Malicorne bowed.
As to Montalais, as her sole reply, she drew the brevet from her pocket, and showed it to the old lady.
“Here is the brevet,” said she.
At once all was over. As soon as she had cast a rapid glance over this fortunate brevet, the good lady clasped her hands, an unspeakable expression of envy and despair contracted her countenance, and she was obliged to sit down to avoid fainting. Montalais was not malicious enough to rejoice extravagantly at her victory, or to overwhelm the conquered enemy, particularly when that enemy was the mother of her friend; she used then, but did not abuse her triumph. Malicorne was less generous; he assumed noble poses in his fauteuil and stretched himself out with a familiarity which, two hours earlier, would have drawn upon him threats of a caning.
“Maid of honor to the young madame!” repeated Madame de Saint-Remy, still but half convinced.
“Yes, Madame, and through the protection of M. Malicorne, moreover.”
“It is incredible!” repeated the old lady: “is it not incredible, Louise?” But Louise did not reply; she was sitting, thoughtfully, almost sad; passing one had over her beautiful brow, she sighed heavily.
“Well, but, Monsieur,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, all at once, “how did you manage to obtain this post?”
“I asked for it, Madame.”
“Of whom?”
“One of my friends.”
“And you have friends sufficiently powerful at court to give you such proofs of their credit?”
“It appears so.”
“And may one ask the name of these friends?”
“I did not say I had many friends, Madame, I said I had one friend.”
“And that friend is called?”
“Peste! madame, you go too far! When one has a friend as powerful as mine, we do not publish his name in that fashion, in open day, in order that he may be stolen from us.”
“You are right, Monsieur, to be silent as to that name; for I think it would be pretty difficult for you to tell it.”
“At all events,” said Montalais, “if the friend does not exist, the brevet does, and that cuts short the question.”
“Then, I conceive,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, with the gracious smile of the cat who is going to scratch, “when I found Monsieur here just now—”
“Well?”
“He brought you the brevet.”
“Exactly, Madame; you have guessed rightly.”
“Well, then, nothing can be more moral or proper.”
“I think so, Madame.”
“And I have been wrong, as it appears, in reproaching you, Mademoiselle.”
“Very wrong, Madame; but I am so accustomed to your reproaches, that I pardon you these.”
“In that case, let us begone, Louise; we have nothing to do but to retire. Well!”
“Madame!” said La Vallière starting, “did you speak?”
“You do not appear to be listening, my child.”
“No, Madame, I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“A thousand things.”
“You bear me no ill-will, at least, Louise?” cried Montalais, pressing her hand.
“And why should I, my dear Aure?” replied the girl in a voice soft as a flute.
“Dame!” resumed Madame de Saint-Remy; “if she did bear you a little ill-will, poor girl, she could not be much blamed.”
“And why should she bear me ill-will, good gracious?”
“It appears to me that she is of as good a family, and as pretty as you.”
“Mother! mother!” cried Louise.
“Prettier a hundred times, Madame—not of a better family; but that does not tell me why Louise should bear me ill-will.”
“Do you think it will be very amusing for her to be buried alive at Blois, when you are going to shine at Paris?”
“But, Madame, it is not I who prevent Louise following me thither; on the contrary, I should certainly be most happy if she came there.”
“But it appears that M. Malicorne, who is all-powerful at court—”
“Ah! so much the worse, Madame,” said Malicorne, “everyone for himself in this poor world.”
“Malicorne! Malicorne!” said Montalais. Then stooping towards the young man:—
“Occupy Madame de Saint-Remy, either in disputing with her, or making it up with her; I must speak to Louise.” And, at the same time, a soft pressure of the hand recompensed Malicorne for his future obedience. Malicorne went grumbling towards Madame de Saint-Remy, whilst Montalais said to her friend, throwing one arm around her neck:—
“What is the matter? Tell me. Is it true that you would not love me if I were to shine, as your mother says?”
“Oh, no!” said the young girl, with difficulty restraining her tears; “on the contrary, I rejoice at your good fortune.”
“Rejoice! why, one would say you are ready to cry!”
“Do people never weep except from envy?”
“Oh! yes, I understand; I am going to Paris and that word Paris recalls to your mind a certain cavalier—”
“Aure!”
“A certain cavalier who formerly lived near Blois, and who now resides at Paris.”
“In truth, I know not what ails me, but I feel stifled.”
“Weep, then, weep, as you cannot give me a smile!”
Louise raised her sweet face, which the tears, rolling down one after the other, illumined like diamonds.
“Come, confess,” said Montalais.
“What shall I confess?”
“What makes you weep; people don’t weep without cause. I am your friend; whatever you would wish me to do, I will do. Malicorne is more powerful than you would think. Do you wish to go to Paris?”
“Alas!” sighed Louise.
“Do you wish to come to Paris?”
“To remain here alone, in this old castle, I who have enjoyed the delightful habit of listening to your songs, of pressing your hand, of running about the park with you. Oh! how I shall be ennuyé! how quickly I shall die!”
“Do you wish to come to Paris?”
Louise breathed another sigh.
“You do not answer me.”
“What would you that I should reply?”
“Yes or no; that is not very difficult, I think.”
“Oh! you are very fortunate, Montalais!”
“That is to say you would like to be in my place.”
Louise was silent.
“Little obstinate thing!” said Montalais; “did ever anyone keep her secrets from her friend thus? But, confess that you would like to come to Paris; confess that you are dying with the wish to see Raoul
