speak, my lord.”
“Ah! ah!” said the prince, laughing, “I thought we should
come to that. I have a sure method of limbering tongues.
Young men, take advantage of it against the time when you
may be in command.”
“But on condition,” continued the prisoner, “that your
highness will swear that my life shall be safe.”
“Upon my honor,” said the prince.
“Question, then, my lord.”
“Where did the army cross the Lys?”
“Between Saint-Venant and Aire.”
“By whom is it commanded?”
“By Count de Fuonsaldagna, General Beck and the archduke.”
“Of how many does it consist?”
“Eighteen thousand men and thirty-six cannon.”
“And its aim is?”
“Lens.”
“You see; gentlemen!” said the prince, turning with a
triumphant air toward Marshal de Grammont and the other
officers.
“Yes, my lord,” said the marshal, “you have divined all that
was possible to human genius.”
“Recall Le Plessis, Bellievre, Villequier and D’Erlac,” said
the prince, “recall all the troops that are on this side of
the Lys. Let them hold themselves in readiness to march
to-night. To-morrow, according to all probability, we shall
attack the enemy.”
“But, my lord,” said Marshal de Grammont, “consider that
when we have collected all our forces we shall have hardly
thirteen thousand men.”
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“Monsieur le marechal,” said the prince, with that wonderful
glance that was peculiar to him, “it is with small armies
that great battles are won.”
Then turning toward the prisoner, “Take away that man,” he
said, “and keep him carefully in sight. His life is
dependent on the information he has given us; if it is true,
he shall be free; if false, let him be shot.”
The prisoner was led away.
“Count de Guiche,” said the prince, “it is a long time since
you saw your father, remain here with him. Monsieur,” he
continued, addressing Raoul, “if you are not too tired,
follow me.”
“To the end of the world, my lord!” cried Raoul, feeling an
unknown enthusiasm for that young general, who seemed to him
so worthy of his renown.
The prince smiled; he despised flatterers, but he
appreciated enthusiasts.
“Come, monsieur,” he said, “you are good in council, as we
have already discovered; to-morrow we shall know if you are
good in action.”
“And I,” said the marshal, “what am I to do?”
“Wait here to receive the troops. I shall either return for
them myself or shall send a courier directing you to bring
them to me. Twenty guards, well mounted, are all that I
shall need for my escort.”
“That is very few,” said the marshal.
“It is enough,” replied the prince. “Have you a good horse,
Monsieur de Bragelonne?”
“My horse was killed this morning, my lord, and I am mounted
provisionally on my lackey’s.”
“Choose for yourself in my stables the horse you like best.
No false modesty; take the best horse you can find. You will
need it this evening, perhaps; you will certainly need it
to-morrow.”
Raoul didn’t wait to be told twice; he knew that with
superiors, especially when those superiors are princes, the
highest politeness is to obey without delay or argument; he
went down to the stables, picked out a pie-bald Andalusian
horse, saddled and bridled it himself, for Athos had advised
him to trust no one with those important offices at a time
of danger, and went to rejoin the prince, who at that moment
mounted his horse.
“Now, monsieur,” he said to Raoul, “will you give me the
letter you have brought?”
Raoul handed the letter to the prince.
“Keep near me,” said the latter.
The prince threw his bridle over the pommel of the saddle,
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as he was wont to do when he wished to have both hands free,
unsealed the letter of Madame de Longueville and started at
a gallop on the road to Lens, attended by Raoul and his
small escort, whilst messengers sent to recall the troops
set out with a loose rein in other directions. The prince
read as he hastened on.
“Monsieur,” he said, after a moment, “they tell me great
things of you. I have only to say, after the little that I