“I must know that woman,” thought the musketeer; “who can she be?” And he stooped towards his friend the falconer, to whom he addressed the question he had put to himself. The falconer was about to reply, when the King, perceiving d’Artagnan said, “Ah, Count! you are returned, then! Why have I not seen you?”
“Sire,” replied the captain, “because your Majesty was asleep when I arrived, and not awake when I resumed my duties this morning.”
“Still the same!” said Louis, in a loud voice, denoting satisfaction. “Take some rest, Count; I command you to do so. You will dine with me to-day.”
A murmur of admiration surrounded d’Artagnan like an immense caress. Every one was eager to salute him. Dining with the King was an honor his Majesty was not so prodigal of as Henry IV had been. The King passed a few steps in advance, and d’Artagnan found himself in the midst of a fresh group, among whom shone M. Colbert.
“Good-day, M. d’Artagnan,” said the minister, with affable politeness; “have you had a pleasant journey?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” said d’Artagnan, bowing to the neck of his horse.
“I heard the King invite you to his table for this evening,” continued the minister; “you will meet an old friend.”
“An old friend of mine?” asked d’Artagnan, plunging painfully into the dark waves of the past which had swallowed up for him so many friendships and so many hatreds.
“M. le Duc d’Alameda, who is arrived this morning from Spain.”
“The Duc d’Alameda?” said d’Artagnan, reflecting in vain.
“I!” said an old man, white as snow, sitting bent in his carriage, which he caused to be thrown open to make room for the musketeer.
“Aramis!” cried d’Artagnan, struck with stupor. And, inert as he was, he suffered the thin arm of the old nobleman to rest trembling on his neck.
Colbert, after having observed them in silence for a minute, put his horse forward, and left the two old friends together.
“And so,” said the musketeer, taking the arm of Aramis, “you, the exile, the rebel, are again in France?”
“And I shall dine with you at the King’s table,” said Aramis, smiling. “Yes; will you not ask yourself what is the use of fidelity in this world? Stop! let us allow poor La Valliere’s carriage to pass. See how uneasy she is! How her eye, dimmed with tears, follows the King, who is riding on horseback yonder!”
“With whom?”
“With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, now become Madame de Montespan,” replied Aramis.
“She is jealous; is she then deserted?”
“Not quite yet, but soon will be.”
They chatted together while following the sport, and Aramis’s coachman drove them so cleverly that they got up at the moment when the falcon, attacking the bird, beat him down and fell upon him. The King alighted; Madame de Montespan followed his example. They were in front of an isolated chapel, concealed by large trees, already despoiled of their leaves by the first winds of autumn. Behind this chapel was an enclosure entered only by a latticed gate. The falcon had beat down his prey in the enclosure belonging to this little chapel, and the King was desirous of going in to take the first feather, according to custom. The cortege formed a circle round the building and the hedges, too small to receive so many.
D’Artagnan held back Aramis by the arm as he was about, like the rest, to alight from his carriage, and in a broken voice, “Do you know, Aramis,” said he, “whither chance has conducted us?”
“No,” replied the duke.
“Here repose people I have known,” said d’Artagnan, much agitated.
Aramis, without divining anything, and with a trembling step, penetrated into the chapel by a little door which d’Artagnan opened for him. “Where are they buried?” said he.
“There, in the enclosure. There is a cross, you see, under that little cypress. The little cypress is planted over their tomb. Don’t go to it; the King is going that way,- the heron has fallen just there.”
Aramis stopped, and concealed himself in the shade. They then saw, without being seen, the pale face of La Valliere, who, neglected in her carriage, had at first looked on with a melancholy heart from the door, and then, carried away by jealousy, had advanced into the chapel, whence, leaning against a pillar, she contemplated in the enclosure the King smiling and making signs to Madame de Montespan to approach, as there was nothing to be afraid of. Madame de Montespan complied; she took the hand the King held out to her, and he, plucking out the first feather from the heron, which the falconer had strangled, placed it in the hat of his beautiful companion. She, smiling in her turn, kissed the hand tenderly which made her this present. The King blushed with pleasure; he looked at Madame de Montespan with all the fire of love. “What will you give me in exchange?” said he.