"For me? What is it? I have lost nothing."
The servant grinned, and held out to her a box—a carved sandal-wood box—on top of which was fastened a half-blown rose.
Deborah took it from him. "What is it? Who brought it here?"
"Madame," whispered the valet, mysteriously, "it was brought by Bachelier, the confidential valet of his Majesty. It is from the King."
"From the King!" cried the Countess de Mailly, open-eyed.
"The King!" echoed a hoarse voice beside her. "The King!" Then, suddenly, the box was furiously struck out of her hands. The lid fell open. Deborah and Claude, both pale, both trembling, the one with dread, the other with uncontrollable passion, stood facing each other, the box between them, and a shower of chocolate candies rolling upon the polished floor.
CHAPTER XIII
The Hôtel de Ville
For the next seven weeks life in the de Mailly ménage was anything but agreeable. Monsieur and madame addressed each other, when necessary, in rigidly polite terms. Ordinarily there was silence between them. Claude's jealousy was very real, and, if one judged by Court gossip and the manner of the King, instead of Deborah's acts, it was by no means unfounded. Claude always knew where his wife was and to what solemn functions and small parties she went. If questioned absolutely, he would have admitted that he believed her true—as yet. But he lived upon the extreme edge of a volcanic crater, and the existence was not tranquil. He grew morose, irritable, and habitually silent. Rarely was he to be found in his usual haunts, in his usual company; but remained at home, or in Paris with Henri, when he was not, with all too palpable anxiety, following his wife. His new manner was speedily remarked by the Court.
"De Mailly is showing execrably bad taste," observed the Marquis de Tessé to the Comte d'Egmont, one evening at Marly.