“I have ordered them to get ready my little house at the Tournelles.”
Bussy and Diana exchanged a look of loving remembrance.
“What, that little place?” cried Rémy, imprudently.
“What! do you know it?”
“Who does not know the houses of the chief huntsman? particularly I, who lived in the Rue Beautrellis.”
“Yes, yes, I will go there. It is a fortress, and one can see from the window, three hundred yards off, who is coming to visit you, and avoid them if you like, particularly when you are well!”
Bussy bit his lips; he feared a time might come when Monsoreau might avoid him. Diana thought of the time when she had seen Bussy in that house, lying fainting on the bed.
“You cannot do it,” said Rémy.
“Why not, if you please, monsieur?”
“Because the chief huntsman of France must hold receptions—must keep valets and equipages. Let him have a palace for his dogs, if he likes, but not a dog-kennel for himself.”