"Will you not go with them, madam?" asked Jacques Cœur, who had no great love for the lady left behind.
"I think not," replied Jeanne de Vendôme, in a quiet, easy tone. "Lovers' meetings should have as few witnesses as possible;" and she and Jacques Cœur remained in the hall, the good merchant going to the window, and gazing out upon the night.
A minute or two after, the servant returned with a flagon of water from the castle well, and a silver drinking-cup. These he set upon the table, and retired. Jeanne de Vendôme gazed at them for a moment, and then said, aloud, "I am thirsty too."
Quietly approaching the table, she placed herself in such a position as to stand between the flagon and Jacques Cœur, poured herself out some water, drank, set down the cup again, and after remaining a short time in that position, turned to the window, and took her place beside the merchant.
In the mean time, Jean Charost, with a light in his hand, accompanied Agnes Sorel up the stairs, and through a long passage at the top.
"You seem to know the castle even better than I do," he said, as she guided him on.
"I have been this road in secret once before," she answered, gayly. "Mine is a happier errand now, De Brecy. But we must thread out the labyrinth. I have hid your little gem where best it might lie concealed."
A few moments more, however, brought them to a door which Agnes Sorel opened, and there, with an elderly waiting-maid of Madame De Brecy's, stood his own Agnes, gazing with anxious terror toward the door. She was somewhat pale, somewhat thinner than she had been, and the noise of horses' feet in the court below had made her heart beat fearfully. The moment she saw De Brecy, however, she sprang forward and cast herself into his arms. He pressed her closely to his heart; but all he could say was, "My Agnes--my own Agnes--all is well, and you are mine."
Agnes Sorel put a fair hand upon the arm of each. "May you love ever as you love now," she said, "and may God bless you in your love. Oh, De Brecy, just a year ago you gave me the most painful moment I have ever felt. When I told you I would guard and protect her, there came such a look--oh, such a look into your face--a look of doubt and fear, more reproachful, more monitory, more condemnatory than any thing but my own heart has ever spoken. I give her back to you now, pure, and bright, and true as you left her with me, with the bloom and brightness of her mind as fresh and unsoiled as ever. Love her, and be beloved, and may God bless you ever."
De Brecy took her hand and kissed it. "For how much have I to thank you," he answered; "for all--for every thing; for I am certain that but for your influence this happy meeting would have never been."