“Oh, no; he was only saucy to the Pompadour at supper. That woman is itching to show that dukes can be treated like kitchen wenches.”
“Perhaps. But she doesn’t get her way with every one. De Nérac has positively refused to enter her service, and the King is more pleased with him than ever.”
“It is true, then, that he has been given the Cordon Bleu?” Mont Rouge demanded with a flash of jealousy.
“Quite true, the lucky dog,” answered the Duke of Pontchartrain, who had joined them, “and the extraordinary thing is that the Pompadour, who was very angry with De Nérac, jested about it last night.”
“But what has De Nérac done to get the Cordon Bleu?” Mont Rouge growled.
The Duke shrugged his shoulders. “Have you forgotten the night before Fontenoy, my friend?” His voice dropped. “This mysterious affair of yesterday in the woods, too,” he whispered, “is all part of the same infernal business.”
“You don’t mean it?”
“I do. The King and the ministers are convinced that the Vincennes business, this affair of the woods, and that Fontenoy treachery all come from the same hand—a hand near at home.”
Mont Rouge and St. Benôit drew the Duke into a corner.
“The traitor then is here? In Versailles?” St. Benôit asked.