or another."

CHAPTER 97. The King's Card-table

Fouquet was present, as D'Artagnan had said, at the king's card-table.
It seemed as if Buckingham's departure had shed a balm on the lacerated
hearts of the previous evening. Monsieur, radiant with delight, made a
thousand affectionate signs to his mother. The Count de Guiche could not
separate himself from Buckingham and while playing, conversed with him
upon the circumstance of his projected voyage. Buckingham, thoughtful,
and kind in his manner, like a man who has adopted a resolution,
listened to the count, and from time to time cast a look full of regret
and hopeless affection at Madame. The princess, in the midst of her
elation of spirits, divided her attention between the king, who was
playing with her, Monsieur, who quietly joked her about her enormous
winnings, and De Guiche, who exhibited an extravagant delight. Of
Buckingham she took but little notice; for her, this fugitive, this
exile, was now simply a remembrance, no longer a man. Light hearts are
thus constituted; while they themselves continue untouched, they roughly
break off with every one who may possibly interfere with their little
calculations of selfish comfort. Madame had received Buckingham's smiles
and attentions and sighs while he was present; but what was the good
of sighing, smiling and kneeling at a distance? Can one tell in what
direction the winds in the Channel, which toss mighty vessels to and
fro, carry such sighs as these. The duke could not fail to mark this
change, and his heart was cruelly hurt. Of a sensitive character, proud
and susceptible of deep attachment, he cursed the day on which such a
passion had entered his heart. The looks he cast, from time to time
at Madame, became colder by degrees at the chilling complexion of his
thoughts. He could hardly yet despair, but he was strong enough to
impose silence upon the tumultuous outcries of his heart. In exact
proportion, however, as Madame suspected this change of feeling, she
redoubled her activity to regain the ray of light she was about to lose;
her timid and indecisive mind was displayed in brilliant flashes of
wit and humor. At any cost she felt that she must be remarked above
everything and every one, even above the king himself. And she was so,
for the queens, notwithstanding their dignity, and the king, despite the
respect which etiquette required, were all eclipsed by her. The queens,
stately and ceremonious, w