Only by the sternest self-control did he prevent himself from dashing after them. Pure madness, for that door was certainly locked. He must wait here if he waited till Doomsday. It seemed an eternity—in reality it was about half-an-hour—and then the Chevalier reappeared alone and still jauntily humming his song stealthily let himself out, ignorant, poor boy, that only a noble’s refusal to stab in cold blood like a common footpad had saved him from staining the floor of this dark corridor with his life’s blood.
Here was a fresh mystery. This cursed Versailles with its infamies and plots, its libertines and intriguers, its cabals, cliques, and conspiracies! “No. 101,” Yvonne, the crystal-gazer, Madame de Pompadour, war, treachery, and the Chevalier—in what cruel toils was his life set; but this last was the rudest shock of all. André could have cried aloud in sheer perplexity at the riddles that beset him on every side.
He took out the key. The touch of the cool steel on his feverish fingers sent a thrill through him. Ah! Madame had given him this key; she had ushered him out this way. He had wondered why. Because she was grateful? No. It was clear now—clear as daylight. She knew the secrets of this hateful corridor and she desired him to see for himself. Could it be possible? Yes, yes; it must be. A swift decision stormed into his mind.
Cautiously he let himself out. The public gallery was empty, but as he strode towards the stables he was startled to meet Denise hurrying to the Queen’s apartments.
“Ah,” he said, inspecting her closely, “tell me, if you please, where I can find the Chevalier de St. Amant?”
Denise gazed at his bronzed, inscrutable face with astonishment—or was it fear?
“I was informed,” André said carelessly, “that he had been seen in your company going towards the King’s apartments—a mistake, no doubt. The Chevalier is probably with His Majesty. It is a pity, for——”
“But the King,” Denise interrupted hastily, “is not in his private apartments; neither is the Chevalier there.”
André calmly studied her. “Ah, Mademoiselle,” he laughed, “I see you are well informed. I must seek the Chevalier elsewhere.” He turned away.
“And will you not tell me of what passed—” Denise had begun.