of De Guiche.
Raoul was about to speak. He leaned indolently against the trunk of the
large oak, and replied in his sweet and musical voice, "Alas, my dear De
Guiche, it is a great misfortune."
"Yes," cried the latter, "great indeed."
"You do not understand me, De Guiche. I say that it is a great
misfortune for you, not merely loving, but not knowing how to conceal
your love."
"What do you mean?" said De Guiche.
"Yes, you do not perceive one thing; namely, that it is no longer to the
only friend you have,--in other words,--to a man who would rather die
than betray you; you do not perceive, I say, that it is no longer to
your only friend that you confide your passion, but to the first person
that approaches you."
"Are you mad, Bragelonne," exclaimed De Guiche, "to say such a thing to
me?"
"The fact stands thus, however."
"Impossible! How, in what manner can I have ever been indiscreet to such
an extent?"
"I mean, that your eyes, your looks, your sighs, proclaim, in spite of
yourself, that exaggerated feeling which leads and hurries a man beyond
his own control. In such a case he ceases to be master of himself; he is
a prey to a mad passion, that makes him confide his grief to the trees,
or to the air, from the very moment he has no longer any living being in
reach of his voice. Besides, remember this: it very rarely happens that
there is not always some one present to hear, especially the very things
which ought _not_ to be heard." De Guiche uttered a deep sigh. "Nay,"
continued Bragelonne, "you distress me; since your return here, you have
a thousand times, and in a thousand different ways, confessed your love
for her; and yet, had you not said one word, your return alone would
have been a terrible indiscretion. I persist, then, in drawing this
conclusion; that if you do not place a better watch over yourself than
you have hitherto done, one day or other something will happen that will
cause an explosion. Who will save you then? Answer me. Who will save
her? for, innocent as she will be of your affection, your affection will
be an accusation against her in the hands of her enemies."
"Alas!" murmured De Guiche; and a deep sigh accompanied the exclamation.
"That is not answering me, De Guiche."
"Yes, yes."
"Well, what reply have you to make?"
"This, that when the day arrives I shall be no more a living being than
I feel myself now."
"I do not understand you."
"So many vicissitudes ha
|