."

Raoul clenched his hands, and tried to assume the look and gait of a
man of courage, it is true, but of a man of courage on his way to the
torture chamber. Montalais, glancing in every direction, walking along
with an easy swinging gait, and holding up her head pertly in the air,
preceded him to Madame's apartments, where he was at once introduced.
"Well," he thought, "this day will pass away without my learning
anything. Guiche showed too much consideration for my feelings; he had
no doubt come to an understanding with Madame, and both of them, by a
friendly plot, agreed to postpone the solution of the problem. Why
have I not a determined, inveterate enemy--that serpent, De Wardes, for
instance; that he would bite, is very likely; but I should not hesitate
any more. To hesitate, to doubt--better, far, to die."

The next moment Raoul was in Madame's presence. Henrietta, more charming
than ever, was half lying, half reclining in her armchair, her small
feet upon an embroidered velvet cushion; she was playing with a kitten
with long silky fur, which was biting her fingers and hanging by the
lace of her collar.

Madame seemed plunged in deep thought, so deep, indeed, that it required
both Montalais and Raoul's voice to disturb her from her reverie.

"Your highness sent for me?" repeated Raoul.

Madame shook her head as if she were just awakening, and then said,
"Good morning, Monsieur de Bragelonne; yes, I sent for you; so you have
returned from England?"

"Yes, Madame, and am at your royal highness's commands."

"Thank you; leave us, Montalais," and the latter immediately left the
room.

"You have a few minutes to give me, Monsieur de Bragelonne, have you
not?"

"My life is at your royal highness's disposal," Raoul returned with
respect, guessing that there was something serious in these unusual
courtesies; nor was he displeased, indeed, to observe the seriousness
of her manner, feeling persuaded that there was some sort of affinity
between Madame's sentiments and his own. In fact, every one at court,
of any perception at all, knew perfectly well the capricious fancy and
absurd despotism of the princess's singular character. Madame had
been flattered beyond all bounds by the king's attention; she had
made herself talked about; she had inspired the queen with that mortal
jealousy which is the stinging scorpion at the heel of every woman's
happiness; Madame, in a word, in her attempts to cure a wounded pride,