In and out of Three Normandy Inns Part 18

"Monsieur de Chaulnes," the d.u.c.h.esse went on, with ironical contempt in her voice, "still goes on punishing Rennes!"

"This province and the duke's treatment of it will serve as a capital example to all others. It will teach those rascals," Madame de Kerman continued, in lower tones, "to respect their governors, and not to throw stones into their gardens!"

"Fancy that--the audacity of throwing stones into their duke's garden!

Why, did you know, they actually--those insolent creatures actually called him--called the duke--'_gros cochon?_'"

All three ladies gasped in horror at this unparalleled instance of audacity; they threw up their hands, as they groaned over the picture, in low tones of finished elegance.

"It is little wonder the duke hangs right and left! The dear duke--what a model governor! How I should like to have seen him sack that street at Rennes, with all the ridiculous old men, and the women in childbirth, and the children, turned out pele-mele! And the hanging, too--why, hanging now seems to me a positively refreshing performance!"

And Madame de Sevigne laughed with unstinted gayety as at an excellent joke.

The picture of Rennes and the cruelty dealt its inhabitants was a pleasant picture, in the contemplation of which these ladies evidently found much delectation. They were quiet for a longer period of time than usual; they continued silent, as they looked into the fire, smiling; the flames there made them think of other flames as forms of merited punishment.

"A curious people those Bas Bretons," finally e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Madame de Sevigne. "I never could understand how Bertrand Duguesclin made them the best soldiers of his day in France!"

"You know Lower Brittany very well, do you not, dear friend?"

"Not so well as the coast. Les Rochers is in Upper Brittany, you know.

I know the south better still. Ah, what a charming journey I once took along the Loire with my friend _Bien-Bon_, the Abbe de Coulanges. We found it the most enchanting country in the world--the country of feasts and of famine; feasts for us and famine for the people. I remember we had to cross the river; our coach was placed on the barge, and we were rowed along by stout peasants. Through the gla.s.s windows of the coach we looked out at a series of changing pictures--the views were charming. We sat, of course, entirely at our ease, on our soft cushions. The country people, crowded together below, were--ugh!--like pigs in straw."

"Was Bien-Bon with you when you made that little excursion to St.

Germain?" queried the d.u.c.h.esse.

"Ah, that was a gay night," joyously responded Madame de Sevigne. "How well we amused ourselves on that little visit that we paid Madame de Maintenon--when she was only Madame Scarron."

"Was she so handsome then as they say she was--at that time?"

"Very handsome; she was good, too, and amiable, and easy to talk to; one talked well and readily with her. She was then only the governess of the king's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, you know--of the children he had had by Madame de Montespan. That was the first step toward governing the king. Well, one night--the night to which you refer--I remember we were all supping with Madame de La Fayette. We had been talking endlessly! Suddenly it occurred to us it would be a most amusing adventure to take Madame Scarron home, to the very last end of the Faubourg Saint Germain, far beyond where Madame de La Fayette lived--near Vaugirard, out into the Bois, in the country. The Abbe came too. It was midnight when we started. The house, when at last we reached it, we found large and beautiful, with large and fine rooms and a beautiful garden; for Madame Scarron, as governess of the king's children, had a coach and a lot of servants and horses. She herself dressed then modestly and yet magnificently, as a woman should, who spent her life among people of the highest rank. We had a merry outing, returning in high spirits, blessed in having no end of lanterns, and thus a.s.sured against robbers."

"She and Madame de La Fayette were very close friends, I remember, during that time," mused the d.u.c.h.esse, "when they were such near neighbors."

"Yes," Madame de Sevigne went on, as unwearied now, although it was nearly midnight, as in the beginning of the long evening. "Yes; I always thought Madame de Maintenon's satirical little joke about Madame de La Fayette's bed festooned with gold--'I might have fifty thousand pounds income, and never should I live in the style of a great lady; never should I have a bed festooned with gold like Madame de La Fayette'--was the beginning of their rupture."

"All the same, Madame de La Fayette, lying on that bed, beneath the gold hangings, was a much more simple person than ever was Madame de Maintenon!"

"Your speaking of bed reminds me, dear ladies ours must be quite cold by this time. How we have chatted! What a delightful gossip! But we must not forget that our journey to-morrow is to be a long one!"

The d.u.c.h.esse rose, the other two ladies rising instantly, observing, in spite of the intimate relations in which they stood toward the d.u.c.h.esse, the deference due to her more exalted rank. The latter clapped her hands; outside the door a shuffling and a low groan were heard--the groan came from the sleepy lackey, roused from his deep slumber, as he uncoiled himself from the close knot into which his legs and body were knit in the curve of the narrow stairs.

The ladies, a few seconds later, were wending their way up the steep turret steps. They were preceded by torches and followed by quite a long train of maids and lackeys. For a long hour, at least, the little inn resounded with the sound of hurrying feet, of doors closing and shutting; with the echo of voices giving commands and of others purring in sleepy accents of obedience. Then one by one the sounds died away; the lights went out in the bedchambers; faint flickerings stole through the c.h.i.n.ks of doors and windows. The watchman cried out the hour, and the gleam of a lantern flashed here and there, illuminating the open court-yard. The c.o.c.ks crowed shrilly into the night air. A halberdier turned in his sleep where he lay, on some straw beneath the coach-shed, his halberd rattling as it struck the cobbles. And over the whole--over the gentle slumber of the great ladies and the sleep of beast and man--there fell the peace and the stillness of the midnight--of that midnight of long ago.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHAMBRE DE LA PUCELLE--DIVES]

CHAPTER XXII.

A NINETEENTH-CENTURY BREAKFAST.

The very next morning, after the rain, and the vision I had had of Madame de Sevigne, conjured up by my surroundings and the reading of her letters, Monsieur Paul paid us an early call. He came to beg the loan of our sitting-room, he said. He had had a despatch from a coaching-party from Trouville; they were to arrive for breakfast. The whip and owner of the coach was a great friend of his, he proffered by way of explanation--a certain count who had a genius for friendship--one who also had an artist's talent for admiring the beautiful. He was among those who were in a state of perpetual adoration before the inn's perfections. He made yearly pilgrimages from his chateau above Rouen to eat a noon breakfast in the Chambre des Marmousets. Now, a breakfast served elsewhere than in this chamber would be, from his point of view, to have journeyed to a shrine to find the niche empty. The gift that was begged of us, therefore, was the loan for a few hours of the famous little room.

In less than a half hour we were watching the entrance of the coach by the side of Madame Le Mois. We were all three seated on the green bench.

Faintly at first, and presently gaining in distinctness, came the fall of horses' hoofs and the rumble of wheels along the highway. A little cavalcade was soon pa.s.sing beneath the archway. First there dashed in two hors.e.m.e.n, who had sprung to the ground almost as soon as their steeds' hoofs struck the paved court-yard. Then there swept by a jaunty dog cart, driven by a mannish figure radiantly robed in white. Swiftly following came the dash and jingle of four coach-horses, bathed in sweat, rolling the vehicle into the court as if its weight were a thing of air. All save one among the gay party seated on the high seats, were too busy with themselves and their chatter, to take heed of their surroundings. A lady beneath her deep parasol was busily engaged in a gay traffic of talk with the groups of men peopling the back seats of the coach. One of the men, however, was craning his neck beyond the heads of his companions; he was running his eye rapidly up and down the long inn facade. Finally his glance rested on us; and then, with a rush, a deep red mounted the man's cheek, as he tore off his derby to wave it, as if in a triumph of discovery. Renard had been true to his promise. He had come to see his friends and to test the famous Sauterne. He flung himself down from his lofty perch to take his seat, entirely as a matter of course, beside us on the green bench.

"What luck, hey?--greatest luck in the world, finding you in, like this. I've been in no end of a tremble, fearing you'd gone to Caen, or Falaise, or somewhere, and that I shouldn't see you after all. Well, how are you? How goes it? What do you think of old Dives and Monsieur Paul, and the rest of it? I see you're settled; you took the palace chamber. Trust American women--they know the best, and get it."

"But these people, who are they, and how did you--?" We were unfeignedly glad to see him, but curiosity is a pa.s.sion not to be trifled with--after a month in the provinces.

"Oh--the De Troisacs? Old friends of mine--known them years. Jolly lot.

Charming fellow, De Troisac--only good Frenchman I've ever known.

They're just off their yacht; saw them all yesterday at the Trouville Casino. Said they were running down here for breakfast to-day, asked me, and I came, of course." He laughed as he added: "I said I should come, you remember, to get some of that Sauterne. A man will go any distance for a good bottle of wine, you know."

Meanwhile, in the court-yard, the party on the coach, by means of ladders and the helping of the grooms, were scrambling down from their seats. Renard's friend, the Comte de Troisac, was easily picked out from the group of men. He was the elder of the party--stoutish, with frank eyes and a smiling mouth; he was bustling about from the gaunt grooms to the ladder, and from ladder to the coach-seat, giving his commands right and left, and executing most of them himself. A tall, slim woman, with drooping eyelids, and an air of extreme elegance and of cultivated fatigue, was also easily recognizable as the countess. It took two grooms, two of the gentlemen guests, and her husband to a.s.sist her to the ground. Her pa.s.sage down the steps of the ladder had been long enough, however, to enable her to display a series of pretty poses, each one more effective than the others. When one has an instep of ideal elevation, what is the use of being born a Frenchwoman, unless one knows how to make use of opportunity?

From the dog-cart, that had rattled in across the cobbles with a dash and a spurt, there came quite a different accent and pose. The whitish personage, whom we had mistakenly supposed to be a man, wore petticoats; the male attire only held as far as the waist of the lady.

The stiff white shirt-front, the knotted tie--a faultless male knot--the loose driving-jacket, with its sprig of white geranium, and the round straw-hat worn in mannish fashion, close to the level brows, was a costume that would have deceived either s.e.x. Below the jacket flowed the straight lines of a straight skirt, that no further conjectures should be rendered necessary. This lady had a highbred air of singular distinction, accentuated by a tremendously knowing look.

She was at once elegant and rakish; the _gamin_ in her was obviously the touch of _caviare_ to season the woman of fashion. The mixture made an extraordinarily attractive ensemble. As she jumped to the ground, throwing her reins to a groom, her jump was a master-stroke; it landed her squarely on her feet; even as she struck the ground her hands were thrust deeply into her pockets. The man seated beside her, who now leaped out after her, seemed timid and awkward by contrast with her alert precision. This couple moved at once toward the bench on which madame was seated. With the coming in of the coach and the cart she had risen, waddling forward to meet the party. Monsieur Paul was at the coach-wheels before the grooms had shot themselves down; De Troisac, with eager friendliness, stretched forth a hand from the top of his seat, exclaiming, with gay heartiness, "Ah, mon bon--comment ca va?"

The mere was as eagerly greeted. Even the countess dismissed her indifference for the moment, as she held out her hand to Madame Le Mois.

"Dear Madame Le Mois--and it goes well with you? And the gout and the rheumatism, they have ceased to torment you? Quelle bonne nouvelle! And here are the dear old c.o.c.ks and the wounded bantam. The c.o.c.katoos--ah, there they are, still swinging in the air! Comme c'est joli--et frais--et que ca sent bon!"

Madame and Monsieur Paul were equally effusive in their inquiries and exclamations--it was clearly a meeting of old friends. Madame Le Mois'

face was meanwhile a study. The huge surface was glistening with pleasure; she was unfeignedly glad to see these Parisians:--but there was no elation at this meeting on such easy terms with greatness. Her shrewdness was as alive as ever; she was about to make money out of the visit--they were to have of her best, but they must pay for it. Between her rapid fire of questionings as to the countess's health and the history of her travels, there was as rapid a shower of commands, sometimes shouted out, above all the hubbub, to the cooks standing gaping in the kitchen doorway, or whispered hoa.r.s.ely to Ernestine and Marianne, who were flying about like wild pigeons, a little drunk with the novelty of this first breakfast of the season.

"_Allons, mon enfant--cours--cours_--get thy linen, my child, and the silver candelabres. It is to be laid in the Marmousets, thou knowest.

Paul will come presently. And the salads, pluck them and bring them in to me--_cours--cours_."

The great world was all very well, and it was well to be on friendly, even intimate terms, with it; but, _Dieu!_ one's own bread is of importance too! And the countess, for all her delicacy, was a _bonne fourchette_.

The countess and her friend, after a moment of standing in the court-yard, of patting the pelican, of trying their blandishments on the flamingo, of catching up the bantam, and filling the air with their purring, and caressing, and incessant chatter, pa.s.sed beneath the low door to the inner sanctum of madame. The two ladies were clearly bent on a few moments of unreserved gossip and that repairing of the toilet which is a religious act to women of fashion the world over.

In the court-yard the scene was still a brilliant one. The gayly painted coach was now deserted. It stood, a chariot of state, as it were, awaiting royalty; its yellow sides gleamed like topaz in the sun.

The grooms were unharnessing the leaders, that were still bathed in the white of their sweat. The count's dove-colored flannels were a soft ma.s.s against the snow of the _chef's_ ap.r.o.n and cap; the two were in deep consultation at the kitchen door. Monsieur Paul was showing, with all the absorption of the artist, his latest Jumieges carvings to the taller, more awkward of the gentlemen, to the one driven in by the mannish beauty.

The c.o.c.katoos had not ceased shrieking from the very beginning of the hubbub; nor had the squirrels stopped running along the bars of their cage, a-flutter with excitement. The peac.o.c.ks trailed their trains between the coach-wheels, announcing, squawkingly, their delight at the advent of a larger audience. Above the cries of the fowls and the shrieks of the c.o.c.ks, the chatter of human tongues, the subdued murmur of the ladies' voices coming through the open lattice, and the stamp of horses' hoofs, there swept above it all the light June breeze, rustling in the vines, shaking the thick branches against the wooden facades.

The two ladies soon made their appearance in the sunlit court-yard. The murmur of their talk and their laughter reached us, along with the froufrou of their silken petticoats.

"You were not bored, _chere enfant_, driving Monsieur d'Agreste all that long distance?"

The countess was smiling tenderly into her companion's face. She had stopped her to readjust the geranium sprig that was drooping in her friend's cover-coat. The smile was the smile of a sympathizing angel, but what a touch of hidden malice there was in the notes of her caressing voice! As she repinned the _boutonniere_, she gave the dancing eyes, that were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the mirth of the coming retort, the searching inquest of her glance.

"Bored! _Dieu, que non!_" The black little beauty threw back her throat, laughing, as she rolled her great eyes. "Bored--with all the tricks I was playing? Fernande! pity me, there was such a little time, and so much to do!"

"So little time--only fourteen kilos!" The countess compressed her lips; they were smiling no longer.