“Oh, you believe me a man of taste, do you not?”
“Certainly, monseigneur.”
“Well, here I am at your knees, and I take your hand and kiss it. Should I do that if I thought you a monster?”
“I beg you, sir, to remember,” said Jeanne coldly, “that I am neither a grisette nor an opera girl; that I am my own mistress, feeling myself the equal of any man in this kingdom. Therefore I shall take freely and spontaneously, when it shall please me, the man who will have gained my affections. Therefore, monseigneur, respect me a little, and, in me, the nobility to which we both belong.”
The cardinal rose. “I see,” said he, “you wish me to love you seriously.”
“I do not say that; but I wish to be able to love you. When that day comes—if it does comes—you will easily find it out, believe me. If you do not, I will let you know it; for I feel young enough and attractive enough not to mind making the first advances, nor to fear a repulse.”
“Countess, if it depends upon me, you shall love me.”
“We shall see.”
“You have already a friendship for me, have you not?”
“More than that.”