Ten Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

love me, and for which, equally, I care no longer if you

love me as I love you.”

“This is too much,” exclaimed Fouquet. “I yield, I yield,

even were it only to consecrate so much devotion. I accept

the dowry.”

“And take the woman with it.” said the: marquise, throwing

herself into his arms.

CHAPTER 104

Le Terrain de Dieu

During the progress of these events Buckingham and De Wardes

traveled in excellent companionship, and made the journey

from Paris to Calais in undisturbed harmony together.

Buckingham had hurried his departure, so that the greater

part of his adieux were very hastily made. His visit to

Monsieur and Madame, to the young queen, and to the

queen-dowager, had been paid collectively — a precaution on

the part of the queen-mother which saved him the distress of

any private conversation with Monsieur, and also the danger

of seeing Madame again. The carriages containing the luggage

had already been sent on beforehand, and in the evening he

set off in his traveling carriage with his attendants.

De Wardes, irritated at finding himself dragged away in so

abrupt a manner by this Englishman, had sought in his subtle

mind for some means of escaping from his fetters; but no one

having rendered him any assistance in this respect, he was

absolutely obliged, therefore, to submit to the burden of

his own evil thoughts and caustic spirit.

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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later

Such of his friends in whom he had been able to confide,

had, in their character of wits, rallied him upon the duke’s

superiority. Others, less brilliant, but more sensible, had

reminded him of the king’s orders prohibiting dueling.

Others, again, and they the larger number, who, in virtue of

charity, or national vanity, might have rendered him

assistance, did not care to run the risk of incurring

disgrace, and would, at the best, have informed the

ministers of a departure which might end in a massacre on a

small scale. The result was, that, after having fully

deliberated upon the matter, De Wardes packed up his

luggage, took a couple of horses, and, followed only by one

servant, made his way towards the barrier, where

Buckingham’s carriage was to await him.

The duke received his adversary as he would have done an

intimate acquaintance, made room beside him on the same seat

with himself, offered him refreshments, and spread over his

knees the sable cloak that had been thrown on the front

seat. They then conversed of the court, without alluding to

Madame; of Monsieur, without speaking of domestic affairs;

of the king, without speaking of his brother’s wife; of the

queen-mother, without alluding to her daughter-in-law; of

the king of England, without alluding to his sister-in-law;

of the state of the affections of either of the travelers,

without pronouncing any name that might be dangerous. In

this way the journey, which was performed by short stages,

was most agreeable, and Buckingham, almost a Frenchman from

wit and education, was delighted at having so admirably

selected his traveling companion. Elegant repasts were

served, of which they partook but lightly; trials of horses

made in the beautiful meadows that skirted the road;

coursing indulged in, for Buckingham had his greyhounds with

him; and in such ways did they pass away the pleasant time.

The duke somewhat resembled the beautiful river Seine, which

folds France a thousand times in its loving embrace, before

deciding upon joining its waters with the ocean. In quitting

France, it was her recently adopted daughter he had brought

to Paris whom he chiefly regretted; his every thought was a

remembrance of her — his every memory a regret. Therefore,

whenever, now and then, despite his command over himself, he

was lost in thought, De Wardes left him entirely to his

musings. This delicacy might have touched Buckingham, and

changed his feelings towards De Wardes, if the latter, while

preserving silence, had shown a glance less full of malice,

and a smile less false. Instinctive dislikes, however, are

relentless; nothing appeases them; a few ashes may

sometimes, apparently, extinguish them; but beneath those

ashes the smothered embers rage more furiously. Having

exhausted every means of amusement the route offered, they

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