In truth Louise Roy was somewhat piqued at the Sieur La Force, and to punish him made herself as heavy as her slight figure would admit of. She stood perched up as long as she could, and actually enjoyed the tremor which she felt plainly enough in his hand as he continued to support her, and was quite disposed to test how long he could or would hold her up, while she conversed in whispers with Angélique.
“Angélique!” said she. “They say in the Convent that you are to marry the Intendant. Your old mistress, Mère St. Louis, is crazy with delight. She says she always predicted you would make a great match.”
“Or none at all, as Mère St. Helene used to say of me; but they know everything in the Convent, do they not?” Angélique pinched the arm of Louise, as much as to say, “Of course it is true.” “But who told you that, Louise?” asked she.
“Oh, every bird that flies! But tell me one thing more. They say the Intendant is a Bluebeard, who has had wives without number,—nobody knows how many or what became of them, so of course he kills them. Is that true?”
Angélique shrank a little, and little as it was the movement was noticed by Louise. “If nobody knows what became of them, how should I know, Louise?” replied she. “He does not look like a Bluebeard, does he?”
“So says Mère St. Joseph, who came from the Convent at Bordeaux, you know, for she never tires telling us. She declares that the Chevalier Bigot was never married at all, and she ought to know that surely, as well as she knows her beads, for coming from the same city as the Intendant, and knowing his family as she does—”
“Well, Louise,” interrupted Angélique impatiently, “but do you not see the Sieur La Force is getting tired of holding you up so long with his hand? For heaven's sake, get down!”
“I want to punish him for going with you, and not waiting for me,” was the cool whisper of Louise. “But you will ask me, Angélique, to the wedding, will you not? If you do not,” continued she, “I shall die!” and delaying her descent as long as possible, she commenced a new topic concerning the hat worn by Angélique.
“Mischief that you are, get down! The Sieur La Force is my cavalier for the day, and you shall not impose on his gallantry that way! He is ready to drop,” whispered Angélique.
“One word more, Angélique.” Louise was delighted to feel the hand of La Force tremble more and more under her foot.