“Well,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, “a courier has arrived, announcing the approach of the king. There, mesdemoiselles; there is something to make you put on your best looks.” “Quick, quick!” cried Montalais. “Follow Madame your mother, Louise; and leave me to get ready my dress of ceremony.” Louise arose; her mother took her by the hand, and led her out on to the landing. “Come along,” said she; then adding in a low voice, “When I forbid you to come the apartment of Montalais, why do you do so?” “Madame, she is my friend. Besides, I had but just come.” “Did you see nobody concealed while you were there?” “Madame!” “I saw a man’s hat, I tell you—the hat of that fellow, that good-for-nothing!” “Madame!” repeated Louise. “Of that do-nothing Malicorne! A maid of honor to have such company—fie! fie!” and their voices were lost in the depths of the narrow staircase. Montalais had not missed a word of this conversation, which echo conveyed to her as if through a tunnel. She shrugged her shoulders on seeing Raoul, who had listened likewise, issue from the closet. “Poor Montalais!” said she, “the victim of friendship! Poor Malicorne, the victim of love!” She stopped on viewing the tragic-comic face of Raoul, who was vexed at having, in one day, surprised so many secrets. “Oh, mademoiselle!” said he; “how can we repay your kindness?” “Oh, we will balance accounts some day,” said she. “For the present, begone, M. de Bragelonne, for Madame de Saint-Remy is not over indulgent; and any indiscretion on her part might bring hither a domiciliary visit, which would be disagreeable to all parties.” “But Louise—how shall I know—” “Begone! begone! King Louis XI. knew very well what he was about when he invented the post.” “Alas!” sighed Raoul. “And am I not here—I, who am worth all the posts in the kingdom? Quick, I say, to horse! so that if Madame de Saint-Remy should return for the purpose of preaching me a lesson on morality, she may not find you here.” “She would tell my father, would she not?” murmured Raoul. “And you would be scolded. Ah, vicomte, it is very plain you come from court; you are as timid as the king. Peste! at Blois we contrive better than that, to do without papa’s consent. Ask Malicorne else!” And at these words the girl pushed Raoul out of the room by the shoulders. He glided swiftly down to the porch, regained his horse, mounted, and set off as if he had had Monsieur’s guards at his heels. Chapter IV. Father and Son. Raoul followed the well-known road, so dear to his memory, which led from Blois to the residence of the Comte de la Fere.