"I never do," answered Agnes; "but she laughs at me when I tell her I would rather not hear; and tells me that all these things, and indeed the whole world, will appear to me as differently ten years hence as the world now does compared with what it seemed to me as an infant. I do not think it; do you?"
"I can not tell," replied Jean Charost, gravely; "but I hope not; for I believe it would be better for us all could we always see the world with the eyes of childhood. True, it has changed much to my own view within the last few months; but it has changed sadly, and I wish I could look upon it as I did before. That can not be, however; and I suppose we are all--though men more than women--destined to see these changes, and to pass through them."
"Men can bear them better than women," answered Agnes. "A storm that breaks a flower or kills a butterfly, does not bend an oak or scare an eagle. Well, we must endure whatever be our lot; but I often think, Monsieur De Brecy, that, had the choice been mine, I would rather have been a peasant girl--not a serf, but a free farmer's daughter--with a tall, white cap, and a milk-pail on my arm, than a lady of the court, with all these gauds and jewels about me. If my poor mother had lived, I should never have been here."
Thus they rambled on for some time, till at length it was announced that Martin Grille was in waiting; and Jean Charost took his leave of his fair companion, pouring forth upon her at the last moment his thanks for all she had done to serve and save him. He was still stiff and weak, feeling as if every bone in his body had been crushed, and every muscle riven; but he contrived to reach the Hôtel d'Orleans, with the assistance of Martin Grille.
It was now quite dark; but in the vestibule, which has been often mentioned, a number of the unfortunate duke's servants and retainers were assembled, among whom Jean Charost perceived at once, by the dim light of the lanterns, the faces of the chaplain and Seigneur André. As soon as the latter saw him leaning feebly on his servant, he cried out, with an exulting laugh, "Ah, here comes the lame sparrow who was once so pert."
"Silence, fool!" cried a loud voice, "or I will break your head for you." And Juvenel de Royans came forward, holding out his hand to Jean Charost. "Let us be friends, De Brecy," he said. "I have done you some wrong--I have acted foolishly--like a boy; but this last fatal night, and this day, have made a man of me, and I trust a wiser one than I have ever shown myself. Forget the past, and let us be friends."
"Most willingly," replied Jean Charost. "But I must get to my chamber, De Royans, for, to say the truth, I can hardly drag my limbs along."
"Curses upon them!" replied De Royans "the cruel monsters, to torture a man for faithfulness to his lord! Let me help you, De Brecy." And, putting his strong arm through that of Jean Charost, he aided him to ascend the stairs, and with rough kindness laid him down upon his bed.
Here, during the evening, the young secretary was visited by various members of the household, though, to say truth, he was in no very fit state to entertain them. Lomelini came, with his soft and somewhat cunning courtesy, to ask what he could do for the young gentleman--doubting not that he would take a high place in the favor of the duchess. The chaplain came to excuse himself for having suggested certain questions to the king's counsel, and did it somewhat lamely.
Old Monsieur Blaize visited him, to express warm and hearty applause of the young man's conduct in all respects. "Do your devoir; as knightly in the field, my young friend," he said, "as you have done it before the council, and you will win your golden spurs in the first battle that is stricken."