THE LORD OF YOUTH
the forest turned to a frame of smoky, brownish black. Casimir waved a hand towards it and laughed merrily.
"Before we were, it was—after we are, it shall be! I sound as old as Scripture! It has seen old masters—and great mistresses! Saving the proprieties, weren't you Montespan or Pompadour?"
"De la Vallière?" she laughed. "Or Maintenon?"
"For good or evil, neither! Do I hurt you?"
"No; you make me think, though," answered Sophy. "Why?"
"They niggled—at virtue or at vice. You don't niggle! Neither did Montespan nor Pompadour."
"And so I am to be—Marquise de —?"
"Higher, higher!" he laughed. "Madame la Maréchale—!"
"It is war, then—soon—you think?" She turned to him with a sudden tension.
He pointed a Frenchman's eloquent forefinger to the dark mass of the château, whose chimneys rose now like gloomy interrogation - marks to an unresponsive, darkened sky. "He is there now—the Emperor! Perhaps he walks in his garden by the round pond thinking, dreaming, balancing."
"Throwing balls in the air, as conjurers do?"
"Yes, my star."
"And if he misses the first?"
"He'll seek applause by the second. And the second, I think, would be war."
"And you would—go?"
"To what other end do I love the Lady of the Red Star—alas! I can't see it—save to bring her glory?"
"That's French," said Sophy, with a laugh. "Wouldn't you rather stay with me and be happy?"
"Who speaks to me?" he cried, springing to his feet. "Not you!"
59
