Tignonville trembled lest he should be singled out. He had hidden
himself as well as he could at the rear of the crowd by the door; but his
dress, so much above the common, rendered him conspicuous. He fancied
that the Provost's eye ranged the crowd for him; and to avoid it and
efface himself he moved a pace to his left.
The step was fatal. It saved him from the Provost, but it brought him
face to face and eye to eye with Count Hannibal, who stood in the first
rank at his brother's elbow. Tavannes stared an instant as if he doubted
his eyesight. Then, as doubt gave slow place to certainty, and surprise
to amazement, he smiled. And after a moment he looked another way.
Tignonville's heart gave a great bump and seemed to stand still. The
lights whirled before his eyes, there was a roaring in his ears. He
waited for the word that should denounce him. It did not come. And
still it did not come; and Marshal Tavannes was turning. Yes, turning,
and going; the Provost, bowing low, was attending him to the door; his
suite were opening on either side to let him pass. And Count Hannibal?
Count Hannibal was following also, as if nothing had occurred. As if he
had seen nothing!
The young man caught his breath. Was it possible that he had imagined
the start of recognition, the steady scrutiny, the sinister smile? No;
for as Tavannes followed the others, he hung an instant on his heel,
their eyes met again, and once more he smiled.
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