“You have mistaken my feelings, Raoul, I have more than mere indulgence for you in my heart.”
Raoul kissed as devotedly as a lover could have done the hand he held in his own.
“Come, come,” said Athos, “I am quite ready; what do you wish me to sign?”
“Nothing whatever, monsieur, only it would be very kind if you would take the trouble to write to the king to whom I belong, and solicit his majesty’s permission for me to marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere.”
“Well thought, Raoul! After, or rather before myself, you have a master to consult, that master being the king; it is loyal in you to submit yourself voluntarily to this double proof; I will grant your request without delay, Raoul.”
The count approached the window, and leaning out, called to Grimaud, who showed his head from an arbor covered with jasmine, which he was occupied in trimming.
“My horses, Grimaud,” continued the count.
“Why this order, monsieur?” inquired Raoul.
“We shall set off in a few hours.”
“Whither?”