“Let us pass from the question of money to that of rank,” said Louis XIV.; “the daughter of the Marquis de la Vallière, that is well enough; but there is that excellent Saint-Remy, who somewhat damages the credit of the family; and you, comte, are rather particular, I believe, about your own family.” “Sire, I no longer hold to anything but my devotion to your majesty.” The king again paused. “A moment, comte. You have surprised me in no little degree from the beginning of your conversation. You came to ask me to authorize a marriage, and you seem greatly disturbed in having to make the request. Nay, pardon me, comte, but I am rarely deceived, young as I am; for while with some persons I place my friendship at the disposal of my understanding, with others I call my distrust to my aid, by which my discernment is increased. I repeat, that you do not prefer your request as though you wished it success.” “Well, sire, that is true.” “I do not understand you, then; refuse.” “Nay, sire; I love De Bragelonne with my whole heart; he is smitten with Mademoiselle de la Vallière, he weaves dreams of bliss for the future; I am not one who is willing to destroy the illusions of youth. This marriage is objectionable to me, but I implore your majesty to consent to it forthwith, and thus make Raoul happy.” “Tell me, comte, is she in love with him?” “If your majesty requires me to speak candidly, I do not believe in Mademoiselle de la Vallière’s affection; the delight at being at court, the honor of being in the service of Madame, counteract in her head whatever affection she may happen to have in her heart; it is a marriage similar to many others which already exist at court; but De Bragelonne wishes it, and so let it be.” “And yet you do not resemble those easy-tempered fathers who volunteer as stepping-stones for their children,” said the king. “I am determined enough against the viciously disposed, but not so against men of upright character. Raoul is suffering; he is in great distress of mind; his disposition, naturally light and cheerful, has become gloomy and melancholy. I do not wish to deprive your majesty of the services he may be able to render.” “I understand you,” said the king; “and what is more, I understand your heart, too, comte.” “There is no occasion, therefore,” replied the comte, “to tell your majesty that my object is to make these children, or rather Raoul, happy.” “And I, too, as much as yourself, comte, wish to secure M. de Bragelonne’s happiness.” “I only await your majesty’s signature. Raoul will have the honor of presenting himself before your majesty to receive your consent.” “You are mistaken, comte,” said the king, firmly; “I have just said that I desire to secure M. de Bragelonne’s happiness, and from the present moment, therefore, I oppose his marriage.” “But, sire,” exclaimed Athos, “your majesty has promised!” “Not so, comte, I did not promise you, for it is opposed to my own views.”