'Ah!' she said, 'who would have thought that soft, youthful face
could be so severe! You would never forgive a deceit?'
'Never,' he said, with the crystal hardness of youth; 'or rather I
might forgive; I could never esteem.'
'What a bare, rude world yours must be,' she said, shivering. 'And
no weak ones in it! Only the strong can dare to be true.'
'Truth is strength!' said Berenger. 'For example: I see yonder a
face without bodily strength, perhaps, but with perfect candour.'
'Ah! some Huguenot girl of Madame Catherine's, no doubt--from the
depths of Languedoc, and dressed like a fright.'
'No, no; the young girl behind the pale, yellow-haired lady.'
'Comment, Monsieur. Do you not yet know the young Queen?'
'But who is the young demoiselle!--she with the superb black eyes,
and the ruby rose in her black hair?'
'Take care, sir, do you not know I have still a right to be
jealous?' she said, blushing, bridling, and laughing.
But this pull on the cords made him the more resolved; he would not
be turned from his purpose. 'Who is she?' he repeated; 'have I ever
seen her before? I am sure I remember that innocent look of
espieglerie.'
'You may see it on any child's face fresh out of the convent; it
does not last a month!' was the still displeased, rather jealous
answer. 'That little thing--I believe they call her Nid-de-Merle--
she has only just been brought from her nunnery to wait on the
young Queen. Ah! your gaze was perilous, it is bringing on you one
of the jests of Madame Marguerite.'
With laughter and gaiety, a troop of gentlemen descended on M. de
Ribaumont, and told him that Madame Marguerite desired that he
should be presented to her. The princess was standing by her pale
sister-in-law, Elizabeth of Austria, who looked grave and annoyed
at the mischievous mirth flashing in Marguerite's dark eyes.
'M. de Ribaumont,' said the latter, her very neck heaving with
suppressed fun, 'I see I cannot do you a greater favour than by
giving you Mademoiselle de Nid-de-Merle for your partner.'
Berenger was covered with confusion to find that he had been guilty
of such a fixed stare as to bring all this upon the poor girl. He
feared that his vague sense of recognition had made his gaze more
open than he knew, and he was really and deeply ashamed of this as
his worst act of provincial ill-breeding.
Poor little convent maid, with crimson cheeks, flashing eyes,
panting bosom, and a neck evidently aching with proud dignity and
passion, she received his low bow with a sweeping curtsey, as lofty
as her little person would permit.