rtainly."

"Well, ought we not to go there?"

"Yes, monsieur," said Raoul, almost alarmed by this kind condescension.
"I do not ask you to put yourself to such inconvenience, and a letter
merely----"

"You mistake my position, Raoul; it is not respectful that a simple
gentleman, such as I am, should write to his sovereign. I wish to speak,
I ought to speak, to the king, and I will do so. We will go together,
Raoul."

"You overpower me with your kindness, monsieur."

"How do you think his majesty is affected?"

"Towards me, monsieur?"

"Yes."

"Excellently well disposed."

"You know that to be so?" continued the count.

"The king has himself told me so."

"On what occasion?"

"Upon the recommendation of M. d'Artagnan, I believe, and on account of
an affair in the Place de Greve, when I had the honor to draw my sword
in the king's service. I have reason to believe that, vanity apart, I
stand well with his majesty."

"So much the better."

"But I entreat you, monsieur," pursued Raoul, "not to maintain towards
me your present grave and serious manner. Do not make me bitterly regret
having listened to a feeling stronger than anything else."

"That is the second time you have said so, Raoul; it was quite
unnecessary, you require my formal consent, and you have it. We need
talk no more on the subject, therefore. Come and see my new plantations,
Raoul."

The young man knew very well, that, after the expression of his father's
wish, no opportunity of discussion was left him. He bowed his head, and
followed his father into the garden. Athos slowly pointed out to him
the grafts, the cuttings, and the avenues he was planting. 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,----

"It is impossible, monsieur, you can have any reason to reject
Mademoiselle de la Valliere? In Heaven's name, she is so good, so
gentle and pure, that your mind, so perfect in its penetration, ought
to appreciate her accordingly. Does any secret repugnance, or any
hereditary dislike, exist between you and her family?"

"Look, Raoul, at that beautiful lily of the valley," said Athos;
"observe how the shade and the damp situation suit it, particularly the
shadow whic