This idea alarms Madame de Noailles extremely. She does not want to lose her place at Court, yet it is sweet to her to hear the Queen abused, who had so sternly forbade her to appear again before her in such low dresses. "Well, Mazarin is bad enough, mesdames," cries Madame de Sennécy (not to be quelled by the frowns and signs of her senior); "he is bad enough—the blood-sucker—as that dear handsome Duc de Beaufort calls him; but, for my part, I can tolerate him much better than those nieces of his, who come up one by one from Rome—Mancini and Martinozzi, or whatever he calls them—with their bold Italian looks and big eyes, devouring every man they see. How intolerable they are!" "They are quite improper," puts in the red-nosed Countess, "and very ugly." Some of the ladies say they do not think so. Others declare that they are sallow, bony, and ill shaped. Madame de Sennécy ends the discussion by declaring that one is deformed, and that the other limps; a statement utterly untrue, but which is received as gospel. Madame de Noailles declares that she is sure the Queen would never allow such creatures to be about the Court if she could help it. It is most dangerous for his Sacred Majesty to be educated with them. He might become attached to Olympia, for instance, the eldest unmarried one. A shudder passes through the assembled ladies at such a monstrous supposition. The red-nosed Countess opines that the princes of the blood should have such hussies imprisoned in the Bastille, and fed on bread and water. "Ah, ladies," cries Madame de Noailles, in her shrill voice, "how little you know of the intrigues of a Court! Mazarin fully intends to marry his saucy niece, Olympia, to the King. The Queen cannot help it; she is in his power; she is his wife." "It is to be hoped so," mutters Madame de Sennécy; and the red-nosed Countess shakes her head, and by this significant gesture endorses her doubt of the fact. "I wish you would listen to me," says the Duchesse de Noailles peevishly. "I was alluding to some curious old stories connected with the Queen; but perhaps, ladies, you know them already," and she looks inquiringly around. "Very imperfectly," lisps a thin demoiselle of uncertain age, who had been disappointed of the situation of maid of honour. And the red-nosed Countess settles herself in her chair, drinks another cup of coffee, and begs Madame de Noailles to proceed. Madame de Sennécy also joins in the same request. Another lady, a hanger-on of the Duchesse de Noailles, who had not yet spoken, says, "It is well known that Madame la Duchesse relates everything in such a _piquante_ manner." Thus encouraged, the Duchess begins:—