"He is a rebel, then!"
"Oh! Monsieur Colbert, we folks have passed all our lives in making rebels, and yet you see plainly, that so far from being taken, we take others."
Colbert fixed upon the old duchesse one of those fierce looks of which no words can convey the expression, accompanied by a firmness which was not wanting in grandeur. "The times are gone," said he, "in which subjects gained duchies by making war against the king of France. If M. d'Herblay conspires, he will perish on the scaffold. That will give, or will not give, pleasure to his enemies—that is of very little importance to us."
And this us, a strange word in the mouth of Colbert, made the duchesse thoughtful for a moment. She caught herself reckoning inwardly with this man.—Colbert had regained his superiority in the conversation, and he was desirous of keeping it.
"You ask me, madame," he said, "to have this M. d'Herblay arrested?"
"I!—I ask you nothing of the kind!"
"I thought you did, madame. But as I have been mistaken, we will leave him alone; the king has said nothing about him."
The duchesse bit her nails.
"Besides," continued Colbert, "what a poor capture would this bishop be! A bishop game for a king! Oh! no, no; I will not even take the least notice of him."
The hatred of the duchesse now discovered itself.