He retired, and left me standing midway between the arras and the chair of the Countess, irresolute, dreading what was to follow, yet unwilling to retire, and confounded by the mysterious tenor of his emphatic whisper, which at that moment I could scarcely analyse.
CHAPTER VI.
MADAME OPENS THE TRENCHES.
And for a minute I continued to loiter between the doorway over which the gorgeous hangings of blue and silver had fallen, and the chair in which sat the beautiful friend of king Louis, playing coquettishly with her fan of feathers.
Happily for me, I lived in a time, and had before me a career, wherein every brave and handsome fellow could attain fortune and distinction, if he made the essay with a tolerably plausible tongue and a sharp rapier—the tongue for the ladies; the rapier for the foes of the standard he fought under. Yet, while conscious of this, I stood irresolutely, playing with the somewhat worn feather that drooped from my beaver hat—I was now entirely alone with this brilliant, self-possessed and confident favourite of the king.
'M. Arthur, come hither,' said she.
I bowed.
'Are you afraid that I shall eat you?'
I bowed again, and approached her chair.
'Have you nothing to say to me?' she asked, turning her eyes full upon me.