“Fair archeress,” he said, “surely the shafts you loose are mortal.”
“Will you please do what I tell you?” she whispered as the violins tripped out a stately minuet. “And trust me.”
“Rely on me, Madame,” he answered.
Imperceptibly Madame d’Étiolles in her minuet drew nearer and nearer to the King, who began to observe them closely. A gleam of animation crept into his face and the courtiers parted a little to permit His Majesty a better view of this dainty dancer. Covert whispers, knowing looks, commenced to run through the group. Yes, the King was distinctly interested. But the fair Diana paid no heed. She had only eyes for the superb officer in the scarlet and white of the Chevau-légers de la Garde, who was dancing as he had never danced before.
“Throw your handkerchief,” came the soft command.
Completely puzzled André obeyed as in a dream. His partner caught the handkerchief dexterously on her fan and was rewarded by a ripple of delighted laughter from the spectators.
“A forfeit, Vicomte,” she said loud enough for all to hear, “I give you tit for tat,” and she pressed her own to her lips, and tossed it back to him.
But it was not intended to reach him. The huntress had calculated carefully and the handkerchief lightly hit the King.
A flush shot into Louis’s face; Madame coloured over neck and shoulders, she dropped her eyes, after one swift glance at His Majesty. Silence, save for the dying lullaby of the music. André’s heart beat fast, but not so fast surely as was beating that ambitious heart of the huntress prisoned in its jewels and white satin.
What would the King do? Would he resent or accept the challenge?