III
Jacqueline, silent at first, began after awhile to chatter merrily. Monsieur de Landas, who sat opposite to her, having lately come from Paris, she begged earnestly for all the latest gossip from the Court. Madame la Reyne de Navarre? What was she like? Jacqueline had heard such marvels of her grace and of her intellect. And the Duc d'Anjou? Was he as handsome as women averred? And was he—was he really such a rogue as irate husbands and brothers would have every one believe? Then she wanted to know about the fashions. Were hoops really growing in size or had a revulsion of feeling set in against them, and what was the latest mode for dressing the hair? Was it true that the new green dye specially invented by Monsieur Duc d'Anjou was so unhealthy to the wearer that many mysterious deaths had already followed its introduction?
And all the while that she talked she affected to eat heartily; but Gilles, who was watching her, saw that she scarce touched a morsel, only played with her fork, the use of which was evidently still unfamiliar to her. From time to time she seemed to pause in her chatter in order to gaze across the table in the direction where he sat silent and absorbed, somewhat isolated, as if shunned by the rest of the company; and whenever she did so it seemed to him as if her eyes called to him through the slits of that mysterious mask. After awhile, that call seemed so insistent that Gilles had the greatest difficulty in the world to force himself to sit still. He wanted to jump up and to go and sit near her, force her to remove that forbidding mask and let him see just what kind of a face was concealed behind it.
By now, you see, his imagination had once more veered right round and he had quite made up his mind that she was fair to look upon. The length of the table which separated him from her obsessed his mood, till he felt a perfect fever of desire and impotence coursing through his veins. And with this tingling of the nerves came a sense of jealousy. He could not see the man with whom Jacqueline was conversing so animatedly, had only given passing attention to Monsieur de Landas when the latter had spoken with him. But gossip had already reached his indifferent ear that M. le Marquis de Landas had—at any rate at one time—been an approved suitor for the hand of the rich heiress, whereupon Messire Gilles became satisfied within himself that that unpleasant feeling of dislike, which he was feeling toward the other man, was solely on account of Monsieur Duc d'Anjou, his master, over whose interests vis-à-vis that same heiress, he—Gilles—was set here to watch.
Still Jacqueline chattered away, and quite ten minutes had gone by since she had cast a glance in Gilles' direction. So he felt curious as well as angered and leaned forward in order to get a better view of Monsieur de Landas. He let his eyes travel along the line of faces which he saw for the most part only in profile: men and women, some old, some young, some grave and sober, others frivolous, rowdy, not a little vulgar, thought the fastidious Sire de Froidmont, who had Valois blood in his veins and had seen a good deal of the super-civilization of Paris. All of them appeared intent on devouring huge slabs of meat, and licking their fingers for the last drops of sauce. All, that is, except one—the man with whom Jacqueline was conversing so gaily; a young man, with masses of wavy black hair, a blue chin and an oval face, which he kept resolutely turned toward Madame Jacqueline.
'The favoured lover,' mused Gilles. 'The possibly dangerous enemy of Monsieur Duc d'Anjou, and spoiler of Madame la Reyne's best laid schemes.'
The young man ate very little, but he drank copiously. When he was not looking at Jacqueline he appeared to be staring moodily before him and bit furiously at his nails.
'Attention, friend Gilles!' Messire said to himself. 'There's the rock against which you may well bruise your head presently if you are not careful. Madame Jacqueline may, for aught I know, have a fancy for that amorous, olive-complexioned swain, who, as soon as I begin to take the centre of the stage—as take it I must—will become, a fierce and cunning enemy. I shall have to see to it that Madame's fancy for him turns to indifference. After that, beware, friend Gilles! Satan hath no finer henchman than a rejected lover.'