Mademoiselle shakes her head.
"Proper pride—a conscious superiority," she murmurs.
"Well, madame, when he was arrested on St. Catherine's day, at Saint-Germain, the Comte de Rochefort brought him into the guard-room, and consigned him to me. I started at once with him on his journey to Pignerol. From time to time he gazed at me, but did not utter a single word. When we passed your villa at Petit Bourg, he groaned, and tears gathered in his eyes."
"Poor Lauzun!" says Mademoiselle softly, lifting up her eyes.
"'That villa,' said the Count to me, 'belongs to Mademoiselle. Words cannot tell what I owe her. She is as good as she is great.'"
"Did Lauzun really say this?" asks Mademoiselle, with melting eyes.
"He did, madame," rejoins D'Artagnan with secret exultation at seeing how the bait is swallowed. "'I am unhappy, Captain d'Artagnan', he went on to say, 'unhappy, but not guilty. I have served my King faithfully. I have worshipped Mademoiselle—not for her wealth, but for herself.'"
Mademoiselle puts her handkerchief to her eyes. She is convulsed with suppressed sobs.
"Yes, madame; this and much more was said to me by the Count. Indeed, his words were so touching that, soldier as I am, I wept, your highness—I actually wept."
"Excellent man," mutters Mademoiselle, stretching out her hand towards him. "I shall not forget your appreciation of so noble a gentleman."