Victorine faced quickly around, the tears coming again into her eyes. Mme. de Mailly had begun to walk up and down the room, speaking in a monotone, twisting and untwisting her fingers as she went.
"I see. I know. Claude was exiled because the King—did not like him." Here she turned about and looked her companion squarely in the face. "Claude married me so that he might return to Court. In his letter the King said that he might return when he could present his wife at Versailles. Yes. Claude read that letter to me, and still—I married him. Oh, madame—" a nervous laugh broke from her—"did M. de Coigny do that to you?"
Victorine stared at her in horror of her tone. "Deborah—Deborah—don't look so! Claude isn't like that. And you—you are good. You are pure. Ah—I cannot forgive myself while I live for what I have done! Is there anything that I can do? Tell me, is there nothing—nothing that I can do?"
"Oh, madame, may we not help also? Is it a new costume, or—"
It was Claude who spoke. He and Richelieu had entered the antechamber just in time to hear the last phrase. Mme. de Coigny faced about sharply. She knew that Deborah must have time to recover herself.
"It was not a garment—but a secret, messieurs. Monsieur le Duc, I am offended that I meet you for the first time since your return in the apartment of a friend. Have you struck me from your list?"
"Ah, madame, one does well to keep from your side, since one does not fight an abbé. M. de Bernis has more enemies from jealousy than any man about the Court," returned Richelieu, a trifle maliciously.
Claude, much displeased with the Duke's ill-timed pleasantry, glanced anxiously at his wife. Her manner was composed, but her expression he did not know.
"Madame, allow me to present to you M. de Richelieu, of whom I have so often spoken. Monsieur, Mme. de Mailly."
Deborah courtesied, and Richelieu bowed profoundly. For some unaccountable reason, the Duke's ready gallantry suddenly deserted him, and he could conjure up no fit compliment for this girl with the unrouged cheeks and the calm, frigid self-possession. Deborah's mood was new to Claude, and he regarded her with amazement, as she stood perfectly silent after the introduction, her glance moving slowly from Richelieu's immaculate shoes to his large brown eyes and the becoming curls of his wig. Once more it remained for Victorine to save the situation. She was wondering anxiously if her eyes were very red, as she asked: