“Name it.”
“That not a word shall be said about it to the king.”
“Not a word, I swear.”
“I will go and get my horse, then.”
“And I, mine.”
“Where shall we meet?”
“In the plain; I know an admirable place.”
“Shall we go together?”
“Why not?”
And both of them, on their way to the stables, passed beneath Madame’s windows, which were faintly lighted; a shadow could be seen behind the lace curtains. “There is a woman,” said De Wardes, smiling, “who does not suspect that we are going to fight—to die, perhaps, on her account.”