“With an honest woman, perhaps, but with a woman of the town, no, no, monsieur le comte, impossible!” These words, full of bitter sarcasm, were hissed, as Sully says, in speaking of the Duchesse de Beaufort, from so sharp a beak that the count, amazed, merely looked at his antagonist. “But,” she continued, with a scornful glance, “not to contradict you, if I am a creature of that kind I will act like one. Here is your gun,” and she offered him his weapon with a mocking air.
“On the honor of a gentleman, mademoiselle—”
“Ah!” she said, interrupting him, “I have had enough of the honor of gentlemen. It was on the faith of that that I went to La Vivetiere. Your leader had sworn to me that I and my escort should be safe there.”
“What an infamy!” cried Hulot, contracting his brows.
“The fault lies with monsieur le comte,” said Marie, addressing Hulot. “I have no doubt the Gars meant to keep his word, but this gentleman told some calumny about me which confirmed those that Charette’s mistress had already invented—”
“Mademoiselle,” said the count, much troubled, “with my head under the axe I would swear that I said nothing but the truth.”
“In saying what?”
“That you were the—”
“Say the word, mistress of—”
“The Marquis de Lenoncourt, the present duke, a friend of mine,” replied the count.