“No, Madame; I am going to England to fulfil a mission which His Majesty has been kind enough to confide to me—nothing more.”
“And you propose to return to France?”
“As soon as I have accomplished my mission; unless, indeed, His Majesty King Charles II should have other orders for me.”
“He will beg you, at the very least, I am sure, to remain near him as long as possible.”
“In that case, as I shall not know how to refuse, I will now beforehand entreat Your Royal Highness to have the goodness to remind the king of France that one of his devoted servants is far away from him.”
“Take care that when you are recalled, you do not consider his command an abuse of power.”
“I do not understand you, Madame.”
“The court of France is not easily matched, I am aware, but yet we have some pretty women at the court of England also.”
Raoul smiled.
“Oh!” said Madame, “yours is a smile which portends no good to my countrywomen. It is as though you were telling them, Monsieur de Bragelonne: ‘I visit you, but I leave my heart on the other side of the Channel.’ Did not your smile indicate that?”
“Your Highness is gifted with the power of reading the inmost depths of the soul, and you will understand, therefore, why, at present, any prolonged residence at the court of England would be a matter of the deepest regret.”
“And I need not inquire if so gallant a knight is recompensed in return?”
“I have been brought up, Madame, with her whom I love, and I believe our affection is mutual.”
“In that case, do not delay your departure, Monsieur de Bragelonne, and delay not your return, for on your return we shall see two persons happy; for I hope no obstacle exists to your felicity.”
“There is a great obstacle, Madame.”
“Indeed! what is it?”
“The king’s wishes on the subject.”
“The king opposes your marriage?”
“He postpones it, at least. I solicited His Majesty’s consent through the Comte de la Fère, and, without absolutely refusing it, he positively said it must be deferred.”
“Is the young lady whom you love unworthy of you, then?”
“She is worthy of a king’s affection, Madame.”
“I mean, she is not, perhaps, of birth equal to your own.”
“Her family is excellent.”
“Is she young, beautiful?”
“She is seventeen, and, in my opinion, exceedingly beautiful.”
“Is she in the country, or at Paris?”
“She is here at Fontainebleau, Madame.”
“At the court?”
“Yes.”
“Do I know her?”
“She has the honor to form one of Your Highness’s household.”
“Her name?” inquired the princess, anxiously; “if indeed,” she added, hastily, “her name is not a secret.”
“No, Madame, my affection is too pure for me to make a secret of it to anyone, and with still greater reason to Your Royal Highness, whose kindness towards me has been so extreme. It is Mademoiselle Louise de La Vallière.”
Madame could not restrain an exclamation, in which a feeling stronger than surprise might have been detected. “Ah!” she said, “La Vallière—she who yesterday—” she paused, and then continued, “she who was taken ill, I believe.”
“Yes, Madame; it was only this morning that I heard of the accident that had befallen her.”
“Did you see her before you came to me?”
“I had the honor of taking leave of her.”
“And you say,” resumed Madame, making a powerful effort over herself, “that the king has—deferred your marriage with this young girl.”
“Yes, Madame, deferred it.”
“Did he assign any reason for this postponement?”
“None.”
“How long is it since the Comte de la Fère preferred his request to the king?”
“More than a month, Madame.”
“It is very singular,” said the princess, as something like a film clouded her eyes.
“A month?” she repeated.
“About a month.”
“You are right, vicomte,” said the princess, with a smile, in which de Bragelonne might have remarked a kind of restraint; “my brother must not keep you too long in England; set off at once, and in the first letter I write to England, I will claim you in the king’s name.” And Madame rose to place her letter in Bragelonne’s hands. Raoul understood that his audience was at an end; he took the letter, bowed lowly to the princess, and left the room.
“A month!” murmured the princess; “could I have been blind, then, to so great an extent, and could he have loved her for this last month?” And as Madame had nothing to do, she sat down to begin a letter to her brother, the postscript of which was a summons for Bragelonne to return.
The Comte de Guiche, as we have seen, had yielded to the pressing persuasions of Manicamp, and allowed himself to be led to the stables, where they desired their horses to be got ready for them; then, by one of the side paths, a description of which has already been given, they advanced to meet Monsieur, who, having just finished bathing, was returning towards the château, wearing a woman’s veil to protect his face from getting burnt by the sun, which was shining very brightly. Monsieur was in one of those fits of good humor to which the admiration of his own good looks sometimes gave occasion. As he was bathing he had been able to compare the whiteness of his body with that of his courtiers, and, thanks to the care which His Royal Highness took of himself, no one, not even the Chevalier de Lorraine, was able to stand the comparison. Monsieur, moreover, had been tolerably successful in swimming, and his muscles having been exercised by the healthy immersion in the cool water, he was in a light and cheerful state of mind and body. So that, at the sight of Guiche, who advanced to meet him at a hand gallop, mounted upon a magnificent white horse, the prince could not restrain an exclamation of delight.
“I think matters look well,” said Manicamp, who fancied he could read this friendly disposition upon His Royal Highness’s countenance.
“Good
