The consternation was general. “It is no laughing matter,” the Duke de Pontchartrain pronounced. “This is the first time that that woman or any woman in her position has interfered with high affairs of state. It will not be the last.”
“Ah, I knew she must be vulgar inside,” cried his Duchess triumphantly. “It is a pity she dresses so well. The bankers pay, I suppose.”
“It is an outrage,” Mademoiselle Eugénie said. “The Court must protest.”
“My dear lady,” answered the Duke with his most finished scorn, “when a king owes twenty million livres to a pair of money-lenders and wants twenty million more you will find that it is they, not the Court, who can protest.”
“And that is not all,” the Chevalier proceeded grimly. “His Majesty has been pleased to promise the reversion of the Comptroller-General’s place to the Marquis de Vaudières.”
“Impossible! Impossible!” The consternation increased, for the Marquis till a few weeks before had been better known as Abel Poisson, Madame de Pompadour’s brother.
“Charming,” said the Duke, “if His Majesty must make marquises from the gutter at the bidding of a grisette it is only fair he should enable them to be masters of the public finances and to pay their way by plunder. What is His Majesty’s next whim, Chevalier?”
“What it will be to-morrow, Monseigneur, I cannot say. The King has been pleased to do no more to-day than what I have said.”
“And a very pretty day’s work it has been,” his Grace replied. “Well, ladies, I have only one piece of advice to offer you. Smile, smile, smile, for if you protest Madame la Marquise de Pompadour will turn her attention to you. Do not forget that she has a pretty bourgeoise daughter eight years old to whom the post of maid of honour to her Majesty would be a delightful and profitable education.”
He saluted the company, and taking most of the men with him withdrew, for the situation was sufficiently grave to demand an instant conference.