For two hours they had enchanted one another with their discourse, when the sound of music, of guitars and flutes playing minuets, sarabands, allemandes, and the Spanish dances which the young Queen had brought into fashion, the continual passing of groups of young ladies and their joyous laughter, all announced that the ball had commenced.  A very young and beautiful person, holding a large fan as it were a sceptre, and surrounded by ten young men, entered their retired chamber with her brilliant court, which she ruled like a queen, and entirely put to the rout the studious conversers.

“Adieu, gentlemen!” said De Thou.  “I make way for Mademoiselle de l’Enclos and her musketeers.”

“Really, gentlemen,” said the youthful Ninon, “we seem to frighten you.  Have I disturbed you?  You have all the air of conspirators.”

“We are perhaps more so than these gentlemen, although we dance,” said Olivier d’Entraigues, who led her.

“Ah! your conspiracy is against me, Monsieur le Page!” said Ninon, looking the while at another light-horseman, and abandoning her remaining arm to a third, the other gallants seeking to place themselves in the way of her flying ceillades, for she distributed her glances brilliant as the rays of the sun dancing over the moving waters.

De Thou stole away without any one thinking of stopping him, and was descending the great staircase, when he met the little Abbe de Gondi, red, hot, and out of breath, who stopped him with an animated and joyous air.

“How now! whither go you?  Let the foreigners and savans go.  You are one of us.  I am somewhat late; but our beautiful Aspasia will pardon me.  Why are you going?  Is it all over?”

“Why, it seems so.  When the dancing begins, the reading is done.”

“The reading, yes; but the oaths?” said the Abbe, in a low voice.

“What oaths?” asked De Thou.

“Is not Monsieur le Grand come?”

“I expected to see him; but I suppose he has not come, or else he has gone.”

“No, no! come with me,” said the bare-brained Abbe.  “You are one of us.  Parbleu! it is impossible to do without you; come!”

De Thou, unwilling to refuse, and thus appear to disown his friends, even for parties of pleasure which annoyed him, followed De Gondi, who passed through two cabinets, and descended a small private staircase.  At each step he took, he heard more distinctly the voices of an assemblage of men.  Gondi opened the door.  An unexpected spectacle met his view.

The chamber he was entering, lighted by a mysterious glimmer, seemed the asylum of the most voluptuous rendezvous.  On one side was a gilt bed, with a canopy of tapestry ornamented with feathers, and covered with lace and ornaments.  The furniture, shining with gold, was of grayish silk, richly embroidered.  Velvet cushions were at the foot of each armchair, upon a thick carpet.  Small mirrors, connected