"Why, you know better than any one, François, for he has spent his days almost constantly in your society, either hunting or playing mall or tennis."
"Yes, his days, no doubt," replied the duke; "his days—but his nights?"
Marguerite was silent; it was now her turn to cast down her eyes.
"His nights," persisted the Duc d'Alençon, "his nights?"
"Well?" inquired Marguerite, feeling that it was requisite that she should say something in reply.
"Well, he has been spending them with Madame de Sauve!"
"How do you know that?" exclaimed Marguerite.
"I know it because I have an interest in knowing it," replied the young prince, growing pale and picking the embroidery of his sleeves.
Marguerite began to understand what Catharine had whispered to Charles, but pretended to remain in ignorance.
"Why do you tell me this, brother?" she replied, with a well-affected air of melancholy; "was it to remind me that no one here loves me or takes my part, neither those whom nature gave me as protectors nor the man whom the Church gave me as my husband?"