Like twinkling stars, the jewels in her lace scintillated with the quick panting of her breath.
“The King is absent,”—she continued—“as usual;—but why are you not with him, also as usual? Answer me!”
“Madam,” said De Launay, slowly; “For some few days past his Majesty has absolutely forbidden me to attend him. To carry out your commands I should be forced to disobey his!”
She looked at him in a suppressed passion of enquiry.
“Then—is he alone?” she asked.
“Madam, I regret to say—he is quite alone!”
She rose, and paced once up and down the room, a superb figure of mingled rage and pride, and humiliation, all comingled. Her eyes lighted on Teresa, who had timorously withdrawn to a corner of the apartment where she stood apparently busied in arranging some blossoms that had fallen too far out of the crystal vase in which they were set.
“Teresa, you can leave us!” she said suddenly; “I will speak to Sir Roger alone.”
With a nervous glance at her brother, who stood mute, his head slightly bent, himself immovable as a figure of stone, Teresa curtseyed and withdrew.
The Queen stood haughtily erect,—her white robes trailing around her,—her exquisite face transfigured into a far grander beauty than had ever been seen upon it, by some pent-up emotion which to Sir Roger was well-nigh inexplicable. His heart beat thickly; he could almost hear its heavy pulsations, and he kept his eyes lowered, lest she should read too clearly in them the adoration of a lifetime.