“And that is just what Charlotte d’Orleans will never do,” and though her voice was sad, it had a certain pride and dignity.
I was too astonished to reply.
“M. de Brancas,” she continued, “I know her better than do you, far better even than Richelieu. A woman has her ideals no less than a man. But listen, she herself is telling him.”
In the tumult of my own emotion I had no longer heeded what was happening in the outer room, but at this moment I heard Richelieu’s voice raised in impatient protest.
“What do you say, mademoiselle,” he cried, “that you will not go with me? And why, may I ask? Is it that you no longer love me?”
“M. le Duc,” answered the clear voice of the princess, who seemed to have recovered her composure, “it appears to me that it can no longer be a question of my love, since to save your head I have agreed to this hateful marriage. The reason is, monsieur, that I have given my word to my father, and I do not choose to break it. He might have distrusted me; he might have insisted that this marriage take place before you were released, and I should have consented without an instant’s hesitation, because I should have known that he would keep faith with me. But he chose to trust me; you were free again an hour after I had given my word. It is to his generosity you owe your presence here to-night, monsieur. My sacrifice may be the greater, but I do not choose to fall below my father.”
Richelieu remained for a moment speechless. I felt the tears starting to my eyes.
“That is grand; that is noble,” I murmured.
Louise answered by a pressure of the hand, and I knew that she also was affected no less than I.
It was Richelieu who broke the silence.