“Long life to Your Royal Highness!” replied de Guiche, encouraged by the tone of Philip’s voice; “health, joy, happiness, and prosperity to Your Highness.”
“Welcome, de Guiche, come on my right side, but keep your horse in hand, for I wish to return at a walking pace under the cool shade of these trees.”
“As you please, Monseigneur,” said de Guiche, taking his place on the prince’s right as he had been invited to do.
“Now, my dear de Guiche,” said the prince, “give me a little news of that de Guiche whom I used to know formerly, and who used to pay attentions to my wife.”
Guiche blushed to the very whites of his eyes, while Monsieur burst out laughing, as though he had made the wittiest remark in the world. The few privileged courtiers who surrounded Monsieur thought it their duty to follow his example, although they had not heard the remark, and a noisy burst of laughter immediately followed, beginning with the first courtier, passing on through the whole company, and only terminating with the last. De Guiche, although blushing scarlet, put a good countenance on the matter; Manicamp looked at him.
“Ah! Monseigneur,” replied de Guiche, “show a little charity towards such a miserable fellow as I am: do not hold me up to the ridicule of the Chevalier de Lorraine.”
“How do you mean?”
“If he hears you ridicule me, he will go beyond Your Highness, and will show no pity.”
“About your passion and the princess, do you mean?”
“For mercy’s sake, Monseigneur.”
“Come, come, de Guiche, confess that you did get a little sweet upon Madame.”
“I will never confess such a thing, Monseigneur.”
“Out of respect for me, I suppose; but I release you from your respect, de Guiche. Confess, as if it were simply a question about Mademoiselle de Chalais or Mademoiselle de La Vallière.”
Then breaking off, he said, beginning to laugh again, “Comte, that wasn’t at all bad!—a remark like a sword, which cuts two ways at once. I hit you and my brother at the same time, Chalais and La Vallière, your affianced bride and his future lady love.”
“Really, Monseigneur,” said the comte, “you are in a most brilliant humor today.”
“The fact is, I feel well, and then I am pleased to see you again. But you were angry with me, were you not?”
“I, Monseigneur? Why should I have been so?”
“Because I interfered with your sarabands and your other Spanish amusements. Nay, do not deny it. On that day you left the princess’s apartments with your eyes full of fury; that brought you ill-luck, for you danced in the ballet yesterday in a most wretched manner. Now don’t get sulky, de Guiche, for it does you no good, but makes you look like a tame bear. If the princess did not look at you attentively yesterday, I am quite sure of one thing.”
“What is that, Monseigneur? Your Highness alarms me.”
“She has quite forsworn you now,” said the prince, with a burst of loud laughter.
Decidedly
, thought Manicamp, rank has nothing to do with it, and all men are alike.
The prince continued: “At all events, you have now returned, and it is to be hoped that the chevalier will become amiable again.”
“How so, Monseigneur: and by what miracle can I exercise such an influence over M. de Lorraine?”
“The matter is very simple, he is jealous of you.”
“Bah! it is not possible.”
“It is the case, though.”
“He does me too much honor.”
“The fact is, that when you are here, he is full of kindness and attention, but when you are gone he makes me suffer a perfect martyrdom. I am like a seesaw. Besides, you do not know the idea that has struck me?”
“I do not even suspect it.”
“Well, then; when you were in exile—for you really were exiled, my poor de Guiche—”
“I should think so, indeed; but whose fault was it?” said de Guiche, pretending to speak in an angry tone.
“Not mine, certainly, my dear comte,” replied His Royal Highness, “upon my honor, I did not ask for the king to exile you—”
“No, not you, Monseigneur, I am well aware; but—”
“But Madame; well, as far as that goes, I do not say it was not the case. Why, what the deuce did you do or say to Madame?”
“Really, Monseigneur—”
“Women, I know, have their grudges, and my wife is not free from caprices of that nature. But if she were the cause of your being exiled I bear you no ill-will.”
“In that case, Monseigneur,” said de Guiche. “I am not altogether unhappy.”
Manicamp, who was following closely behind de Guiche and who did not lose a word of what the prince was saying, bent down to his very shoulders over his horse’s neck, in order to conceal the laughter he could not repress.
“Besides, your exile started a project in my head.”
“Good.”
“When the chevalier—finding you were no longer here, and sure of reigning undisturbed—began to bully me, I, observing that my wife, in the most perfect contrast to him, was most kind and amiable towards me who had neglected her so much, the idea occurred to me of becoming a model husband—a rarity, a curiosity, at the court; and I had an idea of getting very fond of my wife.”
De Guiche looked at the prince with a stupefied expression of countenance, which was not assumed.
“Oh! Monseigneur,” de Guiche stammered out; “surely, that never seriously occurred to you.”
“Indeed it did. I have some property that my brother gave me on my marriage; she has some money of her own, and not a little either, for she gets money from her brother and brother-in-law of England and France at the same time. Well! we should have left the court. I should have retired to my château at Villers-Cotterets, situated in the middle of a forest, in which we should have led a most sentimental life in the very same spot where my grandfather, Henry IV, sojourned with La Belle Gabrielle. What do you think of that idea, de Guiche?”
“Why, it is enough
