“Yes, monsieur; every week M. le Prince affords, upon one occasion or another, a similar advantage to one of his gentlemen. There are fifty gentlemen in his highness’s household; it was my turn.” “Very well! You went into Spain, then?” “Yes, monsieur, I made a very delightful and interesting journey.” “You have been back a month, have you not?” “Yes, monsieur.” “And in the course of that month?” “In that month——” “What have you done?” “My duty, monsieur.” “Have you not been home, to La Fere?” Raoul colored. Athos looked at him with a fixed but tranquil expression. “You would be wrong not to believe me,” said Raoul. “I feel that I colored, and in spite of myself. The question you did me the honor to ask me is of a nature to raise in me much emotion. I color, then, because I am agitated, not because I meditate a falsehood.” “I know, Raoul, you never lie.” “No, monsieur.” “Besides, my young friend, you would be wrong; what I wanted to say——” “I know quite well, monsieur. You would ask me if I have not been to Blois?” “Exactly so.” “I have not been there; I have not even seen the person to whom you allude.” Raoul’s voice trembled as he pronounced these words. Athos, a sovereign judge in all matters of delicacy, immediately added, “Raoul, you answer with a painful feeling; you are unhappy.” “Very, monsieur; you have forbidden me to go to Blois, or to see Mademoiselle de la Vallière again.” Here the young man stopped. That dear name, so delightful to pronounce, made his heart bleed, although so sweet upon his lips. “And I have acted rightly, Raoul,” Athos hastened to reply. “I am neither an unjust nor a barbarous father; I respect true love; but I look forward for you to a future—an immense future. A new reign is about to break upon us like a fresh dawn. War calls upon a young king full of chivalric spirit. What is wanting to assist this heroic ardor is a battalion of young and free lieutenants who would rush to the fight with enthusiasm and fall, crying: ‘Vive le Roi!’ instead of ‘Adieu, my dear wife.’ You understand that, Raoul. However brutal my reasoning may appear, I conjure you, then, to believe me, and to turn away your thoughts from those early days of youth in which you took up this habit of love—days of effeminate carelessness, which soften the heart and render it incapable of consuming those strong, bitter draughts called glory and adversity. Therefore, Raoul, I repeat to you, you should see in my counsel only the desire of being useful to you, only the ambition of seeing you prosper. I believe you capable of becoming a remarkable man. March alone, and you will march better, and more quickly.” “You have commanded, monsieur,” replied Raoul, “and I obey.” “Commanded!” cried Athos. “Is it thus you reply to me? I have commanded you! Oh! you distort my words as you misconceive my intentions. I do not command you; I request you.”