“Where do you say you go to?”
“I go first to Taverney Maison Rouge.”
“Very well, but be prudent. There are sharp eyes on you both, and she is so fiery and incautious, that you must be prudent for both. What is your address, in case I want to send you any pressing news?”
“Taverney, monsieur.”
“Taverney, nonsense! I do not ask you for the address of your house in the park; but choose some third address near here. You, who have managed so well for your love, can easily manage this.”
“Sir, you play at enigmas, and I cannot find the solution.”
“Oh, you are discreet beyond all bounds. However, keep your secrets, tell me nothing of the huntsman’s house, nor the nightly walks with two dear friends, nor the rose, nor the kisses.”
“Monsieur!” cried Philippe, mad with jealousy and rage, “will you hold your tongue?”
“Well, I know it all—your intimacy with the queen, and your meetings in the baths of Apollo. Mon Dieu! our fortunes are assured forever.”
“Monsieur, you cause me horror!” cried poor Philippe, hiding his face in his hands. And, indeed, he felt it, at hearing attributed to himself all the happiness of another. All the rumors that the father had heard, he had assigned to his son, and believed that it was he that the queen loved, and no one else; hence his perfect contentment and happiness.