De Wardes was about to reply, when De Guiche interrupted him.
CHAPTER 82.
The Portrait of Madame
The discussion was becoming full of bitterness. De Guiche perfectly understood the whole matter for there was in Bragelonne’s face a look instinctively hostile, while in that of De Wardes there was something like a determination to offend. Without inquiring into the different feelings which actuated his two friends, De Guiche resolved to ward off the blow which he felt was on the point of being dealt by one of them, and perhaps by both. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we must take our leave of each other, I must pay a visit to Monsieur. You, De Wardes, will accompany me to the Louvre, and you Raoul, will remain here master of the house; and as all that is done here is under your advice, you will bestow the last glance upon my preparations for departure.”
Raoul, with the air of one who neither seeks nor fears a quarrel, bowed his head in token of assent, and seated himself upon a bench in the sun. “That is well,” said De Guiche, “remain where you are, Raoul, and tell them to show you the two horses I have just purchased; you will give me your opinion, for I only bought them on condition that you ratified the purchase. By the by, I have to beg your pardon for having omitted to inquire after the Comte de la Fere.” While pronouncing these latter words, he closely observed De Wardes, in order to perceive what effect the name of Raoul’s father would produce upon him. “I thank you,” answered the young man, “the count is very well.” A gleam of deep hatred passed into De Wardes’ eyes. De Guiche, who appeared not to notice the foreboding expression, went up to Raoul, and grasping him by the hand, said,—“It is agreed, then, Bragelonne, is it not, that you will rejoin us in the courtyard of the Palais-Royal?” He then signed to De Wardes to follow him who had been engaged in balancing himself first on one foot, then on the other. “We are going,” said he, “come, M. Malicorne.” This name made Raoul start; for it seemed that he had already heard it pronounced before, but he could not remember on what occasion. While trying to recall it half-dreamily, yet half-irritated at his conversation with De Wardes, the three young men set out on their way towards the Palais-Royal, where Monsieur was residing. Malicorne learned two things; the first, that the young men had something to say to each other, and the second, that he ought not to walk in the same line with them; and therefore he walked behind. “Are you mad?” said De Guiche to his companion, as soon as they had left the Hotel de Grammont; “you attack M. d’Artagnan, and that, too, before Raoul.”
“Well,” said De Wardes, “what then?”
“What do you mean by ‘what then?’”
“Certainly, is there any prohibition against attacking M. d’Artagnan?”
“But you know very well that M. d’Artagnan was one of those celebrated and terrible four men who were called the musketeers.”
“That they may be, but I do not perceive why, on that account, I should be forbidden to hate M. d’Artagnan.”
“What cause has he given you?”