[A] Hairdressers alone amongst tradesmen were permitted to wear swords. CHAPTER IX THE REWARD The presentation was over. The Choiseuls were defeated. Madame Dubarry was passing hither and thither, speaking to this one and that, and poisoning her enemies with her sweetest smiles. The King was delighted; and Choiseul, devouring his own heart, was kissing the favourite’s hand. Smiles, smiles everywhere, and poisonous hatred so wonderfully masked that the washerwoman to the Duc d’Aiguillon might have thought herself the best-loved woman in France. And Madame de Béarn? Madame de Béarn had vanished. Sartines had enveloped her in a cloud, and escorted her to her carriage; she had injured her leg that day, and required rest; she had braved pain and discomfort to obey the wish of his Majesty. The Dubarry had triumphed, and they were paying their court to her. Rochefort, who had been following the whole proceedings of the evening with an interest which he had rarely experienced before in his life, approached de Sartines, who had just returned from escorting Madame de Béarn to her carriage; with that lightness of heart with which men sometimes approach their fate, he drew the Minister of Police a bit to one side. “And Ferminard?” said he. “Pardon me,” said de Sartines, “I do not understand your meaning. What about Ferminard?” “Oh,” said Rochefort, laughing, “I was only intending to compliment you on having discovered so consummate an actor.” The other said nothing for a moment. Then he said, speaking slowly and in a voice so low that it was only just audible to his companion: “Rochefort, by accident you have been drawn into a little conspiracy of the Court; by luck you are able to escape from it if you choose to hold your tongue for ever on what you have seen and heard. You imagine that Ferminard came here to-night and laid his genius at the feet of Madame la Comtesse by acting for her the part of Madame de Béarn. All I can say is, imagine what you please, but say nothing; for, mark you, should anything of this be spoken of by you, friend though I am to you, my hand would fall automatically on you, and the future of M. de Rochefort would be four blank walls.” “You threaten?” said Rochefort haughtily. “Monsieur, I never threaten; I only advise. You have acted well in this affair; act still better by forgetting it all. And now that it is over, I am deputed to hand you your reward.” “My reward!” Sartines took a little note from his pocket and handed it to Rochefort, who opened it and read: “You will not receive this until and unless all is successful. In that case I wish to thank you both in my own name and that of the dear Comtesse. The presentation will be over by eleven, at which time this note will be handed to you. Should you care to receive my thanks, you can reach Paris by midnight. I live at No. 9, Rue St. Dominic, and my door will be opened to you should you knock to receive my thanks. “CAMILLE FONTRAILLES.”