"Ah! can I say, Madame?"
"Well, then, I know, Monsieur de Montgommery. You are in love with me."
Jacques turned white as a sheet; and then, with a more tremendous struggle than it would have cost him to cast himself headlong and alone into the midst of a whole battalion of the enemy, he replied in a harsh and uncertain voice,—
"Well, then, Madame, you are right. I do love you. So much the worse for me!"
"So much the better, rather," replied Diane, laughing.
"What did you say, Madame?" Montgommery cried, with his heart thumping against his ribs. "Ah, Madame, take heed! this is no joke, but a deep and sincere passion, whether it be a possible or an impossible one to gratify."
"And why should it be impossible?" asked Diane.
"Madame," was Jacques's reply, "pardon my frankness, but I never learned to envelop facts with many words. Does not the king love you, Madame?"
"Yes," sighed Diane; "he loves me."
"And don't you see, then, that it is not for me to declare my unworthy love, though I cannot help loving you?"