"Sire," said Aignan, with a smile, "I question whether, if your majesty were to know my projects in their full extent, you would continue to confer such pompous qualifications upon me. Ah! sire, I know how very different are the epithets which certain Puritans of the court will not fail to apply to me when they learn what I intend to do for your majesty."
"Saint-Aignan, I am dying from impatience; I am in a perfect fever; I shall never be able to wait until to-morrow—To-morrow! why to-morrow is an eternity!"
"And yet, sire, I shall require you, if you please, to go out presently and divert your impatience by a good walk."
"With you—agreed; we will talk about your projects, we will talk of her."
"Nay, sire; I remain here."
"Whom shall I go out with, then?"
"With the queens and all the ladies of the court."
"Nothing shall induce me to do that Saint-Aignan."
"And yet, sire, you must do it."
"No, no—a thousand times, no! I will never again expose myself to the horrible torture of being close to her, of seeing her, of touching her dress as I pass by her, and yet not to be able to say a word to her. No, I renounce a torture which you suppose to be happiness, but which consumes and eats away my very life; to see her in the presence of strangers and not to tell her that I love her, when my whole being reveals my affection and betrays me to every one; no! I have sworn never to do it again, and I will keep my oath."