“Thanks, M. le Comte.”
“Well, tell the prince I have gone to reconnoiter the wood for the chase.”
As he spoke he heard steps behind him, and turned.
“Ah, M. de Bussy!” he cried.
“Why, M. le Comte, who would have thought of seeing you here!”
“And you, who they said was so ill.”
“So I am; my doctor orders absolute rest, and for a week I have not left the city. Ah! you are going to ride Roland; I sold him to the duke, who is very fond of him.”
“Yes, he is an excellent animal; I rode him yesterday.”
“Which makes you wish for him again to-day?”
“Yes.”
“You were speaking of a chase.”
“Yes, the prince wishes for one.”
“Whereabouts is it to be?”
“Near Méridor. Will you come with me?”
“No, thank you, I do not feel well.”
“Oh!” cried a voice from behind, “there is M. de Bussy out without permission.”
“Ah! there is my doctor scolding. Adieu, comte.”
Bussy went away, and Monsoreau jumped into the saddle.
“What is the matter?” said Rémy; “you look so pale, I believe you are really ill.”
“Do you know where he is going?”
“No.”
“To Méridor.”
“Well, did you hope he would not?”
“Mon Dieu! what will happen, after what he saw yesterday?”
“Madame de Monsoreau will deny everything.”
“But he saw her.”
“She will say he did not.”
“She will never have the courage.”
“Oh, M. de Bussy, is it possible you do not know women better than that!”
“Rémy, I feel very ill.”
“So I see. Go home, and I will prescribe for you.”
“What?”
“A slice of fowl and ham, and some lobster.”
“Oh, I am not hungry.”
“The more reason I should order you to eat.”
“Rémy, I fear that that wretch will make a great scene at Méridor. I ought to have gone with him when he asked me.”
“What for?”
“To sustain Diana.”
“Oh, she will sustain herself. Besides, you ought not to be out; we agreed you were too ill.”
“I could not help it, Rémy, I was so unquiet.”
Rémy carried him off, and made him sit down to a good breakfast.
M. de Monsoreau wished to see if it were chance or habit that had led Roland to the park wall; therefore he left the bridle on his neck. Roland took precisely the same road as on the previous day, and before very long M. de Monsoreau found himself in the same spot as before. Only now the place was solitary, and no horse was there. The count climbed the wall again, but no one was to be seen; therefore, judging that it was useless to watch for people on their guard, he went on to the park gates. The baron, seeing his son-in-law coming over the drawbridge, advanced ceremoniously to meet him. Diana, seated under a magnificent sycamore, was reading poetry, while Gertrude was embroidering at her side. The count, seeing them, got off his horse, and approached them.
“Madame,” said he, “will you grant me the favor of an interview?”
“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.