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Updated: June 8, 2025
De Wardes, however, on the contrary, perfectly furious, bounded forward and raised his sword, threateningly, against Raoul, who had scarcely enough time to put himself in a posture of defense. "Take care, monsieur," said Bragelonne, tranquilly, "or you will put out one of my eyes." "You will not fight, then?" said De Wardes.
"Because, and you cannot be ignorant of it you particularly so because every one is talking about the scene which has passed between Monsieur and De Guiche." De Guiche turned pale. "Not at all," replied the chevalier, "not at all; and you have been wrongly informed, M. de Bragelonne."
"Really," continued the princess, "you speak as if you had read into the inmost recesses of La Valliere's heart. Who has told you that she agrees to return the king's affection?" "And who has told you that she will not return it?" "She loves the Vicomte de Bragelonne." "You think so?" "She is even affianced to him." "She was so." "What do you mean?"
Of two readers, again, one shall have been pained by the morality of a religious memoir, one by that of the "Vicomte de Bragelonne." And the point is that neither need be wrong. I would scarce send to the "Vicomte" a reader who was in quest of what we may call puritan morality.
Amidst all this hesitation of purpose, Bragelonne, as though a perfect stranger to the scene, remained on his horse somewhat in the rear of Guiche, and watched the rays of light reflected on the water, inhaling with rapture the sea breezes, and listening to the waves which noisily broke upon the shore and on the beach, tossing the spray into the air with a noise that echoed in the distance.
Kent's brief speech over the dying Lear had a great effect upon my mind, and was the burthen of my reflections for long, so profoundly, so touchingly generous did it appear in sense, so overpowering in expression. Perhaps my dearest and best friend outside of Shakespeare is D'Artagnan the elderly D'Artagnan of the Vicomte de Bragelonne.
He created life, he did not copy it. I admit, however, that he set far too high a value on modernity of form, and that, consequently, there is no book of his that, as an artistic masterpiece, can rank with Salammbo or Esmond, or The Cloister and the Hearth, or the Vicomte de Bragelonne. CYRIL. Do you object to modernity of form, then? VIVIAN. Yes. It is a huge price to pay for a very poor result.
De Wardes bit his lip and clenched his hands, evidently much disturbed to learn how this discourse, the commencement of which was announced in so threatening a manner, would terminate. "How did it happen, then, that you allowed yourself to say to M. de Bragelonne that he did not know who his mother was?"
Restored once more to family and friends, he hastened to the capital. Madame d'Orleans no longer resided at the Tuileries, which was being enlarged by the King. Bragelonne, in his impatience, asks everywhere for La Valliere. They tell him that she has a charming house between Saint Germain, Lucienne, and Versailles. He goes thither, laden with coral and pearls from the Indies.
This perfect repose of manner disconcerted Raoul extremely; the affection with which his own heart was filled seemed so great that the whole world could hardly contain it. How, then, could his father's heart remain void, and closed to its influence? Bragelonne, therefore, collecting all his courage, suddenly exclaimed,
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