Louise de la Valliere by Alexandre Dumas (best sales books of all time TXT) 📗

tell me, therefore, what is it that brings you now.”

The young man bowed, and began his recital; more than once in the course of it his tears almost choked his utterance, and a sob, checked in his throat, compelled him to suspend his narrative for a few minutes. Athos most probably already knew how matters stood, as we have just now said D’Artagnan had already written to him; but, preserving until the conclusion that calm, unruffled composure of manner which constituted the almost superhuman side of his character, he replied, “Raoul, I do not believe there is a word of truth in these rumors; I do not believe in the existence of what you fear, although I do not deny that persons best entitled to the fullest credit have already conversed with me on the subject. In my heart and soul I think it utterly impossible that the king could be guilty of such an outrage on a gentleman. I will answer for the king, therefore, and will soon bring you back the proof of what I say.”

Raoul, wavering like a drunken man between what he had seen with his own eyes and the imperturbable faith he had in a man who had never told a falsehood, bowed and simply answered, “Go, then, monsieur le comte; I will await your return.” And he sat down, burying his face in his hands. Athos dressed, and then left him, in order to wait upon the king; the result of that interview is already known to our readers.

When he returned to his lodgings, Raoul, pale and dejected, had not quitted his attitude of despair. At the sound, however, of the opening doors, and of his father’s footsteps as he approached him, the young man raised his head. Athos’s face was very pale, his head uncovered, and his manner full of seriousness; he gave his cloak and hat to the lackey, dismissed him with a gesture, and sat down near Raoul.

“Well, monsieur,” inquired the young man, “are you convinced yet?”

“I am, Raoul; the king loves Mademoiselle de la Valliere.”

“He confesses it, then?” cried Raoul.

“Yes,” replied Athos.

“And she?”

“I have not seen her.”

“No; but the king spoke to you about her. What did he say?”

“He says that she loves him.”

“Oh, you see—you see, monsieur!” said the young man, with a gesture of despair.

“Raoul,” resumed the comte, “I told the king, believe me, all that you yourself could possibly have urged, and I believe I did so in becoming language, though sufficiently firm.”

“And what did you say to him, monsieur?”

“I told him, Raoul, that everything was now at an end between him and ourselves; that you would never serve him again. I told him that I, too, should remain aloof. Nothing further remains for me, then, but to be satisfied of one thing.”

“What is that, monsieur?”

“Whether you have determined to adopt any steps.”

“Any steps? Regarding what?”

“With reference to your disappointed affection, and—your ideas of vengeance.”

“Oh, monsieur, with regard to my affection, I shall, perhaps, some day or other, succeed in tearing it from my heart; I trust I shall do so, aided by Heaven’s merciful help, and your own wise exhortations. As far as vengeance is concerned, it occurred to me only when under the influence of an evil thought, for I could not revenge myself upon the one who is actually guilty; I have, therefore, already renounced every idea of revenge.”

“And you no longer think of seeking a quarrel with M. de Saint-Aignan?”

“No, monsieur; I sent him a challenge: if M. de Saint-Aignan accepts it, I will maintain it; if he does not take it up, I will leave things as they are.”

“And La Valliere?”

“You cannot, I know, have seriously thought that I should dream of revenging myself upon a woman!” replied Raoul, with a smile so sad that a tear started even to the eyes of his father, who had so many times in the course of his life bowed beneath his own sorrows and those of others.

He held out his hand to Raoul, which the latter seized most eagerly.

“And so, monsieur le comte, you are quite satisfied that the misfortune is one beyond all remedy?” inquired the young man.

“Poor boy!” he murmured.

“You think that I still live in hope,” said Raoul, “and you pity me. Oh, it is indeed horrible suffering for me to despise, as I am bound to do, the one I have loved so devotedly. If I had but some real cause of complaint against her, I should be happy, I should be able to forgive her.”

Athos looked at his son with a profoundly sorrowful air, for the words Raoul had just pronounced seemed to have issued out of his own heart. At this moment the servant announced M. d’Artagnan. This name sounded very differently to the ears of Athos and Raoul. The musketeer entered the room with a vague smile on his lips. Raoul paused. Athos walked towards his friend with an expression of face that did not escape Bragelonne. D’Artagnan answered Athos’s look by an imperceptible movement of the eyelid; and then, advancing towards Raoul, whom he took by the hand, he said, addressing both father and son, “Well, you are trying to console this poor boy, it seems.”

“And you, kind and good as usual, have come to help me in my difficult task.”

As he said this, Athos pressed D’Artagnan’s hand between both his own. Raoul fancied he observed in this pressure something beyond the sense his mere words conveyed.

“Yes,” replied the musketeer, smoothing his mustache with the hand that Athos had left free, “yes, I have come too.”

“You are most welcome, chevalier; not for the consolation you bring with you, but on your own account. I am already consoled,” said Raoul; and he attempted to smile, but the effort was more sad than any tears D’Artagnan had ever seen shed.

“That is all well and good, then,” said D’Artagnan.

“Only,” continued Raoul, “you have arrived just as the comte was about to give me the details of his interview with the king. You will allow the comte to continue?” added the young man, as, with his eyes fixed on the musketeer, he seemed to read the very depths of his heart.

“His interview with the king?” said D’Artagnan, in a tone so natural and unassumed that there was no means of suspecting that his astonishment was feigned. “You have seen the king, then, Athos?”

Athos smiled as he said, “Yes, I have seen him.”

“Ah, indeed; you were unaware, then, that the comte had seen his majesty?” inquired Raoul, half reassured.

“Yes, indeed, quite so.”