“You do not believe me,” continued the old man, almost fiercely; “well, ask M. de Coigny, ask M. de Lauzun, or M. de Vaudreuil.”
“Silence, father!” cried Philippe; “or for these three blasphemies, not being able to strike you three blows with my sword, I shall strike them on myself.”
The old man stepped back, murmuring, “Mon Dieu, what a stupid animal! Good evening, son; you rejoice me; I thought I was the father, the old man, but now I think it is I who must be the young Apollo, and you the old man;” and he turned away.
Philippe stopped him: “You did not speak seriously, did you, father? It is impossible that a gentleman of good blood like you should give ear to these calumnies, spread by the enemies, not only of the queen, but of the throne.”
“He will not believe, the double mule!” said the old man.
“You speak to me as you would speak before God?”
“Yes, truly.”
“Before God, whom you approach every day?”
“It seems to me, my son,” replied he, “that I am a gentleman, and that you may believe my word.”
“It is, then, your opinion that the queen has had lovers?”