Nellie, mon petit chien, donne lui ta patte,
Et lèche la avec ta petite langue.’
She then made a little bow to the company, and sat down again on her tabouret, quite undisturbed by the enthusiastic applause that had followed her recitation.
‘Mademoiselle,’ began Godeau solemnly, ‘words fail me, to use the delicious expression of Saint Amant, with which to praise your ravishing verses as they deserve. But if the Abbé Ménage were here, I think he might ask you if the qui in ... let me see ... the sixth line, refers to the bourse or to the act of pricking your finger. Because if, as I imagine, it is to the latter, the laws of our language demand the insertion of a ce before the qui, while the unwritten laws of universal experience assert that the action of pricking one’s finger should be called bête not pas bête. We writers must be prepared for this sort of ignoble criticism.’
‘Of course the qui refers to bourse,’ said Madame de Montausier, for the child was looking bewildered. ‘You will pardon me but what an exceeding foolish question from a Member of the Academy! It was bête to prick one’s finger, but who, with justice, could call bête a bourse of most quaint and excellent design? Is it not so, ma chatte?’ The child nodded solemnly, and Monsieur de Grasse was profuse in his apologies for his stupidity.
Madeleine had noticed that the only member of the company, except herself, who had not been entranced by this performance, was Mademoiselle de Scudéry. Though she smiled the whole time, and was profuse in her compliments, yet she was evidently bored. Instead of pleasing Madeleine, this shocked her, it also made her rather despise her, for being out of it.
She turned to Montausier and said timidly:—
‘I should dearly love to see Mademoiselle votre fille and the Cardinal’s baby niece together. They would make a delicious pair.’ But Montausier either really did not hear, or pretended not to, and Madeleine had the horrible embarrassment of speaking to air.
‘Who is that demoiselle?’ the child suddenly cried in a shrill voice, looking at Madeleine.
‘That is Mademoiselle Hoqueville, my love.’