"What did you say, Madame?" Montgommery cried, with his heart thumping against his ribs. "Ah, Madame, take heed! this is no joke, but a deep and sincere passion, whether it be a possible or an impossible one to gratify." "And why should it be impossible?" asked Diane. "Madame," was Jacques's reply, "pardon my frankness, but I never learned to envelop facts with many words. Does not the king love you, Madame?" "Yes," sighed Diane; "he loves me." "And don't you see, then, that it is not for me to declare my unworthy love, though I cannot help loving you?" "Unworthy of you, it is true," said the duchess. "Oh, no, not of me!" cried the count; "and if the day should ever come--" But Diane interrupted him with an air of grave melancholy and well assumed dignity,-- "Enough, Monsieur de Montgommery; let us put an end to this interview, I beg." She bowed coldly, and turned away, leaving the poor count a prey to a whirl of conflicting emotions,--jealousy, love, hatred, grief, and joy. So Diane saw the adoration which made him bow down before her. But perhaps he had wounded her! He must have seemed unjust, ungrateful, cruel to her! He repeated to himself over and over again all the sublime nonsense of love. The next day Diane de Poitiers said to François I., "You didn't know, did you, Sire, that Monsieur de Montgommery was in love with me?" "What's that?" said François, laughing. "The Montgommerys are of an ancient family, and almost as nobly born, upon my word, as I; and what's more they are almost as brave, and now it seems that they are almost as good at love-making." "And is that all the reply that your Majesty has to make to me?" Diane asked him. "And what do you want me to say, my dear?" replied the king. "Do you really think that I ought to take it ill of the Comte de Montgommery that he has as good taste and as good eyes as I have?" "If Madame d'Étampes were in question," muttered Diane, wounded to the quick, "you would not say so." She pursued the conversation no further, but resolved to go on with the experiment. When she next saw Jacques some days later, she began to question him again,-- "How is this, Monsieur de Montgommery? Still more melancholy than usual?" "I am indeed, Madame," said the count, humbly; "for I shudder to think that I have offended you." "Not offended, Monsieur," said the duchess, "but grieved sorely." "Oh, Madame," cried Montgomery, "I, who would give all my blood to spare you a tear,--how can it be that I have caused you the least grief?" "Did you not tell me that because I was the king's favorite I had no right to aspire to the affection of a simple gentleman?" "Ah, I had no such idea as that, Madame," said the count; "indeed, I could have no such idea, for I, a simple gentleman, love you with a passion as sincere as it is profound. I only meant to say to you that you could not love me, since the king loves you and you love him." "The king does not love me, nor do I love the king," replied Diane.