“A perfect gentleman, a preux chevalier, who, had he lived in King Arthur’s time, would have had a place at his round table.”
“And,” said Bussy, steadying his voice, “to whom is his daughter married?”
“Diana married?”
“Would that be extraordinary?”
“Of course not, only I should have been the first to hear of it.”
Bussy could not repress a sigh. “Then,” said he, “you expect to find Mademoiselle de Méridor at the château with her father?”
“We trust so.”
They rode on a long time in silence, and at last Jeanne cried:
“Ah! there are the turrets of the castle. Look, M. de Bussy, through that great leafless wood, which in a month, will be so beautiful; do you not see the roof?”
“Yes,” said Bussy, with an emotion which astonished himself; “and is that the château of Méridor?”