“Certainly,” answered Richelieu, though I saw he was not pleased at the interruption. “Excuse me a moment, de Brancas,” and the two stepped to one side, engaged in earnest conversation. I glanced about me, and seeing that Mlle. de Launay was making her adieux preparatory to joining her mistress, hastened to her side.
“You are already famous, M. de Brancas,” she cried, as I approached her. “Richelieu has dropped a word of it. Believe me, it is not every one who cares to cross swords with the rogues of Cartouche, or who values his purse more highly than his head. Perhaps you had some keepsake in yours, monsieur, which made it doubly precious,” she added, mischievously.
“No, mademoiselle,” I answered; “and yet, I was loath to part with it, else I should have had no proper receptacle in which to place that ribbon which you wear in your hair and which you are going to give me presently.”
“Oh, am I?” she exclaimed, as her hand mechanically sought her hair and she looked into my eyes. “Well, take it,” and she handed me the ribbon. “Such audacity deserves reward. No one would for a moment suspect you were from the provinces, M. de Brancas,” she added.
“Indeed, mademoiselle, I forget it myself when you are speaking,” I answered, and she laughed merrily and bade me adieu, while I placed the ribbon in my purse, simulating a passion which I confess I did not feel.
But I watched her pass across the room as I had watched the duchess, for both were unusual women, and the maid’s fame was, if anything, greater than that of the mistress. Mlle. de Launay possessed little beauty, as I had seen for myself, and she was of obscure birth, the daughter of a painter, it was said, of whom no one had ever heard. But the abbess of a convent in Normandy had discovered the child somewhere—beside her drunken father in a bottle-house, most likely—and had taken a liking to her and given her a refuge in the convent. She had received a brilliant education, and oddly enough, had preferred the exact sciences to belles-lettres. Of her predilection for geometry I had already had proof. But the abbess died and she had been forced to leave the convent. Through the influence of friends she had secured the position of femme du chambre to Madame du Maine, which she had been compelled to accept to keep from starving, and it was from that position that she had risen, by sheer force of character, to be one of the brightest lights of the gay court at Sceaux. Every girl in the kingdom knew the story and had resolved to profit by it, but few had the wit to do so. It was again Richelieu who broke in upon my thoughts.
“A remarkable woman, is she not, monsieur?” he asked, following my eyes. “Few have yet measured the height of her talents, and no one has sounded the depth of her heart. But come, let us go. You are to lodge with me to-night, for I have many things to say to you.”
“Nothing would please me more, M. le Duc,” I answered, warmly, thankful for any chance which postponed my return to the Rue Bailleul and delighted at the prospect of entering the Hotel de Richelieu. He led the way towards the door, and as he repassed the people scattered about the room I remarked a new expression on their faces. They turned to look at him as they had done before, and not one failed to return his bow, but their manner was not the same. It seemed to combine respect and contempt, admiration and disapproval. The duke appeared not to notice it, yet he avoided any pretext for stopping, as though he did not wish to enter into a conversation which might easily become disagreeable. It was evident to me, however, that the hidden meaning of the words which he had exchanged with the duchess was known to all the persons in the room, and that they knew not whether to blame or praise. I, also, was to learn their meaning before the night was out.
We paused in the vestibule, Richelieu wrapping his cloak about his face and pulling his hat down over his eyes. He bade me do the same, and in another moment we were in the street. We mingled quickly with the crowd which, even in winter, thronged the gardens of the Tuileries, and turning towards the river, crossed it by the Pont Royal.