As he opened the door, a female entered hurriedly, and threw off a common cloak—one such as those worn in winter by the sisters of the hospitals. She was a young and handsome woman, in reality about thirty years of age, but her countenance bore an expression of girlish simplicity and freshness which rather belonged to nineteen. Her eyes were blue and lustrous; her hair, dark chestnut, arranged in curls, according to the fashion of the period, on each side of her white expansive forehead; and her parted lips, as she breathed rapidly from hurry or agitation, disclosed a row of teeth singularly perfect and beautiful. One might have looked long amidst the fair dames of Paris to have found features similarly soft and confiding in their aspect; the nose, which was retroussé, alone giving an expression—but a very slight one—of coquetry. Her figure was under the middle size, delicate and perfect in its contour; and, but for the mantle which she had worn over her other handsome apparel, a spectator would have wondered at seeing one so gentle in the streets of Paris by herself after dark, and during one of the most licentious epochs of French history. As Maître Glazer recognised his visitor, he rose and saluted her respectfully, with a reverence due to her rank; for it was Marie-Marguerite d’Aubray, Marchioness of Brinvilliers.
‘I am paying you a late visit to-night, Maître Glazer,’ she said laughingly; ‘it is lucky your assistant is here, or we might furnish scandal for our good city of Paris.’
‘Your reputation would be safe with so old a man as myself, madame,’ replied the apothecary; ‘even with your most bitter enemy. Is M. the Marquis well?’
‘Quite well, Maître Glazer, I thank you. As to my enemy, I hope I cannot reckon even one.’
‘Report is never idle now, madame; but you have little to dread; few have your enviable name.’
The Marchioness fixed her bright eyes on Glazer as she bowed in reply to the old man’s speech, allowing a smile of great sweetness to play over her fair face.
‘Is your son Philippe at home?’ she continued. ‘I wished to inquire after some of our charges at the Hôtel Dieu.’
‘I was asking but just now. There is a light with his friend Theria.’
‘I will go over to his étage and see,’ replied the lady. ‘We are old friends, you know; he will not mind my intrusion.’
She gathered the cloak once more around her, and then, with another silvery laugh, nodded kindly to Glazer and Panurge, and tripped across the court, leaving the apothecary and his assistant to finish their meal.