"That which you have in your hand," Nancay answered, his fears relieved.

The young man blushed to the roots of his hair. "It is not for him," he
said.

"I can see that, Monsieur," Nancay answered politely. "He has his
successes, but all the billets-doux do not go one way."

The young man laughed, a conscious, flattered laugh. He was handsome,
with such a face as women love, but there was a lack of ease in the way
he wore his Court suit. It was a trifle finer, too, than accorded with
Huguenot taste; or it looked the finer for the way he wore it, even as
Teligny's and Foucauld's velvet capes and stiff brocades lost their
richness and became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the men.
Odder still, as Tignonville laughed, half hiding and half revealing the
dainty scented paper in his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he more
awkward than usual.

"It is from a lady," he admitted. "But a bit of badinage, I assure you,
nothing more!"

"Understood!" M. de Nancay murmured politely. "I congratulate you."

"But--"

"I say I congratulate you!"

"But it is nothing."