Gratified, no doubt, to receive in Chapeloud’s library, at the corner of the fireplace above which hung the two contested pictures, the woman who had hitherto ignored him, Troubert kept the baroness waiting a moment before he consented to admit her. No courtier and no diplomatist ever put into a discussion of their personal interests or into the management of some great national negotiation more shrewdness, dissimulation, and ability than the baroness and the priest displayed when they met face to face for the struggle. Like the seconds or sponsors who in the Middle Age armed the champion, and strengthened his valor by useful counsel until he entered the lists, so the sly old fox had said to the baroness at the last moment: “Don’t forget your cue. You are a mediator, and not an interested party. Troubert also is a mediator. Weigh your words; study the inflection of the man’s voice. If he strokes his chin you have got him.” Some sketchers are fond of caricaturing the contrast often observable between “what is said” and “what is thought” by the speaker. To catch the full meaning of the duel of words which now took place between the priest and the lady, it is necessary to unveil the thoughts that each hid from the other under spoken sentences of apparent insignificance. Madame de Listomere began by expressing the regret she had felt at Birotteau’s lawsuit; and then went on to speak of her desire to settle the matter to the satisfaction of both parties. “The harm is done, madame,” said the priest, in a grave voice. “The pious and excellent Mademoiselle Gamard is dying.” (“I don’t care a fig for the old thing,” thought he, “but I mean to put her death on your shoulders and harass your conscience if you are such a fool as to listen to it.”) “On hearing of her illness,” replied the baroness, “I entreated Monsieur Birotteau to relinquish his claims; I have brought the document, intending to give it to that excellent woman.” (“I see what you mean, you wily scoundrel,” thought she, “but we are safe now from your calumnies. If you take this document you’ll cut your own fingers by admitting you are an accomplice.”) There was silence for a moment. “Mademoiselle Gamard’s temporal affairs do not concern me,” said the priest at last, lowering the large lids over his eagle eyes to veil his emotions. (“Ho! ho!” thought he, “you can’t compromise me. Thank God, those damned lawyers won’t dare to plead any cause that could smirch me. What do these Listomeres expect to get by crouching in this way?”) “Monsieur,” replied the baroness, “Monsieur Birotteau’s affairs are no more mine than those of Mademoiselle Gamard are yours; but, unfortunately, religion is injured by such a quarrel, and I come to you as a mediator--just as I myself am seeking to make peace.” (“We are not deceiving each other, Monsieur Troubert,” thought she. “Don’t you feel the sarcasm of that answer?”)