The king, leaving his companion to close the door, was across the room in three strides.
"I am come to look after you, St. Quentin," he cried, laughing. "I cannot have my council broken up by pretty grisettes. The precedent is dangerous."
With the liveliest curiosity and amusement he surveyed the top of mademoiselle's bent head, and Monsieur's puzzled, troubled countenance.
"This is no grisette, Sire," Monsieur answered, "but a very high-born demoiselle indeed—cousin to my Lord Mayenne."
Astonishment flashed over the king's mobile face; his manner changed in an instant to one of utmost deference.
"Rise, mademoiselle," he begged, as if her appearance were the most natural and desirable thing in the world. "I could wish it were my good adversary Mayenne himself who was come to treat with us; but be assured his cousin shall lack no courtesy."
She swayed lightly to her feet, raising her face to the king's. Into his countenance, which mirrored his emotions like a glass, came a quick delight at the sight of her. The colour waxed and waned in her cheeks; her breath fluttered uncertainly; her eyes, anxious, eager, searched his face.
"I cry your Majesty's good pardon," she faltered. "I had urgent business with M. de St. Quentin—I did not guess he was with your Majesty—"
"The king's business is glad to step aside for yours, mademoiselle."
She curtseyed, blushing, hiding her eyes under their sooty lashes; thinking as I did, I made no doubt, here was a king indeed. His Majesty went on: