductor more active; the match, which at rest might have
burnt five minutes, was consumed in thirty seconds, and the infernal
work exploded. Purious vortices, hissings of sulphur and nitre, de-
vouring ravages of the fire which caught to objects, the terrible thunder
of the explosion, this is what the second which followed the two seconds
we have described, disclosed in that cavern, equal in horrors to a cavern
of demons. The rock split like planks of deal under the axe. A jet of
fire, smoke, and debris sprang up from the middle of the grotto,,
enlarging as it mounted. The large walls of silex tottered and fell upon
the sand, and the sand itself, an instrument of pain when launched from
its hardened bed, riddled the face with its myriads of cutting atoms.
Cries, howlings, imprecations, and existences—all were extinguished in
one immense crash. ■
The three first compartments became a gulf into which fell back
again, according to its weight, every vegetable, mineral, or human frag-
ment. Then the lighter sand and. ashes fell in their turns, stretching
like a grey winding sheet and smoking over these dismal funerals.
And now, seek in this burning tomb, in this subterraneous volcano,
seek for the king's guards with their blue coats laced with silver. Seek
for the officers brilliant in gold; seek for the arms upon which they
depended for their defence; seek for the stones that have killed them,
the ground that has borne them. One single man has made of all this
a chaos more confused, more shapeless, more terrible than the chaos
which existed an hour before God had created the world. There re-
mained nothing of the three compartments—nothing by which God could
have known his own work. As to Porthos, after having hurled the-
barrel of powder amidst his enemies, he had fled as Aramis had directed
him to do, and had gained the last compartment, into which air, light,
and sunshine penetrated through the opening. Therefore, scarcely had
he turned the angle which separated the third compartment from the
fourth than he perceived at a hundred paces from him the barque
dancing on the waves ; there were his friends, there was liberty, there
was life after victory. Six more of his formidable strides, and he would
be out of the vault; out of the vault! two or three vigorous springs
and he would reach the canoe. Suddenly he felt his knees give way;
his knees appeared powerless, his legs to yield under him.
" Oh! oh!" murmured he, "there is my fatigue seizing me again! I
can walk no further! What is this ?"
2 N 2
548 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
Aramis perceived him through the opening, and unable to conceive
what could induce him to stop thus—" Come on, Porthos! come on,"
cried he: "come quickly !"
" Oh !" replied the giant, making an effort which acted upon every
muscle of his body—" oh! but I cannot." While saying these words
he fell upon his knees, hut with his robust hands he clung to the rocks,
and raised himself up again.
" Quick ! quick!" repeated Aramis, bending forward towards the
shore, as if to draw Porthos towards him with his arms.
" Here I am," stammered Porthos, collecting all his strength to make
one step more.
" In the name of Heaven! Porthos, make haste! the barrel will
blow up!"
"Make haste, monseigneur!" shouted the Bretons to Porthos, who
was floundering as in a dream.
But there was no longer time; the explosion resounded, the earth gaped,
the smoke which rushed through the large fissures obscured the sky;
the sea flowed hack as if driven by the blast of fire which darted from
the grotto as if from the jaws of a gigantic chimera; the reflux carried
the barque out twenty toises; the rocks cracked to their base, and
separated like blocks beneath the operation of wedges; a portion of the
vault was carried up towards heaven, as if by rapid currents; the rose-
coloured and green fire of the sulphur, the black lava of the argillaceous
liquefactions clashed and combated for an instant beneath a majestic
dome of smoke; then, at first oscillated, then declined, then fell sue-
cessively the long angles of rock which the violence of the explosion had
not been able to uproot from their bed of ages; they bowed to each
other like grave and slow old men, then prostrating themselves, em-
bedded for ever in their dusty tomb.
This frightful shock seemed to restore to Porthos the strength he had
lost; he arose, himself a giant among these giants. 'But at the moment
he was flying between the double hedge of granite phantoms, these
latter, which were no longer supported by the corresponding links,
began to roll with a crash around this Titan, who looked as if precipi-
tated from heaven amidst rocks which he had just been launching at it.
Porthos felt the earth beneath his feet shaken by this long rending. He
extended his vast hands to the right and left to repulse the falling
rocks. A gigantic block was held back by each of his extended hands;
he bent his head and a third granite mass sank between his two shoul-
ders. Por an instant the arms of Porthos had given way, but the Her-
cules united all his forces, and the two walls of the prison in which he
was buried fell back slowly and gave him place. Por an instant, he
appeared in this frame of granite like the ancient angel of chaos, but in
pushing back the lateral rocks, he lost his point of support for the
monolith which weighed upon his strong shoulders, and the monolith,
lying upon him with all its weight, brought the giant down upon his
knees. The lateral rocks, for an instant, pushed back, drew together
again, and added their weight to the primitive weight which would
have been sufficient to crush ten men. The giant fell without crying
for help; he fell while answering Aramis with words of encouragement
and hope, for, thanks to the powerful arch of his hands, for an instant,
he might believe that, like Enceladus, he should shake off the triple
load. But, by degrees, Aramis saw the block sink; the hands strung
for an instant, the arms stiffened for a last effort, gave way, the extended
shoulders sank wounded and torn, and the rock continued to lower
gradually. ,■
the epitaph of porthos. 549
"Porth.cs! Porthos!" cried Aramis, tearing his hair, " Porthos I
where are you ? Speak!"
"There, there!" murmured Porthos, with a voice growing evidently
weaker, " Patience! patience !"
Scarcely had he pronounced these words, when the impulse of the
fall augmented the weight; the enormous rock sank down, pressed by
the two others which sank in from the sides, and, as it were, swallowed
up Porthos in a sepulchre of broken stones. On hearing the dying
voice of his friend, Aramis had sprung to land. Two of the Bretons
followed him, with each a lever in his hand—one being sufficient to take
care of the barque. The last rattles of the valiant struggler guided
them amidst the ruins. Aramis, animated, active, and young as at
twenty, sprang towards the triple mass, and with his hands, delicate as
those of a woman, raised by a miracle of vigour a corner of the immense
sepulchre of granite. Then he caught a glimpse, in the darkness of
that grave, of the still brilliant eye of his friend, to whom the momentary
lifting of the mass restored that moment of respiration. The two men
came rushing up, grasped their iron levers, united their triple strength,
not merely to raise it, but to sustain it. All was useless. The three
men slowly gave way with cries of grief, and the rough voice of Porthos,
seeing them exhaust themselves in a useless struggle, murmured in a
jeering tone those supreme words which came to his lips with the last
respiration, " Too heavy !"
After which the eye darkened and closed, the face became pale, the
hand whitened, and the Titan sank quite down, breathing his last sigh.
With him sank the rock, which, even in his agony, he had still held
up. The three men dropped the levers, which rolled upon the tumulary
stone. Then, breathless, pale, his brow covered with sweat, Aramis
listened, his breast oppressed, his heart ready to break.
Nothing more! The giant slept the eternal sleep, in the sepulchre
which God had made to his measure.
CHAPTER CXVIII.
The Epitaph of Porthos.
Aramis, silent, icy, trembling like a timid child, arose shivering from
the stone. A Christian does not walk upon tombs. But though capa-
ble' of standing, he was not capable of walking. It might be said that
something of dead Porthos had just died within him. His Bretons
surrounded him; Aramis yielded to their kind exertions, and the three
sailors, lifting him up, carried him into the canoe. Then, having laid
him down upon the bench near the rudder, they took to their oars,
preferring to get off by rowing to hoisting a sail, which might betray
them.
Of all that levelled surface of the ancient grotto of Locmaria, of all
that flattened shore, one single little hillock attracted their eyes.
Aramis never removed his from it; and, at a distance out in the sea, in
proportion as the shore receded, the menacing and proud mass of rock
seemed to draw itself up, as formerly Porthos used to draw himself up,
and raise a smiling and invincible head towards heaven, like that of the
honest and valiant friend, the strongest of the four, and yet the first
dead. Strange destiny of these men of brass! The most simple of
heart allied to the most crafty; strength of body guided by subtlety of
650 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE
xnind; and in the decisive moment, when vigour alone could save mind
and body, a stone, a rock, a vile and material weight, triumphed over
vigour, and falling upon the body drove out the mind.
Worthy Porthos ! born to help other men, always ready to sacrifice
himself for the safety of the weak, as if God had only given him
strength for that purpose: when dying he only thought he was carry-
ing out the conditions of his compact with Aramis, a compact, however,
which Aramis alone had drawn up, and which Porthos had only known
to suffer by its terrible solidarity. Noble Porthos! of what good are
the chateaux overflowing with sumptuous furniture, the forests over-
flowing with game, the lakes overflowing with fish, the cellars over-
flowing with wealth! Of what good are the lackeys in brilliant liveries,
and in the midst of them Mousqueton, proud of the power delegated
by thee ! Oh! noble Porthos! careful heaper up of treasures, was it
worth while to labour to sweeten and gild life, to come upon a desert
shore, to the cries of sea birds, and lay thyself, with broken^ bones,
beneath a cold stone ! Was it worth while, in short, noble Porthos,
to heap so much gold, and not have even the distich of a poor poet
engraven upon thy monument! Valiant Porthos ! He still, without
doubt, sleeps, lost, forgotten, beneath the rock which the shepherds of
the heath take for the gigantic abode of a dolmen. And so many twin-
ing brambles, so many mosses, caressed by the bitter wind of the
ocean, so many vivacious lichens have soldered the sepulchre to the
earth, that the passenger will never imagine that such a block of granite
can ever have been supported by the shoulders of one man.
Aramis, still pale, still icy,«his heart upon his lips, Aramis looked,
even till with the last ray of daylight, the shore faded on the horizon.
Not a word escaped his lips, not a sigh rose from his deep breast. The
superstitious Bretons looked at him trembling. That silence was not
of a man, it was of a statue. In the meantime, with the first grey
lines that descended from the heavens, the canoe had hoisted its little
sail, which, swelling with the kisses of the breeze, and carrying them
rapidly from the coast, made brave way with its head towards Spain,
across the terrible gulf of Gascony so rife with tempests. But scarcely
half an hour after the sail had been hoisted, the rowers became inactive,
reclining upon their benches, and making1 an eye-shade with their
hands, pointed out to each other a white spot which appeared on the
horizon as motionless as is in appearance a gull rocked by the insen-
sible respiration of the waves. But that which might have appeared
motionless to ordinary eyes was moving at a quick rate to the expe-
rienced eye of the sailor; that which appeared stationary on the ocean
was cutting a rapid way through it. For some time, seeing the pro-
found torpor in which their master was plunged, they did not dare to
rouse him, and satisfied themselves with exchanging their conjectures
in a low, disturbed voice. Aramis, in fact, so vigilant, so active—
Aramis, whose eye, like that of the lynx, watched without ceasing, and
saw better by night than by day—Aramis seemed to sleep in the despair
of his soul. An hour passed thus, during which daylight gradually
disappeared, but during which also the sail in view gained so swiftly on
the barque, that Goenne, one of the three sailors, ventured to say
aloud,—
" Monseigneur, we are being chased!"
Aramis made no reply; the ship still gained upon them. Then, of
their own accord, two of the sailors, by the direction of the patron Yves,
lowered the sail, in order that that single point which appeared above
the surface of the waters should cease to be a guide to the eye of the
THE EPITAPH OF POIITHOS. 551
enemy who was pursuing them. On the part of the ship in sight, on
the contrary, two more small sails were run up at the extremities of the
masts. Unfortunately, it was the time of the finest and longest days
of the year, and the moon, in all her brilliancy, succeeded to this in-
auspicious daylight. The balancelle, which was pursuing the little
barque before the wind, had then still half an hour of twilight, and a
whole night almost as light as day.
" Monseigneur! monseigneur! we are lost!" said the patron; " look!
they see us although we have lowered our sail."
" That is not to be wondered at," murmured one of the sailors, " since
they say that, by the aid of the devil, the people of the cities .have
fabricated instruments with which they see as well at a distance as
near, by night as well as by day."
Aramis took a telescope from the bottom of the boat, arranged it
silently, and passing it to the sailor: "Here," said he, "look !" The
sailor hesitated.
"Don't be alarmed," said the bishop, "there is no sin in it; and if
there is any sin, I will take it upon myself."
The sailor lifted the glass to his eye, and uttered a cry. He believed
that the vessel, which appeared to be distant about cannon-shot, had
suddenly and at a single bound cleared the distance. But, on with-
drawing the instrument from his eye, he saw that, except the way
which the balancelle had been able to make during that short instant,
it was still at the same distance.
" So," murmured the sailor, " they can see us as we see them."
" They see us," said Aramis, and sank again into his impassibility.
" How—they see us !" said the patron Yves, " impossible !"
"Well, patron, look yourself," said the sailor. And he passed to
him the glass.
"Monseigneur assures me that the devil has nothing to do with
this?" asked the patron. Aramis shrugged his shoulders.
The patron lifted the glass to his eye. " Oh! monseigneur," said he,
" it is a miracle—they are there; it seems as if I were going to touch
them. Twenty-five men at least! Ah! I see the captain forward.
He holds a glass like this, and is looking at us. Ah ! he turns round,
and gives an order; they are rolling a piece of cannon forward—they
are charging it—they are pointing it. Misericorde I they are firing
at us!"
And by a mechanical movement, the patron took the glass off, and
the objects, sent back to the horizon, appeared again in their true
aspect. The vessel was still at the distance of nearly a league, but the
manoeuvre announced by the patron was not less real. A light cloud
of smoke appeared under the sails, more blue than they, and spreading
like a flower opening; then, at about a mile from the little canoe, they
saw the ball take the crown off two or three waves, dig a white furrow
in the sea, and disappear at the end of that furrow, as inoffensive as the
stone with which, at play, a boy makes ducks and drakes. That was at
once a menace and a warning.
" What is to be done ?" asked the patron.
"They will sink us!" said Goenne, "give us absolution, mon-
seigneur! " And the sailors fell on their knees before him.
'* You forget that they can see you," said he.
" That is true ?" said the sailors, ashamed of their weakness. " Give
us your orders, monseigneur, we are ready to die for you."
" Let us wait," said Aramis.
" How—let us wait ?"
552 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" Yes; do you not see, as you just now said, that if we endeavour to
fly, they will sink us ?"
" But, perhaps," the patron ventured to say, " perhaps, by the favour
of the night we could escape them."
"Oh!" said Aramis, "they have, little doubt, some Greek fire to
lighten their own course and ours likewise."
At the same moment, as if the little vessel wished to reply to the
appeal of Aramis, a second cloud of smoke mounted slowly to the
heavens, and from the bosom of that cloud sparked an arrow of flame,
which described its parabola like a rainbow, and fell into the sea, where
it continued to burn, illuminating a space of a quarter of a league in
diameter.
The Bretons looked at each other in terror. " You see plainly,"
said Aramis, " it will be better to wait for them."
The oars dropped from the hands of the sailors, and the barque,
ceasing to make way, rocked motionless on the summits of the waves.
Night came on, but the vessel still approached nearer. It might be
said it redoubled its speed with the darkness. From time to time, as a
bloody-necked vulture rears its head out of its nest, the formidable
Greek fire darted from its sides, and cast its flame into the ocean like
an incandescent snow. At last it came within musket-shot. All the
men were on .deck, arms in hand; the cannoniers were at their guns,
the matches were burning. It might be thought they were about to
board a frigate and to combat a crew superior in number to their own,
and not to take a canoe manned by four people.
" Surrender!" cried the commander of the balancelle, with the aid
of his speaking trumpet.
The sailors looked at Aramis. Aramis made a sign with his head.
The patron Yves waved a white cloth at the end of a gaff. This was
like striking their flag. The vessel came on like a racehorse. It
launched a fresh Greek fire which fell within twenty paces of the little
canoe, and threw a stronger light upon them than the most ardent ray
of the sun could have done.
"At the first sign of resistance," cried the commander of the
balancelle, "fire!" And the soldiers brought their muskets to the
present.
" Bid not we say we surrendered ?" said the patron Yves.
"Living! living! captain!" cried some highly excited soldiers,
" they must be taken living!"
" Well, yes—living," said the captain. Then turning towards the
Bretons, " Your lives are all safe, my friends !" cried he, " except the
Chevalier dTIerblay."
Aramis started imperceptibly. For an instant his eye was fixed
upon the depths of the ocean enlightened by the last flashes of the
Greek fire, flashes which ran along the sides of the waves, played upon
their crests like plumes, and rendered still more dark, more mysterious
and more terrible the abysses they covered.
" Do you hear monseigneur ?" said the sailors. " Yes."
" What are your orders ?" "Accept!"
" But you, monseigneur ?"
Aramis leant still more forward, and played with the ends of his long
white fingers with the green water of the sea, to which he turned
smiling as to a friend. " Accept!" repeated he.
" We accept," repeated the sailors; " but what security have we ?"
" The word of a gentleman," said the officer. " By my rank and by
my name I swear, that all but M. le chevalier d'Herblay shall have
the bound of m. de gesvres. 553
their lives spared. I am lieutenant of the king's frigate the Pomona,
and my name is Louis Constant de Pressigny."
With a rapid gesture, Aramis—already bent over the side of the
barque towards the sea—with a rapid gesture, Aramis raised his head,
drew himself up, and with a flashing eye, and a smile upon his lips,
" Throw out the ladder, messieurs," said he, as if the command had
belonged to him. He was obeyed. Then Aramis seizing the rope-
ladder, instead of the terror which was expected to be displayed upon
his countenance, the surprise of the sailors of the lalancelle was great,
when they saw him walk straight up to the commander, with a firm
step, look at him earnestly, make a sign to him with his hand, a myste-
rious and unknown sign, at the sight of which the officer turned pale,
trembled, and bowed his head. Without saying a word, Aramis then
raised his hand close to the eyes of the commander, and showed him the
collet of a ring which he wore on the ring-finger of his left hand. And
while making this sign, Aramis, draped in cold, silent, and haughty
majesty, had the air of an emperor giving his hand to be kissed. The
commandant, who for a moment had raised his head, bowed a second
time with marks of the most profound respect. Then stretching his
hand out, in his turn, towards the poop, that is to say, towards his own
cabin, he drew back to allow Aramis to go first. The three Bretons,
who had come on board after their bishop, looked at each other, stupi-
fied. The crew were struck with silence. Pive minutes after, the com-
mander called the second lieutenant, who returned immediately order-
ing the head to be put towards Corunna. Whilst the given order was
being executed, Aramis re-appeared upon the deck, and took a seat near
the iastingage. The night had fallen, the moon had not yet risen, and
yet Aramis looked incessantly towards Belle-Isle. Yves then approached
the captain, who had returned to take his post in the stern, and said, in
a low and humble voice, " What course are we to follow, captain ? "
"We take what course monseigneur pleases," replied the officer.
Aramis passed the night leaning upon the bastingage. Yves, on ap-
proaching him the next morning, remarked, that " the night must have
been very humid, for the wood upon which the bishop's head had rested,
was soaked with dew." Who knows !—that dew was, perhaps, the first
tears that had ever fallen from the eyes of Aramis !
What epitaph would have been worth that ? Good Porthos !
CHAPTER CXIX.
The Round of m. de Gesvres.
D'Artagnan was not accustomed to resistances like that he had
just experienced. He returned, profoundly irritated, to Nantes. Irri-
tation with this vigorous man vented itself in an impetuous attack,
which, few people, hitherto, were they king, were they giants, had been
able to resist. D'Artagnan, trembling with rage, went straight to the
castle, and asked to speak to the king. It might be about seven o'clock
in the morning, and, since his arrival at Nantes, the king had been an
early riser. But, on arriving at the little corridor with which we are
acquainted, d'Artagnan found M. de Gesvres, who stopped him very
politely, telling him not to speak too loud and disturb the king. "Is
the king asleep?" said d'Artagnan—"well, I will let him sleep. But
about what o'clock do you suppose he will rise ?"
554 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
" Oh ! in about two hours; the king has been up all night."
D'Artagnan took his hat again, bowed to M. de Gesvres, and returned
to his own apartments. He came back at half-past nine, and was told
that the king was at breakfast. " That will just suit me," said d'Ar-
tagnan, " I will talk to the king while he is eating."
M. de Brienne reminded d'Artagnan, that the king would not receive
any one during his repasts.
"But," said d'Artagnan, looking askant at Brienne, "you do not
know perhaps, monsieur, that I have the privilege of entree anywhere,
and at any hour."
Brienne took the hand of the captain kindly, and said, "Not at
Nantes, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan. The king in this journey has
changed everything."
D'Artagnan, a little softened, asked about what o'clock the king
would have finished his breakfast.
"We don't know."
" How !—don't know ! What does that mean ? You don't know
how much time the king devotes to eating ? It is generally an hour;
and, if we admit that the air of the Loire gives an additional appetite,
we will extend it to an hour and a half; that is enough, I think. I will
wait where I am."
" Oh ! dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, the order is, not to allow any person
to remain in this corridor; I am on guard for that purpose."
D'Artagnan felt his anger mounting a second time to his brain. He
went out quickly, for fear of complicating the affair by a display of ill-
humour. As soon as he was out he began to reflect. " The king," said
he, " will not receive me, that is evident. The young man is angry; he
is afraid of the words I may speak to him. Yes; but in the meantime,
Belle-Isle is besieged, and my two friends are taken or killed. Poor
Porthos! As to master Aramis, he is always full of resources, and I am
quite easy on his account. But, no, no; Porthos is not yet an invalid
and Aramis is not yet in his dotage. The one with his arm, the other
with his imagination, will find work for his majesty's soldiers. Who
knows if these brave men may not get up for the edification of his
most Christian majesty a little bastion of Saint-Gervais! I don't
despair of it. They have cannon and a garrison. And yet," continued
d'Artagnan, " I don't know whether it would not be better to stop the
combat. Por myself alone, I will not put up with either surly looks, or
treason, on the part of the king; but for my friends, rebuffs, insults, I
have a right to receive everything. Shall I go to M. Colbert. Now
there is a man, whom I must acquire the habit of terrifying. I will go
to M. Colbert." And d'Artagnan set forward bravely to find M. Col-
bert, but he was told he was working with the king, at the castle of
Nantes. "Good !" cried he, "the times are returned in which I mea-
sured my steps from M. de*Treville to the cardinal, from the cardinal to
the queen, from the queen to Louis XIII. Truly is it said, that men,
in growing old, become children again!—To the castle, then !" He re-
turned thither. M. de Lyonne was coming out. He gave d'Artagnan
both hands, but told him that the king had been busy all the preceding
evening and all night, and that orders had been given that no one
should be admitted.
" Not even the captain who takes the order," cried d'Artagnan. " I
think that is rather too strong."
" Not even he," said M. de Lyonne.
" Since that is the case," replied d'Artagnan, wounded to the heart;
" since the captain of the musketeers, who has always entered the
THE BOUND OF M. DE GESVEES. 555
king's^ chamber, is no longer allowed to enter it, his cabinet, or his
salle-a-manger; either the king is dead, or his captain is in disgrace.
In either case, he can no longer want him. Do me the favour, then,
M. de Lyonne, who are in favour, to return and tell the king plainly,
I send him my resignation."
" B'Artagnan, beware of what you are doing!"
"For friendship's sake, go !" and he pushed him gently towards the
cabinet. "Well, I will go," said Lyonne.
D'Artagnan waited, walking about the corridor in no enviable mood.
Lyonne returned. "Well, what did the king say?" exclaimed d'Ar-
tagnan.
"He simply answered, 'That is well,'" replied Lyonne.
" That that was well! " said the captain, with an explosion. "That
is to say, that he accepts it? Good ! Now, then, I am free ! I am
only a plain citizen, M. de Lyonne. I have the pleasure of bidding
you good bye! Farewell, castle, corridor, antechamber! a bourgeois,
about to breathe at liberty, takes his farewell of you."
And without waiting longer, the captain sprang from the terrace
down the staircase, where he had picked up the fragments of Gour-
ville's letter. Five minutes after, he was at the hostelry, where,
according to the custom of all great officers who have lodgings at the
castle, he had taken what was called his city-chamber. But when
arrived there, instead of throwing off his sword and cloak, he took his
pistols, put his money into a large leather purse, sent for his horses
from the castle-stables, and gave orders for reaching Yannes during
the night. Everything went on according to his wishes. At eight
o'clock in the evening, he was putting his foot in the stirrup, when M.
de Gesvres appeared at the head of twelve guards, in front of the
hostelry. D'Artagnan saw all from the corner of his eye; he could not
fail seeing thirteen men and thirteen horses. But he feigned not to
observe anything, and was about to put his horse in motion. Gesvres
rode up to him. " Monsieur d'Artagnan !" said he, aloud.
" Ah, Monsieur de Gesvres! good evening!"
" One would say you were getting on horseback."
" More than that,—I am mounted, as you see."
" It is fortunate I have met with you."
" Were you looking for me, then ?" " Mon Dieu ! yes."
" On the part of the king, I will wager ?" " Yes."
" As I, three days ago, went in search of M. Fouquet ?" " Oh!"
"Nonsense! It is of no use being delicate with me; that is all
labour lost. Tell me at once you are come to arrest me."
" To arrest you,—good heavens! no."
" Why do you come to accost me with twelve horsemen at your heels,
then ?" " I am making my round."
" That isn't bad! And so you pick me up in that round, eh ?"
" I don't pick you up; I meet with you, and I -beg you to come with
me."
" Where ?" " To the king."
"Good!" said d'Artagnan, with a bantering air; "the king has
nothing to do at last!"
" For Heaven's sake, captain," said M. de Gesvres, in a low voice to
the musketeer, " do not compromise yourself! these men hear you."
D'Artagnan laughed aloud, and replied, " March! People who are
arrested are placed between the six first guards and the six last."
" But as I do not arrest you," said M. de Gesvres, " you will march
behind, with me, if you please." , ,
556 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
" Well," said d'Artagnan, " that is very polite, due, and you are right
in being so; for if ever I had had to make my rounds near your
chambre-de-ville, I should have been courteous to you, I assure you,
by the faith of a gentleman! Now, one favour more: what does the
king want with me ?"
" Oh, the king is furious!"
" Very well! the king, who has thought it worth while to be furious,
may take the trouble of getting calm again ; that is all that. I shan't
die of that, I will swear." "No, but "
"But—I shall be sent to keep company with poor M. Bouquet.
Mordioux ! That is a gallant man, a worthy man ! We shall live very
sociably together, I will be bound."
" Here we are at our place of destination," said the due. " Captain,
for Heaven's sake, be calm with the king !"
"Ah, ah! you are playing the brave man with me, due !" said d'Ar-
tagnan, throwing one of his defiant glances over de Gesvres. " I have
been told that you are ambitious of uniting your guards with my
musketeers. This strikes me as a capital opportunity."
" I will take devilish good care not to avail myself of it, captain."
" And why not ? "
"Oh, for many reasons—in the first place, for this: If I were to
succeed you in the musketeers, after having arrested you "
" Ah ! then, you admit you have arrested me ? " " No, I don't."
" Say, met me then. So, you were saying, if you were to succeed
me, after having arrested me ? "
"Your musketeers, at the first exercise with ball cartridges, would
all fire towards me, by mistake."
" Ah! as to that I won't say; for the fellows do love me a little."
Gesvres made d'Artagnan pass in first, and took him straight to the
cabinet where the king was waiting for his captain of the musketeers,
and placed himself behind his colleague in the antechamber. The
king could be heard distinctly, speaking aloud to Colbert, in the same
cabinet where Colbert might have heard, a few days before, the king
speaking aloud with M. d'Artagnan. The guards remained as a
mounted piquet before the principal gate; and the report was quickly
spread through the city, that monsieur le capitaine of the musketeers
had just been arrested by order of the king. Then, these men were
seen to be in motion, as, in the good old times of Louis XIII., andM. de
Treville; groups were formed, the staircases were filled; vague mur-
murs, issuing from the courts below, came rolling up to the upper
stories, like the hoarse moanings of the tide-waves. M. de Gesvres
became very uneasy. He looked at his guards, who, after being inter-
rogated by the musketeers who had just got among their ranks, began
to shun them with a manifestation of uneasiness. D'Artagnan was
certainly less disturbed than M. de Gesvres, the captain of the guards,
was. As soon as he entered, he had seated himself on the ledge of a
window, whence, with his eagle glance, he saw all that was going on,
without the least emotion. None of the progress of the fermentation
which had manifested itself at the report of his arrest had escaped
him. He foresaw the moment when the explosion would take place;
and we know that his previsions were pretty correct.
"It would be very iwhimsical," thought he, "if, this evening, my
praetorians should make me king of Trance. How I should laugh!"
But, at the height, all was stopped. Guards, musketeers, officers,
soldiers, murmurs and uneasinesses, all dispersed, vanished, died away;
no more tempest, no more menace, no more sedition. One word had
king louis xiv. 557
calmed all the waves. The king had desired Brienne to say, " Hush,
messieurs! you disturb the king."
D'Artagnan sighed. " All is over !said he; " the musketeers of
the present day are not those of His Majesty Louis XIII. All is
over!"
" Monsieur d'Artagnan to the king's apartment," cried an usher.
CHAPTER CXX.
King Louis XIV.
The king was seated in his cabinet, with his back turned towards
the door of entrance. In front of him was a mirror, in which, while
turning over his papers, he could see with a glance those who came in.
He did not take any notice of the entrance of d'Artagnan, but laid
over his letters and plans the large silk cloth which he made use of to
conceal his secrets from the importunate. D'Artagnan understood his
play, and kept in the back ground; so that, at the end of a minute, the
king, who heard nothing, and saw nothing but with the corner of his
eye, was obliged to cry, " Is not M. d'Artagnan there ? "
" I am here, sire," replied the musketeer, advancing.
"Well, monsieur," said the king, fixing his clear eye upon d'Artagnan,
" what have you to say to me ? "
" I, sire !" replied the latter, who watched the first blow of his adver-
sary to make a good retort; " I have nothing to say to your majesty,
unless it be that you have caused me to be arrested, and here I am."
The king was going to reply that he had not had d'Artagnan arrested,
but the sentence appeared too much like an excuse, and he was silent.
D'Artagnan likewise preserved an obstinate silence.
" Monsieur," at length resumed the king, " what did I charge you to
go and do at Belle-Isle ? Tell me, if you please."
The king while speaking these words looked fixedly at his captain.
Here d'Artagnan was too fortunate; the king seemed to place the game
in his hands.
"I believe,",replied he, "that your majesty does me the honour to
ask what I went to Belle-Isle to do ?" Yes, monsieur."
" Well! sire, I know nothing about it; it is not of me that question
should be asked, but of that infinite number of officers of all kinds, to
whom have been given an infinite number of orders of all kinds, whilst
to me, head of the expedition, nothing precise was ordered."
The king was wounded; he showed it by his reply. " Monsieur,"
said he, " orders have only been given to such as were judged faithful."
" And. therefore, I have been astonished, sire," retorted the muske-
teer, "that a captain like myself, who rank with a marechal of
Prance, should have found himself under the orders of five or six
lieutenants or majors, good to make spies of, possibly, but not at all
fit to conduct warlike expeditions. It was upon this subject I came
to demand an explanation of your majesty, when I found the door
closed against me, which, the last insult offered to a brave man, has
led me to quit your majesty's service."
" Monsieur," replied the king, " you still believe you are living in an
age when kings were, as you complain of having been, under the
orders and at the discretion of their inferiors. You appear too much to
forget that a king owes an account of his actions to none but God."
558 THE VICOMTE EE BBAGELONNE.
"I forget nothing at all, sire" said the musketeer, wounded by this
lesson. Besides, I do not see in what an honest man, when he asks of
his king how he has ill served him, offends him."
" You have ill-served me, monsieur, by taking part with my enemies
against me."
" Who are your enemies, sire ? "
" The men I sent you to fight with."
" Two men the enemies of the whole of your majesty's army ! That
is incredible."
"You have no power to judge of my will."
"But I have to judge of my own friendships, sire."
. " He who serves his friends does not serve his master."
" I have so well understood that, sire, that I have respectfully offered
your majesty my resignation."
" And I have accepted it, monsieur," said the king. " Before being
separated from you I was willing to prove to you that I know how to
keep my word."
" Your majesty has kept more than your word, for your majesty has
had me arrested," said d'Artagnan, with his cold bantering air; " you
did not promise me that, sire."
The king would not condescend to perceive the pleasantry, and con-
tinued seriously, " You see, monsieur," said he, " to what your dis-
obedience has forced me."
" My disobedience !" cried d'Artagnan, red with anger.
" That is the mildest name I can find," pursued the king. " My
idea was to take and punish rebels; was I bound to inquire whether
these rebels were your friends or not ? "
" But I was," replied d'Artagnan. " It was a cruelty on your majesty's
part to send me to take my friends and lead them to your gibbets."
"It was a trial I had to make, monsieur, of pretended servants, who
eat my bread and ought to defend my person. The trial has succeeded
ill, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" For one bad servant your majesty loses," said the musketeer, with
bitterness, " there are ten who have, on that same day, gone through
their ordeal. Listen to me, sire; I am not accustomed to that service.
Mine is a rebel sword when I am required to do ill. It was ill to
send me in pursuit of two men whose lives M. Fouquet, your majesty's
preserver, had implored you to save. Still further, these men were
my friends. They did not attack your majesty, they succumbed to a
blind anger. Besides, why were they not allowed to escape ? What
crime had they committed P I admit that you may contest with me
the right of judging of their conduct. But why suspect me before the
action ? Why surround me with spies ? Why disgrace me before the
army ? Why me, in whom you have to this time showed the most
entire confidence—me who for thirty years have been attached to your
person, and have given you a thousand proofs of devotedness—for it
must be said, now that I am accused—why reduce me to see three
thousand of the king's soldiers march in battle against two men ?"
"One would say you have forgotten what these men have done to
me!" said the king, in a hollow voice, " and that it was no merit of
theirs that I was not lost."
" Sire, one would say that you forget I was there."
"Enough, Monsieur d'Artagnan, enough of these dominating inte-
rests which arise to keep the sun from my interests. I am founding
a state in which there shall be but one master, as I promised you
formerly; the moment is come for keeping my promise. You wish
KING LOUIS XIV. 559
to be, according to your tastes or your friendships, free to destroy my
plans and save my enemies ? I will thwart you or will leave you—
seek a more compliant master. I know full well that another king
would not conduct himself as I do, and would allow himself to be
dominated over by you, at the risk of sending you some day to keep
company with M. Fouquet and the others; but I have a good memory,
and for me, services are sacred titles to gratitude, to impunity. You
shall only have this lesson. Monsieur d'Artagnan, as the punishment of
your want of discipline, and I will not imitate my predecessors in their
anger, not having imitated them in their favour. And, then, other
reasons make me act mildly towards you; in the first place, because you
are a man of sense, a man of great sense, a man of heart, and that you
will be a good servant for him who shall have mastered you; secondly,
because you will cease to have any motives for insubordination. Your
friends are destroyed or ruined by me. These supports upon which
your capricious mind instinctively relied I have made to disappear.
At this moment, my soldiers have taken or killed the rebels of
Belle-Isle."
D'Artagnan became pale. " Taken or killed!" cried he. " Oh ! sire,
if you thought what you tell me, if you were sure you were telling
me the truth, I should forget all that is just, all that is magnanimous
in your words, to call you a barbarous king, and an unnatural man.
But I pardon you these words," said he, smilng with pride; "I
pardon them to a young prince who does not know, who cannot
comprehend what such men as M. d'Herblay, M. du Yallon, and
myself are. Taken or killed ! Ah! ah! sire! tell me, if the news is
true, how much it has cost you in men and money. We will then
reckon if the game has been worth the stakes."
As he spoke thus, the king went up to him in great anger, and said,
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, your replies are those of a rebel! Tell me, if
you please, who is king of France ? Do you know any other ? "
" Sire," replied the captain of the musketeers, coldly, " I very well
remember that one morning at Yaux you addressed that question to
many people who did not answer to it, whilst I, on my part, did answer
to it. If I recognized my king on that day, when the thing was not
easy, I think it would be useless to ask it of me now, when your
majesty is alone with me."
At these words Louis cast down his eyes. It appeared to him that
the shade of the unfortunate Philippe passed between d'Artagnan and
himself, to evoke the remembrance of that terrible adventure. Al-
most at the same moment an officer entered and placed a despatch in
the hands of the king, who, in his turn, changed colour while reading it.
" Monsieur," said he, " what I learn here you would know later; it is
better I should tell you, and that you should learn it from the mouth
of your king. A battle has taken place at Belle-Isle."
" Oh! ah! " said d'Artagnan, with a calm air, though his heart beat
enough to break through his chest. "Well, sire ?"
" Well, monsieur—and I have lost a hundred and ten men."
A beam of joy and pride shone in the eyes of d'Artagnan. "And
the rebels ?■" said he. " The rebels have fled," said the king.
D'Artagnan could not restrain a cry of triumph. " Only," added the
king, " I have a fleet which closely blockades Belle-Isle, and I am cer-
tain no barque can escape."
" So that," said the musketeer, brought back to his dismal ideas, "if
these two gentlemen are taken "
" They will be hanged," said the king, quietly.
560 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
" And do they know it ? " replied d'Artagnan, repressing his trembling.
" They know it, because you must have told them yourself; and all
the country knows it."
" Then, sire, they will never be taken alive, I will answer for that."
"Ah!" said the king, negligently, and taking up his letter again.
" Very well, they will be had dead then, Monsieur d'Artagnan, and
that will come to the same thing, since I should only take them to
have them hanged."
D'Artagnan wiped the sweat which flowed from his brow.
" I have told you," pursued Louis XIV., " that I would one day be
an affectionate, generous, and constant master. You are now the only
man of former times worthy of my anger or my friendship. I will
not be sparing of either to you, according to your conduct. Could you
serve a king, Monsieur d'Artagnan, who should have a hundred kings
his equals in the kingdom ? Could I, tell me, do with such weakness,
the great things I meditate ? Have you ever seen an artist effect solid
works with a rebellious instrument ? Par from us, monsieur, these
old leavens of feudal abuses ! The Fronde, which threatened to ruin
the monarchy, has emancipated it. I am master at home, Captain
d'Artagnan, and I shall have servants who, wanting, perhaps, your
genius, will carry devotedness and obedience up to heroism. Of what
consequence, I ask you, of what consequence is it that God has given
no genius to arms and legs ? It is to the head he has given it, and the
head, you know, all the rest obey. I am the head."
D'Artagnan started. Louis XIV. continued as if he had seen nothing,
although this emotion had not at all escaped him. "Now let us con-
elude between us two that bargain which I promised to make with you
one day when you found me very little at Blois. Do me justice, mon-
sieur, when you think that I do not make anyone pay for the tears of
shame I then shed. Look around you; lofty heads have bowed. Bow
yours, or choose the exile that will best suit you. Perhaps, when re-
fleeting upon it, you will find that this king is a generous heart, who
reckons sufficiently upon your loyalty to allow you to leave him dis-
satisfied, when you possess a great state secret. You are a brave man;
I know you to be so. Why have you judged me before term ? Judge
me from this day forward, d'Artagnan, and be as severe as you please."
D'Artagnan remained bewildered, mute, undecided for the first time
in his life. He had just found an adversary worthy of him. This was
no longer trick, it was calculation; it was no longer violence, it was
strength; it was no longer passion, it was will; it was no longer boast-
ing, it was council. This young man who had brought down Fouquet,
and could do without d'Artagnan, deranged all the somewhat headstrong
calculations of the musketeer.
"Come, let us see what stops you?" said the king, kindly. "You
have given in your resignation, shall I refuse to accept it ? I admit
that it may be hard for an old captain to recover his good humour."
" Oh ! " replied d'Artagnan, in a melancholy tone, " that is not my
most serious care. I hesitate to take back my resignation because I
am old in comparison with you, and that 1 have habits difficult to
abandon. Henceforward, you must have courtiers who know how to
amuse you—madmen who will get themselves killed to carry out what
you call your great works. Great they will be, I feel—but, if by chance
I should not think them so ? I have seen war, sire, I have seen peace ;
I have served Richelieu and Mazarin; I bave been scorched, with
your father, at the fire of Rochelle; riddled with thrusts like a sieve,
having made a new skin ten times, as serpents do. After affronts and
THE FRIENDS OF M. FOUQUET. 561
injustices, I have a command which, was formerly something, because
it gave .the bearer the right of speaking as he liked to his king.
But your captain of the musketeers will henceforward be an officer
guarding the lower doors. Truly, sire, if that is to be the employment
from this time, seize the opportunity of our being on good terms, to
take it from me. Do not imagine that I bear malice; no, you have
tamed me, as you say; but it must be confessed that in taming me
you have lessened me; by bowing me you have convicted me of weak-
ness. If you knew how well it suits me to carry my head high, and
what a pitiful mien I shall have while scenting the dust of your car-
pets ! Oh! sire, I regret sincerely, and you will regret as I do, those
times when the king of France saw in his vestibules all those insolent
gentlemen, lean, always swearing—cross-grained mastiffs, who could bite
mortally in days of battle. Those men were the best of courtiers for the
hand which fed. them—they would lick it; but for the hand that struck
them, oh ! the bite that followed! A little gold on the lace of their
cloaks, a slender stomach in their hauts-de-chausses, a little sprinkling of
grey in their dry hair, and you will behold the handsome dukes and peers,
the haughty marechaux of France. But why should I tell you all this ?
The king is my master; he wills that I should make verses, he wills
that I should polish the mosaics of his antechambers with satin shoes.
Mordioux ! that is difficult, but I have got over greater difficulties than
that. I will do it. Why should I do it ? Because I love money ?—I
have enough. Because I am ambitious ?—my career is bounded. Be-
cause I love the court? No. T will remain because I have been ac-
customed for thirty years to go and take the orderly word of the king,
and to have said to me,' Good evening, d'Artagnan,' with a smile I did
not beg for. That smile I will beg for! Are you content, sire ? " And
d'Artagnan bowed his silvered head, upon which the smiling king
placed his white hand, with pride.
" Thanks, my old servant, my faithful friend," said he. " As, reckon-
ing from this day, I have no longer any enemies in France, it remains
with me to send you to a foreign field to gather your marechaVs baton.
Depend upon me for finding you an opportunity. In the mean while,
eat of my best bread, and sleep tranquilly."
" That is all kind and well!" said d'Artagnan, much agitated. " But
those poor men at Belle-Isle ? One of them, in particular—so good!
so brave ! so true!"
" Do you ask their pardon of me ?"
" Upon my knees, sire !"
"Well! then, go and take it to them, if it be still time. But do you
answer for them ?"
" With my life, sire !"
" Go, then. To-morrow I set out for Paris. Return by that time,
for I do not wish you to leave me in future."
" Be assured of that, sire," said d'Artagnan, kissing the royal hand.
And, with a heart swelling with joy, he rushed out of the castle on
his way to Belle-Isle.
CHAPTER CXXI.
The Friends of M. Fouquet.
The king had returned to Paris, and with him d'Artagnan, who, m
twenty-four hours, having made with the greatest care all possible
VOL. II. 2 o
562 THE vicomte be beagelonne
inquiries at Belle-Isle, had learnt nothing of the secret so well kept
by the heavy rock of Locmaria, which had fallen on the heroic Porthos.
The captain of the musketeers only knew what those two valiant men,
—what these two friends, whose defence he had so nobly taken up, whose
lives he had so earnestly endeavoured to save—aided by«ihree faithful
Bretons—had accomplished against a whole army. He had been able to
see, launched on to the neighbouring heath, the human remains which
had stained with blood the stones scattered among the flowering broom.
He learnt also that a barque had been seen far out at sea, and that,
like a bird of prey, a royal vessel had pursued, overtaken, and devoured
this poor little bird which was flying with rapid wings. But there
d'Artagnan's certainties ended. The field of conjecture was thrown
open at this boundary. Now, what could he conjecture? The vessel
had not returned. It is true that a brisk wind had prevailed for three
days; but the corvette was known to be a good sailer and solid in its
timbers; it could not fear gales of wind, and it ought, according to the
calculation of d'Artagnan, to have either returned to Brest, or come
back.to the mouth of the Loire. Such were the news, ambiguous, it is
true, but in some degree reassuring to him personally, which d'Artagnan
brought to Louis XIV., when the king, followed by all the court,
returned to Paris.
Louis, satisfied with his success, Louis—more mild and more affable
since he felt himself more powerful—had not ceased for an instant to
ride close to the carriage door of Mademoiselle de la Valliere. Every-
body had been anxious to amuse the two queens, so as to make them
forget this abandonment of the son and the husband. Everything
breathed of the future; the past was nothing to anybody. Only that
past came like a painful and bleeding wound to the hearts of some
tender and devoted spirits. Scarcely was the king re-installed in Paris,
when he received a touching proof of this. Louis XIV. had just risen
and taken his first repast, when his captain of the musketeers presented
himself before him. D'Artagnan was pale and looked unhappy.
The king, at the first glance, perceived the change in a countenance
generally so unconcerned. " "What i> the matter, d'Artagnan?"
said he.
" Sire, a great misfortune has happened to me."
" Good heavens ! what is that?"
"Sire, I have lost one of my friends, M. du Vallon, in the affair of
Belle-Isle."
And, while speaking these words, d'Artagnan fixed his falcon eys
upon Louis XlV., to catch the first feeling that would show itself.
" 1 knew it," replied the king, quietly.
" You knew it, and did not tell me i" cried the musketeer.
" To what good ? Your grief, my friend, is so respectable ! It was
my duty to treat it kindly. To have informed you of this misfortune,
which I knew would pain you so greatly, d'Artagnan, would have been, in
your eyes, to have triumphed over you. Yes, I knew that M. du Vallon
had buried himself beneath the rocks of Locmaria; I knew that
M. d'Herblay had taken one of my vessels with its crew, and had com-
pelled it to convey him to Bayonne. But, I was willing you should
learn these matters in a direct manner, in order that you might be
convinced my friends are with me respected and sacred; that always in
me the man will immolate himself to men, whilst the king is so often
found to sacrifice men to his majesty and power."
" But, sire, how could you know?"
" How do yourself know, d'Artagnan ?"
THE FRIENDS OF M. EOUQUET. "Kg
"By this letter, sire, which M. d'Herblay, free and out of danger,
writes me from Bayonne."
" Look here," said the king, drawing from a casket placed upon the
table close to the seat upon which d'Artagnan was leaning, " here is a
letter copied exactly from that of M. d'Herblay. Here is the very
letter, which Colbert placed in my hands a week before you received
yours. I am well served, you may perceive."
" Yes, sire," murmured the musketeer, " you were the only man whose
fortune was capable of dominating the fortunes and strength of my
two friends. You have used it, sire, but you will not abuse it, will
you?"
" D'Artagnan," said the king, with a smile beaming with kindness, "I
could have M. d'Herblay carried off from the territories of the king of
Spain, and brought here alive to inflict justice upon him. But, d'Arta-
gnan, be assured I will not yield to this first and natural impulse. He
is free, let him continue free."
" Oh, sire! you will not always remain so clement, so noble, so
generous as you have shown yourself with respect to me and M. d'Her-
blay; you will have about you counsellors who will cure you of that
weakness."
"Ho, d'Artagnan, you are mistaken when you accuse my council of
urging me to pursue rigorous measures. The advice to spare M. d'Her-
blay comes from Colbert himself."
" Oh, sire!" said d'Artagnan, extremely surprised.
" As for you," continued the king, with a kindness very uncommon
with him, " I have several pieces of good news to announce to you;
but you shall know them, my dear captain, the moment I have made
my accounts all straight. I have said that I wished to make, and
would make, your fortune; that promise will soon be a reality."
" A thousand times thanks, sire! I can wait. But I implore you,
whilst I go and practise patience, that your majesty will deign to notice
those poor people who have for so long a time besieged your ante-
chamber, and come humbly to lay a petition at your feet."
" Who are they ?" " Enemies of your majesty." The king raised
his head.
" Eriends of M. Fouquet," added d'Artagnan.
"Their names?" " M. Gourville, M. Pelisson, and a poet,
M." Jean de la Fontaine."
The king took a moment to reflect. " What do they want ?"
" I do not know."
" How do they appear ?" " In great affliction."
" What do they say ?" " Nothing."
" What do they do ?" " They weep."
" Let them come in," said the king, with a serious brow.
D'Artagnan turned rapidly on his heel, raised the tapestry which
closed the entrance to the royal chamber, and directing his voice to the
adjoining room, cried, " Introduce!"
The three men d'Artagnan had named soon appeared at the door of
the cabinet in which were the king and his captain. A profound silence
prevailed in their passage. The courtiers, at the approach of the friends
of the unfortunate surintendant of the finances, the courtiers, we say,
drew back, as if fearful of being infected by contagion with disgrace and
misfortune. D'Artagnan, with a quick step, came forward to take by
the hand the unhappy men who stood trembling at the door of the
cabinet; he led them to the front of the fauteuil of the king who,
having placed himself in the embrasure of a window, awaited the
r>64 THE VICOHTE DE BRAGELOEKE.
moment of presentation, and was preparing himself to give the suppli-
cants a rigorously diplomatic reception.
The first of the friends of Fouquet that advanced was Pelisson. lie
did not weep, but his tears were only restrained that the_ king
might the better hear his voice and his prayer. Gourville bit his lips
to check his tears, out of respect for the king. La Fontaine buried his
face in his handkerchief, and the only signs of life he gave were the
convulsive motions of his shoulders, raised by his sobs.
The king had preserved all his dignity. His countenance was im-
passible. He had even maintained the frown which had appeared vyhen
d'Artagnan had announced his enemies to him. He made a gesture
which signified, " Speak;" and he remained standing, with his eyes
searchingly fixed upon these desponding men. Pelisson bowed down
to the ground, and La Fontaine knelt as people do in churches. This
obstinate silence, disturbed only by such dismal sighs and groans, began
to excite in the king, not compassion, but impatience.
" Monsieur Pelisson," said he, in a sharp dry tone," Monsieur Gour-
ville, and you, Monsieur " and he did not name La Fontaine, " I can-
not, without sensible displeasure, see you come to plead for one of the
greatest criminals that it is the duty of my justice to punish. A king
does not allow himself to be softened but by tears and remorse; the
tears of the innocent, the remorse of the guilty. I have no faith either
in the remorse of M. Fouquet or the tears of his friends, because the one
is tainted to the very heart, and the others ought to dread coming to
offend me in my own palace. For these reasons, I beg you, Monsieur
Pelisson, Monsieur Gourville, and you Monsieur to say nothing
that will not plainly proclaim the respect you have for my will."
" Sire," replied Pelisson, trembling at these terrible words, " we are
come to say nothing to your majesty that is not the most profound
expression of the most sincere respect and love which are due to a king
from all his subjects. Your majesty's justice is redoubtable, every one
must yield to the sentences it pronounces. "We respectfully bow before
it. Far from us be the idea of coming to defend him who has had the
misfortune to offend your majesty. He who has incurred your dis-
pleasure may be a friend of ours, but he is an enemy to the state. We
abandon him, but with tears, to the severity of the king."
" Besides," interrupted the king, calmed by that supplicating voice,
and those persuasive words, "my parliament will decide. I do not
strike without having weighed a crime; my justice does not wield the
sword without having employed the scales."
"Therefore have we every confidence in that impartiality of the king,
and hope to make our feeble voices heard, with the consent of your
majesty, when the hour for defending an accused friend shall strike
for us."
" In that case, messieurs, what do you ask of me ? " said the king,
with his most imposing air.
"Sire," continued Pelisson, "the accused leaves a wife and a family.
The little property he had was scarcely sufficient to pay his debts, and
Madame Fouquet, since the captivity of her husband, is abandoned by
every body. The hand of your majesty strikes like the hand of God.
WThen the Lord sends the curse of leprosy or pestilence into a family,
every one flies and shuns the abode of the leprous or the plague-stricken.
Sometimes, but very rarely, a generous physician alone ventures to
approach the accursed threshold, passes it with courage, and exposes
his life to combat death. He is the last resource of the dying, he is the
instrument of heavenly mercy. Sire, we supplicate you, with clasped
POBTHOS'S WILL. 5G5
hands and bended knees, as a divinity is supplicated! Madame Fouquet
has no longer any friends, no longer any support; she weeps in her poor
deserted house, abandoned by all those who besieged its doors in the
hour of prosperity; she has neither credit nor hope left. At least, the
unhappy wretch upon whom your anger falls receives from you, how-
ever culpable he may be, the daily bread which is moistened by his
tears. As much afflicted, more destitute than her husband, Madame
Fouquet—she who had the honour to receive your majesty at her table—
Madame Fouquet, the wife of the ancient surintendant of your
majesty's finances, Madame Fouquet has no longer bread."
Here the mortal silence which enchained the breath of Pelisson's
two friends was broken by an outburst of sobs; and d'Artagnan, whose
chest heaved at hearing this humble prayer, turned round towards
the angle of the cabinet to bite his moustache and conceal his
sighs.
The king had preserved his eye dry and his countenance severe; but
the colour had mounted to his cheeks, and the firmness of his look was
visibly diminished.
"What do you wish ?" said he, in an agitated voice.
"We come humbly to ask your majesty," replied Pelisson, upon
whom emotion was fast gaining, " to permit us, without incurring the
displeasure of your majesty, to lend to Madame Fouquet two thousand
pistoles collected among the old friends of her husband, in order that
the widow may not stand in need of the necessaries of life."
At the word widow, pronounced by Pelisson whilst Fouquet was still
alive, the king turned very palehis pride fell; pity rose from his heart
to his lips; he cast a softened look upon the men who knelt sobbing at
his feet.
" God forbid !" said he, " that I should confound the innocent with
the guilty. They know me but ill who doubt my mercy towards the
weak. I strike none but the arrogant. Do, messieurs, do all that
your hearts counsel you to assuage the grief of Madame Fouquet.
Go, messieurs—go !"
The three men arose in silence with dried eyes. The tears had been
dried up by contact with their burning cheeks and eyelids. They had
not the strength to address their thanks to the king, who himself cut
short their solemn reverences by entrenching himself suddenly behind
the fauteuil.
D'Artagnan remained alone with the king. "Well!" said he,
approaching the young prince, who interrogated him with his look.
" Well, my master! If you had not the device which belongs to your
sun, I would recommend you one which M. Conrart should translate
into Latin,' Mild with the lowly; rough with the strong.'"
The king smiled, and passed into the next apartment, after having
said to d'Artagnan, " I give you the leave of absence you must want
to put the affairs of your friend the late M. du Yallon in order."
CHAPTER CXXII.
Porthos's Will.
At Pierrefonds everything was in mourning. The courts were
deserted—the stables closed—the parterres neglected. In the basins,
the fountains, formerly so spreading, noisy, and sparkling, had stopped
566 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
of themselves. Along the roads around the chateau came a few grave
personages mounted upon mules or farm nags. These were country
neighbours, cures, and bailiffs of adjacent estates. All these people
entered the chateau silently, gave their nags to a melancholy-looking
groom, and directed their steps, conducted by a huntsman in black, to
the great dining-room, where Mousqueton received them at the door.
Mousqueton had become so thin in two days that his clothes moved
upon him like sheaths which are too large and in which the blades of
swords dance about at each motion. His face, composed of red and
white, like that of the Madonna of Vandyke, was furrowed by two silver
rivulets which had dug their beds in bis cheeks, as full formerly as they
had become flabby since his grief began. At each fresh arrival, Mous-
queton found fresh tears, and it was pitiful to see him press his throat
with his fat hand to keep from bursting into sobs and lamentations.
All these visits were for the purpose of hearing the reading of Porthos's
will, announced for'that day, and at which all the covetousness and all
the friendships connected with the defunct were anxious to be present,
as he had left no relation behind him.
The visitors took their places as they arrived; and the great room had
just been closed when the clock struck twelve, the hour fixed for the
reading of the important document. Porthos's procureur—and that was
naturally the successor of Master Coquenard—commenced by slowly
unfolding the vast parchment upon which the powerful hand of Porthos
had traced his sovereign will. The seal broken—the spectacles put on
—the preliminary cough having sounded—every one opened his ears.
Mousqueton had squatted himself in a corner, the better to weep and
the better to hear. All at once the folding-doors of the great room,
which had been shut, were thrown open as if by a prodigy, and a manly
figure appeared upon the threshold, resplendent in the full light of the
sun. This was l)'Artagnan, who had come alope to the gate, and find-
ing nobody to hold his stirrup, he had tied his horse to a knocker and
announced himself. The splendour of the daylight invading the room,
the murmur of all present, and, more than all that, the instinct of the
faithful dog, drew Mousqueton from his reverie; he raised his head,
recognized the old friend of his master, and, howling with grief, he em-
braced his knees, watering the floor with his tears. H'Artagnan raised
up the poor intendant, embraced him as if he had been a brother, and,
having nobly saluted the assembly, who all bowed as they whispered to
each other his name, he went and took his seat at the extremity of the
great carved oak hall, still holding by the hand poor Mousqueton, who
was suffocating and sunk down upon the steps. Then the procureur,
who, like the rest, was considerably agitated, commenced the reading.
Porthos, after a profession of faith of the most Christian character,
asked pardon of his enemies for all the injuries he might have done
them. At this paragraph, a ray of inexpressible pride beamed from
the eyes of d'Artagnan. He recalled to his mind the old soldier; all
those enemies of Porthos brought to the earth by his valiant hand, he
reckoned up the numbers of them, and said to himself that Porthos
had acted wisely not to detail his enemies or the inj uries done to them,
or the task would have been too much for the reader. Then came the
following enumeration:—
" I possess at this present time, by the grace of God:—
" 1. The domain of Pierrefonds, lands, woods, meadows, waters, and
forests, surrounded by good 'walls.
" 2. The domain of Bracieux, chateau, forests, ploughed lands, form-
ing three farms.
" TOETHOS'S WILL. 56?
" 3. The little estate du Vallon, so named because it is in the valley."
(Brave Porthos!)
" 4 Pifty farms in Touraine, amounting to five hundred acres.
" 5. Three mills upon the Cher, bringing in six hundred livres each.
" 6. Three fish-pools in Berry, producing two hundred livres a year.
"As to my personal or moveable property, so called because it can be
moved, as is so well explained by my learned friend the bishop of
Vannes " (D'Artagnan shuddered at the dismal remembrance
attached to that name)—the procureur continued imperturbably—
" they consist—1. In goods which I cannot detail here for wftnt of
room, and which furnish all my chateaux or houses, but of which the
list is drawn up by my intendant."
Every one turned his eyes towards Mousqueton, who was absorbed in
his grief.
" 2. In twenty horses for saddle and draught, which I have particu-
larly at my chateau of Pierrefonds, and which are called—Bayard, Bo-
land, Charlemagne, Pepin, Dunois, La Hire, Ogier, Samson, Milo,
Nimrod, Urganda, Armida, Ealstrade, Dalilali, Bebecca, Yolande,
Einette, Grisette, Lisette, and Musette.
" 3. In sixty dogs, forming six packs, divided as follows: the first, for
the stag; the second, for the wolf; the third for the wild boar; the
fourth, for the hare; and the two others, for setters and protection.
" 4. In arms for war and the chase contained in my gallery of arms.
" 5. My wines of Anjou, selected for Athos, who liked them for-
merly; my wines of Burgundy, Champagne, Bordeaux, and Spain,
stocking eight cellars and twelve vaults, in my various houses.
" 6. My pictures and statues which are said to be of great value, and
which are sufficiently numerous to fatigue the sight.
" 7. My library, consisting of six thousand volumes, quite new, and
have never been opened.
" 8. My silver plate, which is perhaps a little worn, but which ought
to weigh from a thousand to twelve hundred pounds, for I had great
trouble in lifting the coffer that contained it, and could not carry it
more than six times round my chamber.
" 9. All these objects, in addition to the table and house linen, are
divided in the residences I liked the best."
Here the reader stopped to take breath. Every one sighed, coughed,
and redoubled his attention, The procureur resumed:—
" I have lived without having any children, and it is probable I
never shall have any, which to me is a cutting grief. And. yet I am
mistaken, for I have a son, in common with my other friends: that is
M. Baoul Auguste Jules de Bragelonne, the true son of M. le Comte
de la Eere.
" This young nobleman has appeared to me worthy to succeed to the
three valiant gentlemen, of whom I am the friend and the very humble
servant."
Here a sharp sound interrupted the reader. It was d'Artagnan's
sword, which, slipping from his baldric, had fallen on the sonorous
flooring. Every one turned his eyes that way, and saw that a large tear
had rolled from the thick lid of d'Artagnan on to his aquiline nose, the
luminous edge of which shone like a crescent enlightened by the sun.
" This is why," continued the procureur, " I have left all my property,
movable or immovable, comprised in the above enumerations, to M. le
Vicomte Baoul Auguste Jules de Bragelonne, son of M. le Comte de la
Eere, to console him for the grief he seems to suffer, and enable him to
support his name gloriously." A long murmur ran through the
56S THE VICOMTE DB BBAGELONNE.
auditory. The procureur continued, seconded by the flashing eye of
d'Artagnan, which, glancing over the assembly, quickly restored the in-
terrupted silence:—
" On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do give to M. le
Chevalier d'Artagnan, captain of the king's musketeers, whatever the
said Chevalier d'Artagnan may demand of my property. On condition
that M. le "Vicomte de Bragelonne do pay a good pension to M. le
Chevalier d'Herblay, my friend, if he should need it in exile. I leave
to my intendant Mousqueton all my clothes, of city, war, or chase, to
the number of forty-seven suits, with the assurance that he will wear
them till they are worn out, for the love of, and in remembrance of his
master. Moreover, I bequeath to M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne my old
servant and faithful friend Mousqueton, already named, providing that
the said vicomte shall so act that Mousqueton shall declare when dying
he has never ceased to be happy."
On hearing these words, Mousqueton bowed, pale and trembling;
his large shoulders shook convulsively; his countenance, impressed by a
frightful grief, appeared from between his icy hands, and the spectators
saw him stagger, and hesitate, as if, though wishing to leave the hall,
he did not know the way.
" Mousqueton, my good friend," said d'Artagnan, " go and make your
preparations. I will take you with me to Athos's house, whither I
shall go on leaving Pierrefonds."
Mousqueton made no reply. He scarcely breathed, as if everything
in that hall would from that time be foreign. He opened the door,
and disappeared slowly.
The procureur finished his reading, after which the greater part of
those who had come to hear the last will of Porthos dispersed by
degrees, many disappointed, but all penetrated with respect. As to
d'Artagnan, left alone, after having received the formal compliments
of the procureur, he was lost in admiration of the wisdom of the testa-
tor, who had so judiciously bestowed his wealth upon the most neces-
sitous and the most worthy, with a delicacy that none among the most
refined courtiers and the most noble hearts could have displayed more
becomingly. "When Porthos enjoined Raoul de Bragelonne to give to
d'Artagnan all he would ask, he knew well, did that worthy Porthos,
that d'Artagnan would ask or take nothing; and, in case he did demand
anything, none but himself could say what. Porthos left a pension to
Aramis, who, if he should be inclined to ask too much, was checked by
the example of d'Artagnan; and that word exile, thrown out by the
testator, without apparent intention, was it not the most mild, the
most exquisite criticism upon that conduct of Aramis which had
brought about the death of Porthos. But there was no mention of
Athos in the testament of the dead. Could the latter for a moment
suppose that the son would not offer the best part to the father P The
rough mind of Porthos had judged all these causes, seized all these
shades, better than the law, better than custom, better than taste.
" Porthos was a heart," said d'Artagnan to himself, with a sigh. As
he made this reflection, he fancied he heard a groan in the room above
him; and he thought immediately of poor Mousqueton, whom he felt
it was a pleasing duty to divert from his grief. Por this purpose he
left the hall hastily to seek the worthy intendant, as he had not re-
turned. He ascended the staircase leading to the first story, and per-
ceived, in Porthos's own chamber, a heap of clothes of all colours and
all materials, upon which Mousqueton had laid himself down after
heaping them together. It was the legacy of the faithful friend.
the old age oe athos. 5G9
Those clothes were truly his own; they had been given to him; the
hand of Mousqueton was stretched over these relics, which he kissed
with all his lips, with all his face, which he covered with his whole body.
D'Artagnan approached to console the poor fellow.
" My God !" said he " he does not stir—he has fainted!"
But d'Artagnan was mistaken—Mousqueton was dead ! Dead, like
the dog who, having lost his master, comes back to die upon his cloak.
CHAPTER CXXIII.
The Old Age of Athos.
"While all these affairs were separating for ever the four musketeers,
formerly bound together in a manner that seemed indissoluble, Athos,
left alone after the departure of Raoul, began to pay his tribute to
that anticipated death which is called the absence of those we love.
Returned to his house at Blois, no longer having even Grimaud to
receive a poor smile when he passed through the parterre, Athos daily
felt the decline of the vigour of a nature which for so long a time had
appeared infallible. Age, which had been kept back by the presence of
the beloved object, arrived with that cortege of pains and inconveniences,
which increases in proportion as it makes itself looked for. Athos had
no longer his son to induce him to walk firmly, with his head erect, as
a good example; he had no longer, in those brilliant eyes of the young
man, an ever-ardent focus at which to regenerate the fire of his looks.
And then, must it be said, that nature, exquisite in its tenderness and
its reserve, no longer finding anything that comprehended its feelings,
gave itself up to grief with all the warmth of vulgar natures when they
give themselves up to joy. The Comte de la Dere, who had remained a
young man up to his sixty-second year; the warrior who had preserved
his strength in spite of fatigues, his freshness of mind in spite of mis-
fortunes, his mild serenity of soul and body in spite of milady, in spite
of Mazarin, in spite of La Yalliere; Athos had become an old man in
a week, from the moment at which he had lost the support, of his
latter youth. Still handsome, though bent; noble, but sad; 'gently,
and tottering under his grey hairs, he sought, since his solitude, the
glades where the rays of the sun penetrated through the foliage of the
walks. He discontinued all the strong exercises he had enjoyed
through life, when Raoul was no longer with him. The servants,
accustomed to see him stirring with the dawn at all seasofis, were
astonished to hear seven o'clock strike before their master had quitted
his bed. Athos remained in bed with a book under his pillow, but he
did not sleep, neither did he read. Remaining in bed that he might
no longer have to carry his body, he allowed his soul and spirit to
wander from their envelope, and return to his son, or to God.
His people were sometimes terrified to see him, for hours together,
absorbed in a silent reverie, mute and insensible; he no longer heard
the timid step of the servant who came to the door of his chamber to
watch the sleeping or waking of his master. It often occurred that he
forgot that the day had half passed away, that the hours for the two
first meals were gone by. Then he was awakened. He rose, descended
to his shaded walk, then came out a little into the sun, as if to partake
its warmth for a minute with his absent child. And then the dismal,
monotonous walk recommenced, until, quite exhausted, he regained the
570 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
chamber and the bed, his domicile by choice. For several days the
comte did not speak a single word. He refused to receive the visits
that were paid him, aDd, during the night, he was seen to relight his
lamp and pass long hours in writing, or examining parchments.
Athos wrote one of these letters to Yannes, another to Fontainebleau:
they remained without answers. "We know why Aramis had quitted
Prance, and d'Artagnan was travelling from Nantes to Paris, from
Paris to Pierrefonds. His valet-de-chambre observed that he shortened
his walk every day by several turns. The great alley of limes soon
became too long for feet that used to traverse it formerly a hundred
times in a day. The comte walked feebly as far as the middle trees,
seated himself upon a mossy bank which sloped towards a lateral walk,
and there waited the return of his strength, or rather the return of
night. Yery shortly, a hundred steps exhausted him. At length Athos
refused to rise at all; he declined all nourishment, and his terrified
people, although he did not complain, although he had a smile on his
lips, although he continued to speak with his sweet voice—his people
went to Blois in search of the ancient physician of the late Monsieur,
and brought him to the Comte de la Fere in such a fashion that he
could see the comte without being himself seen. Por this purpose, they
placed him in a closet adjoining the chamber of the patient, and implored
him not to show himself, in the fear of displeasing their master, who
had not asked for a physician. The doctor obeyed; Athos was a sort of
model for the gentlemen of the country; the Blaisois boasted of pos-
sessing this sacred relic of the old Prench glories. Athos was a great
seigneur compared with such nobles as the king improvised by touch-
ing with his yellow fecundating sceptre the dried trunks of the
heraldric trees of the province.
People respected, we say, if they did not love Athos. The physician
could not bear to see his people weep, and to see flock round him the
poor of the canton, to whom Athos gave life and consolation by his kind
words and his charities. He examined, therefore, from the depths of
his hiding-place, the nature of that mysterious malady which bent down
and devoured more mortally every day a man but lately so full of life,
and of a desire to live. He remarked upon the cheeks of Athos the
purple of fever, which fires itself and feeds itself; slow fever, pitiless,
born in a fold of the heart, sheltering itself behind that rampart, grow-
ing from the suffering it engenders, at once cause and effect of a perilous
situation. The comte spoke to nobody, we say; he did not even talk to
himself. His thought feared noise; it approached to that degree of
over-excitement which borders upon ecstasy. Man thus absorbed,
though he does not yet belong to God, already belongs no longer to
earth. The doctor remained for several hours studying this painful
struggle of the will against a superior power; he was terrified at seeing
those eyes always fixed,always directed towards an invisible object; he
was terrified at seeing beat with the same movement that heart from
which never a sigh arose to vary the melancholy state; sometimes the
acuteness of pain creates the hope of the physician. Half a day passed
away thus. The doctor formed his resolution like a brave man, like a
man of firm mind; he issued suddenly from his place of retreat, and
went straight up to Athos, who saw him without evincing more sur-
prise than if he had understood nothing cf this apparition.
" Monsieur le comte, I crave your pardon," said the doctor, coming
up to the patient with open arms; " but I have a reproach to make
you—you shall hear me." And he seated himself by the pillow of
Athos, who had great trouble in rousing himself from his preoccu-
pation.
THE OLD AGE OF ATHOS. 571
" What is the matter, doctor ?" asked the comte, after a silence.
" Why, the matter is, you are ill, monsieur, and have had no advice."
" I! ill!" said Athos, smiling.
" Fever, consumption, weakness, decay, monsieur le comte !"
" Weakness !" replied Athos; " is that possible ? I do not get up."
' Come, come! monsieur le comte, no subterfuges; you are a good
Christian ?" " I hope so," said Athos.
" Would you kill yourself?" " Never, doctor."
" Well! monsieur, you are in a fair way of doing so; to remain thus
is suicide; get well! monsieur le comte, get well!"
" Of what ? Find the disease first. For my part, I never knew
myself better; never did the sky appear more blue to me; never did I
take more care of my flowers."
" You have a concealed grief."
" Concealed!—not at all; I have the absence of my son, doctor; that
is my malady, and I do not conceal it."
" Monsieur le comte, your son lives, he is strong, he has all
the future before him of men of his merit, and of his race; live for
him "
" But I do live, doctor; oh! be satisfied of that," added he, with a
melancholy smile; " as long as Raoul lives, it will be plainly known, for
as long as lie lives, I shall live."
" What do you say ?" '
"A very simple thing. At this moment, doctor, I leave life suspended
in me. A forgetful, dissipated, indifferent life would be above my
strength, now I have no longer Raoul with me. You do not ask the
lamp to burn when the spark has not enlightened the flame; do not
ask me to live amidst noise and light. I vegetate, I prepare myself,
I wait. Look, doctor; remember those soldiers we have so often seen
together at the ports, where they were waiting to embark; lying down,
indifferent, half upon one element, half upon the other; they were
neither at the place where the sea was going to carry them, nor at the
place where the earth was going to lose them: baggages prepared,
minds upon the stretch, looks fixed—they waited. I repeat it, that
word is the one which paints my present life. Lying down, like the
soldiers, my ear on the stretch for the reports that may reach me, I
wish to be ready to set out at the first summons. Who will make me
that summons ? life or death ? God or Raoul ? My baggage is packed,
my soul is prepared, I await the signal—I wait, doctor, I wait! "
The doctor knew the temper of that mind; he appreciated the
strength of that body; he reflected-for a moment, told himself that
words were useless, remedies absurd, and he left the chateau, exhorting
Athos's servants not to leave him for a moment.
The doctor being gone, Athos evinced neither anger nor vexation at
having been disturbed. He did not even', desire that all letters that
came should be brought to him directly. He knew very well that every
distraction which should arrive would be a joy, a hope, which his ser-
vants would have paid with their blood to procure him. Sleep had
become rare. By intense thinking, Athos forgot himself, for a few hours
at most, in a reverie more profound, more obscure than other people
would have called a dream. This momentary repose which this forget-
fulness afforded the body, fatigued the soul, for Athos lived a double
life during these wanderings of his understanding. One night, he
dreamt that Raoul was dressing himself in a tent, to go upon an expe-
dition commanded by M. de Beaufort in person. The young man was
sad; he clasped his cuirass slowly, and slowly he girded on his sword.
572 the vicomte de bragelonne.
"What is the matter ?" asked his father, tenderly.
"What afflicts me is the death of Porthos, ever so dear a friend,"
replied Raoul. " I suffer here of the grief you will feel at home."
And the vision disappeared with the slumber of Athos. At daybreak
one of his servants entered his master's apartment, and gave him a
letter which came from Spain.
" The writing of Aramis," thought the comte; and he read.
"Porthos is dead!" cried he, after the first lines. "Oh! Raoul,
Raoul! thanks ! thou keepest thy promise, thou warnest me !"
And Athos, seized with a mortal sweat, fainted in his bed, without
any other cause than his weakness.
CHAPTER CXXIY.
The Vision of Athos.
When this fainting of Athos had ceased, the comte, almost ashamed
of having given way before this supernatural event, dressed himself
and ordered his horse, determined to ride to Blois, to open more cer-
tain correspondence with either Africa, d'Artagnan, or Aramis. In
fact, this letter from Aramis informed the Comte de la Fere of the bad
success of the expedition of Belle-Isle. It gave him sufficient details of
the death of Porthos, to move the tender and devoted heart of Athos
to its last fibres. Athos wished to go and pay his friend Porthos a last
visit. To render this honour to his companion in arms, he meant to
send to d'Artagnan, to prevail upon him to recommence the painful
voyage to Belle-Isle, to accomplish in his company that sad pilgrimage
to the tomb of the giant he had so much loved, then to return to his
dwelling to obey that secret influence which was conducting him to
eternity by a mysterious road. But scarcely had his joyous servants
dressed their master, whom they saw with pleasure preparing himself
for a journey which might dissipate his melancholy; scarcely had the
comte's gentlest horse been saddled and brought to the door, than the
father of Raoul felt his head become confused, his legs give way, and he
clearly perceived the impossibility of going one step further. He
ordered himself to be carried into the sun; they laid him upon his bed
of moss, where he passed a full hour before he could recover his spirits.
Nothing could be more natural than this weakness after the inert
repose of the latter days. Athos took a bouillon, to give him strength,
and bathed his dried lips in a glassful of the wine he loved the best—that
old Anjou wine mentioned by Porthos in his admirable will. Then,
refreshed, free in mind, he had his horse brought again; but it required
the aid of his servants to mount painfully into the saddle. He did not go
a hundred paces; a shivering seized him again at the turning of the road.
" This is very strange!" said he to his valet-de-chambre, who accom-
panied him.
" Let us stop, monsieur—I conjure you!" replied the faithful servant;
" how pale you are getting!"
" That will not prevent my pursuing my route, now I have once
started," replied the comte. And he gave his horse his head again.
But suddenly, the animal, instead ©f obeying the thought of his master,
stopped. A movement, of which Athos was unconscious, had checked
the bit.
the vision oe athos. 573
" Something," said Athos, " wills that I should go no further. Sup-
port me," added he, stretching out his arms; " quick! come closer! I
feel all my muscles relax, and I shall fall from my horse."
The valet had seen the movement made by his master at the moment
he received the order. He went up to him quickly, received the comte
in his arms, and as they were not yet sufficiently distant from the
house for the servants, who had remained at the door to watch their
master's departure, not to perceive the disorder in the usually regular
proceeding of the comte, the valet called his comrades by gestures and
voice, and all hastened to his assistance. Athos had gone but a few
steps on his return, when he felt himself better again. His strength
seemed to revive, and with it the desire to go to Blois. He made his
horse turn round; but, at the animal's first steps, he sunk again into
a state of torpor and anguish.
"Well! decidedly," said he, "it is willed that I should stay at
home." His people flocked around him; they lifted him from his horse,
and carried him as quickly as possible into the house. Everything was
soonprepared in his chamber, and they put him to bed.
" You will be sure to remember," said he, disposing himself to sleep,
" that I expect letters from Africa this very day."
" Monsieur will no doubt hear with pleasure that Blaisois' son is gone
on horseback, to gain an hour over the courier of Blois," replied his
valet-de-chambre.
" Thank you," replied Athos, with his bland smile.
The comte fell asleep, but his disturbed slumber resembled suffering
more than repose. The servant who watched him saw several times
the expression of interior torture thrown out upon his features. Per-
haps Athos was dreaming. The day passed away. Blaisois' son re-
turned: the courier had brought no news. The comte reckoned the
minutes with despair; he shuddered when those minutes had formed
an hour. The idea that he was forgotten seized him once, and brought
on a fearful pang of the heart. Everybody in the house had given up all
hopes of the courier—his hour had long passed. Pour times the ex-
press sent to Blois had reiterated his journey, and there was nothing
to the address of the comte. Athos knew that the courier only arrived
once a week. Here, then, was a delay of eight mortal days to be en-
dured. He commenced the night in this painful persuasion. All that
a sick man, irritated by suffering, can add of melancholy suppositions
to probabilities always sad, Athos heaped up during the early hours of
this dismal night. The fever rose; it invaded the chest, where the fire
soon caught, according to the expression of the physician, who had
been brought back from Blois by Blaisois at his last journey. It soon
gained the head. The physician made two successive bleedings, which
unlodged it, but left the patient very weak, and without power of action
in anything but his brain. And yet this redoubtable fever had ceased.
It besieged with its last palpitations the stiffened extremities; it ended
by yielding as midnight struck.
The physician, seeing the incontestible improvement, returned to
Blois, after having ordered some prescriptions, and declared that the
comte was saved. Then commenced for Athos a strange, indefinable
state. Eree to think, his mind turned towards Raoul, that beloved son.
His imagination painted the fields of Africa in the environs of Gigelli,
where M. de Beaufort must have landed his army. There were grey
rocks, rendered green in certain parts by the waters of the sea, when it
I lashed the shore in storms and tempests. Beyond, the shore, strewed
574 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONNE.
over with these rocks like tombs, ascended, in form of an amphitheatre
among mastick-trees and cactus, a sort of small town, full of smoke,
confused noises and terrified movements. All on a sudden, from the
bosom of this smoke arose a flame, which succeeded, by creeping along
the houses, in covering the whole surface of this town, and which in-
creased by degrees, uniting in its red vortices tears, cries, arms ex-
tended towards heaven.
There was, for a moment, a frightful pele-mele of madriers falling to
pieces, of swords broken, of stones calcined, of trees burnt and dis-
appearing. It was a strange thing that in this chaos, in which Athos
distinguished raised arms, in which he heard cries, sobs and groans, he
did not see one human figure. The cannon thundered at a distance,
musketry cracked, the sea moaned, flocks made their escape, bounding
over the verdant slope. But not a soldier to apply the match to the
batteries of cannon, not a sailor to assist in manoeuvring the fleet, not a
shepherd for the flocks. After the ruin of the village, and the de-
struction of the forts which dominated it, a ruin and a destruction
operated, magically without the co-operation of a single human being,
the flame was extinguished, the smoke began to descend, then di-
minished in intensity, paled, and disappeared entirely. Night then
came over the scene; a night dark upon the earth, brilliant in the
firmament. The large blazing stars which sparkled in the African sky
shone without lighting anything even around them.
A long silence ensued, which gave, for a moment, repose to the
troubled imagination of Athos; and, as he felt that that which be saw
was not terminated, he applied more attentively the looks of his under-
standing upon the strange spectacle which his imagination had pre-
sented. This spectacle was soon continued for him. A mild and pale
moon arose behind the declivities of the coast, and streaking at first the
undulating ripples of the sea, which appeared to have calmed after the
roarings it had sent forth during the vision of Athos—the moon, say we,
shed its diamonds and opals upon the briars and bushes of the hills.
The grey rocks, like so many silent and attentive phantoms, appeared
to raise their verdant heads to examine likewise the field of battle by
the light of the moon, and Athos perceived that that field, entirely void
during the combat, was now strewed over with fallen bodies.
An inexpressible shudder of fear and horror seized his soul when he
recognised the white and blue uniform of the soldiers of Picardy, with
their long pikes and blue handles, and their muskets marked with the
fleur-de-lis on the buts. When he saw all the gaping, cold wounds,
looking up to the azure heavens as if to demand back of them the souls
to which they had opened a passage,—when he saw the slaughtered
horses, stiff, with their tongues hanging out at one side of their mouths,
sleeping in the icy blood pooled around them, staining their furniture
and their manes,—when he saw the white horse of M. de Beaufort,
with his head beaten to pieces, in the first ranks of the dead, Athos
passed a cold hand over his brow, which he was astonished not to find
burning. He. was convinced by this touch that he was present, as a
spectator, without fever, at the day after a battle fought upon the shores
of Gigelli by the army of the expedition, which he had seen leave the
coasts of Prance and disappear in the horizon, and of which he had
saluted with thought and gesture the last cannon shot-fired by the duke
as a signal of farewell to his country.
Who can paint the mortal agony with which his soul followed, like a
vigilant eye, the trace of those dead bodies, and examined them, one
after the other, to see if Raoul slept among them P Who can express
THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 575
the intoxication of joy with which Athos bowed before God, and
thanked him for not having seen him he sought with so much fear
among the dead? In fact, fallen dead in their ranks, stiff, icy, all
these dead, easy to be recognized, seemed to turn with complacency
towards the Comte de la Pere, to be the better seen by him during his
funeral inspection. But yet, he was astonished, while viewing all these
bodies, not to perceive the survivors. To such a point did the illusion
extend, that this vision was for him a real voyage made by the father into
Africa, to obtain more exact information respecting his son.
Patigued, therefore, with having traversed seas and continents,
he sought repose under one of the tents sheltered behind a rock, on the
top of which floated the white fleur-de-lised pennon. He looked for
a soldier to conduct him to the tent of M. de Beaufort. Then, while
his eye was wandering over the plain, turning on all sides, he saw
a white form appear behind the resinous myrtles. This figure was
clothed in the costume of an officer: it held in its hand a broken
sword: it advanced slowly towards Athos, who, stopping short and
fixing his eyes upon it, neither spoke nor moved, but wished to open
his arms, because, in this silent and pale officer, he had just recognized
Eaoul. The comte attempted to utter a cry, but it remained stifled in
his throat. Eaoul, with a gesture,.directed him to be silent, placing his
finger on his lips and drawing back by degrees, without Athos being
able to see his legs move. The comte, more pale than Eaoul, more
trembling, followed his son, traversing painfully briars and bushes,
stones and ditches, Eaoul not appearing to touch the earth, and no
obstacle impeding the lightness of his march. The comte, whom the
inequalities of the path fatigued, soon stopped, exhausted. Eaoul still
continued to beckon him to follow him. The tender father, to whom
love restored strength, made a last effort, and climbed the mountain
after the young man, who attracted him by his gesture and his smile.
At length he gained the crest of the hill, and saw, thrown out in
black, upon the horizon whitened by the moon, the elongated serial
form of Eaoul. Athos stretched out his hand to get closer to his
beloved son upon the plateau, and the latter also stretched out his;
but suddenly, as if the young man had been drawn away in spite of
himself, still retreating, he left the earth, and Athos saw the clear blue
sky shine between the feet of his child and the ground of the hill.
Eaoul rose insensibly into the void, still smiling, still calling with
a gesturehe departed towards heaven. Athos uttered a cry of
terrified tenderness. H,e looked below again. He saw a camp destroyed,
and all those white bodies of the royal army, like so many motionless
\toms. And, then, when raising his head, he saw still, still, his son
beckoning him to ascend with him.
CHAPTER CXXV.
The Angel of Death.
Athos was at this part ®f his marvellous vision, when the charm was
suddenly broken by a great noise rising from the outward gates of the
house. A horse was heard galloping over the hard gravel of the great
alley, and the sound of most noisy and animated conversations ascended
to the chamber in which the comte was dreaming. Athos did not stir
from the place he occupied; he scarcely turned his head towards the
576 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
door to ascertain the sooner what these noises could be. A heavy step
ascended the stairs; the horse which had recently galloped, departed
slowly towards the stables. Great hesitation appeared in the steps,
which by degrees approached the chamber of Athos. A door then was
opened, and Athos, turning a little towards the part of the room the
noise came from, cried in a weak voice:
" It is a courier from Africa, is it not ?"
" No, monsieur le comte," replied a voice which made the father of
Eaoul start upright in his bed.
" Grimaud!" murmured he. And the sweat began to pour down his
cheeks. Grimaud appeared in the door-way. It was no longer the
Grimaud we have seen, still young with courage and devotion, when he
jumped the first into the boat destined to convey Eaoul de Bragelonne
to the vessels of the royal fleet. He was a stern and pale old man, his
clothes covered with dust, with a few scattered hairs whitened by old
age. He trembled whilst leading against the door-frame, and was near
falling on seeing, by the light of the lamps, the countenance of his
master. These two men, who had lived so long together in a com-
munity of intelligence, and whose eyes, accustomed to economize expres-
sions, knew how to say so many things silently—these two old friends,
one as noble as the other in heart, if they were unequal in fortune and
birth, remained interdicted whilst looking at each other. By the
exchange of a single glance they had just read to the bottom of each
other's heart. Grimaud bore upon his countenance the impression of
a grief already old, of a dismal familiarity with it. He appeared to
have no longer in use but one single version of his thoughts. As
formerly he was accustomed not to speak much, he was now accustomed
not to smile at all. Athos read at a glance all these shades upon the
visage of his faithful servant, and in the same tone he would have
employed to speak to Eaoul in his dream,—
Grimaud," said he, " Eaoul is dead, is he not?"
Behind Grimaud, the other servants listened breathlessly, with their
eyes fixed upon the bed of their sick master. They heard the terrible
question, and an awful silence ensued.
" Yes," replied the old man, heaving up the monosyllable from his
chest with a hoarse, broken sigh.
Then arose voices of lamentation, which groaned without measure, and
filled with regrets and prayers the chamber where the agonized father
sought with his eyes for the portrait of his son. This was for Athos
like the transition which led to his dream. Without uttering a cry,
without shedding a tear, patient, mild, resigned as a martyr, he raised
his eyes towards heaven, in order to there see again, rising above
the mountain of Gigelli, the beloved shade which was leaving him at the
moment of Grimaud's arrival. Without doubt, while looking towards
the heavens, when resuming his marvellous dream, he repassed by the
same road by which the vision, at once so terrible and so sweet, had led
him before, for, after having gently closed his eyes, he re-opened them
and began to smile: he had just seen Eaoul, who had smiled upon him.
With his hands joined upon his breast, his face turned towards the
window, bathed by the fresh air of night, which brought to his pillow
the aroma of the flowers and the woods, Athos entered, never again to
come out of it, into the contemplation of that paradise which the living
never see. God willed, no doubt, to open to this elect the treasures of
eternal beatitude, at the hour when other men tremble with the idea of
being severely received by the Lord, and cling to this life they know, in
the dread of the other life of which they get a glimpse by the dismal,
TEE ANGEL OF DEATE. 577
murky torches of death. Athos was guided by the pure and serene
soiil of his son, which aspired to be like the paternal soul. Everything
for this just man was melody and perfume in the rough road which
souls take to return to the celestial country. After an hour of this
extasy, Athos softly raised his hands as white as wax; the smile did
not quit his lips, and he murmured low, so low as scarcely to be
audible, these three words addressed to God or to Eaoul:
"Heee I am!"
And his hands fell down slowly, as if he himself had laid them on the
bed.
Death had been kind and mild to this noble creature. It had spared
him the tortures of the agony, the convulsions of the last departure;
it had opened with an indulgent finger the gates of eternity to that
noble soul worthy of every respect. God had no doubt ordered it thus
that the pious remembrance of this death should remain in the hearts
of those present, and in the memory of other men—a death which caused
to be loved the passage from this life to the other by those whose
existence upon this earth leads them not to dread the last judgment.
Athos preserved, even in the eternal sleep, that placid and sincere smile—
an ornament which was to accompany him to the tomb. The quietude of
his features, the calm of his nothingness, made his servants for a long
time doubt whether he had really quitted life. The comte's people
wished to remove Grimaud, who, from a distance devoured the face
growing so pale, and did not approach, from the pious fear of bringing
to him the breath of death. But Grimaud, fatigued as he was, refused
to leave the room. He sat himself down upon the threshold, watching
his master with the vigilance of a sentinel, and jealous to receive either
his first waking look, or his last dying sigh. The noises were all quieted
in the house, and every one respected the slumber of their lord. But
Grimaud, by anxiously listening, perceived that the comte no longer
breathed. He raised himself, with his hands leaning on the ground,
looked to see if there did not appear some motion in the body of his
master. Nothing! Bear seized him ; he rose completely up, and, at
the very moment, heard some one coming up the stairs. A noise of
spurs knocking against a sword—a warlike sound, familiar to his ears—
stopped him as he was going towards the bed of Athos. A voice still
more sonorous than brass or steel resounded within three paces of him.
" Athos ! Athos ! my friend!" cried this voice, agitated even to
tears.
" Monsieur le Chevalier d'Artagnan!" faltered out Grimaud.
" Where is he ? Where is he ? " continued the musketeer.
Grimaud seized his arm in his bony fingers, and pointed to the
bed, upon the sheets of which the livid tint of the dead already showed.
A choked respiration, the opposite to a sharp cry, swelled the throat
of d'Artagnan. He advanced on tip-toe, trembling, frightened at the
noise his feet made upon the floor, and his heart rent by a nameless
agony. He placed his ear to the breast of Athos, his face to the comte's
mouth. Neither noise, nor breath! D'Artagnan drew back. Gri-
maud, who had followed him with his eyes, and for whom each of his
movements had been a revelation, came timidly, and seated himself at
the foot of the bed, and glued his lips to the sheet which was raised by
the stiffened feet of his master. Then large drops began to flow from
his red eyes. This old man in despair, who wept, bent double without
uttering a word, presented the most moving spectacle that d'Artagnan,
in a life so filled with emotion, had ever met with.
The captain remained standing in contemplation before that smiling
TOL. II. 2 P
578 the vicomte de beagelohhe.
dead man, who seemed to have kept his last thought, to make to his
best friend, to the man he had loved next to Raoul, a gracious wel-
come even beyond life ; and as if to reply to that exalted flattery of
hospitality, d'Artagnan went and kissed Athos fervently on the brow,
and with his trembling fingers closed his eyes. Then he seated him-
self by the pillow without dread of that dead man, who had been so kind
and affectionate to him for thirty-five years; he fed himself greedily
with the remembrances which the noble visage of the comte brought to
his mind in crowds—some blooming and charming as that smile—some
dark, dismal, and icy as that face with its eyes closed for eternity.
All at once, the bitter flood which mounted from minute to minute
invaded his heart, and swelled his breast almost to bursting. Inca-
pable of mastering his emotion, he arose, and tearing himself violently
from the chamber where he had just found dead him to whom he
came to report the news of the death of Porthos, he uttered sobs so
heart-rending that the servants who seemed only to wait for an ex-
plosion of grief, answered to it by their lugubrious clamours, and the
dogs of the late comte by their lamentable howlings. Grimaud was
the only one who did not lift up his voice. Even in the paroxysm of
his grief he would not have dared to profane the dead, or for the first
time disturb the slumber of his master. Athos had accustomed him
never to speak.
At day-break, d'Artagnan, who had wandered about the lower hall,
biting his fingers to stifle his sighs—d'Artagnan went up once more;
and watching the moment when Grimaud turned his head towards
him, he made him a sign to come to him, which the faithful servant
obeyed without making more noise than a shadow. D'Artagnan went
down again, followed by Grimaud; and when he had gained the vesti-
bule, taking the old man's hands, " Grimaud," said he, " I have seen
how the father died; now let me know how the son died."
Grimaud drew from his breast a large letter, upon the envelope of
which was traced the address of Athos. He recognized the writing of
M. de Beaufort, broke the seal, and began to read, walking about in the
first blue rays of day, in the dark alley of old limes, marked by the still
visible footsteps of the cojnte who had just died.
CHAPTER CXXYI.
The Bulletin.
The Due de Beaufort wrote to Athos. The letter destined for the
living only reached the dead. God had changed the address.
" My Deae Comte," wrote the prince in his large, bad,_ school-boy's
hand,—" a great misfortune has struck us amidst a great triumph. The
king loses one of the bravest of soldiers. I lose a friend. You lose M. de
Bragelonne. He has died gloriously, and so gloriously that I have not
the strength to weep as I could wish. Receive my sad compliments,
my dear comte. Heaven distributes trials according to the greatness
of our hearts. This is an immense one, but not above your courage.
Your good friend,
"De Due de Beaufoet."
The letter contained a relation written by one of the prince's secre-
taries. It was the most touching recital, and the most true, of that
THE BULLETIN. BTd
dismal episode which, unravelled two existences. D'Artagnan, accus-
tomed to battle emotions, and with a heart armed against tenderness,
could not help starting on reading the name of Raoul, the name of that
beloved boy who had become, as his father had, a shade.
" In the morning," said the prince's secretary, " monseigneur com-
manded the attack. Normandy and Picardy had taken position in the
grey rocks dominated by the heights of the mountain, upon the
declivity of which were raised the bastions of Gigelli.
" The cannon beginning to fire, opened the action; the regiments
marched full of resolution; the pikemen had their pikes elevated, the
bearers of muskets had their weapons ready. The prince followed
attentively the march and movements of the troops, so as to be able to
sustain them with a strong reserve. With monseigneur were the
oldest captains and his aides-de-camp. M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne
had received orders not to leave his highness. In the mean time the
enemy's cannon, which at first had thundered with little success against
the masses, had regulated its fire, and the balls, better directed, had
killed several men near the prince. The regiments formed in column
and which were advancing against the ramparts were rather roughly
handled. There was a sort of hesitation in our troops, who found them-
selves ill-seconded by the artillery. In fact, the batteries which had
been established the evening before had but a weak and uncertain
aim, on account of their position. The direction from low to high
lessened the justness of the shots as well as their range.
" Monseigneur, comprehending the bad effect of this position of the
siege artillery, commanded the frigates moored in the little road to
commence a regular fire against the place. M. de Bragelonne offered
himself at once to carry this order. But monseigneur refused to acqui-
Osce in the vicomte's request. Monseigneur was right, for he loved and
wished to spare the young nobleman. He was quite right, and the event
took upon itself to justify his foresight and refusal; for scarcely had the
sergeant charged with the message solicited by M. de Bragelonne
gained the sea-shore, when two shots from long carbines issued from
the enemy's ranks and laid him low. The sergeant fell, dyeing the sand
with his blood; observing which, M. de Bragelonne smiled at mon-
seigneur, who said to him,' You see, vicomte, I have saved your life.
Report that, some day, to M. le Comte de la Pere, in order that, learning
it from you, he may thank me.' The young nobleman smiled, sadly,
and replied to the due, ' It is true, monseigneur, that but for your
kindness I should have been killed, where the poor sergeant has fallen,
and should be at rest.' M. de Bragelonne made this reply in such a
tone that monseigneur answered him warmly. ' Vrai Dieu I young
man, one would say that your mouth waters for death; but, by the
soul of Henri IV.! I have promised your father to bring you back
alive; and, please the Lord, I will keep my word.'
" Monseigneur de Bragelonne coloured, and replied in a lower v??"c.
' Monseigneur, pardon me, I beseech you; I have always had the desire
to go to meet good opportunities; and it is so delightful to distinguish
ourselves before our general, particularly when that general is M. le
Due de Beaufort.'
" Monseigneur was a little softened by this; and, turning to the officers
who surrounded him, gave his different orders. The grenadiers of the
two regiments got near enough to the ditches and the intrenchments to
launch their grenades, which had but little effect. In the mean while,
M. d'Estrees, who commanded the fleet, having seen the attempt of the
sergeant to approach the vessels, understood that he must act with^
2 P 2
580 THE VICOMTE DS BEAGELONNE.
orders, and opened his fire. Then the Arabs, finding themselves seri-
ously injured by the balls from the fleet, and beholding the destruction
and the ruins of their bad walls, uttered the most fearful cries. Their
horsemen descended the mountain at the gallop, bent over their saddles,
and rushed full tilt upon the columns of infantry, which, crossing their
pikes, stopped this mad assault. Repulsed by the firm attitude of the
battalion, the Arabs threw themselves with great fury towards the etat-
major, which was not on its guard at that moment.
" The danger was great; monseigneur drew his sword; his secretaries
and people imitated him; the officers of the suite engaged in combat
with the furious Arabs. It was then M. de Bragelonne was able to
satisfy the inclination he had manifested from the commencement of the
action. He fought near the prince with the valour of a Roman, and
killed three Arabs with his small sword. But it was evident that his
bravery did not arise from one of those sentiments of pride natural to
all who fight. It was impetuous, affected, forced even ; he sought to
intoxicate himself with noise and carnage. He heated himself to such
a degree that monseigneur called out to him to stop. He must have
heard the voice of monseigneur, because we who were close to him
heard it. He did not, however, stop, but continued his course towards
the entrenchments. As M. de Bragelonne was a well-disciplined officer,
this disobedience to the orders of monseigneur very much surprised
everybody, and M. de Beaufort redoubled his earnestness, crying,' Stop,
Bragelonne! Where are you going ? Stop/ repeated monseigneur,
' I command you !'
"We all, imitating the gesture of M. le due, we all raised our hands.
We expected that the cavalier would turn bridle; but M. de Bragelonne
continued to ride towards the palisades.
"' Stop, Bragelonne!5 repeated the prince, in a very loud voice; ' stop !
in the name of your father !'
"At these words M.de Bragelonne turned round, his countenance ex-
pressed a lively grief, but he did not stop; we then concluded that his
horse must have run away with him. When M. le due had imagined
that the vicomte was not master of his horse, and had seen him pre-
cede the first grenadiers, his highness cried, 'Musketeers, kill his
horse ! A hundred pistoles for him who shall kill his horse!' But
who could expect to hit the beast without at least wounding his rider ?
No one durst venture. At length one presented himself; he was a
sharp-shooter of the regiment of Picarfly, named Luzerne, who took
aim at the animal, fired, and hit him in the quarters, for we saw the
blood redden the hair of the horse. Instead of falling, the cursed
jennet was irritated, and carried him on more furiously than ever. Every
Picard wrho saw this unfortunate young man rushing on to meet death,
shouted in the loudest manner, ' Throw yourself off, monsieur le
vicomte!—off!—off!—throw yourself off !' M. de Bragelonne was an
officer much beloved in the army. Already had the vicomte arrived
within pistol-shot of the ramparts, a discharge was poured upon him,
and enveloped him in its fire and smoke, We lost sight of him; the
smoke dispersed; he was on foot, standing; his horse was killed.
" The vicomte was summoned to surrender by the Arabs, but he
made them a negative sign with his head, and continued to march
towards the palisades. This was a mortal imprudence. Nevertheless
the whole army was pleased that he would not retreat, since ill chance
had led him so near. He marched a few paces further, and the two
regiments clapped their hands. It was at this moment the second dis-
charge shook the walls, and the Vicomte de Bragelonne again disappeared
THE BULLETIN. 581
in the smoke; but this time the smoke was dispersed in vain, we no
longer saw him standing. He was down, with his head lower than
his legs, among the bushes, and the Arabs began to think of leaving
their entrenchments to come and cut off his head or take his body,
as is the custom with the infidels. But Monseigneur le Due de
Beaufort had followed all this with his eyes, and the sad spectacle
drew from. him many and painful sighs. He then cried aloud, seeing
the Arabs running like white phantoms among the mastic-trees, ' Gre-
nadiers! piqueurs! will you let them take that noble body ?'
" Saying these words and waving his sword, he himself rode towards
the enemy. The regiments, rushing in his steps, ran in their turns,
uttering cries as terrible as those of the Arabs were wild.
" The combat commenced over the body of M. de Bragelonne, and with
such inveteracy was it fought that a hundred and sixty Arabs were left
upon the field, by the side of at least fifty of our troops. It was a lieu-
tenant from Normandy who took the body of the vicomte on his
shoulders and carried it back to the lines. The advantage was, how-
ever, pursued, the regiments took the reserve with them and the
enemy's palisades were destroyed. At three o'clock the fire of the
Arabs ceased; the hand to hand fight lasted two hours; that was a
massacre. At five o'clock we were victorious on all the points; the
enemy had abandoned his positions, and M. le due had ordered the
white flag to be planted upon the culminating point of the little
mountain. It was then we had time to think of M. de Bragelonne,
who had eight large wounds through his body, by which almost all his
blood had escaped. Still, however, he breathed, which afforded inex-
pressible joy to monseigneur, who insisted upon being present at the
first dressing of the wounds and at the consultation of the surgeons.
There were two among them who declared M. de Bragelonne would
live. Monseigneur threw his arms round their necks, and promised
them a thousand louis each if they could save him.
" The vicomte heard these transports of joy, and whether he was in
despair, or whether he suffered much from his wounds, he expressed by
his countenance a contradiction, which gave rise to reflection, parti-
cularly in one of the secretaries when he had heard what follows. The
third surgeon was the brother of Sylvain de Saint-Cosme, the most
learned of ours. He probed the wounds in his turn, and said nothing.
M. de Bragelonne fixed his eyes steadily upon the skilful surgeon, and
seemed to interrogate, his every movement. The latter, upon being
questioned by monseigneur, replied that he saw plainly three mortal
wounds out of eight, but so strong was the constitution of the wounded,
so rich was he in youth, and so merciful was the goodness of God, that
perhapsM.de Bragelonne might recover, particularly if he did not move
in the slightest manner. Frere Sylvain added, turning towards his
assistants, ' Above everything, do not allow him to move even a finger,
or you will kill him;' and we all left the tent in very low spirits.
That secretary I have mentioned, on leaving the tent, thought he per-
ceived a faint and sad smile glide over the lips of M. de Bragelonne
when the due said to him, in a cheerful, kind voice, 'We shall save
you, vicomte, we shall save you!'
" In the evening, when it was believed the wounded young man had
taken some repose, one of the assistants entered his tent, but rushed
immediately out again uttering loud cries. We all ran up in dis-
order, M. le due with us, and the assistant pointed to the body of M.
de Bragelonne upon the ground, at the foot of his bed, bathed in the
remainder of his blood. It appeared that he had had some con-
582 THE VIC021TE DE BKAGELONNE.
vulsion, some febrile movement, and that he had fallen; that the fall
had accelerated his end, according to the prognostic of Frere Sylvain.
We raised the vicomte; he was cold and dead. He held a lock of fair
hair in his right hand, and that hand was pressed tightly upon his
heart."
Then followed the details of the expedition, and of the victory
obtained over the Arabs. D'Artagnan stopped at the account of the
death of poor Eaoul. " Oh!" murmured he, " unhappy boy! a
suicide!" .
And turning his eyes towards the chamber of the chateau, in which
\thos slept in eternal sleep, "They kept their words with each other,"
said he, in a low voice; " now I believe them to be happy; they must
be re-united."' And he returned through the parterre with slow and
melancholy steps. All the village—all the neighbourhood—were filled
with grieving neighbours relating to each other the double catastrophe,
and making preparations for the funeral.
CHAPTER CXXVII.
The last Canto of the Poem.
On the morrow, all the noblesse of the provinces, of the environs,
and wherever messengers had carried the news, were seen to arrive.
D'Artagnan had shut himself up, without being willing to speak to
anybody. Two such heavy deaths falling upon the captain, so closely
after the death of Porthos, for a long time oppressed that spirit which
had hitherto been so indefatigable and invulnerable. Except Grimaud,
who entered his chamber once, the musketeer saw neither servants nor
guests. He supposed, from the noises in the house, and the continual
coming and going, that preparations were being made for the funeral of
the comte. He wrote to the king to ask for an extension of his leave
of absence. Grimaud, as we have said, had entered d'Artagnan's
apartment, had seated himself upon a joint-stool near the door, like a
man who meditates profoundly; then, rising, he made a sign to d'Ar-
tagnan to follow him. The latter obeyed in silence. Grimaud descended
to the comte's bed-chamber, showed the captain with his finger the
place of the empty bed, and raised his eyes eloquently towards heaven.
" Yes," replied d'Artagnan, " yes, good Grimaud—now with the son
he loved so much!"
Grimaud left the chamber, and led the way to the hall, where,
according to the custom of the province, the body was laid out, pre-
viously to its being buried for ever. D'Artagnan was struck at seeing
two open coffins in the hall. In reply to the mute invitation of Grimaud,
he approached, and saw in one of them Athos, still handsome in death,
and, in the other, Eaoul with his eyes closed, his cheeks pearly as
those of the Pallas of Virgil, with a smile on his violet lips. He
shuddered at seeing the father and son, those two departed souls,
represented on earth by two silent, melancholy bodies, incapable of
touching each other, however close they might be.
" Eaoul here !" murmured he. " Oh! Grimaud, why did you not tell
me this ? "
Grimaud shook his head, and made no reply; but taking d'Artagnan
by the hand, he led him to the coffin, and showed him, under the thin
winding-sheet, the black wounds by which life had escaped. The
THE LAST CANTO OF THE POEM. 583
captain turned away his eyes, and, judging it useless to question Gri-
maud, who would not answer, he recollected that M. de Beaufort's
secretary had written more than he, d'Artagnan, had had the courage
to read. Taking up the recital of the affair which had cost Eaoul his
life, he found these words, which terminated the last paragraph of the
letter:—
" Monsieur le due has ordered that the body of monsieur le vicomte
should be embalmed, after the manner practised by the Arabs when
they wish their bodies to be carried to their native land; and mon-
sieur le due has appointed relays, so that a confidential servant who
brought up the young man, might take back his remains to M. le
Comte de la here."
" And so," thought d'Artagnan, " I shall follow thy funeral, my dear
boy—I, already old—I, who am of no value on earth—and I shall
scatter the dust upon that brow wnich I kissed but two months since.
God has willed it to be so. Thou hast willed it to be so, thyself. I
have no longer the right even to weep. Thou hast chosen death; it
hath seemed to thee preferable to life."
At length arrived the moment when the cold remains of these two
gentlemen were to be returned to the earth. There was such an afflu-
ence of military and other people that up to the place of sepulture,
which was a chapel in the plain, the road from the city was filled with
horsemen and pedestrians in mourning habits. Athos had chosen for
his resting-place the little enclosure of a chapel erected by himself
near the boundary of his estates. He had had the stones, cut in 1550,
brought from an old gothic manor-house in Berry, which had sheltered
his early youth. The chapel, thus re-edified, thus transported, _ was
pleasant beneath its wood of poplars and sycamores. It was adminis-
tered every Sunday, by the cure of the neighbouring bourg, to whom
Athos paid an allowance of two hundred francs for this service; and all
the vassals of his domain, to the number of about forty, the labourers,
and the farmers, with their families, came thither to hear mass, without
having any occasion to go to the city.
Behind the chapel extended, surrounded by two high hedges of nut-
trees, elders, white thorns and a deep ditch, the little enclosure —
uncultivated, it is true, but gay in its sterility; because the mosses
there were high, because the wild heliotropes and ravenelles there
mixed their perfumes, because beneath the tall chestnuts issued a large
spring, a prisoner in a cistern of marble, and that upon the thyme all
around alighted thousands of bees from the neighbouring plains,
whilst chaffinches and redthroats sang cheerfully among the flowers of
the hedge. It was to this place the two coffins were brought, attended
by a silent and respectful crowd. The office of the dead being cele-
brated, the last adieux paid to the noble departed, the assembly dis-
persed, talking, along the roads, of the virtues and mild death of the
father, of the hopes the son had given, and of his melancholy end upon
the coast of Africa.
By little and little, all noises were extinguished, like the lamps
illuming the humble nave. The minister bowed for a last time to the
altar and the still fresh graves, then, followed by his assistant, who rang
a hoarse bell, he slowly took the road back to the presbytery. D'Ar-
tagnan, left alone, perceived that night was coming on. He had for-
gotten the hour, while thinking of the dead. He arose from the oaken
bench on which he was seated in the chapel, and wished, as the priest
had done, to go and bid a last adieu to the double grave which contained
his two lost friends.
584 THE YICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
A woman was praying, kneeling on the, moist earth. D'Artagnan
stopped at the door of the chapel, to avoid disturbing this woman ;
and also to endeavour to see who was the pious friend who performed
this sacred duty with so much zeal and perseverance. The unknown
concealed her face in her hands, which were white as alabaster. From
the noble simplicity of her costume, she must be a woman of distinction.
Outside the enclosure were several horses mounted by servants, and a
travelling carriage waiting for this lady. D'Artagnan in vain sought to
make out what caused her delay. She continued praying, she fre-
quently passed her handkerchief over her face, by which d'Artagnan
perceived she was weeping. He saw her strike her breast with the
pitiless compunction of a Christian woman. He heard her several
times proffer, as if from a wounded heart: " Pardon ! pardon !" And as
she appeared to abandon herself entirely to her grief, as she threw
herself down, almost fainting, amidst complaints and prayers, d'Arta-
gnan, touched by his love for his so much regretted friends, made a few
steps towards the grave, in order to interrupt the melancholy colloquy
of the penitent with the dead. But as soon as his step sounded on the
gravel the unknown raised her head, revealing to d'Artagnan a face
inundated with tears, but a well-known face. It was Madaemoiselle
de la Valliere! " Monsieur d'Artagnan !" murmured she.
"You!" replied the captain, in a stern voice —"you here! —oh!
madame, I should better have liked to see you decked with flowers
in the mansion of the Comte de la Fere. You would have wept less—
they too—I too !"
" Monsieur !" she said, sobbing.
"For it is you," added this pitiless friend of the dead,—"it is you who
have laid these two men in the grave."
" Oh! spare me!"
"God forbid, madame, that I should offend a woman, or that I
should make her weep in vain; but I must say that the place of the
murderer is not upon the grave of her victims." She wished to reply.
" What I now tell you," added he, coldly," I told the king."
She clasped her hands. "I know," said she, "I have caused the
death of the Vicomte de Bragelonne."
"Ah! you know it?"
" The news arrived at court yesterday. I have travelled during the
night forty leagues to come and ask pardon of the comte, whom I sup-
posed to be still living, and to supplicate God, upon the tomb of Raoul,
that he would send me all the misfortunes I have merited, except a
single one. Now, monsieur, I know that the death of the son has killed
the father; I have two crimes to reproach myself with; I have two
punishments to look for from God."
" I will repeat to you, mademoiselle," said d'Artagnan, " what M. de
Bragelonne said of you at Antibes, when he already meditated death:
' If pride and coquetry have misled her, I pardon her while despising
her. If love has produced her error, I pardon her, swearing that no
one could have loved her as I have done.' "
" You know," interrupted Louise, "that for my love I was about to
sacrifice myself; you know whether I suffered when you met me lost,
dying, abandoned. Well! never have I suffered so much as now;
because then I hoped,jl desired—now I have nothing to wish for; because
this death drags away all my joy into the tomb; because I can no
longer dare to love without remorse, and I feel, that he whom I love—
oh ! that is the law—will repay me with the tortures I have made others
undergo."
THE LAST CANTO OF THE POEM. 585
D'Artagnan made no reply; he was too well convinced she was not
mistaken.
"Well! then," added she, "dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, do not over-
whelm me to-day, I again implore you. I am like the branch torn
from the trunk, I no longer hold to anything in this world, and a
current drags me on, I cannot say whither. I love madly, I love to the
point of coming to tell it, impious as I am, over the ashes of the dead;
and I do not blush for it—I have no remorse on account of it. This
love is a religion. Only, as hereafter you will see me alone, forgotten,
disdained; as you will see me punished with that with- which I am
destined to be punished, spare me in my ephemeral happiness, leave it
to me for a few days, for a few minutes. Now even, at the moment I
am speaking to you, perhaps it no longer exists. My God! this double
murder is perhaps already expiated!"
While she was speaking thus, the sound of voices and the steps of
horses drew the attention of the captain. M. de Saint-Aignan came to
seek La Valliere. "The king," he said, "was a prey to jealousy and
uneasiness." Saint-Aignan did not see d'Artagnan, half concealed by
the trunk of a chestnut-tree which shaded the two graves. Louise
thanked Saint-Aignan, and dimissed him with a gesture. He rejoined
the party outside the enclosure.
" You see, madam," said the captain bitterly to the young woman,
—" you see that your happiness still lasts."
The young woman raised her head with a solemn air. " A day will
come," said she, "when you will repent of having so ill-judged me.
On that day, it is I who will pray God to forgive you for having been
unjust towards me. Besides, I shall suffer so much that you will be
the first to pity my sufferings. Do not reproach me with that happiness,
Monsieur d'Artagnan; it costs me dear, and I have not paid all my
debt." Saying these words, she again knelt down, softly and affec-
tionately.
" Pardon me, the last time, my affianced Raoul!" said she. " I have
broken our chain ; we are both destined to die of grief. It is thou who
departest the first; fear nothing, I shall follow thee. See, only, that I
have not been base, and that I have come to bid thee this last adieu.
The Lord is my witness, Raoul, that if with my life I could have re-
deemed thine, I would have given that life without hesitation. I coulcfc
not give my love. Once more, pardon !"
She gathered a branch, and stuck it into the ground; then, wiping
the tears from her eyes, she bowed to d'Artagnan, and disappeared.
The captain watched the departure of the horses, horsemen, and
carriage, then crossing his arms upon his swelling chest, " When will it
be my turn to depart ?" said he, in an agitated voice. " What is there
left for man after youth, after love, after glory, after friendship, after
strength, after riches ? That rock, under which sleeps Porthos, who
possessed all I have named; this moss, under which repose Athos and
Raoul, who possessed still much more !"
He hesitated a moment, with a dull eye; then, drawing himself up :
" Porward! still forward !" said he. " When it shall be time, God will
tell me, as he has told others."
He touched the earth, moistened with the evening dew, with the.
ends of his fingers, signed himself as if he had been at the benitier of a
church, and retook alone—ever alone—the road to Paris.
586
THE VICOMTE DE BRAGKLONKE.
EPILOGUE.
■ Four years after the scene we have just described, two horsemen,
well mounted, traversed Blois early in the morning, for the purpose of
arranging a birding party which the king intended to make in that
uneven plain which the Loire divides in two, and which borders on the
one side on MBung, on the other on Amboise. These were the captain
of the king's harriers and the governor of the falcons, personages greatly
respected in the time of Louis XIII., but rather neglected by his
successor. These two horsemen, having reconnoitred the ground, were
returning, their observations made, when they perceived some little
groups of soldiers, here and there, whom the sergeants were placing at
distances at the openings of the enclosures. These were the king's
musketeers. Behind them came, upon a good horse, the captain, known
by his richly embroidered uniform. His hair was grey, his beard was
becoming so. He appeared a little bent, although sitting and handling
his horse gracefully. He was looking about him watchfully.
" M. d'Artagnan does not get any older," said the captain of the
harriers to his colleague the falconer; " with ten years more than either
of us, he has the seat of a young man on horseback."
" That is true," replied the falconer. " I don't see any change in him
for the last twenty years."
But this officer was mistaken; d'Artagnan in the last four years had
lived twelve years. Age imprinted its pitiless claws at each angle of his
eyes; his brow was bald ; his hands, formerly brown and nervous, were
getting white as if the blood began to chill there.
D'Artagnan accosted the officers with the shade of affability which
distinguishes superior men, and received in return for his courtesy two
most respectful bows.
" Ah ! what a lucky chance to see you here, Monsieur d'Artagnan !"
cried the falconer.
" It is rather I who should say that, messieurs," replied the captain,
" for, now-a-days, the king makes more frequent use of his musketeers
than of his falcons."
" Ah ! it is not as it was in the good old times," sighed the falconer.
" Do you remember, Monsieur d'Artagnan, when the late king flew the
pie in the vineyards beyond Beaugence ? Ah ! dame ! you were not
captain of the musketeers at that time, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
" And you were nothing but under-corporal of the tiercelets," replied
d'Artagnan, laughing. "Never mind that; it was a good time, seeing
that it is always a good time when we are young. Good day, monsieur
the captain of the harriers."
"You do me honour, monsieur le comte," said the latter. D'Artagnan
made no reply. The title of comte had not struck him; d'Artagnan
had been a comte four years.
" Are you not very much fatigued with the long journey you have had,
monsieur le captaine ? " continued the falconer. " It must be full two
hundred leagues from hence to Pignerol."
"Two hundred and sixty to go, and as many to come back," said
d'Artagnan, quietly.
" And," said the falconer, "is he well ?"
"Who?" asked d'Artagnan.
" Why, poor M. Fouquet," continued the falconer, still in a low voice
The captain of the harriers had prudently withdrawn.
EPILOGUE. 587
"No," replied d'Artagnan, "the poor man frets terribly; he cannot
comprehend how imprisonment can be a favour; he says that the parlia-
ment had absolved him by banishing him, and that banishment is
liberty. He cannot imagine that they had sworn his death, and that to
save his life from the claws of the parliament was to have too much obli-
gation to God."
" Ah! yes; the poor man had a near chance of the scaffold," replied
the falconer; " it is said that M. Colbert had given orders to the governor
of the Bastile, and that the execution was ordered."
" Enough !" said d'Artagnan, pensively, and with a view of cutting
short the conversation.
"Yes," said the captain of the harriers, drawing towards them,
" M. Bouquet is now at Pignerol; he has richly deserved it. He has had
the good fortune to be conducted there by you; he had robbed the king
enough."
D'Artagnan launched at the master of the dogs one of his evil
looks, and said to him,—" Monsieur, if any one told me that you had
eaten your dogs' meat, not only would I refuse to believe it; but, still
more, if you werecondemned to the whip or the gaol for it, I should
pity you, and would not allow people to speak ill of you. And yet,
monsieur, honest man as you may be, I assure you that you are not
more so than poor M. Bouquet was."
After having undergone this sharp rebuke, the captain of the harriers
hung his head, and allowed the falconer to get two steps in advance of
him nearer to d'Artagnan.
" He is content," said the falconer, in a low voice, to the musketeer;
" we all know that harriers are in fashion now-a-days; if he were a fal-
coner he would not talk in that way."
D'Artagnan smiled in a melancholy manner at seeing this great poli-
tical question resolved by the discontent of such humble interests. He
for a moment ran over in his mind the glorious existence of the surin-
tendant, the crumbling away of his fortunes, and the melancholy death
that awaited him; and, to conclude, " Did M. Bouquet love falconry ? "
said he,
" Oh, passionately, monsieur!" replied the falconer, with an accent
of bitter regret, and a sigh that was the funeral oration of Bouquet.
D'Artagnan allowed the ill-humour of the one and the regrets of the
other to pass, and continued to advance into the plain. They could
already catch glimpses of the huntsmen at the issues of the wood, the
feathers of the outriders passing like shooting stars across the clearings,
and the white horses cutting with their luminous apparitions the dark
thickets of the copses.
" But," resumed d'Artagnan, " will the sport be long ? Pray, give
us a good swift bird, for I am very tired. Is it a heron or a swan ? "
" Both, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the falconer; " but you need not
be alarmed, the king is not much of a sportsman ; he does not sport on
his own account, he only wishes to give amusement to the ladies."
The words " to the ladies" were so strongly accented, that it set
d'Artagnan listening.
"Ah!" said he, looking at the falconer with surprise. .
The captain of the harriers smiled, no doubt with a view of making it
up with the musketeer.
" Oh! you may safely laugh," said d'Artagnan; " I know nothing of
current news; I only arrived yesterday, after a month's absence. I
left the court mourning the death of the queen-mother. The king was
not willing to take any amusement after receiving the last sigh of Anne
638 THE VICOMTE DE BEAGELONNE.
of Austria; but everything has an end in this world. Well! then he
is no longer sad ? So much the better."
" And everything commences as well as ends," said the captain of the
dogs, with a coarse laugh.
Ah!"said d'Artagnan a second time — he burned to know, but
dignity would not allow him to interrogate people below him,—" there
is something beginning, then, it appears ? "
The captain gave him a significant wink; but d'Artagnan was unwil-
ling to learn anything from this man.
" Shall we see the king early ? " asked he of the falconer.
" At seven o'clock, monsieur, I shall fly the birds."
" Who comes with the king ? How- is Madame ? How is the
queen ?" " Better, monsieur."
" Has she been ill, then ? " _
" Monsieur, since the last chagrin she had, her majesty has been
unwell."
" What chagrin ? You need not fancy your news is old. I am but
just returned."
" It appears that the queen, a little neglected since the death of her
mother-in-law, complained to the king, who replied to her,—' Ho I not
sleep with you every night, madame ? What more do you want ?'"
" Ah !" said d'Artagnan,—" poor woman ! She must heartily hate
Mademoiselle la Valliere."
" Oh, no ! not Mademoiselle de la Valliere," replied the falconer.
" Who then ? " The horn interrupted this conversation. It sum-
moned the dogs and the hawks. The falconer and his companion set off
immediately, leaving d'Artagnan alone in the midst of the suspended sen-
tence. The king appeared at a distance, surrounded by ladies and horse-
men. All the troop advanced in beautiful order, at a foot's pace, the
horns of various sorts animating the dogs and the horses. It was a move-
ment, a noise, a mirage of light, of which nothing now can give an idea,
unless it be the fictitious splendour or false majesty of a theatrical
spectacle. D'Artagnan, with an eye a little weakened, distinguished
behind the group three carriages. The first was intended for the queen:
it was empty. D'Artagnan, who did not see Mademoiselle de la Valliere
by the king's side, on looking about for her saw her in the second car-
riage. She was alone with two of her women, who seemed as dull as
their mistress. On the left hand of the king, upon a high-spirited
horse, restrained by a bold and skilful hand, shone a lady of the most
dazzling beauty. The king smiled upon her, and she smiled upon the
king. Loud laughter followed every word she spoke.
" I must know that woman," thought the musketeer; " who can she
be ? " And he stooped towards his friend, the falconer, to whom he
addressed the question he had put to himself. The falconer was about
to reply, when the king, perceiving d'Artagnan, " Ah, comte ! " said he,
" you are returned then ! why have I not seen you ? "
" Sire," replied the captain, "because your majesty was asleep when I
arrived ; and not awake when I resumed my duties this morning."
" Still the same !" said Louis, in a loud voice, denoting satisfaction.
" Take some rest, comte, I command you to do so. You will dine with
me to-day."
A murmur of admiration surrounded d'Artagnan like an immense
caress. Every one was eager to salute him. Dining with the king
was an honour his majesty was not so prodigal of as Henry IV. had
been. The king passed a few steps in advance, and d'Artagnan found
himself in the midst of a fresh group, among whom shone Colbert.
EPILOGUE. 589
" Good day, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the minister, with affable
politeness; " have you had a pleasant journey ? "
" Yes, monsieur," said d'Artagnan, bowing to the neck of his horse.
" I heard the king invite you to his table for this evening," continued
the minister ; " you will meet an old friend there."
" An old friend of mine ? " asked d'Artagnan, plunging painfully into
the dark waves of the past, which had swallowed up for him so many
friendships and so many hatreds.
" M. le Due d'Almeda, who is arrived this morning from Spain."
" The Due d'Almeda ? " said d'Artagnan, reflecting in vain.
"I!" said an old man,white.as snow, sitting bent in his carriage,
which he caused to be thrown open to make room for the musketeer.
" Aramis ! " cried d'Artagnan, struck with perfect stupor. And he
left, inert as it was, the thin arm of the old nobleman hanging round
his neck.
Colbert, after having observed them in silence for a minute, put his
hoi'se forward, and left the two old friends together.
" And so," said the musketeer, taking the arm of Aramis, " you, the
exile, the rebel, are again in France ? "
" Ah ! and I shall dine with you at the king's table," said Aramis,
smiling. " Yes ; will you not ask yourself what is the use of fidelity in
this world ? Stop! let us allow poor La Valliere's carriage to pass.
Look, how uneasy she is ! How her eye, dimmed with tears, follows
the king, who is riding on horseback yonder !"
"With whom?" "With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, now
become Madame de Montespan," repjied Aramis.
" She is jealous; is she then deserted ? "
" Not quite yet, but it will not be long first."
They chatted together, while following the sport, and Aramis's coach-
man drove them so cleverly that they got up at the moment when the
falcon attacking the bird beat him down, and fell upon him. The king
alighted, Madame de Montespan followed his example. They were in
front of an isolated chapel, concealed by large trees, already despoiled of
their leaves by the first winds of autumn. Behind this chapel was an
enclosure, closed by a latticed gate. The falcon had beat down his prey
in the enclosure belonging to this little chapel, and the king was desirous
of going in, to take the first feather, according to custom. The cortege
formed a circle round the building and the hedges, too small to receive
so many. D'Artagnan held back Aramis by the arm, as he was about,
like the rest, to alight from his carriage, and in a hoarse, broken voice,
" Do you know, Aramis," said he, " whither chance has conducted us ?"
" No," replied the duke.
" Here repose people I have known," said d'Artagnan, much agitated.
Aramis, without divining anything, and with a trembling step, pene-
trated into the chapel by a little door which d'Artagnan opened for him.
" Where are they buried ? " said he.
" There, in the enclosure. There is a cross, you see, under that little
cypress. The little cypress is planted over their tomb; don't go to it;
the'king is going that way ; the heron has fallen just there."
Aramis stopped, and concealed himself in the shade. They then saw,
without being seen, the pale face of La Valliere, who, neglected in her
carriage, had. at first looked on, with a melancholy heart, from the
door, and then, carried away by jealousy, she had advanced into the
chapel, whence, leaning against a pillar, she contemplated in the enclo-
sure the king smiling and making signs to Madame de Montespan to
approach, as there was nothing to be afraid of. Madame de Montespan
590 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONEE.
complied; she took the hand the king held out to her, and he, plucking
out the first feather from the heron, which the falconer had strangled,
placed it in the hat of his beautiful companion. She, smiling in her turn,
kissed the hand tenderly which made her this present. The king
blushed with pleasure; he looked at Madame de Montespan with all the
fire of love.
" What will you give me in exchange ? " said he.
She broke off a little branch of cypress and offered it to the king, who
looked intoxicated with hope.
" Humph!" said Aramis to d'Artagnan;" the present is but a sad one,
for that cypress shades a tomb."
" Yes, and the tomb is that of Kaoul de Bragelonne," said d'Artagnan
aloud; " of Raoul, who sleeps under that cross with his father."
A groan resounded behind them. They saw a woman fall fainting
to the ground. Mademoiselle de laValliere had seen all, and heard all.
" Poor woman!" muttered d'Artagnan, as he helped the attendants to
carry back to her carriage her who from that time was to suffer.
That evening d'Artagnan was seated at the king's table, near M.
Colbert and M. le Due d'Almeda. The king was very gay. He paid a
thousand little attentions to the queen, a thousand kindnesses to
Madame, seated at his left hand, and very sad. It might have been
supposed to be that calm time when the king used to watch the eyes
of his mother for the avowal or disavowal of what he had just done.
Of mistresses there was no question at this dinner. The king ad-
dressed Aramis two or three times, calling him M. l'Ambassadeur,
which increased the surprise already felt by d'Artagnan at seeing his
friend the rebel so marvellously well received at court.
The king, on rising from table, gave his hand to the queen, and made
a sign to Colbert, whose eye watched that of his master. Colbert took
d'Artagnan and Aramis on one side. The king began to chat with his
sister, whilst Monsieur, very uneasy, entertained the queen with a
preoccupied air, without ceasing to watch his wife and brother from the
corner of his eye. The conversation between Aramis, d'Artagnan, and
Colbert, turned upon indifferent subjects. They spoke of preceding
ministers; Colbert related the feats of Mazarin, and required those of
Richelieu to be related to him. D'Artagnan could not overcome his
surprise at finding this man, with heavy eyebrows and a low forehead,
contain so much sound knowledge and cheerful spirits. Aramis was
astonished at that lightness of character which permitted a serious man
to retard with advantage the moment for a more important conversa-
tion, to which nobody made any allusion, although all three interlo-
cutors felt the imminence of it. It was very plain from the embarrassed
appearance of Monsieur, how much the conversation of the king and
Madame annoyed him. The eyes of Madame were almost red; was
she going to complain ? "Was she going to commit a little scandal in
open court ? The king took her on one side, and in a tone so tender
that it must have reminded the princess of the time when she was loved
for herself,
" Sister," said he, " why do I see tears in those beautiful eyes !"
" Why—sire—" said she.
" Monsieur is jealous, is he not, sister ? "
She looked towards Monsieur, an infallible sign that they were talking
about him.
" Yes," said she.
"Listen to me," said the king; " if your friends compromise you, it
is not Monsieur's fault."
EPILOGUE. 591
He spoke these words with so much kindness, that Madame, en-
couraged, she who had had so many griefs for so long a time, was near
bursting, so full was her heart.
" Come, come, dear little sister," said the king, " tell me your griefs;
by the word of a brother, I pity them; by the word of a king, I will
terminate them."
She raised her fine eyes, and, in a melancholy tone,—
"It is not my friends who compromise me," said she; "they are
either absent or concealed; they have been brought into disgrace with
your majesty; they, so devoted, so good, so loyal!"
"You say this on account of Guiche, whom I have exiled, at the
desire of Monsieur?"
" And who, since that unjust exile, has endeavoured to get himself
killed once every day !"
" TJnjust, do you say, sister ? "
" So unjust, that if I had not had the respect mixed with friendship
that I have always entertained for your majesty "
" "Well ?" " Well! I would have asked my brother Charles, upon
whom I can always "
The king started. " What then ? "
" I would have asked him to have it represented to you that Mon-
sieur and his favourite, M. le Chevalier de Lorraine, ought not with
impunity to constitute themselves the executioners of my honour and
my happiness."
"The Chevalier de Lorraine," said the king; "that dismal face ?"
"Is my mortal enemy. W"hilst that man lives in my household,
where Monsieur retains him and delegates his powers to him, I shall be
the most miserable woman in this kingdom."
"So," said the king, slowly, "you call your brother of England a
better friend than I am?"
" Actions speak for themselves, sire."
"And you would prefer going to ask assistance there "
" To my own country !" said she, with pride; " yes, sire."
" You are the grandchild of Henry IY. as well as myself, my friend.
Cousin and brother-in-law, does not that amount pretty well to the
title of brother-germain ?" " Then," said Henrietta, " act! "
"Let us form an alliance."
" Begin." " I have, you say, unjustly exiled Guiche."
" Oh! yes," said she, blushing.
" Guiche shall return." " So far, well."
• " And now you say that I am wrong in having in your household the
Chevalier de Lorraine, who gives Monsieur ill-advice respecting you ?"
" Eemember well what I tell you, sire; the Chevalier de Lorraine
some day Observe, if ever I come to an ill end, I beforehand accuse
the Chevalier de Lorraine; he has a soul capable of any crime !"
" The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer annoy you—I promise
you that."
" Then that will be a true preliminary of alliance, sire,—I sign; but
since you have done your part, tell me what shall be mine."
" Instead of embroiling me with your brother Charles, you must
make him my more intimate friend than ever."
" That is very easy."
" Oh! not quite so much so as you may think, for in ordinary friend-
ship people embrace or exercise hospitality, and that only costs a kiss
or a return, easy expenses; but in political friendship "
" Ah! it's a political friendship, is it ?"
592 THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE.
"Yes, my sister; and then, instead of embraces and feasts, it is
soldiers, it is soldiers all living and well equipped, that we must serve
up to our friend; vessels we must offer, all armed with cannons and
stored with provisions. It hence results that we have not always our
coffers in a fit state to form such friendships."
" Ah ! you are quite right," said Madame ; " the coffers of the king
of England have been very sonorous for some time."
" But you, my sister, who have so much influence over your brother,
you can obtain more than an ambassador could ever obtain."
" To effect that I must go to London, my dear brother."
" I have thought so," replied the king, eagerly; " and I have said to
myself that such a voyage would do your spirits good."
Only," interrupted Madame, " it is possible I should fail. The king
of England has dangerous counsellors."
" Counsellors, do you say ?"
" Precisely. If, by chance, your majesty had any intention—I am
only supposing so—of asking Charles II. his alliance for a war "
" For a war ?"
" Yes, well! then the counsellors of the king, who are to the number of
seven—Mademoiselle Stewart, Mademoiselle Wells, Mademoiselle Gwyn,
Miss Orchay, Mademoiselle Zunga, Miss Davies, and the proud Countess
of Castlemaine—will represent to the king that war costs a great deal of
money; that it is better to give balls and suppers at Hampton Court
than to equip vessels of the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich."
" And tnen your negotiation will fail ?"
" Oh! those ladies cause all negotiations to fail that they don't make
themselves."
" Do you know the idea that has struck me, sister ?"
" No ; tell me what it is."
" It is that by searching well around you, you might perhaps find a
female counsellor to take with you to your brother whose eloquence
might paralyze the ill-will of the seven others."
" That is really an idea, sire, and I will search."
" You will find what you want." " I hope so."
" A pretty person is necessary; an agreeable face is better than an
ugly one, is it not ?" " Most assuredly."
" An animated, lively, audacious character." " Certainly."
" Nobility ; that is, enough to enable her to approach the king with-
out awkwardness—little enough, so as not to trouble herself about the
dignity of her race." " Quite just."
" And who knows a little English."
" Mon Dieu! why, some one," cried Madame, " like Mademoiselle da
Keroualle, for instance!"
" Oh! why, yes!" said Louis XIV.; " you have found—it is you who
have found, my sister."
" I will take her; she will have no cause to complain, I suppose."
" Oh ! no ; I will name her seductrice plenipotentiaire at once, and
will add the dowry to the title." " That is, will."
" I fancy you already on your road, my dear little sister, and consoled
for all your griefs."
" I will go, on two conditions. The first is, that I shall know what I
am negotiating about."
" This is it. The Dutch, you know, insult me daily in their gazettes,
and by their republican attitude. I don't like republics."
" That may easily be conceived, sire."
" I see with pain that these kings of the sea—they call themselves so
EPILOGUE. 593
—keep trade from France in the Indies, and that their vessels will
soon occupy all the ports of Europe. Such a power is too near me,
sister." " They are your allies, nevertheless."
" That is why they were wrong in having the medal you have heard
of struck; a medal which represents Holland stopping the sun, as
Joshua did, with this legend: The sun has stopped before me. There is
not much fraternity in that, is there ? "
" I thought you had forgotten that miserable affair."
" I never forget anything, my sister. And if my true friends, such as
your brother Charles, are willing to second me " The princess re-
mained pensively silent.
" Listen to me; there is the empire of the seas to he shared," said
Louis XIV. "For this partition, which England submits to, could I
not represent the second party as well as the Dutch?"
" We have Mademoiselle de Keroualle to treat that question," replied
Madame.
"Your second condition for going, if you please, sister?"
" The consent of Monsieur, my husband."
" 1 ou shall have it." " Then consider me gone, my brother."
On hearing these words, Louis XIV. turned round towards the
corner of the room in which d'Artagnan, Colbert, and Aramis stood,
and made an affirmative sign to his minister. Colbert then broke the
conversation at the point it happened to be at, and said to Aramis,—
" Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, shall we talk about business ?"
D'Artagnan immediately withdrew, from politeness. He directed his
steps towards the chimney, within hearing of what the king was going
to say to Monsieur, who, evidently very uneasy, had gone to him. The
face of the king was animated. Upon his brow was stamped a will, the
redoubtable expression of which already met with no more contradic-
tion in France, and was soon to meet with no more in Europe.
" Monsieur," said the king to his brother, " I am not pleased with
M. le Chevalier de Lorraine. You, who do him the honour to protect
him, must advise him to travel for a few months." These words fell
with "the crush of an avalanche upon Monsieur, who adored this
favourite, and concentrated all his affections in him.
"In what has the chevalier been able to displease your majesty?"
cried he, darting a furious look at Madame. •
" I will tell you that when he is gone," replied the impassible king.
" And also when Madame, here, shall have crossed over into England."
"Madame! into England!" murmured Monsieur, in a perfect state
of stupor.
" In a week, my brother," continued the king, " whilst we two will
go whither I will tell you." And the king turned upon his heel, after
having smiled in his brother's face, to sweeten a little the bitter draught
he had given him.
During this time, Colbert was talking with the Due d'Almeda.
" Monsieur," said Colbert to Aramis, " this is the moment for us to
come to an understanding. I have made your peace with the king, and
I owed that clearly to a man of your merit; but as you have often
expressed friendship for me, an opportunity presents itself for giving
me a proof of it. You are, besides, more a Frenchman than a Spaniard.
Shall we have, answer me frankly, the neutrality of Spain, if we under-
take anything against the United Provinces?"
" Monsieur," replied Aramis, " the interest of Spain is very clear.
To embroil Europe with the United Provinces, against which subsists
the ancient malice of their conquered liberty, is our policy, but the
VOL. II. 2 o.
594 THE VICOHTE DE BRAGELONNE.
king of France is allied with the United Provinces. Tou are not
ignorant, besides, that it would be a maritime war, and that France is
not in a state to make such a one with advantage."
Colbert, turning round at this moment, saw d'Artagnan, who was
seeking an interlocutor, during the " aside" of the king and Monsieur.
He called him, at the same time saying in a low voice to Aramis, " We
may talk with M. d'Artagnan, 1 suppose?"
" Oh! certainly," replied the ambassador.
" We were saying, M. d'Almdda and I," said Colbert, " that war with
the United Provinces would be a maritime war."
" That's evident enough," replied the musketeer.
" And what do you think of it, Monsieur d'Artagnan ?"
" I think that to carry that war on successfully, you must have a
very large land army."
"'What did you say?" said Colbert, thinking he had ill-understood
him.
" Why such a land army ?" said Aramis.
"Because the king will be beaten by sea if he has not the English
with him, and that when beaten by sea, he will be soon invaded, either
by the Dutch in his ports, or by the Spaniards by land."
"And Spain neutral?" asked Aramis.
"Neutral as long as the king shall be the stronger," rejoined
d'Artagnan.
Colbert admired that sagacity which never touched a question with-
out enlightening it thoroughly. Aramis smiled, as he had long known
that in diplomacy d'Artagnan acknowledged no master. Colbert, who,
like all proud men, dwelt upon his fantasy with a certainty of success,
resumed the subject, "Who told you, M. d'Artagnan, that the king
had no navy ?"
" Oh! I have taken no heed of these details," replied the captain.
" I am but a middling sailor. Like all nervous people, I hate the sea;
and yet I have an idea that with ships, France being a seaport with
two hundred heads, we might have sailors."
Colbert drew from his pocket a little oblong book, divided into two
columns. On the first were the names of vessels, on the other the
figures recapitulating the number of cannon and men requisite to equip
these ships. " I have had the same idea as you," said he to d'Artagnan,
" and I have had an account drawn up of the vessels we have altogether
—thirty-five ships."
" Thirty-five ships! that is impossible !" cried d'Artagnan.
" Something like two thousand pieces of cannon," said Colbert.
" That is what the king possesses at this moment. With thirty-five
vessels we can make three squadrons, but I must have five."
" Five !" cried Aramis.
" They will be afloat before the end of the year, gentlemen; the king
will have fifty ships of the line. We may venture on a contest with
them, may we not ?"
" To build vessels," said d'Artagnan, " is difficult, but possible. As to
arming them, how is that to be done? In France there are neither
foundries nor military docks."
" Bah !" replied Colbert, with a gay tone, " I have instituted all that
this year and a half past, did you not know it? Don't you know
M. d'lmfreville ?"
" D'lmfreville ? " replied d'Artagnan; " no."
" He is a man I have discovered; he has a specialty; he is a man of
genius—he knows how to set men to work. It is he who has founded
EPILOGUE. 590
cannon and cut the woods of Bourgogne. And then, Monsieur l'Am-
bassadeur, you may not believe what I am going to tell you, but I have
a further idea."
" Oh, monsieur !" said Aramis, civilly, "I always believe you."
"Figure to yourself that, calculating upon the character of the
Dutch, our allies, I said to myself, 'They are merchants, they are
friends with the king; they will be happy to sell to the king what they
fabricate for themselves; then the more we buy'—Ah! I must add
this: I have Forant—do you know Forant, d'Artagnan ?"
Colbert, in his warmth, forgot himself; he called the captain simply
d'Artagnan, as the king did. But the captain only smiled at it.
"No," replied he, " I don't know him."
" That is another man I have discovered, with a genius for buying.
This Forant has purchased for me 350,000 pounds of iron in balls, 200,000
pounds of powder, twelve cargoes of Northern timber, matches, gre-
nades, pitch, tar—I know not what! with a saving of seven per cent,
upon what all those articles would cost me fabricated in France."
" That is a good idea," replied d'Artagnan, " to have Dutch balls
founded, which will return to the Dutch."
"Is it not, with loss too?" And Colbert laughed aloud. He was
delighted with his own joke.
"Still further," added he; "these same Dutch are building for the
king at this moment, six vessels after the model of the best of their
marine. Destouches—Ah! perhaps you don't know Destouches ?"
" No, monsieur."
" He is a man who has a glance singularly sure to discern, when a ship
is launched, what are the defects and qualities of that ship—that is
valuable, 'please to observe! Nature is truly whimsical. Well, this
Destouches appeared to me to be a man likely to be useful in a port,
and he is superintending the construction of six vessels of 78, which
the Provinces are building for his majesty. It results from all this, my
dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, that the king, if he wished to quarrel with
the Provinces, would have a very pretty fleet. Now, you know better
than anybody else if the land army is good."
D'Artagnan and Aramis looked at each other, wondering at the
mysterious labours this man had effected in a few years. Colbert un-
derstood them, and was touched by this best of flatteries.
" If we, in France, were ignorant of what was going on," said d'Arta-
gnan, " out of France still less must be known."
" That is why I told Monsieur l'Ambassadeur," said Colbert, " that
Spain promising its neutrality, England helping us "
" If England assists you," said Aramis, " I engage for the neutrality
of Spain."
" I take you at your word," hastened Colbert to reply with his blunt
bonhomie. "And, apropos of Spain, you have not the ' Golden Fleece,'
Monsieur d'Almeda. I heard the king say the other day that he should
like to see you wear the grand cordon of St. Michael."
Aramis bowed. " Oh!" thought d'Artagnan, " and Porthos is no
longer here! What ells of ribbon would there be for him in these
la/rgesses! Good Porthos!"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," resumed Colbert, "between us two, you
will have, I would wager, an inclination to lead your musketeers into
Holland. Can you swim?" And he laughed like a man in a very good
humour.
" Like an eel," replied d'Artagnan.
"Ah! but there are some rough passages of canals and marshes
596 TEE VrCOSXTE DE BEAGELONNE.
yonder, Monsieur d'Artagnan, and the best swimmers are sometimes
drowned there."
"It is my profession to die for his majesty," said the musketeer
" Only as it is seldom that in war much water is met with without a
little fire, I declare to you beforehand, that I will do my best to choose
fire. I am getting old; water freezes me—fire warms, Monsieur
Colbert."
And d'Artagnan looked so handsome in juvenile vigour and pride,
as he pronounced these words, that Colbert, in his turn, could not help
admiring him. D'Artagnan perceived the effect he had produced.
He remembered that the best tradesman is he who fixes a high price
upon his goods when they are valuable. He prepared then his price in
advance.
" So then," said Colbert, " we go into Holland ?"
" Yes," replied d'Artagnan; " only "
"Only?" said M. Colbert. " Only," repeated d'Artagnan, " there
is in everything the question of interest and the question of self-love.
It is a very fine title, that of captain of the musketeers; but, observe this:
we have now the king's guards and the military household of the king.
A captain of musketeers ought, either to command all that, and then
he would absorb a hundred thousand livres a year for expenses of repre-
sentation and table "
"Well! but do you suppose, by chance, that the king would haggle
with you?" said Colbert.
"Eh! monsieur, you have not understood me,"replied d'Artagnan,
sure of having carried the question of interest; " I was telling you
that I, an old captain, formerly chief of the king's guard, having pre-
cedence of the marechaux of France—I saw myself one day in the
trenches with two other equals, the captain of the guards and the
colonel commanding the Swiss. Now, at no price will I. suffer that.
I have old habits, I will stand to them." Colbert felt this blow, but
he was prepared for it.
" I have been thinking of what you said just now," replied he.
" About what, monsieur ? "
"We were speaking of canals and marshes in which people are
drowned."
" Well!" "Well! if they are drowned, it is for want of a boat, a
plank, or a stick."
" Of a stick, however short it may be," said d'Artagnan.
" Exactly," said Colbert. " And, therefore, I qever heard of an in-
stance of a marechal of France being drowned."
D'Artagnan became pale with joy, and in a not very firm voice:
"People would be very proud of me in my country," said he, "if I were
a marechal of France; but a man must have commanded an expedition
in chief to obtain the baton."
"Monsieur !" said Colbert, " here is in this pocket-book, which you
will study, a plan of a campaign you will have to lead a body of troops to
carry out in the next spring."
D'Artagnan took the book, tremblingly, and his fingers meeting with
those of Colbert, the minister pressed the hand of the musketeer
loyally.
" Monsieur," said he, " we had both a revenge to take, one over the
other. I have begun; it is now your turn !"
" I will do you justice, monsieur," replied d'Artagnan, "and implore
you to tell the king that the first opportunity that shall offer, he may
depend upon a victory, or seeing me dead."
the death of d'artagnan. 597
" Then I will have the jleurs-de-lis for your marechal's baton pre-
pared immediately," said Colbert.
On the morrow of this day, Aramis, who was setting out for Madrid,
to negotiate the neutrality of Spain, came to embrace d'Artagnan at his
hotel.
"Let us love each other for four," said d'Artagnan, "we.are now but
two."
" And you will, perhaps, never see me again, dear d'Artagnan," said
Aramis;—" if you knew how I have loved you! I am old, I am extin-
guished, I am dead."
" My friend," said d'Artagnan, " you will live longer than I shall:
diplomacy commands you to live; but, for my part, honour condemns
me to die."
"Bah! such men as we are, monsieur le marechal," said Aramis,
" only die satiated with joy or glory."
"Ah !" replied d'Artagnan, with a melancholy smile, "I assure you,
Monsieur le Due, I feel very little appetite for either."
They once more embraced, and, two hours after, they were separated.
THE DEATH OE D'ARTAGNAN.
Contrary to what always happens, whether in politics or morals,
each kept his promise, and did honour to his engagements.
The king recalled M. de Guiche, and banished M. le Chevalier de
Lorraine; so that Monsieur became ill in consequence. Madame set
out for London, where she applied herself so earnestly to make her
brother, Charles II., have a taste for the political councils of Made-
moiselle de Keroualle, that the alliance between England and France
was signed, and the English vessels, ballasted by a few millions of French
gold, made a terrible campaign against the fleets of the United Provinces.
Charles II. had promised Mademoiselle de Keroualle a little gratitude
for her good councils; he made her duchess of Portsmouth. Colbert
had promised the king vessels, munitions, and victories. He kept his
word, as is well known. At length Aramis, upon whose promises there
was least dependence to be placed, wrote Colbert the following letter, on
the subject of the negotiations which he had undertaken at Madrid:—
" Monsieur Colbert,—I have the honour to expedite to you the
R. P. d'Oliva, general ad interim of the Society of Jesus, my pro-
visional successor. The reverend father will explain to you, Monsieur
Colbert, that I preserve to myself the direction of all the affairs of the
Order which concern France and Spain; but that I am not willing to
retain the title of general, which would throw too much light upon the
march of the negotiations with which his Catholic majesty wishes to
entrust me. I shall resume that title by the command of his majesty,
when the labours I have undertaken in > concert with you, for the
great glory of God and His Church shall be brought to a good end.
The E. P. d'Oliva will inform you likewise, monsieur, of the consent
which his Catholic majesty gives to the signature of a treaty which
assures the neutrality of Spain, in the event of a war between France
and the United Provinces. This consent will be valid, even if England,
instead of being active, should satisfy herself with remaining neutral.
As to Portugal, of which you and I have spoken, monsieur, I can
assure you it will contribute with all its resources to assist the most
598 THE VICOMTE DE BBAGELONIv'E.
Christian king in his war. I beg you, Monsieur Colbert, to preserve to
me your friendship, as also to believe in my profound attachment, and
to lay my respect at the feet of his most Christian majesty. Signed,
Le Due d'Almeda."
Aramis had then performed more than he had promised; it re-
mained to be known how the king, M. Colbert, and d'Artagnan would
be faithful to each other. In the spring, as Colbert had predicted, the
land army entered on its campaign. It preceded, in magnificent order,
the court of Louis XIV., who, setting out on horseback, surrounded by
carriages filled with ladies and courtiers, conducted the elite of his
kingdom to this sanguinary fete. The officers of the army, it is true,
had no other music but the artillery of the Dutch forts; but it was
enough for a great number, who found in this war honours, advance-
ment, fortune, or death.
M. d'Artagnan set out commanding a body of twelve thousand men,
cavalry and infantry, with which he was ordered to take the different
places which form the knots of that strategic network which is called
LaDrise. Never was an army conducted more gallantly to an expe-
dition. The officers knew that their leader, prudent and skilful as be
was brave, would not sacrifice a single man, nor yield an inch of ground
without necessity. He had the old habits of war, to live upon the
country, keep his soldiers singing and the enemy weeping. The captain
of the king's musketeers placed his coguetry in showing that he knew
his business. Never were opportunities better chosen, coups de main
better supported, errors of the besieged taken better advantage of.
The army commanded by d'Artagnan took twelve small places within
a month. He was engaged in besieging the thirteenth, which had held
out five days. D'Artagnan caused the trenches to be opened without
appearing to suppose that these people would ever allow themselves to
be taken. The pioneers and labourers were, in the army of this map,
a body full of emulation, ideas, and zeal, because he treated them like
soldiers, knew how to render their work glorious, and never allowed
them to be killed if he could prevent it. It should have been seen
then with what eagerness the marshy glebes of Holland were turned
over. Those turf-heaps, those mounds of potter's clay, melted at the
word of the soldiers like butter in the vast frying-pans of the Priesland
housewives.
M. d'Artagnan despatched a courier to the king to give him an ac-
count of the last successes, which re-doubled the good humour of his
. majesty and his inclination to amuse the ladies. These victories of
M. d'Artagnan gave so much majesty to the prince, that Madame de
Montespan no longer called him anything but Louis the Invincible.
So that Mademoiselle de la Valliere, who only called the king Louis
the Victorious, lost much of his majesty's favour. Besides, her eyes
were frequently red, and for an Invincible nothing is more disagreeable
than a mistress who weeps while everything is smiling around her.
The star of Mademoiselle de la Valliere was being drowned in the
horizon in clouds and tears. But the gaiety of Madame de Montespan
re-doubled with the successes of the king, and consoled him for every
other unpleasant circumstance. It was to d'Artagnan the king owed
this; and his majesty was anxious to acknowledge these services; he
wrote to M. Colbert
" Monsieur Colbert, we have a promise to fulfil with M. d'Artagnan,
who so well keeps his. This is to inform you that the time is come for
performing it. Allprovisions for this purpose you shall be furnished
with in due time.—Louis."
THE DEATH OE D'ABTAGNAN. 599
In consequence of this, Colbert, who detained the envoy of d'Arta-
gnan, placed in the hands of that messenger a letter from himself for
d'Artagnan, and a small coffer of ebony inlaid with gold, which was not
very voluminous in appearance, but which, without doubt, was very
heavy, as a guard of five men was given to the messenger, to assist him
in carrying it. These people arrived before the place which d'Artagnan
was besieging, towards daybreak, and presented themselves at the
lodgings of the general. They were told that M. d'Artagnan, annoyed
by a sortie which the governor, an artful man, had made the evening
before, and in which the works had been, destroyed, seventy-seven men
killed, and the reparation of the breaches commenced,- had just
gone with half a score companies of grenadiers, to reconstruct the
works.
M. Colbert's envoy had orders to go and seek M. d'Artagnan, wher-
ever he might be, or at whatever hour of the day or night. He
directed his course, therefore, towards the trenches, followed by his
escort, all on horseback. They perceived M. d'Artagnan in the open
plain, with his gold-laced hat, his long cane, and his large gilded cuffs.
He was biting his white moustache, and wiping off, with his left hand,
the dust which the passing balls threw up from the ground they
ploughed near him. They also saw, amidst this terrible fire, which
filled the air with its hissing whistle, officers handling the shovel,
soldiers rolling barrows, and vast fascines, rising by being either carried
or dragged by from ten to twenty men, cover the front of the trench,
reopened to the centre by this extraordinary effort of the general
animating his soldiers. In three hours, all had been reinstated.
D'Artagnan began to speak more mildly; and he became quite calm
when the captain of the pioneers approached him, hat in hand, to tell
him that the trench was again lodgeable. This man had scarcely
finished speaking, when a ball took off one of his legs, and he fell into
the arms of d'Artagnan. The latter lifted up his soldier, and quietly,
with soothing words, carried him into the trench, amidst the enthu-
siastic applause of the regiments. From that time, it was no longer
ardour—it was delirium; two companies stole away up to the advanced
posts, which they destroyed instantly.
When their comrades, restrained with great difficulty by d'Artagnan,
saw them lodged upon the bastions, they rushed forward likewise; and
soon a furious assault was made upon the counterscarp, upon which
depended the safety of the place. D'Artagnan perceived there was only
one means left of stopping his army, and that was to lodge it in the
place. He directed all his force to two breaches, which the besieged
were busy in repairing. The shock was terrible ; eighteen companies
took part in it, and d'Artagnan went with the rest, within half cannon-
shot of the place, to support the attack by echelons. The cries of the
Dutch, who were being poniarded upon their guns by d'Artagnan's
grenadiers, were distinctly audible. The struggle grew fiercer with the
despair of the governor, who disputed his position foot by foot. D'Ar-
tagnan, to put an end to the affair, and silence the fire, which was
unceasing, sent a fresh column, which penetrated like a wimble through
the posts that remained solid; and he soon perceived upon the ram-
parts, through the fire, the terrified flight of the besieged pursued by
the besiegers.
It was at this moment, the general, breathing freely and full of joy,
heard a voice behind him, saying, " Monsieur, if you please, from
M. Colbert."
He broke the seal of a letter which contained these words
600 the vicomte de beagelon'ne.
" Monsieur d'Artagnan,—The king commands me to inform you
that he has nominated you Mareehal of France, as a reward of your
good services, and the honour you do to his arms. The king is highly
pleased, monsieur, with the captures you have made; he commands you
in particular, to finish the siege you have commenced, with good for-
tune to you, and success for him."
D'Artagnan was standing with a heated countenance and a sparkling
eye. He looked up to watch the progress of his . troops upon the walls,
still enveloped in red and black volumes of smoke. " I have finished,"
replied he to the messenger; "the city will have surrendered in a
quarter of an hour." He then resumed his reading:—
" The coffret, Monsieur d'Artagnan, is my own present. You will
not be sorry to see that whilst you warriors are drawing the sword to
defend the king, I am animating the pacific arts to ornament the re-
compenses worthy of you. I commend myself to your friendship,
Monsieur le Mareehal, and beg you to believe in all mine.—Colbert."
D'Artagnan, intoxicated with joy, made a sign to the messenger,
who approached, with his coffret in his hands. But at the moment the
mareehal was going to look at it, a loud explosion resounded from the
ramparts, and called his attention towards the city. " It is strange,"
said d'Artagnan, " that I don't yet see the king's flag upon the walls, or
hear the drums beat the, chamade." He launched three hundred fresh
men, under a high-spirited officer, and ordered another breach to be
beaten. Then, being more tranquil, he turned towards the coffret,
which Colbert's envpy held out to him. It was his treasure—he had
won it.
D'Artagnan was holding out his hand to open the coffret, when a
ball from the city crushed the coffret in the arms of the officer, struck
d'Artagnan full in the chest, and knocked him down upon a sloping
heap of earth, whilst the fleur-de-lised baton, escaping from the broken
sides of the box, came rolling under the powerless hand of the mareehal.
D'Artagnan endeavoured to raise himself up. It was thought he had
been knocked down without being wounded. A terrible cry broke
from the group of his terrified officers: the mareehal was covered with
blood; the paleness of death ascended slowly to his noble countenance.
Leaning upon the arms which were held out on all sides -to receive
him, he was able once more to turn his eyes towards the place, and to
distinguish the white flag at the crest of the principal bastion; his
ears, already deaf to the sounds of life, caught feebly the rolling of the
drum which announced the victory. Then, clasping in his nerveless
hand the baton, ornamented with its fleurs-de-lis, he cast down upon it
his eyes, which had no longer the power of looking upwards towards
heaven, and fell back, murmuring those strange words, which appeared
to the soldiers cabalistic words,—words which had formerly represented
so many things upon earth, and which none but the dying man longer
comprehended:
" Athos—Porthos, farewell till we meet again! Aramis, adieu for
ever!"
Of the four valiant men whose history we have related, there now no
longer remained but one single body: God had resumed the souls.
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