"'Why, then, should I be so angry with myself, and so ashamed?' said the prince. 'Ah! there you are, Madame,' he added, addressing Diane, whom he had just espied.
"And for the moment his wounded self-esteem got the better of his jealous passion.
"'It is at your house and through your connivance,' said he, 'that I have been insulted for the first time in my life.'
"'Alas! at my house, yes; but do not say through my connivance, Monseigneur,' replied Diane. 'Haven't I suffered quite as much as you,—yes, more than you? Am I not innocent of all this? Do you suppose that I care for that man, pray? Or that I have ever cared for him?'
"Having betrayed him, she now disowned him; it was very simple.
"'I love you and only you, Monseigneur, she went on; 'my heart and soul are yours only and absolutely; and my existence dates only from the day when you accepted this heart which is devoted to you. But before that it may be—yes, I remember vaguely that I did allow this Montgommery to entertain some hope. Never anything positive, and no definite engagement. But you came; and all else was forgotten. Since that time I swear to you—and you may believe my words rather than the jealous slanders of Madame d'Étampes and her friends—since that blessed time I have not had a single thought or a single heart-beat that has not been for you, Monseigneur. That man lies; that man is acting in concert with my enemies; that man has no right over her who belongs so completely to you, Henri. I hardly know the man; and not only do I not love him, but, Great Heaven, I hate and despise him! See, I don't even ask you if he be dead or alive. I think only of you. And as for him, I hate him!'
"'Is this true, Madame?' said the dauphin, still with something of gloomy distrust in his tone.
"'It will be very easy and a very short matter to prove it,' replied Monsieur de Montmorency. 'Monsieur de Montgommery is living, Madame; but he is securely bound and in no condition to do any harm. He has put a shameful outrage upon the prince. But to accuse him before the ordinary tribunals is not to be thought of; to punish him for such a crime would be more dangerous than the crime itself. On the other hand, it is still more utterly out of the question that Monseigneur le Dauphin should engage in single combat with this insolent scoundrel. Now what do you suggest, Madame? What shall we do with this man?'
"There was a moment of painful silence. Perrot held his breath so that he might not lose a syllable of the words which were so slow in coming. But it was evident that Madame Diane was in fear for herself as well as for what she was going to say. She hesitated about uttering her own sentence.
"But at last she had to speak; and with a voice that was still reasonably firm, she said,—