It was a very contrite and downcast Buckingham who came now to
Anne of Austria as she sat in her coach with the Princesse de
Conti for only companion.
"Madame," he said, "I am come to take my leave."
"Fare you well, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur," she said, and her voice
was warm and gentle, as if to show him that she bore no malice.
"I am come to ask your pardon, madame," he said, in a low voice.
"Oh, monsieur--no more, I beg you." She looked down; her hands
were trembling, her cheeks going red and white by turns.
He put his head behind the curtains of the coach, so that none
might see him from outside, and looking at him now, she beheld
tears in his eyes.
"Do not misunderstand me, madame. I ask your pardon only for
having discomposed you, startled you. As for what I said, it were
idle to ask pardon, since I could no more help saying it than I
can help drawing breath. I obeyed an instinct stronger than the
will to live. I gave expression to something that dominates my
whole being, and will ever dominate it as long as I have life.
Adieu, madame! At need you know where a servant who will gladly
die for you is to be found." He kissed the hem of her robe,
dashed the back of his hand across his eyes, and was gone before
she could say a word in answer.
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