Madame de Castro, wounded to the quick, bitterly retorted,—
"The source of my sorrow is to you a source of delight. How can you suppose that our souls could ever understand each other?"
"But, Madame," cried Lord Wentworth, growing pale, "I only wished to destroy those delusive imaginings of yours which keep us asunder. I wished to prove to you as clearly as the sun shines that you are feeding upon chimeras, and that the French court must have gone mad before such an attempt as you are dreaming of could ever be imagined there."
"There is such a thing as heroic madness, my Lord," said Diane, proudly; "and I am sure that there are great-souled men too, whose love of glory—nay, whose simple devotion would prevent them from drawing back from such sublime extravagance."
"Oh, yes!—Monsieur d'Exmès, for example!" cried Wentworth, carried away by jealous fury which he could no longer restrain.
"Who told you of that name?" asked Madame de Castro, in amazement.
"Confess, Madame," the governor rejoined, "that you have had that name upon your lips ever since the beginning of this interview, and that in your inmost heart when you were invoking the aid of God and your father you were also thinking of this third liberator."
"Am I obliged to render an account of my thoughts to you?" said Diane.
"You need render no account to me, for I know all," replied the governor. "I know some things of which you have no idea, Madame, and which it suits my pleasure to tell you to-day, to show you how little you can build upon the ecstatic passion of these romantic lovers. Notably, I know that Vicomte d'Exmès was made a prisoner at St. Quentin when you were, and was brought here to Calais at the same time with you."
"Can it be?" cried Diane, astounded beyond measure.