"What is it? You have seen his Majesty?"
"Yes."
"Well—your news?"
D'Argenson looked about him nervously. Then, rising, he moved over and spoke in Richelieu's ear. "The new dish—vol-au-vent—is to be à la Châteauroux. To-morrow she revises the Court list."
"Mon Dieu!" Richelieu whispered the exclamation, and raised one of his slender hands to his forehead. "What to do? You—you also are in dread, Marc?"
D'Argenson shrugged, with a pitiful attempt at indifference. "I carried her the message of dismissal from Metz."
"Ah!" Richelieu hesitated for a second. Then he said, softly: "When will the revisal of the list be carried into effect at Court? Do you know?"
"On Wednesday."
"There is, then, a day—of grace."
"One. The King hunts. We shall all be at Choisy. Madame joins us there, you know, and returns with us—for the salon of the Queen."