‘That would serve as an excellent epitome of divers among our friends,’ murmured Madame de Montausier.
‘Poor Chapelain! all said, he, by merely being himself, has added infinitely more to our diversion than the wittiest person in the world,’ said Madame de Rambouillet, looking mischievously at Mademoiselle de Scudéry, who, though still wearing the same smile, was evidently not pleased.
‘Yes, Marquis, when you are made a duke, you would do well to employ Monsieur Chapelain as your jester. Ridiculous, solemn people are in reality much more diverting than wits,’ said Mademoiselle de Rambouillet to Montausier, who looked extremely displeased, and said in angry, didactic tones:—
‘Chapelain a des sentiments fins et delicats, il raisonne juste, et dans ses œuvres on y trouve de nobles et fortes expressions,’ and getting up he walked over to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and they were soon talking earnestly together.
Madeleine all this time had been torn between terror of being introduced to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, and terror of not being introduced. Her face was absolutely impassive, and she had ceased to pretend to take any interest in what was going on around her.
Suddenly she heard Madame de Rambouillet saying to Monsieur de Grasse:—
‘You remember Julie’s and her sister’s vision about night-caps?’
‘Ah, yes, and the trick played on them by Voiture, and the poor, excellent Marquis de Pisani.’
‘Yes,’ she answered, with a little sigh and a smile. ‘Well, it has been inherited by little Marie-Julie, whenever she beholds one she becomes transfixed by terror. Visions are strange things!’
Madeleine for the first time that afternoon felt happy and pleased. She herself had always loathed night-caps, and as a child had screamed with terror whenever she had seen any one wearing one. What a strange coincidence that this vision should be shared by Madame de Rambouillet’s daughters! She turned eagerly to the Marquis.