The
marechale de Luxembourg is well nigh distracted with grief."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed I, "can the duchesse de Lauzun be dead?"
"Alas! no."
"Perhaps poor madame de Boufflers?"
"No, my friend."
"Who then is the object of so much regret? Speak; tell me."
"Madame Brillant."
"A friend of the old marechale 's?"
"More than a friend," replied madame de Mirepoix; "her faithful
companion; her only companion; her only beloved object, since
her lovers and admirers ceased to offer their homage--in a word,
her cat."
"Bless me!" cried I, "how you frightened me! But what sort of a
cat could this have been to cause so many tears?"
"Is it possible that you do not know madame Brillant, at least
by name?"
"I assure you," said I, "this is the very first time I ever heard
her name."
"Well, if it be so, I will be careful not to repeat such a thing
to madame de Luxembourg; she would never pardon you for it.
Listen, my dear countess," continued madame de Mirepoix; "under
the present circumstances it will be sufficient for you to write
your name in her visiting-book."
I burst into a fit of laughter.
"It is no joke, I promise you," exclaimed the marechale; "the
death of madame Brillant is a positive calamity to madame de
Luxembourg. Letters of condolence will arrive from Chanteloup;
madame du Deffant will be in deep affliction, and the virtues and
amiable qualities of the deceased cat will long furnish subjects
of conversation.
Pages:
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440