The victim turned round as if only now restored to life.
“Did you not expect it?” asked the elder.
“Did you, uncle?” was the retort.
“How could anybody suspect that Parliament would so smartly rap the favorite of the King and of the King’s favorite? these fellows will get themselves ground to powder.”
The duke sank into a seat, with his hand on his burning cheek.
“If they do such a thing because you are made commander of the Light Cavalry,” continued the old marshal, turning the dagger in the wound, “they will condemn you to be burnt at the stake when you are appointed Premier. These fellows hate you, Aiguillon; better distrust them.”
The duke bore this untimely joking with heroic constancy; his misfortune magnified him and purified his spirit. But the other took it for insensibility or even want of intelligence, perhaps, and thought that he had not stung deeply enough.
“However, being no longer a peer, you will be exposed to the long bills of these blackbirds,” he proceeded; “take refuge in obscurity for a few years. Besides, this safeguard, obscurity, will help you without your imagining it. Unpropped by your title, you will more grandly become the minister, because with more effort. Lady Dubarry will do more for you thus disarmed, for she wears you in her heart—and is a solid supporter.”
Aiguillon rose without shooting at the jester one angry look for all the suffering he inflicted.
“You are right, uncle,” he said, tranquilly, “and your wisdom shows in the last piece of advice. Lady Dubarry will defend me—she, to whom you introduced me and to whom you recommended me so warmly. Thank God! she likes me. She is brave and has full power over the King’s mind. I thank you, uncle, for your hint, and I shall hie to her residence at Luciennes as to a haven of safety. What, ho there! my horses to be put to the carriage.”