“Poor fellow,” commented Pontchartrain, “how bored he will be. I suppose they left out his wife because there are limits to what husbands can endure. You agree, ma mignonne?” He kissed his Duchess’s hands.
“Yes, because there are no limits, mon cher,” she retorted, “to what wives must endure.”
“Ah, we shall make you a vulgar and ignorant philosopher yet, chère amie. And, as His Majesty said to the grisette, yours is an education which promises me infinite amusement.”
But the best part of the new information had still to come. Madame de Pompadour had tried again to see the King, but His Majesty had listened to his confessor’s warning and refused. The doctors, too, had forbidden any such interviews. The King must on no account be excited or annoyed. Physicians and priests alike had their cue from the ministers; and the King, subject all his life to fits of gloomy remorse and superstition, was again ready, after his illness, to listen to the solemn remonstrances from the Church on his evil life. Nor did the Court know that the memory of the apparition, which had been the cause of his collapse, had played its part in strengthening his determination to free himself of Madame de Pompadour.
“She, too, must leave Versailles,” St. Benôit urged. “Mont Rouge has shown us how we can complete the victory once we have driven her out. When the King returns from Rambouillet he must find her fled and then—” He and they all smiled. As soon as the King could bear exciting news there would be exciting news for him with a vengeance.
Denise had so far listened in silence. She now made a suggestion. “Can we not frighten her away?” she said. “If she could be persuaded her life is in danger, once the King has left the palace, she will go of her own accord. I am quite ready to see her and tell her so.”
For Denise was still haunted by the desire, through some act of self-sacrifice,—and to visit Madame de Pompadour would be a painful humiliation,—to atone for what her conscience called treachery in the past to the cause. And if only the Pompadour would leave, André would be really free from her baleful influence and even now might be saved against himself.
“It is not necessary, Mademoiselle,” the Chevalier said. “I have just come from Madame’s salon.” The company that had welcomed his noiseless entry waited breathlessly. “I think I have convinced her she had better leave Versailles this very afternoon.”
Denise joined heartily in the sigh of relief. But the Chevalier’s next sentence was disquieting. “The Vicomte de Nérac,” he said, “is now in audience with the King.”
What did that mean? Had the King sent for him? He was strong enough to see him? Had the doctors permitted it? Were the ministers and the confessor to be present? The Chevalier could not answer these questions. But he could vouch for the fact, as the Vicomte had himself told him half an hour ago of the royal summons.