"Ay," said Marie; "but I should think that at that period, when life itself is fleeting away from us, and almost all the bright things of this existence are gone, any signs of human friendship, and tenderness, and affection, must be a thousand fold more dear and cheering, more valuable in every way, than when the energetic powers of life are at their full. Then we want few companionships, for we are sufficient to ourselves: but in the winter of our age, close by the icy tomb, the warmth of human affection is all that we have to cheer us; the voice of friendship, like the song of a spring bird in the chill months of the early year, must seem prophetic of a brighter season, when the cold days of earth are passed, and all glad sounds and happy sights shall be renewed in a fresh summer. Oh, the tongue of youth and health, speaking friendly sounds to the ear of sickness and age, must be the last, the brightest, the sweetest of all things which can smooth the soul's passage to eternity!"
There was an implied reproof in the words of Marie de Clairvaut, which was not pleasant to the ear of Gaspar de Montsoreau; but it did not in any degree alter his purpose; and merely saying that, if possible, he would go on the following day, he led his fair guest on to the hall, and gladly saw the meal concluded, and his brother quit the table with the Abbé to proceed upon their way.
As soon as they were gone, a burden seemed off his mind; he became gay, and bright, and pleasing; and his conversation resumed its usual tone. The stores of his mind once put forth, and there were sufficient indications of kind and generous feelings to give his society that charm without which all other attractions are poor--the charm of the heart. Towards Marie de Clairvaut his manner assumed a warmth and a tenderness which alarmed and pained her; and with the new insight into her own heart, which she had obtained, she was enabled at once to decide upon her conduct towards him. She remained in conversation, indeed, for some time after breakfast, and though grave and serious, was by no means repulsive: but anxious to avoid any private communication whatsoever with the young Marquis, no sooner did she see Madame de Saulny make some movement as if about to quit the room, than putting her arm through that of her relation, she said, "Come, ma bonne de Saulny, I want to have a long conversation with you, and after that I think I shall lie down and rest for an hour or two, for I am much fatigued."
Madame de Saulny accompanied her to her apartments, leaving the young Marquis of Montsoreau standing in moody silence in the midst of the hall; and when, some hours afterwards, he sent up to inquire if Mademoiselle de Clairvaut would not go forth to see some game taken in the nets, the reply given by one of her maids in the anteroom was, that finding herself somewhat indisposed, she had lain down to rest, and was asleep. At this answer he broke away with an expression of bitter anger, and mounting his horse, rode out with a furious pace.
He had been gone about an hour and a half, when Marie came down into the room which we have described as the lady's bower, accompanied by Madame de Saulny, and employed herself in somewhat listless mood with the various occupations of a lady of that day. For a short space she plied the busy needle at the embroidery frame, and then took up the lute and played and sang; but the music was broken, and came but by fits and starts; and it was evident that impatient expectation marred the power of present enjoyment or occupation. At length the clattering of horses' feet was heard below, and fain would she have looked forth from the window to ascertain which of the two brothers it was that had returned. At length, however, there was a step upon the stairs, and her beating heart decided the matter in a moment. It was Charles of Montsoreau that entered: but he was deadly pale, and that apparently from no temporary cause; for though he spoke calmly and tranquilly to Marie de Clairvaut and Madame de Saulny, the colour did not return into his cheek.
Marie, on her part, was anxious and agitated; she spoke low, for she feared that her voice might tremble if she used a louder tone. Her eye fell beneath that of her lover, and the colour came and went in her cheek like light quivering on the wings of a bird; and yet she was the first to propose that they should go forth together.
"Your brother is absent," she said, "and I understand sent up some time ago, while I was asleep, to ask if I would go out to see some game taken in the nets. Would it please you to go and join him?"
"Much," replied the young nobleman. "He is not far; I know where the nets were to be laid."
"Then we will walk thither," she said: "I fear I shall be afraid of horses for many a long day. Madame de Saulny, you will come with us, will you not?"
But Madame de Saulny declined; and Charles of Montsoreau and Marie de Clairvaut went forth, followed by two of her maids, and some other attendants, at a respectful distance. The hearts of both beat even painfully; and for some steps from the castle gates they proceeded in silence, till at length she inquired how he had found the friend he went to visit. The young nobleman replied that he feared he was dying; and, after a few words more on that subject, the conversation again dropped.