“Certainly; your Excell——”
“Nay, nay, M. Duroset, we are all incog.” said the Maréchal, smiling good-humouredly.
“As you please, sir. I will go and make a brief explanation to Mademoiselle, if you will excuse my leaving you. May I take these jewels with me? Thanks.”
The explanation was, indeed, of the briefest; and he returned in a few seconds, accompanied by a young lady, whose elegance of mien and loveliness of form seemed to astonish even the critical gaze of Richelieu.
“Madame la Comtesse de Vaugirarde,” said the Director, presenting her.
“Ah, belle Comtesse!” said the Maréchal, as he kissed the tips of her fingers with the most profound courtesy; “may I hope that the world has still charms to win back one whose griefs should fall like spring showers, and only render more fragrant the soil they water!”
“I know not what the future may bring forth,” said she, with a most gracefully-affected sadness; “but for the present, I feel as if the solitude of my ancient château, the peaceful quiet of the country, would best respond to my wishes: there alone, to wander in those woods, whose paths are endeared to me——”
“Admirable!—beautiful!—perfect!” exclaimed Richelieu, in a transport of delight; “never was the tribute of affection more touching—never a more graceful homage rendered to past happiness! Now, when can you set out?”
“To-morrow.”
“Why not to-day? Time is every thing here.”