The Cardinal's Musketeer by Mary Imlay Taylor

NINON'S announcement, coming with unexpected force and with truthfulness, dashed Péron's new-born hopes to the ground. Mademoiselle's flashes of tenderness and emotion were but the whims of a coquette, who found amusement and flattery even in the admiration of an inferior. The Renée that he knew, with her varying moods of anger and disdain interspiced with glimpses of soft-heartedness, was doubtless very different from the fiancée of M. de Bièvre. Péron tried to recall what he knew of the man, a cousin, he thought, of the Prince de Condé, and a man of some wealth and pretensions, -- not an unsuitable match for mademoiselle in family and rank, but by repute a brainless young courtier and something of a roué. Yet, after all, that was Renée's affair, not Péron's. He thought that he had seen him once or twice at the Palais Cardinal or the Louvre, and that he bore a strong likeness in dress and manner to the younger de Vesson. Doubtless she was accustomed to men of this stamp and preferred them to a soldier of fortune -- a musketeer.

In the half-hour after mademoiselle left, Péron had these thoughts and many others more bitter, and called himself a fool many times for having yielded to the charm of a fair face and two bright eyes. He had known from the first of a barrier between them that should be impassable, yet he had let a tenderness grow in his heart, and deserved punishment for his folly. So completely did mademoiselle's betrothal fill his mind that he forgot the cardinal's ring, forgot his surroundings, the taper burning low on the table, forgot the unbolted door, until he heard a step on the stairs and rose to fasten his latch. He was too late; before he reached it the door was opened softly and the round face of the pastry cook was thrust into the space. Seeing that Péron was alone, Archambault came in, and shutting the door behind him with his shoulder, advanced to the table, where he set down a large frosted cake with an air of satisfaction.