"More than any other woman, I am justified in doubting it, when it is you who tell me so.—Really, monsieur le comte, your conduct is so extraordinary—it is now so directly opposed to what it has been, that at times I can place no faith in your words, and I ask myself if it is really you, Comte Léodgard de Marvejols, who sit here beside me, talking to me of love!—So it was necessary that I should become another man's wife, to arouse in you this longing to love me and to tell me that you love me!—You must agree that that is quite unique, to say the least!"
There was a suggestion of irony in Valentine's tone as she said this, which would have offended Léodgard if he had been less in love; but he thought of nothing but compelling the marchioness to revise the judgment she had pronounced, and to forget the doubts she still felt.
Skilful in the art of seducing, eloquent when he really loved, tender and ardent by turns in his language, Léodgard knew the road to a woman's heart. Valentine was already listening to him with secret emotion; her eyes expressed that dreamy languor which denotes disturbance in the heart; when Miretta, who had been watching her mistress closely for some time, suddenly sprang to her feet, crying:
"People in the courtyard—I heard the gate close! It must be monsieur le marquis!"
"Ah! I must return to my apartment!" cried Valentine; "so that it may not be known that I have left it!—Miretta will show you the way out.—Adieu!"
"You leave me, madame; and I have no idea when I shall see you again!"
"I will let you know. Adieu!"
Valentine disappeared before Léodgard could say another word. He put on his cloak, wrapped it about him, and followed Miretta in obedience to a sign from her. The girl walked swiftly across the courtyard and knocked on the concierge's window, calling:
"Open the gate; I am going out."
The gate opened, and Léodgard alone went out; Miretta hastened back to her mistress, who said as soon as she saw her: