“I am sorry,” she said softly.
No answer from Péron.
“I did not mean to speak of your boots,” she ventured again.
Still no reply.
“I am sorry,” said Renée once more, “and I think you are mean to be so cross!”
Péron gave her a sidelong glance but refrained from speech, and there was a prolonged silence. Then, just as the horsemen were dismounting at the lowest terrace, he felt something brush his cheek and a bunch of violets fell at his feet. He looked up then and saw Renée running away, laughing, her golden curls waving in the breeze and her white garments fluttering. When he was sure she could not see him, Péron stooped down and picked up the violets; he was very fond of flowers, and none bloomed in the Rue de la Ferronnerie. He was still holding the nosegay when the party of cavaliers came sauntering up the terraces, so near him that he could hear their talk. A gay party they were, dressed in the richest fashion of the court and led by the tall and fine figure of M. de Nançay, the same who had seen Péron at Archambault’s. They all wore high, loose-topped boots and full lace-ruffled breeches, with jackets of gay colors and short cloaks of velvet thrown back on the shoulders and displaying equally rich linings, while their hats were well trimmed with plumes. They were lightly armed, only one or two wearing hallecrèts and carrying pistols; they could scarcely have ridden from a greater distance than Paris. As they approached Péron, he caught sentences which he heard without comprehending their significance.
“’Tis dull now that the queen-mother has no court at Blois,” one of the party remarked, “but there may yet be two at Paris. I hear, too, that the Bishop of Luçon wants the cardinal’s hat.”
“He will not get it,” said M. de Nançay sharply. “The devil take the Bishop of Luçon. Albert de Luynes will never see a cardinal’s hat on the head of Jean Armand du Plessis.”
“Yet ’tis said that the queen-mother desires it,” suggested another follower mildly, “and you, M. de Nançay, are too stanch to recede, even after the defeat at Ponts-de-Cé.”
Nançay struck his sheathed sword across his boot.