Time drew on apace and the evening was passing. There were few arrivals now; the rooms were filled, and it was too early for departure. M. de Gêvres wished, possibly, that the hours would hurry a little, for he was losing heavily to Claude. Nevertheless he gave no sign of discomfort, and even interrupted the Count's purposeful pauses to continue the game. Just as de Mailly shook for a stake of five hundred livres, two people, gentlemen by dress, entered the room. Claude threw high. The Duke, with an inward exclamation of anger, gently received the cup. He shook with perfect nonchalance, and finally dropped the ivory squares delicately before him.
"Bravo, M. de Gêvres; you have thrown well!"
The Duke started to his feet. His example was speedily followed by the rest of the party, who, after bowing with great respect, stood looking in amazement at the new-comer. His companion, who was bareheaded, remained a little behind, grinning good-naturedly at the gamesters. Richelieu spoke first:
"Indeed, your Maj—"
"Pardon, du Plessis, the Chevalier Melot."
"Your pardon, Sire. You take us by surprise."
"Has any one suffered from the shock?"
"I, Sire, I think, since your coming has turned my luck," remarked Claude, with the double meaning in his words perfectly apparent to every one there.
"Um—yes, I had thought M. de Gêvres must win with eleven. Come, gentlemen, add two to your party, and forget, for the evening, even as he will do, the unimpeachable propriety of M. de Berryer."*
* The Chief of Police, and a favorite companion of the King.