Part 17

— And when I think that for a moment I gave credence to such an error; but then you spoke with such assurance.

— Indeed, Sire, I must have been seeing things, said d’Artagnan with a fine good humor that charmed the king.

— You admit it, then?

— Pardieu! Sire, if I admit it!

— So that now you see the matter?...

— Quite differently than I saw it half an hour ago.

— And you attribute this change in your opinion?...

— Oh! to a very simple thing, Sire; half an hour ago I was coming back from the Rochin wood, where I had only a wretched stable lantern to light my way...

— Whereas at this hour?...

— At this hour, I have all the torches of your cabinet, and moreover the two eyes of the king, which shine like suns.

The king began to laugh, and de Saint-Aignan to burst out.

— It is like M. Valot, said d’Artagnan, taking up the word from the king’s lips; he imagined not only that M. de Guiche had been wounded by a bullet, but even that he had extracted a bullet from his chest.

— Upon my faith! said Valot, I confess...

— You believed it, didn’t you? resumed d’Artagnan.

— That is to say, said Valot, that not only did I believe it, but at this very hour I would swear to it.

— Well! my dear doctor, you dreamed that.

— I had dreamed?

— The wound of M. de Guiche, a dream! the bullet, a dream!... So, believe me, speak of it no more.

— Well said, said the king; the advice d’Artagnan gives you is good. Speak of your dream to no one, M. Valot, and, on a gentleman’s honor! you shall not repent it. Good night, gentlemen. Oh! a sorry thing is a boar hunt!

— A sorry thing, repeated d’Artagnan at full voice, is a boar hunt!

And he repeated the word again through all the rooms he passed.

And he left the castle, taking Valot with him.

— Now that we are alone, said the king to de Saint-Aignan, what is the name of de Guiche’s adversary?

De Saint-Aignan looked at the king.

— Oh! do not hesitate, said the king; you know well that I must pardon.

— De Wardes, said de Saint-Aignan.

— Very well.

Then, re-entering his rooms briskly:

— To pardon is not to forget, said Louis XIV.

Chapter CLIX — How Good It Is to Have Two Strings to One’s Bow

Manicamp was leaving the king’s apartments, quite happy at having succeeded so well, when, arriving at the foot of the staircase and passing before a curtain, he felt himself suddenly pulled by the sleeve.

He turned and recognized Montalais, who was waiting for him in the passage, and who, mysteriously, her body leaning forward and her voice low, said to him:

— Monsieur, come quickly, I beg you.

— And where might that be, mademoiselle? asked Manicamp.

— First of all, a true knight would not have put that question to me; he would have followed me without needing any explanation.

— Well! mademoiselle, said Manicamp, I am ready to conduct myself as a true knight.

— No, it is too late, and you have no merit in it. We are going to Madame’s; come.

— Ah! ah! said Manicamp. Let us go to Madame’s.

And he followed Montalais, who ran before him light as Galatea.

“This time,” Manicamp said to himself as he followed his guide, “I do not think hunting stories will be in order. We shall try nonetheless, and, if need be... faith! if need be, we shall find something else.”

Montalais kept running.

“How tiresome it is,” thought Manicamp, “to have need of both one’s wits and one’s legs at the same time!”

At last they arrived.

Madame had finished her night toilet; she was in an elegant undress; but one understood that this toilet had been made before she had to undergo the emotions that now agitated her.

She was waiting with visible impatience.

So Montalais and Manicamp found her standing near the door.

At the sound of their steps, Madame came toward them.

— Ah! she said, at last!

— Here is M. de Manicamp, answered Montalais.

Manicamp bowed respectfully.

Madame made a sign to Montalais to withdraw. The young girl obeyed.

Madame followed her with her eyes in silence, until the door had closed behind her; then, turning back to Manicamp:

— What then is the matter, and what am I to be told, M. de Manicamp? she said; is someone wounded at the castle?

— Yes, madame, unfortunately... M. de Guiche.

— Yes, M. de Guiche, repeated the princess. Indeed, I had heard it said, but not affirmed. So, truly, it is to M. de Guiche that this misfortune has happened?

— To him himself, madame.

— Do you know well, M. de Manicamp, said the princess quickly, that duels are antipathetic to the king?

— Certainly, madame; but a duel with a wild beast is not within His Majesty’s jurisdiction.

— Oh! you will not do me the injury of believing I give credit to that absurd fable spread, I know not too well for what purpose, pretending that M. de Guiche was wounded by a boar. No, no, monsieur; the truth is known, and, at this moment, besides the discomfort of his wound, M. de Guiche runs the risk of his liberty.

— Alas! madame, said Manicamp, I know it well; but what is to be done?

— You have seen His Majesty?

— Yes, madame.

— What did you say to him?

— I told him how M. de Guiche had been at the hunt, how a boar had come out of the Rochin wood, how M. de Guiche had fired upon it, and how at last the furious animal had turned upon the shooter, killed his horse, and wounded him grievously himself.

— And the king believed all that?

— Perfectly.

— Oh! you surprise me, M. de Manicamp, you surprise me greatly.

And Madame walked up and down, casting from time to time an inquiring glance at Manicamp, who remained impassive and motionless in the place he had taken on entering. At last, she stopped.

— However, she said, everyone here agrees in giving another cause to this wound.

— And what cause, madame? said Manicamp; may I, without indiscretion, address that question to Your Highness?

— You ask that, you, the intimate friend of M. de Guiche? you, his confidant?

— Oh! madame, the intimate friend, yes; his confidant, no. De Guiche is one of those men who may have secrets, who even certainly have them, but who do not tell them. De Guiche is discreet, madame.

— Well! then, those secrets that M. de Guiche keeps within him, it is I who shall have the pleasure of teaching them to you, said the princess with vexation; for, in truth, the king might question you a second time, and if, that second time, you told him the same tale as the first, he might well not be satisfied with it.

— But, madame, I think Your Highness is in error regarding the king. His Majesty was very satisfied with me, I swear to you.

— Then, permit me to tell you, M. de Manicamp, that proves but one thing, which is that His Majesty is very easily satisfied.

— I think Your Highness is wrong to rest on that opinion. His Majesty is known for being content only with good reasons.

— And do you think he will be grateful for your obliging falsehood, when tomorrow he learns that M. de Guiche had for M. de Bragelonne, his friend, a quarrel which degenerated into a meeting?

— A quarrel over M. de Bragelonne? said Manicamp with the most naive air in the world; what is Your Highness honoring me by telling me?

— What is astonishing in that? M. de Guiche is touchy, irritable, he is easily angered.

— I hold, on the contrary, madame, M. de Guiche to be very patient, and never touchy and irritable except with the justest grounds.

— But is not friendship a just ground? said the princess.

— Oh! certainly, madame, and above all for a heart like his.

— Well! M. de Bragelonne is a friend of M. de Guiche; you will not deny that fact?

— A very great friend.

— Well! M. de Guiche took 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 made two or three movements of head and shoulders which signified: “Well! if you absolutely insist...”

— But finally, said the princess, impatient, speak!

— I?

— Doubtless; it is evident you are not of my opinion, and that you have something to say.

— I have but one thing to say, madame.

— Say it!

— It is that I do not understand a word of what you are honoring me by relating.

— How! you do not understand a word of this quarrel of M. de Guiche with M. de Wardes? cried the princess, almost irritated.

Manicamp was silent.

— A quarrel, she continued, born of a remark more or less malicious or more or less founded upon the virtue of a certain lady?

— Ah! of a certain lady? This is another matter, said Manicamp.

— You are beginning to understand, are you not?

— Your Highness will excuse me, but I dare not...

— You dare not? said Madame, exasperated. Well! wait, I shall dare, I.

— Madame, Madame! cried Manicamp, as if frightened, take care what you are about to say.

— Ah! it seems that, were I a man, you would fight with me, despite His Majesty’s edicts, as M. de Guiche fought with M. de Wardes, and that for the virtue of Mlle de La Vallière.

— Mlle de La Vallière! cried Manicamp, making a sudden start as if he were a hundred leagues from expecting to hear that name pronounced.

— Oh! what is the matter with you, M. de Manicamp, to leap thus? said Madame with irony; would you have the impertinence to doubt, you, that virtue?

— But it is not in the least, in all this, a question of the virtue of Mlle de La Vallière, madame.

— How! when two men have blown their brains out for a woman, you say she has nothing to do with all this and that it is not a question of her? Ah! I did not take you for so good a courtier, M. de Manicamp.

— Pardon, pardon, madame, said the young man, but we are far from the mark here. You do me the honor of speaking to me in one language, and I, it seems, speak another.

— What say you?

— Pardon, I thought I understood that Your Highness meant to tell me that MM. de Guiche and de Wardes had fought for Mlle de La Vallière.

— But yes.

— For Mlle de La Vallière, is it not? repeated Manicamp.

— Eh! my God, I do not say that M. de Guiche occupied himself in person with Mlle de La Vallière; but that he occupied himself with her by proxy.

— By proxy!

— Come, do not always play the astonished man. Is it not known here that M. de Bragelonne is betrothed to Mlle de La Vallière, and that on departing for the mission the king entrusted to him in London, he charged his friend, M. de Guiche, to watch over that interesting person?

— Ah! I say no more, Your Highness is informed.

— Of everything, I warn you.

Manicamp began to laugh, an action which nearly exasperated the princess, who was not, as is known, of a very patient humor.

— Madame, resumed the discreet Manicamp, bowing to the princess, let us bury all this affair, which will never be well cleared up.

— Oh! as for that, there is nothing more to do, and the explanations are complete. The king shall know that de Guiche took the part of that little adventuress who gives herself the airs of a great lady; he shall know that M. de Bragelonne having named as ordinary guardian of the garden of the Hesperides his friend M. de Guiche, the latter gave the required bite to the marquis de Wardes, who dared lay hand on the golden apple. Now, you are not unaware, M. de Manicamp, you who know all things so well, that the king on his side covets the famous treasure, and that perhaps he will take it ill of M. de Guiche to constitute himself its defender. Are you informed enough now, and do you need another opinion? Speak, ask.

— No, madame, no, I wish to know no more.

— Know nevertheless, for you must know this, M. de Manicamp, know that His Majesty’s indignation will be followed by terrible effects. In princes of a character such as the king’s, loving anger is a hurricane.

— Which you will calm, you, madame.

— I! cried the princess with a gesture of violent irony; I! and by what title?

— Because you do not love injustices, madame.

— And it would be an injustice, in your view, to prevent the king from conducting his love affairs?

— You will intercede nonetheless in favor of M. de Guiche.

— Eh! this time you are becoming mad, monsieur, said the princess in a tone full of haughtiness.

— On the contrary, madame, I am in my right mind, and, I repeat, you will defend M. de Guiche with the king.

— I?

— Yes.

— And how so?

— Because the cause of M. de Guiche is yours, madame, said Manicamp softly with ardor, his eyes just then kindling.

— What do you mean?

— I say, madame, that, in the name of La Vallière, regarding this defense undertaken by M. de Guiche for the absent M. de Bragelonne, I am astonished that Your Highness has not guessed a pretext.

— A pretext?

— Yes.

— But a pretext for what? repeated, stammering, the princess, whom Manicamp’s looks had just instructed.

— Now, madame, said the young man, I have said enough, I presume, to engage Your Highness not to load, before the king, this poor de Guiche, upon whom will fall all the enmities fomented by a certain party very opposed to yours.

— You mean, on the contrary, it seems to me, that all those who do not love Mlle de La Vallière, and perhaps even some of those who do love her, will bear a grudge against the count?

— Oh! Madame, will you push obstinacy so far, and will you not open your ear to the words of a devoted friend? Must I expose myself to displeasing you, must I name to you, despite myself, the person who was the true cause of the quarrel?

— The person! said Madame, blushing.

— Must I, continued Manicamp, show you the poor de Guiche irritated, furious, exasperated by all those rumors circulating about that person? Must I, if you persist in not recognizing her, and if, for my part, respect continues to prevent me from naming her, must I remind you of the scenes of Monsieur with milord de Buckingham, the insinuations launched regarding that exile of the duke? Must I recall to you the count’s care to please, to observe, to protect that person for whom alone he lives, for whom alone he breathes? Well! I shall do it, and when I have recalled all this to you, perhaps you will understand that the count, at the end of his patience, harassed for a long time by de Wardes, at the first disobliging word the latter pronounced concerning that person, took fire and breathed vengeance.

The princess hid her face in her hands.

— Monsieur! monsieur! she cried, do you know well what you are saying there and to whom you are saying it?

— Then, madame, pursued Manicamp as if he had not heard the princess’s exclamations, nothing will astonish you any more, neither the count’s eagerness in seeking this quarrel, nor his marvelous address in transporting it onto ground foreign to your interests. That above all is prodigious in skill and coolness; and, if the person for whom the count de Guiche fought and shed his blood, in reality, owes some gratitude to the poor wounded man, it is truly not for the blood he lost, for the pain he suffered, but for his step regarding an honor more precious to him than his own.

— Oh! cried Madame as if she were alone; oh! it would truly be on my account?

Manicamp was able to breathe; he had bravely gained time for rest: he breathed.

Madame, for her part, remained some time plunged in a painful reverie. One guessed her agitation from the hurried movements of her bosom, the languor of her eyes, the frequent pressings of her hand upon her heart.

But, in her, coquetry was not an inert passion; it was, on the contrary, a fire that sought fuel and found it.

— Then, she said, the count will have obliged two persons at once, for M. de Bragelonne also owes M. de Guiche great gratitude; all the greater in that, everywhere and always, Mlle de La Vallière will pass for having been defended by that generous champion.

Manicamp understood that a remnant of doubt remained in the princess’s heart, and his mind warmed at the resistance.

— A fine service, in truth, said he, that which he rendered Mlle de La Vallière! a fine service that which he rendered M. de Bragelonne! The duel has made a scandal that half dishonors that young girl, a scandal that necessarily estranges her from the viscount. It results that M. de Wardes’s pistol shot had three results instead of one: it kills at once a woman’s honor, a man’s happiness, and perhaps, at the same time, it has wounded to death one of the best gentlemen of France! Ah! madame! your logic is cold indeed: it always condemns, it never absolves.

Manicamp’s last words battered down the last doubt remaining—not in the heart, but in the mind of Madame. It was no longer either a princess with her scruples or a woman with her suspicious returns, it was a heart that had just felt the deep cold of a wound.

— Wounded to death! she murmured in a breathless voice; oh! M. de Manicamp, did you not say wounded to death?

Manicamp answered only with a deep sigh.

— So then, you say the count is dangerously wounded? continued the princess.

— Eh! madame, he has a shattered hand and a bullet in the chest.

— My God! my God! resumed the princess with the excitement of fever, it is frightful, M. de Manicamp! A shattered hand, you say? a bullet in the chest, my God! And it is that coward, that wretch, it is that assassin de Wardes who did this! Decidedly, Heaven is not just.

Manicamp seemed prey to a violent emotion. He had, in effect, deployed much energy in the last part of his plea.

As for Madame, she was no longer calculating proprieties; when passion spoke in her, anger or sympathy, nothing further checked its impulse.

Madame approached Manicamp, who had just let himself fall upon a seat, as if grief were a sufficiently powerful excuse for committing an infraction of the laws of etiquette.

— Monsieur, said she, taking his hand, be frank.

Manicamp raised his head.

— M. de Guiche, continued Madame, is he in danger of death?

— Twice over, madame, said he: first, because of the hemorrhage that declared itself, an artery having been struck in the hand; next, because of the chest wound which had, the physician at least feared, struck some essential organ.

— Then he may die?

— Die, yes, madame, and without even the consolation of knowing that you had known his devotion.

— You will tell him so.

— I?

— Yes; are you not his friend?

— I? oh! no, madame, I will tell M. de Guiche, if the unhappy man is still able to hear me, I will tell him only what I have seen, that is to say your cruelty toward him.

— Monsieur, oh! you will not commit that barbarity.

— Oh! yes indeed, madame, I will tell that truth, for, after all, nature is powerful in a man of his age. Physicians are learned, and if, by chance, the poor count survived his wound, I would not wish him to remain exposed to dying of the wound of the heart after having escaped that of the body.

At these words, Manicamp rose, and, with profound respect, seemed about to take leave.

— At least, monsieur, said Madame, stopping him with an almost supplicating air, you will be good enough to tell me in what state the patient is; who is the physician attending him?

— He is very ill, madame, that as to his state. As for his physician, it is His Majesty’s own physician, M. Valot. He is, besides, assisted by the colleague to whose house M. de Guiche was conveyed.

— How! he is not at the castle? said Madame.

— Alas! madame, the poor fellow was so ill that he could not be brought hither.

— Give me the address, monsieur, said the princess quickly: I will send for news of him.

— Rue du Feurre; a brick house with white shutters. The physician’s name is on the door.

— You are returning to the wounded man’s side, M. de Manicamp?

— Yes, madame.

— Then it befits you to render me a service.

— I am at Your Highness’s orders.

— Do what you were going to do: return to M. de Guiche, send away all attendants; be good enough to withdraw yourself.

— Madame...

— Let us lose no time in useless explanations. There is the fact; see nothing in it but what is there, ask nothing but what I tell you. I am going to send one of my women, perhaps two, because of the late hour; I would not wish them to see you, or, more frankly, I would not wish you to see them: these are scruples you must understand, you especially, M. de Manicamp, who guess everything.

— Oh! madame, perfectly; I can even do better, I will walk ahead of your messengers; it will at once be a means of surely indicating the route to them and of protecting them if chance should have it that they, against all probability, stood in need of protection.

— And then, by that means above all, they will enter without any difficulty, will they not?

— Certainly, madame; for, passing first, I would smooth away those difficulties, if chance should have it that they existed.

— Well! go, go, M. de Manicamp, and wait at the foot of the staircase.

— I am going, madame.

— Wait.

Manicamp stopped.

— When you hear two women descending, go out and follow, without turning back, the road that leads to the poor count’s.

— But, if chance should send down two other persons whom I might mistake for them?

— Three soft claps will be struck in the hands.

— Yes, madame.

— Go, go.

Manicamp turned, bowed a last time, and went out, joy in his heart. He was not ignorant, in effect, that Madame’s presence was the best balm to apply to the wounded man’s hurts.

A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when the sound of a door opened and carefully closed reached him. Then he heard light steps gliding along the banister, then the three claps struck in the hands, that is to say the agreed signal.

He went out at once, and, faithful to his word, directed himself, without turning his head, through the streets of Fontainebleau, toward the physician’s dwelling.

Chapter CLX — M. Malicorne, Archivist of the Kingdom of France

Two women, buried in their cloaks and their faces covered with a half-mask of black velvet, timidly followed the steps of Manicamp.

On the first floor, behind the curtains of red damask, shone the soft gleam of a lamp placed upon a sideboard.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”