ore."

The servant shook his head.

"This lady, M. le Comte, has also sworn eternal fidelity to death; but I
know her, and she will keep her word better than the forgetful woman of
whom you speak."

"I will wait ten years, if necessary; since she lives, I may hope."

"Oh! young man, do not reckon thus. She has lived, you say; yes, so she
has, not a month, or a year, but seven years. You hope that she will
console herself; never, M. le Comte, never. I swear it to you--I, who
was but the servant of him who is dead, and yet I shall never be
consoled."

"This man so much regretted, this husband--"

"It was not her husband, it was her lover, M. le Comte, and a woman like
her whom you unluckily love has but one lover in her life."

"My friend," cried Joyeuse, "intercede for me."

"I! Listen, M. le Comte. Had I believed you capable of using violence
toward my mistress, I would have killed you long ago with my own hand.
If, on the contrary, I could have believed that she would love you, I
think I should have killed her. Now, M. le Comte, I have said what I
wished to say; do not seek to make me say more, for, on my honor--and
although not a nobleman, my honor is worth something--I have told you
all I can."

Henri rose.

"I thank you," said he, "for having had compassion on my misfortunes;
now I have decided."

"Then you will be calmer for the future. M. le Comte, you will go away,
and leave us to ourselves?"

"Yes, be easy; I will go away, and forever."

"You mean to die?"

"Why not? I cannot live without her."

"M. le Comte, believe me, it is bad to die by your own hand."

"Therefore I shall not choose that death; but there is, for a young man
like me, a death which has always been reckoned the best--that received
in defending your king and country."

"If you suffer beyond your strength, if you owe nothing to those who
survive you, if death on the field of battle is offered to you, die, M.
le Comte; I should have done so long ago, had I not been condemned to
live."

"Adieu, and thank you," replied Joyeuse.

"Au revoir in another world."

And he went away rapidly, throwing a heavy purse of gold at the feet of
the servant.

CHAPTER LVII.

HOW A GREAT LADY LOVED IN THE YEAR 1586.

The whistles which Ernanton had heard were really his signal. Thus, when
the young man reached the door, he found Dame Fournichon on the
threshold waiting for her customers with a smile, which made her
resemble a