After supper that evening, as I was returning to my chamber, I heard a commotion in the courtyard, and at first thought that Montluc had returned. On inquiry, however, I found that this was not so, but that certain prisoners of importance had been brought to the priory. I could not find out who they were, nor, indeed, did I try much, but took myself off. So far things were going well with me, and I felt myself justified in the hope that the famine years were coming to an end. I saw the sentence of the Chambre Ardente against me cancelled, and began to see also fine castles in dreamland, and with all these I unconsciously began to associate Diane. I laughed at my folly, tried to set it aside; but back came the thought to me, in such a manner that I felt that every step I was about to take to win back my place was not for myself but for her sake. And the fear of his own unworthiness, which comes to every man who truly loves, came upon me, and with it the ghost of that duel of days long past. There I had sinned, and sinned deeply, and it was poor consolation to tell myself that the man does not live whose life could stand sunshine on it. For me it was enough to know that I had committed a grievous wrong; it was for me to find out how to right it, or make compensation--empty regrets were useless. Of that affair it may be as well to speak freely here. Amongst my friends in the red days was one who was to me as David to Jonathan. Godefrey de la Mothe was of an old family of the Tarantaise, and his career at college had been of exceptional brilliancy. Some years my senior, he had at first acquired great influence over me, an influence ever exercised for my good. This lasted until my return from the Italian campaign, when, seeing ruin staring me in the face, I had let everything go, and sought to drown my sorrows in dissipation. My friend strove to stay me; but, driven to madness, I repulsed all his kindness. One day we met near the Louvre, in such a manner that there was no avoiding him. He began to expostulate with me on my latest folly. I answered back hotly, and at last there were high words between us, and that was said by me for which there was but one remedy; and he fell, as is known. Since then I could only regret. But now there was punishment as well as regret. With the memory of this could I dare to think of Diane? There was only one answer, and with that answer I began to realise that what comes to all men had come to me, and that I loved. In his gibing way Le Brusquet had said that a man feels conscious of love in the same manner as he feels a sudden chill. The words came back to me, and I laughed sadly, for there was truth in them.