I will not answer for the form, but the substance I am sure of." "Well, and what conclusion do you, or rather what conclusion does the king, draw from that ?" "That the king of France has his own reasons for removing M.de Bragelonne, and for getting him married anywhere else than in France." "So that, then, in consequence of this letter--" "King Charles received M.de Bragelonne, as you are aware, in the most distinguished and friendly manner; the handsomest apartments in Whitehall were allotted to him; and as you are the most valuable and precious person in his court, inasmuch as you have rejected his heart,--nay, do not blush,--he wished you to take a fancy to this Frenchman, and he was desirous to confer upon him so costly a prize.
And this is the reason why you, the heiress of three hundred thousand pounds, a future duchess, so beautiful, so good, have been thrown in Bragelonne's way, in all the promenades and parties of pleasure to which he was invited.

In fact it was a plot,--a kind of conspiracy." Mary Grafton smiled with that charming expression which was habitual to her, and pressing her companion's arm, said: "Thank the king, Lucy." "Yes, yes, but the Duke of Buckingham is jealous, so take care." Hardly had she pronounced these words, when the duke appeared from one of the pavilions on the terrace, and, approaching the two girls, with a smile, said, "You are mistaken, Miss Lucy; I am not jealous; and the proof, Miss Mary, is yonder, in the person of M.de Bragelonne himself, who ought to be the cause of my jealousy, but who is dreaming in pensive solitude.

Poor fellow! Allow me to leave you for a few minutes, while I avail myself of those few minutes to converse with Miss Lucy Stewart, to whom I have something to say." And then, bowing to Lucy, he added, "Will you do me the honor to accept my hand, in order that I may lead you to the king, who is waiting for us ?" With these words, Buckingham, still smiling, took Miss Stewart's hand, and led her away.

When by herself, Mary Grafton, her head gently inclined towards her shoulder, with that indolent gracefulness of action which distinguishes young English girls, remained for a moment with her eyes fixed on Raoul, but as if uncertain what to do.

At last, after first blushing violently, and then turning deadly pale, thus revealing the internal combat which assailed her heart, she seemed to make up her mind to adopt a decided course, and with a tolerably firm step, advanced towards the seat on which Raoul was reclining, buried in the profoundest meditation, as we have already said.