I sighed.
“Nay,” she said, “for I can laugh, as you see.”
“And the dog, my poor child?”
“She ran under the tumbril, and bit at the heels of the horses. She would not leave him, monsieur; and still—and still she haunts the place. I go to her,—when all the city is silent I go to her, if I can escape, and take her the sweetmeats that she loves. What of that? It is only a little while and my turn must come, and then Radegonde will be alone. My hair, monsieur will observe, is the right colour for the perukes.”
She stayed me with a touch.
“I am arrived. A thousand thanks for your escort, Monsieur le Comte.”
We were by a low casement with a ledge before it—an easy climb from the street. She pushed the lattice open, showing me it was unbolted from within.
“She thinks me fast and asleep,” she said. “Some day soon, perhaps, but not yet.”
I did not ask her who she was. I seemed all mazed in a silent dream of pity.
“It is quite simple,” she said, “when no cavalier is by to look. Will the citizen turn his head?”