Ten Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part one

as it was, it became sharp and vibrating, “not at all: I

have a full and fixed intention to marry them, and that as

well as I shall be able.”

“Parties will not be wanting, monsieur le cardinal,” replied

Monsieur, with a bonhomie worthy of one tradesman

congratulating another.

“I hope not, monseigneur, and with reason, as God has been

pleased to give them grace, intelligence, and beauty.”

During this conversation, Louis XIV., conducted by Madame,

accomplished, as we have described, the circle of

presentations.

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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later

“Mademoiselle Auricule,” said the princess, presenting to

his majesty a fat, fair girl of two-and-twenty, who at a

village fete might have been taken for a peasant in Sunday

finery, — “the daughter of my music-mistress.”

The king smiled. Madame had never been able to extract four

correct notes from either viol or harpsichord.

“Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais,” continued Madame, “a young

lady of rank, and my good attendant.”

This time it was not the king that smiled; it was the young

lady presented, because, for the first time in her life, she

heard, given to her by Madame, who generally showed no

tendency to spoil her, such an honorable qualification.

Our old acquaintance Montalais, therefore, made his majesty

a profound courtesy, the more respectful from the necessity

she was under of concealing certain contractions of her

laughing lips, which the king might not have attributed to

their real cause.

It was just at this moment that the king caught the word

which startled him.

“And the name of the third?” asked Monsieur.

“Mary, monseigneur,” replied the cardinal.

There was doubtless some magical influence in that word,

for, as we have said, the king started at hearing it, and

drew Madame towards the middle of the circle, as if he

wished to put some confidential question to her, but, in

reality, for the sake of getting nearer to the cardinal.

“Madame my aunt,” said he, laughing, and in a suppressed

voice, “my geography-master did not teach me that Blois was

at such an immense distance from Paris.”

“What do you mean, nephew?” asked Madame.

“Why, because it would appear that it requires several

years, as regards fashion, to travel the distance! — Look

at those young ladies!”

“Well; I know them all.”

“Some of them are pretty.”

“Don’t say that too loud, monsieur my nephew; you will drive

them wild.”

“Stop a bit, stop a bit, dear aunt!” said the king, smiling;

“for the second part of my sentence will serve as a

corrective to the first. Well, my dear aunt, some of them

appear old and others ugly, thanks to their ten-year-old

fashions.”

“But, sire, Blois is only five days, journey from Paris.”

“Yes, that is it,” said the king: “two years behind for each

day.”

“Indeed! do you really think so? Well, that is strange! It

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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later

never struck me.”

“Now, look, aunt,” said Louis XIV., drawing still nearer to

Mazarin, under the pretext of gaining a better point of

view, “look at that simple white dress by the side of those

antiquated specimens of finery, and those pretentious

coiffures. She is probably one of my mother’s maids of

honor, though I don’t know her.”

“Ah! ah! my dear nephew!” replied Madame, laughing, “permit

me to tell you that your divinatory science is at fault for

once. The young lady you honor with your praise is not a

Parisian, but a Blaisoise.”

“Oh, aunt!” replied the king with a look of doubt.

“Come here, Louise,” said Madame.

And the fair girl, already known to you under that name,

approached them, timid, blushing, and almost bent beneath

the royal glance.

“Mademoiselle Louise Francoise de la Baume le Blanc, the

daughter of the Marquise de la Valliere,” said Madame,

ceremoniously.

The young girl bowed with so much grace, mingled with the

profound timidity inspired by the presence of the king, that

the latter lost, while looking at her, a few words of the

conversation of Monsieur and the cardinal.

“Daughter-in-law,” continued Madame, “of M. de Saint-Remy,

my maitre d’hotel, who presided over the confection of that

excellent daube truffee which your majesty seemed so much to

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