"'T is well," said he to Cauvignac, without opening a credit for him at the inn, or emptying his purse into his hands, which he would have been certain to do under other circumstances; "'t is well; tell your master that you overtook me, and that I obeyed him instantly." "Shall I say nothing to Mademoiselle de Lartigues?" "Yes; tell her that her brother appreciates the feeling which dictates her action, and is deeply indebted to her.--Castorin, saddle the horses." Without another word to the messenger, who was thunderstruck by this ungracious reception, Canolles went up once more to the viscount's room, and found him pale and trembling, and completely dressed. "You may set your mind at rest, viscount," said Canolles; "you are rid of me for the rest of your journey. I am about to take my leave in the king's service." "When?" the viscount asked with a vestige of apprehension. "Instantly; I am going to Mantes, where the court now is." "Adieu, monsieur." The young man could hardly utter the words, and sank upon a chair, not daring to meet his companion's eye. Canolles stepped up to him. "I shall never see you again in all probability," he said, with deep emotion. "Who knows?" said the viscount, trying to smile. "Promise one thing to a man who will never forget you," said Canolles, laying his hand upon his heart; and his tone and his gesture alike indicated absolute sincerity. "What is it?" "That you will sometimes think of him." "I promise." "Without anger?" "Yes." "Will you give me any token in support of your promise?" The viscount put out his hand. Canolles took the trembling hand in his own, with no purpose to do aught but press it, but in obedience to an impulse stronger than his will, he put it to his lips and imprinted an ardent kiss upon it, then rushed from the room, murmuring:-- "Ah! Nanon! Nanon! can you ever make up to me what you have caused me to lose?" XII. If we now turn aside for a moment and cast a glance at the princesses of the house of Condé in their exile at Chantilly, of which Richon drew such a distressing picture to the viscount, this is what we shall see. Beneath the spreading chestnuts, powdered with snowy blossoms, on the smooth, velvety lawns sloping down to the peaceful blue ponds, a swarm of laughing, chatting, singing promenaders wandered to and fro. Here and there amid the tall grass could be seen the figure of a solitary reader, lost in waves of verdure, where naught could be distinctly seen save the white page of the book in her hand, which belonged perhaps to M. de la Calprenède's _Cléopâtre_, to M. d'Urfé's _Astrée_, or to Mademoiselle de Scudéry's _Grand Cyrus._ Beneath the arbors of honeysuckle and clematis could be heard the sweet strains of lutes, and invisible voices singing. At intervals a horseman, bearing a despatch, passed like a flash along the main avenue leading to the château.