("Ah, that is the opinion you have of me, is it?" muttered Lauzun. "Now I know you, you traitress!")
"But remember, Athanaise," said the King, taking out his snuff-box and applying the powder to his nose with great deliberation—"remember his attachment to me, his courage."
"His attachment to you, Sire!" and Madame de Montespan smiled ironically. "Do you believe in it?"
"Certainly. Then my word——"
"Bah! your word—that is nothing. Withdraw it."
("Ah! fiend," exclaimed Lauzun in a low voice, clenching his fists as well as his position allowed him; "this is the way you plead my cause, is it? Curses on you!")
"You need not fear for Lauzun," continued the lady blandly. "Mademoiselle will take care of his interests—the old fool!"
Madame de Montespan, in imitation of La Grande Mademoiselle, bridled, simpered, craned her neck, rounded her elbows, and stared superciliously under her eyelids. Louis laughed.
"Spare my poor cousin, Marquise. She is eminently ridiculous; but I love her sincerely. Her genuine affection for Lauzun touches me."
"For my part, Sire, I cannot understand how any woman can care for him. He is such a petit maître—ill-made, short, with a complexion like a lemon—altogether detestable. Not a man to my taste, certainly," added she contemptuously, at the same time casting a flattering glance at the King, as much as to say, in his presence no other man could possibly be thought of. The King understood the glance and the compliment, and smiled upon her.