fty
gentlemen in his highness's household; it was my turn."

"Very well! You went into Spain, then?"

"Yes, monsieur, I made a very delightful and interesting journey."

"You have been back a month, have you not?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And in the course of that month?"

"In that month----"

"What have you done?"

"My duty, monsieur."

"Have you not been home, to La Fere?"

Raoul colored. Athos looked at him with a fixed but tranquil expression.

"You would be wrong not to believe me," said Raoul. "I feel that I
colored, and in spite of myself. The question you did me the honor
to ask me is of a nature to raise in me much emotion. I color, then,
because I am agitated, not because I meditate a falsehood."

"I know, Raoul, you never lie."

"No, monsieur."

"Besides, my young friend, you would be wrong; what I wanted to say----"

"I know quite well, monsieur. You would ask me if I have not been to
Blois?"

"Exactly so."

"I have not been there; I have not even seen the person to whom you
allude."

Raoul's voice trembled as he pronounced these words. Athos, a sovereign
judge in all matters of delicacy, immediately added, "Raoul, you answer
with a painful feeling; you are unhappy."

"Very, monsieur; you have forbidden me to go to Blois, or to see
Mademoiselle de la Valliere again." Here the young man stopped. That
dear name, so delightful to pronounce, made his heart bleed, although so
sweet upon his lips.

"And I have acted rightly, Raoul," Athos hastened to reply. "I am
neither an unjust nor a barbarous father; I respect true love; but I
look forward for you to a future--an immense future. A new reign is
about to break upon us like a fresh dawn. War calls upon a young king
full of chivalric spirit. What is wanting to assist this heroic ardor
is a battalion of young and free lieutenants who would rush to the fight
with enthusiasm and fall, crying: 'Vive le Roi!' instead of 'Adieu, my
dear wife.' You understand that, Raoul. However brutal my reasoning
may appear, I conjure you, then, to believe me, and to turn away your
thoughts from those early days of youth in which you took up this habit
of love--days of effeminate carelessness, which soften the heart and
render it incapable of consuming those strong, bitter draughts called
glory and adversity. Therefore, Raoul, I repeat to you, you should see
in my counsel only the desire of being useful to you, only the ambition
of seeing you prosper. I believe