Beaufort went on serenely—"there had been many a princeling."
Madame contemplated the rosy horn on the tips of her fingers. "Monsieur le Comte was rich."
"Admitted."
"His title was old."
"Again admitted. And all very well had he been only half as old as his title, this son-in-law of yours. Your son-in-law! It reads like one of Marguerite's tender tales. The daughter is three times younger than the husband who is old enough to be the father of his wife's mother. I must tell Scarron; he will make me laugh in retelling it."
Madame's lips formed for a spiteful utterance, but what she said was: "Prison life has aged you."
"Aged me, Madame?" reproachfully. "I grow old? Never. I have found the elixir of life."
"You will give me the recipe?" softening.
"You already possess it."
"I? Pray, explain."