Quite a crowd of obvious sympathizers gathered round the Comte and Comtesse de Stainville. Gaston's avowedly base conduct was—it seems—to be condoned. At best he stood branded by his own wife—unwittingly perhaps—as having betrayed a woman who for right or wrong, had trusted him, but it is strange to record that, in this era of petticoat rule, the men were always more easily forgiven their faults than the women.
Lydie found herself almost alone, only Monsieur de Louvois came and spoke to her on an official matter, and presently Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont joined them.
"Will you let me take you back to your apartments, Lydie?" urged Monsieur le Duc. "I fear the excitement has seriously upset you."
"You think I have been to blame, father dear?" she asked quite gently.
"Oh! . . ." he murmured vaguely.
"You did not speak up for me when that woman accused me . . ."
"My dear child," he said evasively, "you had not taken me into your confidence. I thought . . ."
"You still think," she insisted, "that what Madame de Stainville said was true?"
"Isn't it?" he asked blandly.
He did not understand this mood of hers at all. Was she trying to deny? Impossible surely! She was a clever woman, and with the map and her own letter, sealed and signed with her name, what was the good of denying?