And thereupon, for some reason, they burst into laughter,
When it had subsided d'Argenson's eyes still twinkled. "Well, du Plessis, we are still here."
Richelieu grew a shade more serious. "Let us thank the gods," he said, dryly.
"And—the 'malignant fever.' What do you think of the King?"
"He is pale. He looks ill. We must rouse him, amuse him, get rid of this ennui. In that case he will forget soon enough."
"We intrust the task to you, then. None of us has been successful."
"We shall see. Now, put me in touch with events. What has happened? Who is turned devotee? Who is the last unfaithful? Also, and principally, what is the last development in the contest for the post of King's lady?"
"First, it is said that Mme. de Boufflers and the Vauguyon have quarrelled. When one is in the Queen's circle, the other leaves it. Her Majesty is in great distress. The Cardinal de Tencin has insulted Maréchal Saxe by referring slightingly to the Marshal's mother. Trudaine is d'Hénin's rival in the direction of Mme. de Chambord. And Mme. de Grammont is utterly furious with—the little de Mailly."
"Ah! And why?" asked the Duke, softly.
"Can you ask? Mme. de Mailly is to replace her cousin. Every one says it. The King talks of her, her youth, her naïveté, her freshness, continually. You are to be congratulated. She was your choice, was she not, from the first?"