Chapter 45 - Page 2

"So many vicissitudes have worn me out. At present, I am no more a
thinking, acting being; at present, the most worthless of men is better
than I am; my remaining strength is exhausted, my latest-formed
resolutions have vanished, and I abandon myself to my fate. When a man
is out campaigning, as we have been together, and he sets off alone and
unaccompanied for a skirmish, it sometimes happens that he may meet with
a party of five or six foragers, and although alone, he defends himself;
afterwards, five or six others arrive unexpectedly, his anger is aroused
and he persists; but if six, eight, or ten others should still be met
with, he either sets spurs to his horse, if he should still happen to
retain one, or lets himself be slain to save an ignominious flight.
Such, indeed, is my own case: first, I had to struggle against myself;
afterwards, against Buckingham; now, since the king is in the field, I
will not contend against the king, nor even, I wish you to understand,
will the king retire; nor even against the nature of that woman. Still I
do not deceive myself; having devoted myself to the service of such a
love, I will lose my life in it."

"It is not the lady you ought to reproach," replied Raoul; "it is
yourself."

"Why so?"

"You know the princess's character, - somewhat giddy, easily captivated
by novelty, susceptible to flattery, whether it come from a blind person
or a child, and yet you allow your passion for her to eat your very life
away. Look at her, - love her, if you will, - for no one whose heart is
not engaged elsewhere can see her without loving her. Yet, while you
love her, respect, in the first place, her husband's rank, then herself,
and lastly, your own safety."

"Thanks, Raoul."

"What for?"

"Because, seeing how much I suffer through this woman, you endeavor to
console me, because you tell me all the good of her you think, and
perhaps even that which you do not think."

"Oh," said Raoul, "there you are wrong, comte; what I think I do not
always say, but in that case I say nothing; but when I speak, I know not
how to feign or to deceive; and whoever listens to me may believe me."

During this conversation, Madame, her head stretched forward with eager
ear and dilated glance, endeavoring to penetrate the obscurity, thirstily
drank in the faintest sound of their voices.

"Oh, I know her better than you do, then!" exclaimed Guiche. "She is not
merely giddy, but frivolous; she is not only attracted by novelty, she is
utterly oblivious, and is without faith; she is not simply susceptible to
flattery, she is a practiced and cruel coquette. A thorough coquette!
yes, yes, I am sure of it. Believe me, Bragelonne, I am suffering all