"Have done," he interrupted peevishly. "What does it signify? To the devil with Mazarin's plans!"
"So you said this morning."
"Yes, when I did not even dream her name was Canaples."
"Nevertheless, she is the wrong Canaples."
"For my uncle--but, mille diables! sir, 't is I who am to wed, and I shall wed as my heart bids me."
"Hum! And Mazarin?"
"Faugh!" he answered, with an expressive shrug.
"Well, since you are resolved, let us dine."
"I have no appetite."
"Let us dine notwithstanding. Eat you must if you would live; and unless you live--think of it!--you'll never reach Blois."
"Gaston, you are laughing at me! I do not wish to eat."
I surveyed him gravely, with my arms akimbo.
"Can love so expand the heart of man that it fills even his stomach? Well, well, if you will not eat, at least have the grace to bear me company at table. Come, Andrea," and I took his arm, "let us ascend to that chamber which she has but just quitted. Who can tell but that we shall find there some token of her recent presence? If nothing more, at least the air will be pervaded by the perfume she affected, and since you scorn the humble food of man, you can dine on that."
He smiled despite himself as I drew him towards the staircase.
"Scoffer!" quoth he. "Your callous soul knows naught of love."
"Whereas you have had three hours' experience. Pardieu! You shall instruct me in the gentle art."
Alas, for those perfumes upon which I had proposed that he should feast himself. If any the beautiful Geneviève had left behind her, they had been smothered in the vulgar yet appetising odour of the steaming ragoût that occupied the table.
I prevailed at length upon the love-lorn boy to take some food, but I could lead him to talk of naught save Geneviève de Canaples. Presently he took to chiding me for the deliberateness wherewith I ate, and betrayed thereby his impatience to be in the saddle and after her. I argued that whilst she saw him not she might think of him. But the argument, though sound, availed me little, and in the end I was forced--for all that I am a man accustomed to please myself--to hurriedly end my repast, and pronounce myself ready to start.
As Andrea had with him some store of baggage--since his sojourn at Blois was likely to be of some duration--he travelled in a coach. Into this coach, then, we climbed--he and I. His valet, Silvio, occupied the seat beside the coachman, whilst my stalwart Michelot rode behind leading my horse by the bridle. In this fashion we set out, and ere long the silence of my thoughtful companion, the monotonous rumbling of the vehicle, and, most important of all factors, the good dinner that I had consumed, bred in me a torpor that soon became a sleep.