anced further
into that mysterious apartment which had been witness to La Valliere's
sighs, and still retained the sweetest perfume of her presence.
Bragelonne fancied that he perceived, as he inhaled his every breath,
that the young girl must have passed through there. Then succeeded to
these emanations of herself, which he regarded as invisible through
certain proofs, the flowers she preferred to all others--the books of
her own selection. Had Raoul preserved a single doubt on the subject, it
would have vanished at the secret harmony of tastes, and connection of
the mind with the use of the ordinary objects of life. La Valliere, in
Bragelonne's eyes, was present there in every article of furniture, in
the color of the hangings, in everything that surrounded him. Dumb, and
completely overwhelmed, there was nothing further for him now to learn,
and he followed his pitiless conductress as blindly as the culprit
follows the executioner; while Madame, as cruel as all women of delicate
and nervous temperaments are, did not spare him the slightest detail.
But it must be admitted, that, notwithstanding the kind of apathy into
which he had fallen, none of these details, even had he been left alone,
would have escaped him. The happiness of the woman who loves, when that
happiness is derived from a rival, is a living torture for a jealous
man; but for a jealous man such as Raoul was, for one whose heart had
for the first time been steeped in gall and bitterness, Louise's
happiness was in reality an ignominious death, a death of body and soul.

He guessed all; he fancied he could see them, with their hands clasped
in each other's, their faces drawn close together, and reflected, side
by side, in loving proximity, as they gazed upon the mirrors around
them--so sweet an occupation for lovers, who, as they thus see
themselves twice over, impress the picture more enduringly in their
memories. He could guess, too, the stolen kiss snatched as they
separated from each other's loved society. The luxury, the studied
elegance, eloquent of the perfection of indolence, of ease; the extreme
care shown, either to spare the loved object every annoyance, or to
occasion her a delightful surprise; that strength and power of love
multiplied by the strength and power of royalty itself, seemed like a
death-blow to Raoul. If there be anything which can in any way assuage
or mitigate the tortures of jealousy, it is the inferiority of the man
who is pre