“To the convent of St. Denis, madame.”
“Well, mademoiselle, I consider you guilty towards me of ingratitude and forgetfulness.”
Andrée, however, left the room and the castle without giving any of those explanations which the good heart of the queen expected, and without in any way softening or humbling herself. When she arrived at home, she found Philippe in the garden—the brother dreamed, while the sister acted. At the sight of Andrée, whose duties always kept her with the queen at that hour, he advanced, surprised, and almost frightened, which was increased when he perceived her gloomy look.
He questioned her, and she told him that she was about to leave the service of the queen, and go into a convent.
He clasped his hands, and cried, “What! you also, sister?”
“I also! what do you mean?”
“’Tis a cursed contact for us, that of the Bourbons. You wish to take religious vows; you, at once the least worldly of women, and the least fitted for a life of asceticism. What have you to reproach the queen with?”
“I have nothing to reproach her with; but you, Philippe, who expected, and had the right to expect, so much—why did not you remain at court? You did not remain there three days; I have been there as many years.”
“She is capricious, Andrée.”
“You, as a man, might put up with it. I, a woman, could not, and do not wish to do so.”