Jeanne arrived radiant, full of happiness and fun. Bussy saluted her in a friendly manner, and she held out her hand to him, saying, with a smile, “How go on the love affairs?”
“They are dying.”
“They are wounded and fainting; perhaps you can restore them, Jeanne?”
“Let me see; show me the wound.”
“In two words, this is it: M. de Bussy does not like smiling on M. de Monsoreau, and he thinks of retiring.”
“And leaving Diana to him?”
“Oh! madame, St. Luc does not tell you that I wish to die.”
“Poor Diana!” murmured Jeanne, “decidedly men are ungrateful.”
“Good! this is the conclusion my wife draws.”
“I, ungrateful!” cried Bussy, “because I fear to render my love vile, by practising a disgraceful hypocrisy?”