"Council of War!" replied Cadet, setting his goblet down with a bang upon the polished table, after draining it to the bottom. "I would like to go through that mob again! and I would pull an oar in the galleys of Marseilles rather than be questioned with that air of authority by a botanizing quack like La Galissoniere! Such villainous questions as he asked me about the state of the royal magazines! La Galissoniere had more the air of a judge cross- examining a culprit than of a Governor asking information of a king's officer!"
"True, Cadet!" replied Varin, who was always a flatterer, and who at last saved his ill-gotten wealth by the surrender of his wife as a love-gift to the Duc de Choiseul. "We all have our own injuries to bear. The Intendant was just showing us the spot of dirt cast upon him by the mob; and I ask what satisfaction he has asked in the Council for the insult."
"Ask satisfaction!" replied Cadet with a laugh. "Let him take it!
Satisfaction! We will all help him! But I say that the hair of the dog that bit him will alone cure the bite! What I laughed at the most was this morning at Beaumanoir, to see how coolly that whelp of the Golden Dog, young Philibert, walked off with De Repentigny from the very midst of all the Grand Company!"
"We shall lose our young neophyte, I doubt, Cadet! I was a fool to let him go with Philibert!" remarked Bigot.
"Oh, I am not afraid of losing him, we hold him by a strong triple cord, spun by the Devil. No fear of losing him!" answered Cadet, grinning good-humoredly.
"What do you mean, Cadet?" The Intendant took up his cup and drank very nonchalantly, as if he thought little of Cadet's view of the matter. "What triple cord binds De Repentigny to us?"
"His love of wine, his love of gaming, and his love of women--or rather his love of a woman, which is the strongest strand in the string for a young fool like him who is always chasing virtue and hugging vice!"
"Oh! a woman has got him! eh, Cadet? Pray who is she? When once a woman catches a fellow by the gills, he is a dead mackerel: his fate is fixed for good or bad in this world. But who is she, Cadet?--she must be a clever one," said Bigot, sententiously.
"So she is! and she is too clever for young De Repentigny: she has got her pretty fingers in his gills, and can carry her fish to whatever market she chooses!"
"Cadet! Cadet! out with it!" repeated a dozen voices. "Yes, out with it!" repeated Bigot. "We are all companions under the rose, and there are no secrets here about wine or women!"
"Well, I would not give a filbert for all the women born since mother Eve!" said Cadet, flinging a nut-shell at the ceiling. "But this is a rare one, I must confess. Now stop! Don't cry out again 'Cadet! out with it!' and I will tell you! What think you of the fair, jolly Mademoiselle des Meloises?"
"Angelique? Is De Repentigny in love with her?" Bigot looked quite interested now.
"In love with her? He would go on all fours after her, if she wanted him! He does almost, as it is."
Bigot placed a finger on his brow and pondered for a moment. "You say well, Cadet; if De Repentigny has fallen in love with that girl, he is ours forever! Angelique des Meloises never lets go her ox until she offers him up as a burnt offering! The Honnetes Gens will lose one of the best trout in their stream if Angelique has the tickling of him!"
Bigot did not seem to be quite pleased with Cadet's information.
He rose from his seat somewhat flushed and excited by this talk respecting Angelique des Meloises. He walked up and down the room a few turns, recovered his composure, and sat down again.
"Come, gentlemen," said he; "too much care will kill a cat! Let us change our talk to a merrier tune; fill up, and we will drink to the loves of De Repentigny and the fair Angelique! I am much mistaken if we do not find in her the dea ex machina to help us out of our trouble with the Honnetes Gens!"
The glasses were filled and emptied. Cards and dice were then called for. The company drew their chairs into a closer circle round the table; deep play, and deeper drinking, set in. The Palais resounded with revelry until the morning sun looked into the great window, blushing red at the scene of drunken riot that had become habitual in the Palace of the Intendant.