“I have a sister there, my senior by seven or eight years, who was married in France, and was early left a widow; her name is Madame de Belliere. Do you know her?” she added, observing Raoul start suddenly.

“I have heard her name.”

“She, too, loves with her whole heart; and her last letters inform me she is happy, and her affection is, I conclude, returned. I told you, Monsieur de Bragelonne, that although I possess half of her nature, I do not share her happiness. But let us now speak of yourself; whom do you love in France?”

“A young girl, as soft and pure as a lily.”

“But if she loves you, why are you sad?”

“I have been told that she ceases to love me.”