"Why, Duke," cries the Duchess, "is it possible? You here? You in the Louvre?"
"And why not, madame? What do these chattering women mean?" he mutters to himself. "One would think I were a monster."
"What! have you not heard, that you are accused of a plot to assassinate the Cardinal?"
"The Queen knows the particulars," broke in Mademoiselle de Hautefort. "She told me so at her lever this morning."
"Perhaps you will kindly inform me what these particulars are, madame?" replies Beaufort savagely.
"Why, Duke, you must be out of your senses!"
"Not that I know of, madame; pray let me hear of what I am accused."
"Why, that in order to take the Cardinal's life you had stationed soldiers in ambush along the road to Longchamps, to fire on him, as he passed in his coach on his way to dine with the President Maison."
"The simple-hearted Cardinal! Imagine, your highness," cries the Duchess, "Signor Giulio, after having said his prayers, trotting along demurely in his red coach, a perfect angel—wanting only wings to fly away from a wicked world, innocent of so much as an evil thought! We know you are a Frondeur, Duke, but you are also a barbarian to desire the life of such a saint," and the Duchess laughs her merry laugh.