“Whenever a king takes notice of us,” continued Montalais, “he lets us see it easily enough, and, if we happen to be the object he covets, he knows very well how to gain his object. You see, then, Louise, that, in such circumstances, between young girls exposed to such a danger as the one in question, the most perfect confidence should exist, in order that those hearts which are not disposed towards melancholy may watch over those likely to become so.” “Silence, silence!” said La Vallière; “some one approaches.” “Some one is approaching fast, in fact,” said Montalais; “but who can it possibly be? Everybody is away, either at mass with the king, or bathing with Monsieur.” At the end of the walk the young girls perceived almost immediately, beneath the arching trees, the graceful carriage and noble stature of a young man, who, with his sword under his arm and a cloak thrown across his shoulders, booted and spurred besides, saluted them from the distance with a gentle smile. “Raoul!” exclaimed Montalais. “M. de Bragelonne!” murmured Louise. “A very proper judge to decide upon our difference of opinion,” said Montalais. “Oh! Montalais, Montalais, for pity’s sake,” exclaimed La Vallière, “after having been so cruel, show me a little mercy.” These words, uttered with all the fervor of a prayer, effaced all trace of irony, if not from Montalais’s heart, at least from her face. “Why, you are as handsome as Amadis, Monsieur de Bragelonne,” she cried to Raoul, “and armed and booted like him.” “A thousand compliments, young ladies,” replied Raoul, bowing. “But why, I ask, are you booted in this manner?” repeated Montalais, whilst La Vallière, although she looked at Raoul with a surprise equal to that of her companion, nevertheless uttered not a word. “Why?” inquired Raoul. “Yes!” ventured Louise. “Because I am about to set off,” said Bragelonne, looking at Louise. The young girl seemed as though smitten by some superstitious feeling of terror, and tottered. “You are going away, Raoul!” she cried; “and where are you going?” “Dearest Louise,” he replied, with that quiet, composed manner which was natural to him, “I am going to England.” “What are you going to do in England?” “The king has sent me there.” “The king!” exclaimed Louise and Aure together, involuntarily exchanging glances, the conversation which had just been interrupted recurring to them both. Raoul intercepted the glance, but could not understand its meaning, and, naturally enough, attributed it to the interest both the young girls took in him.