Next morning we were seated at breakfast in the secret boudoir--that charming little room in which I had first seen the Marquis de Gordon; the Countess was brilliantly attired as usual, and the richness of her dress greatly enhanced the beauty of her fair and ample person. Her eyes shone with unusual lustre, for she had just bathed them in perfumed water; her cheeks had the slightest tinge of rouge; and I thought that I had never seen a finer or a lovelier woman. But she had cost me seven months in the Bastille; and though full of bitterness against Louis XIII., and irresistibly attracted towards Clara, I resolved that nothing more should delay my departure for the army; and on my mentioning this, Madame, notwithstanding all the love-making that had passed between us, offered so little objection, that I felt piqued, and soon discovered that while I was fighting in Lorraine, she had cast her bright roguish eyes on some one else; and this some one I eventually discovered to be the gallant Comte de Treville, captain of the king's musketeers. However, Clara was very cautious not to give me the slightest reason for suspecting this, though I heard from her all the gossip of Paris during breakfast, and all the court news, of both of which important branches of knowledge I was as ignorant as if I had just arrived from the realms of Prester John. 'To rejoin the army, my dear Arthur,' said the Countess, caressing my curly head with patronising kindness, 'you will, of course, require money?' 'Peste! my dear Countess, I should think so.' 'Of course, every one requires money, and you cannot be singular in that respect. Here is a purse full enough for your purpose. These are louis d'ors and rose-nobles.' 'The best nobles at the court of France.' 'Decidedly!' 'Ah! madame, you overwhelm me with kindness. How can I repay you for these many favours?' 'By carefully obeying me, and fulfilling the tasks assigned you by the King and myself.' 'Speak, madame.' 'From the King, you will convey to M. le Chevalier Hepburn, Marechal de Camp of the Scottish troops, this letter and this case, both sealed with the royal arms of France. These you will place in his hands, before Elsace-Zaberne, which he is now besieging, and which my old friend, Colonel Mulheim, a Lorrainer, is sure to defend until you reach the banks of the Sarre. These from Louis XIII.' 'And what from yourself, dearest Countess?' said I, taking her soft hands in mine and gazing earnestly, perhaps tenderly, into her fair hazel eyes. 'You know my attendant, Nicola?' 'Yes.'