Then, to his utter amazement, for he had never imagined her doing such a thing, he saw the girl's lip tremble, her face work convulsively with effort at control, and finally, as an ominous drop suddenly rolled over her eye and down her cheek, she turned from him sharply and ran into her boudoir, shutting the door after her.
Before Deborah consented to come forth from her retreat, his Grâce de Richelieu had arrived at the Tuileries, made a necessary alteration in his dress, and was admitted to the presence of the King, who, in company with de Gêvres and Maurepas, awaited him in the small supper-room. The Duke made proper apologies for tardiness, which Louis graciously accepted on condition that, during the entremets, he should recount the adventure that had kept him.
"Ah, Sire, it has been my fortune to encounter the lady whom you deigned to salute on Saturday, in the window of the Hôtel de Mailly."
There was a murmur of interest from the other two as the King looked up. "By my faith, du Plessis, you are phenomenal! Who is she?—what is she? Is she eligible—or not?"
"Ah!" A sudden thought crossed Richelieu's mind. He answered very slowly, crumbling a bit of bread the while, "She is the Countess de Mailly, Claude's wife, and so a cousin to Madame la Duchesse de Châteauroux."
There was a pause. The atmosphere was dubious. De Gêvres and Maurepas rejoiced to think that they had been wise enough to voice no curiosity. Richelieu, perfectly calm, inwardly calculating, finished his soup. Suddenly Louis's mouth twitched, his eyes twinkled, and he permitted himself to laugh.
"Parbleu! he has taste in women, this Claude! Have her presented, du Plessis, and de Mailly shall have back his place. Her Majesty holds a salon on Sunday—the 21st, hein? Have her presented at all hazards. By my faith, the fellow has a taste in women!"
CHAPTER V
Two Presentations
Upon the 18th of November their Majesties, the dauphin, the royal suites, and, in a word, the French Court, returned to Versailles and took up its abode in palace or town for the winter. The little city was alive with nobility and nobility's servants. Every fourth person one met bore with him, as a mantle of dignity, some fifteen generations of ancestry; and every third man with whom one came in contact was one whose forebears, for fifteen misty and not wholly glorious generations, had been accustomed to the honor of adjusting nobility's wig and helping him on with his coat.