"Well, Claude?" returned the other, sadly.
"What dost think of it?"
"I think—do you remember, Claude, the affair of young d'Agenois?"
Claude started. Then he rose, walked measuredly over to the window, and looked out upon the bleak landscape. His face was invisible as he said, in a muffled voice: "François d'Agenois, the Italian, who—who once asked in marriage the hand of the Marquise de la Tournelle? François, Duc d'Agenois—"
"Has lived since then near Geneva, while Mme. de la Tournelle was created Duchesse de Châteauroux.... I meant that one, Claude,—yes."
"And you think," said the young fellow, turning about, and squarely facing his companion—"you think that I shall—be invited to undergo the same—fate?"
"Ah, Claude, my cousin—my comrade—surely not! Surely the King is older, his penchant for Marie is now perfectly understood, perfectly secure; nay—"
"Don't say that," interrupted Claude, suddenly. "Why should he be secure with her? Ah, Henri, last night she refused my offer of marriage, it is true; but it may have been to lessen his Majesty's fury against me. Henri, I swear to you, that with her, for her, as my wife, I would live in the desert, a wilderness, anything, and be the happiest man in all the world. She knows this. Henri, she must care—a little!"
Mailly-Nesle listened with a face more serious than ever, and, when Claude finally stopped, he shook his head. "Do not put your faith in her, Claude. I, her brother, warn you. She gave up everything in life to win the place she obtained. Remember how d'Agenois was her promised husband when he was exiled with her consent. Remember that she drove her own sister, Alexandre's wife, out of Versailles, to the Ursulines, for life. She—no, Claude, she will not help you. She cannot."
The younger sighed. "Ah, well—I ask too much, perhaps. At any rate, it may mean nothing more than a month in the Bastille. That would not be at all difficult. Indeed, I should indulge in a much-needed rest. You and de Coigny should come to tell me all the news; I would invite Monsieur le Gouverneur, and, possibly, my turn-key to dine, and we should all be merry with feasting and fasting by turns. You see, Henri, my spirit will not be shaken till the final blow. This room is like a furnace. When, dear Lord Doleful, are you going to rise?"