At once all was over. As soon as she had cast a rapid glance over this fortunate brevet, the good lady clasped her hands, an unspeakable expression of envy and despair contracted her countenance, and she was obliged to sit down to avoid fainting. Montalais was not malicious enough to rejoice extravagantly at her victory, or to overwhelm the conquered enemy, particularly when that enemy was the mother of her friend; she used then, but did not abuse, her triumph. Malicorne was less generous; he assumed noble poses in his fauteuil, and stretched himself out with a familiarity which, two hours earlier, would have drawn upon him threats of a caning.
“Maid of honor to the young madame!” repeated Madame de Saint-Remy, still but half convinced.
“Yes, madame, and through the protection of M. Malicorne, moreover.”
“It is incredible!” repeated the old lady: “is it not incredible, Louise?” But Louise did not reply; she was sitting, thoughtful, almost sad; passing one hand over her beautiful brow she sighed heavily.
“Well, but, monsieur,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, all at once, “how did you manage to obtain this post?”
“I asked for it, madame.”
“Of whom?”
“One of my friends.”
“And have you friends sufficiently powerful at court to give you such proofs of their credit?”
“It appears so.”