A DOMICILIARY VISIT.
The princess, preceding Raoul, led him through the courtyard toward that
part of the building which La Valliere inhabited, and, ascending the
same staircase which Raoul had himself ascended that very morning, she
paused at the door of the room in which the young man had been so
strangely received by Montalais. The opportunity had been well chosen to
carry out the project which Madame Henrietta had conceived, for the
chateau was empty. The king, the courtiers, and the ladies of the court
had set off for St. Germain; Madame Henrietta was the only one who knew
of Bragelonne's return, and, thinking over the advantages which might be
drawn from this return, had feigned indisposition in order to remain
behind. Madame was therefore confident of finding La Valliere's room and
Saint-Aignan's apartment perfectly empty. She took a pass-key from her
pocket and opened the door of her maid of honor's apartment.
Bragelonne's gaze was immediately fixed upon the interior of the room,
which he recognized at once; and the impression which the sight of it
produced upon him was one of the first tortures which awaited him. The
princess looked at him, and her practiced eye could at once detect what
was passing in the young man's heart.
"You asked me for proofs," she said, "do not be astonished, then, if I
give you them. But if you do not think you have courage enough to
confront them, there is still time to withdraw."
"I thank you, madame," said Bragelonne; "but I came here to be
convinced. You promised to convince me--do so."
"Enter, then," said Madame, "and shut the door behind you."
Bragelonne obeyed, and then turned toward the princess, whom he
interrogated by a look.
"You know where you are, I suppose?" inquired Madame Henrietta.
"Everything leads me to believe I am in Mademoiselle de la Valliere's
room."
"You are."
"But I would observe to your highness that this room is a room, and is
not a proof."
"Wait," said the princess, as she walked to the foot of the bed, folded
up the screen into its several compartments, and stooped down toward the
floor. "Look here," she continued; "stoop down, and lift up this
trap-door yourself."
"A trap-door!" said Raoul, astonished; for D'Artagnan's words began to
return to his memory, and he had an indistinct recollection that
D'Artagnan had made use of the same word. He looked, but uselessly so,
for some cleft or crevice which might indicate an opening, or a ring to
assist in lifting up some portion of the planking.
"Ah, I forgot," said Madame Henrietta, "I forgot the secret spring; the
fourth plank of the flooring--press on the spot where you will observe a
knot in the wood. Those are the instructions; press, vicomte! press, I
say, yourself!"
Raoul, pale as death, pressed his finger on the spot which had been
indicated to him: at the same moment the spring began to work, and the
trap rose of its own accord.
"It is ingenious enough, certainly," said the princess; "and one can see
that the architect foresaw that a very little hand only would have to
make use of this spring, for see how easily the trap-door opened without
assistance."
"A staircase!" cried Raoul.
"Yes; and a very pretty one, too," said Madame Henrietta. "See, vicomte,
the staircase has a balustrade, intended to prevent the falling of timid
persons, who might be tempted to descend the staircase; and I will risk
myself on it accordingly. Come, vicomte, follow me!"
"But before following you, madame, may I ask where this staircase leads
to?"
"Ah, true; I forgot to tell you. You know, perhaps, that formerly M. de
Saint-Aignan lived in the very next apartment to the king?"
"Yes, madame, I am aware of that; that was the arrangement, at least,
before I left; and more than once I have had the honor of visiting him
in his old rooms."
"Well; he obtained the king's leave to change his former convenient and
beautiful apartment for the two rooms to which this staircase will
conduct us, and which together form a lodging for him, twice as small,
and at ten times greater distance from the king--a close proximity to
whom is by no means disdained, in general, by the gentlemen belonging to
the court."
"Very good, madame," returned Raoul; "but go on, I beg, for I do not
understand yet."
"Well, then, it accidentally happened," continued the princess, "that M.
de Saint-Aignan's apartment is situated underneath the apartments of my
maids of honor, and particularly underneath the room of La Valliere."
"But what was the motive of this trap-door and this staircase?"
"That I cannot tell you. Would you like us to go down to Monsieur de
Saint-Aignan's rooms? Perhaps we shall be able to find the solution of
the enigma there."
And Madame set the example by going down herself, while Raoul, sighing
deeply, followed her. At every step Bragelonne took, he advanced further
into that mysterious apartment which had been witness to La Valliere's
sighs, and still retained the sweetest perfume of her presence.
Bragelonne fancied that he perceived, as he inhaled his every breath,
that the young girl must have passed through there. Then succeeded to
these emanations of herself, which he regarded as invisible through
certain proofs, the flowers she preferred to all others--the books of
her own selection. Had Raoul preserved a single doubt on the subject, it
would have vanished at the secret harmony of tastes, and connection of
the mind with the use of the ordinary objects of life. La Valliere, in
Bragelonne's eyes, was present there in every article of furniture, in
the color of the hangings, in everything that surrounded him. Dumb, and
completely overwhelmed, there was nothing further for him now to learn,
and he followed his pitiless conductress as blindly as the culprit
follows the executioner; while Madame, as cruel as all women of delicate
and nervous temperaments are, did not spare him the slightest detail.
But it must be admitted, that, notwithstanding the kind of apathy into
which he had fallen, none of these details, even had he been left alone,
would have escaped him. The happiness of the woman who loves, when that
happiness is derived from a rival, is a living torture for a jealous
man; but for a jealous man such as Raoul was, for one whose heart had
for the first time been steeped in gall and bitterness, Louise's
happiness was in reality an ignominious death, a death of body and soul.
He guessed all; he fancied he could see them, with their hands clasped
in each other's, their faces drawn close together, and reflected, side
by side, in loving proximity, as they gazed upon the mirrors around
them--so sweet an occupation for lovers, who, as they thus see
themselves twice over, impress the picture more enduringly in their
memories. He could guess, too, the stolen kiss snatched as they
separated from each other's loved society. The luxury, the studied
elegance, eloquent of the perfection of indolence, of ease; the extreme
care shown, either to spare the loved object every annoyance, or to
occasion her a delightful surprise; that strength and power of love
multiplied by the strength and power of royalty itself, seemed like a
death-blow to Raoul. If there be anything which can in any way assuage
or mitigate the tortures of jealousy, it is the inferiority of the man
who is preferred to yourself; while, on the very contrary, if there be
an anguish more bitter than another, a misery for which language has no
descriptive words, it is the superiority of the man preferred to
yourself, superior, perhaps, in youth, beauty, grace. It is in such
moments as these that Heaven almost seems to have taken part against the
disdained and rejected lover.
One final pang was reserved for poor Raoul. Madame Henrietta lifted up a
silk curtain, and behind the canvas he perceived La Valliere's portrait.
Not only the portrait of La Valliere, but of La Valliere eloquent of
youth, beauty, and happiness, inhaling life and enjoyment at every pore,
because at eighteen years of age love itself is life.
"Louise!" murmured Bragelonne--"Louise! is it true, then? Oh, you have
never loved me, for never have you looked at me in that manner." And he
felt as if his heart were crushed within his bosom.
Madame Henrietta looked at him, almost envious of his extreme grief,
although she well knew there was nothing to envy in it, and that she
herself was as passionately loved by De Guiche as Louise by Bragelonne.
Raoul interpreted Madame Henrietta's look.
"Oh, forgive me, forgive me, madame; in your presence I know I ought to
have greater mastery over myself. But Heaven grant that you may never be
struck by a similar misery to that which crushes me at this moment, for
you are but a woman, and would not be able to endure so terrible an
affliction. Forgive me, I again entreat you, madame; I am but a man
without rank or position, while you belong to a race whose happiness
knows no bounds, whose power acknowledges no limit."
"Monsieur de Bragelonne," replied Henrietta, "a heart such as yours
merits all the consideration and respect which a queen's heart even can
bestow. Regard me as your friend, monsieur; and as such, indeed, I would
not allow your whole life to be poisoned by perfidy and covered with
ridicule. It was I, indeed, who, with more courage than any of your
pretended friends--I except M. de Guiche--was the cause of your return
from London; it is I, also, who have given you these melancholy proofs,
necessary, however, for your cure, if you are a lover with courage in
his heart, and not a weeping Amadis. Do not thank me; pity me even, and
do not serve the king less faithfully than you have done."
Raoul smiled bitterly. "Ah; true, true; I was forgetting that! the king
is my master."
"Your liberty, nay, your very life is in danger."
A steady, penetrating look informed Madame Henrietta that she was
mistaken, and that her last argument was not a likely one to affect the
young man. "Take care, Monsieur de Bragelonne," she said, "for if you do
not weigh well all your actions, you might throw into an extravagance of
wrath, a prince, whose passions, once aroused, exceed the utmost limits
of reason, and you would thereby involve your friends and family in the
deepest distress; you must bend, you must submit, and must cure
yourself."
"I thank you, madame; I appreciate the advice your royal highness is
good enough to give me, and I will endeavor to follow it; but one final
word, I beg."
"Name it."
"Should I be indiscreet in asking you the secret of this staircase, of
this trap-door; a secret which, it seems, you have discovered."
"Nothing is more simple. For the purpose of exercising a surveillance
over the young girls who are attached to my service, I have duplicate
keys of their doors. It seemed very strange to me that M. de
Saint-Aignan should change his apartments. It seemed very strange, that
the king should come to see M. de Saint-Aignan every day, and, finally,
it seemed very strange, that so many things should be done during your
absence, that the very habits and customs of the court seemed to be
changed. I do not wish to be trifled with by the king, nor to serve as a
cloak for his love affairs; for, after La Valliere, who weeps
incessantly, he will take a fancy to Montalais, who is always laughing;
and then to Tonnay-Charente, who does nothing but sing all day; to act
such a part as that would be unworthy of me. I have thrust aside the
scruples which my friendship for you suggested. I have discovered the
secret. I have wounded your feelings, I know; and I again entreat you to
excuse me; but I had a duty to fulfill. I have discharged it. You are
now forewarned; the tempest will soon burst; protect yourself
accordingly."
"You naturally expect, however, that a result of some kind must follow,"
replied Bragelonne, with firmness; "for you do not suppose I shall
silently accept the shame which is thrust upon me, or the treachery
which has been practiced against me."
"You will take whatever steps in the matter you please, Monsieur Raoul,
only do not betray the source whence you derived the truth. That is all
I have to ask, that is the only price I require for the service I have
rendered you."
"Fear nothing, madame," said Bragelonne, with a bitter smile.
"I bribed the locksmith, in whom the lovers had confided. You can just
as well have done so as myself, can you not?"
"Yes, madame. Your royal highness, however, has no other advice or
caution to give me, except that of not betraying you."
"None other."
"I am about, therefore, to beg your royal highness to allow me to remain
here for one moment."
"Without me?"
"Oh! no, madame. It matters very little; for what I have to do can be
done in your presence. I only ask one moment to write a line to some
one."
"It is dangerous, Monsieur de Bragelonne. Take care."
"No one can possibly know that your royal highness has done me the honor
to conduct me here. Besides, I shall sign the letter I am going to
write."
"Do as you please, then."
Raoul drew out his tablet, and wrote rapidly on one of the leaves the
following words:
"MONSIEUR LE COMTE--Do not be surprised to find here this
paper signed by me; the friend whom I shall very shortly send to
call on you will have the honor to explain the object of my visit
to you.
"VICOMTE RAOUL DE BRAGELONNE."
He rolled up the paper, slipped it into the lock of the door which
communicated with the room set apart for the two lovers, and satisfied
himself that the paper was so apparent that Saint-Aignan could not but
see it as he entered; he rejoined the princess, who had already reached
the top of the staircase. They then separated. Raoul pretending to thank
her highness; Henrietta pitying, or seeming to pity, with all her heart,
the poor, wretched young man she had just condemned to such fearful
torture. "Oh!" she said, as she saw him disappear, pale as death, and
his eyes injected with blood, "if I had known this, I should have
concealed the truth from that poor gentleman."