Ten Years Later Part 7

The Portrait of Madame.

The discussion was becoming full of bitterness. De Guiche perfectly

understood the whole matter, for there was in Bragelonne’s face a look

instinctively hostile, while in that of De Wardes there was something

like a determination to offend. Without inquiring into the different

feelings which actuated his two friends, De Guiche resolved to ward off

the blow which he felt was on the point of being dealt by one of them,

and perhaps by both. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we must take our leave

of each other, I must pay a visit to Monsieur. You, De Wardes, will

accompany me to the Louvre, and you, Raoul, will remain here master of

the house; and as all that is done here is under your advice, you will

bestow the last glance upon my preparations for departure.”

Raoul, with the air of one who neither seeks nor fears a quarrel, bowed

his head in token of assent, and seated himself upon a bench in the sun.

“That is well,” said De Guiche, “remain where you are, Raoul, and tell

them to show you the two horses I have just purchased; you will give me

your opinion, for I only bought them on condition that you ratified the

purchase. By the by, I have to beg your pardon for having omitted to

inquire after the Comte de la Fere.” While pronouncing these latter

words, he closely observed De Wardes, in order to perceive what effect

the name of Raoul’s father would produce upon him. “I thank you,”

answered the young man, “the count is very well.” A gleam of deep hatred

passed into De Wardes’s eyes. De Guiche, who appeared not to notice the

foreboding expression, went up to Raoul, and grasping him by the hand,

said,--“It is agreed, then, Bragelonne, is it not, that you will rejoin

us in the courtyard of the Palais Royal?” He then signed to De Wardes to

follow him, who had been engaged in balancing himself first on one foot,

then on the other. “We are going,” said he, “come, M. Malicorne.”

This name made Raoul start; for it seemed that he had already heard it

pronounced before, but he could not remember on what occasion.

While trying to recall it half-dreamily, yet half-irritated at his

conversation with De Wardes, the three young men set out on their way

towards the Palais Royal, where Monsieur was residing. Malicorne learned

two things; the first, that the young men had something to say to each

other; and the second, that he ought not to walk in the same line with

them; and therefore he walked behind. “Are you mad?” said De Guiche

to his companion, as soon as they had left the Hotel de Grammont; “you

attack M. d’Artagnan, and that, too, before Raoul.”

“Well,” said De Wardes, “what then?”

“What do you mean by ‘what then?’”

“Certainly, is there any prohibition against attacking M. d’Artagnan?”

“But you know very well that M. d’Artagnan was one of those celebrated

and terrible four men who were called the musketeers.”

“That they may be; but I do not perceive why, on that account, I should

be forbidden to hate M. d’Artagnan.”

“What cause has he given you?”

“Me! personally, none.”

“Why hate him, therefore?”

“Ask my dead father that question.”

“Really, my dear De Wardes, you surprise me. M. d’Artagnan is not one to

leave unsettled any _enmity_ he may have to arrange, without completely

clearing his account. Your father, I have heard, carried matters with a

high hand. Moreover, there are no enmities so bitter that they cannot be

washed away by blood, by a good sword-thrust loyally given.”

“Listen to me, my dear De Guiche, this inveterate dislike existed

between my father and M. d’Artagnan, and when I was quite a child,

he acquainted me with the reason for it, and, as forming part of my

inheritance, I regard it as a particular legacy bestowed upon me.”

“And does this hatred concern M. d’Artagnan alone?”

“As for that, M. d’Artagnan was so intimately associated with his three

friends, that some portion of the full measure of my hatred falls to

their lot, and that hatred is of such a nature, whenever the opportunity

occurs, they shall have no occasion to complain of their allowance.”

De Guiche had kept his eyes fixed on De Wardes, and shuddered at

the bitter manner in which the young man smiled. Something like a

presentiment flashed across his mind; he knew that the time had passed

away for _grands coups entre gentilshommes_; but that the feeling of

hatred treasured up in the mind, instead of being diffused abroad, was

still hatred all the same; that a smile was sometimes as full of meaning

as a threat; and, in a word, that to the fathers who had hated with

their hearts and fought with their arms, would now succeed the sons, who

would indeed hate with their hearts, but would no longer combat their

enemies save by means of intrigue or treachery. As, therefore, it

certainly was not Raoul whom he could suspect either of intrigue or

treachery, it was on Raoul’s account that De Guiche trembled. However,

while these gloomy forebodings cast a shade of anxiety over De Guiche’s

countenance, De Wardes had resumed the entire mastery over himself.

“At all events,” he observed, “I have no personal ill-will towards M. de

Bragelonne; I do not know him even.”

“In any case,” said De Guiche, with a certain amount of severity in his

tone of voice, “do not forget one circumstance, that Raoul is my most

intimate friend;” a remark at which De Wardes bowed.

The conversation terminated there, although De Guiche tried his

utmost to draw out his secret from him; but, doubtless, De Wardes had

determined to say nothing further, and he remained impenetrable. De

Guiche therefore promised himself a more satisfactory result with Raoul.

In the meantime they had reached the Palais Royal, which was surrounded

by a crowd of lookers-on. The household belonging to Monsieur awaited

his command to mount their horses, in order to form part of the escort

of the ambassadors, to whom had been intrusted the care of bringing the

young princess to Paris. The brilliant display of horses, arms, and

rich liveries, afforded some compensation in those times, thanks to the

kindly feelings of the people, and to the traditions of deep devotion

to their sovereigns, for the enormous expenses charged upon the taxes.

Mazarin had said: “Let them sing, provided they pay;” while Louis XIV.’s

remark was, “Let them look.” Sight had replaced the voice; the people

could still look but they were no longer allowed to sing. De Guiche left

De Wardes and Malicorne at the bottom of the grand staircase, while

he himself, who shared the favor and good graces of Monsieur with the

Chevalier de Lorraine, who always smiled at him most affectionately,

though he could not endure him, went straight to the prince’s

apartments, whom he found engaged in admiring himself in the glass, and

rouging his face. In a corner of the cabinet, the Chevalier de Lorraine

was extended full length upon some cushions, having just had his long

hair curled, with which he was playing in the same manner a woman would

have done. The prince turned round as the count entered, and perceiving

who it was, said: “Ah! is that you, De Guiche; come here and tell me the

truth.”

“You know, my lord, it is one of my defects to speak the truth.”

“You will hardly believe, De Guiche, how that wicked chevalier has

annoyed me.”

The chevalier shrugged his shoulders.

“Why, he pretends,” continued the prince, “that Mademoiselle Henrietta

is better looking as a woman than I am as a man.”

“Do not forget, my lord,” said De Guiche, frowning slightly, “you

require me to speak the truth.”

“Certainly,” said the prince, tremblingly.

“Well, and I shall tell it you.”

“Do not be in a hurry, Guiche,” exclaimed the prince, “you have plenty

of time; look at me attentively, and try to recollect Madame. Besides,

her portrait is here. Look at it.” And he held out to him a miniature of

the finest possible execution. De Guiche took it, and looked at it for a

long time attentively.

“Upon my honor, my lord, this is indeed a most lovely face.”

“But look at me, count, look at me,” said the prince, endeavoring to

direct upon himself the attention of the count, who was completely

absorbed in contemplation of the portrait.

“It is wonderful,” murmured Guiche.

“Really one would imagine you had never seen the young lady before.”

“It is true, my lord, I have seen her but it was five years ago; there

is a great difference between a child twelve years old, and a girl of

seventeen.”

“Well, what is your opinion?”

“My opinion is that the portrait must be flattering, my lord.”

“Of that,” said the prince triumphantly, “there can be no doubt; but let

us suppose that it is not, what would your opinion be?”

“My lord, that your highness is exceedingly happy to have so charming a

bride.”

The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing. The prince understood how

severe towards himself this opinion of the Comte de Guiche was, and he

looked somewhat displeased, saying, “My friends are not over indulgent.”

De Guiche looked at the portrait again, and, after lengthened

contemplation, returned it with apparent unwillingness, saying, “Most

decidedly, my lord, I should rather prefer to look ten times at your

highness, than to look at Madame once again.” It seemed as if the

chevalier had detected some mystery in these words, which were

incomprehensible to the prince, for he exclaimed: “Very well, get

married yourself.” Monsieur continued painting himself, and when he

had finished, looked at the portrait again once more, turned to admire

himself in the glass, and smiled, and no doubt was satisfied with the

comparison. “You are very kind to have come,” he said to Guiche, “I

feared you would leave without bidding me adieu.”

“Your highness knows me too well to believe me capable of so great a

disrespect.”

“Besides, I suppose you have something to ask from me before leaving

Paris?”

“Your highness has indeed guessed correctly, for I have a request to

make.”

“Very good, what is it?”

The Chevalier de Lorraine immediately displayed the greatest attention,

for he regarded every favor conferred upon another as a robbery

committed against himself. And, as Guiche hesitated, the prince said:

“If it be money, nothing could be more fortunate, for I am in funds; the

superintendent of the finances has sent me 500,000 pistoles.”

“I thank your highness; but is not an affair of money.”

“What is it, then? Tell me.”

“The appointment of a maid of honor.”

“Oh! oh! Guiche, what a protector you have become of young ladies,” said

the prince, “you never speak of any one else now.”

The Chevalier de Lorraine smiled, for he knew very well that nothing

displeased the prince more than to show any interest in ladies. “My

lord,” said the comte, “it is not I who am directly interested in the

lady of whom I have just spoken; I am acting on behalf of one of my

friends.”

“Ah! that is different; what is the name of the young lady in whom your

friend is so interested?”

“Mlle. de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere; she is already maid of honor

to the dowager princess.”

“Why, she is lame,” said the Chevalier de Lorraine, stretching himself

on his cushions.

“Lame,” repeated the prince, “and Madame to have her constantly before

her eyes? Most certainly not; it may be dangerous for her when in an

interesting condition.”

The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing.

“Chevalier,” said Guiche, “your conduct is ungenerous; while I am

soliciting a favor, you do me all the mischief you can.”

“Forgive me, comte,” said the Chevalier de Lorraine, somewhat uneasy at

the tone in which Guiche had made his remark, “but I had no intention of

doing so, and I begin to believe that I have mistaken one young lady for

another.”

“There is no doubt of it, monsieur; and I do not hesitate to declare

that such is the case.”

“Do you attach much importance to it, Guiche?” inquired the prince.

“I do, my lord.”

“Well, you shall have it; but ask me for no more appointments, for there

are none to give away.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the chevalier, “midday already, that is the hour fixed

for the departure.”

“You dismiss me, monsieur?” inquired Guiche.

“Really, count, you treat me very ill to-day,” replied the chevalier.

“For heaven’s sake, count, for heaven’s sake, chevalier,” said Monsieur,

“do you not see how you are distressing me?”

“Your highness’s signature?” said Guiche.

“Take a blank appointment from that drawer, and give it to me.” Guiche

handed the prince the document indicated, and at the same time presented

him with a pen already dipped in ink; whereupon the prince signed.

“Here,” he said, returning him the appointment, “but I give it on one

condition.”

“Name it.”

“That you make friends with the chevalier.”

“Willingly,” said Guiche. And he held out his hand to the chevalier with

an indifference amounting to contempt.

“Adieu, count,” said the chevalier, without seeming in any way to have

noticed the count’s slight; “adieu, and bring us back a princess who

will not talk with her own portrait too much.”

“Yes, set off and lose no time. By the by, who will accompany you?”

“Bragelonne and De Wardes.”

“Both excellent and fearless companions.”

“Too fearless,” said the chevalier; “endeavor to bring them both back,

count.”

“A bad heart, bad!” murmured De Guiche; “he scents mischief everywhere,

and sooner than anything else.” And taking leave of the prince, he

quitted the apartment. As soon as he reached the vestibule, he waved

in the air the paper which the prince had signed. Malicorne hurried

forward, and received it, trembling with delight. When, however, he held

in his hand, Guiche observed that he still awaited something further.

“Patience, monsieur,” he said; “the Chevalier de Lorraine was there,

and I feared an utter failure if I asked too much at once. Wait until I

return. Adieu.”

“Adieu, monsieur le comte; a thousand thanks,” said Malicorne.

“Send Manicamp to me. By the way, monsieur, is it true that Mlle. de la

Valliere is lame?” As he said this, he noticed that Bragelonne, who had

just at that moment entered the courtyard, turned suddenly pale. The

poor lover had heard the remark, which, however, was not the case with

Malicorne, for he was already beyond the reach of the count’s voice.

“Why is Louise’s name spoken of here,” said Raoul to himself; “oh! let

not De Wardes, who stands smiling yonder, even say a word about her in

my presence.”

“Now, gentlemen,” exclaimed the Comte de Guiche, “prepare to start.”

At this moment the prince, who had complete his toilette, appeared at

the window, and was immediately saluted by the acclamations of all who

composed the escort, and ten minutes afterwards, banners, scarfs,

and feathers were fluttering and waving in the air, as the cavalcade

galloped away.