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The Three Musketeers
Twenty Years Later
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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The Vicomte De Bragelonne 649 at Prostate Health
drawn to Vaux as into a snare. M.
Fouquet cannot be acting alone in this affair. His agent--. That voice I
but just now heard was M. dHerblays; I recognized it. Colbert was
right, then. But what is Fouquets object? To reign in my place and
stead?--Impossible! Yet, who knows!" thought the king, relapsing into
gloom again. "Perhaps, my brother, the Duc dOrleans, is doing that
which my uncle wished to do during the whole of his life against my
father. But the queen?--My mother, too? And La Valliere? Oh! La
Valliere, she will have been abandoned to Madame. Dear, dear girl! Yes,
it is--it must be so. They must have shut her up, as they have me. We
are separated forever!" And at this idea of separation, the poor lover
burst into a flood of tears, and sobs and groans.
"There is a governor in this place," the king continued, in a fury of
passion; "I will speak to him, I will summon him to me."
He called, but no voice replied to his. He seized hold of his chair, and
hurled it against the massive oaken door. The wood resounded against the
door, and awakened many a mournful echo in the profound depths of the
staircase; but from a human creature, not one.
This was a fresh proof for the king of the slight regard in which he was
held at the Bastille. Therefore, when his first fit of anger had passed
away, having remarked a barred window, through which there passed a
stream of light, lozenge-shaped, which must be, he knew, the bright orb
of approaching day, Louis began to call out, at first gently enough,
then louder and louder still; but no one replied to him. Twenty other
attempts which he made, one after another, obtained no other or better
success. His blood began to boil within him, and mount to his head. His
nature was such, that, accustomed to command, he trembled at the idea of
disobedience. By degrees, his anger increased more and more. The
prisoner broke the chair, which was too heavy for him to lift, and made
use of it as a battering-ram to strike against the door. He struck so
loudly, and so repeatedly, that the perspiration soon began to pour down
his face. The sound became tremendous and continuous; some stifled,
smothered cries replied in different directions. This sound produced a
strange effect upon the king. He paused to listen to it; it was the
voices of the prisoners, formerly his victims, now his companions. The
voices ascended like vapors through the thick ceilings and the massive
walls, and rose in accusation against the author of this noise, as
doubtless their sighs and tears accused, in whispered tones, the author
of their captivity. After having deprived so many people of their
liberty, the king came among them to rob them of their rest. This idea
almost drove him mad; it redoubled his strength, or rather his will,
bent upon obtaining some information, or a conclusion to the affair.
With a portion of the broken chair he recommenced the noise. At the end
of an hour, Louis heard something in the corridor, behind the door of
his cell, and a violent blow, which was returned upon the door itself,
made him cease his own.
"Are you mad?" said a rude brutal voice. "What is the matter with you
this morning?"
"This morning!" thought the king; but he said aloud, politely,
"Monsieur, are you the governor of the Bastille?"
"My good fellow, your head is out of sorts," replied the voice; "but
that is no reason why you should make such a terrible disturbance. Be
quiet, mordioux!"
"Are you the governor?" the king inquired again.
He heard a door on the corridor close; the jailer had just left, not
even condescending to reply a single word. When the king had assured
himself of his departure, his fury knew no longer any bounds. As agile
as a tiger, he leaped from the table to the window, and struck the iron
bars with all his might. He broke a pane of glass, the pieces of which
fell clanking into the courtyard below. He shouted with increasing
hoarseness, "The governor, the governor!" This access lasted fully an
hour, during which time he was in a burning fever. With his hair in
disorder and matted on his forehead, his dress torn and whitened, his
linen in shreds, the king never rested until his strength was utterly
exhausted, and it was not until then that he clearly understood the
pitiless thickness of
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