Deirdre entered like a whirlwind of legs and laughter, and, seeing a huge man staring at her, she halted as if she had been stopped by a wall, whirled about and would have vanished again but that Lavarcham’s voice restrained her.
“The king has come to visit us, my pulse,” said the suave Lavarcham.
The blood pounded into Deirdre’s heart and into her temples; for an instant her body seemed to be filled with noise and blindness, and in the next instant the lady, trained for every emergency and in every etiquette, was mistress again. Deirdre advanced, made a great reverence, and knelt at the king’s knee.
He gave her his hand to kiss.
“You may rise, my fawn,” said the monarch.
She arose and stood with downcast eyes. She did not dare to look at him. All that came within her vision was a mighty leg draped in green silk, from which long tassels of gold swung gently. The king stared narrowly at her, and Lavarcham stared narrowly at the king.
“Go now, my dear,” said Lavarcham, “and see that refreshments are brought for the king.”
Deirdre again made her deep reverence, and, on rising, her hasty upward glance was caught by Conachúr’s eye. She trod swiftly backwards, staring, and it was with parted lips and wide eyes that she disappeared from the room.
But the king continued staring at the doorway like one who has seen a vision and is striving with every fibre to recreate that which has vanished.
“Was I not right, master?” said Lavarcham gently.