"He has just been speaking with us," whispered la Châteauroux, moving again across to her sister.
Richelieu nodded. "You have not yet dined?" he asked, idly.
"It is still an hour to one."
"Ah, true! I had not noticed the clock."
"You are exhausted from having watched all night. Go and rest. I will call you when dinner is served."
A long, slow smile stretched itself over Richelieu's imperturbable features. "I go, then; but it is on condition that madame calls me when dinner is served." With which enigmatically spoken commonplace, he forthwith disappeared.
"It is his habit to make significance of manner count for wit," observed Elise, turning to the window.
For half an hour there was silence, perfect, drowsy. Mme. de Lauraguais' hands fell passively into her lap. The King, under his great canopy, was still. None could tell whether he slept or no. La Châteauroux, her eyes half closed, watched the sunlight play over the roofs of the houses in the town, and listened absently to the noon murmur that rose from its streets. Only Richelieu, in the room beyond, was alert, waiting, as he lay on his extemporized couch. At half-past twelve the King demanded wine. Madame poured it out and carried it to his side. He had not taken it from her hand when the door to the anteroom opened vigorously, and four men appeared on the threshold of his Majesty's bedroom. The glass dropped from the suddenly nerveless fingers of madame, and crashed down upon the wooden floor. Elise, with a low exclamation, rose from her chair, her face colorless. La Châteauroux, leaving the King's side, moved slowly over to her sister, and stood facing the intruders. After the first instant calmness came to her. M. de Chartres had forced the consigne at last. With him were the King's chaplain, Bishop of Soissons, Fitz-James, Père Perusseau the confessor, and M. de Maurepas, possibly as representative of de Berryer. These four men stood facing the Duchess, who regarded them steadily, death knocking at her heart.
"Why—do you come?" she asked, dully, knowing well enough the reason.
"It is time, I think, madame," returned Maurepas, with something ill-advised in his tone.