"Well! before this door lies a man, wrapped in a gray cloak."
"Oh, oh! M. du Bouchage puts a gendarme at the door of his mistress."
"It is not a gendarme, monseigneur, but some attendant of the lady's or of the count's."—"What kind of a man?"
"Monseigneur, it was impossible to see his face; but I could perfectly see a large Flemish knife in his belt, and his hand, on it."
"It is amusing; go and waken the fellow."
"Oh, no, monseigneur."
"Why not?"
"Why, without counting the knife, I do not wish to amuse myself with making a mortal enemy of MM. de Joyeuse, who stand so well at court. If you had been king of this country, it might have passed; but now you must be gracious, above all with those who saved you, and Joyeuse did save you. They will say so, whether you do or not."—"You are right, Aurilly, and yet—and yet—"
"I understand. Your highness has not seen a woman's face for fifteen mortal days. I do not speak of the kind of animals who live here; they are males and females, but do not deserve to be called men and women."
"I must see this lady, Aurilly."