“Wait and you will see,” Mont Rouge’s cynical tones replied.
“Where and how did you learn this?” St. Benôit asked, aghast.
“The Comtesse des Forges told me,” Mont Rouge answered. “She is in the confidence of St. Amant, who as we all know is the King’s most confidential secretary.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, well!” André, who had caught his friend’s denial, halted involuntarily behind the door, picturing to himself Mont Rouge’s shrug of the shoulders. Well, it was only one more item in a long account, an account that would be settled some day.
“If it is true,” said the Abbé St. Victor, “that De Nérac has sold himself, he will be ruined when she is ruined. It is a pity, but he will deserve it.”
Ruined? André laughed the laugh of a reckless gambler staking his last piece. Ruined? They would see.
CHAPTER XIV
TWO PAGES IN THE BOOK OF LIFE
The curtain over the alcove was very cautiously lifted. Madame de Pompadour looked up from her papers. “Good afternoon, Vicomte,” she smiled. “I was expecting you; you observe I am alone.”
“Expecting me, Madame?” André demanded, astonished.