“Oh! M. le Comte!”
“The wretch; it is not enough for him that you are his wife: you, the most beautiful and most charming of creatures, but he is still jealous. Jealous! The devouring monster would absorb the whole world!”
“Oh! calm yourself, comte; mon Dieu; he is excusable, perhaps.”
“He is excusable! you defend him, madame?”
“Oh! if you knew!” cried Diana, covering her face with her hands.
“If I knew! Oh! madame, I know one thing; he who is your husband is wrong to think of the rest of the world.”
“But!” cried Diana, in a broken voice, “if you were wrong, M. le Comte, and if he were not.”
And the young woman, touching with her cold hand the burning ones of Bussy, rose and fled among the somber alleys of the garden, seized Gertrude’s arm and dragged her away, before Bussy, astonished and overwhelmed with delight, had time to stretch out his arms to retain her. He uttered a cry and tottered; Rémy arrived in time to catch him in his arms and make him sit down on the bench that Diana had just quitted.