"I beg, madame, that you will grant me an audience at any time."
"No, monsieur.
"We are friends?" he ventured.
"You need have no fear," was her reply, as she looked him steadily in the face, her poise regained. "In the world—we are friends."
It was the man who was disconcerted. Her presence, her self-possession, amazed him; though no more, indeed, than they did her. Her behavior had been an inspiration. Happily, at this moment, an usher appeared.
"Messieurs and mesdames—his Majesty descends to mass."
There was an instantaneous movement towards the door of the grand gallery. As Claude advanced to his wife's side, Richelieu, with a nod to him, turned from her and sought out de Gêvres, in whose company he entered the chapel.
After mass, at which their Majesties sat together, the Court, much relieved in conscience, scattered for dinner. The de Maillys, having no engagements for the next two hours, returned by coach to their apartment. The drive was accomplished in silence, neither having anything new to say; both, for different reasons, avoiding any remark upon the return of Richelieu, which was the only thing offering field for discussion. On reaching home they retired to their separate rooms to make some slight preparation for the tête-à-tête dinner. As usual, Deborah was ready first, and seated herself in the salon to await her husband. Almost immediately upon her entrance her first lackey appeared and advanced hesitatingly into the room, carrying something in his hand. At a little distance from madame he coughed discreetly.
Deborah looked towards him. "What is it, Laroux?"
"Madame "—he came closer—"madame, at noon to-day something was delivered for you."