"Let it pass, madame. What is dead is dead."
"I cannot. And yet, what can I do?" Her tears began afresh.
In a little time she grew better, and I seized the opportunity to point out the danger she ran of being seen speaking to me, and suggested that she should make her way home. It was impossible to escort her myself, but I would walk a little way behind, keep her in sight, and see she came to no harm. I urged this all the more as I saw it was growing late, and that she was without any attendants and far from the camp.
"You mistake," she said; "I have not far to go. In fact I am at present the guest of the convent here."
"And----" I did not finish the sentence, but she understood. I had forced myself to ask, to hear, if possible, confirmation of D'Entrangues' movements.
"He," she answered--"he has left the army and gone towards Florence."
"And you?"
"I stay here for the present."
Her tone more than her words convinced me that she had been abandoned by D'Entrangues, and it added another mark to my score against him.
"Why should I not tell you?" she continued. "After, when it was all over, the duke struck his name off the army, and he left in an hour. Before he went, he came and told me all, laughing at your ruin. I did not know man could be so vile. God help me--it is my husband I speak of! He offered to take me with him, but I refused; and he left, mocking like a devil, with words I cannot repeat. He was not done with you or with me, he said, as he went. I came here at once, and perhaps when Madame de la Tremouille returns to France, I shall be enabled to go with her in her train."