“No false delicacy, comte; what is the bride’s name?”
“Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de La Vallière,” said Athos, coldly.
“I seem to know that name,” said the king, as if reflecting; “there was a Marquis de La Vallière.”
“Yes, sire, it is his daughter.”
“But he died, and his widow married again M. de Saint-Remy, I think, steward of the dowager Madame’s household.”
“Your Majesty is correctly informed.”
“More than that, the young lady has lately become one of the princess’s maids of honor.”
“Your Majesty is better acquainted with her history than am I.”
The king again reflected, and glancing at the comte’s anxious countenance, said: “The young lady does not seem to me to be very pretty, comte.”
“I am not quite sure,” replied Athos.
“I have seen her, but she hardly struck me as being so.”
“She seems to be a good and modest girl, but has little beauty, sire.”
“Beautiful fair hair, however.”
“I think so.”
“And her blue eyes are tolerably good.”
“Yes, sire.”
“With regard to her beauty, then, the match is but an ordinary one. Now for the money side of the question.”
“Fifteen to twenty thousand francs dowry at the very outside, sire; the lovers are disinterested enough; for myself, I care little for money.”
“For superfluity, you mean; but a needful amount is of importance. With fifteen thousand francs, without landed property, a woman cannot live at court. We will make up the deficiency; I will do it for de Bragelonne.” The king again remarked the coldness with which Athos received the remark.
“Let us pass from the question of money to that of rank,” said Louis XIV; “the daughter of the Marquis de La Vallière, that is well enough; but there is that excellent Saint-Remy, who somewhat damages the credit of the family; and you, comte, are rather particular, I believe, about your own family.”
“Sire, I no longer hold to anything but my devotion to Your Majesty.”
The king again paused. “A moment, comte. You have surprised me in no little degree from the beginning of your conversation. You came to ask me to authorize a marriage, and you seem greatly disturbed in having to make the request. Nay, pardon me, comte, but I am rarely deceived, young as I am; for while with some persons I place my friendship at the disposal of my understanding, with others I call my distrust to my aid, by which my discernment is increased. I repeat, that you do not prefer your request as though you wished it success.”
“Well, sire, that is true.”
“I do not understand you, then; refuse.”
“Nay, sire; I love de Bragelonne with my whole heart; he is smitten with Mademoiselle de La Vallière, he weaves dreams of bliss for the future; I am not one who is willing to destroy the illusions of youth. This marriage is objectionable to me, but I implore Your Majesty to consent to it forthwith, and thus make Raoul happy.”
“Tell me, comte, is she in love with him?”
“If Your Majesty requires me to speak candidly, I do not believe in Mademoiselle de La Vallière’s affection; the delight at being at court, the honor of being in the service of Madame, counteract in her head whatever affection she may happen to have in her heart; it is a marriage similar to many others which already exist at court; but de Bragelonne wishes it, and so let it be.”
“And yet you do not resemble those easy-tempered fathers who volunteer as stepping-stones for their children,” said the king.
“I am determined enough against the viciously disposed, but not so against men of upright character. Raoul is suffering; he is in great distress of mind; his disposition, naturally light and cheerful, has become gloomy and melancholy. I do not wish to deprive Your Majesty of the services he may be able to render.”
“I understand you,” said the king; “and what is more, I understand your heart, too, comte.”
“There is no occasion, therefore,” replied the comte, “to tell Your Majesty that my object is to make these children, or rather Raoul, happy.”
“And I, too, as much as yourself, comte, wish to secure M. de Bragelonne’s happiness.”
“I only await Your Majesty’s signature. Raoul will have the honor of presenting himself before Your Majesty to receive your consent.”
“You are mistaken, comte,” said the king, firmly; “I have just said that I desire to secure M. de Bragelonne’s happiness, and from the present moment, therefore, I oppose his marriage.”
“But, sire,” exclaimed Athos, “Your Majesty has promised!”
“Not so, comte, I did not promise you, for it is opposed to my own views.”
“I appreciate Your Majesty’s considerate and generous intentions on my behalf; but I take the liberty of recalling to you that I undertook to approach you as an ambassador.”
“An ambassador, comte, frequently asks, but does not always obtain what he asks.”
“But, sire, it will be such a blow for de Bragelonne.”
“My hand shall deal the blow; I will speak to the vicomte.”
“Love, sire, is overwhelming in its might.”
“Love can be resisted, comte. I myself can assure you of that.”
“When one has the soul of a king—your own, for instance, sire.”
“Do not make yourself uneasy on the subject. I have certain views for de Bragelonne. I do not say that he shall not marry Mademoiselle de La Vallière, but I do not wish him to marry so young; I do not wish him to marry her until she has acquired a fortune; and he, on his side, no less deserves favor, such as I wish to confer upon him. In a word, comte, I wish them to wait.”
“Yet once more, sire.”
“Comte, you told me you came here to request a favor.”
“Assuredly, sire.”
“Grant me one, then, instead; let us speak no longer upon this matter. It is probable that, before long, war may be declared. I require men about me who are unfettered. I should hesitate to send under fire a married man, or a father of a family. I should hesitate also, on de Bragelonne’s account, to endow with a fortune, without some sound reason for
