Nothing further interrupted the journey. Under a pretext that was littleremarked, M. de Wardes went forward in advance of the others. He tookManicamp with him, for his equable and dreamy disposition acted as acounterpoise to his own. It is a subject of remark, that quarrelsomeand restless characters invariably seek the companionship of gentle,timorous dispositions, as if the former sought, in the contrast, arepose for their own ill-humor, and the latter a protection for theirweakness. Buckingham and Bragelonne admitting De Guiche into theirfriendship, in concert with him, sang the praises of the princess duringthe whole of the journey. Bragelonne had, however, insisted that theirthree voices should be in concert, instead of singing in solo parts,as De Guiche and his rival seemed to have acquired a dangerous habitof investigation. This style of harmony pleased the queen-motherexceedingly, but it was not perhaps so agreeable to the young princess,who was an incarnation of coquetry, and who, without any fear as faras her own voice was concerned, sought opportunities of so perilouslydistinguishing herself. She possessed one of those fearless andincautious dispositions that find gratification in an excess ofsensitiveness of feeling, and for whom, also, danger has a certainfascination. And so her glances, her smiles, her toilette, aninexhaustible armory of weapons of offense, were showered on the threeyoung men with overwhelming force; and, from her well-stored arsenalissued glances, kindly recognitions, and a thousand other littlecharming attentions which were intended to strike at long range thegentlemen who formed the escort, the townspeople, the officers of thedifferent cities she passed through, pages, populace, and servants;it was wholesale slaughter, a general devastation. By the time Madamearrived at Paris, she had reduced to slavery about a hundred thousandlovers: and brought in her train to Paris half a dozen men who werealmost mad about her, and two who were, indeed, literally out of theirminds. Raoul was the only person who divined the power of this woman'sattraction, and as his heart was already engaged, he arrived in thecapital full of indifference and distrust. Occasionally during thejourney he conversed with the queen of England respecting the powerof fascination which Madame possessed, and the mother, whom so manymisfortunes and deceptions had taught experience, replied: "Henriettawas sure to be illustrious in one way or another, whether born in apalace or born in obscurity; for she is a woman of great imagination,capricious and self-willed." De Wardes and Manicamp, in theirself-assumed character of courtiers, had announced the princess'sarrival. The procession was met at Nanterre by a brilliant escortof cavaliers and carriages. It was Monsieur himself, followed by theChevalier de Lorraine and by his favorites, the latter being themselvesfollowed by a portion of the king's military household, who had arrivedto meet his affianced bride. At St. Germain, the princess and her motherhad changed their heavy traveling carriage, somewhat impaired by thejourney, for a light, richly decorated chariot drawn by six horses withwhite and gold harness. Seated in this open carriage, as though upona throne, and beneath a parasol of embroidered silk, fringed withfeathers, sat the young and lovely princess, on whose beaming face werereflected the softened rose-tints which suited her delicate skin toperfection. Monsieur, on reaching the carriage, was struck by herbeauty; he showed his admiration in so marked a manner that theChevalier de Lorraine shrugged his shoulders as he listened to hiscompliments, while Buckingham and De Guiche were almost heart-broken.After the usual courtesies had been rendered, and the ceremonycompleted, the procession slowly resumed the road to Paris. Thepresentations had been carelessly made, and Buckingham, with the rest ofthe English gentlemen, had been introduced to Monsieur, from whom theyhad received but very indifferent attention. But, during their progress,as he observed that the duke devoted himself with his accustomedearnestness to the carriage-door, he asked the Chevalier de Lorraine,his inseparable companion, "Who is that cavalier?"
"He was presented to your highness a short while ago; it is the handsomeDuke of Buckingham."
"Ah, yes, I remember."
"Madame's knight," added the favorite, with an inflection of the voicewhich envious minds can alone give to the simplest phrases.
"What do you say?" replied the prince.
"I said 'Madame's knight.'"
"Has she a recognized knight, then?"
"One would think you can judge of that for yourself; look, only, howthey are laughing and flirting. All three of them."
"What do you mean by all three?"
"Do you not see that De Guiche is one of the party?"
"Yes, I see. But what does that prove?"
"That Madame has two admirers instead of one."
"Thou poison the simplest thing!"
"I poison nothing. Ah! your royal highness's mind is perverted. Thehonors of the kingdom of France are being paid to your wife and you arenot satisfied."
The Duke of Orleans dreaded the satirical humor of the Chevalier deLorraine whenever it reached a certain degree of bitterness, and hechanged the conversation abruptly. "The princess is pretty," said he,very negligently, as if he were speaking of a stranger.
"Yes," replied the chevalier, in the same tone.
"You say 'yes' like a 'no.' She has very beautiful black eyes."
"Yes, but small."
"That is so, but they are brilliant. She is tall, and of a good figure."
"I fancy she stoops a little, my lord?"
"I do not deny it. She has a noble appearance."
"Yes, but her face is thin."
"I thought her teeth beautiful."
"They can easily be seen, for her mouth is large enough. Decidedly, Iwas wrong, my lord; you are certainly handsomer than your wife."
"But do you think me as handsome as Buckingham?"
"Certainly, and he thinks so, too; for look, my lord, he is redoublinghis attentions to Madame to prevent your effacing the impression he hasmade."
Monsieur made a movement of impatience, but as he noticed a smile oftriumph pass across the chevalier's lips, he drew up his horse to afoot-pace. "Why," said he, "should I occupy myself any longer about mycousin? Do I not already know her? Were we not brought up together? DidI not see her at the Louvre when she was quite a child?"
"A great change has taken place in her since then, prince. At the periodyou allude to, she was somewhat less brilliant, and scarcely so proud,either. One evening, particularly, you may remember, my lord, theking refused to dance with her, because he thought her plain and badlydressed!"
These words made the Duke of Orleans frown. It was by no meansflattering for him to marry a princess of whom, when young, the king hadnot thought much. He would probably have retorted, but at this momentDe Guiche quitted the carriage to join the prince. He had remarked theprince and the chevalier together, and full of anxious attention heseemed to try and guess the nature of the remarks which they had justexchanged. The chevalier, whether he had some treacherous object inview, or from imprudence, did not take the trouble to dissimulate."Count," he said, "you're a man of excellent taste."
"Thank you for the compliment," replied De Guiche; "but why do you saythat?"
"Well, I appeal to his highness."
"No doubt of it," said Monsieur, "and Guiche knows perfectly well that Iregard him as a most finished cavalier."
"Well, since that is decided, I resume. You have been in the princess'ssociety, count, for the last eight days, have you not?"
"Yes," replied De Guiche, coloring in spite of himself.
"Well, then, tell us frankly, what do you think of her personalappearance?"
"Of her personal appearance?" returned De Guiche, stupefied.
"'Yes; of her appearance, of her mind, of herself, in fact."
Astounded by this question, De Guiche hesitated answering.
"Come, come, De Guiche," resumed the chevalier, laughingly, "tell usyour opinion frankly; the prince commands it."
"Yes, yes," said the prince, "be frank."
De Guiche stammered out a few unintelligible words.
"I am perfectly well aware," returned Monsieur, "that the subject is adelicate one, but you know you
can tell me everything. What do you thinkof her?"
In order to avoid betraying his real thoughts, De Guiche had recourseto the only defense which a man taken by surprise really has, andaccordingly told an untruth. "I do not find Madame," he said, "eithergood or bad looking, yet rather good than bad looking."
"What! count," exclaimed the chevalier, "you who went into suchecstasies and uttered so many exclamations at the sight of herportrait."
De Guiche colored violently. Very fortunately his horse, which wasslightly restive, enabled him by a sudden plunge to conceal hisagitation. "What portrait!" he murmured, joining them again. Thechevalier had not taken his eyes off him.
"Yes, the portrait. Was not the miniature a good likeness?"
"I do not remember. I had forgotten the portrait; it quite escaped myrecollection."
"And yet it made a very marked impression upon you," said the chevalier.
"That is not unlikely."
"Is she witty, at all events?" inquired the duke.
"I believe so, my lord."
"Is M. de Buckingham witty, too?" said the chevalier.
"I do not know."
"My own opinion is, that he must be," replied the chevalier, "for hemakes Madame laugh, and she seems to take no little pleasure in hissociety, which never happens to a clever woman when in the company of asimpleton."
"Of course, then, he must be clever," said De Guiche, simply.
At this moment Raoul opportunely arrived, seeing how De Guiche waspressed by his dangerous questioner, to whom he addressed a remark,and in that way changed the conversation. The entree was brilliant andjoyous.
The king, in honor of his brother, had directed that the festivitiesshould be on a scale of the greatest possible magnificence. Madame andher mother alighted at the Louvre, where, during their exile, they hadso gloomily submitted to obscurity, misery, and privations of everydescription. That palace, which had been so inhospitable a residencefor the unhappy daughter of Henry IV., the naked walls, the unevenfloorings, the ceilings matted with cobwebs, the vast dilapidatedchimney-places, the cold hearths on which the charity extended to themby parliament hardly permitted a fire to glow, was completely alteredin appearance. The richest hangings and the thickest carpets, glisteningflagstones and pictures, with their richly gilded frames; in everydirection could be seen candelabra, mirrors, and furniture and fittingsof the most sumptuous character; in every direction, also, were guardsof the proudest military bearing, with floating plumes, crowds ofattendants and courtiers in the ante-chambers and upon the staircases.In the courtyards, where the grass had formerly been allowed toluxuriate, as if the ungrateful Mazarin had thought it a good idea tolet the Parisians perceive that solitude and disorder were, with miseryand despair, the fit accompaniments of fallen monarchy, the immensecourtyards, formerly silent and desolate, were now thronged withcourtiers whose horses were pacing and prancing to and fro. Thecarriages were filled with young and beautiful women, who awaited theopportunity of saluting, as she passed, the daughter of that daughter ofFrance who, during her widowhood and exile, had sometimes gone withoutwood for her fire, and bread for her table, whom the meanest attendantsat the chateau had treated with indifference and contempt. And so,Madame Henrietta once more returned to the Louvre, with her heart moreswollen with bitter recollections than her daughter's, whose dispositionwas fickle and forgetful, with triumph and delight. She knew but toowell this brilliant reception was paid to the happy mother of a kingrestored to his throne, a throne second to none in Europe, while theworse than indifferent reception she had before met with was paidto her, the daughter of Henry IV., as a punishment for having beenunfortunate. After the princesses had been installed in their apartmentsand had rested, the gentlemen who had formed their escort, having, inlike manner, recovered from their fatigue, they resumed their accustomedhabits and occupations. Raoul began by setting off to see his father,who had left for Blois. He then tried to see M. d'Artagnan, who,however, being engaged in the organization of a military household forthe king, could not be found anywhere. Bragelonne next sought out DeGuiche, but the count was occupied in a long conference with his tailorsand with Manicamp, which consumed his whole time. With the Duke ofBuckingham he fared still worse, for the duke was purchasing horsesafter horses, diamonds upon diamonds. He monopolized every embroiderer,jeweler, and tailor that Paris could boast of. Between De Guiche andhimself a vigorous contest ensued, invariably a courteous one, in which,in order to insure success, the duke was ready to spend a million; whilethe Marechal de Grammont had only allowed his son sixty thousand francs.So Buckingham laughed and spent his money. Guiche groaned in despair,and would have shown it more violently, had it not been for the adviceDe Bragelonne gave him.
"A million!" repeated De Guiche daily; "I must submit. Why will not themarechal advance me a portion of my patrimony?"
"Because you would throw it away," said Raoul.
"What can that matter to him? If I am to die of it, I shall die of it,and then I shall need nothing further."
"But what need is there to die?" said Raoul.
"I do not wish to be conquered in elegance by an Englishman."
"My dear count," said Manicamp, "elegance is not a costly commodity, itis only a very difficult accomplishment."
"Yes, but difficult things cost a good deal of money, and I have onlygot sixty thousand francs."
"A very embarrassing state of things, truly," said De Wardes; "even ifyou spent as much as Buckingham there is only nine hundred and fortythousand francs difference."
"Where am I to find them?"
"Get into debt."
"I am in debt already."
"A greater reason for getting further."
Advice like this resulted in De Guiche becoming excited to such anextent that he committed extravagances where Buckingham only incurredexpenses. The rumor of this extravagant profuseness delighted thehearts of all the shopkeepers in Paris, from the hotel of the Duke ofBuckingham to that of the Comte de Grammont nothing but miracles wasattempted. While all this was going on, Madame was resting herself, andBragelonne was engaged in writing to Mademoiselle de la Valliere. He hadalready dispatched four letters, and not an answer to any one of themhad been received, when, on the very morning fixed for the marriageceremony, which was to take place in the chapel at the Palais-Royal,Raoul, who was dressing, heard his valet announce M. de Malicorne. "Whatcan this Malicorne want with me?" thought Raoul; and then said to hisvalet, "Let him wait."
"It is a gentleman from Blois," said the valet.
"Admit him at once," said Raoul, eagerly.
Malicorne entered as brilliant as a star, and wearing a superb sword athis side. After having saluted Raoul most gracefully, he said: "M. deBragelonne, I am the bearer of a thousand compliments from a lady toyou."
Raoul colored. "From a lady," said he, "from a lady of Blois?"
"Yes, monsieur; from Mademoiselle de Montalais."
"Thank you, monsieur; I recollect you now," said Raoul. "And what doesMademoiselle de Montalais require of me?"
Malicorne drew four letters from his pocket, which he offered to Raoul.
"My own letters, is it possible?" he said, turning pale; "my letters,and the seals unbroken?"
"Monsieur, your letters did not find at Blois the person to whom theywere addressed, and so they are now returned to you."
"Mademoiselle de la Valliere has left Blois, then?" exclaimed Raoul.
"Eight days ago."
"Where is she, then?"
"In Paris."
"How was it known that these letters were from me?"
"Mademoiselle de Montalais recognized your handwriting and your seal,"said Malicorne.
Raoul colored and smiled. "Mademoiselle de Montalais is exceedinglyamiable," he said; "she is always kind and charming."
"Always, monsieur."
"Surely she could give me some precise information about Mademoiselle dela Valliere. I never could find her in this immense city."
Malicorne drew another packe
t from his pocket.
"You may possibly find in this letter what you are anxious to learn."
Raoul hurriedly broke the seal. The writing was that of MademoiselleAure, and inclosed were these words:--"Paris, Palais-Royal. The day ofthe nuptial blessing."
"What does this mean?" inquired Raoul of Malicorne; "you probably know."
"I do, monsieur."
"For pity's sake, tell me, then."
"Impossible, monsieur."
"Why so?"
"Because Mademoiselle Aure has forbidden me to do so."
Raoul looked at his strange visitor, and remained silent;--"At least,tell me whether it is fortunate or unfortunate."
"That you will see."
"You are very severe in your reservations."
"Will you grant me a favor, monsieur?" said Malicorne.
"In exchange for that you refuse me?"
"Precisely."
"What is it?"
"I have the greatest desire to see the ceremony, and I have no ticketto admit me, in spite of all the steps I have taken to secure one. Couldyou get me admitted?"
"Certainly."
"Do me this kindness, then, I entreat."
"Most willingly, monsieur; come with me."
"I am exceedingly indebted to you, monsieur," said Malicorne.
"I thought you were a friend of M. de Manicamp."
"I am, monsieur; but this morning I was with him as he was dressing, andI let a bottle of blacking fall over his new dress, and he flew at mesword in hand, so that I was obliged to make my escape. That is thereason I could not ask him for a ticket. He wanted to kill me."
"I can well believe it," laughed Raoul. "I know Manicamp is capable ofkilling a man who has been unfortunate enough to commit the crime youhave to reproach yourself with, but I will repair the mischief as far asyou are concerned. I will but fasten my cloak, and shall then be readyto serve you, not only as a guide, but as your introducer, too."
CHAPTER 89. A Surprise for Madame de Montalais