“But I--reflect a little, do not be egotistical--I, whom that fiery young man pretended to love--I, who fixed the regards of that invincible Bussy, he who fears no one--I was alone with him in the cloister of l’Egyptienne--we were alone; but for Gertrude and Rémy, our accomplices, he could have carried me off. At that moment I saw him suffering because of me; I saw his eyes languishing, his lips pale and parched with fever. If he had asked me to die to restore the brightness to his eyes, and the freshness to his lips, I should have died. Well, I went away, and he never tried to detain me. Wait still. He knew that I was leaving Paris, that I was returning to Méridor; he knew that M. de Monsoreau--I blush as I tell it--was only my husband in name; he knew that I traveled alone; and along the road, dear Jeanne, I kept turning, thinking I heard the gallop of his horse behind us. But no, it was only the echo of my own. I tell you he does not think of me. I am not worth a journey to Anjou while there are so many beautiful women at the court of France, whose smiles are worth a hundred confessions from the provincial, buried at Méridor. Do you understand now? Am I forgotten, despised----” She had not finished when the foliage of the oak rustled, a quantity of mortar and moss fell from the old wall, and a man threw himself at the feet of Diana, who uttered an affrighted cry. Jeanne ran away--she recognized him. “Here I am!” cried Bussy, kissing the dress of Diana. She too recognized him, and, overcome by this unexpected happiness, fell unconscious into the arms of him whom she had just accused of indifference. CHAPTER LIV. BUSSY AND DIANA. Faintings from love seldom last any length of time, nor are they very dangerous. Diana was not long in opening her eyes, and finding herself supported by Bussy. “Oh!” murmured she, “it was shocking, count, to surprise us thus.” Bussy expected other words, men are so exacting, but Diana said no more, and, disengaging herself gently from his arms, ran to her friend, who, seeing her faint, had returned softly, and stood a little way off. “Is it thus that you receive me, madame?” “No, M. de Bussy, but----” “Oh! no ‘but,’ madame,” sighed Bussy, drawing near again. “No, no, not on your knees!” “Oh! let me pray to you an instant, thus!” cried the count. “I have so longed for this place.” “Yes, but to come to it, you jumped over the wall. Not only is it not suitable for a man of your rank, but it is very imprudent.” “How so?” “If you had been seen?” “Who could have seen me?” “Our hunters, who, a quarter of an hour ago, passed by this wall.” “Do not be uneasy, madame, I hide myself too carefully to be seen.” “Hidden! really!” said Jeanne, “tell us how, M. de Bussy.”