found that her heart had become deeply and passionately attached. We
know what Madame had done to recall Raoul, who had been sent out of
the way by Louis XIV. Raoul did not know of her letter to Charles II.,
although D'Artagnan had guessed its contents. Who will undertake to
account for that seemingly inexplicable mixture of love and vanity, that
passionate tenderness of feeling, that prodigious duplicity of conduct?
No one can, indeed; not even the bad angel who kindles the love of
coquetry in the heart of a woman. "Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the
princess, after a moment's pause, "have you returned satisfied?"

Bragelonne looked at Madame Henrietta, and seeing how pale she was, not
alone from what she was keeping back, but also from what she was burning
to say, said: "Satisfied! what is there for me to be satisfied or
dissatisfied about, Madame?"

"But what are those things with which a man of your age, and of your
appearance, is usually either satisfied or dissatisfied?"

"How eager she is," thought Raoul, almost terrified; "what venom is it
she is going to distil into my heart?" and then, frightened at what
she might possibly be going to tell him, and wishing to put off the
opportunity of having everything explained, which he had hitherto so
ardently wished for, yet had dreaded so much, he replied: "I left,
Madame, a dear friend in good health, and on my return I find him very
ill."

"You refer to M. de Guiche," replied Madame Henrietta, with
imperturbable self-possession; "I _have_ heard he is a very dear friend
of yours."

"He is, indeed, Madame."

"Well, it is quite true he has been wounded; but he is better now.
Oh! M. de Guiche is not to be pitied," she said hurriedly; and then,
recovering herself, added, "But has he anything to complain of? Has he
complained of anything? Is there any cause of grief or sorrow that we
are not acquainted with?"

"I allude only to his wound, Madame."

"So much the better, then, for, in other respects, M. de Guiche seems
to be very happy; he is always in very high spirits. I am sure that you,
Monsieur de Bragelonne, would far prefer to be, like him, wounded only
in the body... for what, in deed, is such a wound, after all!"

Raoul started. "Alas!" he said to himself, "she is returning to it."

"What did you say?" she inquired.

"I did not say anything Madame."

"You did not say anything; you disapprove of my observation, then? you
are perfectly satisfied, I suppo