“Well, then, my affair will make a thousand and one.” “No, no; Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is waiting for me in our room to communicate something of the very greatest importance.” “How long has she been waiting?” “For an hour at least.” “In that case,” said Malicorne, tranquilly, “she can wait a few minutes longer.” “Monsieur Malicorne,” said Montalais, “you are forgetting yourself.” “You should rather say that it is you who are forgetting me, and that I am getting impatient at the part you make me play here indeed! For the last week I have been prowling about among the company, and you have not once deigned to notice my presence.” “Have you been prowling about here for a week, M. Malicorne?” “Like a wolf; sometimes I have been burnt by the fireworks, which have singed two of my wigs; at others, I have been completely drenched in the osiers by the evening damps, or the spray from the fountains,--half-famished, fatigued to death, with the view of a wall always before me, and the prospect of having to scale it perhaps. Upon my word, this is not the sort of life for any one to lead who is neither a squirrel, a salamander, nor an otter; and since you drive your inhumanity so far as to wish to make me renounce my condition as a man, I declare it openly. A man I am, indeed, and a man I will remain, unless by superior orders.” “Well, then, tell me, what do you wish,--what do you require,--what do you insist upon?” said Montalais, in a submissive tone. “Do you mean to tell me that you did not know I was at Fontainebleau?” “I?” “Nay, be frank.” “I suspected so.” “Well, then, could you not have contrived during the last week to have seen me once a day, at least?” “I have always been prevented, M. Malicorne.” “Fiddlesticks!” “Ask my companion, if you do not believe me.” “I shall ask no one to explain matters, I know better than any one.” “Compose yourself, M. Malicorne: things will change.” “They must indeed.” “You know that, whether I see you or not, I am thinking of you,” said Montalais, in a coaxing tone of voice. “Oh, you are thinking of me, are you? well, and is there anything new?” “What about?” “About my post in Monsieur’s household.” “Ah, my dear Malicorne, no one has ventured lately to approach his royal highness.” “Well, but now?” “Now it is quite a different thing; since yesterday he has left off being jealous.” “Bah! how has his jealousy subsided?” “It has been diverted into another channel.” “Tell me all about it.” “A report was spread that the king had fallen in love with some one else, and Monsieur was tranquillized immediately.” “And who spread the report?” Montalais lowered her voice. “Between ourselves,” she said, “I think that Madame and the king have come to a secret understanding about it.” “Ah!” said Malicorne; “that was the only way to manage it. But what about poor M. de Guiche?” “Oh, as for him, he is completely turned off.” “Have they been writing to each other?”