"M. de Bragelonne, madame." And at these words the princess drew back, uttering a cry in her turn.
"Your royal highness," said Montalais, with volubility, "is kind enough to think of this lottery, and—"
The princess began to lose countenance. Raoul hastened his departure without yet divining all; but he felt that he was in the way. Madame was preparing a word of transition to recover herself, when a closet opened in front of the alcove, and M. de Guiche issued, all radiant, also from that closet. The most pale of the four, we must admit, was still Raoul. The princess, however, was near fainting, and was obliged to lean upon the foot of the bed for support. No one ventured to support her. This scene occupied several minutes of terrible silence. But Raoul broke it. He went up to the comte, whose inexpressible emotion made his knees tremble, and taking his hand, "Dear comte," said he, "tell Madame I am too unhappy not to merit my pardon; tell her also that I have loved in the course of my life, and that the horror of the treachery that has been practiced on me renders me inexorable for all other treachery that may be committed around me. This is why, mademoiselle," said he, smiling, to Montalais, "I never would divulge the secret of the visits of my friend to your apartment. Obtain from Madame—from Madame, who is so clement and so generous—obtain her pardon for you whom she has just surprised also. You are both free, love each other, be happy!"
The princess felt for a moment the despair which cannot be described; it was repugnant to her, notwithstanding the exquisite delicacy which Raoul had exhibited, to feel herself at the mercy of an indiscretion. It was equally repugnant to her to accept the evasion offered by this delicate deception. Agitated, nervous, she struggled against the double stings of the two troubles. Raoul comprehended her position, and came once more to her aid. Bending his knee before her, "Madame!" said he, in a low voice, "in two days I shall be far from Paris; in a fortnight I shall be far from France, where I shall never be seen again."
"Are you going away, then?" said she, with great delight.
"With M. de Beaufort."
"Into Africa!" cried Guiche, in his turn. "You, Raoul—oh! my friend—into Africa, where everybody dies!"
And forgetting everything, forgetting that that forgetfulness itself compromised the princess more eloquently than his presence, "Ingrate!" said he, "and you have not even consulted me!" And he embraced him; during which time Montalais had led away Madame, and disappeared herself.
Raoul passed his hand over his brow, and said with a smile, "I have been dreaming!" Then warmly to Guiche, who, by degrees, absorbed him, "My friend," said he, "I conceal nothing from you, who are the elected of my heart. I am going to seek death in yonder country; your secret will not remain in my breast more than a year."
"Oh, Raoul! a man!"