Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Swordsmen -- Fiction
“The duke has not acquired a steady footing yet,” said the queen-mother,
in French, “and that may possibly be his reason for wishing to find
himself on firm land again.”
The young man overheard this remark, turned suddenly pale, and, letting
his hands fall in great discouragement by his side, drew aside, mingling
in one sigh his old affection and his new hatreds. The admiral, however,
without taking any further notice of the duke’s ill-humor, led the
princesses into the quarter-deck cabin, where dinner had been served
with a magnificence worthy in every respect of his guests. The admiral
seated himself at the right hand of the princess, and placed the Comte
de Guiche on her left. This was the place Buckingham usually occupied;
and when he entered the cabin, how profound was his unhappiness to see
himself banished by etiquette from the presence of his sovereign, to a
position inferior to that which, by rank, he was entitled to. De Guiche,
on the other hand, paler still perhaps from happiness, than his rival
was from anger, seated himself tremblingly next to the princess, whose
silken robe, as it lightly touched him, caused a tremor of mingled
regret and happiness to pass through his whole frame. The repast
finished, Buckingham darted forward to hand Madame Henrietta from the
table; but this time it was De Guiche’s turn to give the duke a lesson.
“Have the goodness, my lord, from this moment,” said he, “not to
interpose between her royal highness and myself. From this moment,
indeed, her royal highness belongs to France, and when she deigns to
honor me by touching my hand it is the hand of Monsieur, the brother of
the king of France, she touches.”
And saying this, he presented his hand to Madame Henrietta with such
marked deference, and at the same time with a nobleness of mien so
intrepid, that a murmur of admiration rose from the English, whilst
a groan of despair escaped from Buckingham’s lips. Raoul, who loved,
comprehended it all. He fixed upon his friend one of those profound
looks which a bosom friend or mother can alone extend, either as
protector or guardian, over the one who is about to stray from the right
path. Towards two o’clock in the afternoon the sun shone forth anew, the
wind subsided, the sea became smooth as a crystal mirror, and the fog,
which had shrouded the coast, disappeared like a veil withdrawn before
it. The smiling hills of France appeared in full view, with their
numerous white houses rendered more conspicuous by the bright green of
the trees or the clear blue sky.
Chapter X. The Tents.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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