“Monsieur,” said Javotte, “I am only a poor girl, but I have seen much in the service of Madame la Comtesse. I have kept my mind about me, and I have been employed in many things that have taught me many things. Living at Luciennes and Versailles, I have observed Monsieur de Choiseul—Look at the affair of yesterday—and there are other things—— Well, I know that if you were Monsieur de Choiseul, you would open this letter.” Rochefort laughed. “You have touched the spot,” said he. “If I were Monsieur de Choiseul, I would do as you say, but since I am Monsieur de Rochefort, I cannot. I am only a poor gentleman of Auvergne, without any head for political intrigue or any hand for political matters, and were I to open that letter, I would do the business so badly, that my unaccustomed hand would betray itself.” “Monsieur, I did not ask you to open this letter.” “Mademoiselle, had you done so, I would have obeyed you without murmur, for your lightest request would be for me a command. And now put the accursed thing away that it may not tempt us any more, and if you will show me to some room where I may snatch a couple of hours’ sleep, I will lie down, for I have a heavy day before me if I am not very greatly mistaken.” Javotte rose up and placed the letter in the drawer of a bureau by the door. Then she ran out of the room and returned with a rug of marten skin, which she spread on the bed; she turned the rug back and arranged the pillows. She was offering him her bed. “I will call you at six o’clock,” said she. She glanced round the room like a careful housewife who wishes to see that everything is in order, smiled at Rochefort, nodded, and vanished, closing the door behind her. Rochefort removed his coat and sword-belt, got under the rug, rested his head on the pillow and in five minutes was snoring. Javotte, crossing the landing, entered her mistress’s bedroom, where a lamp was burning. She turned the lamp full on and sat down in a chair by the fire-place. She was in love and her love was hopeless, and her power of love may be gauged from the fact that she was thinking less of herself than of Rochefort, and less of Rochefort than his position.