The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas (the beginning after the end novel read txt) 📕
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- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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“Make your escape, Malicorne,” said she; “I did not think there was any one here. I shall curse you, if they have either heard or seen us!”
Malicorne hastened away. The young lady advanced behind Raoul, and stretching her joyous face over him as he lay:
“Monsieur is a gallant man,” said she, “and no doubt—”
She here interrupted herself by uttering a cry. “Raoul!” said she, blushing.
“Mademoiselle de Montalais!” said Raoul, paler than death.
He rose unsteadily, and tried to make his way across the slippery mosaic of the floor; but she had comprehended that savage and cruel grief; she felt that in the flight of Raoul there was an accusation of herself. A woman, ever vigilant, she did not think she ought to let the opportunity slip of making good her justification; but Raoul, though stopped by her in the middle of the gallery, did not seem disposed to surrender without a combat. He took it up in a tone so cold and embarrassed, that if they had been thus surprised, the whole court would have no doubt about the proceedings of Mademoiselle de Montalais.
“Ah! monsieur,” said she with disdain, “what you are doing is very unworthy of a gentleman. My heart inclines me to speak to you; you compromise me by a reception almost uncivil; you are wrong, monsieur; and you confound your friends with enemies. Farewell!”
Raoul had sworn never to speak of Louise, never even to look at those who might have seen Louise; he was going into another world, that he might never meet with anything Louise had seen, or even touched. But after the first shock of his pride, after having had a glimpse of Montalais, the companion of Louise—Montalais, who reminded him of the turret of Blois and the joys of youth—all his reason faded away.
“Pardon me, mademoiselle; it enters not, it cannot enter into my thoughts to be uncivil.”
“Do you wish to speak to me?” said she, with the smile of former days. “Well! come somewhere else; for we may be surprised.”
“Oh!” said he.
She looked at the clock, doubtingly, then, having reflected:
“In my apartment,” said she, “we shall have an hour to ourselves.” And taking her course, lighter than a fairy, she ran up to her chamber, followed by Raoul. Shutting the door, and placing in the hands of her cameriste the mantle she had held upon her arm:
“You were seeking M. de Guiche, were you not?” said she to Raoul.
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“I will go and ask him to come up here, presently, after I have spoken to you.”
“Do so, mademoiselle.”
“Are you angry with me?”
Raoul looked at her for a moment, then, casting down his eyes, “Yes,” said he.
“You think I was concerned in the plot which brought about the rupture, do you not?”
“Rupture!” said he, with bitterness. “Oh! mademoiselle, there can be no rupture where there has been no love.”
“You are in error,” replied Montalais; “Louise did love you.”
Raoul started.
“Not with love, I know; but she liked you, and you ought to have married her before you set out for London.”
Raoul broke into a sinister laugh, which made Montalais shudder.
“You tell me that very much at your ease, mademoiselle. Do people marry whom they like? You forget that the king then kept for himself as his mistress her of whom we are speaking.”
“Listen,” said the young woman, pressing the hands of Raoul in her own, “you were wrong in every way; a man of your age ought never to leave a woman of hers alone.”
“There is no longer any faith in the world, then,” said Raoul.
“No, vicomte,” said Montalais, quietly. “Nevertheless, let me tell you that, if, instead of loving Louise coldly and philosophically, you had endeavored to awaken her to love—”
“Enough, I pray you, mademoiselle,” said Raoul. “I feel as though you are all, of both sexes, of a different age from me. You can laugh, and you can banter agreeably. I, mademoiselle, I loved Mademoiselle de—” Raoul could not pronounce her name,—“I loved her well! I put my faith in her—now I am quits by loving her no longer.”
“Oh, vicomte!” said Montalais, pointing to his reflection in a looking-glass.
“I know what you mean, mademoiselle; I am much altered, am I not? Well! Do you know why? Because my face is the mirror of my heart, the outer surface changed to match the mind
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