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Updated: May 8, 2025
The young man, in the meantime, dismounted; and whilst the others were making their remarks upon the fine horse the cavalier rode, the soldier returned. "Your pardon, young gentleman; but your name, if you please?" "The Vicomte de Bragelonne, on the part of his highness M. le Prince de Conde."
"Believe me, monsieur, that your reconciliations are not successful." "In what way?" "Because, as we are now about to separate, I would wager that M. de Bragelonne and myself are greater enemies than ever." "You are deceived, monsieur, as far as I am concerned," returned Raoul; "for I do not retain the slightest animosity in my heart against you." This last blow overwhelmed De Wardes.
Very good," said Porthos, lifting up one finger. "But how can my having moved my lodgings have done M. de Bragelonne any harm? Have the goodness to tell me that, for I positively do not comprehend a word of what you are saying." Porthos stopped him, and then said, with great gravity, "Monsieur, this is the first of M. de Bragelonne's complaints against you.
"It is a gentleman from Blois," said the valet. "Admit him at once," said Raoul, eagerly. Malicorne entered as brilliant as a star, and wearing a superb sword at his side. After having saluted Raoul most gracefully, he said: "M. de Bragelonne, I am the bearer of a thousand compliments from a lady to you." Raoul colored. "From a lady," said he, "from a lady of Blois?"
With us, monsieur, it must never be adieu." She was gone; but she had left Duchemin with a singing heart that would not let him sleep when he had gone to bed, stared blankly at the last chapter of Bragelonne for an hour, and put out his candle.
"Silence!" cried the count. "But why, silence?" said De Wardes, "it is a highly creditable circumstance for the French nation. Are not you of my opinion, Monsieur de Bragelonne?" "To what circumstance do you allude?" inquired De Bragelonne with an abstracted air. "That the English should render homage to the beauty of our queens and our princesses."
They greet each other, and in reply to his questioning, this friend informs him that Mademoiselle de la Valliere is a duchess, that she is a mother, that she is lapped in grandeur and luxury, and that she has as lover a king. At this news, Bragelonne finds nothing further for him to do in this world.
"His grace cannot be in his senses," said the admiral aloud to Raoul. "I am uneasy on the Duke's account," replied Bragelonne. While the boat was advancing towards the shore, the duke kept his eyes immovably fixed upon the admiral's ship, like a miser torn away from his coffers, or a mother separated from her child, about to be led away to death.
"I will repeat to you, mademoiselle," said D'Artagnan, "what M. de Bragelonne said of you, at Antibes, when he already meditated death: 'If pride and coquetry have misled her, I pardon her while despising her. If love has produced her error, I pardon her, but I swear that no one could have loved her as I have done."
"Believe me monsieur, that your reconciliations are not successful." "In what way?" "Because, as we are now about to separate. I would wager that M. de Bragelonne and myself are greater enemies than ever." "You are deceived, monsieur, as far as I am concerned," returned Raoul; "for I do not retain the slightest animosity in my heart against you." This last blow overwhelmed De Wardes.
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