one day developed before his son in the vaults of St. Denis—the Comte de la Fere, in the name of his son, had always
declined them. Moreover, instead of following M. de
Condé in his rebellion, the vicomte had followed M.
de Turenne, fighting for the king. Then, when M. de
Turenne, in his turn, had appeared to abandon the royal
cause, he had quitted M. de Turenne, as he had quitted M.
de Conde. It resulted from this invariable line of conduct,
that, as Conde and Turenne had never been conquerors of
each other but under the standard of the king, Raoul, however young, had ten victories inscribed on his list of
services, and not one defeat from which his bravery or
conscience had to suffer.
Raoul, therefore, had, in compliance with the wish of his father, served obstinately and passively the fortunes of Louis XIV., in spite of the tergiversations which were endemic, and, it might be said, inevitable, at that period.
M. de Condé, on being restored to favor, had at once availed himself of all the privileges of the amnesty to ask for many things back again which had been granted him before, and among others, Raoul. M. de la Fere, with his invariable good sense, had immediately sent him again to the prince.
A year, then, had passed away since the separation of the father and son; a few letters had softened, but not removed, the pains of absence. We have seen that Raoul had left at Blois another love in addition to filial love. But let us do him this justice—if it had not been for chance and Mile, de Montalais, two tempting demons, Raoul, after delivering his message, would have galloped off toward his father's house, turning his head round, perhaps, but without stopping for a single instant, even if Louise had held out her arms to him.
So the first part of the distance was given by Raoul to regretting the part which he had been forced to quit so quickly, that is to say, his lady-love; and the other part to the friend he was about to join, so much too slowly for his wishes.
Raoul found the garden gate open, and rode straight in, without regarding the long arms, raised in anger, of an old man dressed in a jacket of violet-colored wool, and a large cap of old faded velvet.
The old man, who was weeding with his hands a bed of dwarf roses and marguerites, was indignant at seeing a horse thus traversing his sanded and nicely raked walks,
