Léonie put her hand to her curls.
‘But it is not at all kind of you to speak of my red hair!’ she protested.
‘Red?’ Condé cried. ‘It is the colour of copper, Princess, and your eyes are like the violets you wear at your breast. As a white rose you enchanted me, and now as a golden rose you strengthen your spell.’
‘M’sieur,’ said Léonie severely, ‘that is how M. de Tanqueville talks. I do not like it at all.’
‘Mademoiselle, I am at your feet! Tell me what I may do to regain your favour!’
Léonie looked at him speculatively. He laughed.
‘Oh la, la! It is to be some great venture of chivalry, enfin ?’
Her eyes danced.
‘It is just that I am so very thirsty, m’sieur,’ she said plaintively.
A gentleman standing a few paces from them looked at her in astonishment, and turned to a friend.
‘Mon Dieu, did you hear that, Louis? Who is this beauty who has the audacity to send Condé to fetch her refreshment?’
‘Why, do you not know?’ exclaimed his friend. ‘It is Mademoiselle de Bonnard, the English Duc’s ward! She is an original, and Condé is captivated by her so unusual behaviour.’
Condé had given Léonie his arm. Together they passed into an adjoining salon, where he procured a glass of ratafie for her. A quarter of an hour later Lady Fanny found them there, both in high fettle, Condé trying to illustrate for Léonie’s benefit a fencing trick, with his quizzing glass as foil.
‘Lud, child, what will you be at?’ demanded my lady. She curtsied low to Condé. ‘M’sieur, you will not let her weary you, I beg.’
‘Oh, but I am not wearying him, madame, truly!’ said Léonie. ‘He was thirsty too! Oh, here is Rupert!’
Rupert came in with the Chevalier d’Anvau. When the Chevalier saw Léonie his brow creased.
‘Who? Who? Who? M’sieur, on vous demande.’
Condé waved him aside.
‘Mademoiselle, the promised guerdon?’
Léonie gave him the violets at her breast, and smiled prettily as she did so. Condé kissed her hand, and then the flowers, and went back into the gallery with the fragrant bunch worn on his coat.
‘Well!’ said Rupert. ‘’Pon my soul!’
‘Come along, Rupert!’ said Léonie. ‘Take me to find Madame de Pompadour now.’
‘No, damme, that I won’t!’ said my lord gracefully. ‘I’ve but this moment escaped, with d’Anvau here. It’s a plaguey dull affair, so it is!’
‘Child, I want you,’ said Fanny, and took her back to the gallery and left her with her very dear friend Madame de Vauvallon, while she herself went in search of Avon.
She found him at length near the Œil de Bœuf, with de Richelieu and the Duc de Noailles. He came to her at once.
‘Well, Fanny, where is my infant?’
‘With Clothilde de Vauvallon,’ she answered. ‘Justin, she has given Condé her violets, and he is wearing them! Whither shall this lead?’
‘Nowhere, my dear,’ said his Grace placidly.
‘But, Justin, ’tis not well to ensnare Royalty thus! Too great favour shown spells ruin as surely as too little.’
‘I beg you will not distress yourself, my dear. Condé is not in love with the infant, nor she with him.’