"But I tell you it could not be!" again exclaimed the regent.
"No, it is impossible," broke in the young Duc de Richelieu. "I would swear that had such beauty ever set foot in Paris before now, the news would so have spread that all France had been at her feet."
Law looked at the impudent youth with a gaze that seemed to pass through him, seeing him not. Then suddenly this scene and its significance, its ultimate meaning seemed to take instant hold upon him. He could feel rising within his soul a flood of irresistible emotions. All at once his anger, heritage of an impetuous youth, blazed up hot and furious. He trod a step farther forward, after his fashion advancing close to that which threatened him.
"This lady, your Grace," said he, "has been known to me for years. Mary Connynge, what do you masquerading here?"
A sudden silence fell, a silence broken at length by the voice of the regent himself.
"Surely, Monsieur L'as," said Philippe, "surely we must accept your statements. But Monsieur must remember that this is the table of the regent, that these are the friends of the regent. We bring no recollections here which shall cut short the joy of any person. Sir, I would not reprimand you, but I must beg that you be seated and be calm!"
Yet the imperious nature of the other brooked not even so pointed a rebuke. As though he had not heard, Law stepped yet a pace nearer to the woman, upon whom he now bent the blaze of his angered eyes. He looked neither to right nor left, but visually commanded the woman until in turn her eyes sought his own.
"This woman, your Grace," said Law, at length, "was for some time in effect my wife. This I do not offer as matter of interest. What I would say to your Grace is this—she was also my slave!"
"Sirrah!" cried the regent.
"Ah, Dame!" exclaimed the Duc de Richelieu. And even from the women about there came little murmurs of expostulation. Indeed there might have been pity, even in this assemblage, for the agony now visible upon the brow of Mary Connynge.