“Duchesse, I tell you why; supposing the five hundred thousand francs were to be given you, M. Laicques will require his share, which will be another five hundred thousand francs, I presume? and then, after M. de Laicques’s and your own portions have been arranged, the portions which your children, your poor pensioners, and various other persons will require, will start up as fresh claims, and these letters, however compromising they may be in their nature, are not worth from three to four millions. Can you have forgotten the queen of France’s diamonds?—they were surely worth more than these bits of waste paper signed by Mazarin, and yet their recovery did not cost a fourth part of what you ask for yourself.”
“Yes, that is true; but the merchant values his goods at his own price, and it is for the purchaser to buy or refuse.”
“Stay a moment, duchesse; would you like me to tell you why I will not buy your letters?”
“Pray tell me.”
“Because the letters you claim to be Mazarin’s are false.”
“What an absurdity.”
“I have no doubt of it, for it would, to say the least, be very singular, that after you had quarreled with the queen through M. Mazarin’s means, you should have kept up any intimate acquaintance with the latter; it would look as if you had been acting as a spy; and upon my word, I do not like to make use of the word.”
“Oh! pray do.”
“You great complacence would seem suspicions, at all events.”
“That is quite true; but the contents of the letters are even more so.”