"What a model husband!" sneered the king. "But I am not to be gulled in this way. I see that I am attacked under all these blinds. It is odd that you cannot let me live in my own way, but must hate all whom I like, and like all I dislike! Am I mad, or sane? Am I the master, or not!"
The prince went back to the clock. Choiseul bowed as before.
"No answer, eh? Why don't you say something? Do you want to worry me into the grave with your petty hints and strange silence, your paltry spites and minute dreads?"
"I do not hate Chevalier Dubarry," said the prince.
"I do not dread him," added Choiseul.
"You are both bad at heart," went on the sovereign, trying to be furious but only showing spite. "Do you want me to realize the fable with which my cousin of Prussia jeers me, that mine is the Court of King Petaud? No, I shall do nothing of the kind. I stand on my honor in my own style and will defend it similarly."
"Sire," said the prince with his inexhaustible meekness but eternal persistency, "your majesty's honor is not affected—it is the dignity of the royal princess which is struck at."
"Let Chevalier Jean make excuses, then, as he is free to do. But he is free to do the other thing."
"I warn your majesty that the affair will be talked of, if thus dropped," said the prime minister.
"Who cares? Do as I do. Let the public chatter, and heed them not—unless you like to laugh at them. I shall be deaf to all. The sooner they make such a noise as to deafen me, the sooner I shall cease to hear them. Think over what I say, for I am sick of this. I am going to Marly, where I can get a little quiet—if I am not followed out there. At least, I shall not meet your sister the Lady Louise there, for she has retired to the nunnery of St. Denis."