“To be sure, expecting you to report your account of this baffling affair in the woods with which all Versailles rings and to return my key.”
“I know nothing but what everybody knows of the matter, nor am I here to return your key, but to keep it.” Madame studied him with calm satisfaction. “Yes, Marquise, I am here because I have decided to enter your service.”
The lady leaned back in her chair and laughed. “But it is impossible, my dear Vicomte,” she replied lightly. “His Majesty has already appointed a master of my household.” She rose and looked into his face, stern with a determination born of a prolonged inward struggle. “You are disappointed. I thank you for the compliment. No matter, we will arrange it another way, you and I.”
“Will Madame kindly explain?”
“You have reflected on our chat yesterday?” she asked. “Yes? You have counted the cost?” André bowed in silence. “Good. I do not ask your reasons; they are your affair, and the Vicomte does not act with his eyes shut. But I am rejoiced, my friend; I could sing with pleasure. To the entente cordiale and to our success.” She held out her hand, and in the sunshine of her gaze he raised it to his lips.
“Now listen. I have thought it all out. To the world of Versailles we are for the future deadly enemies, you and I. You have offended me. I have insulted you. What could be more natural? Already the idle tongues chatter in the galleries that the Vicomte de Nérac has refused to accept the King’s pleasure and that Madame is in tears of rage. That is my inspiration, you understand. But you will still keep my key and be in my service without any of the disgrace—eh? Mon Dieu it will be droll.”
André smiled in admiration of her finesse. A genius this marquise.
“But perhaps I shall not be in Versailles,” he said after a pause.
“Leave it to me,” she retorted gaily. “I have already provided for that. It is my little secret—a vivandière’s secret.”
She began slowly to roll up the plans on her table.