"Fool, Bigot! It is you who have been the fool of a woman!" Cadet
was privileged to say anything, and he never stinted his speech.
"Confess, your Excellency! she is splay-footed as St. Pedauque of
Dijon! She dare not trip over our carpet for fear of showing her
big feet!"
Cadet's coarse remark excited the mirth of the Intendant. The
influences of the great hall were more powerful than those of the
secret chamber. He replied curtly, however,--"I have excused the
lady from coming, Cadet. She is ill, or she does not please to
come, or she has a private fancy of her own to nurse--any reason is
enough to excuse a lady, or for a gentleman to cease pressing her."
"Dear me!" muttered Cadet, "the wind blows fresh from a new quarter!
It is easterly, and betokens a storm!" and with drunken gravity he
commenced singing a hunting refrain of Louis XIV.:
"'Sitot qu'il voit sa Chienne
Il quitte tout pour elle."'
Bigot burst out into immoderate laughter. "Cadet," said he, "you
are, when drunk, the greatest ruffian in Christendom, and the
biggest knave when sober.
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