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Да, первый рассказ из сборника, что я успела прочитать, что надо! И написано хорошо, и содержание необычное, но жизненное. Очень понравилось, хотя там...
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Chicot the Jester
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“Was it your doctor who prescribed for you the air of the Bastile?” asked the prince, with the most innocent air possible.
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Did you not like the Rue des Petits-Pères?”
“No, monseigneur; I had too much company there – they made too much noise.”
“But you have no garden here.”
“I did not like the garden.”
The prince bit his lips. “Do you know, comte,” said he, “that many people are asking the king for your place?”
“On what pretext, monseigneur?”
“They say you are dead.”
“Monseigneur, you can answer for it that I am not.”
“I answer for nothing; you bury yourself as though you were dead.”
It was Monsoreau’s turn to bite his lips.
“Well, then, I must lose my place,” said he.
“Really?”
“Yes; there are things I prefer to it.”
“You are very disinterested.”
“It is my character, monseigneur.”
“Then of course you will not mind the king’s knowing your character?”
“Who will tell him?”
“Diable! if he asks me about you, I must repeat our conversation.”
“Ma foi! monseigneur, if all they say in Paris were reported to the king, his two ears would not be enough to listen with.”
“What do they say at Paris, monsieur?” asked the prince sharply.
Monsoreau tried to calm himself. “How should a poor invalid, as I am, know?” said he. “If the king is angry at seeing his work badly done, he is wrong.”
“How so?”
“Because, doubtless, my accident proceeds, to some extent, from him.”
“Explain yourself.”
“M. de St. Luc, who wounded me, is a dear friend of the king’s. It was the king who taught him the thrust by which he wounded me, and it might have been the king who prompted him.”
“You are right; but still the king is the king.”
“Until he is so no longer.”
The duke trembled. “Is not Madame de Monsoreau here?” said he.
“Monseigneur, she is ill, or she would have come to present her respects to you.”
“Ill! poor woman! it must be grief at seeing you suffer.”
“Yes, and the fatigue of moving.”
“Let us hope it will be a short indisposition. You have so skilful a doctor.”
“Yes, that dear Rémy – ”
“Why, he is Bussy’s doctor.”
“He has lent him to me.”
“You are, then, great friends?”
“He is my best, I might say my only, friend.”
“Adieu, come!”
As the duke raised the tapestry, he fancied he saw the skirt of a dress disappear into the next room, and immediately Bussy appeared at his post in the middle of the corridor. Suspicion grew stronger with the duke.
“We are going,” said he to Bussy, who ran down-stairs without replying; while the duke, left alone, tried to penetrate the corridor where he had seen the silk dress vanish. But, turning, he saw that Monsoreau had followed, and was standing at the door.
“Your highness mistakes your way,” said he.
“True,” said the duke, “thank you.” And he went down with rage in his heart. When he returned home, Aurilly glided into his room.
“Well,” said the duke, “I am baffled by the husband!”
“And, perhaps, also by the lover, monseigneur.”
“What do you say?”
“The truth.”
“Speak, then.”
“I hope your highness will pardon me – it was in your service.”
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Да, первый рассказ из сборника, что я успела прочитать, что надо! И написано хорошо, и содержание необычное, но жизненное. Очень понравилось, хотя там...
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