Never had Anne of Austria appeared to him so beautiful, amid balls, fetes, or carousals, as she appeared to him at this moment, dressed in a simple robe of white satin, and accompanied by Donna Estafania--the only one of her Spanish women who had not been driven from her by the jealousy of the king or by the persecutions of Richelieu.
Anne of Austria took two steps forward.

Buckingham threw himself at her feet, and before the queen could prevent him, kissed the hem of her robe.
"Duke, you already know that it is not I who caused you to be written to." "Yes, yes, madame! Yes, your Majesty!" cried the duke.

"I know that I must have been mad, senseless, to believe that snow would become animated or marble warm; but what then! They who love believe easily in love.

Besides, I have lost nothing by this journey because I see you." "Yes," replied Anne, "but you know why and how I see you; because, insensible to all my sufferings, you persist in remaining in a city where, by remaining, you run the risk of your life, and make me run the risk of my honor.

I see you to tell you that everything separates us--the depths of the sea, the enmity of kingdoms, the sanctity of vows.
It is sacrilege to struggle against so many things, my Lord.