The young man, in the meantime, dismounted; and whilst the others were making their remarks upon the fine horse the cavalier rode, the soldier returned.
“Your pardon, young gentleman; but your name, if you please?”
“The Vicomte de Bragelonne, on the part of his highness M. le Prince de Conde.”
The soldier made a profound bow, and, as if the name of the conqueror of Rocroy and Sens had given him wings, he stepped lightly up the steps leading to the ante-chamber.
M. de Bragelonne had not had time to fasten his horse to the iron bars of the perron, when M. de Saint-Remy came running, out of breath, supporting his capacious body with one hand, whilst with the other he cut the air as a fisherman cleaves the waves with his oar.
“Ah, Monsieur le Vicomte! You at Blois!” cried he. “Well, that is a wonder. Good-day to you—good-day, Monsieur Raoul.”
“I offer you a thousand respects, M. de Saint-Remy.”
“How Madame de la Vall—I mean, how delighted Madame de Saint-Remy will be to see you! But come in. His royal highness is at breakfast—must he be interrupted? Is the matter serious?”
“Yes, and no, Monsieur de Saint-Remy. A moment’s delay, however, would be disagreeable to his royal highness.”
“If that is the case, we will force the consigne, Monsieur le Vicomte. Come in. Besides, Monsieur is in an excellent humor to-day. And then you bring news, do you not?”