“But for you the plot would have lain in my mind unrevealed. I have a horror of Court intrigue. As it is, I have set myself against Choiseul, and killed one of his agents, and thwarted his best hopes; but I count all that nothing in your service.”
Mademoiselle Fontrailles gazed at him steadily as he stood there with this patent declaration of homage on his lips, and all the laughter and lightness gone from his happy-go-lucky and defiant face.
She guessed now from his face and manner what was in his mind, and that the slightest weakening on her part would bring him down on his knee before her.
“I thank you, monsieur,” said she. “And now to the question of the Comtesse de Béarn.”
“Ah!” said Rochefort, inwardly cursing the Comtesse de Béarn, “I had forgotten the Comtesse. And how is she this morning?”
“She is still very bad.”
“And to-night?”
“She will be quite unable to attend at Versailles.”
Rochefort was about to make a remark when the door leading to the adjoining room opened, and Madame Dubarry herself appeared, young, fresh, triumphant and laughing.
“Did I hear you speaking of the Comtesse de Béarn?” asked she, as she extended her hand to Rochefort.