“Ah, Monsieur,” said she, with disdain, “what you are doing is very unworthy of a gentleman. My heart inclines me to speak to you; you compromise me by a reception almost uncivil. You are wrong, Monsieur; and you confound your friends with your enemies. Farewell!”
Raoul had sworn never to speak of Louise, never even to look at those who might have seen Louise; he was going into another world that he might never meet with anything Louise had seen, or anything she had touched. But after the first shock to his pride, after having had a glimpse of Montalais, the companion of Louise,- Montalais, who reminded him of the turret of Blois and the joys of youth,- all his reason left him.
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle; it enters not, it cannot enter into my thoughts to be uncivil.”
“Do you wish to speak to me?” said she, with the smile of former days. “Well! come somewhere else; for here we may be surprised.”
“Where?” said he.
She looked at the clock doubtingly, then, having reflected, “In my apartment,” said she; “we shall have an hour to ourselves.” And taking her course, lighter than a fairy, she ran up to her chamber, followed by Raoul. Shutting the door, and placing in the hands of her maid the mantle she had held upon her arm, “You were seeking M. de Guiche, were you not?” said she to Raoul.
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
“I will go and ask him to come up here presently, after I have spoken to you.”
“Do so, Mademoiselle.”
“Are you angry with me?”
Raoul looked at her for a moment, then, casting down his eyes, “Yes,” said he.
“You think I was concerned in the plot which brought about your rupture, do you not?”
“Rupture!” said he, with bitterness. “Oh, Mademoiselle, there can be no rupture where there has been no love.”
“An error,” replied Montalais; “Louise did love you.”
Raoul started.
“Not with love, I know!; but she liked you, and you ought to have married her before you set out for London.”
Raoul broke into a sinister laugh which made Montalais shudder.
“You tell me that very much at your ease, Mademoiselle. Do people marry whom they like? You forget that the King then kept as his mistress her of whom we are speaking.”
“Listen,” said the young woman, pressing the cold hands of Raoul in her own, “you were wrong in every way; a man of your age ought never to leave a woman of hers alone.”
“There is no longer any faith in the world, then.”
“No Viscount,” said Montalais, quietly. “Nevertheless, let me tell you that if instead of loving Louise coldly and philosophically, you had endeavored to awaken her to love-”
“Enough, I pray you, Mademoiselle,” said Raoul. “I feel that you are all, of both sexes, of a different age from me. You can laugh, and you can banter agreeably. I, Mademoiselle, I loved Mademoiselle de-” Raoul could not pronounce her name. “I loved her; well! I put faith in her,- now I am quits by loving her no longer.”
“Oh, Viscount!” said Montalais, pointing to his reflection in a mirror.
“I know what you mean, Mademoiselle; I am much altered, am I not? Well; do you know why? Because my face is the mirror of my heart; the inside has changed as you see the outside has.”
“You are consoled, then?” said Montalais, sharply.
“No, I shall never be consoled.”
“I don’t understand you, M. de Bragelonne.”
“I care but little for that. I do not too well understand myself.”
“You have not even tried to speak to Louise?”
“I!” exclaimed the young man, with eyes flashing fire; “I! why do you not advise me to marry her? Perhaps the King would consent now”; and he rose from his chair, full of anger.
“I see,” said Montalais, “that you are not cured, and that Louise has one enemy the more.”
“One enemy the more!”
“Yes; favorites are but little beloved at the court of France.”
“Oh! while she has her lover to protect her, is not that enough? She has chosen him of such a quality that her enemies cannot prevail against her.” But stopping all at once, “And then she has you for a friend, Mademoiselle,” added he, with a shade of irony which did not glide off the cuirass.