Louise de la Valliere, Alexandre Dumas [smallest ebook reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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“Oh!” exclaimed De Guiche.
“Or at least I thought—”
“There, now, you see you are not sure. But if you have any doubt, my poor friend, what remains for me to do?”
“I saw Louise much agitated—Montalais in a state of bewilderment—the king—”
“The king?”
“Yes. You turn your head aside. The danger is there, the evil is there; tell me, is it not so, is it not the king?”
“I say nothing.”
“Oh! you say a thousand times more than nothing. Give me facts, for pity’s sake, give me proofs. My friend, the only friend I have, speak—tell me all. My heart is crushed, wounded to death; I am dying from despair.”
“If that really be so, as I see it is, indeed, dear Raoul,” replied De Guiche, “you relieve me from my difficulty, and I will tell you all, perfectly sure that I can tell you nothing but what is consoling, compared to the despair from which I see you suffering.”
“Go on,—go on; I am listening.”
“Well, then, I can only tell you what you might learn from every one you meet.”
“From every one, do you say? It is talked about, then!”
“Before you say people talk about it, learn what it is that people have to talk about. I assure you solemnly, that people only talk about what may, in truth, be very innocent; perhaps a walk—”
“Ah! a walk with the king?”
“Yes, certainly, a walk with the king; and I believe the king has already very frequently before taken walks with ladies, without on that account—”
“You would not have written to me, shall I say again, if there had been nothing unusual in this promenade.”
“I know that while the storm lasted, it would have been far better if the king had taken shelter somewhere else, than to have remained with his head uncovered before La Valliere; but the king is so very courteous and polite.”
“Oh! De Guiche, De Guiche, you are killing me!”
“Do not let us talk any more, then.”
“Nay, let us continue. This walk was followed by others, I suppose?”
“No—I mean yes: there was the adventure of the oak, I think. But I know nothing about the matter at all.” Raoul rose; De Guiche endeavored to imitate him, notwithstanding his weakness. “Well, I will not add another word: I have said either too much or not enough. Let others give you further information if they will, or if they can; my duty was to warn you, and that I have done. Watch over your own affairs now, yourself.”
“Question others! Alas! you are no true friend to speak to me in that manner,” said the young man, in utter distress. “The first man I meet may be either evilly disposed or a fool,—if the former, he will tell me a lie to make me suffer more than I do now; if the latter, he will do worse still. Ah! De Guiche, De Guiche, before two hours are over, I shall have been told ten falsehoods, and shall have as many duels on my hands. Save me, then; is it not best to know the worst always?”
“But I know nothing, I tell you; I was wounded, attacked by fever: out of my senses; and I have only a very faint recollection of it all. But there is no reason why we should search very far, when the very man we want is close at hand. Is not D’Artagnan your friend?”
“Oh! true, true!”
“Got to him, then. He will be able to throw sufficient light upon the subject.” At this moment a lackey entered the room. “What is it?” said De Guiche.
“Some one is waiting for monseigneur in the Cabinet des Porcelaines.”
“Very well. Will you excuse me, my dear Raoul? I am so proud since I have been able to walk again.”
“I would offer you my arm, De Guiche, if I did not guess that the person in question is a lady.”
“I believe so,” said De Guiche, smiling as he quitted Raoul.
Raoul remained motionless, absorbed in grief, overwhelmed, like the miner upon whom a vault has just fallen in, who, wounded, his life-blood welling fast, his thoughts confused, endeavors to recover himself, to save his life and to retain his reason. A few minutes were all Raoul needed to dissipate the bewildering sensations occasioned by these two revelations. He had already recovered the thread of his ideas, when, suddenly, through the door, he fancied he recognized Montalais’s voice in the Cabinet des Porcelaines. “She!” he cried. “Yes, it is indeed her voice! She will be able to tell me the whole truth; but shall I question her here? She conceals herself even from me; she is coming, no doubt, from Madame. I will see her in her own apartment. She will explain her alarm, her flight, the strange manner in which I was driven out; she will tell me all that—after M. d’Artagnan, who knows everything, shall have given me a fresh strength and courage. Madame, a coquette I fear, and yet a coquette who is herself in love, has her moments of kindness; a coquette who is as capricious and uncertain as life or death, but who tells De Guiche that he is the happiest of men. He at least is lying on roses.” And so he hastily quitted the comte’s apartments, reproaching himself as he went for having talked of nothing but his own affairs to De Guiche, and soon reached D’Artagnan’s quarters.
Chapter LI. Bragelonne Continues His Inquiries.
The captain, sitting buried in his leathern armchair, his spurs fixed in the floor, his sword between his legs, was reading a number of letters, as he twisted his mustache. D’Artagnan uttered a welcome full of pleasure when he perceived his friend’s son. “Raoul, my boy,” he said, “by what lucky accident does it happen that the king has recalled you?”
These words did not sound agreeably in the young man’s ears, who, as he seated himself, replied, “Upon my word I cannot tell you; all that I know is—I have come back.”
“Hum!” said D’Artagnan, folding up his letters and directing a look full of meaning at him; “what do you say, my boy? that the king has not recalled you, and you have returned? I do not understand that at all.”
Raoul was already pale enough; and he now began to turn his hat round and round in his hand.
“What the deuce is the matter that you look as you do, and what makes you so dumb?” said the captain. “Do people nowadays assume that sort of
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