“I had hoped that some day I might, perhaps, have dared to do more—to ask for your love in return. But that is impossible—impossible.”
“Is it?” Denise asked in a low voice, almost as if she were talking to herself.
“Yes, Marquise, because you love another.”
She looked up half angrily, half inquiringly. “No,” she answered as he was still silent, “I do not.”
St. Amant resumed his pacing up and down. “Mademoiselle,” he said presently, “are you aware how the King can be stopped in his present course?”
Denise turned eagerly towards him. “Madame de Pompadour,” he added very slowly, “is only a woman, but she has an ally, the Vicomte de Nérac, the ablest, subtlest brain in all Versailles. He is ambitious; he loves the Marquise de Beau Séjour—hear me out, please. Take the Vicomte de Nérac from Madame de Pompadour, make him her enemy, not her friend, and——”
“You believe that?” she interrupted.
“Unfortunately it cannot be done,” he replied with decision. “André de Nérac has chosen his party and he will not be turned aside. Therefore the only other course is to ruin him. Publish to the world that he is Madame’s spy, that he has the key of Madame’s secret passage in his pocket, publish what I have told you and you compel me to keep a secret, and you can ruin him to-morrow.”
Denise drew a deep breath. Something like terror shone in her eyes.
“I have information,” continued the Chevalier very quietly, “that if made known to the King would ruin the Vicomte to-night. Am I to use it or not? It is for you, Marquise, to say.”