“Choiseul after you!” echoed Dubarry, rousing himself. “What is this you say? What has he found out? Dame! I thought all this business was happily ended, and now you come and disturb me with this news—what is it?”
“Oh, ma foi, you may well ask what is it!” replied Rochefort, irritated by the manner of the other. “It is this precious business of yours that has fallen on me, and it seems to me now that I am the only one to pay. Choiseul has discovered my part in it; he tried to arrest me at Versailles last night, he failed and I am here. I am pursued—that is all.”
Dubarry rose to his feet thoroughly sobered; he walked a few steps up and down the room, as if trying to pull his thoughts together. Then he turned to Rochefort.
“You will excuse me for saying it, my dear Rochefort, but, considering the delicate position of the Comtesse and the fact that Choiseul is in pursuit of you—it would have been wiser of you to have sought shelter elsewhere. We are quite ready to help, but it is imperative now that this affair has blown over that we should resume friendly relationship with Choiseul. Of course, we are not friends, still, you can very well understand the necessity of our keeping up an appearance of friendship with the man who is the first man in France after his Majesty. It is diplomacy—that is all.”
“Excuse me,” said Rochefort, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“In what way?”
“I did not come here to take shelter.”
“You came, then, to see me?”
Rochefort looked Dubarry up and down, then he broke into a laugh.
“No, my dear man, I did not come here to see you. I came here to see Mademoiselle Fontrailles, and to take my leave of her before I leave France or enter the Bastille.”