“And in the meantime you fear for yourself?”
“I struck her. He tried to stab me. I cried, Vive le Roi! You know what that means.”
“Cry Vive la Reine for the future. ’Tis the sweet saint who suffers most. Well, it seems the truth at last; and you have your provocation—by God, you have! Only for me, having one different, to help myself by you?—it goes against my stomach somehow. I wish it was your principles instead of your jealousy.”
“Help me in nothing but to some place of safety, where I can inform and direct the court. It will not be troubled with your ladyship’s scruples.”
“How do you know? ’Tis so you have been taught to regard my sweet queen, I suppose?”
“O, madam!” I cried, “you know what made me an ardent pupil.”
She stood musing upon me long and earnestly.
“Yes, perhaps,” she said at length, and sighed; “what a fool preacher is Love, not to be able to keep his own faith! To drive woman for refuge on woman—’tis like banishing your physician to the enemy’s camp. Well”—she took my hands; I thought she was going to kiss me, but she made no offer—“for myself, I don’t want to hear none of your inculpations; but I’ll put you in train to satisfy your passions on others that may. Will that suit you?”
She turned before I could answer, and was going.
“It must be soon,” I urged hoarsely, following her; “O, madam! don’t you understand that it must be soon?”