addressing a word to you.”
“Very well, monsieur, but let your remarks be brief.”
“One question is all I ask; you can hardly expect me to be
briefer.”
“Speak, monsieur, I am listening.”
“Are you, or is the Duke of Orleans, going to marry the
granddaughter of Henry IV.?”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Buckingham, retreating a few
steps, bewildered.
“Have the goodness to answer me,” persisted Raoul,
tranquilly.
“Do you mean to ridicule me, monsieur?” inquired Buckingham.
“Your question is a sufficient answer for me. You admit,
then, that it is not you who are going to marry the
princess?”
“Thou know it perfectly well, monsieur, I should imagine.”
“I beg your pardon, but your conduct has been such as to
leave it not altogether certain.”
“Proceed, monsieur, what do you mean to convey?”
Raoul approached the duke. “Are you aware, my lord,” he
said, lowering his voice, “that your extravagances very much
resemble the excesses of jealousy? These jealous fits, with
respect to any woman, are not becoming in one who is neither
her lover nor her husband; and I am sure you will admit that
my remark applies with still greater force, when the lady in
question is a princess of the blood royal!”
“Monsieur,” exclaimed Buckingham, “do you mean to insult
Madame Henrietta?”
“Be careful, my lord,” replied Bragelonne, coldly, “for it
is you who insult her. A little while since, when on board
the admiral’s ship, you wearied the queen, and exhausted the
admiral’s patience. I was observing, my lord; and, at first,
I concluded you were not in possession of your senses, but I
have since surmised the real significance of your madness.”
“Monsieur!” exclaimed Buckingham.
“One moment more, for I have yet another word to add. I
trust I am the only one of my companions who has guessed
it.”
“Are you aware, monsieur,” said Buckingham, trembling with
mingled feelings of anger and uneasiness, “are you aware
that you are holding language towards me which requires to
be checked?”
“Weigh your words well, my lord,” said Raoul, haughtily: “my
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nature is not such that its vivacities need checking; whilst
you, on the contrary, are descended from a race whose
passions are suspected by all true Frenchmen; I repeat,
therefore, for the second time, be careful!”
“Careful of what, may I ask? Do you presume to threaten me?”
“I am the son of the Comte de la Fere, my lord, and I never
threaten, because I strike first. Therefore, understand me
well, the threat that I hold out to you is this —- ”
Buckingham clenched his hands, but Raoul continued, as
though he had not observed the gesture. “At the very first
word, beyond the respect and deference due to her royal
highness, which you permit yourself to use towards her, —
be patient, my lord, for I am perfectly so.”
“You?”
“Undoubtedly. So long as Madame remained on English
territory, I held my peace; but from the very moment she
stepped on French ground, and now that we have received her
in the name of the prince, I warn you, that at the first
mark of disrespect which you, in your insane attachment,
exhibit towards the royal house of France, I shall have one
of two courses to follow; — either I declare, in the
presence of every one, the madness with which you are now
affected, and I get you ignominiously ordered back to
England; or if you prefer it, I will run my dagger through
your throat in the presence of all here. This second
alternative seems to me the least disagreeable, and I think
I shall hold to it.”
Buckingham had become paler than the lace collar around his
neck. “M. de Bragelonne,” he said, “is it, indeed, a
gentleman who is speaking to me?”
“Yes; only the gentleman is speaking to a madman. Get cured,
my lord, and he will hold quite another language to you.”
“But, M. de Bragelonne,” murmured the duke, in a voice,
half-choked, and putting his hand to his neck, — “Do you
not see I am choking?”
“If your death were to take place at this moment, my lord,”