Undoubtedly that was the true reason of the rapacious monarch's flatteries to-night; truth to tell, her mind had been so absorbed with actual events, her quarrel with her husband, the departure of Gaston, the proposed expedition of Le Monarque, that she had almost forgotten the promise which she had made to the King earlier in the day, with a view to gaining time.
"How admirably you dance, Madame," said King Louis, "the poetry of motion by all the saints! Ah! believe me, I cannot conquer altogether a feeling of unutterable envy!"
"Envy, Sire, of whom?—or of what?" she asked, forced to keep up a conversation which sickened her, since etiquette did not allow her to remain silent if the King desired to talk. "Methinks fate leaves your Majesty but little to wish for."
"Envy of the lucky man who obtained a certitude, whilst we had to be content with vague if gracious promises," he rejoined blandly.
She looked at him keenly, inquiringly, a deep line of doubt, even of fear now settling between her brows.
"Certitude of what, Sire?" she asked suddenly pausing in the dance and turning to look him straight in the eyes. "I humbly crave your Majesty's pardon, but meseems that we are at cross-purposes, and that your Majesty speaks of something which I, on the other hand, do not understand."
"Nay! nay! then we'll not refer to the subject again," rejoined Louis with consummate gallantry, "for of a truth we would not wish to lose one precious moment of this heavenly dance. Enough that you understand, Madame, that your King is grateful, and will show his gratitude, even though his heart burn with jealousy at the good fortune of another man!"
There was no mistaking the sly leer which appeared in his eye as he spoke. Lydie felt her cheeks flaming up with sudden wrath; wrath, which as quickly gave way to an awful, an unconquerable horror.
Still she did not suspect. Her feet once more trod the monotonous measure, but her heart beat wildly against the stiff corslet; the room began to whirl round before her eyes; a sickening sense of dizziness threatened to master her. Every drop of blood had left her cheeks, leaving them ashen pale.
She was afraid; and the fear was all the more terrible as she could not yet give it a name. But the sense of an awful catastrophe was upon her, impending, not yet materialized, but which would overwhelm her inevitably when it came.