“Monsieur de Sartines,” said the Comtesse, rising, “at this hour! Show him in.”
Everyone rose, and as they stood waiting, the little clock on the mantel chimed the hour. It was two o’clock in the morning. A minute passed, and then the servant returned, opening wide the door.
“Monsieur de Sartines.”
Sartines bowed to the Comtesse, and then, individually, to each present. He showed scarcely any surprise at the presence of Rochefort.
Sartines was the burning centre of this conspiracy to present the Comtesse Dubarry at Court in the teeth of all the opposition of the nobles, and he wished his part in it to be as secret as possible; yet he did not question Rochefort’s presence. He knew quite well that, Rochefort being there, he must have joined hands with the Comtesse. He was a man who never wasted time.
“Madame,” said he, “I have grave news to tell you.”
“Aha!” said the Comtesse, “more bad news. But stay, perhaps we know it. Is it the plot to rob me of my carriage and my hairdresser?”
“No, madame, I know nothing of any plot to rob you of your carriage. It is about the Comtesse de Béarn I have come to speak. Did she not receive a present to-day?”
“Yes, a basket of flowers from an old lady who belongs to her province. A Madame Turgis.”
“Yes,” said de Sartines, “and a Secret Service agent has just brought me news that amidst the flowers in that basket was a note.”