“It is the only explanation.”
Mont Rouge passed a perplexed hand over his chin. “Good Lord!” he ejaculated. “Think you that woman has—”
“No, no,” replied the Duke with sharp conviction. “The Pompadour is as anxious to discover the traitor as the King or d’Argenson himself. You may take your oath of that. Heavens! man, if she can lay bare this inscrutable mystery she will earn the King’s gratitude for the rest of her naughty life.”
“And what has De Nérac to do with——?”
“What De Nérac discovered last night,” St. Benôit interrupted, “is known only to the King and himself. You will get nothing from him; he is pledged to secrecy. But”—he paused to beckon to the Abbé de St. Victor to join them—“but it makes it more necessary than ever for us to have De Nérac on our side.”
“I do not see that,” Mont Rouge objected.
St. Benôit’s foot tapped impatiently. “If our scheme,” he urged, “to persuade the King to expel the Pompadour is to succeed, De Nérac must be our ally. It is as clear as daylight.”
“Of course,” said the Duke, “of course. Drive De Nérac into the Pompadour’s arms and together they will discover the traitor, and the Comte de Mont Rouge will presently be compelled to prefer the village wenches on his estates in Poitou to the ladies of Versailles.”
“Yes,” the Abbé assented. “We must have De Nérac, for he knows more than any of us, and he has courage. Courage is a rare thing in Versailles.”
“I agree,” Mont Rouge said slowly. “But if he won’t join us in getting rid of that detestable woman then he must share her fate.”