'Ah!' said she, 'that was a gift from poor Senecterre; and the buhl pedestal on which it stands, was given to me by that wretch Miossens, whose moustache had always such a horrid odour of nicotina.'
'And this beautiful casket,' said I, 'excels that of the Duchess d'Ancre.'
'Scarcely, in size at least,' said Marion; 'for the Duchess, in her famous casket, carried all her jewels, together with her best locks and bosom. The buhl table that it stands on was a present from dear Cinq Mars, who thought himself so handsome. There was a time when I thought him so too, but then he was such a self-willed toad that he bored me. And so, M. Blane, my gay friend, the little Marquis de Toneins was actually wounded at your terrible La Mothe?'
'Yes, mademoiselle, in ascending the breach.'
'Ah! he sought the bubble reputation even at the cannon's mouth, but in lieu of the bubble got the ball, which M. Shakespeare forgot to consider. I doubt not, my dear M. Blane, your despatches will cause many a tear to be shed in France.'
'True, mademoiselle,' said De Brissac, with a sentimental air; 'many an eye, lovely as your own, that God made only for smiling, now is compelled to weep.'
'But their tears will only render brighter the laurels which bedeck the brows of the survivors. The number who have fallen saddens, doubtless, our glory and triumph, but,' she added, with her fine eyes flashing, 'they fell for France, bequeathing victory to her and to their comrades. Is it not so, my dear M. Blane?'
A burst of applause from her admirers prevented me from replying; and then she asked, in a low voice—
'Is the wound of De Toneins severe?'
'Rather, mademoiselle; yet I know of a pain greater than even a musket-shot can inflict.'