“Love can be resisted, comte. I myself can assure you of that.”
“When one has the soul of a king,—your own, for instance, sire.”
“Do not make yourself uneasy on the subject. I have certain views for De Bragelonne. I do not say that he shall not marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere, but I do not wish him to marry so young; I do not wish him to marry her until she has acquired a fortune; and he, on his side, no less deserves favor, such as I wish to confer upon him. In a word, comte, I wish them to wait.”
“Yet once more, sire.”
“Comte, you told me you came to request a favor.”
“Assuredly, sire.”
“Grant me one, then, instead; let us speak no longer upon this matter. It is probable that, before long, war may be declared. I require men about me who are unfettered. I should hesitate to send under fire a married man, or a father of a family. I should hesitate also, on De Bragelonne’s account, to endow with a fortune, without some sound reason for it, a young girl, a perfect stranger; such an act would sow jealousy amongst my nobility.” Athos bowed, and remained silent.
“Is that all you wished to ask me?” added Louis XIV.
“Absolutely all, sire; and I take my leave of your majesty. Is it, however, necessary that I should inform Raoul?”
“Spare yourself the trouble and annoyance. Tell the vicomte that at my levee to-morrow morning I will speak to him. I shall expect you this evening, comte, to join my card-table.”