CHAPTER II
THE GRATITUDE OF THE DUBARRYS
ROCHEFORT was pursuing Camus through Dreamland, when the touch of a hand upon his shoulder brought him wide awake. It was Javotte. She had placed the tray with the coffee on a table by the window, and was standing beside him. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, burst out laughing as though the world he had awakened to was a huge joke, and, casting the marten-skin rug aside, rose to his feet.
“Ma foi,” said he, “I was chasing a man through the palace of Versailles, when Monsieur de Choiseul laid his hand on my shoulder—and the hand was yours. It is a good omen.”
He kissed the hand that had brought him the coffee, slipped on his coat and sword-belt, laughing and talking all the time, and then, coffee-cup in hand, stood still talking and at the same time glancing out of the window every now and then.
He had remembered, a most important fact, that he owed his valet a month’s wages.
Javotte at once offered to take it for him, and placing five louis in a piece of paper, he gave them to her for the purpose.
“That will keep him going till things clear up,” said Rochefort. “He is faithful enough, but without money he would be driven to seek another master. And now good-bye, little one, nay, not good-bye—au revoir. We will meet soon again, of that I am sure, and in happier circumstances.”
“Are you going to the Rue de Valois, monsieur?”
“I am going to the Rue de Valois, and that as quick as my feet can take me.”