He rose and turned to Sir Gabriel, who awaited his dismissal.
“I hope to see you at the review this evening, Monsieur. Convey my very good friendship to His Highness.”
He held out his fine hand and Sir Gabriel kissed it; then bowed severally to the other gentlemen.
M. de Louvois gave him a curt nod, M. D’Orleans was vacant, and the Englishman came to the door with him.
“You have reason to be satisfied, His Majesty is very well disposed towards you. Commend me to His Highness—I hope we shall both be fighting under the same flag.”
“I thank your Grace.”
The fair face smiled in an eager, fascinating manner, as if his Grace’s one desire was to please Sir Gabriel, but in reality he hardly understood the matter and was wholly indifferent to it, his mind being occupied with a game of tennis he proposed with M. D’Orleans, and his assumed interest being merely his good nature.
Florent gazed at him, then for an instant back at the man wearing green velvet and frizzed hair who was the King of France; he looked at the man beside him, alert, composed, and commonplace, M. de Louvois, feared throughout Europe.
A page in gorgeous livery conducted them through the castle.
Florent, bewildered and disturbed, was further troubled, as they passed along the handsome rooms, by a glimpse through an open door of three people.