“Oh! mon Dieu; yes. The king settled all that. He is in the next room. Enter, M. Aurilly, and remind the prince that we are waiting for him.”
Aurilly opened the second door and saw Schomberg reclining on a kind of couch, from which he amused himself by sending from a tube little balls of earth through a gold ring, suspended from the ceiling by a silk thread, while a favorite dog brought him back the balls as they fell.
“Ah! guten morgen, M. Aurilly, you see I am amusing myself while I wait for my audience.”
“But where is monseigneur?”
“Oh! he is occupied in pardoning D’Epernon and Maugiron. But will you not enter, you who are privileged?”
“Perhaps it would be indiscreet.”
“Not at all; enter, M. Aurilly, enter.” And he pushed him into the next room, where the astonished musician perceived D’Epernon before a mirror, occupied in stiffening his mustachios, while Maugiron, seated near the window, was cutting out engravings, by the side of which the bas-reliefs on the temple of Venus Aphrodite would have looked holy.
The duke, without his sword, was in his armchair between these two men, who only looked at him to watch his movements, and only spoke to him to say something disagreeable: seeing Aurilly, he got up to meet him.
“Take care monseigneur,” said Maugiron, “you are stepping on my figures.”
“Mon Dieu!” cried the musician, “he insults my master!”