sconcerted at the noise
made by his spurs in these immense salons.

As soon as he had disappeared in the interior of the palace, the window
of the court was repeopled, and an animated whispering betrayed
the emotion of the two girls. They soon appeared to have formed a
resolution, for one of the two faces disappeared from the window. This
was the brunette; the other remained behind the balcony, concealed by
the flowers, watching attentively through the branches the perron by
which M. de Bragelonne had entered the castle.

In the meantime the object of so much laudable curiosity continued his
route, following the steps of the maitre d'hotel. The noise of quick
steps, an odor of wine and viands, a clinking of crystal and plates,
warned them that they were coming to the end of their course.

The pages, valets and officers, assembled in the office which led up to
the refectory, welcomed the newcomer with the proverbial politeness of
the country; some of them were acquainted with Raoul, and all knew
that he came from Paris. It might be said that his arrival for a moment
suspended the service. In fact, a page, who was pouring out wine for his
royal highness, on hearing the jingling of spurs in the next chamber,
turned round like a child, without perceiving that he was continuing to
pour out, not into the glass, but upon the tablecloth.

Madame, who was not so preoccupied as her glorious spouse was, remarked
this distraction of the page.

"Well?" exclaimed she.

"Well!" repeated Monsieur; "what is going on then?"

M. de Saint-Remy, who had just introduced his head through the doorway,
took advantage of the moment.

"Why am I to be disturbed?" said Gaston, helping himself to a thick
slice of one of the largest salmon that had ever ascended the Loire to
be captured between Painboeuf and Saint-Nazaire.

"There is a messenger from Paris. Oh! but after monseigneur has
breakfasted will do; there is plenty of time."

"From Paris!" cried the prince, letting his fork fall. "A messenger from
Paris, do you say? And on whose part does this messenger come?"

"On the part of M. le Prince," said the maitre d'hotel promptly.

Every one knows that the Prince de Conde was so called.

"A messenger from M. le Prince!" said Gaston, with an inquietude that
escaped none of the assistants, and consequently redoubled the general
curiosity.

Monsieur, perhaps, fancied himself brought back again to the happy times
when the opening of a