“Very slightly, Madame; yet I remember how she used to cover me with her caresses and her tears whenever I wept.”
“Villiers,” murmured the queen, passing her arm round the young man’s neck, “look upon me as your mother, and believe that no one shall ever make my son weep.”
“I thank you, Madame,” said the young man affected and almost suffocated by his emotion; “I feel there is still room in my heart for a gentler and nobler sentiment than love.”
The queen-mother looked at him and pressed his hand. “Go,” she said.
“When must I leave? Command me.”
“At any time that may suit you, my lord,” resumed the queen; “you will choose your own day of departure. Instead, however, of setting off today, as you would doubtless wish to do, or tomorrow, as others may have expected, leave the day after tomorrow, in the evening; but announce today that it is your wish to leave.”
“My wish?” murmured the young duke.
“Yes, duke.”
“And shall I never return to France?”
Anne of Austria reflected for a moment, seemingly absorbed in sad and serious thought. “It would be a consolation for me,” she said, “if you were to return on the day when I shall be carried to my final resting-place at Saint-Denis beside the king, my husband.”
“Madame, you are goodness itself; the tide of prosperity is setting in on you; your cup brims over with happiness, and many long years are yet before you.”
“In that case you will not come for some time, then,” said the queen, endeavoring to smile.
“I shall not return,” said Buckingham, “young as I am. Death does not reckon by years; it is impartial; some die young, some reach old age.”
“I will not harbor any sorrowful ideas, duke. Let me comfort you; return in two years. I perceive from your face that the very idea which saddens you so much now, will have disappeared before six months have passed, and will be not only dead but forgotten in the period of absence I have assigned you.”
“I think you judged me better a little while ago, Madame,” replied the young man, “when you said that time is powerless against members of the family of Buckingham.”
“Silence,” said the queen, kissing the duke upon the forehead with an affection she could not restrain. “Go, go; spare me and forget yourself no longer. I am the queen; you are the subject of the king of England; King Charles awaits your return. Adieu, Villiers—farewell.”
“Forever!” replied the young man, and he fled, endeavoring to master his emotions.
Anne leaned her head upon her hands, and then looking at herself in the glass, murmured, “It has been truly said, that a woman who has truly loved is always young, and that the bloom of the girl of twenty years ever lies concealed in some secret cloister of the heart.”
Part II
Louise de La Vallière
93
King Louis XIV Does Not Think Mademoiselle de La Vallière Either Rich Enough or Pretty Enough for a Gentleman of the Rank of the Vicomte de Bragelonne
Raoul and the Comte de la Fère reached Paris the evening of the same day on which Buckingham had held the conversation with the queen-mother. The count had scarcely arrived, when, through Raoul, he solicited an audience of the king. His Majesty had passed a portion of the morning in looking over, with Madame and the ladies of the court, various goods of Lyons manufacture, of which he had made his sister-in-law a present. A court dinner had succeeded, then cards, and afterwards, according to his usual custom, the king, leaving the card-tables at eight o’clock, passed into his cabinet in order to work with M. Colbert and M. Fouquet. Raoul entered the antechamber at the very moment the two ministers quitted it, and the king, perceiving him through the half-closed door, said, “What do you want, M. de Bragelonne?”
The young man approached: “An audience, sire,” he replied, “for the Comte de la Fère, who has just arrived from Blois, and is most anxious to have an interview with Your Majesty.”
“I have an hour to spare between cards and supper,” said the king. “Is the Comte de la Fère at hand?”
“He is below, and awaits Your Majesty’s permission.”
“Let him come up at once,” said the king, and five minutes afterwards Athos entered the presence of Louis XIV. He was received by the king with that gracious kindness of manner which Louis, with a tact beyond his years, reserved for the purpose of gaining those who were not to be conquered by ordinary favors. “Let me hope, comte,” said the king, “that you have come to ask me for something.”
“I will not conceal from Your Majesty,” replied the comte, “that I am indeed come for that purpose.”
“That is well,” said the king, joyously.
“It is not for myself, sire.”
“So much the worse; but, at least, I will do for your protégé what you refuse to permit me to do for you.”
“Your Majesty encourages me. I have come to speak on behalf of the Vicomte de Bragelonne.”
“It is the same as if you spoke on your own behalf, comte.”
“Not altogether so, sire. I am desirous of obtaining from Your Majesty that which I cannot ask for myself. The vicomte thinks of marrying.”
“He is still very young; but that does not matter. He is an eminently distinguished man; I will choose a wife for him.”
“He has already chosen one, sire, and only awaits your consent.”
“It is only a question, then, of signing the marriage-contract?” Athos bowed. “Has he chosen a wife whose fortune and position accord with your own anticipation?”
Athos hesitated for a moment. “His affirmed wife is of good birth, but has no fortune.”
“That is a misfortune we can remedy.”
“You overwhelm me with gratitude, sire; but Your Majesty will permit me to offer a remark?”
“Do so, comte.”
“Your Majesty seems to intimate an intention of giving a marriage-portion to this young lady.”
“Certainly.”
“I should regret, sire, if the step I have
