For at the sound of his foot on the gravel, madame
discovered him. By the time he stood before her, however, all was well
with him; his courage and wit and daring had returned to do him honor.
This morning he was what he had been a year ago, a gay and rollicking
courtier.
"Madame, what a glorious day it is!" The heron feather almost touched
the path, so elaborate was the courtesy. "Does the day not carry you
back to France?"
Something in his handsome eyes, something in the debonair smile,
something in his whole demeanor, left her without voice. She simply
stared at him, wide-eyed. He sat down beside her, thereby increasing
her confusion.
"I have left Monsieur de Saumaise writing chansons; and here's an
oriole somewhere, singing his love songs. What is it that comes with
summer which makes all male life carry nosegays to my lady's easement?
Faith, it must be in the air. Here's Monsieur Oriole in love; it
matters not if last year's love is not this year's. All he knows is
that it is love. Somewhere in yonder forests the eagle seeks its mate,
the mountain lion its lioness, the red deer its hind."
Madame sat very still and erect.
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