“And the king believed that?”
“Implicitly.”
“Oh, you surprise me, Monsieur de Manicamp; you surprise me very much.”
And Madame walked up and down the room, casting a searching look from time to time at Manicamp, who remained motionless and impassible in the same place. At last she stopped.
“And yet,” she said, “every one here seems unanimous in giving another cause for this wound.”
“What cause, Madame?” said Manicamp; “may I be permitted, without indiscretion, to ask your highness?”
“You ask such a question! You, M. de Guiche’s intimate friend, his confidant, indeed!”
“Oh, Madame! his intimate friend—yes; confidant—no. De Guiche is a man who can keep his own secrets, who has some of his own certainly, but who never breathes a syllable about them. De Guiche is discretion itself, Madame.”
“Very well, then; those secrets which M. de Guiche keeps so scrupulously, I shall have the pleasure of informing you of,” said the princess, almost spitefully; “for the king may possibly question you a second time, and if, on the second occasion, you were to repeat the same story to him, he possibly might not be very well satisfied with it.”
“But, Madame, I think your highness is mistaken with regard to the king. His majesty was perfectly satisfied with me, I assure you.”