“Are they very indiscreet?” said Madame de la Motte.
“So indiscreet that you shall not hear them;” and he pretended to whisper to Oliva, who made a sign in answer. Then, in irreproachable German, he said to the cardinal, “Monseigneur, are you in love with the lady who accompanies you?”
The cardinal trembled.
“Did you say monseigneur?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You deceive yourself; I am not the person you think.”
“Oh, M. le Cardinal, do not deny it; it is useless. If even I did not know you, the lady who accompanies me assures me she knows you perfectly.” And he again whispered to Oliva, “Make a sign for ‘yes.’ Do so each time I press your arm.”
She did so.
“You astonish me!” said the cardinal. “Who is this lady?”
“Oh, monseigneur, I thought you would have known; she soon knew you. It is true that jealousy——”