'Where we sow our dreams? You speak in metaphors, Messire. If, as you say, we sow our dreams, what do we reap?'
'A perfect being such as you, Madame, can only reap joy and happiness.'
'But you, Messire?'
'Oh, I, Madame!' he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. 'What can a poor soldier of fortune garner from a crop of dreams save a bunch of memories?'
'Happy memories, I trust,' she said gently, as she finally extended her dainty hand for his kiss.
'Happiness is such an ephemeral flower, Madame: memory is its lasting perfume.'
For one brief moment her exquisite little hand, white, soft and tensely alive, like the petals of a fragrant lily, lay upon his own: for one brief moment of unalloyed happiness his lips rested upon her finger-tips, and he felt them quivering beneath his kiss, as if something of the passion which was searing his heart had been communicated to her through that kiss.
The moment went by like a flash: the next, Monsieur le Baron d'Inchy was already bidding him farewell with many an unctuous word, which Gilles never even heard. He had eyes and ears only for Jacqueline—Jacqueline, whom he had seen and loved at first sight, when she had been alternately proud and dignified, demure and arch, reproachful and contemptuous; but before whom he could now bend the knee in adoration when a softened mood filled her eyes with tears and caused her perfect lips to quiver with unexpressed sympathy.
'I entreat you, Messire,' she said finally, 'when you return to your master, to urge upon him the necessity of extreme prudence. Strangers are none too welcome in Cambray these days, and Monseigneur de Froidmont hath already made many enemies, some of whom are unscrupulous, others merely hot-headed; but all, alas! dangerous. Guard him with your life, Messire,' she urged, with a quaint little catch in her throat. 'And, above all, I pray you to assure him that Jacqueline de Broyart would give much to undo the miserable work of the past night.'
She bowed her head in token that he was dismissed at last, and he—poor wretch!—could not at that moment have uttered a single word in response, for his throat was choked and his very sinews ached with the effort to appear calm and unconcerned before Monseigneur the governor.