“The style is a novelty in form,” said Amyot. “Do you accept such barbarisms?” he added, addressing Brantome.
“They please the ladies, you know,” said Brantome, crossing over to the Duchesse de Guise, who held the “Decamerone” in her hand. “Some of the women of your house must appear in the book, madame,” he said. “It is a pity that the Sieur Boccaccio did not live in our day; he would have known plenty of ladies to swell his volume—”
“How shrewd that Monsieur de Brantome is,” said the beautiful Mademoiselle de Limueil to the Comtesse de Fiesque; “he came to us first, but he means to remain in the Guise quarters.”
“Hush!” said Madame de Fiesque glancing at the beautiful Limueil. “Attend to what concerns yourself.”
The young girl turned her eyes to the door. She was expecting Sardini, a noble Italian, with whom the queen-mother, her relative, married her after an “accident” which happened in the dressing-room of Catherine de’ Medici herself; but which the young lady won the honor of having a queen as midwife.
“By the holy Alipantin! Mademoiselle Davila seems to me prettier and prettier every morning,” said Monsieur de Robertet, secretary of State, bowing to the ladies of the queen-mother.
The arrival of the secretary of State made no commotion whatever, though his office was precisely what that of a minister is in these days.
“If you really think so, monsieur,” said the beauty, “lend me the squib which was written against the Messieurs de Guise; I know it was lent to you.”
“It is no longer in my possession,” replied the secretary, turning round to bow to the Duchesse de Guise.
“I have it,” said the Comte de Grammont to Mademoiselle Davila, “but I will give it you on one condition only.”