“Cadet! Cadet! out with it!” repeated a dozen voices. “Yes, out with it!” repeated Bigot. “We are all companions under the rose, and there are no secrets here about wine or women!”
“Well, I would not give a filbert for all the women born since mother Eve!” said Cadet, flinging a nut-shell at the ceiling. “But this is a rare one, I must confess. Now stop! Don't cry out again 'Cadet! out with it!' and I will tell you! What think you of the fair, jolly Mademoiselle des Meloises?”
“Angélique? Is De Repentigny in love with her?” Bigot looked quite interested now.
“In love with her? He would go on all fours after her, if she wanted him! He does almost, as it is.”
Bigot placed a finger on his brow and pondered for a moment. “You say well, Cadet; if De Repentigny has fallen in love with that girl, he is ours forever! Angélique des Meloises never lets go her ox until she offers him up as a burnt offering! The Honnêtes Gens will lose one of the best trout in their stream if Angélique has the tickling of him!”
Bigot did not seem to be quite pleased with Cadet's information. He rose from his seat somewhat flushed and excited by this talk respecting Angélique des Meloises. He walked up and down the room a few turns, recovered his composure, and sat down again.
“Come, gentlemen,” said he; “too much care will kill a cat! Let us change our talk to a merrier tune; fill up, and we will drink to the loves of De Repentigny and the fair Angélique! I am much mistaken if we do not find in her the dea ex machinâ to help us out of our trouble with the Honnêtes Gens!”
The glasses were filled and emptied. Cards and dice were then called for. The company drew their chairs into a closer circle round the table; deep play, and deeper drinking, set in. The Palais resounded with revelry until the morning sun looked into the great window, blushing red at the scene of drunken riot that had become habitual in the Palace of the Intendant.