CHAPTER 86
Night
Concord returned to its place amidst the tents. English and
French rivaled each other in their devotion and courteous
attention to the illustrious travelers. The English
forwarded to the French baskets of flowers, of which they
had made a plentiful provision to greet the arrival of the
young princess; the French in return invited the English to
a supper, which was to be given the next day.
Congratulations were poured in upon the princess everywhere
during her journey. From the respect paid her on all sides,
she seemed like a queen; and from the adoration with which
she was treated by two or three, she appeared an object of
worship. The queen-mother gave the French the most
affectionate reception. France was her native country, and
she had suffered too much unhappiness in England for England
to have made her forget France. She taught her daughter,
then, by her own affection for it, that love for a country
where they had both been hospitably received, and where a
brilliant future opened before them. After the public entry
was over, and the spectators in the streets had partially
dispersed, and the sound of the music and cheering of the
crowd could be heard only in the distance; when the night
had closed in, wrapping with its star-covered mantle the
sea, the harbor, the town, and surrounding country, De
Guiche, still excited by the great events of the day,
returned to his tent, and seated himself upon one of the
stools with so profound an expression of distress that
Bragelonne kept his eyes fixed on him, until he heard him
sigh, and then he approached him. The count had thrown
himself back on his seat, leaning his shoulders against the
partition of the tent, and remained thus, his face buried in
his hands, with heaving chest and restless limbs.
"You are suffering?" asked Raoul.
"Cruelly."
"Bodily, I suppose?"
"Yes; bodily."
"This has indeed been a harassing day," continued the young
man, his eyes fixed upon his friend.
"Yes; a night's rest will probably restore me."
"Shall I leave you?"
"No; I wish to talk to you."
"You shall not speak to me, Guiche, until you have first
answered my questions."
"Proceed then."
"You will be frank with me?"
"I always am."
"Can you imagine why Buckingham has been so violent?"
"I suspect."
"Because he is in love with Madame, is it not?"
"One could almost swear to it, to observe him."
"You are mistaken; there is nothing of the kind."
"It is you who are mistaken, Raoul; I have read his distress
in his eyes, in his every gesture and action the whole day."
"You are a poet, my dear count, and find subject for your
muse everywhere."
"I can perceive love clearly enough."
"Where it does not exist?"
"Nay, where it does exist."
"Do you not think you are deceiving yourself, Guiche?"
"I am convinced of what I say," said the count.
"Now, inform me count," said Raoul, fixing a penetrating
look upon him, "what has happened to render you so
clear-sighted?"
Guiche hesitated for a moment, and then answered,
"Self-love, I suppose."
"Self-love is a pedantic word, Guiche."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that, generally, you are less out of spirits than
seems to be the case this evening."
"I am fatigued."
"Listen to me, Guiche; we have been campaigners together; we
have been on horseback for eighteen hours at a time, and our
horses dying from exhaustion, or hunger, have fallen beneath
us, and yet we have laughed at our mishaps. Believe me, it
is not fatigue that saddens you to-night."
"It is annoyance, then."
"What annoyance?"
"That of this evening."
"The mad conduct of the Duke of Buckingham, do you mean?"
"Of course; is it not vexatious for us, the representatives
of our sovereign master, to witness the devotion of an
Englishman to our future mistress, the second lady in point
of rank in the kingdom?"
"Yes, you are right; but I do not think any danger is to be
apprehended from Buckingham."
"No; still he is intrusive. Did he not, on his arrival here,
almost succeed in creating a disturbance between the English
and ourselves; and, had it not been for you, for your
admirable prudence, for your singular decision of character,
swords would have been drawn in the very streets of the
town."
"You observe, however, that he has changed his tactics."
"Yes, certainly; but this is the very thing that amazes me
so much. You spoke to him in a low tone of voice, what did
you say to him? You think he loves her; you admit that such
a passion does not give way readily. He does not love her,
then!" De Guiche pronounced the latter with so marked an
expression that Raoul raised his head. The noble character
of the young man's countenance expressed a displeasure which
could easily be read.
"What I said to him, count," replied Raoul, "I will repeat
to you. Listen to me. I said, `You are regarding with
wistful feelings, and most injurious desire, the sister of
your prince, -- her to whom you are not affianced, who is
not, who can never be anything to you; you are outraging
those who, like ourselves, have come to seek a young lady to
escort her to her husband.'"
"You spoke to him in that manner?" asked Guiche coloring.
"In those very terms; I even added more. `How would you
regard us,' I said, `if you were to perceive among us a man
mad enough, disloyal enough, to entertain other than
sentiments of the most perfect respect for a princess who is
the destined wife of our master?'"
These words were so applicable to De Guiche that he turned
pale, and, overcome by a sudden agitation, was barely able
to stretch out one hand mechanically towards Raoul, as he
covered his eyes and face with the other.
"But," continued Raoul, not interrupted by this movement of
his friend, "Heaven be praised, the French who are
pronounced to be thoughtless and indiscreet, reckless, even,
are capable of bringing a calm and sound judgment to bear on
matters of such high importance. I added even more, for I
said, `Learn, my lord, that we gentlemen of France devote
ourselves to our sovereigns by sacrificing for them our
affections, as well as our fortunes and our lives; and
whenever it may chance to happen that the tempter suggests
one of those vile thoughts that set the heart on fire, we
extinguish the flame, even if it has to be done by shedding
our blood for the purpose. Thus it is that the honor of
three is saved: our country's, our master's, and our own. It
is thus that we act, your Grace; it is thus that every man
of honor ought to act. In this manner, my dear Guiche,"
continued Raoul, "I addressed the Duke of Buckingham; and he
admitted I was right, and resigned himself unresistingly to
my arguments."
De Guiche, who had hitherto sat leaning forward while Raoul
was speaking, drew himself up, his eyes glancing proudly; he
seized Raoul's hand, his face, which had been as cold as
ice, seemed on fire. "And you spoke magnificently," he said,
in a half-choked voice; "you are indeed a friend, Raoul. But
now, I entreat you, leave me to myself."
"Do you wish it?"
"Yes; I need repose. Many things have agitated me to-day,
both in mind and body; when you return tomorrow I shall no
longer be the same man."
"I leave you, then," said Raoul, as he withdrew. The count
advanced a step towards his friend, and pressed him warmly
in his arms. But in this friendly pressure Raoul could
detect the nervous agitation of a great internal conflict.
The night was clear, starlit, and splendid; the tempest had
passed away, and the sweet influences of the evening had
restored life, peace and security everywhere. A few fleecy
clouds were floating in the heavens, and indicated from
their appearance a continuance of beautiful weather,
tempered by a gentle breeze from the east. Upon the large
square in front of the hotel, the shadows of the tents,
intersected by the golden moonbeams, formed as it were a
huge mosaic of jet and yellow flagstones. Soon, however, the
entire town was wrapped in slumber; a feeble light still
glimmered in Madame's apartment, which looked out upon the
square, and the soft rays from the expiring lamp seemed to
be the image of the calm sleep of a young girl, hardly yet
sensible of life's anxieties, and in whom the flame of
existence sinks placidly as sleep steals over the body.
Bragelonne quitted the tent with the slow and measured step
of a man curious to observe, but anxious not to be seen.
Sheltered behind the thick curtains of his own tent,
embracing with a glance the whole square, he noticed that,
after a few moments' pause, the curtains of De Guiche's tent
were agitated, and then drawn partially aside. Behind them
he could perceive the shadow of De Guiche, his eyes
glittering in the obscurity, fastened ardently upon the
princess's sitting apartment, which was partially lighted by
the lamp in the inner room. The soft light which illumined
the windows was the count's star. The fervent aspirations of
his nature could be read in his eyes. Raoul, concealed in
the shadow, divined the many passionate thoughts that
established, between the tent of the young ambassador and
the balcony of the princess, a mysterious and magical bond
of sympathy -- a bond created by thoughts imprinted with so
much strength and persistence of will, that they must have
caused happy and loving dreams to alight upon the perfumed
couch, which the count, with the eyes of his soul, devoured
so eagerly.
But De Guiche and Raoul were not the only watchers. The
window of one of the houses looking on the square was opened
too, the casement of the house where Buckingham resided. By
the aid of the rays of light which issued from this latter,
the profile of the duke could be distinctly seen, as he
indolently reclined upon the carved balcony with its velvet
hangings; he also was breathing in the direction of the
princess's apartment his prayers and the wild visions of his
love.
Raoul could not resist smiling, as thinking of Madame, he
said to himself, "Hers is, indeed, a heart well besieged;"
and then added, compassionately, as he thought of Monsieur,
"and he is a husband well threatened too; it is a good thing
for him that he is a prince of such high rank, that he has
an army to safeguard for him that which is his own."
Bragelonne watched for some time the conduct of the two
lovers, listened to the loud and uncivil slumbers of
Manicamp, who snored as imperiously as though he was wearing
his blue and gold, instead of his violet suit.
Then he turned towards the night breeze which bore towards
him, he seemed to think, the distant song of the
nightingale; and, after having laid in a due provision of
melancholy, another nocturnal malady, he retired to rest
thinking, with regard to his own love affair, that perhaps
four or even a larger number of eyes, quite as ardent as
those of De Guiche and Buckingham, were coveting his own
idol in the chateau at Blois. "And Mademoiselle de Montalais
is by no means a very conscientious garrison," said he to
himself, sighing aloud.
