'twas at a little supper given by the regent--and that when they
came to her she was quite dead."

"But Mr. Law--"

"'Twas he that killed her!"

"Good God! What mean you?" cried Lady Catharine, her own face blanching
behind her protecting fan. The blood swept back upon her heart, leaving
her cold as a statue.

"Why," continued the caller, in her own excitement to tell the news
scarce noting what went on before her, "it seems that this mysterious
beauty of the regent's, of whom there has been so much talk, proved to
be none other than a former mistress of this same Mr. Law, who is
reputed to have been somewhat given to that sort of thing, though of
late monstrous virtuous, for some cause or other. Mr. Law came suddenly
upon her at the table of the regent, arrayed in some kind of savage
finery--for 'twas in fashion a mask that evening, as you must know. And
what doth my director-general do, so high and mighty? Why, in spite of
the regent and in spite of all those present, he upbraids her, taunts
her, reviles her, demanding that she fall on her knees before him, as it
seems indeed she would have done--as, forsooth, half the dames of Paris
would do to-day! Then, all of a sudden, my Lord Director changes, and he
craves pardon of the woman and of the regent, and so stalks off and
leaves the room! And now then the poor creature walks to the table,
would lift a glass of wine, and so--'tis over! 'Twas like a play! Indeed
all Paris is like a play nowadays. Of course you know the rest."

A gesture of negative came from the hand that lay in Lady Catharine's
lap. The busy gossip went on.

"The regent, be sure, was angry enough at this cheapening of his own
wares before all, and perhaps 'tis true he had a fancy for the woman. At
any rate, 'tis said that this very morning he quarreled hotly with Mr.
Law. The latter gave back words hot as he received, and so they had it
violent enough. 'Tis stated on the Quinquempoix that another must take
Mr. Law's place. But if Mr. Law goes, what will become of the System?
And what would the System be without Mr. Law? And what would Paris be
without the System? Why, listen, Lady Catharine! I gained fifty thousand
livres yesterday, and my coachman, the rascal, in some manner seems to
have done quite as well for himself. I doubt not he will yet build a
mansion of his own, and perhaps my husband may drive for him! These be
strange days indeed. I only hope they may continue, in spite of what my
hu