The prince rose, and, approaching a table heaped with elegant and costly trifles, rang a hand-bell sharply.
Almost instantly the violet velvet portière of the chief entrance was raised, and an obsequious lackey stood waiting his lord’s commands.
“Send Mademoiselle Finette here,” was the brief order.
In a moment the girl had replaced her fellow servant. A brief, searching glance showed her that something was wrong; but what she could scarcely tell.
“Come here,” said the prince.
He placed her in front of his bride, who was now leaning her head on her hand, resting against the stool, apparently lost to all around her.
“Madam!” exclaimed the waiting-maid, in consternation at her vacant yet wild aspect.
“What is the matter with her?” demanded the prince. “Has she ever been like this before?”
“No, monseigneur—no, no, never. Something has happened,” replied the trembling maid.
“Something terrible—something awful,” cried the unhappy prince, in an agony of despairing love and fear. “Do you know if anything has occurred to overthrow her reason?”