“What has come to you all?” he cried, with an effort.  “What is the jest, for faith, sire, I don’t see it?”

The King seemed incapable of speech, and it was Chicot who filled the gap.

“It is pretty apparent,” he said, with a rude laugh.  “The cock will lay and Foucauld will pay—­to-morrow!”

The young nobleman’s colour rose; between him and the Gascon gentleman was no love lost.

“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.”

“Permit me to go with you.  The guards may be set.”

“Do so, my friend,” Rochefoucauld answered.  “Ah, Tignonville, is it you?”

“I am come to attend you to your lodging,” the young man said.  And he ranged up beside the other, as, the curtain fallen behind them, they walked along the gallery.

Rochefoucauld stopped and laid his hand on Tignonville’s sleeve.

“Thanks, dear lad,” he said, “but I am going to the Princess Dowager’s.  Afterwards to his Highness’s.  I may be detained an hour or more.  You will not like to wait so long.”

M. de Tignonville’s face fell ludicrously.  “Well, no,” he said.  “I—­I don’t think I could wait so long—­to-night.”

“Then come to-morrow night,” Rochefoucauld answered, with good nature.

“With pleasure,” the other cried heartily, his relief evident.  “Certainly.  With pleasure.”  And, nodding good night, they parted.

While Rochefoucauld, with Nancay at his side and his gentlemen attending him, passed along the echoing and now empty gallery, the younger man bounded down the stairs to the great hall of the Caryatides, his face radiant.  He for one was not sleepy.