“No, she only makes eyes at them. It’s the same thing. Now, what can she be doing here to-night—for she is a friend of the Dubarrys?”
“What can she be doing here? Why, where are your eyes? She is making Choiseul’s ball-room more beautiful, of course. Mon Dieu, what a face; it makes every other face look like a platter. Sartines, introduce me.”
“That I will not.”
“Then I will introduce myself.”
“That is as may be.”
Rochefort turned on his heel and walked straight towards Mademoiselle Fontrailles, whilst Sartines looked on in horror. He knew that Rochefort would stick at nothing, but he did not dream that he would dare the act on which he was now evidently bent.
Rochefort walked straight up to Madame de Courcelles, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and bowed.
“How delightful to find you here, and you, too, Mademoiselle Fontrailles. I was just complaining of the profusion of the flowers—I thought Choiseul must have gathered together a hundred million roses in this room—till, turning to your alcove, I found there were only two.”
He bowed, and Madame de Courcelles laughed as she rose to greet Sartines, with whom she wished a few minutes’ conversation.
“Since you two know each other, I will leave you to talk nonsense together,” said she. “Ah, Sartines, I thought you were eluding me. You looked twice in my direction, and not one sign of recognition.”