who awaited 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 attendants
at the chateau had treated with indifference and contempt.
And so, Madame Henrietta 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 princesses
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 Grammont 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
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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 Grammont 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.”