Richelieu appeared enthusiastic after this reply, uttered in a steady voice without any hesitation. He took her hand and kissed it respectfully, saying, as he gloated over her:
“A queenly hand, a fairy foot: wit, will and candor. Ah, my lord, what a treasure! It is not a lady you have there, but a queen.”
He took leave, while Taverney swelled with pride and hope. He was a trifle perplexed at being alone with his daughter, for her looks pierced him like a diver penetrating the sea with his electric lamp-ray.
“The Duke of Richelieu was saying, father, that the King had entrusted some token of his gratification to you—what is it, please?”
“Ha, she is interested,” uttered the old noble: “I would not have believed it. So much the better, Satan!”
Slowly he drew from his pocket the jewel-case given him by the marshal overnight, in the same way as fond papas produce the box of candies for the pet child.
“Jewels!” ejaculated Andrea.
“Do you like them?”
It was a string of pearls of great price; diamonds interlinked them: a diamond clasp, ear-rings, and a tiara for the headdress gave to the whole set the value of some thirty thousand crowns at the least.
“Heavens, father, the King must make some mistake,” cried Andrea, “it is too handsome. I should be ashamed to wear them. What dresses have I to go with such gems?”