“I thought I was too early, but now that I see you, I feel my position more regular. I came here chiefly to-night to make sure that Madame la Princesse de Guemenée was not present. You have heard the news? No? Well, there has been a great quarrel. It is entirely between ourselves, but the Princesse de Guemenée and Madame de Choiseul have quarrelled, so much so that the Princesse has not been invited.”
“Indeed!” said de Sartines, “I have heard nothing of it.”
“All the same, it is a fact—and the fact is rather scandalous. It was this way——”
“Madame la Princesse de Guemenée,” came the voice of the usher as the Princesse, smiling, entered and made her bow to Madame de Choiseul.
“Yes,” said Sartines, “you were going to say?”
“Why, that is the lady herself. Yet the facts were given to me on unimpeachable authority. They must have made the matter up between them. Ma foi! women are adaptable creatures. One can never count on them—as, for instance, the Dubarry. She is hand in glove with the Choiseuls now, and that great fat Jean Dubarry swears by his friend Choiseul; one might fancy them brothers to hear Jean talking, but I would like to hear Choiseul’s view of the matter. Ah, there is Count Camus, he seems quite recovered from the blow that M. de Rochefort gave him—what an affair!—a fine, open-hearted man, Camus, and only for that vile smallpox he would not be bad-looking, but beauty is only skin deep and it is the man who counts after all. Have you heard the news about Rochefort?”
“No,” said Sartines with a little start. “Have you heard anything fresh?”
“Oh, ma foi! yes. He is in Germany. Managed to make his escape, fool. I always said he would make a mess of his affairs, but I never thought he would have gone the length he did.”
“Oh, in Germany, is he?” said Sartines, wishing sincerely that the news was true.