“Yes, I knew of it,” and the regent smiled with a brighter face. “My daughter came to me after you had gone and told me of it,—not to ask anything for herself, monsieur, but to ask something for some one else whom she loves. And I was proud of my daughter,—how proud I cannot tell you,—and I promised her that what she asked should be done. Indeed, I had already thought of it before she asked.”
“But Richelieu also deserves some praise, monsieur,” I said. “He chose the nobler part.”
“Yes, but required prompting in it,” answered the regent, quickly. “However, he has his reward, monsieur. I had intended banishing him as a firebrand dangerous to the peace of the kingdom. Instead, I have merely sent him to Bayonne, and will soon release him even from there. The reward is for others, monsieur, who behaved more nobly still.”
I gazed at him in astonishment too deep for words, for this was not the Philip d’Orleans whom I had known and whom the world knew. This was a handsome gentleman with smiling lips and brilliant eyes, a man whose whole appearance was singularly winning.
“There is yet wanting one person to our conference,” he said, after a moment. “That person will soon be here. In fact, she is coming now.”
I heard the door open behind me,—the rustle of a dress. My heart told me who it was. I sprang from my chair and faced Louise Dacour.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE REGENT’S GRATITUDE
She wore the same gown in which she had followed the princess to the altar, and there were traces of tears upon her face. She walked straight to the regent, without glancing in my direction.
“What is it, monsieur?” she cried, “what is it that has separated me from Charlotte at this last moment?”
“And did she tell you nothing?” asked the regent, kindly.