François Desgrez

— Were it possible, I would have told him before now.
— So you knew all about Voisin?
— Of course. The Court is France. Without evidence, the King cannot act.
— Must I remind you that they are killing infants?
— Perhaps, by letting a few die, thousands more are saved. I shall inform him about the poison when the time is right, and everyone shall know. In the meantime, I beg you, leave Court.
— Never! I am a woman, and the life of even a single child means everything to me.

— Perhaps he has changed. The Count of Peyrac you loved died at the stake.
— He could have lost his rank and fortune but remained himself.
— Perhaps. But in the meantime you married Plessis-Belliere.
— I thought he was dead. He had died, and I was but a woman.
— He loved no ordinary woman, but Angelique!

— But, Desgrez, in your opinion, can the Marquise suffer the same fate?
— I fear the Bey cannot distinguish between a French marquise and a French streetwalker.

— But why did he cut their throats?
— Sire, I am intimately acquainted with the passions of evildoers, but not those of Orientals.

— How low you have stooped!
— I'm acting on the King's orders.
— What a master!

— My men are guarding your doors. The King's orders. But you have the tunnel.
— It's locked. Still, it doesn't matter now.
— Locked doors can be forced, so that pure air may circulate through the temple. Not my words. Solomon's.