"I think you can trust me," answered the Marquise. "My feelings are little likely to betray me into indiscretion; and though I have plenty of lovers at Court, I do not imagine I have many friends."
She spoke wearily, and finished with something like a sigh.
The Abbé's eyes sparkled. "I know I can!" said he. "My cousin has none of the weaknesses of her sex, and all its beauty for her own share." Then he opened the door and spoke loud enough for Célandine to hear. "We must have mademoiselle back from her pension. She is old enough now to take her place as an ornament to society and the Court."
Malletort understood true economy, and he knew that this bribe, while it cost him nothing, would purchase favour with the quadroon, whose dislike he had observed and resolved to efface.
Madame de Montmirail bowed and took his arm. It was now high time they were both in attendance on his Majesty, should the concert fixed for that night be permitted to take place.
As they walked through the corridor, however, a great confusion was heard in the gallery they were about to enter. There was a scuffling of feet, a murmur of agitated voices suppressed to whispers, and the smothered sobs of women, denoting some sad catastrophe. When the door opened, the musicians crowded hurriedly out, carrying with them their instruments, and tumultuously impeding the progress of a spare grave man in a priest's dress, who pushed his way through, with every appearance of anxiety and dismay.
It was Père Tellier, the king's confessor, summoned in mortal haste to the bedside of his dying master.
The Marquise and the Abbé had that day looked their last upon the face of Louis le Grand. Already, through pale attendants and anxious courtiers, through valets and chamberlains and musketeers of the guard, might be seen approaching the real Usher of the Black Rod.
