Pont-de-Vesle stiffened. "Oh, as to that—I cannot say. She is spoken of—not to."
"Ah, well," decided d'Aiguillon, sagely, "after all, it will be the ladies, not we, who will settle matters for themselves."
"As for me, I should like to find a woman who would refuse the post."
And with this Richelieu, who could see no advantage in continuing the conversation, saluted his companions of the moment and passed on to others, whose talk, however, did not much vary from the foregoing style. By the time that the hour for mass arrived, and the Court wended a leisurely way towards Mansard's chapel, the favorite Duke was comforted in mind and heart. He hoped; though why, and on what grounds, he could not have told. The Œil-de-Bœuf was densely ignorant of the King's real project. He, Richelieu, knew it only too well. La Châteauroux was to come back. Paris knew. How, then, had he any right, or any reason, to hope? And, with this logic, the shadow of despair came over him again, and through it, as through a veil, he heard the melancholy intoning of priests' voices and the monotonous chanting of the choir.
Dinner passed, it were difficult to say how, and the afternoon began. There was attendance on his Majesty, who alternately played with three dogs and sulked because there was nothing further to do; a few moments at English tea with the circle of Mme. de Boufflers; an enforced interchange of polite hostilities with de Gêvres, in the Salle d'Apollo; and then, some little time after dusk began to fall, Richelieu made his way down to the landing of the Staircase of the Ambassadors, out of sight of the Suisses and the King's guards, in the great vestibule below. He was intensely nervous. With each beat of his heart a new shock thrilled unpleasantly over him. D'Argenson must be returning soon now, and must come in this way. Minutes only remained before he should know the end. The lights in the great candelabra at the stair-top illumined the vast, lifeless ascent but dimly. Dreamily Richelieu thought of the pageants that he had seen upon this stair; wondered, indeed, if he should see such again. Before great dread, time itself flies. It seemed no half-hour, but a few seconds only, to the waiting man before a darkly cloaked figure entered into the vestibule, passed the Suisses in silence, and came, with wearily dragging steps, up the stairs. Half-way up, the candle-light gleamed for an instant into his pallid face. Richelieu's heart quivered downward as he stepped out from his sheltering pillar and stood before young d'Argenson.
"Well, then—you return."
D'Argenson shot a look into the other's face. "For a day," he replied, without much expression, his lip curling slightly.
"Then she—"
"Struck me off at once."
Richelieu drew a heavy breath. "And I?" he asked, softly.