"I speak of the present," cries Madame de Sennécy with irritation. "There is quite enough to talk about in the present, without recalling the past. The partiality of the Queen positively injures Mazarin. I believe that this is the principal reason of the great animosity against him among the citizens of Paris, who call themselves Frondeurs."
"But, my très chère," answers Madame de Noailles,—the Mrs. Candour of that day, who, although quite as spiteful as her friend, had more discretion, and dreaded the mischief that might arise by-and-by if the tongues of all the assembled ladies were let loose,—"but, my très chère, it is believed that her Majesty is privately married to Mazarin; the Cardinal has never taken priest's orders; the Queen is a widow. Madame de Motteville is of this opinion; enfin, I believe it myself: else that sneaking, honey-mouthed Italian, whom we all knew as 'Signor Giulio,' secretary to the great Richelieu, would never dare to be so unkind to the King and the little Duke, or so arrogant to her Majesty."
"Ciel! how contemptuously Mazarin answers the Queen sometimes—how meekly she bears it!" exclaims Madame de Sennécy. "Beringhen tells me that he will not allow the King and his brother proper body-linen, and that the sheets of their beds are in holes."
"Ah, Dieu! what a shame," cry the ladies—"the King of France!"—and the red-nosed Countess declares, "That the parliament ought to know it."
This idea alarms Madame de Noailles extremely. She does not want to lose her place at Court, yet it is sweet to her to hear the Queen abused, who had so sternly forbade her to appear again before her in such low dresses.
"Well, Mazarin is bad enough, mesdames," cries Madame de Sennécy (not to be quelled by the frowns and signs of her senior); "he is bad enough—the blood-sucker—as that dear handsome Duc de Beaufort calls him; but, for my part, I can tolerate him much better than those nieces of his, who come up one by one from Rome—Mancini and Martinozzi, or whatever he calls them—with their bold Italian looks and big eyes, devouring every man they see. How intolerable they are!"
"They are quite improper," puts in the red-nosed Countess, "and very ugly."
Some of the ladies say they do not think so. Others declare that they are sallow, bony, and ill shaped. Madame de Sennécy ends the discussion by declaring that one is deformed, and that the other limps; a statement utterly untrue, but which is received as gospel. Madame de Noailles declares that she is sure the Queen would never allow such creatures to be about the Court if she could help it. It is most dangerous for his Sacred Majesty to be educated with them. He might become attached to Olympia, for instance, the eldest unmarried one.
A shudder passes through the assembled ladies at such a monstrous supposition. The red-nosed Countess opines that the princes of the blood should have such hussies imprisoned in the Bastille, and fed on bread and water.