Wardes, “is a very excellent fellow, whose only misfortune
is that of not being of gentle birth. As far as I am
concerned, you know, I attach little value to those who have
but gentle birth to boast of.”
“Assuredly,” said De Wardes; “but will you allow me to
remark, my dear count, that, without rank of some sort, one
can hardly hope to belong to his royal highness’s
household?”
“You are right,” said the count, “court etiquette is
absolute. The devil! — we never so much as gave it a
thought.”
“Alas! a sad misfortune for me, monsieur le comte,” said
Malicorne, changing color.
“Yet not without remedy, I hope,” returned De Guiche.
“The remedy is found easily enough,” exclaimed De Wardes;
“you can be created a gentleman. His Eminence, the Cardinal
Mazarin, did nothing else from morning till night”
“Hush, hush, De Wardes,” said the count; “no jests of that
kind; it ill becomes us to turn such matters into ridicule.
Letters of nobility, it is true, are purchasable; but that
is a sufficient misfortune without the nobles themselves
laughing at it.”
“Upon my word, De Guiche, you’re quite a Puritan, as the
English say.”
At this moment the Vicomte de Bragelonne was announced by
one of the servants in the courtyard, in precisely the same
manner as he would have done in a room.
“Come here, my dear Raoul. What! you, too, booted and
spurred? You are setting off, then?”
Bragelonne approached the group of young men, and saluted
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them with that quiet and serious manner peculiar to him. His
salutation was principally addressed to De Wardes, with whom
he was unacquainted, and whose features, on his perceiving
Raoul, had assumed a strange sternness of expression. “I
have come, De Guiche,” he said, “to ask your companionship.
We set off for Havre, I presume.”
“This is admirable — delightful. We shall have a most
enjoyable journey. M. Malicorne, M. Bragelonne — ah! M. de
Wardes, let me present you.” The young men saluted each
other in a restrained manner. Their very natures seemed,
from the beginning, disposed to take exception to each
other. De Wardes was pliant, subtle, full of dissimulation;
Raoul was calm, grave, and upright. “Decide between us —
between De Wardes and myself, Raoul.”
“Upon what subject?”
“Upon the subject of noble birth.”
“Who can be better informed on that subject than a De
Grammont?”
“No compliments; it is your opinion I ask.”
“At least, inform me of the subject under discussion.”
“De Wardes asserts that the distribution of titles is
abused; I, on the contrary, maintain that a title is useless
to the man on whom it is bestowed.”
“And you are correct,” said Bragelonne, quietly.
“But, monsieur le vicomte,” interrupted De Wardes, with a
kind of obstinacy, “I affirm that it is I who am correct.”
“What was your opinion, monsieur?”
“I was saying that everything is done in France at the
present moment to humiliate men of family.”
“And by whom?”
“By the king himself. He surrounds himself with people who
cannot show four quarterings.”
“Nonsense,” said De Guiche, “where could you possibly have
seen that, De Wardes?”
“One example will suffice,” he returned, directing his look
fully upon Raoul.
“State it then.”
“Do you know who has just been nominated captain-general of
the musketeers? — an appointment more valuable than a
peerage; for it gives precedence over all the marechals of
France.”
Raoul’s color mounted in his face; for he saw the object De
Wardes had in view. “No; who has been appointed? In any case
it must have been very recently, for the appointment was
vacant eight days ago; a proof of which is, that the king
refused Monsieur, who solicited the post for one of his
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proteges.”
“Well, the king refused it to Monsieur’s protege, in order
to bestow it upon the Chevalier d’Artagnan, a younger
brother of some Gascon family, who has been trailing his
sword in the ante-chambers during the last thirty years.”
“Forgive me if I interrupt you,” said Raoul, darting a
glance full of severity at De Wardes; “but you give me the