o conspire
to make us pass the best, or rather the longest, part of our days
together. Yesterday it was the king who desired me to beg you to seat
yourself next to me at dinner; to-day, it is the Duke of Buckingham who
begs me to come and place myself near you on this seat."

"And he has gone away in order to leave us together?" asked Raoul, with
some embarrassment.

"Look yonder, at the turning of that path; he is just out of sight, with
Miss Stewart. Are these polite attentions usual in France, monsieur le
vicomte?"

"I cannot very precisely say what people do in France, mademoiselle, for
I can hardly be called a Frenchman. I have resided in many countries,
and almost always as a soldier; and then, I have spent a long period of
my life in the country. I am almost a savage."

"You do not like your residence in England, I fear."

"I scarcely know," said Raoul, inattentively, and sighing deeply at the
same time.

"What! you do not know?"

"Forgive me," said Raoul, shaking his head, and collecting his thoughts,
"I did not hear you."

"Oh!" said the young girl, sighing in her turn, "how wrong the duke was
to send me here!"

"Wrong!" said Raoul, "perhaps so; for I am but a rude, uncouth
companion, and my society annoys you. The duke did, indeed, very wrong
to send you."

"It is precisely," replied Mary Grafton, in a clear, calm voice,
"because your society does not annoy me, that the duke was wrong to send
me to you."

It was now Raoul's turn to blush. "But," he resumed, "how happens it
that the Duke of Buckingham should send you to me; and why did you come?
the duke loves you, and you love him."

"No," replied Mary, seriously, "the duke does not love me, because he
is in love with the Duchesse d'Orleans; and, as for myself, I have no
affection for the duke."

Raoul looked at the young lady with astonishment.

"Are you a friend of the Duke of Buckingham?" she inquired.

"The duke has honored me by calling me so ever since we met in France."

"You are simple acquaintances, then?"

"No; for the duke is the most intimate friend of one whom I regard as a
brother."

"The Duc de Guiche?"

"Yes."

"He who is in love with Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans?"

"Oh! What is that you are saying?"

"And who loves him in return," continued the young girl, quietly.

Raoul bent down his head, and Mary Grafton, sighing deeply, continued,
"They are very happy. But, leave me, Monsieur de Bragelonne, for the
Duke of