Ten Years Later by Alexandre Dumas (suggested reading TXT) 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «Ten Years Later by Alexandre Dumas (suggested reading TXT) 📗». Author Alexandre Dumas
“Will you not go with me to my lodgings?” said Athos.
“I beg your pardon, monsieur; I will follow you,” he stammered out, following Athos down the staircase.
“Since I am here,” said Athos, suddenly, “cannot I see M. d’Artagnan?”
“Shall I show you his apartments?” said De Bragelonne.
“Do so.”
“They are on the opposite staircase.”
They altered their course, but on reaching the landing of the grand staircase, Raoul perceived a servant in the Comte de Guiche’s livery, who ran towards him as soon as he heard his voice.
“What is it?” said Raoul.
“This note, monsieur. My master heard of your return and wrote to you without delay; I have been looking for you for the last half-hour.”
Raoul approached Athos as he unsealed the letter, saying, “With your permission, monsieur.”
“Certainly.”
“Dear Raoul,” wrote the Comte de Guiche, “I have an affair in hand which requires immediate attention; I know you have returned; come to me as soon as possible.”
Hardly had he finished reading it, when a servant in the livery of the Duke of Buckingham, turning out of the gallery, recognized Raoul, and approached him respectfully, saying, “From his Grace, monsieur.”
“Well, Raoul, as I see you are already as busy as a general of an army, I shall leave you, and will find M. d’Artagnan myself.”
“You will excuse me, I trust,” said Raoul.
“Yes, yes, I excuse you; adieu, Raoul; you will find me at my apartments until to-morrow; during the day I may set out for Blois, unless I have orders to the contrary.”
“I shall present my respects to you to-morrow, monsieur.”
As soon as Athos had left, Raoul opened Buckingham’s letter.
“Monsieur de Bragelonne,” it ran, “You are, of all the Frenchmen I have known, the one with whom I am most pleased; I am about to put your friendship to the proof. I have received a certain message, written in very good French. As I am an Englishman, I am afraid of not comprehending it very clearly. The letter has a good name attached to it, and that is all I can tell you. Will you be good enough to come and see me? for I am told you have arrived from Blois.
“Your devoted
“VILLIERS, Duke of Buckingham.”
“I am going now to see your master,” said Raoul to De Guiche’s servant, as he dismissed him; “and I shall be with the Duke of Buckingham in an hour,” he added, dismissing with these words the duke’s messenger.
Chapter XIX. Sword-Thrusts in the Water.
Raoul, on betaking himself to De Guiche, found him conversing with De Wardes and Manicamp. De Wardes, since the affair of the barricade, had treated Raoul as a stranger; they behaved as if they were not acquainted. As Raoul entered, De Guiche walked up to him; and Raoul, as he grasped his friend’s hand, glanced rapidly at his two companions, hoping to be able to read on their faces what was passing in their minds. De Wardes was cold and impenetrable; Manicamp seemed absorbed in the contemplation of some trimming to his dress. De Guiche led Raoul to an adjoining cabinet, and made him sit down, saying, “How well you look!”
“That is singular,” replied Raoul, “for I am far from being in good spirits.”
“It is your case, then, Raoul, as it is my own,—our love affairs do not progress.”
“So much the better, count, as far as you are concerned; the worst news would be good news.”
“In that case do not distress yourself, for, not only am I very unhappy, but, what is more, I see others about me who are happy.”
“Really, I do not understand you,” replied Raoul; “explain yourself.”
“You will soon learn. I have tried, but in vain, to overcome the feeling you saw dawn in me, increase, and take entire possession of me. I have summoned all your advice and my own strength to my aid. I have well weighed the unfortunate affair in which I have embarked; I have sounded its depths; that it is an abyss, I am aware, but it matters little for I shall pursue my own course.”
“This is madness, De Guiche! you cannot advance another step without risking your own ruin to-day, perhaps your life to-morrow.”
“Whatever may happen, I have done with reflections; listen.”
“And you hope to succeed; you believe that Madame will love you?”
“Raoul, I believe nothing; I hope, because hope exists in man, and never abandons him until death.”
“But, admitting that you obtain the happiness you covet, even then, you are more certainly lost than if you had failed in obtaining it.”
“I beseech you, Raoul, not to interrupt me any more; you could never convince me, for I tell you beforehand, I do not wish to be convinced; I have gone so far I cannot recede; I have suffered so much, death itself would be a boon. I no longer love to madness, Raoul, I am being engulfed by a whirlpool of jealousy.”
Raoul struck his hands together with an expression resembling anger. “Well?” said he.
“Well or ill matters little. This is what I claim from you, my friend, my almost brother. During the last three days Madame has been living in a perfect intoxication of gayety. On the first day, I dared not look at her; I hated her for not being as unhappy as myself. The next day I could not bear her out of my sight; and she, Raoul—at least I thought I remarked it—she looked at me, if not with pity, at least with gentleness. But between her looks and mine, a shadow intervened; another’s smile invited hers. Beside her horse another’s always gallops, which is not mine; in her ear another’s caressing voice, not mine, unceasingly vibrates. Raoul, for three days past my brain has been on fire; flame, not blood, courses through my veins. That shadow must be driven away, that smile must be quenched; that voice must be silenced.”
“You wish Monsieur’s death,” exclaimed Raoul.
“No, no, I am not jealous of the husband; I am jealous of the lover.”
“Of the lover?” said Raoul.
“Have you not observed it, you who were formerly so keen-sighted?”
“Are you jealous of the Duke of Buckingham?”
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