Part 2

The young man, however, dismounted, and while the other soldiers watched with curiosity every movement of the fine horse that had brought this young man, the soldier retraced his steps, saying:

— Pardon, my gentleman, but your name, if you please?

— The Viscount de Bragelonne, on behalf of His Highness Monsieur the Prince de Condé.

The soldier bowed profoundly, and, as if that name of the victor of Rocroi and Lens had given him wings, he lightly climbed the steps to reach the antechambers.

M. de Bragelonne had not had time to tie his horse to the iron bars of that staircase when M. de Saint-Remy came running up quite out of breath, supporting his big belly with one hand, while with the other he cleft the air like a fisherman cleaving the waves with an oar.

— Ah! Monsieur the Viscount, you at Blois! he cried; but this is a marvel! Good day, Monsieur Raoul, good day!

— A thousand respects, Monsieur de Saint-Remy.

— That Mme de La Vall... I mean that Mme de Saint-Remy will be happy to see you! But come. His Royal Highness is at breakfast; should we interrupt him? is the matter grave?

— Yes and no, Monsieur de Saint-Remy. However, a moment's delay might cause some inconvenience to His Royal Highness.

— If that is so, let us force the guard, Monsieur the Viscount. Come. Besides, Monsieur is in a charming humor today. And then, you bring us news, do you not?

— Great news, Monsieur de Saint-Remy.

— And good, I presume?

— Excellent.

— Come quickly, then, very quickly! cried the good man, who adjusted his attire as he walked.

Raoul followed him, hat in hand, and a little frightened by the solemn noise his spurs made upon the parquet floors of those immense halls.

As soon as he had disappeared within the palace, the courtyard window filled again with faces, and an animated whispering betrayed the emotion of the two young girls; soon they had taken a resolution, for one of the two faces vanished from the window: it was the brown head; the other remained behind the balcony, hidden among the flowers, looking attentively, through the gaps in the branches, at the staircase by which M. de Bragelonne had made his entrance into the palace.

Meanwhile the object of so much curiosity continued on his way, following in the footsteps of the majordomo. A sound of eager footsteps, a scent of wine and meats, a clinking of crystal and china warned him that he was nearing the end of his course.

The pages, valets, and officers, gathered in the servants' hall that preceded the refectory, received the newcomer with a politeness proverbial in that country; some knew Raoul, almost all knew that he came from Paris. It might be said that his arrival suspended the service for a moment. The fact is that a page who was pouring drink for His Highness, hearing the spurs in the neighboring chamber, turned like a child, without noticing that he continued to pour, no longer into the prince's glass, but upon the tablecloth.

Madame, who was not as preoccupied as her glorious husband, noticed the page's distraction.

— Well! she said.

M. de Saint-Remy, who was putting his head through the door, took advantage of the moment.

— Why should I be disturbed? said Gaston, drawing toward him a thick slice of one of the largest salmons that ever went up the Loire to be caught between Paimbœuf and Saint-Nazaire.

— It is that a messenger arrives from Paris. Oh! but after Monseigneur's breakfast, we have time.

— From Paris! cried the prince, letting his fork fall; a messenger from Paris, do you say? And from whom does this messenger come?

— On behalf of Monsieur the Prince, hastened to say the majordomo.

We know that this is what they called M. de Condé.

— A messenger from Monsieur the Prince? said Gaston with an uneasiness that escaped none of the bystanders, and which consequently redoubled the general curiosity.

Monsieur perhaps felt himself brought back to the time of those blessed conspiracies where the noise of doors gave him emotions, where every letter might contain a state secret, where every message served some dark and complicated intrigue. Perhaps also that great name of Monsieur the Prince unfolded itself beneath the vaults of Blois with the proportions of a phantom.

Monsieur pushed away his plate.

— Shall I make the envoy wait? asked M. de Saint-Remy.

A glance from Madame emboldened Gaston, who replied:

— Not at all, on the contrary, have him enter at once. By the way, who is it?

— A gentleman of this country, Monsieur the Viscount de Bragelonne.

— Ah! yes, very well!... Introduce him, Saint-Remy, introduce him.

And when he had let fall these words with his customary gravity, Monsieur looked in a certain fashion at the men of his household, who all, pages, officers, and equerries, quit the napkin, the knife, the goblet, and made toward the second chamber a retreat as rapid as it was disorderly. This little army divided into two files when Raoul de Bragelonne, preceded by M. de Saint-Remy, entered the refectory. This brief moment of solitude into which this retreat had left him had permitted Monseigneur to assume a diplomatic countenance. He did not turn around, and waited until the majordomo had brought the messenger before him.

Raoul stopped at the level of the lower end of the table, so as to find himself between Monsieur and Madame. He made from that place a very deep bow to Monsieur, another very humble to Madame, then straightened up and waited for Monsieur to address him.

The prince, for his part, waited until the doors were hermetically closed; he did not wish to turn around to assure himself of it, which would not have been dignified; but he listened with all his ears to the noise of the lock, which promised him at least an appearance of secrecy. The door closed, Monsieur raised his eyes to the Viscount de Bragelonne and said to him:

— It seems you arrive from Paris, Monsieur?

— This instant, my lord.

— How is the king?

— His Majesty is in perfect health, my lord.

— And my sister-in-law?

— Her Majesty the queen mother still suffers from the chest. However, for a month past, there has been improvement.

— What was I told, that you came on behalf of Monsieur the Prince? Surely one was mistaken.

— No, my lord. Monsieur the Prince charged me with delivering to Your Royal Highness a letter which is here, and I await the reply.

Raoul had been a little moved by this cold and meticulous reception; his voice had insensibly fallen to the pitch of the low voice. The prince forgot that he was the cause of this mystery, and fear took hold of him again.

He received with a wild glance the letter of the Prince de Condé, broke the seal as he would have broken open a suspicious packet, and, in order to read it without anyone remarking the effect produced upon his features, he turned around.

Madame followed with an anxiety almost equal to that of the prince each of her august husband's maneuvers. Raoul, impassive, and a little freed by his hosts' attention, looked from his place and through the open window before him at the gardens and the statues that peopled them.

— Ah! but, cried Monsieur suddenly with a radiant smile, here is a pleasant surprise and a charming letter from Monsieur the Prince! See, Madame.

The table was too wide for the prince's arm to reach the princess's hand; Raoul hastened to be their intermediary; he did it with a grace that charmed the princess and earned the viscount a flattering acknowledgment.

— You know the contents of this letter, no doubt? said Gaston to Raoul.

— Yes, my lord: Monsieur the Prince had first given me the message verbally, then His Highness reflected and took up the pen.

— It is in a fine hand, said Madame, but I cannot read.

— Will you read to Madame, Monsieur de Bragelonne, said the duke.

— Yes, read, I pray you, Monsieur.

Raoul began the reading to which Monsieur once more gave all his attention.

The letter was conceived in these terms:

'Monseigneur, The king sets out for the frontier; you will have learned that His Majesty's marriage is to be concluded; the king has done me the honor of naming me marshal of the lodgings for this voyage, and as I know all the joy His Majesty would have in passing a day at Blois, I dare ask Your Royal Highness permission to mark with my chalk the château you inhabit.

If, however, the unexpected nature of this request could cause Your Royal Highness some embarrassment, I shall beg you to let me know by the messenger I send, who is a gentleman of mine, Monsieur the Viscount de Bragelonne. My itinerary will depend upon Your Royal Highness's resolution, and instead of going by Blois, I shall indicate Vendôme or Romorantin. I dare hope that Your Royal Highness will take my request in good part, as being the expression of my boundless devotion and my desire to be agreeable to you.'

— Nothing could be more gracious toward us, said Madame, who had more than once consulted her husband's looks during this reading. The king here! she cried a little louder perhaps than was needful for the secret to be kept.

— Monsieur, said in his turn His Highness, taking the word, you will thank Monsieur the Prince de Condé, and you will express to him all my gratitude for the pleasure he does me.

Raoul bowed.

— What day does His Majesty arrive? continued the prince.

— The king, my lord, will arrive this evening, according to all probability.

— But how then would one have known my answer, in case it had been negative?

— I had mission, my lord, to return in all haste to Beaugency to countermand the courier, who would himself have turned back to countermand Monsieur the Prince.

— His Majesty is then at Orléans?

— Nearer, my lord: His Majesty must be arrived at Meung at this moment.

— The court accompanies him?

— Yes, my lord.

— By the way, I forgot to ask you news of Monsieur the Cardinal.

— His Eminence appears to enjoy good health, my lord.

— His nieces accompany him no doubt?

— No, my lord; His Eminence has ordered the Mlles de Mancini to set out for Brouage. They follow the left bank of the Loire while the court comes by the right bank.

— What! Mlle Marie de Mancini is leaving the court also? asked Monsieur, whose reserve was beginning to weaken.

— Mlle Marie de Mancini especially, discreetly answered Raoul.

A fleeting smile, an imperceptible vestige of his former spirit of meddlesome intrigues, lit the pale cheeks of the prince.

— Thank you, Monsieur de Bragelonne, said Monsieur then; you will perhaps not wish to render to Monsieur the Prince the commission with which I should like to charge you, namely that his messenger has been very agreeable to me; but I shall tell him myself. Raoul bowed to thank Monsieur for the honor he did him.

Monseigneur made a sign to Madame, who struck upon a bell placed at her right.

Immediately M. de Saint-Remy entered, and the chamber filled with people.

— Gentlemen, said the prince, His Majesty does me the honor of coming to spend a day at Blois; I count that the king, my nephew, shall have no cause to repent the favor he does my house.

— Long live the king! cried with a frenetic enthusiasm the officers on duty, and M. de Saint-Remy before all others.

Gaston lowered his head with a somber sadness; all his life, he had had to hear, or rather to undergo, that cry of: 'Long live the king!' which passed above him. For a long time, no longer hearing it, he had rested his ear, and behold a younger, more vigorous, more brilliant royalty arose before him like a new, like a more painful provocation.

Madame understood the sufferings of that timid and touchy heart; she rose from table, Monsieur imitated her mechanically, and all the servants, with a humming like that of hives, surrounded Raoul to question him.

Madame saw this movement and called M. de Saint-Remy.

— This is not the time to chatter, but to work, she said with the accent of a housewife who is growing angry.

M. de Saint-Remy hastened to break the circle formed by the officers around Raoul, so that the latter could gain the antechamber.

— This gentleman will be taken care of, I hope, added Madame, addressing M. de Saint-Remy.

The good man ran at once behind Raoul.

— Madame charges us to refresh you here, he said; there is besides a lodging in the château for you.

— Thank you, Monsieur de Saint-Remy, answered Bragelonne. You know how eager I am to go present my duty to the Count my father.

— True, true, Monsieur Raoul, present him my very humble respects at the same time, I pray you.

Raoul freed himself again from the old gentleman and continued on his way.

As he passed under the porch leading his horse by the bridle, a little voice called him from the back of a dark alley.

— Monsieur Raoul! said the voice.

The young man turned around surprised, and saw a brown young girl who pressed a finger to her lips and held out her hand. This young girl was unknown to him.

Chapter III — The Interview

Raoul took a step toward the young girl who thus called him.

— But my horse, Madame, said he.

— You are quite embarrassed! Go out; there is a shed in the first court, tie your horse there and come quickly.

— I obey, Madame.

Raoul was not four minutes in doing what had been recommended to him; he returned to the small door, where, in the darkness, he again saw his mysterious conductress who awaited him on the first steps of a winding staircase.

— Are you brave enough to follow me, Monsieur the wandering knight? asked the young girl, laughing at the moment of hesitation Raoul had shown.

The latter answered by springing behind her into the dark staircase. They thus climbed three floors, he behind her, brushing with his hands, when he sought the rail, a silk dress that grazed the two walls of the staircase. At each false step of Raoul, his conductress cried a severe 'hush!' to him and held out a soft and perfumed hand.

— One might thus climb to the donjon of the château without noticing the fatigue, said Raoul.

— Which means, Monsieur, that you are much intrigued, much weary, and much uneasy; but reassure yourself, here we are arrived.

The young girl pushed a door which, at once, without any transition, filled with a flood of light the landing of the staircase at the top of which Raoul appeared, holding the rail. The young girl walked on, he followed her; she entered a chamber, Raoul entered as she did. As soon as he was in the trap, he heard a great cry uttered, turned around, and saw two paces from him, hands joined, eyes closed, that beautiful blonde young girl, with blue pupils, with white shoulders, who, recognizing him, had called him Raoul.

He saw her and guessed so much love, so much happiness in the expression of her eyes, that he let himself fall to his knees in the middle of the chamber, murmuring on his side the name of Louise.

— Ah! Montalais! Montalais! sighed the latter, it is a great sin to deceive thus.

— I! I deceived you?

— Yes, you tell me you are going below to learn news, and you have Monsieur come up here.

— It had to be. How else would he have received the letter you were writing him?

And she pointed with her finger at that letter which was still upon the table. Raoul took a step to take it; Louise, quicker, though she had sprung forward with a rather remarkable classical hesitation, stretched out her hand to stop him. Raoul therefore met that hand, all warm and all trembling; he took it in his own and brought it so respectfully to his lips that he deposited upon it a breath rather than a kiss.

During this time, Mlle de Montalais had taken the letter, had folded it carefully, as women do, in three folds, and had slipped it into her bosom.

— Fear not, Louise, said she; Monsieur will no more come to take it here than the late king Louis XIII took notes from the corsage of Mlle de Hautefort.

Raoul blushed seeing the smile of the two young girls, and he did not notice that Louise's hand had remained between his own.

— There! said Montalais, you have pardoned me, Louise, for having brought you Monsieur; you, Monsieur, bear me no grudge for having been followed to see Mademoiselle. So, now that peace is made, let us talk like old friends. Present me, Louise, to M. de Bragelonne.

— Monsieur the Viscount, said Louise with her serious grace and her candid smile, I have the honor to present to you Mlle Aure de Montalais, maid of honor to Her Royal Highness Madame, and moreover my friend, my excellent friend.

Raoul bowed ceremoniously.

— And I! Louise, said he, will you not present me also to Mademoiselle?

— Oh! she knows you! she knows all!

This naive word made Montalais laugh and Raoul sigh with happiness, for he had interpreted it thus: She knows all our love.

— The courtesies are done, Monsieur the Viscount, said Montalais; here is an armchair, and tell us very quickly the news you thus bring us running.

— Mademoiselle, it is no longer a secret. The king, going to Poitiers, stops at Blois to visit His Royal Highness.

— The king here! cried Montalais, clapping her hands one against the other; we are going to see the court! Do you conceive it, Louise? the true court of Paris! Oh! my God! But when, Monsieur, when?

— Perhaps this evening, Mademoiselle; assuredly tomorrow.

Montalais made a gesture of vexation.

— No time to dress! no time to prepare a gown! We are here behindhand like Polish women! We shall look like portraits from the time of Henri IV!... Ah! Monsieur, what a wicked piece of news you bring us there!

— Mesdemoiselles, you will always be beautiful.

— That is flat!... we shall always be beautiful, yes, because nature made us passable; but we shall be ridiculous, because fashion will have forgotten us... Alas! ridiculous! one will see me ridiculous, me?

— Who? said Louise naively.

— Who? you are strange, my dear!... Is that a question to ask me? One, means everybody; one, means the courtiers, the lords; one, means the king.

— Pardon, my good friend, but as here everybody is accustomed to seeing us as we are...

— Granted; but that is going to change, and we shall be ridiculous, even for Blois; for near us one will see the fashions of Paris, and it will be understood that we are in the fashion of Blois! It is despairing!

— Console yourself, Mademoiselle.

— Ah pshaw! after all, so much the worse for those who will not find me to their taste! said Montalais philosophically.

— Those would be very difficult, replied Raoul, faithful to his system of regular gallantry.

— Thank you, Monsieur the Viscount. We were saying then that the king comes to Blois?

— With all the court.

— Will the Mlles de Mancini be there?

— Not at all, precisely.

— But since the king, it is said, cannot do without Mlle Marie?

— Mademoiselle, the king will have to do without her. Monsieur the Cardinal wills it. He exiles his nieces to Brouage.

— Him! the hypocrite!

— Hush! said Louise, pressing her finger to her pink lips.

— Bah! no one can hear me. I say that old Mazarino Mazarin is a hypocrite who is burning to make his niece queen of France.

— But no, Mademoiselle, since Monsieur the Cardinal, on the contrary, has His Majesty marry the Infanta Marie-Thérèse.

Montalais looked Raoul straight in the face and said to him:

— You believe those tales, you Parisians? Come, we are stronger than you at Blois.

— Mademoiselle, if the king goes beyond Poitiers and sets out for Spain, if the articles of the marriage contract are settled between don Luis de Haro and His Eminence, you understand well that these are no longer child's games.

— Why, the king is the king, I suppose?

— Doubtless, Mademoiselle, but the cardinal is the cardinal.

— He is not a man then, the king? He does not love Marie de Mancini?

— He adores her.

— Well! he will marry her; we shall have war with Spain; M. Mazarin will spend some of the millions he has laid by; our gentlemen will do prowess against the proud Castilians, and many will return to us crowned with laurel, and whom we shall crown with myrtle. That is how I understand politics.

— Montalais, you are a fool, said Louise, and every exaggeration attracts you, as fire attracts butterflies.

— Louise, you are so reasonable that you will never love.

— Oh! said Louise with a tender reproach, do understand, Montalais! The queen mother desires to marry her son with the Infanta; would you have the king disobey his mother? Is it of a royal heart like his to give the bad example? When parents forbid love, let us banish love!

And Louise sighed; Raoul lowered his eyes with a constrained air. Montalais began to laugh.

— I, I have no parents, said she.

— You know no doubt news of the health of the Count de La Fère, said Louise, following that sigh which had revealed so much pain in its eloquent expansion.

— No, Mademoiselle, replied Raoul, I have not yet paid a visit to my father; but I was going to his house, when Mlle de Montalais was good enough to stop me; I hope that Monsieur the Count is well. You have heard nothing distressing, have you?

— Nothing, Monsieur Raoul, nothing, thank God!

Here a silence was established during which two souls that followed the same idea understood each other perfectly, even without the aid of a single glance.

— Ah! my God! suddenly cried Montalais, someone is coming up! ...

— Who can it be? said Louise, rising all anxious.

— Mesdemoiselles, I am greatly in your way; I have been indiscreet no doubt, stammered Raoul, very ill at ease.

— It is a heavy step, said Louise.

— Ah! if it is only M. Malicorne, replied Montalais, let us not disturb ourselves.

Louise and Raoul looked at each other to ask what M. Malicorne was.

— Do not trouble yourself, continued Montalais, he is not jealous.

— But, Mademoiselle... said Raoul.

— I understand... Well! he is as discreet as I am.

— My God! cried Louise, who had pressed her ear to the half-open door, I recognize my mother's steps!

— Mme de Saint-Remy! Where to hide me? said Raoul, eagerly soliciting Montalais's dress, who seemed a little to have lost her head.

— Yes, said the latter, yes, I also recognize the clacking pattens. It is our excellent mother!... Monsieur the Viscount, it is a great pity that the window gives on a pavement and that at fifty feet high.

Raoul looked at the balcony with a wild air, Louise seized his arm and held him back.

— Why, am I mad? said Montalais, have I not the ceremonial robe wardrobe? It truly seems made for that.

It was time; Mme de Saint-Remy was coming up faster than usual; she arrived on the landing just as Montalais, as in scenes of surprise, closed the wardrobe pressing her body against the door.

— Ah! she cried, you are here, Louise?

— Yes! Madame, she answered, paler than if she had been convicted of a great crime.

— Good! good!

— Sit down, Madame, said Montalais, offering an armchair to Mme de Saint-Remy, and placing it so that she turned her back to the wardrobe.

— Thank you, Mademoiselle Aure, thank you; come quickly, my daughter, let us go.

— Where would you have me go, Madame?

— Why, home; must we not prepare your toilet?'}

“Stories of the world, in your language.”