CHAPTER XIII.

WHO DIANA WAS.

Bussy rose, bewildered at his own happiness, and entered with
Diana into the room which M. de Monsoreau had just quitted. He
looked at Diana with astonishment and admiration; he had not
dared to hope that the woman whom he had sought for, would equal
the woman of his dream, and now the reality surpassed all that
he had taken for a caprice of his imagination. Diana was about
nineteen, that is to say in the first eclat of that youth and
beauty which gives the purest coloring to the flower, the finest
flavor to the fruit. There was no mistaking the looks of Bussy;
Diana felt herself admired. At last she broke the silence.

"Monsieur," said she, "you have told me who you are, but not how
you came here."

"Madame, the cause of my presence here will come naturally out
of the recital you have been good enough to promise me; I am
sure of it, from some words of your conversation with M. de
Monsoreau."

"I will tell you all, monsieur; your name has been sufficient
to inspire me with full confidence, for I have always heard of
it as of that of a man of honor, loyalty, and courage."