“The king?”
“Yes. You turn your head aside. The danger is there, the evil is there; tell me, is it not so, is it not the king?”
“I say nothing.”
“Oh! you say a thousand times more than nothing. Give me facts, for pity’s sake, give me proofs. My friend, the only friend I have, speak—tell me all. My heart is crushed, wounded to death; I am dying from despair.”
“If that really be so, as I see it is, indeed, dear Raoul,” replied De Guiche, “you relieve me from my difficulty, and I will tell you all, perfectly sure that I can tell you nothing but what is consoling, compared to the despair from which I see you suffering.”
“Go on,—go on; I am listening.”
“Well, then, I can only tell you what you might learn from every one you meet.”
“From every one, do you say? It is talked about, then!”
“Before you say people talk about it, learn what it is that people have to talk about. I assure you solemnly, that people only talk about what may, in truth, be very innocent; perhaps a walk—”
“Ah! a walk with the king?”