Anne hastily seated herself at a table upon which were writing materials, and, seizing a pen, dashed off a few words.
"Take this," she said, "and doubt me again, if you dare!"
Ascanio took the paper and read:—
"Ascanio, I love you: go with me where I go, or let me go with you where you go.
"ANNE D'HEILLY."
"Oh, that cannot be, madame! It seems to me that my love would be a cause of shame to you."
"Shame!" cried the duchess: "do I know shame? I am too proud for that. My pride is my virtue!"
"Ah! I know a lovelier and more saintly virtue than that," said Ascanio, clinging to the thought of Colombe with a desperate effort.
The blow struck home. The duchess rose, trembling with indignation.
"You are an obstinate, hard-hearted child, Ascanio," she said in a broken voice: "I would fain have spared you much suffering, but I see that sorrow alone can teach you what life is. You will come back to me, Ascanio; you will return wounded, bleeding, heartbroken, and you will know then the worth of your Colombe and of myself. I will forgive you then, because I love you; but ere that time comes terrible things will happen. Au revoir."
And Madame d'Etampes, wild with love and hatred, left the room, forgetting that the two lines she had written in a moment of exaltation remained in Ascanio's hands.