Mme. de Châteauroux flushed scarlet with anger beneath her powder.
Little Marchon, trained to high gallantry by long experience in haunts of the elect, left an iron in too long, and slightly scorched a lock of hair. His little eyes winked furiously with disapproval of the Count.
"Monsieur le Marquis de Mailly-Nesle!" came the announcement.
De Gêvres coughed again; and, amid rather a strained silence, Henri entered the apartment of his sister.
He looked about him for a moment or two with some curiosity, feeling the awkwardness of his arrival, and considering what it would be wise to say. Maurepas, the diplomat, recovered himself quickly, remarking, in a tone which relieved them all: "This brother's devotion, my dear Marquis, is gratifying to behold. One is really never so certain of finding you anywhere at a given hour as here, in your sister's boudoir."
"Mme. de Coigny has, I believe, no mornings à la toilette," observed Mme. de Coigny's husband.
Maurepas looked sharply at the speaker, while the others smiled, and the Duchess made every one still easier by laughing lightly.
"Her sang-froid is unapproachable," murmured de Gêvres to Maurepas, behind his hand.
"You have certainly put it to strong test this morning," was the reply, rather coldly given.
"L'Abbé de St. Pierre and l'Abbé Devries!"