“But your letter, madame; your letter—”
“Would bear alterations and amendments, sir, I am aware: I admit I did not sufficiently insist upon the atrocity of such an abuse of power.”
“You are then resolved, madame, to make us your enemies.”
“I should be very sorry, monsieur le duc, to be compelled to such extremities; but if your friendship can only be purchased at the price of my submitting to continually receive the insults of your family, I should be the first to cease to aspire to it. If Madame d’Egmont holds herself aggrieved by me, let her carry her complaint before the parliament; we shall then see what redress she will get. She has compromised the king’s name by an arbitrary act; and since you thus attack me, you must not take it amiss if I make the king acquainted with the whole business.”
The maréchal, surprised at so severe a reply, could no longer restrain the rage which filled him. “I should have thought, madame,” said he, “that my daughter, in whose veins flows royal blood, might have merited some little consideration from the comtesse du Barry.”
“It is well, then, monsieur le duc,” replied I, “to point out to you your error. I see in my enemies their works and actions alone, without any reference to their birth, be it high or low; and the conduct of madame d’Egmont has been so violent and unceasing towards me, that it leaves me without the smallest regret for that I have pursued towards her.”
I had imagined that this reply would still further irritate the angry feelings of the duc de Richelieu, but it did not: he easily guessed that nothing but the king’s support could have inspired me to express myself with so much energy; and, if paternal vanity strove in his heart, personal interests spoke there with even a louder voice. He therefore sought to lay aside his anger, and, like a skilful courtier, changing his angry look and tone for one of cheerfulness:
“Madame,” said he, “I yield; I see it will not do to enter the lists against you. I confess I came this morning but to sound your courage, and already you have driven me off the field vanquished. There is one favor I would implore of your generosity, and that is, to be silent as to all that has transpired.”
“I shall not speak of it, monsieur le duc,” replied I, much moved, “unless you or madame d’Egmont set me the example.”
“In that case the affair will for ever remain buried in oblivion; but, madame, I will not conceal from you, that my daughter has become your most bitter and irreconcilable enemy.”