"Not the King's will, but Thine, O Lord!"
It was the voice of Mademoiselle, and as I heard it, my heart leaped! Our paths had come together through no seeking of mine, and there was now no question of disloyalty to Monsieur de Commines. Nor, I remembered with satisfaction, being a frail man, was I any longer in rags.
It may be asked, What was Mademoiselle to me, who had never so much as seen her face clearly, never spoken three words to her, never touched her hand? I answer, Nothing! And yet my heart leaped; perhaps because Monsieur de Commines' interference piqued me, perhaps—but at twenty-five one does not stop to analyse a perhaps that makes the heart leap! It is still the age of impulse and half-blind instinct, and these ask no questions. Rising, I slipped out into the growing dusk and waited without a thought as to whether or no there was a priest behind his grille ready to give comfort to the sinner.
Presently she came.
"Mademoiselle!" and I bared my head.
With a little twitch of her skirts she stood aside, straightening herself.
"What?" she said. "Even on the very church step? Oh, for shame, Monsieur, for shame!"
"No, no," I protested, "you mistake."
"Prove it, Monsieur," she retorted; "prove it by going your way while I go mine."
But as she had moved so had I, and the waning light fell sufficiently strongly on the gay greens and yellows of my bruised forehead for her to see them.