"And what for, abbe?" asked D'Harmental, laughing; "to attend the regent's levée in?"
"Oh, no, but for a signal to some good fellow who is passing; come, put it away."
"My dear abbe," said D'Harmental, "if you are not the devil in person, you are at least one of his most intimate acquaintances."
"Oh, no! I am a poor fellow who goes his own quiet way, and who, as he goes, looks high and low, right and left, that is all. Look, there is a ray of spring, the first, which knocks humbly at your window, and you do not open it: one would suppose you were afraid of being seen. Ah, pardon! I did not know that, when your window opened, another must close."
"My dear abbe, you are full of wit," replied D'Harmental, "but terribly indiscreet; so much so, that, if you were a musketeer instead of an abbe, I should quarrel with you."
"And why? Because I wish to open you a path to glory, fortune, and, perhaps, love? It would be monstrous ingratitude."
"Well, let us be friends, abbe," said D'Harmental, offering his hand, "and I shall not be sorry to have some news."
"Of what?"
"How do I know? Of the Rue des Bons Enfants, where there has been a great deal going on, I believe; of the Arsenal, where, I believe, Madame de Maine has given a soirée; and even of the regent, who, if I may believe a dream I had, came back to the Palais Royal very late and rather agitated."
"All has gone well. The noise of the Rue des Bons Enfants, if there were any, is quite calm this morning; Madame de Maine has as much gratitude for those whom important affairs kept away from the Arsenal as she has contempt for those who were there; finally, the regent, dreaming last night, as usual, that he was king of France, has already forgotten that he was nearly the prisoner of the king of Spain. Now we must begin again."