“But, admitting that you obtain the happiness you covet, even then, you are more certainly lost than if you had failed in obtaining it.”
“I beseech you, Raoul, not to interrupt me any more; you could never convince me, for I tell you beforehand, I do not wish to be convinced; I have gone so far I cannot recede; I have suffered so much, death itself would be a boon. I no longer love to madness, Raoul, I am being engulfed by a whirlpool of jealousy.”
Raoul struck his hands together with an expression resembling anger. “Well?” said he.
“Well or ill matters little. This is what I claim from you, my friend, my almost brother. During the last three days Madame has been living in a perfect intoxication of gayety. On the first day, I dared not look at her; I hated her for not being as unhappy as myself. The next day I could not bear her out of my sight; and she, Raoul—at least I thought I remarked it—she looked at me, if not with pity, at least with gentleness. But between her looks and mine, a shadow intervened; another’s smile invited hers. Beside her horse another’s always gallops, which is not mine; in her ear another’s caressing voice, not mine, unceasingly vibrates. Raoul, for three days past my brain has been on fire; flame, not blood, courses through my veins. That shadow must be driven away, that smile must be quenched; that voice must be silenced.”
“You wish Monsieur’s death,” exclaimed Raoul.
“No, no, I am not jealous of the husband; I am jealous of the lover.”
“Of the lover?” said Raoul.
“Have you not observed it, you who were formerly so keen-sighted?”
“Are you jealous of the Duke of Buckingham?”
“To the very death.”
“Again jealous?”
“This time the affair will be easy to arrange between us; I have taken the initiative, and have sent him a letter.”
“It was you, then, who wrote to him?”
“How do you know that?”
“I know it, because he told me so. Look at this”; and he handed de Guiche the letter he had received nearly at the same moment as his own. De Guiche read it eagerly, and said, “He is a brave man, and more than that, a gallant man.”
“Most certainly the duke is a gallant man; I need not ask if you wrote to him in a similar style.”
“He will show you my letter when you call on him on my behalf.”
“But that is almost out of the question.”
“What is?”
“That I shall call on him for that purpose.”
“Why so?”
“The duke consults me as you do.”
“I suppose you will give me the preference! Listen to me, Raoul, I wish you to tell His Grace—it is a very simple matter—that today, tomorrow, the following day, or any other day he may choose, I will meet him at Vincennes.”
“Reflect, de Guiche.”
“I thought I told you I have reflected.”
“The duke is a stranger here; he is on a mission which renders his person inviolable. … Vincennes is close to the Bastille.”
“The consequences concern me.”
“But the motive for this meeting? What motive do you wish me to assign?”
“Be perfectly easy on that score, he will not ask any. The duke must be as sick of me as I am of him. I implore you, therefore, seek the duke, and if it is necessary to entreat him, to accept my offer, I will do so.”
“That is useless. The duke has already informed me that he wishes to speak to me. The duke is now playing cards with the king. Let us both go there. I will draw him aside in the gallery; you will remain aloof. Two words will be sufficient.”
“That is well arranged. I will take de Wardes to keep me in countenance.”
“Why not Manicamp? De Wardes can join us at any time; we can leave him here.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“He knows nothing?”
“Positively nothing. You continue still on an unfriendly footing, then?”
“Has he not told you anything?”
“Nothing.”
“I do not like the man, and, as I never liked him, the result is, that I am on no worse terms with him today than I was yesterday.”
“Let us go, then.”
The four descended the stairs. De Guiche’s carriage was waiting at the door, and took them to the Palais Royal. As they were going along, Raoul was engaged in devising his scheme of action. The sole depositary of two secrets, he did not despair of concluding some arrangement between the two parties. He knew the influence he exercised over Buckingham, and the ascendency he had acquired over de Guiche, and affairs did not look utterly hopeless. On their arrival in the gallery, dazzling with the blaze of light, where the most beautiful and illustrious women of the court moved to and fro, like stars in their own atmosphere, Raoul could not prevent himself for a moment forgetting de Guiche in order to seek out Louise, who, amidst her companions, like a dove completely fascinated, gazed long and fixedly upon the royal circle, which glittered with jewels and gold. All its members were standing, the king alone being seated. Raoul perceived Buckingham, who was standing a few paces from Monsieur, in a group of French and English, who were admiring his aristocratic carriage and the incomparable magnificence of his costume. Some of the older courtiers remembered having seen his father, but their recollections were not prejudicial to the son.
Buckingham was conversing with Fouquet, who was talking with him aloud about Belle-Isle. “I cannot speak to him at present,” said Raoul.
“Wait, then, and choose your opportunity, but finish everything speedily. I am on thorns.”
“See, our deliverer approaches,” said Raoul, perceiving d’Artagnan, who, magnificently dressed in his new uniform of captain of the Musketeers, had just made his entry in the gallery; and he advanced towards d’Artagnan.
“The Comte de la Fère has been looking for you, chevalier,” said Raoul.
“Yes,” replied d’Artagnan, “I have just left him.”
“I thought you would have passed a portion of the evening
