“Monsieur Rochefort,” said she, indicating a chair, whilst she herself took her seat on a settee by the side of Mademoiselle Fontrailles, “you have something to tell me. I have the gift of second sight, and I guess that this something is of importance; in my experience, I find that the important things are always the unpleasant things of life, so put me out of my anxiety, I pray you.” “I will, madame; you have divined rightly. My news is unpleasant, simply because it relates to a conspiracy against you.” “Ah! ah!” said Jean Dubarry, who had not taken a seat, but was standing by the mantelpiece, snuff-box in hand. “A conspiracy.” “Yes, Monsieur le Vicomte, a conspiracy.” “Against my life?” asked the Comtesse, with a laugh. “It would be a bright idea for some of them to attack that instead of my poor reputation. Unfortunately, however, these gentlemen are incapable of a bright idea.” “No, madame, they do not propose to take your life; they propose to steal your coachman, your hairdresser and the robe that you are to wear to-morrow evening.” Jean Dubarry almost dropped his snuff-box; he swore a frightful oath; and the Countess, fully alive to the gravity of the news, stared open-eyed at Rochefort. Mademoiselle Fontrailles alone found words, other than blasphemies, to express her feelings. “Ah, the wretches!” said she. “I thought they would leave no stone unturned by their vile hands.” “Monsieur,” said the Comtesse, finding voice, “are you certain of what you say?” “Why, madame, they invited me to take a part in the business.” “And you refused?” “I refused, madame, not because I was of your party—in fact, to be perfectly plain, at that moment I was rather against you—I refused because I considered the whole proceeding a trick dishonouring to a gentleman; and I told Monsieur Camus my opinion of the business in a very few words.” “Comte Camus? Was he the agent who brought you this proposition?” “He was, madame. I can say so now openly, since we are no longer friends. We quarrelled on a certain matter to-night, and if you are desirous of knowing the details of our little quarrel, Javotte will be able to supply them.” But the Comtesse had no ears for anything but the immediate danger that threatened her, and Rochefort had to tell the whole story from the beginning to the end. “Death of all the devils!” cried Jean Dubarry, when the story was finished. “What an escape!” “The question is,” said Madame Dubarry, “have we escaped and shall we be able to prevent these infamous ones from carrying out their plan?” “Prevent them!” cried Jean. “I will pistol the first man that lays hands on the carriage. I will lock the hairdresser up in the cellar till the moment comes when he is wanted. As for the modiste, we will arrange that she will be all right. Prevent them! _Mordieu_! Yes, we will prevent them.”