"Stay, Schomberg, stay!" cried the Duke; but his friend passed through the door and would not return.
Charles of Montsoreau then raised his voice in the same cause as Schomberg, and Marie de Clairvaut entreated anxiously that he would yield to what had been proposed. But at them the Duke only laughed.
"Hush, hush!" he said. "Logères, you do not know what you say. There, kiss her and be gone. To-morrow she shall be yours, no more to part. Say no more, silly girl; say no more. You, a child of a Guise, talk to me of fear! Call thy maidens, get thee to thy bed, and rise to-morrow with bright eyes and blooming cheeks. Fare thee well, sweet one. I long to be quit of thy guardianship."
Remonstrance was useless, and they parted; and the Duke of Guise sitting down for a moment, gave himself up to thought. His eyes were fixed upon the dark tapestry opposite, where was depicted a woody scene, the particulars of which could not be well distinguished by the dim light of the lamp.
After he had gazed for a moment or two, however, his eyes assumed a peculiar expression, a fixed, intense, and somewhat bewildered stare. He passed his hand twice before them, as if he felt them dim or dazzled; then clasped his hands together and gazed, still muttering to himself, "Strange, very strange! It is there still!" And starting up from the table, he seized the lamp, and advanced directly towards the side of the room on which his eyes had been fixed, still gazing stedfastly on the same spot. At length, as he approached close to the wall, his features relaxed, and he said with a smile, "It is gone! These delusions of the sight are wonderful!"
He had not yet returned to his seat, when the door on his right hand opened gently, and the form of a woman glided in. It was that of the beautiful being with whom he had parted in some anger at the King's ball, and she gazed at him, evidently surprised to see him standing with the lamp in his hand close to the wall, on a side where there was no exit.
"In the name of Heaven, Guise! what is the matter?" she said. "I heard you speaking as I came in. You are pale; your lip quivers!"
"It is nothing; it is nothing," replied the Duke, putting down the lamp, and taking her hand. "This is, indeed, dear and kind of you, Charlotte. I trusted, I was sure, that your anger for a light offence would not last long."
"It would have lasted long, Guise," she said, "or at least its effects would not have passed away, had it not been for the warning that I have received concerning you. Guise, you would not have seen me now--you would never have seen me in these rooms again----"
"Nay, nay," interrupted the Duke, "traduce not so your own nature. Say not that a few unthinking words would render her so harsh, who is so gentle."