— You are all alone, Sire.
— I am the King.
Madame! You are quite impossible. But, whatever you do, never change.
— I adore Versailles, Sire.
— And the King?
— But, Sire, without the King, there would be no Versailles.
You are strange. Disloyal to the living, but faithful to a shade.
— Life is leaving my body, but my wits remain. The King loves my wife.
— What?
— Yes. The King of France wants the only possession I am unable to relinquish, my wife. But, Sire, I too love Angelique. And since I cherish my King more than my own life, existence had become too heavy a burden to bear.
— My friend.
— I pray Your Majesty will forgive me for being so brutally forthright. The only excuse is my present situation.
— Make the Bey laugh, tell him of our customs. In short, tempt him to Versailles. So far, Saint-Amon's blunders have kept him away.
— Sire, this is a mission for a courtesan, not a diplomat!
— Good God! So much wrath! I simply thought that where a mediocre man had failed, a woman such as yourself could easily succeed.
— What kind of woman is that, Sire? You do not entrust this mission to the Marquise of Plessis-Belliere, but to the widow of the sorcerer of Peyrac!
— But why did he cut their throats?
— Sire, I am intimately acquainted with the passions of evildoers, but not those of Orientals.