“Your highness——”
“Even lately, in this last unlucky adventure——”
“What adventure, monseigneur?”
“This carrying off of Mademoiselle de Méridor—poor young creature!”
“Alas!” murmured Monsoreau.
“You pity her, do you not?” said the duke.
“Does not your highness?”
“I! you know how I have regretted this fatal caprice. And, indeed, it required all my friendship for you, and the remembrance of all your good services, to make me forget that without you I should not have carried off this young girl.”
Monsoreau felt the blow. “Monseigneur,” said he, “your natural goodness leads you to exaggerate, you no more caused the death of this young girl than I did.”
“How so?”