Madame d’Estrades threw a piercing look on the chevalier, a look full of curiosity: then, seeing on his face no sign of hesitation, she withdrew slowly and was lost in the crowd.

The chevalier, unable to make anything of this singular adventure, went and sat down in a corner of the gallery.

‘What does that woman think she’s doing?’ he said to himself. ‘She must be a little mad. She wants to upset the state by means of a silly slander, and as a way of deserving the hand of her niece, she proposes to me to dishonour myself! But Athénaïs would have no more to do with me, or, if she lent herself to such an intrigue, it would be I who should refuse her. What! try to injure that good marquise, spread stories about her, blacken her good name? Never, no, never!’

Faithful as ever to his distractions, the chevalier, very likely, was going to rise and speak out loud, when a little finger, rose coloured, touched him lightly on the shoulder. He raised his eyes and saw before him the two identical masks who had stopped him.

‘Then you don’t want to give us a little help?’ said one of the masked ladies, disguising her voice. But although their two costumes were exactly alike, and although everything appeared calculated to put him on the wrong scent, the chevalier was not deceived. Neither the look nor the accent were the same.

‘Will you answer, sir?’

‘No, madame.’

‘Will you write?’

‘Still less.’

‘It is true you are obstinate. Good-night, lieutenant.’

‘What are you saying, madame?’

‘Here is your commission and your marriage contract.’ And she threw him her fan.

It was the fan that the chevalier had already picked up twice. Boucher’s little loves played on the parchment, amidst the gilded mother-of-pearl. There was no room for hesitation, it was Madame de Pompadour’s fan.

‘Good heavens, marquise, is it possible?’

‘Very possible,’ said she, raising the scrap of black lace from her chin.

‘I do not know, madame, how to answer—’

‘It isn’t necessary. You are a gallant man, and we will see each other again, for you are in our household. The king has put you in the White Guard. Remember that, for a petitioner, there is no greater eloquence than that of knowing how to keep silent at the right time. And forgive me,’ she added laughing, and slipping away, ‘if, before giving you our niece, we made some inquiries.’³