"Mme. de Châteauroux," finished the Duke, fearing that her hesitation was for him.
Victorine nodded hastily. "Well, dear madame," she continued, turning to Deborah, "I must go, I have been with you an eternity. It grows late."
"Do you return to Paris, madame?" inquired Richelieu.
"No. We are already living here. My chair is below."
"Permit me, then, to escort you," said Claude, seeing that Deborah did not press her to remain.
"My dear Count, you must resign that happiness to me," observed Richelieu. "I am to sup with the King, and I have just time to reach Paris. Mme. de Mailly, I trust that our first meeting may prove our shortest."
"That is safe gallantry, monsieur, since one could scarce be shorter," returned Deborah, with something of her usual manner.
"Ah! That was better. Perhaps it is only embarrassment," thought Richelieu, as he made his farewells to Claude and bowed to Deborah's courtesy.
A moment later de Mailly and his wife were alone together. The sound of steps in the outer hall had died away. The little salon was quiet. Then the man and woman faced each other, Deborah mute, heavy-eyed, expressionless, her husband curious and expectant. After two minutes of uncomfortable silence he spoke:
"What is the matter, Debby? What has Victorine de Coigny said to you?"