"There are some debts I pay to-day," he cried haughtily. "For the rest,
farewell my little master! When one does not understand the jest it is
time to be gone."
He was halfway to the door, watched by all, when the King spoke.
"Foucauld!" he cried, in an odd, strangled voice. "Foucauld!" And the
Huguenot favourite turned back, wondering. "One minute!" the King
continued, in the same forced voice. "Stay till morning--in my closet.
It is late now. We'll play away the rest of the night!"
"Your Majesty must excuse me," Rochefoucauld answered frankly. "I am
dead asleep."
"You can sleep in the Garde-Robe," the King persisted.
"Thank you for nothing, sire!" was the gay answer. "I know that bed! I
shall sleep longer and better in my own."
The King shuddered, but strove to hide the movement under a shrug of his
shoulders. He turned away.
"It is God's will!" he muttered. He was white to the lips.
Rochefoucauld did not catch the words. "Good night, sire," he cried.
"Farewell, little master." And with a nod here and there, he passed to
the door, followed by Mergey and Chamont, two gentlemen of his suite.
Nancay raised the curtain with an obsequious gesture. "Pardon me, M. le
Comte," he said, "do you go to his Highness's?"
"For a few minutes, Nancay.
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