“You are perhaps sorry to return?”
“I cannot tell—yet,” he replied with slow emphasis.
Denise flashed an inquiring glance. “What you will find here,” she said hurriedly, “cannot please a noble of France. A neglected and dishonoured queen—an adventuress——”
“We are in the King’s hands,” André interrupted with a dry smile.
“Yes. Versailles, France, are in the King’s hands,” she repeated despairingly. “Ah!” she cried with a sudden flash, “we want all who would help to—to—” the words died away under the chill of his demeanour.
“To banish the Marquise de Pompadour?” he inquired after a pause.
“Yes. There will be no peace nor honour for France until the Queen, my mistress, is restored to her place and that woman ceases to traffic in the affairs of a great kingdom.”
“I dare say you are right, Mademoiselle. Perhaps it is your business. It certainly is not mine.”
“Not yours? Why not? Are you not one of us, a soldier, a noble?”
“Doubtless, but,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I at least cannot forget that a worthless libertine——”