Chapter VI. The Courtyard of the Hotel Grammont
On Malicorne’s arrival at Orleans, he was informed that the Comte de Guiche had just set out for Paris. Malicorne rested himself for a couple of hours, and then prepared to continue his journey. He reached Paris during the night, and alighted at a small hotel, where, in his previous journeys to the capital, he had been accustomed to put up, and at eight o’clock the next morning presented himself at the Hotel Grammont. Malicorne arrived just in time, for the Comte de Guiche was on the point of taking leave of Monsieur before setting out for Le Havre, where the principal members of the French nobility had gone to await Madame’s arrival from England. Malicorne pronounced the name of Manicamp, and was immediately admitted. He found the Comte de Guiche in the courtyard of the Hotel Grammont, inspecting his horses, which his trainers and equerries were passing in review before him. The count, in the presence of his tradespeople and of his servants, was engaged in praising or blaming, as the case seemed to deserve, the appointments, horses, and harness that were being submitted to him; when, in the midst of this important occupation, the name of Manicamp was announced.
“Manicamp!” he exclaimed; “let him enter by all means.” And he advanced a few steps toward the door.
Malicorne slipped through the half-open door, and looking at the Comte de Guiche, who was surprised to see a face he did not recognize, instead of the one he expected, said: “Forgive me, monsieur le comte, but I believe a mistake has been made. M. Manicamp himself was announced to you, instead of which it is only an envoy from him.”
“Ah!” exclaimed De Guiche, coldly; “and what do you bring me?”
“A letter, monsieur le comte.” Malicorne handed him the first document, and narrowly watched the count’s face, who, as he read it, began to laugh.
“What!” he exclaimed, “another maid of honor? Are all the maids of honor in France, then, under his protection?”
Malicorne bowed.
“Why does he not come himself?” he inquired.
“He is confined to his bed.”
“The deuce! he has no money then, I suppose,” said De Guiche, shrugging his shoulders. “What does he do with his money?”
Malicorne made a movement, to indicate that upon this subject he was as ignorant as the count himself. “Why does he not make use of his credit, then?” continued De Guiche.
“With regard to that, I think – ”
“What?”
“That Manicamp has credit with no one but yourself, monsieur le comte!”
“He will not be at Le Havre, then?” Whereupon Malicorne made another movement.
“But every one will be there.”
“I trust, monsieur le comte, that he will not neglect so excellent an opportunity.”
“He should be at Paris by this time.”
“He will take the direct road perhaps to make up for lost time.”
“Where is he now?”
“At Orleans.”
“Monsieur,” said De Guiche, “you seem to me a man of very good taste.”
Malicorne was wearing some of Manicamp’s old-new clothes. He bowed in return, saying, “You do me a very great honor, monsieur le comte.”
“Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”
“My name is Malicorne, monsieur.”
“M. de Malicorne, what do you think of these pistol-holsters?”
Malicorne was a man of great readiness and immediately understood the position of affairs. Besides, the “de” which had been prefixed to his name, raised him to the rank of the person with whom he was conversing. He looked at the holsters with the air of a connoisseur and said, without hesitation: “Somewhat heavy, monsieur.”
“You see,” said De Guiche to the saddler, “this gentleman, who understands these matters well, thinks the holsters heavy, a complaint I had already made.” The saddler was full of excuses.
“What do you think,” asked De Guiche, “of this horse, which I have just purchased?”
“To look at it, it seems perfect, monsieur le comte; but I must mount it before I give you my opinion.”
“Do so, M. de Malicorne, and ride him round the court two or three times.”
The courtyard of the hotel was so arranged, that whenever there was any occasion for it, it could be used as a riding-school. Malicorne, with perfect ease, arranged the bridle and snaffle-reins, placed his left hand on the horse’s mane, and, with his foot in the stirrup, raised himself and seated himself in the saddle. At first, he made the horse walk the whole circuit of the court-yard at a foot-pace; next at a trot; lastly at a gallop. He then drew up close to the count, dismounted, and threw the bridle to a groom standing by. “Well,” said the count, “what do you think of it, M. de Malicorne?”
“This horse, monsieur le comte, is of the Mecklenburg breed. In looking whether the bit suited his mouth, I saw that he was rising seven, the very age when the training of a horse intended for a charger should commence. The forehand is light. A horse which holds its head high, it is said, never tires his rider’s hand. The withers are rather low. The drooping of the hind-quarters would almost make me doubt the purity of its German breed, and I think there is English blood in him. He stands well on his legs, but he trots high, and may cut himself, which requires attention to be paid to his shoeing. He is tractable; and as I made him turn round and change his feet, I found him quick and ready in doing so.”
“Well said, M. de Malicorne,” exclaimed the comte; “you are a judge of horses, I perceive;” then, turning towards him again, he continued, “you are most becomingly dressed, M. de Malicorne. That is not a provincial cut, I presume. Such a style of dress is not to be met with at Tours or Orleans.”
“No, monsieur le comte; my clothes were made at Paris.”
“There is no doubt about that. But let us resume our own affair. Manicamp wishes for the appointment of a second maid of honor.”
“You perceive what he has written, monsieur le comte.”
“For whom was the first appointment?”
Malicorne felt the color rise in his face as he answered hurriedly.
“A charming maid of honor, Mademoiselle de Montalais.”
“Ah, ah! you are acquainted with her?”
“We are affianced, or nearly so.”
“That is quite another thing, then; a thousand compliments,” exclaimed De Guiche, upon whose lips a courtier’s jest was already fitting, but to whom the word “affianced,” addressed by Malicorne with respect to Mademoiselle de Montalais, recalled the respect due to women.
“And for whom is the second appointment destined?” asked De Guiche; “is it for anyone to whom Manicamp may happen to be affianced? In that case I pity her, poor girl! for she will have a sad fellow for a husband.”
“No, monsieur le comte; the second appointment is for Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere.”
“Unknown,” said De Guiche.
“Unknown? yes, monsieur,” said Malicorne, smiling in his turn.
“Very good. I will speak to Monsieur about it. By the by, she is of gentle birth?”
“She belongs to a very good family and is maid of honor to Madame.”
“That’s well. Will you accompany me to Monsieur?”
“Most certainly, if I may be permitted the honor.”
“Have you your carriage?”
“No; I came here on horseback.”
“Dressed as you are?”
“No, monsieur; I posted from Orleans, and I changed my traveling suit for the one I have on, in order to present myself to you.”
“True, you already told me you had come from Orleans;” saying which he crumpled Manicamp’s letter in his hand, and thrust it in his pocket.
“I beg your pardon,” said Malicorne, timidly; “but I do not think you have read all.”
“Not read all, do you say?”
“No; there were two letters in the same envelope.”
“Oh! are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Let us look, then,” said the count, as he opened the letter again.
“Ah! you are right,” he said opening the paper which he had not yet read.
“I suspected it,” he continued – “another application for an appointment under Monsieur. This Manicamp is a regular vampire: – he is carrying on a trade in it.”
“No, monsieur le comte, he wishes to make a present of it.”
“To whom?”
“To myself, monsieur.”
“Why did you not say so at once, my dear M. Mauvaisecorne?”
“Malicorne, monsieur le comte.”
“Forgive me; it is that Latin that bothers me – that terrible mine of etymologies. Why the deuce are young men of family taught Latin? Mala and mauvaise– you understand it is the same thing. You will forgive me, I trust, M. de Malicorne.”
“Your kindness affects me much, monsieur: but it is a reason why I should make you acquainted with one circumstance without any delay.”
“What is it?”
“That I was not born a gentleman. I am not without courage, and not altogether deficient in ability; but my name is Malicorne simply.”
“You appear to me, monsieur!” exclaimed the count, looking at the astute face of his companion, “to be a most agreeable man. Your face pleases me, M. Malicorne, and you must possess some indisputably excellent qualities to have pleased that egotistical Manicamp. Be candid and tell me whether you are not some saint descended upon the earth.”
“Why so?”
“For the simple reason that he makes you a present of anything. Did you not say that he intended to make you a present of some appointment in the king’s household?”
“I beg your pardon, count; but, if I succeed in obtaining the appointment, you, and not he, will have bestowed it on me.”
“Besides he will not have given it to you for nothing, I suppose. Stay, I have it; – there is a Malicorne at Orleans who lends money to the prince.”
“I think that must be my father, monsieur.”
“Ah! the prince has the father, and that terrible dragon of a Manicamp has the son. Take care, monsieur, I know him. He will fleece you completely.”
“The only difference is, that I lend without interest,” said Malicorne, smiling.
“I was correct in saying you were either a saint or very much resembled one. M. Malicorne, you shall have the post you want, or I will forfeit my name.”
“Ah! monsieur le comte, what a debt of gratitude shall I not owe you?” said Malicorne, transported.
“Let us go to the prince, my dear M. Malicorne.” And De Guiche proceeded toward the door, desiring Malicorne to follow him. At the very moment they were about to cross the threshold, a young man appeared on the other side. He was from twenty-four to twenty-five years of age, of pale complexion, bright eyes and brown hair and eyebrows. “Good-day,” said he, suddenly, almost pushing De Guiche back into the courtyard again.
“Is that you, De Wardes? – What! and booted, spurred and whip in hand, too?”
“The most befitting costume for a man about to set off for Le Havre. There will be no one left in Paris to-morrow.” And hereupon he saluted Malicorne with great ceremony, whose handsome dress gave him the appearance of a prince.
“M. Malicorne,” said De Guiche to his friend. De Wardes bowed.
“M. de Wardes,” said Guiche to Malicorne, who bowed in return. “By the by, De Wardes,” continued De Guiche, “you who are so well acquainted with these matters, can you tell us, probably, what appointments are still vacant at the court; or rather in the prince’s household?”
“In the prince’s household,” said De Wardes looking up with an air of consideration, “let me see – the appointment of the master of the horse is vacant, I believe.”
“Oh,” said Malicorne, “there is no question of such a post as that, monsieur; my ambition is not nearly so exalted.”
De Wardes had a more penetrating observation than De Guiche, and fathomed Malicorne immediately. “The fact is,” he said, looking at him from head to foot, “a man must be either a duke or a peer to fill that post.”
“All I solicit,” said Malicorne, “is a very humble appointment; I am of little importance, and I do not rank myself above my position.”
“M. Malicorne, whom you see here,” said De Guiche to De Wardes, “is a very excellent fellow, whose only misfortune is that of not being of gentle birth. As far as I am concerned, you know, I attach little value to those who have but gentle birth to boast of.”
“Assuredly,” said De Wardes; “but will you allow me to remark, my dear count, that, without rank of some sort, one can hardly hope to belong to his royal highness’s household?”
“You are right,” said the count, “court etiquette is absolute. The devil! – we never so much as gave it a thought.”
“Alas! a sad misfortune for me, monsieur le comte,” said Malicorne, changing color.
“Yet not without remedy, I hope,” returned De Guiche.
“The remedy is found easily enough,” exclaimed De Wardes; “you can be created a gentleman. His Eminence, the Cardinal Mazarin, did nothing else from morning till night.”
“Hush, hush, De Wardes,” said the count; “no jests of that kind; it ill becomes us to turn such matters into ridicule. Letters of nobility, it is true, are purchasable; but that is a sufficient misfortune without the nobles themselves laughing at it.”
“Upon my word, De Guiche, you’re quite a Puritan, as the English say.”
At this moment the Vicomte de Bragelonne was announced by one of the servants in the courtyard, in precisely the same manner as he would have done in a room.
“Come here, my dear Raoul. What! you, too, booted and spurred? You are setting off, then?”
Bragelonne approached the group of young men, and saluted them with that quiet and serious manner peculiar to him. His salutation was principally addressed to De Wardes, with whom he was unacquainted, and whose features, on his perceiving Raoul, had assumed a strange sternness of expression. “I have come, De Guiche,” he said, “to ask your companionship. We set off for Le Havre, I presume.”
“This is admirable – delightful. We shall have a most enjoyable journey. M. Malicorne, M. Bragelonne – ah! M. de Wardes, let me present you.” The young men saluted each other in a restrained manner. Their very natures seemed, from the beginning, disposed to take exception to each other. De Wardes was pliant, subtle, full of dissimulation; Raoul was calm, grave, and upright. “Decide between us – between De Wardes and myself, Raoul.”
“Upon what subject?”
“Upon the subject of noble birth.”
“Who can be better informed on that subject than a De Gramont?”
“No compliments; it is your opinion I ask.”
“At least, inform me of the subject under discussion.”
“De Wardes asserts that the distribution of titles is abused; I, on the contrary, maintain that a title is useless to the man on whom it is bestowed.”
“And you are correct,” said Bragelonne, quietly.
“But, monsieur le vicomte,” interrupted De Wardes, with a kind of obstinacy, “I affirm that it is I who am correct.”
“What was your opinion, monsieur?”
“I was saying that everything is done in France at the present moment, to humiliate men of family.”
“And by whom?”
“By the king himself. He surrounds himself with people who cannot show four quarterings.”
“Nonsense,” said De Guiche, “where could you possibly have seen that, De Wardes?”
“One example will suffice,” he returned, directing his look fully upon Raoul.
“State it then.”
“Do you know who has just been nominated captain-general of the musketeers? – an appointment more valuable than a peerage; for it gives precedence over all the marechals of France.”
Raoul’s color mounted in his face; for he saw the object De Wardes had in view. “No; who has been appointed? In any case it must have been very recently, for the appointment was vacant eight days ago; a proof of which is, that the king refused Monsieur, who solicited the post for one of his proteges.”
“Well, the king refused it to Monsieur’s protege, in order to bestow it upon the Chevalier d’Artagnan, a younger brother of some Gascon family, who has been trailing his sword in the ante-chambers during the last thirty years.”
“Forgive me if I interrupt you,” said Raoul, darting a glance full of severity at De Wardes; “but you give me the impression of being unacquainted with the gentleman of whom you are speaking.”
“I not acquainted with M. d’Artagnan? Can you tell me, monsieur, who does not know him?”
“Those who do know him, monsieur,” replied Raoul, with still greater calmness and sternness of manner, “are in the habit of saying, that if he is not as good a gentleman as the king – which is not his fault – he is the equal of all the kings of the earth in courage and loyalty. Such is my opinion, monsieur; and I thank heaven I have known M. d’Artagnan from my birth.”
De Wardes was about to reply, when De Guiche interrupted him.
Chapter VII. 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.