Winter. “I once knew a Bragelonne — is he still alive?”
“No, sir, he is dead; and I believe it is from him my
guardian, whose near relation he was, inherited the estate
from which I take my name.”
“And your guardian, sir,” asked the queen, who could not
help feeling some interest in the handsome young man before
her, “what is his name?”
“The Comte de la Fere, madame,” replied the young man,
bowing.
De Winter made a gesture of surprise and the queen turned to
him with a start of joy.
“The Comte de la Fere!” she cried. “Have you not mentioned
that name to me?”
As for De Winter he could scarcely believe that he had heard
aright. “The Comte de la Fere!” he cried in his turn. “Oh,
sir, reply, I entreat you — is not the Comte de la Fere a
noble whom I remember, handsome and brave, a musketeer under
Louis XIII., who must be now about forty-seven or
forty-eight years of age?”
“Yes, sir, you are right in every particular!”
“And who served under an assumed name?”
“Under the name of Athos. Latterly I heard his friend,
Monsieur d’Artagnan, give him that name.”
“That is it, madame, that is the same. God be praised! And
he is in Paris?” continued he, addressing Raoul; then
turning to the queen: “We may still hope. Providence has
declared for us, since I have found this brave man again in
so miraculous a manner. And, sir, where does he reside,
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pray?”
“The Comte de la Fere lodges in the Rue Guenegaud, Hotel du
Grand Roi Charlemagne.”
“Thanks, sir. Inform this dear friend that he may remain
within, that I shall go and see him immediately.”
“Sir, I obey with pleasure, if her majesty will permit me to
depart.”
“Go, Monsieur de Bragelonne,” said the queen, “and rest
assured of our affection.”
Raoul bent respectfully before the two princesses, and
bowing to De Winter, departed.
The queen and De Winter continued to converse for some time
in low voices, in order that the young princess should not
overhear them; but the precaution was needless: she was in
deep converse with her own thoughts.
Then, when De Winter rose to take leave:
“Listen, my lord,” said the queen; “I have preserved this
diamond cross which came from my mother, and this order of
St. Michael which came from my husband. They are worth about
fifty thousand pounds. I had sworn to die of hunger rather
than part with these precious pledges; but now that this
ornament may be useful to him or his defenders, everything
must be sacrificed. Take them, and if you need money for
your expedition, sell them fearlessly, my lord. But should
you find the means of retaining them, remember, my lord,
that I shall esteem you as having rendered the greatest
service that a gentleman can render to a queen; and in the
day of my prosperity he who brings me this order and this
cross shall be blessed by me and my children.”
“Madame,” replied De Winter, “your majesty will be served by
a man devoted to you. I hasten to deposit these two objects
in a safe place, nor should I accept them if the resources
of our ancient fortune were left to us, but our estates are
confiscated, our ready money is exhausted, and we are
reduced to turn to service everything we possess. In an hour
hence I shall be with the Comte de la Fere, and to-morrow
your majesty shall have a definite reply.”
The queen tendered her hand to Lord de Winter, who, kissing
it respectfully, went out and traversed alone and
unconducted those large, dark and deserted apartments,
brushing away tears which, blase as he was by fifty years
spent as a courtier, he could not withhold at the spectacle
of royal distress so dignified, yet so intense.
40
Uncle and Nephew.
The horse and servant belonging to De Winter were waiting
for him at the door; he proceeded toward his abode very
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thoughtfully, looking behind him from time to him to
contemplate the dark and silent frontage of the Louvre. It