“Take care; I wept for my child, and you said, ‘Console yourself, monsieur, the mercy of God is great;’ to promise me a consolation to my grief was almost to promise me a miracle.”
“Enter, monsieur,” said Bussy, with his bright smile. Bussy went in first, and, running up to Gertrude, said, “Go and tell Madame de Monsoreau that M. de Bussy is here, and desires to speak to her. But,” continued he, in a low voice, “not a word of the person who accompanies me.”
“Madame de Monsoreau!” said the old man in astonishment. But as he feebly mounted the staircase, he heard the voice of Diana crying,—
“M. de Bussy. Gertrude? Oh! let him come in!”
“That voice!” cried the baron, stopping. “Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!”
At that moment, as the baron tremblingly held on to the banister, and looked around him, he saw at the top of the staircase, Diana, smiling, and more beautiful that ever. At this sight the old man uttered a cry and would have fallen, had he not caught hold of Bussy, who stood by him.
“Diana alive! Diana, oh, my God!”
“Mon Dieu! M. de Bussy!” cried Diana, running down, “what is the matter with my father?”
“He thought you dead, madame, and he wept, as a father must weep for a daughter like you.”
“How!” cried Diana; “and no one undeceived him?”