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Paris.”

      “Paris, monsieur?”

      “Is not the king at Paris?”

      “Certainly.”

      “Well, ought we not to go there?”

      “Yes, monsieur,” said Raoul, almost alarmed by this kind condescension. “I do not ask you to put yourself to such inconvenience, and a letter merely – ”

      “You mistake my position, Raoul; it is not respectful that a simple gentleman, such as I am, should write to his sovereign. I wish to speak, I ought to speak, to the king, and I will do so. We will go together, Raoul.”

      “You overpower me with your kindness, monsieur.”

      “How do you think his majesty is affected?”

      “Towards me, monsieur?”

      “Yes.”

      “Excellently well disposed.”

      “You know that to be so?” continued the count.

      “The king has himself told me so.”

      “On what occasion?”

      “Upon the recommendation of M. d’Artagnan, I believe, and on account of an affair in the Place de Greve, when I had the honor to draw my sword in the king’s service. I have reason to believe that, vanity apart, I stand well with his majesty.”

      “So much the better.”

      “But I entreat you, monsieur,” pursued Raoul, “not to maintain towards me your present grave and serious manner. Do not make me bitterly regret having listened to a feeling stronger than anything else.”

      “That is the second time you have said so, Raoul; it was quite unnecessary; you require my formal consent, and you have it. We need talk no more on the subject, therefore. Come and see my new plantations, Raoul.”

      The young man knew very well, that, after the expression of his father’s wish, no opportunity of discussion was left him. He bowed his head, and followed his father into the garden. Athos slowly pointed out to him the grafts, the cuttings, and the avenues he was planting. This perfect repose of manner disconcerted Raoul extremely; the affection with which his own heart was filled seemed so great that the whole world could hardly contain it. How, then, could his father’s heart remain void, and closed to its influence? Bragelonne, therefore, collecting all his courage, suddenly exclaimed, —

      “It is impossible, monsieur, you can have any reason to reject Mademoiselle de la Valliere! In Heaven’s name, she is so good, so gentle and pure, that your mind, so perfect in its penetration, ought to appreciate her accordingly. Does any secret repugnance, or any hereditary dislike, exist between you and her family?”

      “Look, Raoul, at that beautiful lily of the valley,” said Athos; “observe how the shade and the damp situation suit it, particularly the shadow which that sycamore-tree casts over it, so that the warmth, and not the blazing heat of the sun, filters through its leaves.”

      Raoul stopped, bit his lips, and then, with the blood mantling in his face, he said, courageously, – “One word of explanation, I beg, monsieur. You cannot forget that your son is a man.”

      “In that case,” replied Athos, drawing himself up with sternness, “prove to me that you are a man, for you do not show yourself a son. I begged you to wait the opportunity of forming an illustrious alliance. I would have obtained a wife for you from the first ranks of the rich nobility. I wish you to be distinguished by the splendor which glory and fortune confer, for nobility of descent you have already.”

      “Monsieur,” exclaimed Raoul, carried away by a first impulse. “I was reproached the other day for not knowing who my mother was.”

      Athos turned pale; then, knitting his brows like the greatest of all the heathen deities: – “I am waiting to learn the reply you made,” he demanded, in an imperious manner.

      “Forgive me! oh, forgive me,” murmured the young man, sinking at once from the lofty tone he had assumed.

      “What was your reply, monsieur?” inquired the count, stamping his feet upon the ground.

      “Monsieur, my sword was in my hand immediately, my adversary placed himself on guard, I struck his sword over the palisade, and threw him after it.”

      “Why did you suffer him to live?”

      “The king has prohibited duelling, and, at the moment, I was an ambassador of the king.”

      “Very well,” said Athos, “but all the greater reason I should see his majesty.”

      “What do you intend to ask him?”

      “Authority to draw my sword against the man who has inflicted this injury upon me.”

      “If I did not act as I ought to have done, I beg you to forgive me.”

      “Did I reproach you, Raoul?”

      “Still, the permission you are going to ask from the king?”

      “I will implore his majesty to sign your marriage-contract, but on one condition.”

      “Are conditions necessary with me, monsieur? Command, and you shall be obeyed.”

      “On the condition, I repeat,” continued Athos; “that you tell me the name of the man who spoke of your mother in that way.”

      “What need is there that you should know his name; the offense was directed against myself, and the permission once obtained from his majesty, to revenge it is my affair.”

      “Tell me his name, monsieur.”

      “I will not allow you to expose yourself.”

      “Do you take me for a Don Diego? His name, I say.”

      “You insist upon it?”

      “I demand it.”

      “The Vicomte de Wardes.”

      “Very well,” said Athos, tranquilly, “I know him. But our horses are ready, I see; and, instead of delaying our departure for a couple of hours, we will set off at once. Come, monsieur.”

      Chapter XVI. Monsieur Becomes Jealous of the Duke of Buckingham

      While the Comte de la Fere was proceeding on his way to Pairs, accompanied by Raoul, the Palais Royal was the theatre wherein a scene of what Moliere would have called excellent comedy, was being performed. Four days had elapsed since his marriage, and Monsieur, having breakfasted very hurriedly, passed into his ante-chamber, frowning and out of temper. The repast had not been over-agreeable. Madame had had breakfast served in her own apartment, and Monsieur had breakfasted almost alone; the Chevalier de Lorraine and Manicamp were the only persons present at the meal, which lasted three-quarters of an hour without a single syllable having been uttered. Manicamp, who was less intimate with his royal highness than the Chevalier de Lorraine, vainly endeavored to detect, from the expression of the prince’s face, what had made him so ill-humored. The Chevalier de Lorraine, who had no occasion to speculate about anything, inasmuch as he knew all, ate his breakfast with that extraordinary appetite which the troubles of one’s friends but stimulates, and enjoyed at the same time both Monsieur’s ill-humor and the vexation of Manicamp. He seemed delighted, while he went on eating, to detain a prince, who was very impatient to move, still at table. Monsieur at times repented the ascendency which he had permitted the Chevalier de Lorraine to acquire over him, and which exempted the latter from any observance of etiquette towards him. Monsieur was now in one of those moods, but he dreaded as much as he liked the chevalier, and contented himself with nursing his anger without betraying it. Every now and then Monsieur raised his eyes to the ceiling, then lowered them towards the slices of pate which the chevalier was attacking, and finally, not caring to betray the resentment, he gesticulated in a manner which Harlequin might have envied. At last, however, Monsieur could control himself no longer, and at the dessert, rising from the table in excessive wrath, as we have related, he left the Chevalier de Lorraine to finish his breakfast as he pleased. Seeing Monsieur rise from the table, Manicamp, napkin in

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