Richelieu shrugged. "We started, madame following at a little distance, though half a dozen ladies rode. After a quarter of an hour we got sight of the animal, and de Sauvré fired at it, but missed. By the manner in which his Majesty sat his horse, as we raced along to gain on the beast, we all knew that our shots must go astray to-day. Gradually the King drew away from the rest of us, and we reined the horses a little. That is, all but one of us played good courtier. The one was Claude."
"Monsieur, you might dare Satan for a lady if you would; but no one should dare the King."
"Dare the King he did. In five minutes all of us were far enough behind to watch, while they two—de Mailly and de Bourbon, gentlemen—were neck and neck among the hounds. Presently the Count fired, and—missed. I hoped that it was purpose, for he did not reload. Then the stag ran through a little clearing, so that for fifty yards it was a perfect mark. Louis fired, of course, but the game kept on. I saw the King throw back his head with his gesture of anger. Then de Mailly—oh! how couldst thou, Claude?—drew a pistol from his holster and fired. That bullet was made for death, I never saw a prettier shot. It went straight into the deer's neck. Another five yards. The animal wavered. The King was reloading his weapon. Claude was like lightning with his hands. Before his Majesty's gun was ready the pistol sounded again, and the beast fell."
"Good Heaven, Claude! You have done badly!" cried Henri, leaning over the table.
His words were echoed by the rest.
"But his Majesty permitted you the trophy?" drawled d'Epernon, unguardedly.
"Permitted, my lord!" exclaimed the young man, haughtily; "the gauntlet was not his Majesty's to give."
Richelieu laughed. "'Twas a comedy, gentlemen; but a dangerous one. Louis was suavely furious; madame annoyed and alarmed, but as indifferent as any coquette should be. Claude was charmingly humble and amorous. It was I who obtained permission for him and for myself to retire after luncheon. Certainly, Louis seemed entirely willing to grant it. So together we returned to Versailles, dressed, and came on here. And—oh! I had forgot to mention it, but 'twas a marked fact that when madame presented her left gauntlet to her cousin, the January skies instantly began to weep. Now, a question: Was it from sympathy with the King, or dread for the Count de Mailly?"
"Fear for the Count, du Plessis. The King needs small sympathy."
"Possibly thou'rt right, Baron. Who so happy as the King? What does he lack? He is a King; he has France for his purse; he is as handsome as the Queen is ugly; and the most stately woman in Europe inhabits the little apartments. What more could he wish for?"