"Have you loved many women in your life?" he asked him on the second
occasion, when, as seamen say, they sailed in company along the mall.

"Only one," replied Du Halga.

"Was she free?"

"No," exclaimed the chevalier. "Ah! how I suffered! She was the wife
of my best friend, my protector, my chief--but we loved each other
so!"

"Did she love you?" said Calyste.

"Passionately," replied the chevalier, with a fervency not usual with
him.

"You were happy?"

"Until her death; she died at the age of forty-nine, during the
emigration, at St. Petersburg, the climate of which killed her. She
must be very cold in her coffin. I have often thought of going there
to fetch her, and lay her in our dear Brittany, near to me! But she
lies in my heart."

The chevalier brushed away his tears. Calyste took his hand and
pressed it.

"I care for this little dog more than for life itself," said the old
man, pointing to Thisbe. "The little darling is precisely like the one