Claude's Own
The _Nouvelles à la Main_ of the 15th of November announced, among
many things, that the Count and Countess de Mailly had entered their
apartment in the Rue d'Anjou at Versailles. Deborah, who for some
time had been secretly caressing the thought of "home," went into the
little suite of rooms with a glorified, colonial sense of
mistress-ship. Madam Trevor's method of housekeeping was familiar to
her in every detail, from candle-dipping to the frying of chickens;
and, while she felt rather helpless, having no slaves at her command,
she determined to do what she could with the two liveried lackeys,
and to demand others of Claude if she found it necessary. She and
Claude had never discussed housekeeping together, for the reason that
Claude had no conception of the meaning of the word.
They arrived and were served with dinner in their little abode on
Monday. Tuesday afternoon found Deborah seated helplessly in the
boudoir, with her husband, rather pale and nervous, before her. He
had found her, utterly oblivious of the consternation of the chef,
the lackeys, and the scullion, washing Chinese porcelain teacups in
the kitchen. And it was then that Deborah received her first lesson
in French great-ladyhood, by whose iron laws all her housewifely
instincts were to be bound about and imprisoned. She must never give
an order relative to the management of their _ménage_. She must
never purchase or arrange a single article of food that was to be
prepared for their table. She must never dream of performing the
smallest act of manual labor. She might designate the hour for
meals, or inform the first lackey how many were to be served, or what
beverage should be passed at her toilette. She might keep her
appointments with costumers, milliners, hair-dressers, furriers,
jewellers, toy-men; and she might see that her engagement-book was
filled. That was all that was expected of her in the way of labor.
She had made a great false step to-day, and it must not occur again.
And Deborah listened to Claude's explanation in silence, with her
pretty new world all tumbling about her ears.
"We might, then, as well have stayed at your cousin's house. This is
only our tavern, kept for our convenience," she said, at last.
Claude nodded, and paid no attention to the sarcasm. "This is where
we sleep, where we change our clothes, where we receive our friends."
"We've no home?"
"On the contrary, we make all Paris, all Versailles, our home."
Deborah folded her hands, and her face grew suddenly helpless in
expression. "I don't like it," she said, faintly.
"Dear, you do not know it. Wait. You will soon be too much occupied
to think of it. Why is your coffer still here? Has not Julie
unpacked it? You must not permit laziness."
"She has done all that I would allow. I will finish it myself.
Claude, may I have something?"
"What? You shall have it."
"You know in our salon there is, near the mantel, a little cabinet
against the wall--a little cabinet with two shelves, and a door and
key."
"Yes, yes. 'Tis for liqueurs, if we want to keep them. Well?"
"I want that--I want the cabinet to use for myself."
"Just Heaven! Have you then so many valuables, or so many secrets?"
He laughed, but there was curiosity also in his tone.
"You know that I have neither, Claude. But I want the cabinet."
Claude shrugged, never dreaming what she intended the place for. It
was but a little thing to ask; and besides, curiously enough, Claude,
who had been brought up among the most unreliable class of women in
the world, had yet been so little affected by their ways that, ten
weeks after their marriage, he was beginning to trust his wife. She
was as honest as a man when she did not like a thing, or when she
wanted one; she was not talkative; she did not make scenes; he had
beheld her angry, but it was not with a malicious anger; and, more
than all, she never complained. So far Claude had found nothing to
regret in his marriage. He realized it now as he stood there in her
dressing-room, while she sat looking at him expectantly.
"Eh, well--the cabinet and its key are yours. You'll not forget what
I have been telling you this afternoon?"
"No."
He smiled again, went to her side and kissed her. "Good-bye, then.
I am going out. You will not be lonely? Mme. de Coigny may come.
After your presentation to the Queen, you know, there will be no idle
moments."
He left her with a little nod and smile, and, donning hat and cloak,
departed towards the Avenue de Sceaux, from which he turned into the
Rue des Chaniers, bound for a little building at the end of it, not
far from the deer-park, which was much in favor as an afternoon
assembling place for gentlemen of the Court during the unoccupied
hours of the afternoon. Here one might gamble as he chose, high or
low; drink coffee, rum, or _vin d'Ai_; fight his duel, if need be; or
peruse an account of the last one in a paper, if he did not want to
talk. It was a comfortable and ugly little place, kept by M.
Berkley, of fame somewhat undesirable in London, but of gracious
personality here.
To-day, for the first time in months, the little place was creditably
filled with its customary patrons, noblemen and lords to whom
camp-life had lately become more familiar than the Court. Here were
assembled all those gentlemen who, two days ago, had ridden into
Paris with Louis; and a good many more who mysteriously reappeared
out of the deeps of lower Paris, where they had been hidden from
salon gossip and too many women. That morning Richelieu, d'Epernon,
and de Gêvres left the Tuileries in despair. The King, clad in a
stout leathern suit, was shut into an empty room with his friend the
carpenter, making snuff-boxes with all his might, and admitting
neither silk, velvet, his wife, nor the Dauphin into his presence.
His gentlemen were now less harmlessly occupied. De Gêvres was
opposing d'Epernon on the red. Richelieu, in a mood, played
solitaire _à la_ Charles VI. against himself, the sums that he lost
being vowed to go to Mlle. Nicolet of the Opéra ballet. De Mouhy,
d'Argenson, de Coigny, de Rohan, Maurepas, Jarnac, and half a dozen
others were grouped about the room, drinking, betting, and gossiping.
The conversation turned, as it was some time bound to do, on la
Châteauroux and d'Agenois.
"The King has not yet, I believe, discovered the renewed
relationship," drawled d'Epernon, mildly.
"Perhaps not. But in a week--imagine it! Madame la Duchesse is
fortunate in having gentlemen scattered over most of the civilized
world on whom she may cast herself for protection in case of need!"
returned Richelieu, crossing glances with Maurepas.
There was a little round of significant looks and nods. Evidently
the Duke's _sang-froid_ had not deserted him. Every one knew very
well that the deposed favorite and her former preceptor were soon
bound to be at opposite ends of the scales, and that her rise now
meant his fall.
"I wonder--" began Coigny, thoughtfully, when again, for the
twentieth time, the door opened, and some one entered whose
appearance paralyzed the conversation.
"Well, gentlemen, I am thankful only that I am not a débutante at the
Opéra. Such a reception would ruin me. Am I forgotten?"
"Forgotten!" It was a chorus. Then one voice continued: "When one
sees a ghost, Claude, one fears to address it hastily. It might take
offence."
"'I think it is a weakness of mine eyes that shapes--'"
"'This monstrous apparition'? Thanks, truly!" observed de Mailly.
Richelieu then strode forward and seized his hand. "He's in the
flesh, messieurs. I am delighted, I am charmed, I am somewhat
overcome, dear Claude. I should have pictured you at this moment
flirting in Spain, storming a seraglio at Constantinople, toasting
some estimable fräulein in beer, drowning yourself in tea and accent
in London, or--fighting savages in the West. Anything but this!
Your exile is over, then?"
Claude smiled, but, before he spoke, Maurepas had come forward:
"My faith, gentlemen, you seem to be but slightly informed of the
last news. Monsieur has been in Paris for a week with Madame the
Countess his wife, and--"
"His _wife_! _Diable_!"
"Come, come, then, I was not far wrong. Is she Spanish, Turkish,
German, English, or--by some impossible chance--French? Speak!"
"I have not before had the chance, my lord," returned Claude, bowing.
"However, my tale is not so wonderful. When I went upon my little
journey the King was so gracious as to express the hope that I would
return to Versailles when I should be able to present to him madame
my wife. Well--in the English Americas I was so happy as--to have
engaged the affections of a charming daughter of their excellent
aristocracy there. We were married nearly three months ago in a
private chapel by the Father Aimé St. Quentin; and so, madame being
pleased to return with me to Court, we set sail shortly after the
wedding, and--behold me!"
"Bravo--bravo! You have been making history! Madame, of course, is
not yet presented?"
"Scarcely, Chevalier, since her Majesty is barely returned."
"Are you stopping in Paris?"
"We have Rohan's former apartment in the Rue d'Anjou here."
"Aha! Madame possibly brought a worthy _dot_--is it not so?"
If the question displeased Claude, he did not show it. Shrugging and
smiling with some significance, he moved towards a card-table, and
instantly the estimate of Mme. de Mailly's prestige went up a hundred
thousand livres. The room was now all attention to Claude. He
ordered cognac, and his example was followed by a dozen others. De
Gêvres and d'Epernon ceased their play. Even Richelieu seemed for a
moment to be on the point of leaving the interests of Mlle. Nicolet,
but eventually he continued his amusement, only stopping occasionally
to glance around at the group of new sycophants, biding his own time.
"Of course, you have seen la Châteauroux, Claude?" questioned Rohan,
a little intimately.
De Mailly stared at him. "Of course, as you say, I have seen her."
"D'Agenois' reign will be short, then," muttered Coigny to Maurepas.
Claude heard, flushed, and turned again to Rohan: "Chevalier, will
you dice?"
"With pleasure."
Cups were produced, and the rest began betting among themselves on
the outcome of the first throws. Odds were not in Rohan's favor.
"A thousand louis, Chevalier, that my number is less than yours."
This was an unusual stake. Rohan's eyebrows twitched up once, but he
took the wager calmly. Deborah's reputed fortune went up another
hundred thousand francs, and advanced still further when Claude won
his throw; for they only win who do not need to do so. De Rohan made
an effort to retrieve himself, but failed. Then the stakes
diminished, for Claude had had his revenge for an impertinent
question, and did not desire to gain a new reputation for wealth.
However, he was three thousand louis to the good when Richelieu came
over and touched him on the shoulder.
"Enough, Claude, enough for the time. Come with me. I need you now.
M. Berkley will be always here to welcome you. I--well, I shall not
be here every day. Come."
Claude rose, good-naturedly. "Certainly I will come, du Plessis.
_Au revoir_, gentlemen."
"_Au revoir_! _Au revoir_! When do you present us to madame?"
"We shall be delighted to see you as soon as Mme. de Mirepoix has
bestowed a card upon us."
A few further good-byes, and de Mailly and his old-time friend left
the house together and moved slowly down the street, the Duke
leading. Claude did not speak, for it was for his companion to open
conversation. This Richelieu seemed in no haste to do. They had
proceeded for some distance before he remarked, suddenly:
"It is cold."
"Most true. What hangs upon the weather?"
"This. It is too chilly to wander about outside. Take me to your
apartment and present me to the Countess."
"With pleasure, if you wish it."
"Many thanks." They turned into a cross street that led towards the
little Rue Anjou, when Richelieu, after a deep breath, began quickly,
in a new strain: "Claude--do you know--that my fall is imminent?"
"What!"
"Oh, it is true. My fall is imminent. I am frank with you when I
say that never before has my position been so beset with
difficulties. You would learn soon, at any rate, and I prefer that
you hear now, from me, what every member of the Court save Mme. de
Châteauroux herself knows--that it was I who, beside myself with
anxiety for the King, was the instrument of her dismissal from Metz."
Claude opened his mouth quickly as if to speak. Thinking better of
it, however, he remained silent and waited.
"As I have said, madame, now out of touch with Court circles, has not
yet heard of what she would term my treachery. But during the first
conversation she holds with a courtier she must learn the truth. Of
course, you perceive that, if she comes again into favor--I--am
dismissed. Of course, also, her every nerve is strained towards the
natural object of reattaining to her former position. My dear
Claude, I am speaking to you in my own interests, but they are yours
as well. Your cousin is just now playing with d'Agenois in order to
rouse the possible jealousy of the King. It is her method. It may,
for the third time, prove successful. But if the success does come,
it will be over my fallen body. I shall oppose her as I have opposed
nothing before, because never before have I been so deeply concerned.
I would ask you, Claude, which side you will espouse--hers or mine?"
Claude was silent for a few steps. Then he said, musingly: "A battle
between my cousin and my friend. You ask me a difficult question.
Perhaps you are thinking that, if a d'Agenois alone fails with his
Majesty, a d'Agenois and a de Mailly might do her work. Is that your
notion? Hein?"
"Your astuteness is as perfect as of old. That is my notion. And I
would beg of you that you do not allow yourself to be played with
again."
"As a de Mailly--I might be willing. As the husband of my charming
wife--I do not need your pleading to decide me."
Richelieu laughed, and there was relief in the tone. He had secured
himself from one danger, and, out of gratitude, he should befriend
this unknown wife if she were in the smallest degree possible. "And
now for Mme. de Mailly!" he cried, gayly, with lips and heart, as
they approached the house in the Rue d'Anjou.
"She will be delighted. I fancy her afternoon so far has been
lonely."
In this Claude was wrong. Deborah's afternoon had been far from
dull. Quite without her husband's assistance she was learning
something more of this Court life, this atmosphere in which he had
lived through his youth. When he left her, early in the afternoon,
after the gentle lecture on manners, Deborah's first move had been to
take from her trunk those articles which Julie had been forbidden to
touch, to carry them into the empty salon, and place them in the
little black cabinet by the mantel, where she stood regarding them
for some moments absently. They were ten crystal phials, of
different sizes, filled with liquids varying in tone from brown to
limpid crystal. Upon each was pasted a paper label, covered with
fine writing, which told, in quaint phraseology and spelling, the
contents of the bottle, and the method of obtaining it. Beside the
flasks was a small wooden box with closed lid, containing a number of
round, dry, brownish objects, odorless, and tasteless, too, if one
had dared bite into them. They were specimens of _amanita muscaria_
and _amanita phalloides_ which Deborah, still catering to her strange
delight, had brought to her new home, together with the best of her
various experiments in medicinal alkaloids. To her profound regret,
she had been unable to pack Dr. Carroll's glass retort. But here,
some time when Claude was in humor, she would ask him to get her
another; for surely, in this great city of Paris, such things might
be obtained. Then, even here, in her own tiny dressing-room, she
would arrange a little corner for her work, and so make a bit of home
for herself at last. Poor Deborah was young, heedless, enthusiastic,
and in love with her talent, as, indeed, mortals should be. She did
not consider, and there was no one to tell her, since she did not
confide in Claude, that no more dangerous power than hers could
possibly have been brought into this most corrupt, criminal, and
intriguing Court in the world. Reckless Deborah! After a last, long
look at her little flasks, she closed the cabinet door upon them,
locked it, and carried the key into her dressing-room, where she laid
it carefully in one of the drawers of her chiffonier, From this
little place she did not hear the rapping at the antechamber door,
nor see her lackey go through the salon. It was only when, with a
slight cough, he announced from the doorway behind her, "The
Maréchale de Coigny," that Mme. de Mailly turned about.
"Oh!" she said, in slightly startled fashion. It was very difficult
for her as yet to regard white servants as her inferiors. As she
entered the little salon with cordial haste, Victorine, cloaked and
muffed, rose from her chair.
"You are very kind to come. Cl--M. de Mailly is out. I was quite
alone."
"That is charming. We shall get to know each other better now--is it
not so? May I take off my pelisse? Thank you. M. de Coigny and I
have just come out--to Versailles, you know--for the winter. Later,
we may be commanded to the palace. If so, I shall have to be under
that atrocious Boufflers; and, in that case, life will be frightful."
While Victorine spoke she had, with some assistance from Deborah,
removed all her things and thrown them carelessly upon a neighboring
chair, after which she seated herself opposite her hostess, smiling
in her friendliest manner.
"I should like to be able to offer you something, madame," said
Deborah, hesitatingly, unable to banish the instinct of open
hospitality. "What--would you like?"
Victorine smiled again, with a quick pleasure at the unaffected
offer. "Thank you very much. A dish of _thé à l'anglais_ would be
delightful."
Deborah's heart sank. In Maryland tea was a luxury drunk only upon
particular occasions. She had not the slightest idea that there was
such an article in her kitchen here. Bravely saying nothing,
however, she struck a little gong, and, at the appearance of Laroux,
ordered, rather faintly, two dishes of Bohea. Laroux, receiving the
command with perfect stoicism, bowed and disappeared, to return, in a
very short space of time, with two pretty bowls filled with sweet,
brown liquid. These he deftly arranged on a low stand between the
ladies, placing beside them a little plate of rissoles. Madame la
Comtesse decided at once that such a servant as this should not soon
leave her.
"Ah--this is most comfortable. I am going to remain with you during
the whole afternoon. It is wonderful to find some one who is neither
a saint, an etiquette, nor a rival. My faith, madame, one might say
anything to you!"
Deborah smiled, sipped her tea, and could find nothing to reply. Her
face, however, invited confidence; and the Maréchale sighed and
continued:
"You seem to be almost happy! The look on your face one sees only
once a lifetime. It is youth, and--innocence, I think. How old are
you? Oh, pardon! I am absurdly thoughtless! But you look so young!"
"I am eighteen," responded Deborah at once.
"And I--nineteen. Beside you I appear thirty. It is because I have
lived here for three years. Ah! How I have been bored!"
"It must have been very lonely all the summer. But now, with
Monsieur the Marshal returned, it will be better."
"Oh, you are right! It will be more difficult now, and so, more
absorbing. But Jules lets me do almost as I please. If he were but
more strict, less cold, François would have more interest. He is
growing indifferent. Dieu! How I have worked to prevent that!
But--it is imbecile of me! I care so much for him that I cannot
behave as I should!"
"I do not understand," said Deborah, indistinctly, with a new
feeling, one of dread, stealing over her. Instinctively she feared
to hear what this pale, big-eyed little creature was going to say
next.
For an instant Victorine stared at her. Then, leaning slowly forward
and looking straight into Deborah's honest eyes, she asked, in a low
tone, "You did not know--that de Bernis--that--I--"
Deborah sprang up, the empty tea-bowl rolling unheeded at her feet.
She had grown suddenly very white, and, as she returned Victorine's
own look, searchingly, she found in the other face what made the
horror in her own deepen, as she backed unconsciously towards the
wall.
"_You don't know!_--Mon Dieu!--Why, Claude--was mad, mad, to have
brought you here!--Why, madame--Deborah--we're all alike! You
mustn't look at me like that. I am not different from the others.
Henri de Mailly--the Marquise--the Mirepoix--Mme. de Rohan--Mme. de
Châteauroux--child, it is a custom. The King--Claude
himself--before--"
"Ah!" Deborah made a sound in her throat, not a scream, not an
articulate word, but a kind of guttural, choking groan. Then she
covered her face with her hands. For a moment that seemed an
eternity she stood there repeating to herself those last cruel,
insensate words, "'Claude himself--before--'"
And then Victorine, looking at her, came to a realizing sense of what
she had done. Moved by a half-impulse, she started up unsteadily,
swayed for an instant, and then fell back upon her chair, covering
her head with her hands and arms, and bursting into a passion of sobs
so heart-broken, so deep, so childlike forlorn, that they roused
Deborah from herself. Letting her hands fall, she looked over
towards her visitor. There was a note in the Maréchale's voice, and
a line of utter abandon in her position, that brought a pang of
woman's sympathy into the heart of the woman-child who regarded her.
Putting away from her all selfishness, even that miserable thought of
Claude, forgetting the brutal openness with which Victorine had
spoken, she suddenly ran across the room and took Victorine into both
her strong, young arms. Victorine's head found a resting-place on
her shoulder; Victorine's aching, hopeless, impure heart beat for an
instant in unison with that other one; Victorine's racking sobs
ceased gradually. She gave a long, shivering sigh. There was a
quickening silence through the room. Then the frail little figure
loosed its grasp on Deborah, straightened quickly up, and turned to
move to the chair where her wraps lay. Dully, Deborah watched the
Maréchale tie on her hood and pull the cloak about her shoulders.
Then, picking up gloves and muff, the visitor turned again and moved
back to where Deborah stood. In front of her she stopped, and her
eyes, in which shone two great tears, rested in dim pity and sorrow
upon Deborah's white face. The look lasted for a long moment. Then,
slowly, without a word, the Maréchale picked her handkerchief from
the floor where it lay and began moving towards the door. Before she
had reached it Claude's wife spoke again, more steadily:
"Mme. de Coigny--you must not go--yet."
The Mare'chale paused, with her back to Deborah, and stood hesitating.
"You must not go yet," repeated the voice. "You must tell me,
first--about Claude."
A little moan came from Victorine's lips. "Claude--Claude--I
c-cannot tell you about him. I know nothing! I--I lied to you. He
is not like the rest."
"No, madame; that is not so. You try to be--kind. Was it--tell
me--Mme. de Châteauroux? Yes. Now I know. That is true."
Victorine faced quickly around, the tears coming again into her eyes.
Mme. de Mailly had begun to walk up and down the room, speaking in a
monotone, twisting and untwisting her fingers as she went.
"I see. I know. Claude was exiled because the King--did not like
him." Here she turned about and looked her companion squarely in the
face. "Claude married me so that he might return to Court. In his
letter the King said that he might return when he could present his
wife at Versailles. Yes. Claude read that letter to me, and
still--I married him. Oh, madame--" a nervous laugh broke from
her--"did M. de Coigny do that to you?"
Victorine stared at her in horror of her tone.
"Deborah--Deborah--don't look so! Claude isn't like that. And
you--you are good. You are pure. Ah--I cannot forgive myself while
I live for what I have done! Is there anything that I can do? Tell
me, is there nothing--nothing that I can do?"
"Oh, madame, may we not help also? Is it a new costume, or--"
It was Claude who spoke. He and Richelieu had entered the
antechamber just in time to hear the last phrase. Mme. de Coigny
faced about sharply. She knew that Deborah must have time to recover
herself.
"It was not a garment--but a secret, messieurs. Monsieur le Duc, I
am offended that I meet you for the first time since your return in
the apartment of a friend. Have you struck me from your list?"
"Ah, madame, one does well to keep from your side, since one does not
fight an abbé. M. de Bernis has more enemies from jealousy than any
man about the Court," returned Richelieu, a trifle maliciously.
Claude, much displeased with the Duke's ill-timed pleasantry, glanced
anxiously at his wife. Her manner was composed, but her expression
he did not know.
"Madame, allow me to present to you M. de Richelieu, of whom I have
so often spoken. Monsieur, Mme. de Mailly."
Deborah courtesied, and Richelieu bowed profoundly. For some
unaccountable reason, the Duke's ready gallantry suddenly deserted
him, and he could conjure up no fit compliment for this girl with the
unrouged cheeks and the calm, frigid self-possession. Deborah's mood
was new to Claude, and he regarded her with amazement, as she stood
perfectly silent after the introduction, her glance moving slowly
from Richelieu's immaculate shoes to his large brown eyes and the
becoming curls of his wig. Once more it remained for Victorine to
save the situation. She was wondering anxiously if her eyes were
very red, as she asked:
"Gentlemen, you have been to--Berkley's--that name!--have you not?"
"Yes, madame, and we left your husband there. He lost to Claude
here, I think. Mordi, Claude! The gods are too good to you. If you
would not have Mme. de Mailly carried off by some stricken gentleman,
you should keep her locked in a jewel-case. Are you to be presented
soon, madame, and by whom?"
Deborah blankly shook her head. "I do not know, monsieur."
Claude looked at her, more puzzled than ever, and Richelieu commented
mentally: "Beauty and presence, without brains. It is as well."
"Mme. de Mailly-Nesle may present her, is it not so?" asked
Victorine, again ending the pause.
"Certainly--I believe so. She has been a lady of the palace."
"I should advise Mme. de Conti, Claude. Her price is about two
thousand francs, but she does it with an unequalled manner. She will
direct the courtesies, the train, the kiss, the retreat,
everything--perfectly. Besides that, you have her patronage forever
after, particularly if you supplement the two thousand with a small
jewel, or some such gift. Her rents are mortgaged, and she lives now
on her presentations."
"When does the King leave Paris?" asked Claude, contemplatively.
Richelieu shrugged. "On Wednesday, we trust. He is now making
snuff-boxes by the score, and if a fit of cooking succeeds
that--Heaven knows! He may remain at the Tuileries till Christmas."
Deborah stared at this information, and Victorine turned to her,
laughing nervously: "Has not monsieur told you what an excellent cook
his Majesty is? He rivals Marin; and it is said that, could he win a
_cordon bleu_, he would wear no other order. His bonbons are
delicious. I once ate some of those that he sent to--" she stopped
suddenly.
"Mme. de Châteauroux," finished the Duke, fearing that her hesitation
was for him.
Victorine nodded hastily. "Well, dear madame," she continued,
turning to Deborah, "I must go, I have been with you an eternity. It
grows late."
"Do you return to Paris, madame?" inquired Richelieu.
"No. We are already living here. My chair is below."
"Permit me, then, to escort you," said Claude, seeing that Deborah
did not press her to remain.
"My dear Count, you must resign that happiness to me," observed
Richelieu. "I am to sup with the King, and I have just time to reach
Paris. Mme. de Mailly, I trust that our first meeting may prove our
shortest."
"That is safe gallantry, monsieur, since one could scarce be
shorter," returned Deborah, with something of her usual manner.
"Ah! That was better. Perhaps it is only embarrassment," thought
Richelieu, as he made his farewells to Claude and bowed to Deborah's
courtesy.
A moment later de Mailly and his wife were alone together. The sound
of steps in the outer hall had died away. The little salon was
quiet. Then the man and woman faced each other, Deborah mute,
heavy-eyed, expressionless, her husband curious and expectant. After
two minutes of uncomfortable silence he spoke:
"What is the matter, Debby? What has Victorine de Coigny said to
you?"
Then, to his utter amazement, for he had never imagined her doing
such a thing, he saw the girl's lip tremble, her face work
convulsively with effort at control, and finally, as an ominous drop
suddenly rolled over her eye and down her cheek, she turned from him
sharply and ran into her boudoir, shutting the door after her.
Before Deborah consented to come forth from her retreat, his Grâce de
Richelieu had arrived at the Tuileries, made a necessary alteration
in his dress, and was admitted to the presence of the King, who, in
company with de Gêvres and Maurepas, awaited him in the small
supper-room. The Duke made proper apologies for tardiness, which
Louis graciously accepted on condition that, during the _entremets_,
he should recount the adventure that had kept him.
"Ah, Sire, it has been my fortune to encounter the lady whom you
deigned to salute on Saturday, in the window of the Hôtel de Mailly."
There was a murmur of interest from the other two as the King looked
up. "By my faith, du Plessis, you are phenomenal! Who is she?--what
is she? Is she eligible--or not?"
"Ah!" A sudden thought crossed Richelieu's mind. He answered very
slowly, crumbling a bit of bread the while, "She is the Countess de
Mailly, Claude's wife, and so a cousin to Madame la Duchesse de
Châteauroux."
There was a pause. The atmosphere was dubious. De Gêvres and
Maurepas rejoiced to think that they had been wise enough to voice no
curiosity. Richelieu, perfectly calm, inwardly calculating, finished
his soup. Suddenly Louis's mouth twitched, his eyes twinkled, and he
permitted himself to laugh.
"Parbleu! he has taste in women, this Claude! Have her presented, du
Plessis, and de Mailly shall have back his place. Her Majesty holds
a salon on Sunday--the 21st, hein? Have her presented at all
hazards. By my faith, the fellow has a taste in women!"