But laugh no
more, Gaston; for I who stand before you am one who has experienced this
thing which poets tell of, and which hitherto I have held in ridicule. I
will not go to Blois because--because--enfin, because I intend to go where
she goes."
"Then, mon cher, you will go to Blois. You will go to Blois, if not as a
dutiful nephew, resigned to obey his reverend uncle's wishes, at least
because fate forces you to follow a pair of eyes that have--hum, what was
it you said they did?"
"Do you say that she is going to Blois? How do you know?"
"Eh? How do I know? Oh, I heard her servant speaking with the hostler."
"So much the better, then; for thus if his Eminence gets news of my
whereabouts, the news will not awaken his ever-ready suspicions. Ciel! How
beautiful she is! Noted you her eyes, her skin, and what hair, mon Dieu!
Like threads of gold!"
"Like threads of gold?" I echoed. "You are dreaming, boy. Oh, St. Gris! I
understand; you are speaking of the fair-haired chit that was with her."
He eyed me in amazement.
"'T is you whose thoughts are wandering to that lanky, nose-in-the-air
Madame who accompanied her.
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