“What does it mean, M. de Luynes? Why are they taking you?”
“Because I have displeased my Lord Cardinal, albeit, Mademoiselle, I swear to you that I have no cause for shame at the reasons for which I am being arrested.”
“My father is Monseigneur de Mazarin's friend,” she cried. “He is also yours. He shall exert for you what influence he possesses.”
“'T were useless, Mademoiselle. Besides, what does it signify? Again, adieu!”
She spoke no answering word, but silently held out her hand. Silently I took it in mine, and for a moment I hesitated, thinking of what I was—of what she was. At last, moved by some power that was greater than my will, I stooped and pressed those shapely fingers to my lips. Then I stepped suddenly back and closed the carriage door, oppressed by a feeling akin to that of having done an evil deed.
“Have I your permission to say a word to my servant, M. le Lieutenant?” I inquired.
He bowed assent, whereat, stepping close up to the horror-stricken Michelot—
“Drive straight to the Château de Canaples,” I said in a low voice. “Thereafter return to the Lys de France and there wait until you hear from me. Here, take my purse; there are some fifty pistoles in it.”
“Speak but the word, Monsieur,” he growled, “and I'll pistol a couple of these dogs.”
“Pah! You grow childish,” I laughed, “or can you not see that fellow's musket?”