THE KING returned to hold his court at Marly as usual. Less the slave of etiquette than Louis XIV., who sought, even in the evening parties of his courtiers, means of exhibiting his power, Louis XV, sought in them only news, of which he was inordinately fond, and, above all, a variety of faces around him, a gratification which he preferred to all others, particularly if they were smiling ones.
In the evening of the day on which the interview just related took place, and two hours after the Countess de Bearn (who this time kept her promise faithfully) was comfortably installed in Madame Dubarry's cabinet, the king was playing cards at Marly, in the blue drawing-room.
On his left sat the Duchesse d'Ayen, on his right the Princess de Guemeuee. His majesty appeared very absent, losing, in consequence of inattention to his game, eight hundred louis d'ors. Rather sobered by his loss—for, like a true descendant of Henry IV., Louis loved to win—the king left his cards, and retired into the recess of a window to talk to Monsieur de Malesherbes, son of the ex-chancellor, while Monsieur de Maupeou, who was conversing with the Duke de Choiseul in an opposite window, watched the interview with an anxious eye. In the meantime, after the king left the card-table a circle was formed near the fireplace. The Princesses Adelaide, Sophie, and Victoire, attended by their ladies of honor and their equerries, had placed themselves there on their return from a walk in the gardens.
Around the king, who must certainly have been talking of some matter of importance, as the gravity of Monsieur de Malesherbes was well known, were grouped, but at a respectful distance, generals, admirals, great dignitaries of the state, noblemen, and judges. The little court at the fireplace, therefore, was left a good deal to itself, and seemed bent on more lively conversation, if one might judge by the skirmishing with which they began.
The principal bodies of the group, besides the three princesses, were the Duchesse de Grammont, the Princess de Guemenee, the Duchesse de Choiseul, the Marchioness de Mirepoix, and the Duchesse de Polastron.
At the moment when we approach this group, the Princess Adelaide had just ended an anecdote of a bishop banished from his diocese by the grand penitentiary. It was tolerably scandalous, and it is as well unrelated here.
“Well,” said the Princess Victoire, “it is only a month since that bishop was sitting here among us!”
“Oh, we shall have worse than he sitting among us,” said the Duchesse de Grammont, “if his majesty receive those who, not having been yet received, are now determined to be received.”
Every one understood from the tone in which these words were uttered who was meant, and at once felt what turn the conversation was taking.
“Fortunately, wishing to be received, and being received, are two different things, duchesse,” said a little elderly man, joining in the conversation. He was seventy-four years of age, but looked only fifty, so elegant was his shape, his voice so unbroken, his leg so well shaped, his eye so lively, his skin so fair, and his hand so beautiful.
“Ah, here is M, de Richelieu,” said the duchess, “advancing his scaling ladders, and going to take our conversation by assault, as he did Mahon. Still something of the soldier, my dear marshal!”
“Still something of the soldier! Ah! duchesse, you are very severe!”
“Well! But did I not speak the truth?”
“Just now, when I said that a certain person wished to force the king's doors?”
“Oh, you know, countess, I am always of your opinion, even when you speak ill of all my friends!”
Some laughed, although it had already been whispered that the marshal's wit was on the wane.
“If you say such things,” continued the duchess, “I shall not go on with my history, and you will lose a great deal, I assure you.”
“Heaven forbid that I should interrupt it! I am all attention!
The circle drew closer around the duchess. She cast a glance toward the window to be certain that the king was still there. He was still in the same position; but, although he continued to converse with Monsieur de Malesherbes, he kept a watchful eye on the group at the fireplace, and just at that moment his eye met that of Madame de Grammont. The duchess felt somewhat intimidated by its expression, but she had made a beginning, and would not be stopped.
“You must know,” she continued, addressing herself particularly to the three princesses, “that a certain lady—her name is of no consequence, is it?—has lately taken it into her head that she will see us, the privileged of the land, sitting in our glory.”
“See us—where?” asked the marshal.
“Oh, at Versailles, at Marly, at Fontainebleau.”
“The poor creature knows nothing of our meetings except from having seen, with the rest of the mob, the king at dinner with his guests. How disagreeable, with a barrier between them and the great, and an usher with his rod driving them before him!”
The marshal took snuff noisily out of his box of Sevres porcelain. “But,” said he, “in order to join our circle at Versailles, at Marly, at Fontainebleau, one must be presented.”
“Precisely; the lady in question has requested to be presented.”
“Then I'll wager the king has consented; he is so kind.”
“Unfortunately, something more is necessary than the king's permission; there must be a chaperon to present the lady.”
“Yes; but chaperons are rather scarce,” said the Marchioness de Mirepoix, “witness the fair Bourbonnais, who has sought but has not found one.”
“Pardon me,” replied the duchess; “she has sought so well that she has found what she wants. But what a chaperon! a frank, sincere, real, country dame! She was brought away from her dovecot, petted, and caressed, and dressed—”
“It is perfectly shocking,” interrupted the Princess de Guemenee, “but just when the dear dame had been sufficiently petted, and caressed, and dressed, she fell downstairs from the top to the bottom and broke her leg.”
“So there can be no presentation?” exclaimed the Princess de Guemenee.
“Not a shadow,” said the duchess.
“See how gracious Providence is!” said the marshal, raising his hands and eyes to heaven.
“Gracious!” said the Princess Victoire, “not to the poor country dame; I really pity her.”
“On the contrary, your royal highness may congratulate her,” said the duchess; “of two evils she has chosen the least.” She stopped short, for again her eye met the king's.
“If the ladies who have been presented,” said the Princess de Guemenee, “were courageous and faithful to the sentiments of honor of the ancient nobility of France, they would go in a body to return thanks to the lady from the country who showed so much sublimity of mind as to break her leg.”
“Yes, faith,” said the marshal, “that is a great idea! But what is the name of the excellent lady who has saved us in this great danger? We have nothing now to fear; have we, duchesse?”
“Oh, nothing; she is in her bed, her leg bound up, and unable to move a step.”
“But if the lady should find another chaperon?” said the princess; “she is so indefatigable.”
“Oh, do not be afraid; it is not so easy to find chaperons.”
At this moment the throng of courtiers separated, and the king approached; the group became silent. A moment afterward his clear and well-known voice was heard; “Adieu, ladies. Good-night, gentlemen.”
The king advanced toward the door, then, turning before leaving the room, he said, “By-the-by, there will be a presentation to-morrow at Versailles.”
These words fell like a thunderbolt on the assembly. The king glanced round the group of ladies, who looked at each other and turned pale; then he left the apartment without adding another word. Scarcely had he crossed the threshold with the long train of gentlemen attending him, when there was a general explosion among the princesses and the ladies around them.
“A presentation!” stammered the Duchesse de Grammont, her lips quite livid. “What does his majesty mean?”
“Eh! duchesse,” said the marshal, with one of those smiles which even his best friends could not pardon; “can this be the presentation you have just been speaking of?”
The princesses bit their lips with vexation.
“Oh, it is impossible,” murmured the duchess.
“Ah, duchesse,” said the marshal, “they do set legs so well nowadays!”
The Duke de Choiseul approached his sister, the Duchesse de Grammont, and pressed her arm as a warning; not to go too far; but she was too deeply wounded to attend to him.
“It would be an insult to us all,” she exclaimed.
“Yes; an insult indeed!” repeated the Princess de Guemenee.
Monsieur de Choiseul saw he could do nothing more, and walked a short distance off.
“Oh, your royal highnesses,” cried the duchess, addressing the king's three daughters, “there is no resource for us now but in you! You, the highest ladies in the kingdom, will you endure it? Must we be exposed, in the only asylum remaining for ladies of rank, to meet a person with whom we should not allow our chambermaids to associate?”
The princesses, instead of replying, hung down their heads.
“Oh, your royal highnesses, in Heaven's name!” exclaimed she, “save us.”
“The king is master in this as in everything else,” said the Princess Adelaide, sighing.
“That is true,” said the Duke de Richelieu.
“But the entire court of France will be compromised in the affair,” cried the duchess. “Gentlemen, have you then no regard for the honor of your families?”
“Ladies,” said the Duke de Choiseul, trying to laugh, “as this seems bordering on a conspiracy, you must allow me to retire, and to take with me M, de Sartines. Will you come, marshal?”
“I?—faith, I adore conspiracies!—I shall certainly stay,” replied Marshal Richelieu. The two ministers departed.
There now remained around the princesses eight or ten of the ladies who had espoused most warmly the league against the presentation. Richelieu was the only gentleman. The ladies looked at him suspiciously, as if he had been a Trojan in the Grecian camp.
“I represent my daughter, the Countess d'Egmont,” said he; “go on, ladies, go on.”
“Your royal highnesses,” the Duchesse de Grammont began, “there is a means by which we can show our sense of the infamous nature of the proceedings, and for my part I shall make use of the means.”
“We have been told that the king is master,” she continued.
“And I reply it is just and right that he should be,” said the marshal.
“He is master in his own palace, but we are mistresses in our own houses. Now, what is to prevent me from giving my coachman directions to drive to Chanteloup to-night, instead of to Versailles?”
“ Or what is to prevent others from imitating you?” said the Princess de Guemenee.
“Why should we not all imitate the duchesse?” asked the Marchioness de Mirepoix.
“Oh, your royal highnesses,” exclaimed the duchess, again addressing the princesses; “what a noble example it would be for you to give the court!”
“The king would be angry with us,” said the Princess Sophie.
“No, your royal highness; I am certain he would not. On the contrary, it would make him reflect; and he has such exquisite sense, such perfect tact, that he will afterward acknowledge you to be in the right, and he will be grateful to you.”
“ It is true,” said the Princess Victoire, encouraged by the general spirit of rebellion; “the king said nothing when we refused to admit the visits of the countess, but on a public occasion like this he might not be disposed to forgive us.”
“No, certainly.” replied the duchess; “if you were the only ladies who absented yourselves, but when he sees that we have all left the court?”
“Yes, all!” replied the old marshal.
“Then you are of the plot?” said the Princess Adelaide.
“Certainly I am, and therefore I wish to speak.”
“Speak, marshal, speak!” said Madame de Grammont.
“We must proceed methodically,” said he. “It is not enough all to shout in chorus this or that. I have known people say, 'This is what I shall do,' but at the moment of action they have done the very contrary. Now, as I have the honor to make one in this conspiracy, I do not wish to he left by myself, as I always was when I took part in the conspiracies under the late king and under the regency.”
“Upon my word, marshal, you forget yourself. Among the Amazons you take upon you the airs of a leader,” said the duchess.
“Madame, I beg you to consider that I may have some right to that position. You hate Madame Dubarry—there I have let the name slip out, but nobody heard it!—you hate her more than I; but I am more compromised than you.”
“I have not been at Luciennes for eight days, nor at her apartments at Versailles for four. The affair has gone so far that a footman was sent to ask if I was ill; so I a in already looked on with suspicion. However, I am not ambitious—I yield the leadership to you; you have set the affair on foot, you have stirred us all, you revolutionize our consciences—yours must be the baton of command.”
“No, I must follow their royal highnesses,” said the duchess, respectfully.
“Oh, pray let us remain passive,” said the Princess Adelaide; “we are going to Saint Denis to see our sister Louise; she will keep us there, and of course there can be nothing said.”
“Nothing, nothing at all, unless by some very ill-disposed person,” said the marshal.
“As for me,” said the Duchesse de Grammont, “I have to go to Chanteloup, because it is hay-making season.”
“Bravo!” cried the duke; “an excellent reason.”
“I must stay at home; one of my children is ill, and I have to nurse him,” said the Princess de Guemenee.
“I,” said the Duchesse de Polastron, “have felt a giddiness all this evening; I am sure I shall be dangerously ill if Tronchin do not bled me to-morrow.”
“And I!” said the Marchioness de Mirepoix, majestically, “I shall not go to Versailles, because I shall not —that is my reason.”
“Excellent! excellent!” said the marshal; “all this is quite logical; but we must swear.”
“Yes; conspirators always swear, from the plot of Catiline down to that of Cellamare, in which I had the honor of participating. We always swore; it is true the thing did not succeed at all the better for it, still, let us respect old customs. Let us swear, then—you shall see how solemn it is!”
He extended his hand in the midst of the group of ladies, and said with proper dignity, “I swear.”
All the ladies repeated the oath, with the exception of the princesses, who slipped away.
“Now that all is over,” said the marshal, “when once people have sworn in conspiracies, they never do anything more.”
“Oh, what a fury she will be in,” said the Duchesse de Grammont, “when she finds herself all alone in the grand salon!”
“Hum!” said the marshal; “the king will most probably banish us for a little.”
“Ah!” cried the Princess de Guemenee, “what kind of court would it be if we were banished? The king of Denmark is expected; who will be presented to him? The dauphiness is expected; to whom will she be presented? Besides, a whole court is never exiled—a selection is made.”
“I know that very well, and I fear I run a great risk of being chosen for the distinction of banishment!” said the marshal. “I have always been distinguished in that way. Four times have I been selected for it, at the lowest reckoning—this is my fifth conspiracy, ladies.”
“Do not be afraid, marshal,” said the Duchesse de Grammont; “if any one be marked out for banishment. I shall be the person.”
“Or your brother, the Duke de Choiseul—take care, duchesse!” replied the marshal.
“My brother is of my mind —he could submit to misfortune, not to an insult.”
“It will be neither you, marshal, nor you, duchesse, who will be banished, “said the Marchioness de Mirepoix; “I shall be the victim. The king will never pardon me for being less condescending to the countess than I was to the marchioness.”
“That is true,” said the marshal; “you were always called the favorite of the favorite. I am sorry for you now—we shall be banished together.”
“Let him banish us all,” said the Princess de Guemenee, rising; '-'for I trust none of us will draw back from the resolution which we have taken.”
“We cannot draw back after our oath,” said the marshal.
“Besides,” said the Duchesse de Grammont, “I have still other resources.”
“Yes; she cannot be presented to-morrow evening without three things.”
“A hairdresser, a dress, and a carriage.”
“Well, she shall not be at Versailles at ten o'clock—the king will become impatient—he will dismiss the court, and the presentation will be postponed till the Greek Kalends, on account of the arrival of the dauphiness.”
A burst of delight followed this new episode in the conspiracy, but while applauding even more loudly than the others, the Duke de Richelieu and the Marchioness de Mirepoix exchanged glances—the same idea had occurred simultaneously to the two old courtiers.
At eleven o'clock all the conspirators, lighted by a lovely moon, were speeding along the roads to Versailles and Saint Germain.
Marshal Richelieu, however, mounted his groom's horse, and while his carriage, with the blinds drawn closely down, bore him ostensibly to Versailles, he reached Paris by a cross-road.
