"Oh, horrible! horrible!" cried Gabriel. "But consider, Madame, that I can tell everywhere that you loved the Comte de Montgommery, and were false to the king, and that I, the count's son, am certain of it."
"Mere moral certainty, without proofs," said Diane, with a wicked smile, having resumed her air of impertinent and haughty indifference. "I will say that you lie, Monsieur; and you told me yourself that when you affirm and I deny, you will not be the one to be believed. Consider, too, that I can say to the king that you have presumed to make love to me, threatening to circulate slanders about me if I didn't yield to you. And then you will be lost, Monsieur Gabriel de Montgommery. But pardon me," said she, rising; "I must leave you, Monsieur. You have really entertained me exceedingly, and your story is a very singular one."
She struck a bell, to summon a servant.
"Oh, this is infamous!" cried Gabriel, beating his brow with his clinched fists. "Oh, why are you a woman, or why am I a man? But, nevertheless, take care, Madame! for you shall not play with my heart and my life with impunity; and God will punish you, and avenge me for what you have done,—for this infamy, I say it again!"
"Do you think so?" said Diane. And she accompanied her words with a dry, mocking little laugh which was peculiar to her.
At this moment, the page whom she had called raised the tapestry curtain. She gave Gabriel a mocking salute and left the room.
"Well, well!" said she to herself, "my good constable is decidedly in luck. Dame Fortune is like me,—she loves him. Why the devil do we love him?"
Gabriel followed her out, mad with rage and grief.