Bewildered, almost as much as on the former occasion, by all the splendors of Versailles, which this evening was not empty, the chevalier walked in the great gallery, looking on every side and doing all he could to learn why he was there; but nobody seemed to think of accosting him. At the end of an hour he became wearied and was about to leave, when two masks, exactly alike, seated on a bench, stopped him on his way. One of them took aim at him with her finger as if with a pistol; the other rose and went to him: “It appears, monsieur,” said the mask, carelessly taking his arm, “that you are on very good terms with our marquise.” “I beg your pardon, madame, but of whom are you speaking?” “You know well enough.” “Not the least in the world.” “Oh! but indeed you do.” “Not at all.” “All the court knows it.” “I do not belong to the court.” “You are playing the child. I tell you it is well known!” “That may be, madame, but I am ignorant of it.” “You are not ignorant, however, of the fact that the day before yesterday a page fell from his horse at the gate of Trianon. Were you not there by chance?” “Yes, madame.” “Did you not help him to rise?” “Yes, madame.” “And did not you enter the château?” “Certainly.” “And was not a paper given to you?” “Yes, madame.” “And did you not take it to the King?” “Assuredly.” “The King was not at Trianon; he was hunting; the marquise was alone--is not that so?” “Yes, madame.” “She had just risen; she was scarcely clad, excepting, as it is rumored, in a wide dressing-gown.” “People whom one can not prevent from speaking tell all that runs through their heads.” “That is all well enough, but it appears that there passed between your eyes and hers a look which did not offend her.” “What do you mean by that, madame?” “That you did not displease her.” “I know nothing about that, and I should be distressed that such sweet and rare good-will, which I did not expect, and which touched me to the bottom of my heart, should give occasion to any idle speeches.” “You take fire too quickly, chevalier; one would think that you were challenging the whole court; you would never succeed in killing so many people.” “But, madame, if the page fell, and if I carried his message--allow me to ask you why I am interrogated.” The mask pressed his arm and said to him: “Listen, monsieur.” “As much as you please, madame.” “This is what we are thinking about now: The King no longer loves the marquise, and nobody believes that he ever loved her. She has just committed an imprudence; she has set the whole Parliament against her with her ‘two sous’ tax, and to-day she dares attack a far greater power--the Society of Jesuits. She will fail, but she has weapons, and, before perishing, she will defend herself.” “Well, madame, what can I do?”