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The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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The Vicomte De Bragelonne 2 at Prostate Health
two companions, the one dressed in violet,the other in green. He on the left, in violet, was hisequerry; he on the right, in green, was the grand veneur.One of the pages carried two gerfalcons upon a perch, theother a hunting-horn, which he blew with a careless note attwenty paces from the castle. Every one about this listlessprince did what he had to do listlessly.At this signal, eight guards, who were lounging in the sunin the square court, ran to their halberts, and Monsieurmade his solemn entry into the castle.When he had disappeared under the shades of the porch, threeor four idlers, who had followed the cavalcade to thecastle, after pointing out the suspended birds to eachother, dispersed with comments upon what they saw: and, whenthey were gone, the street, the place, and the court allremained deserted alike.Monsieur dismounted without speaking a word, went straightto his apartments, where his valet changed his dress, and asMadame had not yet sent orders respecting breakfast,Monsieur stretched himself upon a chaise longue, and wassoon as fast asleep as if it had been eleven oclock atnight.The eight guards, who concluded their service for the daywas over, laid themselves down very comfortably in the sunupon some stone benches; the grooms disappeared with theirhorses into the stables, and, with the exception of a fewjoyous birds, startling each other with their sharp chirpingin the tufted shrubberies, it might have been thought thatthe whole castle was as soundly asleep as Monsieur was.All at once, in the midst of this delicious silence, thereresounded a clear ringing laugh, which caused several of thehalberdiers in the enjoyment of their siesta to open atleast one eye.This burst of laughter proceeded from a window of thecastle, visited at this moment by the sun, that embraced itin one of those large angles which the profiles of thechimneys mark out upon the walls before mid-day.The little balcony of wrought iron which advanced in frontof this window was furnished with a pot of red gilliflowers,another pot of primroses, and an early rose-tree, thefoliage of which, beautifully green, was variegated withnumerous red specks announcing future roses.In the chamber lighted by this window was a square table,covered with an old large-flowered Haarlem tapestry; in thecenter of this table was a long-necked stone bottle, inwhich were irises and lilies of the valley; at each end ofthis table was a young girl.The position of these two young people was singular; theymight have been taken for two boarders escaped from aconvent. One of them, with both elbows on the table, and apen in her hand, was tracing characters upon a sheet of fineDutch paper; the other, kneeling upon a chair, which allowedher to advance her head and bust over the back of it to themiddle of the table, was watching her companion as shewrote, or rather hesitated to write.Thence the thousand cries, the thousand railleries, thethousand laughs, one of which, more brilliant than the rest,had startled the birds in the gardens, and disturbed theslumbers of Monsieurs guards.We are taking portraits now; we shall be allowed, therefore,we hope, to sketch the two last of this chapter.The one who was leaning in the chair -- that is to say, thejoyous, the laughing one -- was a beautiful girl of fromeighteen to twenty, with brown complexion and brown hair,splendid, from eyes which sparkled beneath strongly-markedbrows, and particularly from her teeth, which seemed toshine like pearls between her red coral lips. Her everymovement seemed the accent of a sunny nature, she did notwalk -- she bounded.The other, she who was writing, looked at her turbulentcompanion with an eye as limpid, as pure, and as blue as theazure of the day. Her hair, of a shaded fairness, arrangedwith exquisite taste, fell in silky curls over her lovelymantling cheeks; she passed across the paper a delicatehand, whose thinness announced her extreme youth. At eachburst of laughter that proceeded from her friend, sheraised, as if annoyed, her white shoulders in a poetical andmild manner, but they were wanting in that richfulness ofmold which was likewise to be wished in her arms and hands."Montalais! Montalais!" said she at length, in a voice softand caressing as a melody, "you laugh too loud -- you laughlike a man! You will not only draw
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