"He did before I was married," said the young woman, looking down.
"And since then?"
"He has never spoken of love."
"He should not have done so," said the Prince; "often, though, the eyes say such things; and his, probably, are not inexpressive."
Aminta did not reply.
"All is clear," said the Prince; "the Count avoids us from a sentiment of delicacy which does him honor. He has no longer reason to hope, being ruined, for what, when rich, he would have given his life and fortune."
"He will go," said Aminta faintly.
"He will not, he shall not go. This conspiracy is, after all, only one of the phantoms ever arising before a terrified government. If the really revolutionary mind of Count Monte-Leone has involved him, I will promise to make him listen to reason, especially if you will aid me—as for this order to leave so abruptly, I hope my arm is long enough to interpose."
"What then will you do?" asked Aminta, anxiously.
"Parbleu! I will go to the King himself—not to the ministers, but to the King—to GOD, not to the saints. Mind, for the proverb's sake alone I apply that word to those gentry. The King is an old friend, a brother in exile. I never asked a favor of him, though he has often asked me to do so. We will see if he will refuse me."