That evening she was seated by the open window, for the day had been close and sultry and the night was warm, a volume of Quarles´ Emblems spread open on her knees. Her brother and the Vicomte had been closeted together during the day, and Lady Hester, fatigued and desponding, had retired for the night. She was very busy with her own thoughts, and had not heard De Laprade enter the room. He came softly up and took a chair beside her.
“Of what is my cousin Dorothy so full of thought?” he said.
She looked up with a blush, for just at that moment she was wondering what a certain fair-haired, long-limbed young giant was doing in the outposts or elsewhere, and the voice recalled her to herself with a feeling of self-reproach.
“I am afraid,” she answered, “my thoughts would have little interest for you. A woman´s head is ever full of idle thoughts.”
“Not the wise head of my cousin; it is only the men of her family who give themselves to folly.”
“Truly he is a chief offender, but he is growing wise and sober and hardly knows himself. He has not smiled for a week, and thinks he never will be able to smile again. Even his cousin Jasper has ceased to amuse him.”
“You are greatly to be pitied,” she said with a smile. “But it is not duller than you would have found Vincennes. There too you would have grown wiser.”
“Nay, I think not. A long time ago--it seems like years, I grow so old--I was for six months a prisoner in the Bastille, and when His Majesty relented and I returned to court I was no wiser than before. My folly only took another turn. But then I had not found a friend to warn, nor a counsellor like my fair cousin to teach me better things.”
“I dare say you deserved your punishment. Now tell me something of your offence.”
“Indeed, I hardly know myself, but I think it was--yes, I think it was a lady. By accident I trod on her train in a minuet and she refused to accept my apology. I could only smile and do penance for my clumsiness, for one may not lightly offend a great lady like Madame de----”
“I have forgotten her name, but it does not matter now. She has forgotten Victor de Laprade, as he has forgotten her.”
“I do not believe that, my cousin Victor.”
“That I have forgotten the circumstances? Ah, well! it is possible that I might recall them to memory, but I would, rather let them die, as I would all that belongs to the past. If my cousin Dorothy would but give me leave I would begin a new life to-day with new thoughts, new feelings, and a new heart. She smiles, and thinks it is not possible that I, who have wasted my youth, should try to save my manhood.”