“Abused?” quoth she, taking him up on the word. “Abused, do you say?” She laughed sharply. “Say duped, my friend; for that is what has happened to you. You are the victim of a swindle.”
Bassenge turned white; his prominent eyes bulged in his rather pasty face.
“What are you saying, madame?” His voice was husky.
“The Queen's signature on the note in the Cardinal's possession is a forgery.”
“A forgery! The Queen's signature? Oh, mon Dieu!” He stared at her, and his knees began to tremble. “How do you know, madame?”
“I have seen it,” she answered.
“But—but—”
His nerveless limbs succumbing under him, he sank without ceremony to a chair that was opportunely near him. With the same lack of ceremony, mechanically, in a dazed manner, he mopped the sweat that stood in beads on his brow, then raised his wig and mopped his head.
“There is no need to waste emotion,” said she composedly. “The Cardinal de Rohan is very rich. You must look to him. He will pay you.”
“Will he?”