"Yes."
"Well, there was that word in the letter—'Margota cum Turennio, ambo nocentes, conveniunt in castello nomine Loignac.' Mon Dieu! how I regret that my knowledge is not as great as my memory is good."
"Ambo nocentes," repeated Marguerite, in a low voice, and turning very pale, "he understood it all."
"Margota cum Turennio, ambo nocentes," repeated Henri. "What the devil could my brother mean by 'ambo!' Ventre St. Gris, ma mie, it is astonishing that you who know Latin so well have not yet explained it to me. Ah! pardieu! there is 'Turennius' walking under your windows, and looking up as if he expected you. I will call to him to come up; he is very learned, and he will explain it to me."
"Sire, sire, be superior to all the calumniators of France."
"Oh! ma mie, it seems to me that people are not more indulgent in Navarre than in France; you, yourself, were very severe about poor Fosseuse just now."
"I severe?"
"Yes; and yet we ought to be indulgent here, we lead such a happy life, you with your balls, and I with my chase."
"Yes, yes, sire; you are right; let us be indulgent."
"Oh! I was sure of your heart, ma mie."