The young man blushed to the roots of his hair. “It is not for him,” he said.
“I can see that, Monsieur,” Nançay answered politely. “He has his successes, but all the billets-doux do not go one way.”
The young man laughed, a conscious, flattered laugh. He was handsome, with such a face as women love, but there was a lack of ease in the way he wore his Court suit. It was a trifle finer, too, than accorded with Huguenot taste; or it looked the finer for the way he wore it, even as Teligny’s and Foucauld’s velvet capes and stiff brocades lost their richness and became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the men. Odder still, as Tignonville laughed, half hiding and half revealing the dainty scented paper in his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he more awkward than usual.
“It is from a lady,” he admitted. “But a bit of badinage, I assure you, nothing more!”
“Understood!” M. de Nançay murmured politely. “I congratulate you.”
“But”
“I say I congratulate you!”
“But it is nothing.”
“Oh, I understand. And see, the King is about to rise. Go forward, Monsieur,” he continued benevolently. “A young man should show himself. Besides, his Majesty likes you well,” he added, with a leer. He had an unpleasant sense of humour, had his Majesty’s Captain of the Guard; and this evening somewhat more than ordinary on which to exercise it.
Tignonville held too good an opinion of himself to suspect the other of badinage; and thus encouraged, he pushed his way to the front of the circle. During his absence with his betrothed, the crowd in the Chamber had grown thin, the candles had burned an inch shorter in the
