“I thank you, madame,” said the young man, affected and almost suffocated by his emotion, “I feel there is indeed still room in my heart for a gentler and nobler sentiment than love.”
The queen-mother looked at him and pressed his hand. “Go,” she said.
“When must I leave? Command me.”
“At any time that may suit you, my lord,” resumed the queen; “you will choose your own day of departure. Instead, however, of setting off to-day, as you would doubtless wish to do, or to-morrow, as others may have expected, leave the day after to-morrow, in the evening; but announce to-day that it is your wish to leave.”
“My wish?” murmured the young duke.
“Yes, duke.”
“And shall I never return to France?”
Anne of Austria reflected for a moment, seemingly absorbed in sad and serious thought. “It would be a consolation for me,” she said, “if you were to return on the day when I shall be carried to my final resting-place at Saint-Denis beside the king, my husband.”
“Madame, you are goodness itself; the tide of prosperity is setting in on you; your cup brims over with happiness, and many long years are yet before you.”
“In that case you will not come for some time, then,” said the queen, endeavoring to smile.