"Why that?" she interrupted quickly. "You will be in Paris. You will be at the Court. I counted upon having at least one friend there."
"You will have more than one friend there, mademoiselle, and more than one enemy, I fear; but I was about to say that I leave Paris the day after I reach there for Italy."
"For Italy?"
"Yes; I follow M. de Montluc there. You see, old as I am, I have to begin life over again, and there is many a fair fortune yet waiting to be sliced out of the Romagna."
She said never a word, and I continued: "It will be long ere I see France again—perhaps never; and so, mademoiselle, I once more wish you all that is good, and I offer my congratulations—I have not ventured to do so before."
She spoke now. "Monsieur, I thank you! I will not pretend not to understand your last words; but there are some good wishes that may mean misfortune, and it grows late. Good-night!"
She slid by me, and was gone almost before I realised it.
It was just past the dawn the next morning when we left Etampes. There were but five leagues or so to cover ere we reached Montlhéry, and for almost the whole way we could see before us the castle that crowned the hill. At the ford of the Orge we saw a small group of horsemen, their arms shining in the sunlight.
"'Tis the escort," said Capus, and quickening our pace we were soon with them, and I handed over my charge to De Lorgnac.
There were with him two of the Queen's ladies—Madame de Montal, and the bright-eyed Cypriote, Mademoiselle Davila, she who had escaped from the sack of Cyprus—and these two immediately appropriated mademoiselle, asking ten questions in a breath, never waiting for answer, and detailing the hardships of their own journey of four leagues or so from Paris. I had no chance of another word with her, and rode morosely by Lorgnac's side.