“Ah!” exclaimed I, clapping my hands in triumph, “just now you affected perfect ignorance; you knew nothing at all about it, and now—”
“You are a very dangerous woman,” cried the king, interrupting me by loud fits of laughter, “and you are cunning enough even to surprise the secrets of the state.”
“‘Tis you, rather, who could not resist the inclination to let me see that you knew what the maréchal had declared you ignorant of. Which of us two is the more to blame, I wonder?”
“Myself, I think,” answered the king; “for after all, you did but act with the candor and curiosity of your sex: it was for me to have employed more of the prudence of a king in my replies to your interrogatories.”
“Well, but,” said I, “since you really do know all about this man with the iron mask, you will tell it to me, will you not?”
“I should be very careful how I gratified your curiosity,” said he; “this is a point of history which must never be cleared up; state reasons require that it should for ever remain a matter of doubt.”
“And I must have you tell me,” returned I; “do pray tell, and I will love you with all my heart.”
“It cannot be.”
“And why not? This unfortunate person has been long dead without leaving any posterity.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” inquired the king, in a serious tone.