“One of your best friends, and—are they at home?”
“Doubtless,” said Jeanne, who was completely ignorant of the events of the last two months; “but have you never heard of the Baron de Méridor, one of the richest noblemen in France, and of——”
“Of what?”
“Of his daughter, Diana, the most beautiful girl possible?”
Bussy was filled with astonishment, asking himself by what singular happiness he found on the road people to talk to him of Diana de Méridor to echo the only thought which he had in his mind.
“Is this castle far off, madame?” asked he.
“About seven leagues, and we shall sleep there to-night; you will come, will you not?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Come, that is already a step towards the happiness I promised you.”
“And the baron, what sort of a man is he?”