example is, certes, a misfortune great enough; but that you
should sanction it by your indulgence is what I will not
allow.”
“But in truth,” said Montalais, rebelling again, “I do not
know under what pretense you treat me thus. I am doing no
harm, I suppose?”
“And that great good-for-nothing, mademoiselle,” resumed
Madame de Saint-Remy, pointing to Malicorne, “is he here to
do any good, I ask you?”
“He is neither here for good nor harm, madame; he comes to
see me, that is all.”
“It is all very well! all very well!” said the old lady.
“Her royal highness shall be informed of it, and she will
judge.”
“At all events, I do not see why,” replied Montalais, “it
should be forbidden M. Malicorne to have intentions towards
me, if his intentions are honorable.”
“Honorable intentions with such a face!” cried Madame de
Saint-Remy.
“I thank you in the name of my face, madame,” said
Malicorne.
“Come, my daughter, come,” continued Madame de Saint-Remy;
“we will go and inform madame that at the very moment she is
weeping for her husband, at the moment when we are all
weeping for a master in this old castle of Blois, the abode
of grief, there are people who amuse themselves with
flirtations!”
“Oh!” cried both the accused, with one voice.
“A maid of honor! a maid of honor!” cried the old lady,
lifting her hands towards heaven.
“Well! it is there you are mistaken, madame,” said
Montalais, highly exasperated; “I am no longer a maid of
honor, of madame’s at least.”
“Have you given in your resignation, mademoiselle? That is
well! I cannot but applaud such a determination, and I do
applaud it.”
“I do not give in my resignation, madame; I take another
service, — that is all.”
“In the bourgeoisie or in the robe?” asked Madame de
Saint-Remy, disdainfully.
“Please to learn, madame, that I am not a girl to serve
either bourgeoises or robines, and that instead of the
miserable court at which you vegetate, I am going to reside
in a court almost royal.”
“Ha, ha! a royal court,” said Madame de Saint-Remy, forcing
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a laugh; “a royal court! What think you of that, my
daughter?”
And she turned round towards Mademoiselle de la Valliere,
whom she would by main force have dragged away from
Montalais, and who, instead of obeying the impulse of Madame
de Saint-Remy, looked first at her mother and then at
Montalais with her beautiful conciliatory eyes.
“I did not say a royal court, madame,” replied Montalais;
“because Madame Henrietta of England, who is about to become
the wife of S. A. R. Monsieur, is not a queen. I said almost
royal, and I spoke correctly, since she will be
sister-in-law to the king.”
A thunderbolt falling upon the castle of Blois would not
have astonished Madame de Saint-Remy more than the last
sentence of Montalais.
“What do you say? of Son Altesse Royale Madame Henrietta?”
stammered out the old lady.
“I say I am going to belong to her household, as maid of
honor, that is what I say.”
“As maid of honor!” cried, at the same time, Madame de
Saint-Remy with despair, and Mademoiselle de la Valliere
with delight.
“Yes, madame, as maid of honor.”
The old lady’s head sank down as if the blow had been too
severe for her. But, almost immediately recovering herself,
she launched a last projectile at her adversary.
“Oh! oh!” said she, “I have heard of many of these sorts of
promises beforehand, which often lead people to flatter
themselves with wild hopes, and at the last moment, when the
time comes to keep the promises, and have the hopes
realized, they are surprised to see the great credit upon
which they reckoned vanish like smoke.”
“Oh! madame, the credit of my protector is incontestable and
his promises are as good as deeds.”
“And would it be indiscreet to ask you the name of this
powerful protector?”
“Oh! mon Dieu! no! it is that gentleman there,” said
Montalais, pointing to Malicorne, who, during this scene,
had preserved the most imperturbable coolness, and the most
comic dignity.
“Monsieur!” cried Madame de Saint-Remy, with an explosion of