“The lackeys poking their noses in here!” he growled.
“And the maids, too—look at your Nicole, at the corner of the door there. The sly puss, she does not let a wink escape her.”
Among twenty other servants, Nicole was holding her pretty head over theirs from behind and her eyes, dilated by surprise and admiration, seemed to see double. Perceiving her, Gilbert turned aloof.
“Come,” said the duke to Taverney, “it is my belief that the King wants to speak to you. He is looking round for somebody.”
The two friends made their way to the royal box.
Lady Dubarry and Aiguillon, both on their feet, were chatting.
Rousseau was alone in the admiration of Andrea; he was busy falling into love with her.
The illustrious actors were changing their dresses in their retiring rooms, where Gilbert had renewed the floral decorations.
Taverney, left by himself in the corridor while Richelieu went to the King, felt his heart alternately frozen and seared by the expectation.
Finally his envoy returned and laid a finger on his lips. His friend turned pale with joy, and was drawn under the royal box, where they heard what had few auditors.