therefore, to prolong my residence, as your highness has so
kindly invited me to do.”
“When do you leave?” inquired Philip, with an expression
full of interest.
“To-morrow, monseigneur. My carriages have been ready for
three days.”
The Duc d’Orleans made a movement of the head, which seemed
to signify, “Since you are determined, duke, there is
nothing to be said.” Buckingham returned the gesture,
concealing under a smile a contraction of his heart; and
then Monsieur moved away in the same direction by which he
had approached. At the same moment, however, De Guiche
advanced from the opposite direction. Raoul feared that the
impatient young man might possibly make the proposition
himself, and hurried forward before him.
“No, no, Raoul, all is useless now,” said Guiche, holding
both his hands toward the duke, and leading him behind a
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column. “Forgive me, duke, for what I wrote to you, I was
mad; give me back my letter.”
“It is true,” said the duke, “you cannot owe me a grudge any
longer now.”
“Forgive me, duke; my friendship, my lasting friendship is
yours.”
“There is certainly no reason why you should bear me any
ill-will from the moment I leave her never to see her
again.”
Raoul heard these words, and comprehending that his presence
was now useless between the two young men, who had now only
friendly words to exchange, withdrew a few paces; a movement
which brought him closer to De Wardes, who was conversing
with the Chevalier de Lorraine respecting the departure of
Buckingham. “A strategic retreat,” said De Wardes.
“Why so?”
“Because the dear duke saves a sword-thrust by it.” At which
reply both laughed.
Raoul, indignant, turned round frowningly, flushed with
anger and his lip curling with disdain. The Chevalier de
Lorraine turned on his heel, but De Wardes remained and
waited.
“You will not break yourself of the habit,” said Raoul to De
Wardes, “of insulting the absent; yesterday it was M.
d’Artagnan, to-day it is the Duke of Buckingham.”
“You know very well, monsieur,” returned De Wardes, “that I
sometimes insult those who are present.”
De Wardes was close to Raoul, their shoulders met, their
faces approached, as if to mutually inflame each other by
the fire of their looks and of their anger. It could be seen
that the one was at the height of fury, the other at the end
of his patience. Suddenly a voice was heard behind them full
of grace and courtesy saying, “I believe I heard my name
pronounced.”
They turned round and saw D’Artagnan, who, with a smiling
eye and a cheerful face, had just placed his hand on De
Wardes’s shoulder. Raoul stepped back to make room for the
musketeer. De Wardes trembled from head to foot, turned
pale, but did not move. D’Artagnan, still with the same
smile, took the place which Raoul abandoned to him.
“Thank you, my dear Raoul,” he said. “M. de Wardes, I wish
to talk with you. Do not leave us Raoul; every one can hear
what I have to say to M. de Wardes.” His smile immediately
faded away, and his glance became cold and sharp as a sword.
“I am at your orders, monsieur,” said De Wardes.
“For a very long time,” resumed D’Artagnan, “I have sought
an opportunity of conversing with you; to-day is the first
time I have found it. The place is badly chosen, I admit,
but you will perhaps have the goodness to accompany me to my
apartments, which are on the staircase at the end of this
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gallery.”
“I follow you, monsieur,” said De Wardes.
“Are you alone here?” said D’Artagnan.
“No; I have M. Manicamp and M. de Guiche, two of my
friends.”
“That’s well,” said D’Artagnan; “but two persons are not
sufficient; you will be able to find a few others, I trust.”
“Certainly,” said the young man, who did not know what
object D’Artagnan had in view. “As many as you please.”
“Are they friends?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Real friends?”
“No doubt of it.”
“Very well, get a good supply, then. Do you come, too,
Raoul; bring M. de Guiche and the Duke of Buckingham.”