“Oh! that is a difficulty; no doubt. But this seems a very sudden love of M. de Charny’s. I have never heard of it from any one. Who is the lady you love, M. de Charny?”
The queen felt in despair, not knowing what he would say, and dreading to hear him name any one. But Charny could not reply: so, after a pause, she cried, “Sire, you know her; it is Andrée de Taverney.”
Charny buried his face in his hands; the queen pressed her hand to her heart, and could hardly support herself.
“Mademoiselle de Taverney? but she has gone to St. Denis.”
“Yes, sire,” replied the queen.
“But she has taken no vows.”
“No, but she is about to do so.”
“We will see if we can persuade her. Why should she take the vows?”
“She is poor,” said the queen.
“That I can soon alter, madame, if M. de Charny loves her.”