Chapter 7 - Page 2

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, 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 this 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