Lady Frances nodded.
“What we really want to discuss is how to bring him to my masquerade,” she said. “Only I deviated again.”
“I’ll send him to you,” promised Christopher. “I think he will be only too honoured.”
“Pho!” My lady snapped her fingers. “So much for that! And you are to bring him. Of course I am inviting you.”
“How—how very kind you are!” exclaimed Christopher. “Thank you very much, but do you think you want me?”
“I had not asked you otherwise. Now, listen, Chris! I have decided that masquerade had best be in June, so unless I change my mind, June it will be. I shall not send out the invitations for some time yet, but you may tell Roxhythe. Tell him, too, that the success of my party depends on his being present. ’Twill flatter his vanity.”
“I will. I’ll tell him as soon as he comes home.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before he had regretted them.
Lady Frances looked up sharply.
“Home? Where then is he?”
“I think—in Paris,” said Christopher uncomfortably.
“Again! Then—” she stopped. “Yes. He is very much in love with Madame, is he not?”
“I—I believe so!” said Christopher, who was sick of the sound of the Duchess d’Orléans’ sobriquet. He prepared to make good his escape.
VIII
Madame
Roxhythe proceeded to Paris in a blaze of magnificence, and on his arrival went at once to the Louvre, to the apartments of M. le Comte de Saint-Aignan. The doors flew open before him, and he was ushered into the private room of M. le Comte.
The room was furnished sumptuously and was much gilded. M. le Comte, swathed in a marvellous satin wrapper, was reposing on a silken-covered divan. In one hand he had a book of poems; the other was held by his valet, who knelt at his side, manicuring monsieur’s delicate nails. The air was heavy with some sweet scent; a fire burned in the grate. On every embroidered seat were cushions; the rugs that covered the polished floor were very thick and soft.
When Roxhythe was announced the Comte dropped his book in surprise and swung his legs to the ground.
“Mon Dieu! Roxhyt’e!”
Roxhythe came forward gracefully.
“If I am very inopportune, say so, my dear Comte.”
“Inopportune! Mais non! How could such a thing be?” cried Saint-Aignan. He rose, and clasped my lord’s hand. Over his shoulder he addressed the valet. “François, you may go. Tell them to see to monsieur’s apartments and his baggage. Vite!”
“Oui, monsieur.” The man slipped out.
Saint-Aignan drew his guest to a chair.
“But sit down, mon cher! Why are you here?”
Roxhythe put his hat on the table. He cast the Comte a quizzical glance.
“My dear Henri, you know as well, perhaps better, than I do myself.”
The Comte made a little gesture of protest.
“Roxhyt’e! So blunt! So brusque!”
“I cry your pardon! You want a pretty phrase, eh? Well, I have come on account of the beaux yeux of Madame.”
“Oh, that!” The Comte threw out his hands. “It will suffice. They think that in England?”
“I really don’t know. It is quite likely.”
“They do not know you in England? Not even now?”
“Henri, you are a rogue. Do you think that you know me?”
“Mais oui! Tu es un grand poseur, mon ami!”
“Then they know me in England?”
“No. They do not think you an intriguer.”
Roxhythe drew out his comfit-box.
“Let me offer you a sweetmeat!”
The Comte accepted one smiling.
“You find that a good way to turn the subject?”
“An excellent way. I have never known it fail.”
“Except with me!”
“Oh, you! You are incorrigible, Henri! But do strive to remember that I am an idle flâneur!”
“I will try. You do not intend to confide in me?”
“But certainly! I bought these quite modish boots at Piccat’s. My gloves I obtained with much difficulty at Dormont’s. You’ll observe the gold fringe with the blue entwined. I conceived the idea. So now we have gloves à la Roxhythe. I have my uses, you see.”
The Comte could not resist inspecting the gloves. He did it surreptitiously and pretended that he was not interested.
“Peste! What do I want with your gloves? Va donc! You’ve naught to tell me of your business in Paris?”
“You’ll hear it all from His Majesty. Why plague me?”
Saint-Aignan almost pouted.
“You are as secret as the dead. Eh bien! Tell me of your cold, dark city. What of Whitehall?”
“The same as ever. And the cold, dark city is very bright and springlike.”
“C’est vrai? Ah! Roxhyt’e!” He straightened in his chair.
“Well, what now?” My lord looked lazily across at him.
“How dared you stay with de Guiche last month? Why did you not come here as before?”
“Two reasons.”
“Give them, vaurien! You will be abominably rude, I know!”
“I shall. Firstly, de Guiche showed a marked desire for my company; secondly, I had little or no desire for yours. Are you satisfied?”
“Parfaitement!” The Comte’s mobile face was wreathed in smiles. “Inimitable one! And for how long do you intend to honour me?”
“I am not sure. Not more than ten days. Can you bear with me so long as that?”
“I could bear with you for much longer. You refresh me. You have made your bow to the King?”
“No, I came straight to you.”
“Ah, you must go to His Majesty! He will be delighted to see you again. I tell you, Roxhyt’e, it is only in France that you are appreciated.”
“Oh, no! They appreciate me in England, I assure you.”
“A maker of gloves! Bah! I shall take you with me tonight.”
Roxhythe turned an inquiring eye upon him.
“To the levée,” nodded Saint-Aignan.
Roxhythe sighed.
“I believe I shall be indisposed. Your Grand Monarcque is so damned austere.”
Saint-Aignan laughed at him.
“That will be good for you,
