Chapter 52 - Page 2

immediately left the
room.

"You have a few minutes to give me, Monsieur de Bragelonne, have you not?"

"My life is at your royal highness's disposal," Raoul returned with
respect, guessing that there was something serious in these unusual
courtesies; nor was he displeased, indeed, to observe the seriousness of
her manner, feeling persuaded that there was some sort of affinity
between Madame's sentiments and his own. In fact, every one at court, of
any perception at all, knew perfectly well the capricious fancy and
absurd despotism of the princess's singular character. Madame had been
flattered beyond all bounds by the king's attention; she had made herself
talked about; she had inspired the queen with that mortal jealousy which
is the stinging scorpion at the heel of every woman's happiness; Madame,
in a word, in her attempts to cure a wounded pride, found that her heart
had become deeply and passionately attached. We know what Madame had
done to recall Raoul, who had been sent out of the way by Louis XIV.
Raoul did not know of her letter to Charles II., although D'Artagnan had
guessed its contents. Who will undertake to account for that seemingly
inexplicable mixture of love and vanity, that passionate tenderness of
feeling, that prodigious duplicity of conduct? No one can, indeed; not
even the bad angel who kindles the love of coquetry in the heart of a
woman. "Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the princess, after a moment's
pause, "have you returned satisfied?"

Bragelonne looked at Madame Henrietta, and seeing how pale she was, not
alone from what she was keeping back, but also from what she was burning
to say, said: "Satisfied! what is there for me to be satisfied or
dissatisfied about, Madame?"

"But what are those things with which a man of your age, and of your
appearance, is usually either satisfied or dissatisfied?"

"How eager she is," thought Raoul, almost terrified; "what venom is it
she is going to distil into my heart?" and then, frightened at what she
might possibly be going to tell him, and wishing to put off the
opportunity of having everything explained, which he had hitherto so
ardently wished for, yet had dreaded so much, he replied: "I left,
Madame, a dear friend in good health, and on my return I find him very
ill."

"You refer to M. de Guiche," replied Madame Henrietta, with imperturbable
self-possession; "I _have_ heard he is a very dear friend of yours."

"He is, indeed, Madame."

"Well, it is quite true he has been wounded; but he is better now. Oh!
M. de Guiche is not to be pitied," she said hurriedly; and then,
recovering herself, added, "But has he anything to complain of? Has he
complained of anything? Is there any cause of grief or sorrow