Part 10

— He loves Madame, does he not?

— At least one would swear so, to see him.

— Well! it is nothing of the sort.

— Oh! this time you are mistaken, Raoul, and I have read his sorrow well in his eyes, in his gesture, in all his life since this morning.

— You are a poet, my dear count, and everywhere you see poetry.

— I see above all love.

— Where it is not.

— Where it is.

— Come now, de Guiche, do you believe you are not mistaken?

— Oh! I am sure of it! cried the count eagerly.

— Tell me, count, asked Raoul with a deep look, what makes you so clear-sighted?

— Why, replied de Guiche hesitating, vanity.

— Vanity! that is a long word, de Guiche.

— What do you mean?

— I mean, my friend, that usually you are less sad than you are this evening.

— Fatigue.

— Fatigue?

— Yes.

— Listen, dear friend, we have campaigned together, we have seen each other on horseback for eighteen hours; three horses, crushed with weariness or dying of hunger, fell beneath us, and still we laughed. It is not fatigue that makes you sad, count.

— Then it is vexation.

— What vexation?

— That of this evening.

— The madness of Lord Buckingham?

— Why, undoubtedly; is it not vexatious, for us Frenchmen representing our master, to see an Englishman courting our future mistress, the second lady of the realm?

— Yes, you are right; but I believe Lord Buckingham is not dangerous.

— No, but he is troublesome. On arriving here, did he not nearly throw everything into confusion between the English and us, and but for you, but for your admirable prudence and strange firmness, we should have drawn the sword in the open town.

— He has changed, you see.

— Yes, certainly; but from that very thing comes my astonishment. You spoke to him in a low voice; what did you say to him? You believe he loves her; you say so, a passion does not yield with such ease; he is therefore not in love with her!

And de Guiche pronounced these last words with such an expression that Raoul raised his head.

The noble face of the young man expressed a discontent easy to read.

— What I said to him, count, replied Raoul, I am going to repeat to you. Listen well, here it is: 'Sir, you look with an envious air, with an injuriously covetous air, upon the sister of your prince, who is not betrothed to you, who is not, who cannot be your mistress; you therefore offer an affront to those who, like us, come to seek a young girl to conduct to her husband.'

— You said that to him? asked de Guiche, blushing.

— In those very terms; I even went further.

De Guiche made a movement.

— I said to him: 'With what eye would you look upon us, if you were to perceive among us a man foolish enough, disloyal enough, to conceive other sentiments than the purest respect toward a princess destined to our master?'

These words were so plainly addressed to de Guiche that de Guiche grew pale, and, seized with a sudden trembling, could only mechanically extend a hand toward Raoul, while with the other he covered his eyes and brow.

— But, continued Raoul without pausing at this demonstration of his friend, thank God! the French, whom men proclaim light, indiscreet, inconsiderate, know how to apply a sound judgment and a sound morality to the examination of questions of high propriety. 'Now,' I added, 'know, Monsieur de Buckingham, that we, gentlemen of France, serve our kings by sacrificing our passions as well as our fortune and our life; and when, by chance, the demon suggests to us one of those evil thoughts which set the heart on fire, we extinguish that flame, were it only by watering it with our blood. In this way we preserve three honors at once: that of our country, that of our master, and our own. That is how we act, Monsieur de Buckingham; that is how every man of honor ought to act.' And that, my dear de Guiche, continued Raoul, is how I spoke to Monsieur de Buckingham; accordingly he surrendered without resistance to my reasons.

De Guiche, who had been bowed beneath Raoul's words until then, straightened up, his eyes proud and his hand feverish; he seized Raoul's hand; the cheekbones of his face, after being cold as ice, were now aflame.

— And you spoke well, he said in a strangled voice; and you are a brave friend, Raoul, thank you; now, I beg you, leave me alone.

— You wish it?

— Yes, I need rest. Many things have shaken my head and heart today; tomorrow, when you return, I shall be no longer the same man.

— Well! so be it, I leave you, said Raoul, withdrawing.

The count took a step toward his friend, and clasped him cordially in his arms.

But, in that friendly embrace, Raoul could distinguish the shuddering of a great passion combated.

The night was cool, starry, splendid; after the storm, the heat of the sun had brought back everywhere life, joy, and security. There had formed in the sky some long, slender clouds whose azure whiteness promised a series of fine days tempered by an east wind. Upon the square of the hotel, great shadows cut by broad luminous rays formed like a gigantic mosaic upon the black and white flagstones. Soon all fell asleep in the city; there remained a faint light in the apartment of Madame, which looked out upon the square, and this gentle clarity of the dimmed lamp seemed an image of the calm sleep of a young girl, whose life scarce manifests itself, scarce is sensible, and whose flame is likewise tempered when the body is asleep. Bragelonne came out of his tent with the slow and measured step of a man curious to see and jealous of not being seen. Then, sheltered behind the thick curtains, embracing the whole square with a single glance, he saw, after a moment, the curtains of de Guiche's tent partly open and stir.

Behind the curtains was outlined the shadow of de Guiche, whose eyes shone in the darkness, ardently fixed upon the salon of Madame, softly illuminated by the inner light of the apartment.

This soft gleam which colored the panes was the star of the count. One could see rise to his eyes the aspiration of his whole soul. Raoul, lost in the shadow, divined all the passionate thoughts which established between the tent of the young ambassador and the balcony of the princess a mysterious and magic bond of sympathy; a bond formed by thoughts imprinted with such will, such obsession, that they were certainly soliciting amorous dreams to descend upon that perfumed couch which the count devoured with the eyes of his soul.

But de Guiche and Raoul were not the only ones who kept watch. The window of one of the houses upon the square was open; it was the window of a house inhabited by Buckingham.

Against the light which burst from that last window stood out in relief the silhouette of the duke, who, leaning languidly upon the carved and velvet-covered crossbar, sent to the balcony of Madame his vows and the mad visions of his love.

Bragelonne could not forbear smiling.

— There is a poor heart sorely besieged, said he, thinking of Madame.

Then, casting a compassionate thought toward Monsieur:

— And there is a poor husband sorely threatened, he added; it is well for him that he is a great prince and has an army to guard his own.

Bragelonne spied for some time the maneuvers of the two suitors, listened to the sonorous, uncivil snoring of Manicamp, who snored with as much pride as if he had had his blue coat on instead of his violet one, turned toward the breeze which brought to him the distant song of a nightingale; then, after laying in his store of melancholy, that other nocturnal malady, he went back to bed, thinking, for his own part, that perhaps four or six eyes as ardent as those of de Guiche or Buckingham were brooding over his own idol in the castle of Blois.

— And Mademoiselle de Montalais is not a very solid garrison, said he softly, sighing aloud.

Chapter LXXXVII — From Le Havre to Paris

The next day, the festivities took place with all the pomp and all the gladness that the resources of the city and the disposition of men's minds could afford.

During the last hours passed at Le Havre, the departure had been prepared.

Madame, after bidding farewell to the English fleet and saluting her native land one last time in saluting its flag, mounted into her carriage amid a brilliant escort.

De Guiche hoped that the Duke of Buckingham would return with the admiral to England; but Buckingham managed to prove to the queen that it would be an impropriety to let Madame arrive at Paris almost abandoned.

This point once settled, that Buckingham should accompany Madame, the young duke chose himself a court of gentlemen and officers intended to form his own cortege; so that it was an army which made its way toward Paris, scattering gold and casting brilliant demonstrations amid the towns and villages it traversed.

The weather was fine. France was beautiful to behold, especially along that route which the cortege crossed. Spring flung its flowers and perfumed foliage upon the steps of that youth. All Normandy, with its plenteous vegetation, its blue horizons, its silvered rivers, presented itself as a paradise for the new sister of the king. It was nothing but feasts and intoxications along the road. De Guiche and Buckingham forgot everything: de Guiche to repress the new attempts of the Englishman, Buckingham to awaken in the princess's heart a livelier memory of the native land to which was attached the remembrance of happy days.

But, alas! the poor duke could perceive that the image of his dear England faded day by day in the mind of Madame, in proportion as the love of France imprinted itself more deeply there. Indeed, he could perceive that all those little attentions awakened no gratitude, and though he might journey with grace upon one of the most fiery coursers of Yorkshire, it was only by chance and accidentally that the princess's eyes fell upon him.

In vain did he try, to fix upon himself one of her glances lost in space or resting elsewhere, to draw from animal nature all that it can unite of force, vigor, anger, and skill: in vain, exciting the fire-nostriled horse, did he launch it, at the risk of breaking himself a thousand times against the trees or rolling in the ditches, over the barriers and down the declivity of the rapid hills; Madame, attracted by the noise, turned her head for a moment, then, smiling slightly, returned to her faithful guardians, Raoul and de Guiche, who rode tranquilly at the doors of her carriage.

Then Buckingham felt himself prey to all the tortures of jealousy; an unknown, unheard-of, burning pain slipped into his veins and went to besiege his heart; then, to prove that he understood his folly, and that he wished to redeem by the humblest submission his faults of heedlessness, he subdued his horse and forced it, all streaming with sweat, all whitened with thick foam, to champ its bit near the carriage, in the crowd of courtiers.

Sometimes he obtained as reward a word from Madame, and even that word seemed to him a reproach.

— Very well, Monsieur de Buckingham, said she, there you are reasonable.

Or a word from Raoul.

— You are killing your horse, Monsieur de Buckingham.

And Buckingham listened patiently to Raoul, for he felt instinctively, without any proof having been given him, that Raoul was the moderator of de Guiche's sentiments, and that, but for Raoul, already some mad step, whether of the count or of Buckingham himself, would have brought about a rupture, an outburst, an exile perhaps. Since the famous conversation which the two young men had had in the tents at Le Havre, and in which Raoul had made the duke feel the impropriety of his demonstrations, Buckingham was, as it were in spite of himself, drawn toward Raoul.

Often he engaged him in conversation, and almost always it was to speak to him either of his father, or of d'Artagnan, their common friend, of whom Buckingham was almost as enthusiastic as Raoul. Raoul affected principally to bring the talk back to this subject before de Wardes, who during the whole journey had been wounded by the superiority of Bragelonne, and above all by his influence upon the mind of de Guiche. De Wardes had that fine and inquisitive eye which distinguishes every bad nature; he had at once remarked the sadness of de Guiche and his amorous aspirations toward the princess.

Instead of treating the subject with Raoul's reserve, instead of dignifiedly sparing, like the latter, proprieties and duties, de Wardes resolutely attacked in the count that ever-sounding chord of youthful daring and selfish pride. Now, it happened that one evening, during a halt at Mantes, de Guiche and de Wardes talking together leaning on a railing, Buckingham and Raoul talking on their side as they walked, Manicamp paying court to the princesses, who already treated him without consequence because of the suppleness of his wit, the civil good-nature of his manners, and his conciliating character:

— Admit, said de Wardes to the count, that you are indeed sick, and that your schoolmaster does not cure you.

— I do not understand you, said the count.

— It is easy, however: you are pining with love.

— Madness, de Wardes, madness!

— It would be madness, yes, I grant, if Madame were indifferent to your martyrdom; but she notices it to such a point that she compromises herself, and I tremble lest, on arriving at Paris, your schoolmaster, Monsieur de Bragelonne, denounce you both.

— De Wardes! de Wardes! another attack upon Bragelonne!

— Come, no more childishness, resumed half-voice the evil genius of the count; you know as well as I all that I mean; you see plainly, besides, that the princess's glance softens in speaking to you; you understand by the sound of her voice that she is pleased to hear yours; you feel that she hears the verses you recite to her, and you will not deny that every morning she tells you she has slept ill?

— It is true, de Wardes, it is true; but what good is it to tell me all this?

— Is it not important to see things clearly?

— No, when the things one sees can drive you mad.

And he turned round uneasily toward the princess, as if, while repelling de Wardes's insinuations, he had wished to seek their confirmation in her eyes.

— Look! look! said de Wardes, see, she is calling you, do you hear? Come, profit by the occasion, the schoolmaster is not there.

De Guiche could hold out no longer; an invincible attraction drew him toward the princess.

De Wardes looked at him smiling.

— You are mistaken, sir, said suddenly Raoul, bestriding the railing where, a moment before, the two talkers had leaned; the schoolmaster is here and he is listening to you.

De Wardes, at the voice of Raoul, which he recognized without needing to look at him, half drew his sword.

— Put up your sword, said Raoul; you know well that, during the journey we are accomplishing, any demonstration of that kind would be useless. Put up your sword, but also put up your tongue. Why do you put into the heart of him whom you call your friend all the gall that gnaws at your own? To me, you would make an honest man, friend of my father and of mine, be hated! To the count, you would make him love a woman destined to your master! In truth, sir, you would be a traitor and a coward in my eyes, if, more justly, I did not regard you as a madman.

— Sir, cried de Wardes in exasperation, I was not mistaken then in calling you a schoolmaster! That tone you affect, that manner you make your own, is that of a whip-wielding Jesuit and not that of a gentleman. Quit then, I pray you, before me, that manner and that tone. I hate Monsieur d'Artagnan because he committed a cowardice toward my father.

— You lie, sir, said Raoul coldly.

— Oh! cried de Wardes, you give me the lie, sir?

— Why not, if what you say is false?

— You give me the lie and you do not draw your sword?

— Sir, I have promised myself to kill you only when we shall have delivered Madame to her husband.

— Kill me? oh! your bundle of rods does not kill thus, Mr. Pedant.

— No, replied Raoul coldly, but the sword of Monsieur d'Artagnan kills; and not only have I that sword, sir, but it is he who taught me to use it, and it is with that sword, sir, that I shall avenge, in due time, his name outraged by you.

— Sir, sir! cried de Wardes, take care! If you do not give me satisfaction on the spot, all means will be good for me to avenge myself!

— Oh! oh! sir! said Buckingham, appearing suddenly upon the scene, there is a threat which borders on assassination, and which, consequently, is in very bad taste for a gentleman.

— You say, sir duke? said de Wardes, turning round.

— I say that you have just pronounced words which sound ill in my English ears.

— Well! sir, if what you say is true, cried de Wardes in exasperation, so much the better! I shall at least find in you a man who will not slip through my fingers. Take my words then as you understand them.

— I take them as they should be taken, sir, replied Buckingham with that haughty tone peculiar to him, which gave, even in ordinary conversation, the tone of challenge to what he said; Monsieur de Bragelonne is my friend, you insult Monsieur de Bragelonne, you shall answer to me for that insult.

De Wardes cast a glance upon Bragelonne, who, faithful to his role, remained calm and cold, even before the duke's challenge.

— And first, it appears that I do not insult Monsieur de Bragelonne, since Monsieur de Bragelonne, who has a sword at his side, does not regard himself as insulted.

— But, after all, you insult someone?

— Yes, I insult Monsieur d'Artagnan, resumed de Wardes, who had remarked that this name was the only goad with which he could awaken Raoul's anger.

— Then, said Buckingham, it is another thing.

— Is it not? said de Wardes. It is therefore for the friends of Monsieur d'Artagnan to defend him.

— I am quite of your opinion, sir, replied the Englishman, who had recovered all his phlegm; for Monsieur de Bragelonne offended, I could not, reasonably, take the part of Monsieur de Bragelonne, since he is here; but as soon as it is a question of Monsieur d'Artagnan...

— You leave me the place, do you not, sir? said de Wardes.

— Not at all, on the contrary, I draw, said Buckingham, drawing his sword from its scabbard, for if Monsieur d'Artagnan has offended your father, he has rendered, or at least attempted to render, a great service to mine.

De Wardes started back in stupefaction.

— Monsieur d'Artagnan, pursued Buckingham, is the most gallant gentleman I know. I shall therefore be delighted, being under personal obligations to him, to pay them to you, sir, with a sword-thrust.

And, at the same time, Buckingham gracefully drew his sword, saluted Raoul, and put himself on guard.

De Wardes took a step to cross blades.

— There! there! gentlemen, said Raoul, advancing and placing in his turn his bare sword between the combatants, all this is not worth the trouble of cutting each other's throats almost before the princess's eyes. Monsieur de Wardes speaks ill of Monsieur d'Artagnan, but he does not even know Monsieur d'Artagnan.

— Oh! oh! said de Wardes, gnashing his teeth and lowering the point of his sword upon the toe of his boot; you say that I, I do not know Monsieur d'Artagnan?

— Why, no, you do not know him, resumed Raoul coldly, and you do not even know where he is.

— I! I do not know where he is?

— Doubtless, it must needs be so, since you seek, on his account, a quarrel with strangers, instead of going to find Monsieur d'Artagnan where he is.

De Wardes grew pale.

— Well! I am going to tell you, sir, where he is, continued Raoul; Monsieur d'Artagnan is at Paris; he lodges at the Louvre when he is on duty, in the rue des Lombards when he is not; Monsieur d'Artagnan is perfectly to be found at one or the other of those two dwellings; therefore, having all the grievances you have against him, you are not a gallant man in not going to fetch him, that he may give you the satisfaction you seem to ask of everyone, except of him.

De Wardes wiped his brow, streaming with sweat.

— Fie! Monsieur de Wardes, continued Raoul, it does not become one to be thus a swashbuckler when we have edicts against duels. Think of it: the king would be angry at our disobedience, especially at such a moment, and the king would be right.

— Excuses! murmured de Wardes, pretexts!

— Come now, resumed Raoul, you are talking nonsense there, my dear Monsieur de Wardes; you know well that Monsieur the Duke of Buckingham is a gallant man who has drawn the sword ten times and will fight well eleven. He bears a name that obliges, the devil! As for me, well, you know I fight too. I fought at Lens, at Bléneau, at the Dunes, in advance of the gunners, a hundred paces in advance of the line, whereas you, by parenthesis, were a hundred paces in the rear. It is true that there, yonder, there were too many people for your bravery to be seen, which is why you hid it; but here it would be a spectacle, a scandal, you wish to be talked of, no matter how. Well! do not count on me, Monsieur de Wardes, to help you in that design, I shall not give you that pleasure.

— This is full of reason, said Buckingham, sheathing his sword, and I beg your pardon, Monsieur de Bragelonne, for having let myself be carried away by a first impulse.

But, on the contrary, de Wardes, furious, made a bound forward, and, sword high, threatening Raoul, who had but time to arrive at a parry of quarte.

— Eh! sir, said Bragelonne tranquilly, take care, you are going to put my eye out.

— But you will not fight! cried Monsieur de Wardes.

— No, not for the moment; but here is what I promise you as soon as we arrive at Paris: I will take you to Monsieur d'Artagnan, to whom you will relate the grievances you may have against him. Monsieur d'Artagnan will ask the king's permission to give you a sword-thrust, the king will grant it to him, and, the sword-thrust received, well! my dear Monsieur de Wardes, you will consider with a calmer eye the precepts of the Gospel which command the forgetting of injuries.

— Ah! cried de Wardes, furious at this coolness, one sees well that you are half a bastard, Monsieur de Bragelonne!

Raoul grew pale as the collar of his shirt; his eye flashed a lightning which made de Wardes recoil.

Buckingham himself was dazzled by it, and threw himself between the two adversaries, whom he expected to see precipitate themselves one upon the other. De Wardes had reserved that insult for the last; he clutched his sword convulsively and awaited the shock.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”