“No, monseigneur; and what I say to you I would say to De Guiche himself, so little do I think of the attentions he pays Madame. Nay, I would say it even to Madame herself. Only you understand what I am afraid of--I am afraid of being thought jealous of the favor shown, when I am only jealous as far as friendship is concerned. I know your disposition; I know that when you bestow your affections you become exclusively attached. You love Madame--and who, indeed, would _not_ love her? Follow me attentively as I proceed:--Madame has noticed among your friends the handsomest and most fascinating of them all; she will begin to influence you on his behalf in such a way that you will neglect the others. Your indifference would kill me; it is already bad enough to have to support Madame’s indifference. I have, therefore, made up my mind to give way to the favorite whose happiness I envy, even while I acknowledge my sincere friendship and sincere admiration for him. Well, monseigneur, do you see anything to object to in this reasoning? Is it not that of a man of honor? Is my conduct that of a sincere friend? Answer me, at least, after having so closely questioned me.” The duke had seated himself, with his head buried in his hands. After a silence long enough to enable the chevalier to judge the effect of this oratorical display, the duke arose, saying, “Come, be candid.” “As I always am.” “Very well. You know that we already observed something respecting that mad fellow, Buckingham.” “Do not say anything against Madame, monseigneur, or I shall take my leave. It is impossible you can be suspicious of Madame?” “No, no, chevalier; I do not suspect Madame; but in fact, I observe--I compare--” “Buckingham was a madman, monseigneur.” “A madman about whom, however, you opened my eyes thoroughly.” “No, no,” said the chevalier, quickly; “it was not I who opened your eyes, it was De Guiche. Do not confound us, I beg.” And he began to laugh in so harsh a manner that it sounded like the hiss of a serpent. “Yes, yes; I remember. You said a few words, but De Guiche showed the most jealousy.” “I should think so,” continued the chevalier, in the same tone. “He was fighting for home and altar.” “What did you say?” said the duke, haughtily, thoroughly roused by this insidious jest. “Am I not right? for does not M. de Guiche hold the chief post of honor in your household?” “Well,” replied the duke, somewhat calmed, “had this passion of Buckingham been remarked?” “Certainly.” “Very well. Do people say that M. de Guiche’s is remarked as much?” “Pardon me, monseigneur; you are again mistaken; no one says that M. de Guiche entertains anything of the sort.” “Very good.” “You see, monseigneur, that it would have been better, a hundred times better, to have left me in my retirement, than to have allowed you to conjure up, by aid of any scruples I may have had, suspicions which Madame will regard as crimes, and she would be in the right, too.”