“So much the worse; I should have liked to have made a prince laugh, who hardly ever does so.”
“I laugh at your inventing a false story to find out the true one.”
“No, I told you the truth.”
“Well, then, as we are alone, tell me your little history. Where did it happen?”
“In the wood of Méridor.”
The duke grew pale again, but did not speak.
“Decidedly,” thought Bussy, “the duke is mixed up with that story. Pardieu! monseigneur,” said he, “as M. de Monsoreau seems to have found the method of pleasing you so well, teach it to me.”
“Pardieu! yes, Bussy, I will tell you how. Listen; I met, by chance, at church, a charming woman, and as some features of her face, which I only saw through a veil, recalled to me a lady whom I had much loved, I followed her, and found out where she lived. I have gained over her servant, and have a key of the house.”
“Well, monseigneur, all seems to go well for you.”
“But they say she is a great prude, although free, young, and beautiful.”