‘Hoqueville! what a droll name!’ and she went into peals of shrill laughter. The grandparents and mother of the child smiled apologetically at Madeleine, but she, in agony at being humiliated, as she considered, before Mademoiselle de Scudéry, tried to improve matters by looking haughty and angry. However, this remark reminded Madame de Rambouillet of Madeleine’s existence, and she exclaimed:—
‘Oh! Mademoiselle Hoqueville, you have, as yet, seen naught of the hôtel. Marie-Julie, my love, go and say bon-jour to that lady and ask her if she will accompany you to the salle bleue.’
The child obediently went over to Madeleine, curtseyed, and held out her hand. Madeleine was not certain whether she ought to curtsey back or merely bow without rising from the chair. She compromised in a cross between the two, which made her feel extremely foolish. On being asked if she would like to see la salle bleue, she had to say yes, and followed the child out of the room.
She followed her through a little cabinet, and then they were in the famous room, sung by so many poets, the scene of so many gay and brilliant happenings.
Madeleine’s first feeling was one of intense relief at being freed from the strain of the bedroom, then, as it were, she galvanised into activity her demand upon life, and felt in despair at losing even a few moments of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s company. The child walked on in front humming a little tune to herself. Madeleine felt she must pull herself together, and make friends with her.
‘What rare and skilful verses those were you recited to us,’ she began, her voice harshly breaking the silence of the huge room. The child looked at her out of her crab-eyes, pursed up her mouth, and went on humming.
‘Do you dearly love your little dog?’
‘Haven’t got one.’ This was startling.
‘But you made mention of one in your poem,’ said Madeleine in an aggrieved tone.
The child screamed with scornful laughter:—