André’s eye caught one of the sheets. “Ah, you recognise it?” she asked.
“To be sure. It is the Château de Beau Séjour.”
“Yes; and what the King can give the King can take away,” she replied with her mysterious smile. “Mademoiselle Denise—patience, my friend, and hear me out—is very beautiful and very noble. It is better for women who can afford it to be content with love, their beauty, and their noblesse, and to leave politics alone. Politics, intrigue are a very dangerous game, particularly for young ladies. Mademoiselle would find some very instructive lessons as to that in the history of her château. It might well be that the King might desire a second time to confer Beau Séjour on a servant who had rendered precious service to his Sovereign. And,” she added, throwing up her head, “I hope Mademoiselle will learn that I will not be thwarted in my plans by a girl even though she has forty marshals of France in her pedigree.”
André listened in silence, but the colour in his bronzed cheeks revealed the strong emotion within.
“And now to business.” Madame had almost unsexed herself. The woman’s charm and grace melted into a masculine, alert, and bracing keenness. She beckoned to André to draw his chair up to the table. “‘No. 101,’ that is our affair. After last night it is more imperative than ever the mystery should be laid bare. And it is clear that the treachery starts from Versailles. You agree?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Good. The clues unfortunately are very slight. But not far from the palace is an inn called ‘The Cock with the Spurs of Gold’—you know it?” she questioned sharply.
“I was there eighteen months ago,” he replied, recovering himself.
“No doubt on the same foolish errand as all of us. But the crystal-gazer has vanished and cannot be traced. It is no matter. We have to do with another woman, a country wench called Yvonne of the Spotless Ankles——”
“Yvonne?” He controlled himself with difficulty.