"Lady Egmont unwell, whose health was the most robust in the realm! this is sad for her!" and the king turned his back on the old courtier as he had on the others whom he snubbed.
Gloomy, anxious and irritated, the king went over to the window, and seizing the carved handle of the sash with one hand, he cooled his fevered brow against the pane. The courtiers could be heard chattering, like leaves rustling before the tempest, while all eyes stared at the clock; it struck the half-hour, when a great uproar of vehicles rumbling on the yard cobblestones resounded under the carriage-way vault. Suddenly the royal brow brightened and a flash shot from his eyes.
"The Right Honorable Lady the Countess of Dubarry!" roared the usher to the grand master of ceremonies. "The Right Honorable the Countess of Bearn!"
Different sensations were making all hearts leap. Invincibly drawn by curiosity, a flood of courtiers moved toward the monarch.
The wife of the Marshal of Mirepoix was carried close up to the king, and though she had been in the front of the anti-Dubarryists, she clasped her hands ready for adoration, and exclaimed:
"Oh, how lovely she is!"
The king turned and smiled on the speaker.
"But she is not a mere mortal," said Richelieu; "she is a fairy," which won him the end of the smile.
In truth, never had the countess been fairer, more winsome in expression, more modest in bearing, more noble in figure, more elegant in step or more cunning in showing emotion; her like had never excited admiration in the queen's drawing-room.
Charmingly beautiful, richly but not flauntingly dressed and notable for a tastefully novel headdress, she advanced held by the hand of Countess Bearn. Spite of atrocious pangs, the latter did not hobble or even wince, though the rouge fell in flakes from her face as each step wrung her to the core.