“I do not wish to be conquered in elegance by an Englishman.”
“My dear count,” said Manicamp, “elegance is not a costly commodity, it is only a very difficult accomplishment.”
“Yes, but difficult things cost a good deal of money, and I have only got sixty thousand francs.”
“A very embarrassing state of things, truly,” said De Wardes; “even if you spent as much as Buckingham there is only nine hundred and forty thousand francs difference.”
“Where am I to find them?”
“Get into debt.”
“I am in debt already.”
“A greater reason for getting further.”
Advice like this resulted in De Guiche becoming excited to such an extent that he committed extravagances where Buckingham only incurred expenses. The rumor of this extravagant profuseness delighted the hearts of all the shopkeepers in Paris, from the hotel of the Duke of Buckingham to that of the Comte de Grammont nothing but miracles was attempted. While all this was going on, Madame was resting herself, and Bragelonne was engaged in writing to Mademoiselle de la Valliere. He had already dispatched four letters, and not an answer to any one of them had been received, when, on the very morning fixed for the marriage ceremony, which was to take place in the chapel at the Palais-Royal, Raoul, who was dressing, heard his valet announce M. de Malicorne. “What can this Malicorne want with me?” thought Raoul; and then said to his valet, “Let him wait.”
“It is a gentleman from Blois,” said the valet.