"And why not, Madame?"
"To save my father's life," said Diane, "I consented to become the mistress of the King of France; but the way to restore my honor is not to become the mistress of the Comte de Montgommery."
She accompanied this half-refusal with so passionate and so languishing a glance that the count could not restrain himself.
"Ah, Madame," said he to the coquettish duchess, "if you love me as I love you—"
"Well, what then?"
"What then! Why, what matters the world, or the prejudices of family or of honor? For me you are the universe. For three months I have seen nothing but your face. I love you with all the blind devotion and all the ardor of a first passion. Your sovereign beauty intoxicates me and distracts me. If you love me as I love you, be Comtesse de Montgommery,—be my wife."
"Thanks, Count," said Diane, triumphantly. "I will remember these noble and generous words. Meanwhile you know that green and white are my colors."
Jacques in a transport of delight kissed Diane's hand, prouder and happier than if the crown of the whole world had been on his head.
And when François I., the following day, called Diane's attention to the fact that her new adorer had begun to wear her colors in public,—
"Has he not a right to, Sire?" said she, fixing her keen glance upon the king. "And may I not allow him to wear my colors when he offers to let me wear his name?"