"And on returning?"
"We will not return."
"We will—not—return!" slowly ejaculated Monsieur de Beaugency. "Where then shall we proceed?"
"Nowhere. We will remain at Courlac."
"All the winter?"
"And all the summer. I count upon settling myself there, after our marriage. I have a horror of the court. I do not like the turmoil. Grandeur wearies me.... I look forward only to a simple and charming country life, to the tranquil and happy existence of the forgotten lady of the castle.... What matters it to you? You were ambitious for my love's sake. I care but little for ambition; you ought to care for it still less, since you are in love with me."
"But, Marchioness—"
"Hush! it's a bargain.... Still, for form's sake, I give you one hour to reflect. There, pass out that way; go into the winter drawing-room that you will find at the end of the gallery, and send me your answer upon a leaf of your tablets. I am about to complete my toilet, which I left unfinished, to receive you."
And the Marchioness opened a door, bowed Monsieur de Beaugency into the corridor, and closed the door upon him.
"Marchioness," cried the King, from his hiding place and through the screen, "you will offer Monsieur de Menneval the embassy to Prussia, which I promise you for him."