The two ecclesiastics entered from the antechamber and advanced, side by side, towards the Duchess. The taller of the two, St. Pierre, was a very desirable person in salon society, and could turn as neat a compliment or as fine an epigram in spontaneous verse as any member in the "rhyming brotherhood." At sight of St. Pierre's companion, who was a stranger here, the Marquis de Coigny gave a sudden, imperceptible start, and Henri de Mailly suppressed an exclamation.
"Madame la Duchesse, permit me to present to you my friend and colleague, l'Abbé Bertrand Devries, of Fontainebleau."
"I am charmed to see you both," deigned her Grace, giving her hand to St. Pierre, while she narrowly scrutinized the slight figure and delicate, ascetic face of the other young priest. The mild blue eyes met hers for a single instant, then dropped uneasily, as their owner bowed without speaking, and passed over to a small sofa, where, after a second's hesitation, he sat down. St. Pierre, who seemed to cherish some anxiety as to his new protégé's conduct, followed and remained beside him.
"Unused to the boudoir, one would imagine. It is unusual for one of his order. I am astonished that St. Pierre should have brought him to make a début before you," observed de Gêvres to la Châteauroux, who had not yet removed her eyes from the new priest.
"St. Pierre knows my fondness for fresh faces," she replied, indifferently, picking up a mirror to examine the coiffure, just as her lackey entered the room with small glasses of negus, which were passed among the party.
While de Coigny raised a glass to his lips he turned towards Devries. "You have spent all your time in Fontainebleau, M. Devries?" he asked, seriously.
"By no means, monsieur," was the answer, given in a light tenor voice. "Indeed, for the last two weeks I have been working in Paris."
"Working! And what, if my curiosity is not distasteful to you, is your work?" queried madame, still toying with the mirror.
"By all means," murmured de Gêvres, comfortably, after finishing his mild refreshment, "let us hear of some work. It soothes one's nerves inexpressibly."
Devries' blue eyes turned slowly till they rested on the slender figure of the Duke, clad in his gray satin suit, his white hands half hidden in lace, toying with a silver snuff-box. The eyes gleamed oddly, half with amusement, half with something else—weariness?—disgust?—surely it was not ennui; and yet—in an avowed courtier, that was what the look would have seemed to express.