“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 a laugh; “a royal court! What do you think of that, my daughter?” And she turned towards Mademoiselle de la Vallière, 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 Vallière 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 hilarity, “monsieur is your protector! Is the man whose credit is so powerful, and whose promises are as good as deeds, Monsieur Malicorne!” 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.