"Hein? who was it, pray?" Aubry asked, edging closer to the narrator.
"It was Louise of Savoy herself, the Duchesse d'Angoulême in person; it was the Regent of France, the king's mother."
"Oho!" said Aubry; "and what was she doing with a poor devil like you?"
"She was in quest of the same sealed package which I had delivered to the duke's messenger, and which contained love letters written by the imprudent princess to the man she was now persecuting."
"Well, upon my word!" muttered Jacques between his teeth, "here's a story most devilishly like the story of the Duchesse d'Etampes and Ascanio."
"Alas! the stories of all frivolous, love-sick princesses resemble one another," replied the prisoner, whose ears seemed to be as quick as his eyes were piercing; "but woe to the poor devils who happen to be involved in them!"
"Stay a moment! stay a moment, prophet of evil!" cried Aubry; "what the devil's that you're saying? I too am involved in the story of a frivolous, love-sick princess."
"Very well; if that is so, say farewell to the light of day, say farewell to life."
"Go to the devil with your predictions of the other world! What's all that to me? I'm not the one she loves, but Ascanio."
"Was it I that the regent loved?" retorted the prisoner. "Was it I, whose very existence they had never heard of? No, but I was placed between a barren love and a fruitful vengeance, and when they came together I was the one to be crushed."