"Every one of these affairs," said Henri, "has left me without a mark. I had begun to think that Nature, in her wisdom, had omitted to provide me with a heart, well knowing that such a possession is as much a trouble as a comfort to its owner; yet now, in my old age—imagine, Michel, I am twenty-five, no less!—I have begun to fear that after all she has treated me no better than my fellows. Not only have I found, of late, that I possess a heart, but no sooner was it found than I have lost it—so, at least, I fear!"
"It is possible, I suppose, that I shall die of this wound," Henri continued presently.
"God forbid!" muttered his companion.
"Oh, agreed! I am not anxious to die," Henri laughed; "still, it is possible, for, be assured, Michel, I have felt very ill this night; certainly I have been nearer death than has been my lot before to-day. Who can tell how the malady will go—which turn it will take. This girl, I spoke of; if I should die, Michel, you shall take a message to her. Sapristi—it is an odd thing, that I who have exchanged vows with a hundred women should now remember with affection but one, and she the most artless of them all and doubtless the most virtuous. You will carry a message for this one, Michel, promise me—it is only in case of my death—come!"
"I promise," murmured Louise.
"Good—perhaps I shall live, in which case keep my secret, lest by that time I should think differently. But supposing that I should die, go to the Palais d'armes of old Pierre Dupré, there ask for his daughter Louise—remember their names—you shall take a note of them presently, and tell her that in dying Baron Henri d'Estreville remembered her with tenderness; of all his vows of love he remembered those only that he made to her, which vows, say, he would certainly have kept if he should have remained in the same mind when he returned."
Louise suddenly broke in upon Henri's message with a merry laugh.
"I will leave out the last sentence, it will not sound so well as the rest," she said. "If you had lived, I will say, you might have been faithful to her. That you died loving her fairly well."
"Ah, you mock me!" said Henri. "No, I am serious. It is wonderful, but I remember that little simple one with true affection. To her lips I send a loving kiss, the pledge of my love."
"Shall I carry your very kiss to her?" said Louise; "if—if it would be a comfort to you, I will do so."