"It is long since we met," said she. "Do you remember the occasion of our meeting?"
"No, countess," replied he, awed by her queenly bearing into momentary courtesy.
"I will refresh your memory. When last I saw you, you were at the head of the rabble that mobbed the Palace de Soissons, and had just received a wound in your arm from the pistol of my son, Prince Eugene. I had not the satisfaction of being present at the horsewhipping he administered to you at Long Champs, for I was obliged to fly from your persecutions, and I have never set foot in France until now."
Barbesieur laughed. "I have had my revenge. I owe him nothing. The very grief that is sapping his life at this moment is the work of my hand."
"I know it, and I, in my turn, have avenged his woes."
"You must have done it secretly, then, for I have never felt any inconvenience from your vengeance."
"You will experience it before long. Did one of your servants bring you a fine peach on a salver, about half an hour ago?"
Barbesieur turned very pale, and stammered, "Yes."
"Did you eat it?"
"Yes," murmured he, "I did."