Jean Dubarry almost dropped his snuff-box; he swore a frightful oath; and the Countess, fully alive to the gravity of the news, stared open-eyed at Rochefort. Mademoiselle Fontrailles alone found words, other than blasphemies, to express her feelings.
“Ah, the wretches!” said she. “I thought they would leave no stone unturned by their vile hands.”
“Monsieur,” said the Comtesse, finding voice, “are you certain of what you say?”
“Why, madame, they invited me to take a part in the business.”
“And you refused?”
“I refused, madame, not because I was of your party—in fact, to be perfectly plain, at that moment I was rather against you—I refused because I considered the whole proceeding a trick dishonouring to a gentleman; and I told Monsieur Camus my opinion of the business in a very few words.”
“Comte Camus? Was he the agent who brought you this proposition?”
“He was, madame. I can say so now openly, since we are no longer friends. We quarrelled on a certain matter to-night, and if you are desirous of knowing the details of our little quarrel, Javotte will be able to supply them.”
But the Comtesse had no ears for anything but the immediate danger that threatened her, and Rochefort had to tell the whole story from the beginning to the end.
“Death of all the devils!” cried Jean Dubarry, when the story was finished. “What an escape!”