LITMIR.BIZ

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De Guiche ascended to the princess's apartments, he found her pale and agitated. Montalais was standing at the door, apparently in some degree uneasy about what was passing in her mistress's mind. De Guiche appeared.

      "Ah! is that you, Monsieur de Guiche?" said Madame; "come in, I beg. Mademoiselle de Montalais, I do not require your attendance any longer."

      Montalais, more puzzled than ever, curtseyed and withdrew, and De Guiche and the princess were left alone. The comte had every advantage in his favor; it was Madame who had summoned him to a rendezvous. But how was it possible for the comte to make use of this advantage? Madame was so whimsical, and her disposition was so changeable. She soon allowed this to be perceived, for, suddenly opening the conversation, she said, "Well! have you nothing to say to me?"

      He imagined she must have guessed his thoughts; he fancied (for those who are in love are so constituted, they are as credulous and blind as poets or prophets), he fancied she knew how ardent was his desire to see her, and also the subject of it.

      "Yes, madame," he said, "and I think it very singular."

      "The affair of the bracelets," she exclaimed eagerly; "you mean that, I suppose?"

      "Yes, madame."

      "And you think the king is in love, do you not?"

      Guiche looked at her for some time; her eyes sunk under his gaze, which seemed to read her very heart.

      "I think," he said, "that the king may possibly have had the idea of annoying some one here; were it not for that, the king would not show himself so earnest in his attentions as he is; he would not run the risk of compromising, from mere thoughtlessness of disposition, a young girl against whom no one has been hitherto able to say a word."

      "Indeed! the bold, shameless girl!" said the princess, haughtily.

      "I can positively assure your royal highness," said De Guiche, with a firmness marked by great respect, "that Mademoiselle de la Valliere is beloved by a man who merits every respect, for he is a brave and honorable gentleman."

      "Bragelonne, perhaps?"

      "My friend; yes, madame."

      "Well, and although he is your friend, what does that matter to the king?"

      "The king knows that Bragelonne is affianced to Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and as Raoul has served the king most valiantly, the king will not inflict an irreparable injury upon him."

      Madame began to laugh in a manner that produced a mournful impression upon De Guiche.

      "I repeat, madame, I do not believe the king is in love with Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and the proof that I do not believe it is, that I was about to ask you whose amour propre it is likely the king is, in this circumstance, desirous of wounding? You who are well acquainted with the whole court, can perhaps assist me in ascertaining that; and assuredly, with greater reason too, since it is everywhere said that your royal highness is on very intimate terms with the king."

      Madame bit her lips, and, unable to assign any good and sufficient reasons, changed the conversation. "Prove to me," she said, fixing on him one of those looks in which the whole soul seems to pass into the eyes, "prove to me, I say, that you intended to interrogate me at the very moment I sent for you."

      De Guiche gravely drew from his tablets what he had written, and showed it to her.

      "Sympathy," she said.

      "Yes," said the comte, with an indescribable tenderness of tone, "sympathy. I have explained to you how and why I sought you; you, however, have yet to tell me, madame, why you sent for me."

      "True," replied the princess. She hesitated, and then suddenly exclaimed, "Those bracelets will drive me mad!"

      "You expected the king would offer them to you," replied De Guiche.

      "Why not?"

      "But before you, madame, before you, his sister-in-law, was there not the queen herself, to whom the king should have offered them?"

      "Before La Valliere," cried the princess, wounded to the quick, "could he not have presented them to me? Was there not the whole court, indeed, to choose from?"

      "I assure you, madame," said the comte, respectfully, "that if any one heard you speak in this manner, if any one were to see how red your eyes are, and, Heaven forgive me, to see, too, that earth trembling on your eyelids, it would be said that your royal highness was jealous."

      "Jealous!" said the princess, haughtily; "jealous of La Valliere!"

      She expected to see De Guiche yield beneath her haughty gesture and her proud tone; but he simply and boldly replied, "Jealous of La Valliere; yes, madame."

      "Am I to suppose, monsieur," she stammered out, "that your object is to insult me?"

      "It is not possible, madame," replied the comte, slightly agitated, but resolved to master that fiery nature.

      "Leave the room," said the princess, thoroughly exasperated; De Guiche's coolness and silent respect having made her completely lose her temper.

      De Guiche fell back a step, bowed slowly, but with great respect, drew himself up, looking as white as his lace cuffs, and in a voice slightly trembling, said, "It was hardly worth while to have hurried here to be subjected to this unmerited disgrace." And he turned away with hasty steps.

      He had scarcely gone half a dozen paces when Madame darted like a tigress after him, seized him by the cuff, and, making him turn round again, said, trembling with passion as she did so, "The respect that you pretend to have is more insulting than insult itself. Insult me, if you please, but at least speak."

      "And do you, madame," said the comte, gently, as he drew his sword, "thrust this sword into my heart, rather than kill me by slow degrees."

      At the look he fixed upon her—a look full of love, resolution, and despair even—she knew how readily the comte, so outwardly calm in appearance, would pass his sword through his own breast if she added another word. She tore the blade from his hands, and pressing his arm with a feverish impatience, which might pass for tenderness, said—

      "Do not be too hard with me, comte. You see how I am suffering, and you have no pity for me."

      Tears, which were the last crisis of the attack, stifled her voice. As soon as De Guiche saw her weep, he took her in his arms and carried her to an armchair; in another moment she would have been suffocated from suppressed passion.

      "Oh, why," he murmured, as he knelt by her side, "why do you conceal your troubles from me? Do you love any one—tell me? It would kill me, I know, but not until after I should have comforted, consoled, and served you even."

      "And do you love me to that extent?" she replied, completely conquered.

      "I do indeed love you to that extent, madame."

      She placed both her hands in his. "My heart is indeed another's," she murmured in so low a tone that her voice could hardly be heard; but he heard it, and said, "Is it the king you love?"

      She gently shook her head, and her smile was like a clear bright streak in the clouds, through which, after the tempest had passed away, one almost fancies Paradise is opening. "But," she added, "there are other passions stirring in a high-born heart. Love is poetry; but the life of the heart is pride. Comte, I was born upon a throne, I am proud and jealous of my rank. Why does the king gather such unworthy objects round him?"

      "Once more, I repeat," said the comte, "you are acting unjustly toward that poor girl, who will one day be my friend's wife."

      "Are you simple enough to believe that, comte?"

      "If I did not believe it," he said, turning very pale, "Bragelonne should be informed of it to-morrow; indeed he should, if I thought that poor La Valliere had forgotten the vows she had exchanged with Raoul. But no, it would be cowardly to betray any woman's secret; it would be criminal to disturb a friend's peace of mind."

      "You

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