Her resentment
of the treatment she had received from Buckingham, a resentment
the more bitter for being stifled--since for her reputation's
sake she dared not have given it expression--made her a very
ready instrument in Richelieu's hands, and there was no scrap of
gossip she did not carefully gather up and dispatch to him. But
all was naught until one day at last she was able to tell him
something that set his pulses beating more quickly than their
habit.
She had it upon the best authority that a set of diamond studs
constantly worn of late by the Duke was a love-token from the
Queen of France sent over to Buckingham by a messenger of her
own. Here, indeed, was news. Here was a weapon by which the Queen
might be destroyed. Richelieu considered. If he could but obtain
possession of the studs, the rest would be easy. There would be
an end--and such an end!--to the King's obstinate, indolent faith
in his wife's indifference to that boastful, flamboyant English
upstart. Richelieu held his peace for the time being, and wrote
to the Countess.
Some little time thereafter there was a sumptuous ball given at
York House, graced by the presence of King Charles and his young
French Queen.
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