"Étienne," Monsieur said slowly, "can't you see that Mlle. de Montluc is not for you?"
"I shall never see it, Monsieur. The first article in my creed says she is for me. And I'll have her yet, for all Mayenne."
"Then, mordieu, we'll steal her together!"
"You! You'll help me?"
"Why, dear son," Monsieur explained, "it broke my heart to think of you in the League. I could not bear that my son should help a Spaniard to the throne of France, or a Lorrainer either. But if it is a question of stealing the lady—well, I never prosed about prudence yet, thank God!"
M. Étienne, wet-eyed, laughing, hugged Monsieur.
"By St. Quentin, we'll get you your lady! I hated the marriage while I thought it would make you a Leaguer. I could not see you sacrifice your honour to a girl's bright eyes. But your life—that is different."
"My life is a little thing."
"No," Monsieur said; "it is a good deal—one's life. But one is not to guard one's life at the cost of all that makes life sweet."
"Ah, you know how I love her!"