“Saint-Vallier,” said the king, laughing, “I think that Bridore has something to say to you.”
The count left the room; but he made a gesture with his shoulders well known to his wife, who could guess the thoughts of the jealous man, and knew she must forestall his cruel designs.
“Tell me, my child, how do you think I am,—hey? Do I seem changed to you?”
“Sire, do you want me to tell you the real truth, or would you rather I deceived you?”
“No,” he said, in a low voice, “I want to know truly what to expect.”
“In that case, I think you look very ill to-day; but you will not let my truthfulness injure the success of my cause, will you?”
“What is your cause?” asked the king, frowning and passing a hand across his forehead.
“Ah, sire,” she replied, “the young man you have had arrested for robbing your silversmith Cornelius, and who is now in the hands of the grand provost, is innocent of the robbery.”
“How do you know that?” asked the king. Marie lowered her head and blushed.
“I need not ask if there is love in this business,” said the king, raising his daughter’s head gently and stroking her chin. “If you don’t confess every morning, my daughter, you will go to hell.”