The King flushed. Every eye in the room was upon him now, he felt. The heart of madame beat furiously. Yet—no—the royal arm was not lowered. Louis, with a bow, tossed the handkerchief to her feet. A dozen hands sought to give it to her. Again from the irrepressible dancer came a cry which was echoed in laughter from every part of the throng.
"The handkerchief is thrown!" Which were more truly translated, "The die is cast!"
Nevertheless, the significance of that prophecy even Mme. d'Etioles herself did not realize until, in after-years, she had come to know too well that it had been a warning.
Deborah, meantime, found the evening flying all too rapidly. Masked balls were by no means such hackneyed affairs to her as they appeared to be to most of the Court. That given at Versailles three nights before was the first in which she had participated; and the little mysteries occasioned by unguessed partners during the promenades amused her greatly. To-night she was able to pierce the disguises more easily; and yet, all unknowing, she had danced with Richelieu, who was well pleased with this opportunity of being with her. She, like all the others, recognized the King by his voice. Nevertheless, at the throwing of the handkerchief, she laughed, and cried the catch-word with the others, evincing so little concern at the success of her rival that de Gêvres' admiration for a self-control that was not hers rose high.
Deborah danced the fourth minuet with a Turk, who persisted in carrying on conversation by signs. When, however, in the midst of the dance, her companion was obliged to laugh at one of her observations, she understood his reason. It was the King again. Evidently Claude had pierced this new disguise when she did. He, in a plain white domino, had followed her all evening, danced in the sets with her, and rendered her as uncomfortable as she was to be made by his surveillance. The King himself noticed, without recognizing, this watcher. After the fourth dance, therefore, he made inquiries of de Gêvres, who happened to be at hand:
"The man in white, who is always near Mme. de Mailly?"
"Who should it be, Sire, but—the husband? I understand that Monsieur le Comte is exceedingly fearful of madame's reputation."
"Peste! That man is a nuisance. There will come a time, de Gêvres, when Count Claude will be quite de trop."
"Again?" ventured the Duke.
"Again," responded his liege, turning on his heel and walking away.