"Never, Monsieur of the Interior. In heaven there may be such. But then, in heaven, I am told, there are no kings."
With which regretfully sincere bit of pessimism de Maurepas passed on, leaving his friend to mingle thoughts of Claude and Deborah and the King's way with bronze pairs and single silvers.
Saturday evening saw the great Gallery of Mirrors filled with its customary brilliant throng. Claude and his wife were present as a matter of course, and were able to dance the second minuet together, since in that their Majesties were companions. Thereafter they were separated, probably for the remainder of the evening. Deborah was surrounded by many would-be partners, for she had long since been able to choose as she liked from the men of the Court. But the one who might command a dance, he whom she expected to be seen with at least once during the evening, did not, apparently, look at her to-night. The Court perceived this as quickly as she did; and, in consequence, certain gentlemen left her side. Richelieu, who dared not approach her, smiled cynically at their want of foresight, and saw, with a nod of approval, that de Gêvres, d'Epernon, de Sauvré and Penthièvre became more than ever assiduous in their attentions. If Deborah were disappointed, certainly none could have guessed it. Her manner was just as usual—quiet, eminently unaffected, and punctiliously gracious. It was becoming the best manner in the kingdom, de Gêvres observed to his neighbor, d'Epernon, as she entered the King's set with Penthièvre. D'Epernon weakly tapped his snuff-box, but said nothing for a time.
"De Bernis is across the room," he observed, finally.
"Yes, and there will soon be thrushes in the bosquet of the Queen!"
The other smiled and shifted his position. "It is more apropos than you think. Observe—there is de Coigny returned."
"Ah! True! He is accepting snuff from the abbé!"
"We shall not be seconds after all, then. Let us go and speak with Jules."
"I cannot now. I wait here for Mme. de Mailly."
"Au revoir, then."