"I know it—I know it," answers Mademoiselle with triumph.
"Ah, madame," continues D'Artagnan, shaking with suppressed laughter, "did I not fear to offend your delicacy, I could say more."
"Ah! did Lauzun speak often of me?" she asks, and a fire comes into her sunken eyes. "Tell me."
"He spoke of nothing else. Day and night your name was on his lips. My honour as a Gascon upon it."
"Repeat this to me," cries Mademoiselle with ecstasy.
"You little know, your highness, what tortures he suffers at being separated from you."
"Alas! Monsieur d'Artagnan, he cannot suffer more than I!" and Mademoiselle's sigh is almost a groan.
"Your highness has great influence over his Majesty. Is it possible that his imprisonment may be shortened?"
"Can you doubt that my whole life, my influence, my wealth, all I have, will be devoted to this object?" exclaims Mademoiselle.
("Good," thinks D'Artagnan, "I have served my poor friend, and I hope myself, well. What an imbecile she is!")