the opportunity of saluting, as she passed, the daughter of that daughter of France who, during her widowhood and exile, had sometimes gone without wood for her fire, and bread for her table, whom the meanest attendant at the chateau had treated with indifference and contempt. And so, the Madame Henriette once more returned to the Louvre, with her heart more swollen with bitter recollections than her daughter’s, whose disposition was fickle and forgetful, with triumph and delight. She knew but too well this brilliant reception was paid to the happy mother of a king restored to his throne, a throne second to none in Europe, while the worse than indifferent reception she had before met with was paid to her, the daughter of Henry IV., as a punishment for having been unfortunate. After the princess had been installed in their apartments and had rested, the gentlemen who had formed their escort, having, in like manner, recovered from their fatigue, they resumed their accustomed habits and occupations. Raoul began by setting off to see his father, who had left for Blois. He then tried to see M. d’Artagnan, who, however, being engaged in the organization of a military household for the king, could not be found anywhere. Bragelonne next sought out De Guiche, but the count was occupied in a long conference with his tailors and with Manicamp, which consumed his whole time. With the Duke of Buckingham he fared still worse, for the duke was purchasing horses after horses, diamonds upon diamonds. He monopolized every embroiderer, jeweler, and tailor that Paris could boast of. Between De Guiche and himself a vigorous contest ensued, invariably a courteous one, in which, in order to insure success, the duke was ready to spend a million; while the Marechal de Gramont had only allowed his son sixty thousand francs. So Buckingham laughed and spent his money. Guiche groaned in despair, and would have shown it more violently, had it not been for the advice De Bragelonne gave him.
“A million!” repeated De Guiche daily; “I must submit. Why will not the marechal advance me a portion of my patrimony?”
“Because you would throw it away,” said Raoul.
“What can that matter to him? If I am to die of it, I shall die of it, and then I shall need nothing further.”
“But what need is there to die?” said Raoul.
“I do not wish to be conquered in elegance by an Englishman.”
“My dear count,” said Manicamp, “elegance is not a costly commodity, it is only a very difficult accomplishment.”
“Yes, but difficult things cost a good deal of money, and I have only got sixty thousand francs.”
“A very embarrassing state of things, truly,” said De Wardes; “even if you spent as much as Buckingham, there is only nine hundred and forty thousand francs difference.”
“Where am I to find them?”
“Get into debt.”
“I am in debt already.”
“A greater reason for getting further.”
Advice like this resulted in De Guiche becoming excited to such an extent that he committed extravagances where Buckingham only incurred expenses. The rumor of this extravagant profuseness delighted the hearts of all the shopkeepers in Paris; from the hotel of the Duke of Buckingham to that of the Comte de Gramont nothing but miracles was attempted. While all this was going on, Madame was resting herself, and Bragelonne was engaged in writing to Mademoiselle de la Valliere. He had already dispatched four letters, and not an answer to any one of them had been received, when, on the very morning fixed for the marriage ceremony, which was to take place in the chapel at the Palais Royal, Raoul, who was dressing, heard his valet announce M. de Malicorne. “What can this Malicorne want with me?” thought Raoul; and then said to his valet, “Let him wait.”
“It is a gentleman from Blois,” said the valet.
“Admit him at once,” said Raoul, eagerly.
Malicorne entered as brilliant as a star, and wearing a superb sword at his side. After having saluted Raoul most gracefully, he said: “M. de Bragelonne, I am the bearer of a thousand compliments from a lady to you.”
Raoul colored. “From a lady,” said he, “from a lady of Blois?”
“Yes, monsieur; from Mademoiselle de Montalais.”
“Thank you, monsieur; I recollect you now,” said Raoul. “And what does Mademoiselle de Montalais require of me.”
Malicorne drew four letters from his pocket, which he offered to Raoul.
“My own letters, is it possible?” he said, turning pale; “my letters, and the seals unbroken?”
“Monsieur, your letters did not find at Blois the person to whom they were addressed, and so they are now returned to you.”
“Mademoiselle de la Valliere has left Blois, then?” exclaimed Raoul.
“Eight days ago.”
“Where is she, then?”
“In Paris.”
“How is it known that these letters were from me?”
“Mademoiselle de Montalais recognized your handwriting and your seal,” said Malicorne.
Raoul colored and smiled. “Mademoiselle de Montalais is exceedingly amiable,” he said; “she is always kind and charming.”
“Always, monsieur.”
“Surely she could have given me some precise information about Mademoiselle de la Valliere. I never could find her in this immense city.”
Malicorne drew another packet from his pocket. “You may possibly find in this letter what you are anxious to learn.”
Raoul hurriedly broke the seal. The writing was that of Mademoiselle Aure, and inclosed were these words: – “Paris, Palais Royal. The day of the nuptial blessing.”
“What does this mean?” inquired Raoul of Malicorne; “you probably know?”
“I do, monsieur.”
“For pity’s sake, tell me, then.”
“Impossible, monsieur.”
“Why so?”
“Because Mademoiselle Aure has forbidden me to do so.”
Raoul looked at his strange visitor, and remained silent; – “At least, tell me whether it is fortunate or unfortunate.”
“That you will see.”
“You are very severe in your reservations.”
“Will you grant me one favor, monsieur?” said Malicorne.
“In exchange for that you refuse me?”
“Precisely.”
“What is it?”
“I have the greatest desire to see the ceremony, and I have no ticket to admit me, in spite of all the steps I have taken to secure one. Could you get me admitted?”
“Certainly.”
“Do me this kindness, then, I entreat.”
“Most willingly, monsieur; come with me.”
“I
