Her face had, however, not recovered from its strange pallor. Her eager
maid, anxious for the looks of her mistress, insisted on a little rouge,
which Angelique's natural bloom had never before needed. She submitted,
for she intended to look her best to-day, she said. "Who knows whom I
shall fall in with?"

"That is right, my Lady," exclaimed Fanchon admiringly, "no one could be
dressed perfectly as you are and be sick! I pity the gentleman you meet
to-day, that is all! There is murder in your eye, my Lady!"

Poor Fanchon believed she was only complimenting her mistress, and at
other times her remark would only have called forth a joyous laugh; now
the word seemed like a sharp knife: it cut, and Angelique did not laugh.
She pushed her maid forcibly away from her, and was on the point of
breaking out into some violent exclamation when, recalled by the amazed
look of Fanchon, she turned the subject adroitly, and asked, "Where is
my brother?"

"Gone with the Chevalier de Pean to the Palace, my Lady!" replied
Fanchon, trembling all over, and wondering how she had angered her
mistress.

"How know you that, Fanchon?" asked Angelique, recovering her usual
careless tone.

"I overheard them speaking together, my Lady. The Chevalier de Pean said
that the Intendant was sick, and would see no one this morning."

"Yes, what then?" Angelique was struck with a sudden consciousness of
danger in the wind. "Are you sure they said the Intendant was sick?"
asked she.

"Yes, my Lady! and the Chevalier de Pean said that he was less sick than
mad, and out of humor to a degree he had never seen him before!"

"Did they give a reason for it? that is, for the Intendant's sickness or
madness?" Angelique's eyes were fixed keenly upon her maid, to draw out
a full confession.

"None, my Lady, only the Chevalier des Meloises said he supposed it was
the news from France which sat so ill on his stomach."

"And what then, Fanchon? you are so long of answering!" Angelique
stamped her foot with impatience.

Fanchon looked up at the reproof so little merited, and replied quickly,
"The Chevalier de Pean said it must be that, for he knew of nothing
else. The gentlemen then went out and I heard no more."

Angelique was relieved by this turn of conversation. She felt certain
that if Bigot discovered the murder he would not fail to reveal it to
the Chevalier de Pean, who was understood to be the depository of all
his secrets. She began to cheer