Bertrand tried to argue with old Madame, and sharp words flew between these two, who usually were so entirely at one in their thoughts and their ideals. But he felt that he had been like a drowning man, and the loving, gentle hand that had been held out to him at the hour of his greatest peril had become very dear. Perhaps it would be too much to say that Bertrand loved Nicolette now as passionately as he had loved Rixende in the past, or that the image of one woman had wholly obliterated that of the other: but he was immensely grateful to her, and whenever his memory dwelt on the thought of that sweet, trusting young body clinging to him, of those soft, delicate hands fondling his hair, of that crooning voice murmuring sweet words of love and surrender, he felt a warmth within his heart, a longing for Nicolette, different, yes! sweeter than anything he had experienced for Rixende.
“When you find yourself face to face with the alternative of giving up your career or that peasant wench, you’ll not hesitate, I presume; you, a Comte de Ventadour!”
These were old Madame’s parting words, when, wearied with an argument that tended nowhere, Bertrand finally kissed her hand and bade her good night.
“Come, come,” she added more gently, “confess that you have been weak and foolish. You loved Rixende de Peyron-Bompar until a week ago. You cannot have fallen out of love and in again in so short a time. Have no fear, my dear Bertrand, an officer in the King’s bodyguard, a young man as accomplished as yourself and with a name like yours, has never yet failed to make a brilliant marriage. There are as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it. A little patience, and I’ll warrant that within three months you’ll be thanking Heaven on your knees that Rixende de Peyron-Bompar was such a fool, for you will be leading to the altar a far richer heiress than she.”
But Bertrand now was too tired to say more. He just kissed his grandmother’s hand, and with a sigh and a weary smile, said enigmatically:
“Perhaps!”
Then he went out of the room.
Jaume Deydier met Bertrand de Ventadour on the threshold of the mas.
“Enter, Monsieur le Comte,” he said curtly.
Bertrand followed him into the parlour, and took the chair that Deydier offered him beside the hearth. He inquired anxiously after Nicolette, and the old man told him briefly all that had happened.