"Well, madame, well," said the Béarnais, earnestly and in a low voice, "it is true you do not love me, but you are, at least, honorable."
"What do you mean, sire?"
"I mean that if you were capable of betraying me, you would have allowed me to go on, as I was betraying myself. You stopped me—I now know that some one is concealed here—that you are an unfaithful wife, but a faithful ally; and just now, I confess, I have more need of fidelity in politics than in love."
"Sire!" replied Marguerite, confused.
"Good, good; we will talk of this hereafter," said Henry, "when we know each other better."
Then, raising his voice—"Well," he continued, "do you breathe more freely now, madame?"
"Yes, sire,—yes!"
"Well, then," said the Béarnais, "I will no longer intrude on you. I owed you my respects, and some advances toward better acquaintance; deign, then, to accept them, as they are offered, with all my heart. Good-night, and happy slumbers!"
Marguerite raised her eyes, shining with gratitude, and offered her husband her hand.
"It is agreed," she said.