“And the Pompadour?”
“She shrugged her bare shoulders and laughed too, because the King was amused, but she put back her ears, very pretty ears, by the way, like a vicious horse. My faith! she will not forget ‘this poor devil of an Abbé.’”
“My friend, I could embrace you,” cried the Duchess.
“If you would only do it again,” said the Comtesse, “I would embrace you, too.”
“Do you remember De Nérac’s prophecy,” St. Benôit asked quietly, “that if that woman came to Versailles she would come to stay?”
“Ah! if only some one would poison her,” murmured the Duchess.
“Or another take her place,” cried the Comtesse.
“For the good of the country,” interposed the Duke, “I am quite ready to sacrifice the Duchess, even though she——”
“This is no jesting matter,” St. Benôit interrupted sharply. “The Queen and the ministers know that unless we can ruin this jade of the bourgeoisie France and we will be ruined. I wish to heaven André de Nérac were here instead of risking his life in Flanders to no purpose than the glory of the Pompadour.”
“A miracle, a miracle!” cried the Duchess, pointing with her fan.