“What, Lorance, you could not be at the pains to follow me to the rescue of my child!  Your little cousin, poor innocent, may be eaten by the beasts for aught you care, while you prink over trinkets.”

Mademoiselle faced her blankly, scarce understanding, midst the whirl of her own thoughts, of what she was accused.  The little Tavanne came gallantly to the rescue: 

“I did not follow you either, madame.  We thought it scarcely safe; Lorance could not bear to leave this fellow alone.”

Mme. de Mayenne glanced instinctively at her dressing-table’s rich accoutrements, touched in spite of herself by such care of her belongings.

“I had not suspected you maids of such fore-thought,” she said with relenting.  “I vow for once I am beholden to you.  You did quite right, Lorance.”

XXVI

Within the spider’s web.

Mademoiselle slipped softly out of the room, taking our hearts with her.  Our one desire now was to be gone; but it was easier wished than accomplished, for there remained the dreary process of bargaining.  Mme. de Mayenne had set her heart on a pearl bracelet, Mme. de Brie wanted a vinaigrette, a third lady a pair of shoe-buckles.  M. Etienne developed a recklessness about prices that would have whitened the hair of a goldsmith father; I thought the ladies could not fail to be suspicious of such prodigality, to imagine we carried stolen goods.  But no; the quick settlements defeated their own ends:  they fired our customers with longing to purchase further.  I was despairing, when at length Mme. de Mayenne bethought herself that supper-time was at hand, and that no one was yet dressed.  To my eyes the company already looked fine enough for a coronation; but I rejoiced to hear them thanking madame for her reminder, with the gratitude of victims snatched from an awful fate.  We were commanded to bundle out, which with all alacrity we did.

Freedom was in sight.  I was not so nervous on this journey as I had been coming in.  As we passed, lackey-led, through the long corridors, I had ease enough of mind to enable me to take my bearings, and to whisper to my master, “That door yonder is the door of the council-room, where I was.”  Even as I spoke the door opened, two gentlemen appearing at the threshold.  One was a stranger; the other was Mayenne.

Our guide held back in deference.  The duke and his friend stood a moment or two in low-voiced converse; then the visitor made his farewells, and went off down the staircase.

Mayenne had not appeared aware of our existence, thirty feet up the passage, but now he inquired, as if we had been pieces of merchandise: 

“What have you there, Louis?”

“An Italian goldsmith, so please your Grace.  Madame has just dismissed him.”

He led us forward.  Mayenne surveyed us deliberately, and at length said to M. le Comte: