"Peste! That will be monstrous."
"Yes," responded la Châteauroux, with a vague smile, "that will be hard. We shall see, however. There will be—always—François. Send now to the Hôtel de Mailly and have Henri come to dine with us—off what we have!"
Half an hour later Mme. de Châteauroux sat in the salon of her hôtel composing, with some difficulty, the epistle to Mme. de Boufflers, who, as mistress of the palace of the Queen, was obliged to remain at Versailles during the Queen's absence. It was not an easy thing to make acknowledgment of her disgrace to the woman who, next to herself, was the haughtiest at Court. But the letter was written in some way, and Fouchelet directed to depart with it as soon as he had finished serving dinner. Then Mme. de Lauraguais rejoined her sister, and they sat quiet, together, listening to the hum of the city, the city of the world, around them. Presently a bell sounded below. Some one was admitted. The two listened for a moment, and then Elise rose as the salon door opened and Henri de Mailly-Nesle came in.
"Dear Henri! You are so good!"
"Elise! You are well?"
The Marquis embraced the Lauraguais with some affection, and then turned to his youngest sister, who had not risen.
"Madame, you wished me to come, I believe?" he asked, gravely.
"But certainly! It is three months that we have not seen each other. Is it so unusual that I wish to behold you again?" she asked, loftily. It was not often that Henri attempted to reprove her even by a tone, and she would not permit it now.
Her manner gave her brother his cue, and, with a mental shrug, he accepted it. His manner was entirely different as, after certain conventional remarks, he asked: "You have not heard, perhaps, of the return of M. d'Agenois after his exile?"
"I learned it this morning," she responded, indifferently.