Had de Choiseul changed colour or expression, Rochefort would have been far better pleased; but the Minister received him with absolute courtesy, as though they had parted in friendship but a few hours ago, and as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a man against whom he had issued a warrant, and for whom he was hunting throughout France, to appear as his guest. The appalling sang-froid of de Choiseul, who would have suffered anything rather than that a scene should be created in his house, disconcerted Rochefort. The idea clutched his mind that he had taken another false step. He had come to meet a man, he found himself face to face with etiquette. He had hoped, by an explosion, to create the warmth that would lead to a mutual understanding; he found no materials for an explosion—nothing but ice.
Against the faultless reception of de Choiseul, his intrusion now seemed bad taste.
All this passed through his mind, leaving no trace, however, on his manner or expression as he turned from his host and hostess and calmly surveyed the people in his immediate neighbourhood.
Not a person present that was not filled with astonishment, yet not a person betrayed his or her feelings. Rochefort had, then, made his position good again, and Choiseul had invited him to his reception. How had Rochefort worked this miracle? Impossible to say, yet there was the fact, and if Choiseul was satisfied it was nobody’s business to grumble.
Camus was the most astonished of all, yet he said nothing, only turning to the Vicomte Jean Dubarry with eyebrows lifted as though to say, “Well, what do you think of that?”
Sartines alone knew the truth of the whole business and Sartines wished himself well away, for he knew that Rochefort would come and speak to him, Sartines—the man who ought to take M. de Rochefort by the arm and lead him out to arrest, an action that would have pleased his vexed soul, and which he would promptly have taken were it not impossible.
To arrest Rochefort now would mean simply to hand him over to the agents of Choiseul, to be questioned and to reveal to them everything he knew. He would sacrifice the Dubarrys most certainly rather than suffer for them, that was patently apparent now, for Rochefort, passing the Dubarry group, turned on Mademoiselle Fontrailles, on Chon, on Jean Dubarry and on Camus, a glance in which hatred was half veiled and contempt clearly manifested.
And the group did not fail to respond.
On the way towards Sartines, Rochefort was stopped by M. de Duras.
“Why, M. de Rochefort,” said the old gentleman, “this is an unexpected pleasure.”