"Well, what connection has that with me?"
"Monsieur d'Alençon is your brother. It is said that you are very fond of him. You may have confided to him a vague feeling of your heart, and, according to the custom at court, he has aided your wish by admitting Monsieur de Mouy to your apartment. Now, what I do not understand is how I was fortunate enough to find the king here at the same time. But in any case, madame, be frank with me. In default of other sentiment, a love like mine has the right to demand frankness in return. See, I prostrate myself at your feet. If what you have felt for me is but a passing fancy, I will give you back your trust, your promise, your love; I will give back to Monsieur d'Alençon his kind favors and my post of gentleman, and I will go and seek death at the siege of La Rochelle, if love does not kill me before I have gone as far as that."
Marguerite listened smilingly to these charming words, watching La Mole's graceful gestures, then leaning her beautiful dreamy head on her feverish hand:
"You love me?" she asked.
"Oh, madame! more than life, more than safety, more than all; but you, you—you do not love me."
"Poor fool!" she murmured.
"Ah, yes, madame," cried La Mole, still at her feet, "I have told you I was that."
"The chief thought of your life, then, is your love, dear La Mole!"
"It is the only thought, madame, the sole thought."
"Well, be it so; I will make of all the rest only an accessory to this love. You love me; do you wish to remain near me?"