“Forgive me for having duped you, mademoiselle,” he replied, “and believe me that I respect such loyalty to your convictions.”
“It is I who should beg your pardon, M. de Calvisson,” she said frankly; “I said sharp things to you last night, but I recall them. Sir, I do not blame you for your attachment to the cardinal; he is, at least, a man. As for that creature yonder,” she threw out her hand with a gesture of contempt,—“St. Denis! he is not worthy a thought, much less a drop of an honest man’s blood. That cowardly, treacherous boy would sell the noblest men of France for the sake of his own miserable comfort. Heaven forgive me, if I have ever furthered any cause of his; I can never forgive myself!”
Her vehemence, the earnest tone of her voice, though she spoke so low, gave Péron a glimpse of another Renée de Nançay,—not the spoiled, haughty beauty, but an earnest, passionate woman. He glanced at Monsieur’s unconscious figure and smiled; his own heart was lighter.
“It is a pity,” he answered, as low spoken as she, “that the brother of his majesty should be—what he is!”
“’Tis a pity, monsieur,” Renée replied sharply, “that he was ever born.”
“At least he has served one useful purpose,” Péron said: “he has shown Mademoiselle de Nançay that he is not worth the trouble that he has made in this realm.”
“If I were the king,” she retorted, “I would soon end it; I would shut Monsieur up in the Castle of Vincennes.”
“Ah, mademoiselle, you forget what the life of the king would be,” he replied; “you forget the tears and intercessions of Madame la Mère.”
“Tears are easier shed than blood,” she said; then added suddenly, “there is some unusual stir in Ruel; there is the cardinal’s livery.”
They were entering the town, and Péron, looking about for the first time, saw that, as mademoiselle had said, there was an unusual commotion. The courtyard of the inn was crowded, and there were, too, the colors of Richelieu. Monsieur had perceived them and fallen back, nearer to Renée than he had been the whole morning, and was evidently uneasy and angry. Péron urged his horse past the others, and approaching the inn inquired the meaning of the stir.