“There is André,” St. Benôit gladly remarked. “Let us congratulate him on his refusal to stain his honour by obedience to a wanton of the bourgeoisie.”
But they were anticipated by the Chevalier. “My felicitations, Vicomte,” the young man was saying, “for you are the first to teach our new and high-born marquise her place.”
“You are very kind,” André replied sweetly, to the disgust and astonishment of his friends.
“Mon Dieu!” Mont Rouge growled as the Chevalier smilingly left them to pass into the King’s bedroom, for as a royal favourite he had that privileged entrée, “I would sooner pull that coxcomb’s ears than accept his congratulations even if I were a Cordon Bleu.”
“My dear Mont Rouge,” André answered, “the King will not permit us now to pull a coxcomb’s ears, but some day I hope to have that pleasure.”
“Oh, to be sure, some day?” Mont Rouge sneered.
“To be sure. When you have turned out our mistress, Madame la Marquise de Pompadour, you shall help me to pull the ears of the Chevalier de St. Amant.”
André in fact was in a rare humour. His plans were now arranged to a nicety. With the Pompadour’s help “No. 101” was to be discovered and Denise won. The mystery of last night had suggested half a dozen clues. His star was once more in the ascendant. The great game to be played required courage, resource, and Machiavellian cunning. This was the beginning. The rest would follow. Ah! the white and gold doors were thrown open; hats came off; the King had entered, and all eagerly surveyed his bored, inscrutable countenance.
“Is the Vicomte de Nérac here?” Louis demanded presently, and André stepped forward to kiss his hand. “Monsieur le Vicomte,” he proceeded in his slow, soft, yet clear voice, “you will bear my humble salutations to her Majesty the Queen and say that I offer her Majesty, for the vacant place of the captain of her guard, the services of the bravest officer in the Chevau-légers of my Guards—yourself.”
A loud hum, partly of warm approval, partly of excited and jealous comment, drowned André’s thanks.