"Who has absented herself from the Queen's service," I answered bitterly, "and chosen to hide herself here of all places! Madame," I continued, with a severity which the sense of my false position amply justified, "are you aware that you have made me dishonour myself? That you have made me lie; not once, but three times? That you have made me deceive my master?"
She cried out at that, being frightened, that "she had meant no harm; that the girl coming to her in great grief and trouble—"
"Because the Queen had scolded her for breaking a china jar!" I said, contemptuously.
"No, Monsieur; her trouble was of quite another kind," my wife answered with more spirit than I had expected.
"Pshaw!" I exclaimed.
"It is plain that you do not yet understand the case," Madame persisted, facing me with trembling hardihood. "Mademoiselle D'Oyley has been persecuted for some time by the suit of a man for whom I know you, Monsieur, have no respect: a man whom no Frenchwoman of family should be forced to marry."
"Who is it?" I said curtly.
"M. Pimentel."
"Ah! And the Queen?"
"Has made his suit her own. Doubtless her Majesty," Madame de Sully continued with grimness, "who plays with him so much, is under obligations to him, and has her reasons. The King, too, is on his side, so that Mademoiselle—"