The languid, intimate talk and humorous silences had suddenly turned into something more animated.
‘Madame de Sablé vows that she saw her there with her own eyes, and that she was dressed in a justaucorps.’
‘Sophie has seen more things than the legendary Argos!’
‘Well, it has been turned into a Vaudeville in her quarter.’
‘In good earnest, has it? What an excellent diversion! Julie, pray ask Madame d’Aiguillon about it and tell us. Go to-day.’
‘I daren’t; “my dear, my dear, cela fait dévotion and that puts me in mind, the Reine-Mère got a special chalice of Florentine enamel and I must——” Roqueten, Roqueten, Roquetine.’
‘Upon my life, the woman’s talk has less of meaning than a magpie’s!’ growled Madeleine to herself.
At that moment the door opened and in came a tall, middle-aged woman, swarthy, and very ugly. She was dressed in a plain gown of gray serge. Her face was wreathed in an agreeable smile, that made her look like a civil horse.
Madeleine had forgotten all about Mademoiselle de Scudéry, but when this lady came in, it all came rushing back; she got cold all over, and if before she had longed to be a thousand miles away, she now longed to be ten thousand.