"The very distant future," I said drily, and she laughed.
Personally she cared no more for the people than for the oxen on her estate, and said so openly.
During the afternoon I went for a turn in the park with Marie, when, strolling as far as the rivulet, we sat for a while on its bank. It was good to drink in the calm beauty of this scene, so utterly different from any Paris could offer; and the memory of it returned to me long afterwards, when, faint with hunger, and weary with fighting, I lay amid the dead and dying on a stricken battle-field. In the lengthening shadows we returned to the house, little dreaming what strange events would happen before we next wandered together in the park at Aunay.
It was not a cheerful evening, though madame laughed and said many smart things, in her brilliant way, to raise our spirits. At length she rose to retire to her own room.
"I will not say 'good-bye,'" she exclaimed saucily, "as we are certain to meet again. If you act on my advice it will be in the palace of Condé. The prince loves a lad of mettle."
"Albert must consult his own honour," said Marie.
"And ruin his prospects for an empty whim! Don't listen to her, Albert, and above all things, don't let Mazarin drag you down. Keep constantly in your mind that he has had his day, and will never return to power. Last of all, remember you are always welcome in the Rue Crillon, whether fortune treat you well or ill."
When they had gone I sent for Pillot, who was still in the house. Food and rest had performed wonders for the little man, who looked as jaunty and self-possessed as ever.
"Has your horse recovered?" I asked.
"Perfectly, monsieur."