els she ought to profit by this event to address
at this moment, in favor of her august husband, the court of France. The
Vicomte de Bragelonne, who will have the honor of remitting this letter
to your majesty, is the friend of my son, who owes to him his life; he
is a gentleman in whom your majesty may confide entirely, in case your
majesty may have some verbal or written order to remit to me.

"I have the honor to be, with respect, etc.,

"Marechal de Grammont."

At the moment mention occurred of his having rendered a service to
the count, Raoul could not help turning his glance toward the young
princess, and then he saw in her eyes an expression of infinite
gratitude to the young man; he no longer doubted that the daughter of
King Charles I. loved his friend.

"The battle of Lens gained!" said the queen; "they are lucky here
indeed; they can gain battles! Yes, the Marechal de Grammont is right;
this will change the aspect of French affairs, but I much fear it will
do nothing for English, even if it does not harm them. This is recent
news, sir," continued she, "and I thank you for having made such haste
to bring it to me; without this letter I should not have heard till
to-morrow, perhaps after to-morrow--the last of all Paris."

"Madame," said Raoul, "the Louvre is but the second palace this news has
reached; it is as yet unknown to all, and I had sworn to the Count de
Guiche to remit this letter to your majesty before even I should embrace
my guardian."

"Your guardian! is he, too, a Bragelonne?" asked Lord de Winter. "I once
knew a Bragelonne--is he still alive?"

"No, sir, he is dead; and I believe it is from him my guardian, whose
near relation he was, inherited the estate from which I take my name."

"And your guardian, sir," asked the queen, who could not help feeling
some interest in the handsome young man before her, "what is his name?"

"The Comte de la Fere, madame," replied the young man, bowing.

De Winter made a gesture of surprise and the queen turned to him with a
start of joy.

"The Comte de la Fere!" she cried. "Have you not mentioned that name to
me?"

As for De Winter he could scarcely believe that he had heard aright.
"The Comte de la Fere!" he cried in his turn. "Oh, sir, reply, I entreat
you--is not the Comte de la Fere a noble whom I remember, handsome and
brave, a musketeer under Louis XIII., who must be now about forty-seven
or forty-eight years of age?"

"Yes, sir, you ar