From the window the king could see the candle which passed from the hands of Vauguyon into that of his guileless pupil, go the way up the new gallery, and flicker out.
"I gave him twenty minutes—I myself found five long enough," muttered the king, "Alas, will they say of the dauphin as of the second Racine: 'He is the nephew of his grandfather.'"
[CHAPTER XLVI.]
A TERRIBLE WEDDING-NIGHT.
The dauphin opened the door of the anteroom before the wedding chamber.
The archduchess was waiting, in a long white wrapper, with the strange anticipation on her brow, along with the sweet expectation of the bride, of some disaster. She seemed menaced with one of those terrors which nervous dispositions foresee and support sometimes with more bravery than if not awaited.
Lady Noailles was seated by the gilded couch, which easily held the princess' frail and dainty body.
The maids of honor stood at the back, waiting for the mistress of the attendants to make them the sign to withdraw. These were all ignorant that the dauphin was coming by a new way in. As the corridor was empty and the door at the end ajar, he could see and hear what went on in the room.
"In what direction does my lord the dauphin come?" inquired the Austrian's pure and harmonious voice though slightly tremulous.
"Yonder," replied Lady Noailles, pointing just the wrong way.