It was certainly a surprise, though not a very disagreeable one, and Edward would not have objected to go over the same scene again; but, fancying there must be some mistake, he said, "I beg pardon for my intrusion. I imagine, madame, that you have—happily for me—taken me for some one else, by the honor you show me. I am merely a page to Lord Montagu, whom I hope to find here."
"No mistake at all, monsieur," said the gay lady. "It is a vow, sir,—altogether a vow,—which I and my daughter made, to kiss the first gentleman that came to relieve our solitude; for my magnificent lord has chosen to take himself away with all his people, and we have seen no faces but those of the old servants for two whole days. It was a vow, sir, we accomplished; but, even had it not been, I suppose I am not the first duchess who has kissed a page, and probably I shall not be the last."
"Heaven forbid!" said Edward, entering into the humor of the hour, "if all duchesses' kisses are as sweet. But I presume I am in the presence of Madame de Chevreuse, for whom I have a letter."
"Well, well," said the bright, reckless woman, "sit down here beside me and tell me more. So you are my friend Lord Montagu's page. He has expected you long, and told me all about you. How happened you to linger on the road? Now, I warrant you met with some pretty little maiden, and could not tear yourself away till you had beguiled the poor thing."
Edward took the seat to which she pointed beside her own chair, and proceeded to tell her all he thought necessary to account for his long delay, but without alluding in any way to Lucette. The explanation was somewhat long, and the duchess listened listlessly, sometimes gazing at his face, sometimes looking down at her own beautiful hands and shifting the rings about in an absent manner. Edward, as was customary at that period, nourished two locks of dark silky hair, twisted into those long pendent curls which brought forth at an after-period the famous puritanical tirade upon "the unloveliness of love-locks;" and, a little to his surprise, as he went on he felt the fair duchess's hands busy with the curls and twisting them round her fingers. Suddenly, however, she started, exclaiming, "What am I about?" and Edward innocently thought she was shocked at the familiarity into which a fit of absence had betrayed her. Not a bit of it; and he was soon undeceived.
"Surely I saw two attendants with you as I was looking from the window," she continued; "and I have totally forgotten the poor men and the poor horses. Run, my child, and tell Paton, the Savoyard, to have the men and horses monsieur brought here taken care of; and bid somebody carry his baggage to the chamber Lord Montagu had, next to mine. It is strange, you will think," she continued, as her daughter tripped away: "I have not a soubrette in the house, nor any woman but the old housekeeper and my own girl; but I came away from Britanny in such haste, not knowing whether I should be suffered to come away at all, that the fewer people I brought with me the better. Now let me hear the rest, and give me the letter you mentioned,—after which you shall have some food."
Edward had little more to tell, except the execution of poor Chalais, and the permission given him by Richelieu to pursue his journey. The first he touched but slightly, as the common rumor of something more than the mere relations of friendship between the unhappy count and Madame de Chevreuse had reached him; but the duchess would hear all, and for a time she seemed greatly moved, although her love was so very minutely divided that there could be no great portion for any individual lover. At his account of his last interview with Richelieu,—which was somewhat lame, from there being various circumstances which he felt bound to keep back,—Madame de Chevreuse mused.
"The cardinal has some object," she said: "in fact, he always has. It was not for your good mien he let you go on, depend upon it,—though you are a handsome boy, I do not deny, and if the fox had been a woman I could have understood his favor for you better,—though probably he would then have kept you with him, as I intend to do."
"Indeed, madame," replied Edward, "I fear my duty requires me to go on immediately, if, as I gather from your conversation, Lord Montagu is not here. I need not tell you how much I should like to stay."
"Why do you not add something about bright eyes and beautiful lips, &c. &c. &c., in true page style?" said Madame de Chevreuse; and then, giving him a playful box on the ear, she added, "Were not you told to take my orders and follow my directions, sir? It was so explained to me; but I see I have a great deal to teach you yet. You will have to wait till the day after to-morrow. Here; listen; put down your head." And as Edward obeyed she brought her rosy lips so near his ear that the perfumed breath fanned his cheek. "To-morrow night," she whispered, "I shall have news of Montagu, and the day after, perhaps, I shall find it convenient to take flight for Lorraine myself. The neighborhood of the court is somewhat dangerous for me; and my head looks prettier upon my own shoulders than in the hands of the executioner. In the mean time, you have to stay here and console my daughter and myself. We live the life of two nuns just now: you know how nuns live, I dare say,—young nuns, of course, I mean. And now, let us talk of any thing but business: you have to amuse me, and I have to be amused. I do not much care how."