The baron, overwhelmed, looked from Bussy to Diana.
“M. de Monsoreau my son-in-law!” stammered he.
“That cannot astonish you, father; did you not order me to marry him?”
“Yes, if he saved you.”
“Well! he did save me,” said Diana, sinking on to a chair, “not from misfortune, but from shame.”
“Then why did he let me think you dead? I, who wept for you so bitterly. Why did he let me die of despair, when a single word would have restored me?”
“Oh! there is some hidden mystery,” cried Diana; “my father, you will not leave me again; M. de Bussy, you will protect us.”
“Alas! madame! it belongs to me no more to enter into your family secrets. Seeing the strange maneuvers of your husband, I wished to bring you a defender; you have your father, I retire.”
“He is right,” said the old man, sadly.
“M. de Monsoreau feared the Duc d’Anjou, and so does M. de Bussy.”