Part 35

— Listen, friend, I love her... because... But you are not listening to me.

— Pardon.

— You are preoccupied?

— Indeed. Your health, first of all...

— That is not it.

— My dear, you would be wrong, I think, to question me, you.

And he accented that *you* in such a way as to fully enlighten his friend on the nature of the ill and the difficulty of the remedy.

— You say that to me, Raoul, because of what I wrote you.

— Yes... Do you wish we should talk of it when you have finished telling me of your pleasures and your pains?

— Dear friend, to you, truly to you, at once.

— Thank you! I am eager... I burn... I came from London here in half the time the state couriers ordinarily take. Well! what did you wish?

— Nothing else, my friend, than to have you come.

— Well! here I am.

— That is well, then.

— There is something else, I imagine?

— Upon my word, no!

— De Guiche!

— Upon my honor!

— You did not violently tear me from hopes, you did not expose me to the king's displeasure by this return which is an infraction of his orders, you did not, in short, fasten jealousy to my heart, that serpent, only to tell me: "That is well, sleep in peace."

— I do not tell you: "Sleep in peace," Raoul; but understand me well, I will not, nor can I, tell you anything else.

— Oh! my friend, whom do you take me for?

— How?

— If you know, why hide it from me? If you do not know, why warn me?

— It is true, I was wrong. Oh! I repent of it well, you see, Raoul. It is nothing to write a friend: "Come!" But to have that friend before one, to feel him shudder, gasp in expectation of a word one dares not speak to him...

— Dare! I have heart, if you have none! cried Raoul in despair.

— There, you are being unjust and forgetting you have to do with a poor wounded man... half your heart... There! calm yourself! I said to you: "Come." You came; ask no more of that unhappy de Guiche.

— You told me to come, hoping I would see, did you not?

— But...

— No hesitating! I have seen.

— Ah!... said de Guiche.

— Or at least, I thought...

— You see, you doubt. But if you doubt, my poor friend, what is left for me to do?

— I saw La Vallière troubled... Montalais terrified... The king...

— The king?

— Yes... You turn your head away... The danger is there, the evil is there, is it not? it is the king?

— I say nothing.

— Oh! you say a thousand and a thousand times more! Facts, for mercy's sake, for pity's sake, facts! My friend, my only friend, speak! My heart is pierced, bleeding; I am dying of despair!...

— If that is so, dear Raoul, replied de Guiche, you put me at ease, and I shall speak to you, sure that I shall say only consoling things compared to the despair I see in you.

— I listen! I listen!...

— Well! said the Count de Guiche, I can tell you what you would learn from the first comer.

— The first comer! people are talking of it? cried Raoul.

— Before saying: "People are talking of it," my friend, first know of what one can talk. It is, I swear to you, nothing that is not at bottom very innocent; perhaps a walk...

— Ah! a walk with the king?

— Why yes, with the king; it seems to me the king has already walked many times with ladies, without that...

— You would not have written to me, I repeat, if that walk were quite natural.

— I know that, during that storm, it was better for the king to take shelter than to stand bareheaded before La Vallière; but...

— But?...

— The king is so polite!

— Oh! de Guiche, de Guiche, you are killing me!

— Let us be silent, then.

— No, continue. That walk was followed by others?

— No, that is to say, yes; there was the adventure of the oak. Is that it? I know nothing of it.

Raoul rose. De Guiche tried to imitate him despite his weakness.

— You see, said he, I shall not add a word; I have said too much or too little. Others will inform you if they wish or if they can: my office was to warn you, I have done it. Look after your own affairs now.

— Question someone? Alas! you are not my friend, you who speak to me thus, said the afflicted young man. The first I question will be a knave or a fool; knave, he will lie to torment me; fool, he will do worse still. Ah! de Guiche! de Guiche! within two hours I shall have found ten lies and ten duels. Save me! is not knowing one's ill the best?

— But I know nothing, I tell you! I was wounded, feverish: I had lost my mind, I have but a faded tint of it. But, zounds! we seek far when we have our man at hand. Have you not d'Artagnan for a friend?

— Oh! it is true, it is true!

— Go to him, then. He will make light, and will not seek to wound your eyes.

A lackey entered.

— What is it? asked de Guiche.

— Monsieur le Comte is expected in the Porcelain Room.

— Very well. You permit it, dear Raoul? Since I walk, I am so proud!

— I would offer you my arm, de Guiche, if I did not guess the person is a woman.

— I believe so, replied de Guiche with a smile.

And he left Raoul.

The latter remained motionless, absorbed, crushed, like the miner on whom a vault has just collapsed; he is wounded, his blood flows, his thought is interrupted, he tries to recover and save his life with his reason. A few minutes sufficed Raoul to dissipate the dazzlements of those two revelations. He had already regained the thread of his ideas when, suddenly, through the door, he thought he recognized the voice of Montalais in the Porcelain Room.

— Her! he cried. Yes, it is indeed her voice. Oh! there is a woman who could tell me the truth; but shall I question her here? She even hides from me; she comes no doubt on behalf of Madame... I shall see her at her home. She will explain her fright, her flight, the clumsiness with which I was pushed aside; she will tell me all that... when M. d'Artagnan, who knows everything, shall have steadied my heart. Madame... a coquette... Well! yes, a coquette, but who loves at her good moments, a coquette who, like death or life, has her caprice, but who makes de Guiche say he is the happiest of men. That one, at least, is on roses. Away!

He fled from the count's house, and, while reproaching himself for having spoken only of himself to de Guiche, he arrived at d'Artagnan's.

Chapter CXC — Bragelonne Continues His Inquiries

The captain was on duty; he was doing his week's service, buried in the leather armchair, his spur fixed in the parquet, his sword between his legs, and was reading a great number of letters while twisting his moustache.

D'Artagnan gave a growl of joy at sight of his friend's son.

— Raoul, my boy, said he, by what chance has the king recalled you?

These words sounded ill to the young man's ear, who, sitting down, replied:

— Upon my faith! I know nothing of it. What I know is that I have returned.

— Hum! said d'Artagnan, folding up the letters with a meaningful glance directed at his interlocutor. What do you say there, boy? That the king did not recall you, and that here you are returned? I do not understand that well.

Raoul was already pale, already turning his hat with a constrained air.

— What devil's face are you making, and what mortuary conversation! said the captain. Is it in England one takes such ways? Zounds! I have been to England, I, and returned from it gay as a finch. Will you speak?

— I have too much to say.

— Ah! ah! How is your father?

— Dear friend, pardon me; I was about to ask you.

D'Artagnan redoubled the keenness of that gaze to which no secret resisted.

— You are grieved? said he.

— Pardieu! you know it well, Monsieur d'Artagnan.

— I?

— Doubtless. Oh! do not affect surprise.

— I do not affect surprise, my friend.

— Dear captain, I know full well that at the game of subtlety as at the game of force, I shall be beaten by you. At this moment, you see, I am a fool, and I am a mite. I have neither brain nor arm, do not despise me, help me. In two words, I am the most miserable of living beings.

— Oh! oh! why so? asked d'Artagnan, unbuckling his belt and softening his smile.

— Because Mlle de La Vallière deceives me.

D'Artagnan did not change countenance.

— She deceives you! she deceives you! there are fine words. Who told you so?

— Everybody.

— Ah! if everybody has said it, there must be something true. I believe in fire when I see smoke. That is ridiculous, but that is.

— So, you believe? cried Bragelonne eagerly.

— Ah! if you take me to task...

— Doubtless.

— I do not meddle in such affairs, I; you know it well.

— How, for a friend? for a son?

— Precisely. If you were a stranger, I would tell you... I would tell you nothing at all... How is Porthos, do you know?

— Monsieur, cried Raoul, pressing d'Artagnan's hand, in the name of that friendship you vowed to my father!

— Ah! devil! you are very sick... with curiosity.

— It is not curiosity, it is love.

— Good! another fine word. If you were really in love, dear Raoul, it would be different.

— What do you mean?

— I tell you that, if you were seized with a love so serious that I could believe myself always addressing your heart... But that is impossible.

— I tell you I love Louise madly.

D'Artagnan read with his eyes to the bottom of Raoul's heart.

— Impossible, I tell you... You are like all young men; you are not in love, you are mad.

— Well! if there were but that?

— Never did a wise man turn a brain from a reeling skull. I have lost my Latin a hundred times in my life over that. You would listen to me and not hear me; you would hear me and not understand me; you would understand me and not obey me.

— Oh! try, try!

— I say more: if I were unhappy enough to know something and foolish enough to share it with you... You are my friend, you say?

— Oh! yes.

— Well! I would quarrel with you. You would never forgive me for having destroyed your illusion, as they say in love.

— Monsieur d'Artagnan, you know everything; you leave me in embarrassment, in despair, in death! it is frightful!

— There! there!

— I never cry out, you know it. But, as my father and God would never forgive me for having blown my brains out with a pistol shot, well! I am going to go have myself told what you refuse me by the first comer; I shall give him the lie...

— And you will kill him? a fine affair! So much the better! What is that to me? Kill, my boy, kill, if that can please you. It is like for those who have toothache; they tell me: "Oh! how I suffer! I could bite into iron." I tell them: "Bite, my friends, bite! the tooth will stay there."

— I shall not kill, Monsieur, said Raoul with a dark air.

— Yes, oh! yes, you take such airs, you others, today. You will get yourself killed, will you not? Ah! how pretty! and how I shall regret you, for example! How I shall say all day long: "He was a fine ninny, that little Bragelonne! a double brute! I had spent my life teaching him to hold a sword properly, and the rogue went to get himself spit like a bird. Go, Raoul, go get yourself killed, my friend. I know not who taught you logic; but, God damn me! as the English say, that one, Monsieur, stole your father's money."

Raoul, silent, plunged his head into his hands and murmured:

— One has no friends, no!

— Ah bah! said d'Artagnan.

— One has only mockers or indifferent ones.

— Nonsense! I am not a mocker, all Gascon though I be. And indifferent! If I were, a quarter of an hour ago I should have sent you to the devil; for you would sadden a man mad with joy, and kill a sad man. How, young man, you wish me to go disgust you with your sweetheart, and teach you to execrate women, who are the honor and felicity of human life?

— Monsieur, speak, speak, and I shall bless you!

— Eh! my dear, do you by chance believe I have stuffed into my brain all the affairs of the carpenter and the painter, of the staircase and the portrait, and a hundred thousand other sleep-inducing tales?

— A carpenter! what does that carpenter mean?

— Upon my faith! I know not; I was told there was a carpenter who had bored through a floor.

— At La Vallière's?...

— Ah! I know not where.

— At the king's?

— Good! If it were at the king's, I would go tell you, would I not?

— At whose, then?

— There is an hour I am killing myself repeating that I ignore it.

— But the painter, then? that portrait?...

— It would appear the king had a portrait made of a lady of the Court.

— Of La Vallière?

— Eh! you have no other name in your mouth. Who speaks to you of La Vallière?

— But then, if it is not of her, why would you have it touch me?

— I do not wish it to touch you. But you question me, I answer you. You wish to know the scandalous chronicle, I give it to you. Make of it what you will.

Raoul struck his forehead with despair.

— It is enough to die of! said he.

— You have already said so.

— Yes, you are right.

And he took a step to withdraw.

— Where are you going? said d'Artagnan.

— I am going to find someone who will tell me the truth.

— Who?

— A woman.

— Mlle de La Vallière herself, is it not? said d'Artagnan with a smile. Ah! there is a famous idea; you sought to be consoled, you shall be at once. She will not speak ill of herself, go.

— You are mistaken, Monsieur, replied Raoul; the woman I shall address will tell me much ill.

— Montalais, I wager?

— Yes, Montalais.

— Ah! her friend? A woman who, in that quality, will strongly exaggerate the good or the ill. Do not speak to Montalais, my good Raoul.

— It is not reason that urges you to keep me from Montalais.

— Well! I confess... And, in fact, why play with you like the cat with a poor mouse? You move me, truly. And if I desire that you not speak to Montalais, at this moment, it is that you will betray your secret and they will abuse it. Wait, if you can.

— I cannot.

— So much the worse! You see, Raoul, if I had an idea... But I have none.

— Promise me, my friend, to pity me, that will suffice me, and let me get out of the affair alone.

— Ah well! yes! to mire yourself, by all means! Sit here, at this table, and take the pen.

— To do what?

— To write to Montalais and ask her for a meeting.

— Ah! said Raoul, throwing himself upon the pen the captain held out to him.

Suddenly the door opened, and a musketeer, approaching d'Artagnan:

— My captain, said he, there is Mlle de Montalais here who would speak with you.

— With me? murmured d'Artagnan. Let her enter, and I shall see if it was with me she wished to speak.

The cunning captain had scented aright.

Montalais, on entering, saw Raoul, and cried:

— Monsieur! Monsieur!... Pardon, Monsieur d'Artagnan.

— I pardon you, mademoiselle, said d'Artagnan; I know that at my age those who seek me well have need of me.

— I was seeking M. de Bragelonne, replied Montalais.

— How that falls out! I was seeking you too.

— Raoul, will you not go with Mademoiselle?

— With all my heart.

— Go, then!

And he gently pushed Raoul out of the cabinet; then, taking Montalais's hand:

— Be a good girl, said he very low; spare him, and spare her.

— Ah! said she in the same tone, it is not I who will speak to him.

— How so?

— It is Madame who has him sought.

— Ah! good! cried d'Artagnan, it is Madame! Within an hour, the poor boy will be cured.

— Or dead! said Montalais with compassion. Adieu, Monsieur d'Artagnan!

And she ran to rejoin Raoul, who awaited her far from the door, much intrigued, much uneasy at this dialogue that promised nothing good.

Chapter CXCI — Two Jealousies

Lovers are tender toward all that touches their beloved; Raoul had no sooner found himself with Montalais than he kissed her hand with ardor.

— There, there, said the young girl sadly. You place there kisses at a dead loss, dear Monsieur Raoul; I even guarantee they will bring you no interest.

— How?... what?... Will you explain to me, my dear Aure?...

— It is Madame who will explain all that to you. It is to her that I am conducting you.

— What!...

— Silence! and none of those startled looks. The windows here have eyes, the walls wide ears. Do me the pleasure of looking at me no more; do me the pleasure of speaking very loud to me of the rain, of the fine weather, and of the agreeableness of England.

— Finally...

— Ah!... I warn you that somewhere, I know not where, but somewhere, Madame must have an open eye and a strained ear. I have no wish, you understand, to be dismissed or sent to the Bastille. Let us speak, I tell you, or rather let us not speak.

Raoul clenched his fists, quickened his pace, and made the face of a man of heart, true, but of a man of heart who goes to the scaffold.

Montalais, eye alert, step brisk, head to every wind, preceded him.

Raoul was immediately introduced into Madame's cabinet.

"Come, he thought, this day will pass without my knowing anything. De Guiche took too much pity on me; he understood with Madame, and both, by a friendly plot, remove the solution of the problem. Would I had there a good enemy!... that serpent de Wardes, for example; he would bite, true; but I would hesitate no more... Hesitate... doubt... better to die!"

Raoul was before Madame.

Henriette, more charming than ever, was half reclined in an armchair, her dainty feet upon a cushion of embroidered velvet; she played with a little cat of tufted silks, which nibbled her fingers and hung from the guipure of her collar.

Madame was musing; she mused profoundly; the voice of Montalais, that of Raoul, was needed to draw her from that reverie.

— Your Highness sent for me? repeated Raoul.

Madame shook her head as if waking.

— Good day, Monsieur de Bragelonne, said she; yes, I sent for you. So you have returned from England?

— At the service of Your Royal Highness.

— Thank you! Leave us, Montalais.

Montalais went out.

— You have some few minutes to give me, have you not, Monsieur de Bragelonne?

— All my life belongs to Your Royal Highness, replied Raoul with respect, who divined something dark beneath all those politenesses of Madame, and to whom that dark was not displeasing, persuaded as he was of a certain affinity of Madame's sentiments with his own.

Indeed, that strange character of the princess, all the intelligent people of the Court knew its capricious will and fantastical despotism.

Madame had been flattered beyond measure by the king's homages; Madame had caused herself to be spoken of and inspired in the queen that mortal jealousy which is the gnawing worm of all feminine felicities; Madame, in a word, to cure a wounded pride, had made herself an amorous heart.

We know, we, what Madame had done to recall Raoul, removed by Louis XIV. Her letter to Charles II, Raoul did not know it; but d'Artagnan had well divined it.

That inexplicable mixture of love and vanity, those unheard-of tender-nesses, those enormous perfidies, who shall explain them? No one, not even the evil angel who lights coquetry in the hearts of women.

— Monsieur de Bragelonne, said the princess after a silence, have you returned content?

Bragelonne looked at Madame Henriette, and, seeing her pale from what she hid, from what she restrained, from what she burned to say:

— Content? said he; at what would you have me be content or discontent, Madame?

— But at what can an man of your age and appearance be content or discontent?

"How fast she goes! thought Raoul, frightened; what will she breathe into my heart?"

Then, frightened at what he was about to learn and wishing to put off the moment so desired, but so terrible, when he should learn all:

— Madame, replied he, I had left a tender friend in good health, I found him sick.

— Do you speak of M. de Guiche? asked Madame Henriette with an imperturbable tranquillity; he is, it is said, a friend very dear to you?

— Yes, madame.

— Well! it is true, he has been wounded; but he is better. Oh! M. de Guiche is not to be pitied, said she quickly.

Then catching herself:

— Is he to be pitied? said she; has he complained? has he any sorrow we would not know?

— I speak only of his wound, madame.

— That is well; for the rest, M. de Guiche seems very happy: one sees him of a joyful humor. See here, Monsieur de Bragelonne, I am quite sure you would still choose to be wounded as he is in the body!... What is a wound in the body?

Raoul started.

"She comes back to it, said he. Alas!..."

He replied nothing.

— What say you? said she.

— I said nothing, madame.

— You said nothing! You disapprove of me, then? You are satisfied, then?

Raoul drew nearer.

— Madame, said he, Your Royal Highness wishes to tell me something, and her natural generosity urges her to spare her words. May Your Highness spare nothing more. I am strong and I listen.

— Ah! replied Henriette, what do you understand, now?

— What Your Highness wishes me to understand.

And Raoul trembled, in spite of himself, in pronouncing these words.

— Indeed, murmured the princess. It is cruel; but since I have begun...

— Yes, madame, since Your Highness has deigned to begin, may she deign to finish...

Henriette rose precipitately and took a few steps in her chamber.

— What did M. de Guiche tell you? said she suddenly.

— Nothing, madame.

— Nothing! he told you nothing? oh! how well I recognize him there!

— He wished to spare me, no doubt.

— And that is what friends call friendship! But M. d'Artagnan, whom you just left, he spoke to you, he?

— No more than de Guiche, madame.

Henriette made a movement of impatience.

— At least, said she, you know all the Court has said?

— I know nothing at all, madame.

— Nor the storm scene?

— Nor the storm scene!...

— Nor the private talks in the forest?

— Nor the private talks in the forest!...

— Nor the flight to Chaillot?

“Stories of the world, in your language.”