LITMIR.BIZ

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adoration with which she was treated by two or three; she appeared an object of worship. The queen-mother gave the French the most affectionate reception. France was her native country, and she had suffered too much unhappiness in England for England to have made her forget France. She taught her daughter, then, by her own affection for it, that love for a country where they had both been hospitably received, and where a brilliant future opened before them. After the public entry was over, and the spectators in the streets had partially dispersed, and the sound of the music and cheering of the crowd could be heard only in the distance; when the night had closed in, wrapping with its star-covered mantle the sea, the harbor, the town, and surrounding country, De Guiche, still excited by the great events of the day, returned to his tent, and seated himself upon one of the stools with so profound an expression of distress that Bragelonne kept his eyes fixed upon him, until he heard him sigh, and then he approached him. The count had thrown himself back on his seat, leaning his shoulders against the partition of the tent, and remained thus, his face buried in his hands, with heaving chest and restless limbs.

      “You are suffering?” asked Raoul.

      “Cruelly.”

      “Bodily, I suppose?”

      “Yes; bodily.”

      “This has indeed been a harassing day,” continued the young man, his eyes fixed upon his friend.

      “Yes; a night’s rest will probably restore me.”

      “Shall I leave you?”

      “No; I wish to talk to you.”

      “You shall not speak to me, Guiche, until you have first answered my questions.”

      “Proceed then.”

      “You will be frank with me?”

      “I always am.”

      “Can you imagine why Buckingham has been so violent?”

      “I suspect.”

      “Because he is in love with Madame, is it not?”

      “One could almost swear to it, to observe him.”

      “You are mistaken; there is nothing of the kind.”

      “It is you who are mistaken, Raoul; I have read his distress in his eyes, in his every gesture and action the whole day.”

      “You are a poet, my dear count, and find subjects for your muse everywhere.”

      “I can perceive love clearly enough.”

      “Where it does not exist?”

      “Nay, where it does exist.”

      “Do you not think you are deceiving yourself, Guiche?”

      “I am convinced of what I say,” said the count.

      “Now, inform me, count,” said Raoul, fixing a penetrating look upon him, “what happened to render you so clear-sighted.”

      Guiche hesitated for a moment, and then answered, “Self-love, I suppose.”

      “Self-love is a pedantic word, Guiche.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I mean that, generally, you are less out of spirits than seems to be the case this evening.”

      “I am fatigued.”

      “Listen to me, Guiche; we have been campaigners together; we have been on horseback for eighteen hours at a time, and our horses dying from exhaustion, or hunger, have fallen beneath us, and yet we have laughed at our mishaps. Believe me, it is not fatigue that saddens you to-night.”

      “It is annoyance, then.”

      “What annoyance?”

      “That of this evening.”

      “The mad conduct of the Duke of Buckingham, do you mean?”

      “Of course; is it not vexations for us, the representatives of our sovereign master, to witness the devotion of an Englishman to our future mistress, the second lady in point of rank in the kingdom?”

      “Yes, you are right; but I do not think any danger is to be apprehended from Buckingham.”

      “No; still he is intrusive. Did he not, on his arrival here, almost succeed in creating a disturbance between the English and ourselves; and, had it not been for you, for your admirable presence, for your singular decision of character, swords would have been drawn in the very streets of the town.”

      “You observe, however, that he has changed his tactics.”

      “Yes, certainly; but this is the very thing that amazes me so much. You spoke to him in a low tone of voice, what did you say to him? You think he loves her; you admit that such a passion does not give way readily. He does not love her, then!” De Guiche pronounced the latter with so marked an expression that Raoul raised his head. The noble character of the young man’s countenance expressed a displeasure which could easily be read.

      “What I said to him, count,” replied Raoul, “I will repeat to you. Listen to me. I said, ‘You are regarding with wistful feelings, and most injurious desire, the sister of your prince, – her to whom you are not affianced, who is not, who can never be anything to you; you are outraging those who, like ourselves, have come to seek a young lady to escort her to her husband.’”

      “You spoke to him in that manner?” asked Guiche, coloring.

      “In those very terms; I even added more. ‘How would you regard us,’ I said, ‘if you were to perceive among us a man mad enough, disloyal enough, to entertain other than sentiments of the most perfect respect for a princess who is the destined wife of our master?’”

      These words were so applicable to De Guiche that he turned pale, and, overcome by a sudden agitation, was barely able to stretch out one hand mechanically towards Raoul, as he covered his eyes and face with the other.

      “But,” continued Raoul, not interrupted by this movement of his friend, “Heaven be praised, the French, who are pronounced to be thoughtless and indiscreet, reckless, even, are capable of bringing a calm and sound judgment to bear on matters of such high importance. I added even more, for I said, ‘Learn, my lord, that we gentlemen of France devote ourselves to our sovereigns by sacrificing them our affections, as well as our fortunes and our lives; and whenever it may chance to happen that the tempter suggests one of those vile thoughts that set the heart on fire, we extinguish the flame, even if it has to be done by shedding our blood for the purpose. Thus it is that the honor of three is saved: our country’s, our master’s, and our own. It is thus that we act, your Grace; it is thus that every man of honor ought to act.’ In this manner, my dear Guiche,” continued Bragelonne, “I addressed the Duke of Buckingham; and he admitted I was right, and resigned himself unresistingly to my arguments.”

      De Guiche, who had hitherto sat leaning forward while Raoul was speaking, drew himself up, his eyes glancing proudly; he seized Raoul’s hand, his face, which had been as cold as ice, seemed on fire. “And you spoke magnificently,” he said, in a half-choked voice; “you are indeed a friend, Raoul. But now, I entreat you, leave me to myself.”

      “Do you wish it?”

      “Yes; I need repose. Many things have agitated me to-day, both in mind and body; when you return to-morrow I shall no longer be the same man.”

      “I leave you, then,” said Raoul, as he withdrew. The count advanced a step towards his friend, and pressed him warmly in his arms. But in this friendly pressure Raoul could detect the nervous agitation of a great internal conflict.

      The night was clear, starlit, and splendid; the tempest had passed away, and the sweet influences of the evening had restored life, peace and security everywhere. A few fleecy clouds were floating in the heavens, and indicated from their appearance a continuance of beautiful weather, tempered by a gentle breeze from the east. Upon the large square in front of the hotel, the shadows of the tents, intersected by the golden moonbeams, formed as it were a huge mosaic of jet and yellow flagstones. Soon, however, the entire town was wrapped in slumber; a feeble light still glimmered in Madame’s

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