“She was walking with her nurse Marceline, in the place where the woodmen cut the wood, when, passing on horseback, I stopped.  She saw me also and in trying to jump from the end of a pile of wood on which she had mounted, the poor child fell and was not able to rise again.  I fear that she has badly sprained her ankle.”

“Oh, heavens!” cried Athos.  “And her mother, Madame de Saint-Remy, have they yet told her of it?”

“No, sir, Madame de Saint-Remy is at Blois with the Duchess of Orleans.  I am afraid that what was first done was unskillful, if not worse than useless.  I am come, sir, to ask your advice.”

“Send directly to Blois, Raoul; or, rather, take horse and ride immediately yourself.”

Raoul bowed.

“But where is Louise?” asked the comte.

“I have brought her here, sir, and I have deposited her in charge of Charlotte, who, till better advice comes, has bathed the foot in cold well-water.”

The guests now all took leave of Athos, excepting the old Duc de Barbe, who, as an old friend of the family of La Valliere, went to see little Louise and offered to take her to Blois in his carriage.

“You are right, sir,” said Athos.  “She will be the sooner with her mother.  As for you, Raoul, I am sure it is your fault, some giddiness or folly.”

“No, sir, I assure you,” muttered Raoul, “it is not.”

“Oh, no, no, I declare it is not!” cried the young girl, while Raoul turned pale at the idea of his being perhaps the cause of her disaster.

“Nevertheless, Raoul, you must go to Blois and you must make your excuses and mine to Madame de Saint-Remy.”

The youth looked pleased.  He again took in his strong arms the little girl, whose pretty golden head and smiling face rested on his shoulder, and placed her gently in the carriage; then jumping on his horse with the elegance of a first-rate esquire, after bowing to Athos and D’Artagnan, he went off close by the door of the carriage, on somebody inside of which his eyes were riveted.

14

The Castle of Bragelonne.

Whilst this scene was going on, D’Artagnan remained with open mouth and a confused gaze.  Everything had turned out so differently from what he expected that he was stupefied with wonder.

Athos, who had been observing him and guessing his thoughts, took his arm and led him into the garden.

“Whilst supper is being prepared,” he said, smiling, “you will not, my friend, be sorry to have the mystery which so puzzles you cleared up.”

“True, monsieur le comte,” replied D’Artagnan, who felt that by degrees Athos was resuming that great influence which aristocracy had over him.

Athos smiled.

“First and foremost, dear D’Artagnan, we have no title such as count here.  When I call you `chevalier,’ it is in presenting you to my guests, that they may know who you are.  But to you, D’Artagnan, I am, I hope, still dear Athos, your comrade, your friend.  Do you intend to stand on ceremony because you are less attached to me than you were?”