"I am caught, my philosopher. And yet—and yet ambition does remain. I am not quite the happiest of men. I would wish to give you a higher place. I wish to be worthy of you. I would give you, for your slave, the most powerful man in France."
"Ah," she said, smiling, "I could love him no better than I love you. My dear, if I were given my choice between you and the King of France, do you not know which I should choose?"
He bent over her quickly. "Which would you choose?"
"How can you ask? You do not doubt me?"
"Nay, but, Victorine, if, by being favorite of the Court, of the King, you could further your own interests, if you could further mine—if I asked it of you—"
He broke off suddenly. Her face was changing.
"What do you mean?" she demanded, and there was something in the tone which made him thankful that he had gone no further. "Are"—she breathed convulsively, but went on in a lighter manner—"are you testing me? Are you trying to learn my nature—how far I would sink? Ah, François, you, who have given me such joy, the only happiness that I have known, have given me also my greatest sorrow. Do not think, because I renounced everything for you, that I am like the women of the Court. I loved you—I love you—you always—more dearly than—honor. But, François, it was only for love. I am proud that you had no position to give me. I swear to you, by what I still hold sacred, that if the post won by Mme. de Châteauroux were offered me by his Majesty, on his knees, I would prefer to die than to accept such a thing." She passed her hand over her forehead, and lay back again in her chair, smiling a little at his earnest frown. "I do not censure Mme. de Châteauroux, François, you understand. She loved the King—as I love you."
The actual veracity of this last statement was an immaterial thing. It was Victorine's belief in it that did her honor. François did not remark upon it, neither did he voice any further confessions of ambition. Mme. de Coigny was singularly blind to her interests and his. She was not the type of woman that belonged to a court. True, had her position been rather more influential, no man need have desired better things than would have fallen to the lot of the sagacious abbé. But, being only the wife of a Marquis field-marshal, and too single-hearted for wisdom, she was a luxury undesirable for a rising man. For an instant de Bernis' thoughts were directed to the husband. After all, his position as one of the favorite courtiers, and one really esteemed, would have been difficult to overcome in order that madame might be installed alone in the palace. It was as well, perhaps, that her trend of mind was such as he had discovered it to be. It was also as well that, in the midst of the reflective pause, the antechamber door should unexpectedly have opened, and M. de Coigny himself have entered the room.
"Ah! Pardon me, madame. I was unaware that you were engaged."
Victorine rose quickly, looked at her husband, saw his eyes meet those of the abbé, and remained silent. De Coigny was about to turn upon his heel and leave them, to her great relief, when François spoke: