Perhaps Fortune was offended and wanted to avenge herself for this irreverence, for the chevalier, who had been more and more troubled by those last questions, suddenly saw on a corner of the table precisely the same fan that he had picked up the night before. He took it, and, as he had done the previous evening, he presented it to the marquise, bending his knee before her.

‘This, madame,’ he said to here, ‘is the only friend I have.’

The marquise seemed at first astonished, hesitated a moment, looking now at the fan and now at the chevalier.

‘Ah, you are right,’ she said at length. ‘It is you, sir. I recognize you. It is you I saw yesterday, after the play, with M. de Richelieu. I dropped that fan, and you happened to be there, as you said.’

‘Yes, madame.’

‘And very gallantly, like a true chevalier, you gave it back to me. I did not thank you, but I have always been persuaded that the man who can, with sufficient grace, raise a fan, can also at need, raise a glove, and we are rather fond of that, we ladies.’

‘And that is only too true, madame, for, when I came here just now I almost had a duel with the Swiss guard.’

‘For pity’s sake!’ said the marquise, overcome with a second burst of gaiety. ‘With the Swiss! And for what?’

‘He didn’t want to let me come in.’

‘That would have been a pity. But sir, who are you? what are you asking for?’

‘Madame, I am called the Chevalier de Vauvert. M. de Biron had asked for me a place as cornet in the guards.’

‘Of course. I remember. You come from Neauflette, and you are in love with Mademoiselle d’Annebault—’

‘Madame, who can have told you that?’

‘Oh, I warn you that I am much to be feared. When my memory fails, I guess. You are a relation of the Abbé Chauvelin, and were rejected because of that, weren’t you? Where is your petition?’

‘Here, madame. But honestly, I cannot understand—’

‘Why understand? Rise up and put your paper on that table. I am going to answer the king. You will bear to him at the same time your request and my letter.’

‘But madame, I thought I had told you—’

‘You will go. You entered here on the king’s orders, isn’t that so? Well, you will enter the king’s presence by the orders of the Marquise de Pompadour, lady of the queen’s palace.’

The chevalier bowed without saying a word, seized with a sort of stupefaction. Everybody had known for a long time how many discussions, ruses, and intrigues the favourite had set in motion, and what obstinacy she had shown, to obtain this title, which, when all was said, brought her nothing but a cruel insult from the Dauphin. But she had desired it for ten years, she wanted it, she had got it. M. de Vauvert, whom she did not know though she knew of his love affairs, pleased her like a piece of good news.