k.

"Well, monseigneur, you are rid of him at last, I hope."

"Yes," replied the duke; "but in a manner which greatly displeases me--I
do not like playing a part in your comedies, as you know."

"Possibly; but you might, perhaps, do wisely in giving me a part in
yours."

"How so?"

"They would be more successful, and the denouements would be better."

"I do not understand--explain yourself, and quickly, for I have some one
waiting whom I must receive."

"Oh! certainly, monseigneur, receive them, and we will continue our
conversation later--the denouement of this comedy has already taken
place, and cannot be changed."

And with these words, Dubois bowed with the mock respect which he
generally assumed whenever, in the eternal game they played against each
other, he held the best cards.

Nothing made the regent so uneasy as this simulated respect; he held him
back--

"What is there now?" asked he; "what have you discovered?"

"That you are a skillful dissimulator, peste!"

"That astonishes you?"

"No, it troubles me; a few steps further, and you will do wonders in
this art--you will have no further need of me; you will have to send me
away to educate your son, whom, it must be confessed, requires a master
like myself."

"Speak quickly."

"Certainly, monseigneur; it is not now, however, a question of your son,
but of your daughter."

"Of which daughter?"

"Ah! true; there are so many. First, the Abbess of Chelles, then Madame
de Berry, then Mademoiselle de Valois; then the others, too young for
the world, and therefore for me, to speak of; then, lastly, the charming
Bretagne flower, the wild blossom which was to be kept away from
Dubois's poisoning breath, for fear it should wither under it."

"Do you dare to say I was wrong?"

"Not so, monseigneur: you have done wonders; not wishing to have
anything to do with the infamous Dubois, for which I commend you,
you--the archbishop of Cambray being dead--have taken in his place the
good, the worthy, the pure Noce, and have borrowed his house."

"Ah!" said the regent, "you know that?"

"And what a house! Pure as its master--yes, monseigneur, you are full of
prudence and wisdom. Let us conceal the corruptions of the world from
this innocent child, let us remove from her everything that can destroy
her primitive naivete; this is why we choose this dwelling for her--a
moral sanctuary, where the priestesses of virtue, and doubtless always
under pretext of