Deeper came the line between his brows at that, and blacker grew
the scowl. He was not wont to bestow on me such looks as I now
met in his weary eyes, for Louis XIII had much affection for me.
"You know this lady?" he demanded sharply.
"Only by name, Your Majesty."
At that his brows went up in astonishment.
"Only by name? And you would wed her? But, Marcel, my friend, you
are a rich man one of the richest in France. You cannot be a
fortune hunter."
"Sire," I answered, "Fame sings loudly the praises of this lady,
her beauty and her virtue - praises that lead me to opine she would
make me an excellent chatelaine. I am come to an age when it is
well to wed; indeed, Your Majesty has often told me so. And it
seems to me that all France does not hold a lady more desirable.
Heaven send she will agree to my suit!"
In that tired way of his that was so pathetic: "Do you love me a
little, Marcel?" he asked.
"Sire," I exclaimed, wondering whither all this was leading us,
"need I protest it?"
"No," he answered dryly; "you can prove it. Prove it by
abandoning this Languedoc quest. I have motives - sound motives,
motives of political import. I desire another wedding for
Mademoiselle de Lavedan. I wish it so, Bardelys, and I look to
be obeyed."
For a moment temptation had me by the throat. Here was an
unlooked-for chance to shake from me a business which reflection
was already rendering odious. I had but to call together my
friends of yesternight, and with them the Comte de Chatellerault,
and inform them that by the King was I forbidden to go awooing
Roxalanne de Lavedan.
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