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The Three Musketeers
Twenty Years Later
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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The Vicomte De Bragelonne 529 at Prostate Health
very simple. On the day you speak of, I had
not the million which you had need of at my disposal; while now I can
easily procure the twenty millions we require."
"May Heaven hear you, and save me!"
Aramis resumed his usual smile, the expression of which was so singular.
"Heaven never fails to hear me," he said.
"I abandon myself to you unreservedly," Fouquet murmured.
"No, no; I do not understand it in that manner. I am unreservedly
devoted to you. Therefore, as you have the clearest, the most delicate,
and the most ingenious mind of the two, you shall have entire control
over the fete, even to the very smallest details. Only--"
"Only?" said Fouquet, as a man accustomed to understand and appreciate
the value of a parenthesis.
"Well, then, leaving the entire invention of the details to you, I shall
reserve to myself a general superintendence over the execution."
"In what way?"
"I mean, that you will make of me, on that day, a major-domo, a sort of
inspector-general, or factotum--something between a captain of the guard
and manager or steward. I will look after the people, and will keep the
keys of the doors. You will give your orders, of course; but will give
them to no one but to me. They will pass through my lips, to reach those
for whom they are intended--you understand?"
"No, I am very far from understanding."
"But you agree?"
"Of course, of course, my friend."
"That is all I care about, then. Thanks; and now go and prepare your
list of invitations."
"Whom shall I invite?"
"Every one."
CHAPTER LVII.
IN WHICH THE AUTHOR THINKS IT IS NOW TIME TO RETURN TO THE VICOMTE DE
BRAGELONNE.
Our readers will have observed in this story, the adventures of the new
and of the past generation being detailed, as it were, side by side. To
the former, the reflection of the glory of earlier years, the experience
of the bitter things of this world; to the former, also, that peace
which takes possession of the heart, and that healing of the scars which
were formerly deep and painful wounds. To the latter, the conflicts of
love and vanity; bitter disappointments and ineffable delights; life
instead of memory. If, therefore, any variety has been presented to the
reader in the different episodes of this tale, it is to be attributed to
the numerous shades of color which are presented on this double palette,
where two pictures are seen side by side, mingling and harmonizing their
severe and pleasing tones. The repose of the emotions of the one is
found in the bosom of the emotions of the other. After having talked
reason with older heads, one loves to talk nonsense with youth.
Therefore, if the threads of this story do not seem very intimately to
connect the chapter we are now writing with that we have just written,
we do not intend to give ourselves any more thought or trouble about it
than Ruysdael took in painting an autumn sky, after having finished a
spring-time scene. We wish our readers to do as much, and to resume
Raoul de Bragelonnes story at the very place where our last sketch left
him.
In a state of frenzy and dismay, or rather without power or will of his
own--without knowing what to do--he fled heedlessly away after the scene
in La Vallieres room. The king, Montalais, Louise, that chamber, that
strange exclusion, Louises grief, Montalaiss terror, the kings
wrath--all seemed to indicate some misfortune. But what? He had arrived
from London because he had been told of the existence of a danger; and
almost on his arrival this appearance of danger was manifest. Was not
this sufficient for a lover? Certainly it was; but it was insufficient
for a pure and upright heart such as his. And yet Raoul did not seek for
explanations in the very quarter where all jealous or less timid lovers
would have done. He did not go straightway to his mistress, and say,
"Louise, is it true that you love me no longer? Is it true that you love
another?" Full of courage, full of friendship as he was full of love; a
religious observer of his word, and believing blindly the words of
others, Raoul said within himself, "Guiche wrote to put me on my guard;
Guiche knows something; I will go and ask Guiche what he knows, and tell
him what I have seen." The journey was not a long one. Guiche, who had
been brought, from Fontainebleau to Paris within the last two days, was
beginning
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