love with the duke de Nemours, has never given him any mark of it, and that the fear she was in lest she should not always be mistress of her passion, has made her confess it to her husband, that he may take her away from court; and it is the duke de Nemours himself who has related what I tell you.
If madam de Cleves was grieved at first through the thought that she had no concern in this adventure, the queen-dauphin's last words threw her into an agony, by making it certain she had too much in it; she could not answer, but continued leaning her head on the bed. Meanwhile the queen went on, and was so intent on what she was saying, that she took no notice of her embarrassment. When madam de Cleves was a little come to herself, This story, madam, says she, does not seem very probable to me, and I should be glad to know who told it you.—It was madam de Martigues, replied the queen-dauphin, and she heard it from the viscount de Chartres; you know the viscount is in love with her; he entrusted this matter to her as a secret, and he was told it by the duke de Nemours himself; it is true the duke did not tell the lady's name, nor acknowledge that he was the person she was in love with, but the viscount makes no manner of question of it. When the queen-dauphin had done speaking, somebody came up to the bed; madam de Cleves was so placed that she could not see who it was, but she was presently convinced, when the queen-dauphin cried out, with an air of gaiety and surprise, Here he is himself, I will ask him what there is in it. Madam de Cleves knew very well it was the duke de Nemours, without turning herself, as it really was; upon which she went up hastily to the queen-dauphin, and told her softly, that she ought to be cautious of speaking to him of this adventure, which he had entrusted to the viscount de Chartres as a secret, and that it was a thing which might create a quarrel between them.—You are too wise, said the queen-dauphin
