“Poor Gilbert,” said the Vicomte de Saint-Ermay as the door closed. “I never knew he cared so much. Jasmin, you are slower than a tortoise! Where are my clothes?”
CHAPTER VII
LUCIENNE LAUGHS AND CRIES
“Je t’ai vue au temps des lilas,
Ton jeune cœur venait d’éclore,
Et tu disais, ‘Je ne veux pas,
Je ne veux pas qu’on m’aime encore !’
Qu’as-tu fait depuis mon départ?
Qui part trop tôt revient top tard. . . .”
—Alfred de Musset.
The high roofs of the three pavilions of the Tuileries once more peered at Gilbert as for the second time that day he made his way towards the Cour du Carrousel. A huddle of buildings—hotels, barracks, livery-stables, dependencies of all kinds—screened the great court from the passers-by; and having threaded his way through these the Marquis, whose goal was not now the royal apartments, directed his steps to the extreme left-hand wing of the palace, the Pavillon de Flore. Here, on the ground floor, were the rooms of Madame de Lamballe, and above her dwelt the King’s sister, to whose apartments Château-Foix, presenting his card of entry to the sentinel, was presently admitted by the Escalier de la Reine.