"Thanks, Monsieur de Canolles," said she. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done for me; believe that I shall never forget it. But I pray you to double the value of the service by realizing my position and leaving me. Must we not part, now that your task is ended?" This _we_, uttered in a tone so soft that it seemed to contain a shade of regret, made the most secret fibres of Canolles' heart vibrate painfully. Indeed, excessive joy is almost always accompanied by something very like pain. "I will obey, madame," said he; "but I will venture to observe, not as a pretext for disobedience, but to spare you possible remorse hereafter, that if I obey I am lost. The moment that I admit my error, and cease to pretend to be deceived by your stratagem, I become the victim of my good-nature. I am declared a traitor, imprisoned--shot, it may be; and it will be no more than just, for I am a traitor." Claire cried out in dismay, and herself seized Canolles' hand, which she immediately let fall again with charming confusion. "Then what are _we_ to do?" The young man's heart swelled. That blessed _we_ seemed in a fair way to become Madame de Cambes' favorite pronoun. "What! ruin you!--you, who are so kind and generous!" she exclaimed. "I ruin you? Oh! never! At what sacrifice can I save you? Tell me! tell me!" "You must permit me, madame, to play my part to the end. It is essential, as I told you but now, that I seem to be your dupe, and that I report to Monsieur de Mazarin what I _see_, not what I know." "Yes, but if it is discovered that you have done all this for me, that we have met before, that you have seen my face, then I shall be the one to be ruined: do not forget that!" "Madame," said Canolles, with admirably simulated melancholy, "I do not think, judging from your coldness, and the dignity which it costs you so little to maintain in my presence, that you are likely to divulge a secret which, after all, has no existence in your heart, at all events." Claire made no reply; but a fleeting glance, an almost imperceptible smile, replied in a way to make Canolles the happiest of men. "I may remain, then?" he said, with an indescribable smile. "Since it must be so!" was the reply. "In that case, I must write to Monsieur de Mazarin." "Yes, go." "What's that?" "I told you to go and write to him." "Not so. I must write to him here, from your room; I must date my letter at the foot of your bed." "But it's not proper." "Here are my instructions, madame; read them for yourself." And Canolles handed a paper to the viscountess, who read:-- "'Monsieur le Baron de Canolles will keep Madame la Princesse and her son, Monsieur le Duc d'Enghien, in sight--'" "In sight," said Canolles. "In sight; yes, so it says."