"Ah, peste! I am still in every one's boat. I, also, know nothing. What is one to do?"
"Here is du Plessis. Ask him."
Richelieu was just entering from the salon. As the light from the candles in the antechamber fell upon his face Claude saw the expression, and wondered a little. It was like that of a harassed animal who has been goaded too far. Going up to de Mailly, he seized him by the arm, and, adroitly avoiding the importunities of the other man, pulled him roughly to one side.
"Claude, where is the Duchess? She is late. The King is becoming irritated at the delay. The Court knows nothing, and waits to learn. There are all sorts of rumors. Have you seen her?"
"Mordi! You hurt my arm! What in the world is the matter? How should I have seen her? Do you think—here she is."
The Duchesse de Châteauroux was at the threshold of the antechamber; stood there, quite still, for a moment, perhaps that those within the room might see her. She was worth looking at, attired as she was in royal purple velvet, her neck and waist girt with diamonds, her cheeks much rouged, but her temples as white as her powdered hair. Her sister, Mme. de Flavacourt, a foil in white, followed at train's-length.
"Ah, Claude!" observed Marie Anne, in a voice hoarser than usual, "I have come to life again, you see!" She smiled, extending her hand. Claude took it, wondering at its burning heat. There was no opportunity for replying to her; for, the instant that she began to move forward, the few who were in the small room pressed towards her, eager for a first word.
"You have returned—returned to us forever?" croaked Pont-de-Vesle, as Richelieu slipped quietly away behind him.
"Yes, yes. I am making my re-entrance before her Majesty now. Al—allow me—to pass!"
Those who saw her suddenly gasp thought it, perhaps, excess of emotion. She made her way through the group in a quick, uncertain, almost tottering way. She gained the threshold of the salon, seeing once more, with failing eyes, that room, as she had dreamed of it so many times. All were before her—Court, Queen, King. Yes. Louis' eyes met hers, and held them for an instant. She must begin the advance now. But—but—this pain—this new, hideous, torturing pain—this burning of her throat—this frightful thirst! She had been uncomfortable for an hour past. This was unendurable. Walking—standing—were impossible. Her clothes pressed her as though they were of iron. The Court stood staring at her hesitation.