“Do you regret the war?” she asked.
He would not answer that. She saw the pride that held him silent in the profile turned towards her.
“You are better suited,” she said, “for war than politics, Monsieur.”
She was looking now at him, not at the flower turning in her fingers.
“My God,” she cried, with sudden soft force, “I wonder if you know what kind of work politics is!”
He thought of M. de Richelieu.
“I know well enough,” he said; “but there are great men still in France, and I am resolved to serve the King.”
“Have you seen the King?” she asked quickly.
“No, Madame.”
“Ah, well, they call him Louis the Well-Beloved, do they not?”