"Have you ever, madame, contemplated the advantages of being a nun?" he asks abruptly. "Devotion is often the refuge of single women."
Mademoiselle is aghast. Her hands drop helplessly to her side, her head sinks on her bosom.
"Good heavens!" she thinks, "what evil fortune pursues me? Will no man ever understand I love him?"
"Upon the whole, madame, I advise you to remain as you are." Lauzun's voice is harsh, his sallow face is flushed. He is conscious of the difficulty of his position, with an ardent princess beside him, whose passion must be irritated to the utmost in order to induce her to overleap all obstacles. "It is too soon to yield," he thinks.
"I have the honour to tell you, Monsieur de Lauzun, I have selected marriage," rejoins Mademoiselle haughtily. She is fast losing her temper. Lauzun instantly assumes a deeply penitent air.
"For myself," he says meekly, "my only pleasure is in the service of his Majesty. I am fit for nothing else." As he speaks his dejected look sends a pang to her heart. "If I leave his Majesty, it will be——" he stops, Mademoiselle listens breathlessly—"it will be to enter a monastery. Nothing but my attachment to my royal master restrains me."
"Blessed Virgin!" ejaculates Mademoiselle, clasping her hands. "Who could have believed it?"
"I shall never marry," continues Lauzun. He hangs down his head, apparently overcome with despondency.
"How?—Why?" demands Mademoiselle eagerly. "For what reason?"