‘Younger branches, somewhat ill-cared-for and neglected,’ said Talleyrand dryly.
‘Nay, Monseigneur, your Christian charity goes too far and too fast,’ said De Noailles. ‘Our lackeys were never called our frères cadets before.’
‘What a charming dress, Madame de Langeac!’ said the bishop, touching a fold of the rich silk with a veneration he might have bestowed on a sacred relic.
‘The favourite colour of the Queen, Monseigneur,’ said she pointedly.
‘Lilac is the emblem of hope; her Majesty is right to adopt it,’ was the quick response.
‘Is that like Monsieur de Mirabeau, Monseigneur?’ said the Duc de Valmy, as he handed a coarse engraving to the bishop.
‘There is a certain resemblance, unquestionably. It is about as like him—as—as—what shall I say—as the general estimate of the man is to the vast resources of his immense intelligence!’
‘Immense intelligence!’ exclaimed the Marquise de Bauf-fremont. ‘I could more readily believe in his immense profligacy.’
‘You might assent to both, Madame, and yet make no great mistake, save only that the one is passing away, the other coming,’ said Talleyrand courteously.
‘Which is the rising, which the setting sun, Monseigneur?’ said De Valmy.