D’Aubigné did not regard the case at all in this light. It was a good joke to call her that, he said, and added that he was furious against his brother-in-law. “Don’t you know why?” he went on, planting his hands on his hips in truculent fashion. “Are you not aware of the persecutions and insults Françoise treats me to? Well, we’ll have breakfast first, and then I’ll tell you.” And having fortified himself with a bumper or two of Burgundy, he went on. “Only imagine, that this infernal bigot—Oh well,” he continued, when Ninon reminded him that she and Françoise were still on terms of friendship, “you can tell her what I say. It is all the same to me, and if my brother-in-law has anything to grumble at in it, let him out with it. Prison? flames and fury! I’ll pin my dagger into any of them who dare to lay hand on me, and there you have it. They won’t silence me! Head of the family indeed! That’s me!—and so much the worse for Louis Dieudonné! taking it into his head to marry my sister! Prudence?” he went on, when his hostess suggested its adoption, “it is the mother of all the vices—a watchword only for cowards. Françoise is my sister, and I’ll have them pay me proper respect.” Then d’Aubigné, having mercilessly criticised the mature attractions of Françoise, went on to say that he loved her, and if need were, would protect her at the sword’s point; but that because she was saintly and surrounded herself with Jesuits, it was no reason why he should be made a monk. Yes, that was her plan. She and the brother-in-law greatly desired that he should shut himself up in St Sulpice, where the livelong day was spent in reading litanies. “B-r-r-r-r-t!” shivered d’Aubigné. “Me!” he added, when Santeuil said if he did such a thing, he would excommunicate him—“I would sooner be chopped to mincemeat by the _dragonnades_.” Santeuil suggested that he might prefer entering St Cyr to St Sulpice.