WHEN SHE REACHED the opposite extremity of the alley, Andree saw her father and the marshal walking up and down before the vestibule, waiting for her. The two friends seemed in high spirits, and, as they stood with their arms interlaced, presented the most perfect representation of Orestes and Pylades the court had ever witnessed. As Andree approached, the two old men seemed still more joyous, and remarked to each other on her radiant beauty, heightened by her walk and by the emotion she had previously undergone.
The marshal saluted Andree as he would have done a declared Madame Pompadour. This distinction did not escape Taverney, who was delighted at it, but it surprised Andree, from its mixture of respect and gallantry; for the cunning courtier could express as many shades of meaning in a bow as Covielle could French phrases by a single Turkish word.
Andree returned the marshal's salutation, made one equally ceremonious to her father, and then, with fascinating grace, she invited both to follow her to her apartment.
The marshal admired the exquisite neatness which was the only ornament of the furniture and architecture of this retreat. With a few flowers and a little white muslin, Andree had made her rather gloomy chamber, not a palace indeed, but a temple.
The duke seated himself upon an armchair covered with green chintz, beneath a Chinese cornucopia from which drooped bunches of perfumed acacia and maple, mingled with iris and Bengal roses.
Taverney occupied a similar chair; and Andree sank upon a folding stool, her arm resting on a harpsichord also ornamented with flowers, arranged in a large Dresden vase.
“Mademoiselle,” said the marshal, “I come as the bearer, on the part of his majesty, of the compliments which your charming voice and your musical talents drew from every auditor of yesterday's rehearsal. His majesty feared to arouse jealousy by praising you too openly at the time, and he therefore charged me to express to you the pleasure you have caused him.”
Andree blushed, and her blush made her so lovely that the marshal proceeded as if speaking on his own account.
“The king has assured me.” said he, “that he never saw any one at his court who united to such a high degree the gifts of mind and the charms of personal beauty.”
“You forget those of the heart!” said Taverney, with a gush of affection; “Andree is the best of daughters.”
The marshal thought, for a moment, that his old friend was about to weep. Admiring deeply this display of paternal sensibility, he exclaimed:
“The heart! alas, my dear friend! you alone can judge of the tenderness of which mademoiselle's heart is capable. Were I only five-and-twenty years of age, I would lay my life and my fortune at her feet!”
Andree did not know how to receive coolly the full fire of a courtier's homage. She could only murmur some almost inaudible words.
“Mademoiselle,” continued he, “the king requests you will accept a slight testimony of his satisfaction, and he has charged the baron, your father, to transmit it to you. What reply shall I make to his majesty from you?”
“Sir,” replied Andree, animated by no feeling but that respect which is due to a monarch from all his subjects, “assure his majesty of my deep gratitude; tell him that he honors me too highly by deigning to think of me, and that I am not worthy the attention of so powerful a monarch.”
Richelieu seemed in raptures at this reply, which Andree pronounced with a firm voice, and without hesitation. He took her hand, kissed it respectfully, and devouring her with his eyes:
“A royal hand.” said he, “a fairy foot —mind, purity, resolution!—ah! baron, what a treasure! It is not a daughter whom you have—it is a queen!”
With these words he retired, leaving Taverney alone with Andree, his heart swelling with pride and hope.
Whoever had seen this advocate of antiquated theories, this skeptic, this scoffer, inhaling with delight the air of favoritism in its most disreputable channel, would have said that God had blinded at the same moment both his intellect and heart. Taverney alone might have replied, with reference to this change:
“It is not I who have changed—it is the times.”
He remained, then, seated beside Andree, and could not help feeling somewhat embarrassed; for the young girl, with her air of unconquerable serenity, and her clear, limpid, unfathomable look, seemed as if she would penetrate his most secret thoughts.
“Did not M. de Richelieu, sir, say that his majesty had intrusted you with a testimony of his satisfaction? May I ask what it is?”
“Ah!” thought Taverney, “she is curious—so much the better! I could not have expected it. So much the better!”
He drew the casket, which the marshal had given him the evening before, slowly from his pocket, just as a kind papa produces a paper of sweetmeats or a toy, which the children have devoured with their eyes before their hands can reach them.
It was a set of pearls of great value. Twelve immense diamonds connected together the rows of pearls, while a diamond clasp, earrings, and a tiara of the same precious material, made the present worth at least thirty thousand crowns.
“Good heavens, father!” exclaimed Andree.
“It is too handsome. The king has made some mistake. I should be ashamed to wear that. I have no dresses suitable to the splendor of these diamonds.”
“Oh! complain of it. I beg!” said Taverney, ironically.
“You do not understand me, sir. I regret that I cannot wear these jewels, because they are too beautiful.”
“The king, who gives the casket, mademoiselle, is generous enough to add the dresses.”
“But, sir, this is goodness on the king's part—
“Do you not think I have deserved it by my services?”
“Ah! pardon me, sir; that is true,” said Andree, drooping her head, but not quite convinced.
After a moment's reflection, she closed the casket.
“I shall not wear these diamonds,” said she.
“And why not?” said Taverney, uneasily.
“Because, my dear father, you and my brother are in want of necessaries, and this superfluity offends my eyes when 1 think of your embarrassments.”
Taverney smiled and pressed her hand.
“Oh!” said he, “do not think of that, my daughter. The king has done more for rue than for you. We are in favor, my dear child. It would neither be respectful as a subject, nor grateful as a woman, to appear before his majesty without the present he has made you.”
“Yes, but you must obey as if it gave you pleasure to do so. These ornaments seem not to be to your taste.”
“I am no judge of diamonds, sir.”
“Learn, then, that the pearls alone are worth fifty thousand livres.”
“Sir,” said she, “it is most strange that his majesty should make me such a present; reflect!”
“I do not understand you, mademoiselle,” replied Taverney, dryly.
“If I wear these jewels, I assure you, sir, every one will be greatly surprised.”
“Why?” asked Taverney, in the same tone, and with a cold and imperious glance which made Andree lower her eyes.
“Mademoiselle, you must confess that it is strange you should entertain scruples, when even I, your father, feel none. Give me your young modest girls for seeing evil and finding it out, however closely hidden it is, and when none other had remarked it! None like maidenly and simple girls for making old grenadiers like myself blush!”
Andree hid her blushing face in her lovely white hands.
“Oh! my brother,” she murmured to herself, “why are you already so far from me?”
Did Taverney hear these words, or did he guess their purport with that wonderful perspicacity which we know he possessed? We cannot tell, but he immediately changed his tone, and, taking Andree's hand in his:
“Come, my child,” said he, “is not your father your friend?”
A heavenly smile chased the shadow from Andree's brow.
“Shall I not be here to love you—to advise you? Are you not proud to contribute to my happiness and that of your brother?”
The baron fixed a caressing look upon his daughter.
“Well!” said he, “you shall be, as M. de Richelieu said just now, the queen of Taverney. The king has distinguished you, and the dauphiness also.” added he, hastily. “In your intimacy with these two august personages, you will found our future fortunes by making them happy. The friend of the dauphiness, and—of the king! What a glorious career! You have superior talents and unrivaled beauty, a pure and healthy mind untainted by avarice and ambition. Oh! my child, what a part you might play! Do you remember the maiden who soothed the last moments of Charles VI.? Her name is cherished in France. Do you remember Agnes Sorel, who restored the honor of the French crown? All good Frenchmen respect her memory. Andree, you will be the support of the old age of our glorious monarch. He will cherish you as his daughter, and you will reign in France by the divine right of beauty, courage, and fidelity!”
Andree opened her eyes wide with astonishment. The baron resumed, without giving her time to reflect.
“With a single look you will drive away these wretched creatures who dishonor the throne; your presence will purify the court. To your generous influence the nobility of the kingdom will owe the return of pure morals, politeness, and real gallantry. My daughter, you may be, you must be, the regenerating star of your country, and a crown of glory to your name.”
“But,” said Andree, all bewildered, “what must I do to effect all this?”
The baron reflected for a moment.
“Andree,” said he, “I have often told you that in this world you must force men to be virtuous by making them love virtue. Sullen, melancholy, sermonizing virtue makes even those fly who wish most to approach her. Lend to your virtue all the allurements of coquetry—I had almost said of vice. It is an easy task for a talented and high-minded girl such as you are. Make yourself so lovely that the court shall talk only of you; make yourself so agreeable to the king that he cannot do without you. Be so reserved and discreet toward all, except his majesty, that people will soon attribute to you all that power which you cannot fail ultimately to obtain.”
“I do not exactly understand your last advice,” said Andree.
“Trust yourself to my guidance—you will fulfill my wishes without understanding them; the best plan for such a wise and generous creature as you are. But, by-the-by, to enable you to put in practice my first counsel, I must furnish your purse. Take these hundred louis-d'ors and dress in a manner worthy of the rank to which you belong, since his majesty has distinguished you.”
Taverney gave the hundred louis to his daughter, kissed her hand, and left her.
He returned with rapid steps along the alley by which be had come, so much engrossed in his reflections that he did not perceive Nicole in eager conference with a nobleman at the extremity of the Bosquet ties Amours.
