“I thank you, Monsieur de Vibrac,” she answered, while Mademoiselle de Limeuil, catching the meaning of my last words, cut in: “It is my hour for attendance, I believe—you will excuse me,” and with a little nod and a smile she ran up the steps, leaving us together.
Ay! Even as I stood there watching her, the letter in her hand, and her eyes turned to me with a mute inquiry in them, I would have spared her but for the cruel words still ringing in my ears; and, burning as I was with rage, I was overawed by her beauty, and stammered as I went on blundering:
“I should not have come, I know, but Marcilly himself charged me with this message.”
She lifted her eyebrows slightly and laughed. “I see no reason why you should not have come, monsieur—will you permit me?” and she made as if to open the letter. She was so cool, so calm, so utterly self possessed, that it brought me to myself. She had forgotten the old glove—well, so could I. The past was dead. I was given to understand that, in the subtle, indescribable way that only a woman can, and I took my cue. Her hand was on the seal to break open the letter when I arrested her.
“One moment, madame—perhaps you had better hear my message before reading the letter.”
“Is it anything serious? Nothing has happened to Marcilly?” I winced at the eager ring in her voice.
“Nothing has happened, but what I have to say is serious enough”; and then, as we walked the length of the terrace and back, I put the matter to her, talking as if we were but acquaintances; and as we stood once more at the steps she said:
“Monsieur, I will meet you in two hours’ time on the parvis of St. Pierre.”
“That will do—but be well mounted, madame—we may have to ride.” I bowed as I took my leave, but this time she extended her hand, and, touching it with mine, I left her there. As I walked up the steps I could hear the crackling of the paper as she tore open the seals of her letter; but I would not trust myself to look again. When I had gained the corridor, I could find no trace of Lorgnac, so, after a glance around, I strolled leisurely out, and mounting my horse, rode in the direction of the Martroi, going by the Escures, so as to pass St. Pierre on the way.
I was still smarting from the effects of the words I had heard. My mind, unhinged and incapable of reason, took a sullen pleasure in recalling them and in anticipating the payment I would exact for my tortures. Wrapped in these thoughts, I took no notice of anything around, and had come opposite St. Pierre without observing it, when I heard the grating voice of Richelieu.