“Well? the queen-mother wrote to the court of Rome, and received as answer, that a marriage between us would have no validity, and would be dissolved by the holy father. At length, finding there was no hope for us, I requested to have my marriage with the infanta at least delayed.”
“And yet that does not prevent your being on the road to meet her?”
“How can I help it? To my prayers, to my supplications, to my tears, I received no answer but reasons of state.”
“Well, well?”
“Well, what is to be done, mademoiselle, when so many wills are leagued against me?”
It was now Marie’s turn to hang her head. “Then I must bid you adieu for ever,” said she. “You know that I am being exiled; you know that I am going to be buried alive; you know still more that they want to marry me off, too.”
Louis became very pale, and placed his hand upon his heart.
“If I had thought that my life only had, been at stake, I have been so persecuted that I might have yielded; but I thought yours was concerned, my dear sire, and I stood out for the sake of preserving your happiness.”
“Oh, yes! my happiness, my treasure!” murmured the king, more gallantly than passionately, perhaps.
“The cardinal might have yielded,” said Marie, “if you had addressed yourself to him, if you had pressed him. For the cardinal to call the king of France his nephew! do you not perceive, sire? He would have made war even for that honor; the cardinal, assured of governing alone, under the double pretext of having brought up the king and given his niece to him in marriage—the cardinal would have fought all antagonists, overcome all obstacles. Oh, sire! I can answer for that. I am a woman, and I see clearly into everything where love is concerned.”