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 "Monsieur le Comte perishing of loneliness," murmured de Gêvres,
feebly.

"Not at all. On the contrary. It was Monsieur le Comte dismounted,

standing beside the newly arrived coach of Mme. de Châteauroux, with his
head so very far inside the window that it set some of us thinking—many
things. Parbleu! I would that you had seen Louis' face."

"Madame must have risen very early," remarked d'Epernon, helping

himself to a cream.

"Madame is always wonderful. When she stepped from the conveyance

to greet her liege she looked more of a queen than her Majesty ever did.
Small wonder that the King was all devotion. Before he had finished his first
compliment, the heartless Leroy came forward to announce that stags do not
wait. Madame was very gracious, and instantly mounted the horse prepared
for her. She had driven from Versailles in her crimson habit. When all was
ready, the King turned in his saddle and cried out before us: 'What reward
have you to offer, madame, to him who shall present you with the antlers to-
day?' We all watched her. She smiled charmingly for an instant. Some turned
their eyes then upon the King. I was more subtle. I gazed at Claude."

"He is certainly very pleasant to look upon," observed d'Holbach,

absently.

"'Twas not his beauty, Baron. I am most tender of his modesty. But, next
time I plead with Mlle. Mercier for life and hope, I shall imitate the look he
wore at that moment."

"Take care, my dear Richelieu. She will marry you if you do."

"On my faith, that would not be bad. 'Tis an excellent way to rid one's
self of a woman. Baron, the carp is marvellous. Madame, of course, offered
the glove that you have seen as gage of triumph. It is worth eighty livres.
Lesage himself did the miniatures. When we finally set off, Louis' eyes were
bright with certainty of success; for who would dare to engage in rivalry
with the King?"
 "Come, come, du Plessis, finish the tale. You are straining the budding
nonchalance of de Mailly here to an alarming degree."

Richelieu shrugged. "We started, madame following at a little distance,

though half a dozen ladies rode. After a quarter of an hour we got sight of
the animal, and de Sauvré fired at it, but missed. By the manner in which his
Majesty sat his horse, as we raced along to gain on the beast, we all knew
that our shots must go astray to-day. Gradually the King drew away from the
rest of us, and we reined the horses a little. That is, all but one of us played
good courtier. The one was Claude."

"Monsieur, you might dare Satan for a lady if you would; but no one
should dare the King."

"Dare the King he did. In five minutes all of us were far enough behind
to watch, while they two—de Mailly and de Bourbon, gentlemen—were
neck and neck among the hounds. Presently the Count fired, and—missed. I
hoped that it was purpose, for he did not reload. Then the stag ran through a
little clearing, so that for fifty yards it was a perfect mark. Louis fired, of
course, but the game kept on. I saw the King throw back his head with his
gesture of anger. Then de Mailly—oh! how couldst thou, Claude?—drew a
pistol from his holster and fired. That bullet was made for death, I never saw
a prettier shot. It went straight into the deer's neck. Another five yards. The
animal wavered. The King was reloading his weapon. Claude was like
lightning with his hands. Before his Majesty's gun was ready the pistol
sounded again, and the beast fell."

"Good Heaven, Claude! You have done badly!" cried Henri, leaning over
the table.

His words were echoed by the rest.

"But his Majesty permitted you the trophy?" drawled d'Epernon,

unguardedly.

"Permitted, my lord!" exclaimed the young man, haughtily; "the gauntlet

was not his Majesty's to give."
 Richelieu laughed. "'Twas a comedy, gentlemen; but a dangerous one.
Louis was suavely furious; madame annoyed and alarmed, but as indifferent
as any coquette should be. Claude was charmingly humble and amorous. It
was I who obtained permission for him and for myself to retire after
luncheon. Certainly, Louis seemed entirely willing to grant it. So together we
returned to Versailles, dressed, and came on here. And—oh! I had forgot to
mention it, but 'twas a marked fact that when madame presented her left
gauntlet to her cousin, the January skies instantly began to weep. Now, a
question: Was it from sympathy with the King, or dread for the Count de
Mailly?"

"Fear for the Count, du Plessis. The King needs small sympathy."

"Possibly thou'rt right, Baron. Who so happy as the King? What does he
lack? He is a King; he has France for his purse; he is as handsome as the
Queen is ugly; and the most stately woman in Europe inhabits the little
apartments. What more could he wish for?"

Claude bit his lip and his eyes sparkled with anger.

"M. de Mailly, you do not eat."

"I have finished, Baron."

"Soho! I did well not to have a second course, then. Now, gentlemen, the
toasts. M. de Mailly-Nesle, I propose your marquise."

"Not his wife, d'Holbach!"

"You mistake, Monsieur le Duc. I speak of Mme. de Coigny."

"Ah! With pleasure! She is a most piquant madcap."

Henri flushed. The lady whom he deeply and sincerely loved was a far
tenderer subject with him than his reckless and heartless companions
dreamed of or could have understood. But he drank the toast without
comment, and was relieved to find that the conversation was straying from
her as well as from his cousin's affair. Claude, perhaps, was not so well
pleased. He was too young a lover, and too much in love, to rejoice that
other women were being brought up for discussion; and he was too heedless
of the delicacy of his position to care to contemplate its different aspects
while the others talked. For, as to the matter of royal disfavor, it disturbed
him not in the least; rather he looked upon the prospect of it as something
which should redound to his credit in the eyes of her who at present
constituted the single motive of his life. For the next twenty minutes, then,
he sat over his wine, drinking all the toasts, and joining in the conversation
when Mme. de Lauraguais, another sister of Henri's, was mentioned. But the
interest had gone out of his eyes. Richelieu marked him silently; d'Holbach
smiled with kindly humor on perceiving his preoccupation; and his cousin
the Marquis read his mood with regret. Henri de Mailly-Nesle had long since
given up any hope of control over his sister, the favorite; and, through a life-
long companionship, Claude had been to him closer than a brother. Thus,
whatever interest he felt in the latest developments of the Count's rash
rivalry with the King, was all on behalf of the weaker side, that of his friend.

The six gentlemen had not been more than twenty minutes over their
wine when de Gêvres finally rose from his chair, and, as host for the
remainder of the night, made suggestion of departure.

"How shall we cross to my hôtel? It rains too heavily for riding. Shall we
go by chair?"

"By chair, monsieur! Pardieu! I had thought we were citizens to-night.

Let us walk."

"My dear Baron," expostulated d'Epernon, "my surtout would not stand
it, I swear to you!"

"A murrain on your surtout!" retorted Richelieu. "Baron, I accompany

you on foot."

"And I also," added Claude. "I wish to ruin my boots completely. I have
given Rochard too many things of late."

"A bad idea, Count. Pay your servants, and they leave you at once; it is
such a bourgeois thing to do."
 "We walk, then?" inquired d'Epernon. "I am sure we must be going to do
so when M. de Gêvres addresses M. de Mailly upon the care of servants.
Monsieur le Marquis—your servant."

Richelieu and the Baron were already at the door. D'Epernon and Henri
followed. There was nothing for it but for the third Duke to accept the
companionship of the Count, and prepare to ruin his surtout also. As the
small party passed out of the door of the café, Richelieu called over his
shoulder:

"Your horse is here, Claude. I had mine sent to my hôtel. Surely you will
not attempt to ride back to Versailles to-night. Will you lodge with me?"

"Thank you; but Henri will house me, I think—will you not, cousin?"

"Certainly, Claude. Madame will scarcely have any one in my wing to-
night, I think; though I confess that I have not been there for a week."

"A bad idea," muttered Richelieu to the Baron. "I kept my ladies in better
training—when I had them."

It was fifteen minutes' rapid walk from the Procope to the Hôtel de
Gêvres. From the Quai des Tournelles the six proceeded to the Pont St.
Michel, over the river, across the island, and to the new city by the Pont au
Change, at the east end of which, near the Place du Chat, stood the most
recent and most noted gambling-house in Paris. Three or four lanterns,
shining dimly through the dripping night, lighted the doorways, which were
open to the weather. Richelieu, d'Holbach, d'Epernon, and Henri entered
together, with Claude and de Gêvres close behind. It was Richelieu who
accosted the manager of the house in the entresol; for the owner of the place
was not desirous of recognition. M. Basquinet, discerning that the new-
comers were of rank, in spite of the fact that they came on foot, at once
offered a private room.

"The devil, good cit, d'ye take us for a pack of farmers-general? By my

marrow, I've scarcely livres enough to grease the dice-cup, let alone paying
your nobility prices for new wine and bad rum. Private room—ha! excellent,
you tax-collector, excellent, excellent!"
 So spake Richelieu, in his favorite badaud, with a tone that no dweller in
the Court of Miracles could have bettered for its purpose. The little party
smiled covertly at sight of the landlord's crestfallen air, and then the other
five followed their new plebeian leader up the broad ancestral staircase,
leaving behind the steady murmur of voices and the chink of coin which had
reached their ears from the chance-machine rooms on either side of the
hallway. On the second floor were the public rooms for played games; on the
third, private apartments for such as chose to make a retreat of the place.
And, in truth, many a well-known quarrel had fomented, and many a
desperate duel already been fought, in those chambers, which of old had
sheltered the royal and noble guests of the family de Gêvres.

The dice-room, the destination of Monsieur le Duc's present

distinguished company, was very large, having once been the grand salon of
the house. It was well filled by this hour, thick with smoke, heavy-aired with
the fumes of mulled wine, and alive with the clack of the implements of the
game and the subdued murmur of exclamations and utterances. The six
gentlemen made their way to a table in the far corner of the room from
which the door was invisible; and, seating themselves, they called at once for
the cups, English pipes, and English rum.

"By all means, rum," nodded the Baron d'Holbach. "What other beverage
would harmonize with this scene? We are surrounded by those a step lower
than the bourgeoisie. For the time we also are lower than the bourgeoisie."

"And by to-morrow we shall have still stronger means of appreciation,"

retorted d'Epernon, "for our heads will feel as those of the bourgeoisie never
did."

The rum was brought, however, together with dice, and those long-
stemmed clay pipes of which one broke three or four of an evening, and but
rarely drew more than one mouthful of smoke from a light. Still imitating the
manners of those about them, each two gentlemen played with a single cup,
thus doing away with any possibility of loaded dice. Unlike the common
people, however, they used no money on the table; perhaps for the simplest
of reasons—that they had no money to use. "Poor as a nobleman, rich as a
bourgeois," was a common enough expression at that day, and as true as
such sayings generally are. How debts of honor were paid at Versailles none
but those concerned ever knew. But paid they always were, and that within
the time agreed upon; and there was no newly invented extravagance, no
fresh and useless method of expenditure for baubles or jewelled garments,
that every courtier did not feel it a duty as well as pleasure to indulge at
once. For the last twenty-five years there had been, as for the next five there
would be, a continually increasing costliness in the mode of Court life, and a
consequent diminution in Court incomes, until the end—the end of all things
for France's highest and best—should come with merciful, swift fury.

Each member of the party, this evening, played with him in whose
company he had walked from the café: de Gêvres and the Count; Richelieu
and d'Holbach; d'Epernon and Mailly-Nesle. The three games were in
marked contrast to those carried on about them. Not a word relative to losses
or winnings was spoken. The stakes were agreed upon almost in whispers;
the cubes were rattled and thrown—once; then again from the other side.
The differences were noted mentally. Winner and loser sipped their rum,
drew at a pipe, and made a new stake. Sometimes ten minutes would be
spent in watching the noisy eagerness of men at a neighboring table, for that
was the chief object in their coming to-night.

The great hall was filled with those of an essentially low order. Coarse
faces, coarse manners, coarse garments, and coarse oaths abounded there,
though now and again might be found a velvet coat, a lace ruffle, and a
manner badly aped from the supposed elegancies of the Court. A strange and
motley throng gathered from all Paris wherever this common vice held men
in its grip. Here those from the criminal quarters, from the Faubourg St.
Antoine, from the streets of petty shopkeepers and tradesmen, from the little
bourgeoisie, came to mingle together, indiscriminately, equalized, rendered
careless of the origin of companions by their common love of the dice. Here
were men of all ages, from the fierce stripling who regarded a franc as a
fortune, to the senile creature, glued to his chair, the cubes rattling
continually in his trembling cup, and the varying luck of the evening his life
and death. All the pettiness and some of the nobility to be found in mankind
were portrayed here, could those who had come to study have read aright.
D'Holbach, the philosopher, doubtless did so, for men had been his mental
food for many years. Nevertheless he said nothing to Richelieu of what he
discovered; but took snuff when he lost, and puffed at his pipe when he won,
and cogitated alone among those whom he knew so well.
 Time drew on apace and the evening was passing. There were few
arrivals now; the rooms were filled, and it was too early for departure. M. de
Gêvres wished, possibly, that the hours would hurry a little, for he was
losing heavily to Claude. Nevertheless he gave no sign of discomfort, and
even interrupted the Count's purposeful pauses to continue the game. Just as
de Mailly shook for a stake of five hundred livres, two people, gentlemen by
dress, entered the room. Claude threw high. The Duke, with an inward
exclamation of anger, gently received the cup. He shook with perfect
nonchalance, and finally dropped the ivory squares delicately before him.

"Bravo, M. de Gêvres; you have thrown well!"

The Duke started to his feet. His example was speedily followed by the
rest of the party, who, after bowing with great respect, stood looking in
amazement at the new-comer. His companion, who was bareheaded,
remained a little behind, grinning good-naturedly at the gamesters. Richelieu
spoke first:

"Indeed, your Maj—"

"Pardon, du Plessis, the Chevalier Melot."

"Your pardon, Sire. You take us by surprise."

"Has any one suffered from the shock?"

"I, Sire, I think, since your coming has turned my luck," remarked
Claude, with the double meaning in his words perfectly apparent to every
one there.

"Um—yes, I had thought M. de Gêvres must win with eleven. Come,

gentlemen, add two to your party, and forget, for the evening, even as he will
do, the unimpeachable propriety of M. de Berryer."*

* The Chief of Police, and a favorite companion of the King.

 De Berryer laughed, and drew two more chairs to the table.

"Do not stand," continued the King. "I am merely Chevalier to-night."

Louis seated himself beside Richelieu, with whom he evinced a desire to

speak privately. D'Holbach, perceiving this, began at once, with his usual
tact, to entertain the rest of the company by an anecdote concerning
d'Alembert and Voltaire. Immediately the King turned to his favorite
courtier.

"De Mailly came straight to Paris with you to-day?"

"We rode to Versailles first, Sire; changed our clothes there, and came
hither immediately."

"And now the truth, Richelieu. I will brook nothing less. He did not see
madame after he left the hunt?"

The Duke opened his eyes. "We left Mme. de Châteauroux with you. We
have not seen her since."

The King drew a deep breath. "She left the hunting-party half an hour
after you, knowing that it was not in my power to follow her. I feared it was
to join—him. I have left everything to make sure of his whereabouts. The
fellow drives me mad."

While Louis spoke a gleam came into the Duke's eyes. He smiled
slightly, and said; with a nod towards de Berryer, and that daring which was
permitted to him alone, "Your Majesty brought a lettre-de-cachet in some
one else's pocket?"

Louis looked slightly nonplussed. He shrugged, however, as he

answered, "No lettre-de-cachet will be used." Then, as the laughter from the
Baron's tale subsided, the King addressed the party: "We will not stop your
game, my friends. In fact—in fact, I will myself play one of you."

"And which of us is to be so honored, Chevalier?" inquired d'Epernon.

 "It is a difficult choice, I confess. However, choice must be. Monsieur le
Comte, will you try three turns with me?"

There was a little round of glances as Claude bowed, murmuring

appreciation of the honor.

"The dice, then!" cried the King. "Richelieu, your cup. We will play with
but one."

"And he who throws twice best shall win?" repeated the Duke.

"Yes."

"What are the stakes?" inquired the Baron, gently.

Claude's heart sank, while his cousin dared not allow his sympathy to
appear. It was frequently ruinous work, this gaming with a King; and the
revenues of the younger branch of the house of de Mailly were not great.

"The stakes," returned Louis, with a long glance at his opponent, "shall
be, on my side—" he threw back his cloak, unbuttoned a plain surtout, and
from his ruffles unfastened a diamond star of great value—"this." He placed
it upon the table.

There was a little, regular murmur of conventional admiration. Claude

bit his lip thoughtfully. "And mine?" he asked, looking squarely at the King.

Louis coughed, and waved one hand, with a gesture of deprecation at the
question. "Yours should not be so large. We play to the goddess of chance.
You—um—ha—you won, to-day, a certain gauntlet of white leather; a
simple thing, but it will do. I will play this for that. You see the odds are
favorable to you."

Claude flushed scarlet, and not a man at the table moved. "The gauntlet
was a gage, Sire."

"We play for it," was the reply.

 The Count glanced round the circle, noting each face in turn. Baron
d'Holbach was engaged with snuff. The other faces, excepting only de
Berryer's, were blank. But Richelieu's eyes met those of Claude, and the
head of the King's favorite gentleman shook, ever so slightly, at the rebellion
in the Count's face. Then, very slowly, de Mailly unfastened his coat and
drew from its place the glove of Mme. de Châteauroux. He laid it on the
table beside the star.

"We play!" cried his Majesty, smiling as he seized the leathern cup. He
shook well, and dropped the dice vigorously before him.

"Seven!" cried the company. It was four and three.

Claude received the implements from the King's hands, tossed and threw.

"Eight!" was the return. It was three and five.

The King bit his lip, and hastily played again. The cubes stared up at him
impudently. On one was a three, on the other a one. None spoke, for Louis
frowned.

Claude was very sober but very composed as he tried his second chance.
It seemed that he could not but win. The courtiers hung quietly on the play.
When the cup was lifted from the dice there was a series of exclamations.
Claude himself laughed a little, and the King drew a long sigh of relief. Two
and one had de Mailly thrown.

It was Henri who voiced the general interest. "You are even," he said,
quietly.

The King suddenly rose to his feet. "Not for long!" he exclaimed. For
some seconds he rattled the dice in the box, not attempting to conceal his
palpable nervousness. When the black spots which lay uppermost were
finally counted, a smile broke over the royal lips. Ten points he had made
this time.

De Mailly, who had also risen, looked at them for a second with
compressed lips, but did not hesitate in his throw. Like de Gêvres, he
dropped the squares before him with pointed delicacy. Then he stepped
quietly back, with a throb at his heart, but no change in his face. Not a
courtier spoke.

"We will play again!" cried the King, loudly, for they were, indeed, no
longer even. M. de Mailly had thrown six and six.

"DE MAILLY HAD THROWN SIX AND SIX

"Pardon, your Majesty," said Claude, in reply to the King's voiced desire.
"I could not play again against France and hope to win, though by but a
single point. Therefore I beg that you will spare my humiliation, and accept
the gauntlet as proof of your gracious forgiveness of my daring."

At this Richelieu looked open-faced approval upon the Count; and de

Gêvres and d'Epernon, who had been roused from their ordinary state of
ennui by the pretty comedy played before them, glanced at each other with
appreciation of so excellent an act of courtiership.
 "Monsieur le Comte, if I accept your generosity, it must only be on
condition that, as gage of my esteem for you, and our mutual good-will, you
wear this star. Permit me to fasten it upon your coat."

The small ceremony over, and the light of royal favor glittering in the
candle-rays over the Count de Mailly's heart, his Majesty, with tender touch,
took up the coveted gauntlet, put it inside his embroidered waistcoat, and,
placing his hand on de Berryer's shoulder, bowed a good-night to the party
and the Hôtel de Gêvres.

Immediately after the King left, the other participant in the struggle for a
woman's gage also rose. Claude was tired. He had no mind to be assailed
with the volley of epigrams, bons-mots, and various comments that he knew
would soon begin to be discharged from the brains of his companions.
Certainly, he should have considered the episode a happy one. Already, since
that talk of esteem and good-will from the King, he could feel the change in
attitude assumed towards him by de Gêvres and d'Epernon. But the sight of
these figures wearied him now; and he suddenly longed for a solitude in
which to face his rapidly growing regret that his cousin's glove had passed
out of his possession.

"What, monsieur!" cried de Gêvres, when he rose, "you will not give me
the chance to retrieve myself to-night?"

"Small hope for you with such luck as the Count's," returned d'Holbach.
"When a man wins two points off a king, by how much may he defeat a
duke? Reply, Richelieu. It is geometry."

Richelieu laughed. "I congratulate you, Monsieur le Comte," he said.

De Mailly bowed. Then, turning to the Marquis, he held out his hand.
"Will you come, Henri, or must I beg shelter of Madame la Marquise
alone?"

"I come, Claude. Good-night, and thanks for a most charming evening,
and a comedy worthy of Grandval, messieurs."

"Thank thy sister for that," returned de Gêvres.

 Claude made a general salute, and then, without further parley,
accompanied his friend from the room and the house.

"My horse is still at the Procope," observed Claude at the door.

"No, I ordered it sent to my hôtel before we left the café."

"We walk, then?"

"I am afraid so. I did not think to order my coach, and not a chair will be
obtainable on such a night."

"It is as well. The exercise will be a relief."

They started at a good pace up the long, wide thoroughfare that bordered
the river, and walked for some minutes in a silence that was replete with
sympathy. It was some distance from the gambling-house to the Hôtel de
Mailly, Henri's abode, which was situated on the west bank of the Seine, on
the Quai des Théatins, just opposite the Tuileries, on the Pont Royal. The
wind was coming sharply from the east, bringing with it great, pelting rain-
drops that stung the face like bullets. Henri was glad to shield his head from
the cutting attack by holding his heavy cloak up before it. Ordinarily the
walk at this hour would have been one of no small danger; but to-night even
the dwellers in the criminal quarter were undesirous of plying their midnight
trade by the river-bank. The cousins had passed the dark cluster of buildings
about the old Louvre before either spoke. At length, however, the Marquis
broke silence.

"Claude, you have passed a point in life to-day, I think."

"With the two that I won from the King, Henri?"

"Those and the gauntlet of Marie Anne."

There was a little pause. Then Claude said, in a tone whose weary
monotony indicated a subject so often thought of as to be trite even in
expression:
 "Do you—ever regret—that Anne went the way—of the other two? Will
she—do you think, finish as did poor little Pauline? Or—will some other
send her from her place—as—she did—my brother's wife, Louise?"

As Claude had hesitated over the questions, so was Henri long in making
reply. "I do not allow myself, Claude, to wonder over might-have-beens.
There is a fate upon our family, I think. But of the three of our women who
have gone her way, Marie is the fittest of them all for her place. Little
Pauline—Félicité, we named her—her death—my God, I do not like to think
of it! And poor, weak Louise—your brother loved her dearly, Claude. And
he is dead, and she—is making her long penance in that great tomb of the
Ursulines. Heigh-ho! Thank the good God, my cousin, that you have neither
sister nor wife in this Court of France. There is not one of them can
withstand the great temptation. Our times were not made for the women we
love."

And for the rest of their walk both men thought upon these same last
words, which, through Claude's head, at least, had begun to ring like a dark
refrain of prophecy, of warning: "Our times were not made for the women
we love."

It was half an hour past midnight when the Marquis pounded the knocker
on the door of his hôtel by the Seine. It was opened with unusual readiness
by the liveried porter, who betrayed some surprise at sight of those who
waited to enter.

"Oh, my lord is not at Versailles!"

"As you see, we are here," returned Henri, adding, "My apartment is
ready?"

"Certainly, Monsieur le Marquis' apartment is ready."

"And one for Monsieur le Comte?"

The servant bowed.

"Light us up, then. Claude, will you have supper?"

 "No. Nothing more to-night."

"Very well. Gaillard, is madame visible?"

The porter coughed. "Madame la Marquise was at Mme. de Tencin's till

late. Madame, I think, is not visible."

Mailly-Nesle shrugged his shoulders, and proceeded to the staircase. As

the servant followed with a candelabrum he made a curious, soft noise in his
throat. Forthwith a footman glided swiftly into the hall from an antechamber,
and took the other's place beside the door as if waiting for some one. Both
nobles saw it. Neither spoke.

Five minutes later Claude was alone in his room. Henri had left him for
the night, and he refused the services of a lackey in lieu of his own valet,
who was at Versailles. The servant had lighted his candles, and a wood-fire
burned in the grate. His wet coat had been carried away to dry. His hat,
surtout, and gloves lay upon a neighboring chair. Amid the lace of his jabot
glittered the jewelled star which, two hours ago, had flashed upon the breast
of the King of France. Claude seated himself, absently, in a chair beside the
cheerily crackling fire, facing a great picture that hung upon the brocaded
wall. It was Boucher's portrait of Marie Anne de Mailly-Nesle, Marquise de
la Tournelle, Duchesse de Châteauroux. She looked down upon him now in
that calmly superb manner which she had used only this morning; the
manner that the Court had raved over, that women vainly strove to imitate,
that had conquered the indifference of a king. And as Claude de Mailly
gazed, his own air, shamed perhaps by that of the woman, fell from him, as a
sheet might fall from a statue. In one instant he was a different thing. He had
become an individual; a man with a strong mentality of his own. The
courtier's mask of imperturbable cynicism, the conventional domino of
forced interest, the detestable undergarments of necessary toadyism, all were
gone. Not the patch on his face, not the height of his heels, not the whiteness
of his hands nor the breadth of his cuffs could make him now. Perhaps she
whose painted likeness was before him would no more have cared to know
him as he really was than she would have liked the words that he uttered,
dreamily, before her picture. But it was the true Claude, Claude the man,
nevertheless, who repeated aloud the thought in his heart:
 "Our times are not made for the women we love."

CHAPTER II

The Toilet

Dawn, the late dawn of a gray, wintry morning, hung over Versailles.
Within the palace walls those vast corridors, which had lately rung to sounds
of life and laughter, stretched endlessly out in the ghostly chill of the vague
light. Chill and stillness had crept also under many doors; and they breathed
over that stately room in which Marie Anne de Châteauroux was accustomed
to take the few hours of relief from feverish life granted her by kindly sleep.

Though the favorite's apartment was as dark as drawn curtains could

make it, nevertheless a thin gleam of gray shot relentlessly between hanging
and wall, and, falling athwart the canopied bed, announced that madame's
temporary rest approached its end. Against this decree, however, madame's
attitude would seem to rebel. She lay, apparently in profound sleep, in the
very centre of the great bed, sheets and cover drawn closely about her, up to
her throat. Only one hand, half hidden in lace, and her head, with its framing
mass of yellow, powder-dulled hair, were visible. In her waking life that
head of the Duchess of Châteauroux was celebrated for its marvellous poise.
And even now, as it lay relaxed upon the pillow, the effect of its daytime
majesty was not quite lost. Viewed thus, devoid of animation or expression,
the pure, classic beauty of the face showed to better advantage, perhaps, than
at another time. Already, however, ennui, and the constant effort at
appearance of pleasure, had left their marks upon the regular features; and,
indeed, much other than mere beauty might be found in the countenance. If
there were power in the breadth of the forehead, there was too much
determination in the chin; while at each corner of the delicate mouth a faint
line gave a cast of resolution, dogged and relentless, to the feminine
ensemble.
 Presently, as the shadows melted more and more, the woman's silken-
lashed eyes fell open, and the first of her waking thoughts was expressed in a
long, melancholy sigh.

The duties of the Duchess as Lady of the Palace of the Queen

necessitated her presence at the grand toilet of her Majesty on Monday,
Wednesday, and Friday. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, therefore,
except on those weeks when she was in constant attendance on Louis'
consort, the Châteauroux accustomed the Court to a toilet of her own, which
the King's faction religiously frequented, while the Queen's circle, the
religious party, rolled their eyes, clasped their hands, violently denounced
the insolence of it, and fervently wished that they might go, too. Certainly
madame's morning receptions were eminently successful, and, however
much gentle Marie Leczinska might disapprove of them in secret, she never
had the courage to anger her husband by voicing her sense of indignity.
Thus, six mornings of the week being provided for, on Saturday the Duchess
confessed herself, though no absolution was to be had, and prayed
forgiveness for the other part of her life.

As madame awoke, and the clock upon her mantel-piece struck eight, a
door into the room swung open, and a trimly dressed maid came in. She
pushed back the curtains from the window, looped them up, and crossed to
the bedside.

"'Tis you, Antoinette?" came a voice from beneath the canopy.

"Yes, madame. Shall I bring the water?"

"At once."

As Antoinette once more disappeared, madame sat up and pushed aside

the curtains of her bed.

For the following quarter of an hour, while the first part of the toilet was
being performed, the second and elaborate half of that daily function was
prepared for in the second room of the favorite's suite—the famous boudoir.
A remarkable little room this, with its silken hangings of Persian blue and
green and white; and a remarkable little man it was who sat informally upon
a tabouret, in the midst of the graceful confusion of chairs, sofas, consoles,
and inlaid stands, while in front of him was the second dressing-table,
whereon reposed the paraphernalia of the coiffeur, and beside him was a
small bronze brazier, where charcoal, for the heating of irons, burned. The
profession of M. Marchon was instantly proclaimed by his elaborate
elegance of wig. He had been, at some time, perruquier to each French queen
of the last three decades, from Mme. de Prie to the ill-fated sisters of the
present Duchess. Just now he was ogling, in the last Court manner, the
second wardrobe-girl, who stood near him, beside a spindle-legged table,
polishing a mirror. And Célestine ogled the weazened Marchon while she
worked and wondered if madame would miss her last present from
d'Argenson, a Chinese mandarin with a rueful smile, who sat alone in the
cabinet of toys, and ceaselessly waved his head. The courtly companionship
between the two servants had lasted for some time when there came a faint
scratch on the bedroom door. It was Antoinette's friendly signal. The hair-
dresser leaped to his place and bent over the irons, while Célestine forced
her eyes from the bit of porcelain and put away her polishing cloth as Mme.
de Châteauroux entered the room.

The Duchess seated herself before the first table, where Mlle. Célestine
administered certain effective and skilfully applied touches to the pale face,
and when these had rendered her to her mind for the hour, madame
surrendered herself into Marchon's hands, where she would remain for a
good part of the morning.

The preliminary brushing of the yellow locks had not yet been completed
when the first valet-de-chambre threw open the door from the antechamber
and announced carefully:

"The Duc de Gêvres."

De Gêvres, as usual, delayed his entrance a full minute. Then he came in

languidly, snuff-box in his right hand, hat under his arm, peruke immaculate,
and eye-glass dangling at his waist. He bowed. Madame raised her hand.
The Duke advanced, lifted it to his lips, and left upon its fair surface a faint
red trace of his salute. Madame smiled.

"You have come to me early," she said.

 "I arose," remarked the man, pensively, "to find the world in gray. I
arrayed myself to match the sky, and came to seek the sun. When I leave you
I shall don pale blue, for you will drive the clouds from my day."

Madame smiled again. "Thank you. But the gray is marvellously

becoming. Pray do not attempt a second toilet this morning. One is
singularly depressing."

"Surely, you are not depressed, Madame de Versailles?" he asked, idly,

examining her negligée of India muslin with approval. "Why depressed?
Louis was furious at your unaccountable absence from the salon last
evening, and would play with no one. He stayed in a corner for two hours,
railing at d'Orry and permitting not a soul to approach. Is it in pity for him,
this morning, that you suffer?"

Madame shrugged. "I do not waste time in pity of his Majesty. At the
request of Mme. d'Alincourt, I spent last evening in the apartments of the
Queen."

"Good Heaven! Then, madame, allow me to express my deepest

sympathy! I had no idea that you would play so recklessly with ennui. Why,
your very gossip is a day old!"

"You, then, monsieur, I hail as my deliverer. Will you not act as my

Nouvelles à la Main, that I may make no irretrievable blunder to-day?"

"Madame desires, the King is at her feet. Madame requests, and the gods
obey. Where must one begin?"

"At the beginning."

De Gêvres smiled slowly in retrospection. It was for this precise

opportunity that he had risen an hour early and dared royal displeasure by
being alone with the favorite for thirty minutes. He rose from the chair he
had taken, drew a tabouret to within a yard of the Duchess's knee, and
reseated himself significantly.

"You frighten me, my lord. It must be serious."