So here I am, ready to cross into Spain the moment
you set out for Paris. Mazarin has taken it into his head to imitate
Richelieu: off with the head rather than let the state feed the
stomach."
"So that is why De Beaufort, thinking me to be the guilty man, sought
me out and demanded the paper? My faith, this grows interesting. But
oh! wise poet, did you not hear me tell you never to sign your name to
anything save poetry?"
"It might have been a poem . . . I wonder whither madame has flown?
By the way, Mademoiselle de Longueville gave me a letter to give to
you. It is unaddressed. I promised to deliver it to you."
The Chevalier took the letter and opened it carelessly; but no sooner
did he recognize the almost illegible but wholly aristocratic pothooks
than a fit of trembling seized him. The faint odor of vervain filled
his nostrils, and he breathed quickly.
"_Forgive! How could I have doubled so gallant a gentleman! You have
asked me if I love you. Find me and put the question again. I leave
Paris indefinitely. France is large. If you love me you will find me.
You complain that I have never permitted you to kiss me.
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