“Permit me, Madame, to express my surprise,” said the abbess.
“At what?” said Milady, with the utmost ingenuousness.
“At the language you use.”
“What do you find so astonishing in that language?” said Milady, smiling.
“You are the friend of the cardinal, for he sends you hither, and yet—”
“And yet I speak ill of him,” replied Milady, finishing the thought of the superior.
“At least you don’t speak well of him.”
“That is because I am not his friend,” said she, sighing, “but his victim!”
“But this letter in which he recommends you to me?”
“Is an order for me to confine myself to a sort of prison, from which he will release me by one of his satellites.”
“But why have you not fled?”
“Whither should I go? Do you believe there is a spot on the earth which the cardinal cannot reach if he takes the trouble to stretch forth his hand? If I were a man, that would barely be possible; but what can a woman do? This young boarder of yours, has she tried to fly?”
“No, that is true; but she—that is another thing; I believe she is detained in France by some love affair.”
“Ah,” said Milady, with a sigh, “if she loves she is not altogether wretched.”