The Portrait of Madame
The discussion was becoming full of bitterness. De Guiche perfectly
understood the whole matter for there was in Bragelonne’s face a look
instinctively hostile, while in that of De Wardes there was something
like a determination to offend. Without inquiring into the different
feelings which actuated his two friends, De Guiche resolved to ward off
the blow which he felt was on the point of being dealt by one of them,
and perhaps by both. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we must take our leave of
each other, I must pay a visit to Monsieur. You, De Wardes, will
accompany me to the Louvre, and you Raoul, will remain here master of
the house; and as all that is done here is under your advice, you will
bestow the last glance upon my preparations for departure.”
Raoul, with the air of one who neither seeks nor fears a quarrel, bowed
his head in token of assent, and seated himself upon a bench in the
sun. “That is well,” said De Guiche, “remain where you are, Raoul, and
tell them to show you the two horses I have just purchased; you will
give me your opinion, for I only bought them on condition that you
ratified the purchase. By the by, I have to beg your pardon for having
omitted to inquire after the Comte de la Fere.” While pronouncing these
latter words, he closely observed De Wardes, in order to perceive what
effect the name of Raoul’s father would produce upon him. “I thank
you,” answered the young man, “the count is very well.” A gleam of deep
hatred passed into De Wardes’ eyes. De Guiche, who appeared not to
notice the foreboding expression, went up to Raoul, and grasping him by
the hand, said,—“It is agreed, then, Bragelonne, is it not, that you
will rejoin us in the courtyard of the Palais-Royal?” He then signed to
De Wardes to follow him who had been engaged in balancing himself first
on one foot, then on the other. “We are going,” said he, “come, M.
Malicorne.” This name made Raoul start; for it seemed that he had
already heard it pronounced before, but he could not remember on what
occasion. While trying to recall it half-dreamily, yet half-irritated
at his conversation with De Wardes, the three young men set out on
their way towards the Palais-Royal, where Monsieur was residing.
Malicorne learned two things; the first, that the young men had
something to say to each other, and the second, that he ought not to
walk in the same line with them; and therefore he walked behind. “Are
you mad?” said De Guiche to his companion, as soon as they had left the
Hotel de Grammont; “you attack M. d’Artagnan, and that, too, before
Raoul.”
“Well,” said De Wardes, “what then?”
“What do you mean by ‘what then?’”
“Certainly, is there any prohibition against attacking M. d’Artagnan?”
“But you know very well that M. d’Artagnan was one of those celebrated
and terrible four men who were called the musketeers.”
“That they may be, but I do not perceive why, on that account, I should
be forbidden to hate M. d’Artagnan.”
“What cause has he given you?”
“Me! personally, none.”
“Why hate him, therefore?”
“Ask my dead father that question.”
“Really, my dear De Wardes, you surprise me. M. d’Artagnan is not one
to leave unsettled any enmity he may have to arrange, without
completely clearing his account. Your father, I have heard, on his
side, carried matters with a high hand. Moreover there are no enmities
so bitter that they cannot be washed away by blood, by a good
sword-thrust loyally given.”
“Listen to me, my dear De Guiche, this inveterate dislike existed
between my father and M. d’Artagnan, and when I was quite a child, he
acquainted me with the reason for it, and, as forming part of my
inheritance, I regard it as a particular legacy bestowed upon me.”
“And does his hatred concern M. d’Artagnan alone?”
“As for that, M. d’Artagnan was so intimately associated with his three
friends, that some portion of the full measure of my hatred falls to
their lot, and that hatred is of such a nature, whenever the
opportunity occurs, they shall have no occasion to complain of their
allowance.”
De Guiche had kept his eyes fixed on De Wardes, and shuddered at the
bitter manner in which the young man smiled. Something like a
presentiment flashed across his mind; he knew that the time had passed
away for grands coups entre gentilshommes; but that the feeling of
hatred treasured up in the mind, instead of being diffused abroad, was
still hatred all the same; that a smile was sometimes as full of
meaning as a threat; and, in a word, that to the fathers who had hated
with their hearts and fought with their arms, would now succeed the
sons, who would indeed hate with their hearts, but would no longer
combat their enemies, save by means of intrigue or treachery. As,
therefore, it certainly was not Raoul whom he could suspect either of
intrigue or treachery, it was on Raoul’s account that De Guiche
trembled. However, while these gloomy forebodings cast a shade of
anxiety over De Guiche’s countenance, De Wardes had resumed the entire
mastery over himself.
“At all events,” he observed, “I have no personal ill-will towards M.
de Bragelonne; I do not know him even.”
“In any case,” said De Guiche, with a certain amount of severity in his
tone of voice, “do not forget one circumstance, that Raoul is my most
intimate friend;” a remark at which De Wardes bowed.
The conversation terminated there, although De Guiche tried his utmost
to draw out his secret from him; but, doubtless, De Wardes had
determined to say nothing further, and he remained impenetrable. De
Guiche therefore promised himself a more satisfactory result with
Raoul. In the meantime they had reached the Palais-Royal, which was
surrounded by a crowd of lookers-on. The household belonging to
Monsieur awaited his command to mount their horses, in order to form
part of the escort of the ambassadors, to whom had been intrusted the
care of bringing the young princess to Paris. The brilliant display of
horses, arms, and rich liveries, afforded some compensation in those
times, thanks to the kindly feelings of the people, and to the
traditions of deep devotion to their sovereigns, for the enormous
expenses charged upon the taxes. Mazarin had said: “Let them sing,
provided they pay;” while Louis XIV.’s remark was, “Let them look.”
Sight had replaced the voice; the people could still look, but they
were no longer allowed to sing. De Guiche left De Wardes and Malicorne
at the bottom of the grand staircase, while he himself, who shared the
favor and good graces of Monsieur with the Chevalier de Lorraine, who
always smiled at him most affectionately, though he could not endure
him, went straight to the prince’s apartments, whom he found engaged in
admiring himself in the glass, and rouging his face. In a corner of the
cabinet, the Chevalier de Lorraine was extended full length upon some
cushions, having just had his long hair curled, with which he was
playing in the same manner a woman would have done. The prince turned
round as the count entered, and perceiving who it was, said:
“Ah! is that you, Guiche, come here and tell me the truth.”
“You know, my lord, it is one of my defects to speak the truth.”
“You will hardly believe, De Guiche, how that wicked chevalier has
annoyed me.”
The chevalier shrugged his shoulders.
“Why, he pretends,” continued the prince, “that Mademoiselle Henrietta
is better looking as a woman than I am as a man.”
“Do not forget, my lord,” said De Guiche, frowning slightly, “you
require me to speak the truth?”
“Certainly,” said the prince, tremblingly.
“Well, and I shall tell it you.”
“Do not be in a hurry, Guiche,” exclaimed the prince, “you have plenty
of time; look at me attentively, and try to recollect Madame. Besides,
her portrait is here. Look at it.” And he held out to him a miniature
of the finest possible execution. De Guiche took it, and looked at it
for a long time attentively.
“Upon my honor, my lord, this is indeed a most lovely face.”
“But look at me, count, look at me,” said the prince endeavoring to
direct upon himself the attention of the count, who was completely
absorbed in contemplation of the portrait.
“It is wonderful,” murmured Guiche.
“Really one would almost imagine you had never seen the young lady
before.”
“It is true, my lord, I have seen her, but it was five years ago; there
is a great difference between a child twelve years old and a girl of
seventeen.”
“Well, what is your opinion?”
“My opinion is that the portrait must be flattering, my lord.”
“Of that,” said the prince triumphantly, “there can be no doubt, but
let us suppose that it is not, what would your opinion be?”
“My lord, that your highness is exceedingly happy to have so charming a
bride.”
“Very well, that is your opinion of her, but of me?”
“My opinion, my lord, is that you are too handsome for a man.”
The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing. The prince understood how
severe towards himself this opinion of the Comte de Guiche was, and he
looked somewhat displeased, saying, “My friends are not over
indulgent.” De Guiche looked at the portrait again, and, after
lengthened contemplation, returned it with apparent unwillingness,
saying, “Most decidedly, my lord, I should rather prefer to look ten
times at your highness, than to look at Madame once again.” It seemed
as if the chevalier had detected some mystery in these words, which
were incomprehensible to the prince, for he exclaimed: “Very well, get
married yourself.” Monsieur continued painting himself, and when he had
finished, looked at the portrait again once more, turned to admire
himself in the glass, and smiled, and no doubt was satisfied with the
comparison. “You are very kind to have come,” he said to Guiche, “I
feared you would leave without bidding me adieu.”
“Your highness knows me too well to believe me capable of so great a
disrespect.”
“Besides, I suppose you have something to ask from me before leaving
Paris?”
“Your highness has indeed guessed correctly, for I have a request to
make.”
“Very good, what is it?”
The Chevalier de Lorraine immediately displayed the greatest attention,
for he regarded every favor conferred upon another as a robbery
committed against himself. And, as Guiche hesitated, the prince said:
“If it be money, nothing could be more fortunate, for I am in funds;
the superintendent of the finances has sent me 500,000 pistoles.”
“I thank your highness; but it is not an affair of money.”
“What is it, then? Tell me.”
“The appointment of a maid of honor.”
“Oh! oh! Guiche, what a protector you have become of young ladies,”
said the prince, “you never speak of any one else now!”
The Chevalier de Lorraine smiled, for he knew very well that nothing
displeased the prince more than to show any interest in ladies. “My
lord,” said the comte, “it is not I who am directly interested in the
lady of whom I have just spoken; I am acting on behalf of one of my
friends.”
“Ah! that is different; what is the name of the young lady in whom your
friend is interested?”
“Mlle. de la Baume le Blanc de la Vallière; she is already maid of
honor to the dowager princess.”
“Why, she is lame,” said the Chevalier de Lorraine, stretching himself
on his cushions.
“Lame,” repeated the prince, “and Madame to have her constantly before
her eyes? Most certainly not; it may be dangerous for her when in an
interesting condition.”
The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing.
“Chevalier,” said Guiche, “your conduct is ungenerous; while I am
soliciting a favor, you do me all the mischief you can.”
“Forgive me, comte,” said the Chevalier de Lorraine, somewhat uneasy at
the tone in which Guiche had made his remark, “but I had no intention
of doing so, and I begin to believe that I have mistaken one young lady
for another.”
“There is no doubt of it, monsieur; and I do not hesitate to declare
that such is the case.”
“Do you attach much importance to it, Guiche?” inquired the prince.
“I do, my lord.”
“Well, you shall have it, but ask me for no more appointments, for
there are none to give away.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the chevalier, “midday already, that is the hour fixed
for the departure.”
“You dismiss me, monsieur?” inquired Guiche.
“Really, count, you treat me very ill to-day,” replied the chevalier.
“For heaven’s sake, count, for heaven’s sake, chevalier,” said
Monsieur, “do you not see how you are distressing me?”
“Your highness’s signature?” said Guiche.
“Take a blank appointment from that drawer, and give it to me.” Guiche
handed the prince the document indicated, and at the same time
presented him with a pen already dipped in ink; whereupon the prince
signed. “Here,” he said, returning him the appointment, “but I give it
on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“That you make friends with the chevalier.”
“Willingly,” said Guiche. And he held out his hand to the chevalier
with an indifference amounting to contempt.
“Adieu, count,” said the chevalier, without seeming in any way to have
noticed the count’s slight; “adieu, and bring us back a princess who
will not talk with her own portrait too much.”
“Yes, set off and lose no time. By the by, who accompany you?”
“Bragelonne and De Wardes.”
“Both excellent and fearless companions.”
“Too fearless,” said the chevalier; “endeavor to bring them both back,
count.”
“A bad heart, bad!” murmured De Guiche; “he scents mischief everywhere,
and sooner than anything else.” And taking leave of the prince, he
quitted the apartment. As soon as he reached the vestibule, he waved in
the air the paper which the prince had signed. Malicorne hurried
forward, and received it, trembling with delight. When, however, he
held it in his hand Guiche observed that he still awaited something
further.
“Patience, monsieur,” he said; “the Chevalier de Lorraine was there,
and I feared an utter failure if I asked too much at once. Wait until I
return. Adieu.”
“Adieu, monsieur le comte; a thousand thanks,” said Malicorne.
“Send Manicamp to me. By the way, monsieur, is it true that Mlle. de la
Vallière is lame?” As he said this a horse drew up behind him, and on
turning round he noticed that Bragelonne, who had just at that moment
entered the courtyard, turned suddenly pale. The poor lover had heard
the remark, which, however, was not the case with Malicorne, for he was
already beyond the reach of the count’s voice.
“Why is Louise’s name spoken of here?” said Raoul to himself; “oh! let
not De Wardes, who stands smiling yonder, even say a word about her in
my presence.”
“Now, gentlemen,” exclaimed the Comte de Guiche, “prepare to start.”
At this moment the prince, who had completed his toilette, appeared at
the window, and was immediately saluted by the acclamations of all who
composed the escort, and ten minutes afterwards, banners, scarfs, and
feathers were fluttering and waving in the air, as the cavalcade
galloped away.