“All this gaiety must be put on,” thought Jeanne. So she answered, in a grave tone, “Madame, I have the honor to affirm to your majesty that M. de Rohan——”
“Well, since you are his friend, ask him what he did with some hair of mine which he bribed a certain hair-dresser to steal; and which trick cost the poor man dear, for he lost my custom.”
“Your majesty surprises me; M. de Rohan did that?”
“Oh, yes; all his adoration, you know. After having hated me at Vienna, and having employed every means to try and prevent my marriage, he at last began to perceive that I was a woman, and his queen, and that he had offended me forever. Then this dear prince began to fear for his future, and, like all of his profession, who seem most fond of those whom they most fear, and as he knew me young and believed me foolish and vain, he turned—he became a professed admirer, and began with sighs and glances. He adores me, does he not, Andrée?”
“Madame!”
“Oh! Andrée will not compromise herself, but I say what I please; at least I may have that advantage from being a queen. So it is a settled thing that the cardinal adores me, and you may tell him, countess, that he has my permission.”
Jeanne, instead of seeing in all this only the angry disdain of a noble character, which she was incapable of appreciating, thought it all pique against M. de Rohan, hiding another feeling for him, and therefore began to defend him with all her eloquence.
The queen listened.
“Good! she listens,” thought Jeanne, and did not again understand that she listened through generosity, and through pleasure at anything so novel as to hear any person defend one of whom the sovereign chose to speak ill, and felt pleased with her, thinking she saw a heart where none was placed.
All at once a joyous voice was heard near, and the queen said, “Here is the Comte d’Artois.”