The young girl was embarrassed. How could a priest say such things? Turning her head uneasily, she found Mme. de Coigny close to her, and beheld a new expression on that childlike, fretful face. It was as well that, at this moment, the distant shouting of the throng proclaimed the advance of the royal procession. Under cover of the general hastening to the lantern-hung windows, Victorine took occasion to murmur in de Bernis' ear:
"Why are you always cruel, François? Why will you continually torture me so? This child, now! Have pity on her."
De Bernis shrugged impatiently. "You are silly, Victorine. It is not my fault that you are jealous every time I speak to a woman."
They were silent for a moment. Then Mme. de Coigny, as she stared into the torchlit street below, sighed. "Those faces—the rags—the dirt—François, do they not remind you of our first days together in the Court of Miracles?"
For reply the abbé silently kissed her hand.
All of Mme. de Mailly-Nesle's guests were by this time arranged in the windows along the front of the hôtel. Claude, escaping from the women who would have questioned his heart away, sought Deborah's side. She received him with a friendly little smile that relieved him of many fears. A silence of expectation had fallen now over the room, for the distant sounds of shouting and cheering were increasing in clearness.
To his intense relief, Louis' long ride was nearly over; and, almost at its end, when there should remain only a bridge to be crossed to the Tuileries, he was hoping for something that should repay him for all his sacrifice of time and comfort. Since the day of the dismissal from Metz the name of la Châteauroux had never crossed the King's lips. But silence is not indicative of forgetfulness. On the contrary, with every passing day Louis felt his life more intolerably lonely, in the absence of her for whom he really cared more than any one else. Now, as he drew near to the Hôtel de Mailly, which he knew well, expectation and hope increased his speed, and he passed the Théatins at a lively trot.
"See, Deborah, here is the royal regiment. Those, there, at the head, just coming under the lights, are the marshals—ay, that is Coigny!"
"Madame, your husband," murmured de Bernis in Victorine's ear.
"—And there are the Court pages in uniform, look—on the white horses—Richelieu, d'Epernon, de Gêvres, de Mouhy, Trudaine—Heavens, how familiar they all are! And here is the Queen's coach. Voila! She looked out just then, at the shouts. The Dauphin is with her—they would not let the child ride. He's all of fifteen now—is he not, de Bernis? And now, Deborah—there, alone—in front of the corps—with the torches around him—that is the King."