Ten Years Later. Dumas Alexandre

very fine! but the king is king, I suppose?"

      "No doubt, mademoiselle; but the cardinal is the cardinal."

      "The king is not a man, then! And he does not love Mary Mancini?"

      "He adores her."

      "Well, he will marry her then. We shall have war with Spain. M. Mazarin will spend a few of the millions he has put away; our gentlemen will perform prodigies of valor in their encounters with the proud Castilians, and many of them will return crowned with laurels, to be recrowned by us with myrtles. Now, that is my view of politics."

      "Montalais, you are wild!" said Louise, "and every exaggeration attracts you as light does a moth."

      "Louise, you are so extremely reasonable, that you will never know how to love."

      "Oh!" said Louise, in a tone of tender reproach, "don't you see, Montalais? The queen-mother desires to marry her son to the Infanta; would you wish him to disobey his mother? Is it for a royal heart like his to set such a bad example? When parents forbid love, love must be banished."

      And Louise sighed: Raoul cast down his eyes, with an expression of constraint. Montalais, on her part, laughed aloud.

      "Well, I have no parents!" said she.

      "You are acquainted, without doubt, with the state of health of M. le Comte de la Fere?" said Louise, after breathing that sigh which had revealed so many griefs in its eloquent utterance.

      "No, mademoiselle," replied Raoul, "I have not yet paid my respects to my father; I was going to his house when Mademoiselle de Montalais so kindly stopped me. I hope the comte is well. You have heard nothing to the contrary, have you?"

      "No, M. Raoul – nothing, thank God!"

      Here, for several instants, ensued a silence, during which two spirits, which followed the same idea, communicated perfectly, without even the assistance of a single glance.

      "Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Montalais in a fright; "there is somebody coming up."

      "Who can it be?" said Louise, rising in great agitation.

      "Mesdemoiselles, I inconvenience you very much. I have, without doubt, been very indiscreet," stammered Raoul, very ill at ease.

      "It is a heavy step," said Louise.

      "Ah! if it is only M. Malicorne," added Montalais, "do not disturb yourselves."

      Louise and Raoul looked at each other to inquire who M. Malicorne could be.

      "There is no occasion to mind him," continued Montalais; "he is not jealous."

      "But, mademoiselle – " said Raoul.

      "Yes, I understand. Well, he is as discreet as I am."

      "Good heavens!" cried Louise, who had applied her ear to the door, which had been left ajar, "it is my mother's step!"

      "Madame de Saint-Remy! Where shall I hide myself?" exclaimed Raoul, catching at the dress of Montalais, who looked quite bewildered.

      "Yes," said she; "yes, I know the clicking of those pattens! It is our excellent mother. M. le Vicomte, what a pity it is the window looks upon a stone pavement, and that fifty paces below it."

      Raoul glanced at the balcony in despair. Louise seized his arm and held it tight.

      "Oh, how silly I am!" said Montalais, "have I not the robe-of-ceremony closet? It looks as if it were made on purpose."

      It was quite time to act; Madame de Saint-Remy was coming up at a quicker pace than usual. She gained the landing at the moment when Montalais, as in all scenes of surprises, shut the closet by leaning with her back against the door.

      "Ah!" cried Madame de Saint-Remy, "you are here, are you, Louise?"

      "Yes, madame," replied she, more pale than if she had committed a great crime.

      "Well, well!"

      "Pray be seated, madame," said Montalais, offering her a chair, which she placed so that the back was towards the closet.

      "Thank you, Mademoiselle Aure – thank you. Come my child, be quick."

      "Where do you wish me to go, madame?"

      "Why, home, to be sure; have you not to prepare your toilette?"

      "What did you say?" cried Montalais, hastening to affect surprise, so fearful was she that Louise would in some way commit herself.

      "You don't know the news, then?" said Madame de Saint-Remy.

      "What news, madame, is it possible for two girls to learn up in this dove-cote?"

      "What! have you seen nobody?"

      "Madame, you talk in enigmas, and you torment us at a slow fire!" cried Montalais, who, terrified at seeing Louise become paler and paler, did not know to what saint to put up her vows.

      At length she caught an eloquent look of her companion's, one of those looks which would convey intelligence to a brick wall. Louise directed her attention to a hat – Raoul's unlucky hat, which was set out in all its feathery splendor upon the table.

      Montalais sprang towards it, and, seizing it with her left hand, passed it behind her into the right, concealing it as she was speaking.

      "Well," said Madame de Saint-Remy, "a courier has arrived, announcing the approach of the king. There, mesdemoiselles; there is something to make you put on your best looks."

      "Quick, quick!" cried Montalais. "Follow Madame your mother, Louise; and leave me to get ready my dress of ceremony."

      Louise arose; her mother took her by the hand, and led her out on to the landing.

      "Come along," said she; then adding in a low voice, "When I forbid you to come to the apartment of Montalais, why do you do so?"

      "Madame, she is my friend. Besides, I had but just come."

      "Did you see nobody concealed while you were there?"

      "Madame!"

      "I saw a man's hat, I tell you – the hat of that fellow, that good-for-nothing!"

      "Madame!" repeated Louise.

      "Of that do-nothing De Malicorne! A maid of honor to have such company – fie! fie!" and their voices were lost in the depths of the narrow staircase.

      Montalais had not missed a word of this conversation, which echo conveyed to her as if through a tunnel. She shrugged her shoulders on seeing Raoul, who had listened likewise, issue from the closet.

      "Poor Montalais!" said she, "the victim of friendship! Poor Malicorne, the victim of love!"

      She stopped on viewing the tragic-comic face of Raoul, who was vexed at having, in one day, surprised so many secrets.

      "Oh, mademoiselle!" said he; "how can we repay your kindness?"

      "Oh, we will balance accounts some day," said she. "For the present, begone, M. de Bragelonne, for Madame de Saint-Remy is not over indulgent; and any indiscretion on her part might bring hither a domiciliary visit, which would be disagreeable to all parties."

      "But Louise – how shall I know – "

      "Begone! begone! King Louis XI. knew very well what he was about when he invented the post."

      "Alas!" sighed Raoul.

      "And am I not here – I, who am worth all the posts in the kingdom? Quick, I say, to horse! so that if Madame de Saint-Remy should return for the purpose of preaching me a lesson on morality, she may not find you here."

      "She would tell my father, would she not?" murmured Raoul.

      "And you would be scolded. Ah, vicomte, it is very plain you come from court; you are as timid as the king. Peste! at Blois we contrive better than that to do without papa's consent. Ask Malicorne else!"

      And at these words the girl pushed Raoul out of the room by the shoulders. He glided swiftly down to the porch, regained his horse, mounted, and set off as if he had had Monsieur's guards at his heels.

      CHAPTER 4. Father and Son

      Raoul