at the top of the wall and mowing at a
couple of peacocks preening themselves on the level turf beneath him.
Half amused, despite my sombre thoughts, I stopped and watched, until
at last, after a stare at their tormentor, the great birds stalked away
like offended beauties.

"Pompon!" I called out.

In answer, the little ape turned his ribald wit upon me; but now a head
appeared above the parapet, a hand seized Pompon and drew him back, and
Le Brusquet's voice hailed me, bidding me come up to him. This I did
with the aid of a friendly tree, and found him on the top of the wall,
stretched out like a lizard in the sun. As I reached his side he rose
to a sitting posture, and made room for me beside him.

"I have got the 'can't-help-its,'" he said, "and came here to let them
work off. I have much to say to you."

"You have news, then?"

"Yes; and grave news. Listen! This morning, as usual, I attended the
_petit couvert_, and found myself alone in the breakfast-room, where
covers were laid for two. The soup was warming at a little stove, for
the King takes this, the first meal of the day, without attendance. I
said I was alone; but that is not exactly the case, as Pompon was, of
course, with me, and the ape had one of his evil fits. He hopped in
front of me, mopping and mowing, and I cannot tell why--perhaps it was
because some of Crequy's red Joue--I supped with him over-night--was
still ringing a chime in my head, but a sudden feeling of irritation
came upon me at his antics. I seized the little beast by the scruff of
his neck and dropped him out of the window on to the balcony beneath,
where he remained, content enough with a plum that I took the liberty
of lifting from the table and flinging after him. Then, leaning out of
the window, I watched the morning, wondering to myself what new jest I
could devise for the King's amusement. But I was in a morose humour,
and could think of nothing. All at once I heard the hissing rustle of
silken robes. I turned, and faced Madame Diane. I tell you, Orrain,
never was woman born so beautiful. The rose of the morning was on her
cheeks. Her eyes--they are blue-black, not black--met mine, with a
laugh in them, as she said:

"'Well, Le Brusquet, have you lost your ape, or has some jest failed
you?--you look so sad."

"'Neither, madame,' I answered; 'but I have lost my heart.'

"'Tell me,' she said, 'who is it? Is it La Beauce?--or, perhaps,
Madame de Montal?'