"Eh!—why?" continued Athenaïs, "the poor young man was affianced to you; he loved you, you cast him off."
"Well, and that is a right every honest woman has," said Montalais, in an affected tone. "When we know we cannot constitute the happiness of a man it is much better to cast him off."
"Cast him off! or refuse him!—that's all very well," said Athenaïs, "but that is not the sin Mademoiselle de la Valliere has to reproach herself with. The actual sin, is sending poor Bragelonne to the wars; and to wars in which death is to be met with." Louise pressed her hand over her icy-brow. "And if he dies," continued her pitiless tormentor; "you will have killed him. That is the sin."
Louise, half-dead, caught at the arm of the captain of the musketeers, whose face betrayed unusual emotion. "You wished to speak with me, Monsieur D'Artagnan," said she, in a voice broken by anger and pain. "What had you to say to me?"
D'Artagnan made several steps along the gallery, holding Louise on his arm; then, when they were far enough removed from the others—"What I had to say to you, mademoiselle," replied he, "Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente has just expressed; roughly and unkindly, it is true, but still in its entirety."
She uttered a faint cry; struck to the heart by this new wound, she went on her way, like one of those poor birds which, struck to death, seek the shade of the thicket to die in. She disappeared at one door, at the moment the king was entering by another. The first glance of the king was directed toward the empty seat of his mistress. In not perceiving La Valliere, a frown came over his brow; but as soon as he saw D'Artagnan, who bowed to him—"Ah! monsieur!" cried he, "you have been diligent! I am much pleased with you." This was the superlative expression of royal satisfaction. Many men would have been ready to lay down their lives for such a speech from the king. The maids of honor and the courtiers, who had formed a respectful circle round the king on his entrance, drew back, on observing he wished to speak privately with his captain of the musketeers. The king led the way out of the gallery, after having again, with his eyes, sought everywhere for La Valliere, whose absence he could not account for. The moment they were out of reach of curious ears, "Well! Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "the prisoner?"
"Is in his prison, sire."
"What did he say on the road?"
"Nothing, sire."
"What did he do?"