"Have you forgotten that already? Is it possible that one of the clauses of the agreement of so much importance to me, can have escaped you already? How trifling it seems to you, indeed; if I had known it I should have asked double what I have done."
"I have reflected, madame, and I shall not accompany you."
"Really—and why not?"
"Because I have the most perfect confidence in you."
"You overpower me. But provided I receive the hundred thousand crowns?"
"Here they are, madame," said Colbert, scribbling a few lines on a piece of paper, which he handed to the duchesse, adding, "You are paid."
"The trait is a fine one, Monsieur Colbert, and I will reward you for it," she said, beginning to laugh.
Madame de Chevreuse's laugh was a very sinister sound; every man who feels youth, faith, love, life itself, throbbing in his heart, would prefer tears to such a lamentable laugh. The duchesse opened the front of her dress and drew forth from her bosom, somewhat less white than it once had been, a small packet of papers, tied with a flame-colored ribbon, and, still laughing, she said, "There, Monsieur Colbert, are the originals of Cardinal Mazarin's letters; they are now your own property," she added, re-fastening the body of her dress; "your fortune is secured, and now accompany me to the queen."
"No, madame; if you are again about to run the chance of her majesty's displeasure, and it were known at the Palais Royal that I had been the means of introducing you there, the queen would never forgive me while she lived. No; there are certain persons at the palace who are devoted to me, who will procure you an admission without my being compromised."
"Just as you please, provided I enter."