"Willingly, monsieur."
"What calm, or rather what perfidy!" thought the count.
"Do you do us the honor of remaining at the chat?" asked the baron.
"Yes, monsieur, until to-morrow, at least."
The baron went away to give orders, and Diana reseated herself, while Monsoreau took Gertrude"s chair, and, with a look sufficient to intimidate most people, said:
"Madame, who was in the park with you yesterday?"
"At what time?" said Diana, in a firm voice.
"At six."
"Where?"
"Near the copse."
"It must have been some one else, it was not I."
"It was you, madame."
"What do you know about it?"
"Tell me the man"s name!" cried Monsoreau, furiously.
"What man?"
"The man who was walking with you."
"I cannot tell, if it was some other woman."
"It was you, I tell you."
"You are wrong, monsieur."
"How dare you deny it? I saw you."
"You, monsieur?"
"Yes, madame, myself. And there is no other lady here."
"You are wrong again; there is Jeanne de Brissac."
"Madame de St. Luc?"
"Yes, my friend."
"And M. de St. Luc?"
"Never leaves her; theirs was a love-match; you must have seen them."
"It was not them; it was you, with some man whom I do not know, but whom I will know, I swear. I heard your cry."
"When you are more reasonable, monsieur, I shall be ready to hear you; at present I will retire."
"No, madame, you shall stay."
"Monsieur, here are M. and Madame de St. Luc, I trust you will contain yourself."
Indeed, M. and Madame de St. Luc approached. She bowed to Monsoreau, and St. Luc gave him his hand; then, leaving his wife to Monsoreau, took Diana, and after a walk they returned, warned by the bell for dinner, which was early at Meridor, as the baron preserved the old customs. The conversation was general, and turned naturally on the Duc d"Anjou, and the movement his arrival had caused.
Diana sat far from her husband, between St. Luc and the baron.
CHAPTER LXIV.
THE PROJECT OF M. DE ST. LUC.
When the repast was over, Monsoreau took St. Luc"s arm and went out. "Do you know," said he, "that I am very happy to have found you here, for the solitude of Meridor frightened me."
"What, with your wife? As for me, with such a companion I should find a desert delightful."
"I do not say no, but still----"
"Still, what?"
"I am very glad to have met you here."
"Really, monsieur, you are very polite, for I cannot believe that you could possibly fear ennui with such a companion, and such a country."
"Bah! I pa.s.s half my life in the woods."
"The more reason for being fond of them, it seems to me. I know I shall be very sorry to leave them; unluckily, I fear I shall be forced to do so before long."
"Why so?"
"Oh! monsieur, when is man the arbiter of his own destiny? He is like the leaf of the tree, which the wind blows about. You are very fortunate."
"Fortunate; how?"
"To live amongst these splendid trees."
"Oh! I do not think I shall stay here long; I am not so fond of nature, and I fear these woods; I think they are not safe."
"Why? on account of their loneliness, do you mean?"