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While the duke rode off with Maximilien to the forest and the wild-boars at the risk of his life, Jeanne wandered with Etienne in the milky way of Petrarch's sonnets, or the mighty labyrinth of the Divina Comedia.
By one of those accidents which always happen to lovers, Mademoiselle de Fontaine found herself at a table next to that at which the more important guests were seated. Maximilien was of the group.
"Nothing whatever, and you may bombard him, set fire to him, and leave him to founder like an old hulk if you choose. He won't be the first, I fancy?" "You ARE kind, uncle!" As soon as the Count got home he put on his glasses, quietly took the card out of his pocket, and read, "Maximilien Longueville, Rue de Sentier."
I am resolved, and your entreaties do but heighten my pain of thwarting your the only pain that in this supreme hour I am experiencing. It is not a difficult thing to die, Maximilien. Were I to live, I must henceforth lead a life of unsatisfied desire. I must even hanker and sigh after a something that is unattainable. I die, and all this is extinguished with me.
"Is not that pure fancy?" asked Emilie, with an anxious glance. "No," he replied. "There are wounds which never heal." "You are not to go," said the girl, imperiously, and she smiled. "I shall go," replied Maximilien, gravely. "You will find me married on your return, I warn you," she said coquettishly. "I hope so." "Impertinent wretch!" she exclaimed. "How cruel a revenge!"
Like Maximilien, she had secretly enjoyed the sweetness of first love; but both were equally proud, and each feared to confess that love.
Emilie, who lent an attentive ear to her neighbors' conversation, overheard one of those dialogues into which a young woman so easily falls with a young man who has the grace and style of Maximilien Longueville. The lady talking to the young banker was a Neapolitan duchess, whose eyes shot lightning flashes, and whose skin had the sheen of satin.
"You are very good, Maximilien," answered the old man, to which the other returned a gesture of deprecation. In this fashion, then, was the matter settled to the satisfaction of the Seigneur's retainers, and upon having received Duhamel's solemn promise that Caron should be carried out of Bellecour, and, for that matter, out of Picardy, before the night was spent, they withdrew.
She advanced a step towards Caron, and then stood still, encountering his steadfast, wonder-struck gaze, and seeming to falter. With a sob, at last she turned to Maximilien, who had remained a pace or two behind. "Tell him, Monsieur," she begged. Robespierre started out of his apparent abstraction. He peered at her with his short-sighted eyes, and from her to Caron.
"Indeed, monsieur, it seems to me that it is no concern of mine," replied Mademoiselle de Fontaine, looking at him with a bold expression of sarcastic indifference which might have made any one believe that she now saw him for the first time. "Do you really mean it?" asked Maximilien in a broken voice. Emilie turned her back upon him with amazing insolence.
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